The Fear of Abandonment
First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
November 28, 1993
Memory Verse: But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people." Luke 2:10
Today's Texts: 1 Kings 19:1-18 and Luke 1:5-20
Opening Prayer: God of Unsearchable Mystery and Deep Magic, come to us this morning even as we seek now to know Thy word. You who spoke to our ancestors through angels and theophanies, speak to us now through this time of preaching. Help us to approach this time as more than just a lecture about God, but as a way that you have chosen to make yourself known to your people. We tremble at the thought that you could be here now, in the pulpit and the pew. We know what it means to come to church, but to think that you might come here as well is both an exhilarating and terrifying idea. Calm our fears, O God, even as you speak among us. Open our hearts, O God, even as you seek to make yourself known. In Christ's name we pray. Amen.
This morning, the first Sunday in Advent, I will begin a five part series on fear. It will take us through the season of Christmas. The inspiration for this sermon series comes from the Biblical stories of advent, as we read them in the gospels of Matthew and Luke. These are the only two books in the Bible that tell us anything about the birth of Jesus Christ, and they don't tell us very much that can be corroborated by historical record. Apparently only a handful of people knew that something special was about to happen in Bethlehem.
That was it. Zechariah, Elizabeth, Mary, Joseph, Magi, and Shepherds were the only ones who had a chance to prepare for the coming of the Christ child. They were the only Biblical characters to celebrate the season of Advent.
I found it amusing to look up the word "advent" in the dictionary. According to the American Heritage Dictionary, "Advent" is a noun that means, "The coming or arrival of something, especially of something momentous. For example: the advent of the computer." Apparently the advent of Christ has been eclipsed in this day and age as the classic example of something that came into the world with momentous and revolutionary effect. Given that most of us here can remember a time without computers, perhaps we are well positioned to understand the coming of Christ in ways that our foreparents could not.
It was a shock to me, sometime last year, when this country paused to celebrate the 10 year anniversary of the personal computer. "How could that be," I said to myself, "computers are everywhere and I count on them for everything. Could it be that when I started as founding pastor of the Good News Community Church there were no personal computers?" Then I remembered, however, zip code sorting 500 mailing labels by hand. And I remembered typing up sermons and reports on a typewriter, fixing mistakes with a hard round eraser that had a brush on the other end. And finally there was my prized Christmas present as a junior in high school, a yellow slide rule in a very smart case!
There was indeed a moment, in my lifetime, when something momentous happened. I can remember life as it was, and I now know life as it is. What a transformation. What a change. Business as usual 20 years ago did not look like business as usual looks today. Our expectations have changed. Our requirements have changed. And our world has changed in the process.
It's no wonder that so many older people are afraid of computers and modern technology. If I can still remember asking for a slide rule for Christmas, imagine the shock of the advent of the computer compared to 50 years ago or 98 years ago as in the case of Molly Nelson, whose memorial we celebrated on Friday. It's a new day, and many people still haven't made their peace with it all.
The advent of Jesus Christ, for those who lived through it, had the same momentous and revolutionary effect as the advent of the computer. It is an awesome thing to imagine that once people did not live with the power, the knowledge, and the love of God the way we live with it today. The two letters of Peter, Jesus' first disciple and the rock of his faithful followers, are filled with the same incredulity that we can muster today as we consider life without computers. "I know that my death will come soon," Peter writes, "and I will make every effort so that after my departure you may be able at any time to recall the things that have happened here. Once we were no people, but now we are the people of God. Once we had not received mercy, but now we have received mercy. We are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's own people, called to proclaim the mighty acts of God who brought us out of darkness into this marvelous light." (2 Peter 1:14f, 1 Peter 2:9f, paraphrased).
Now here was a man who had lived through the advent of something momentous, and who wanted to make sure that those who came after him would never forget what it was like to sort 500 mailing labels by hand, to use a typewriter eraser with a brush on the end of it, or to get a snappy new slide rule for Christmas. Here was a man who wanted people to remember the story of what God had done through coming to this world in the person of Jesus Christ.
The story of Jesus' advent begins with Zechariah and Elizabeth. Zechariah, we are told, was serving in the temple as a priest from the order of Abijah when the angel Gabriel appeared to him privately in the sanctuary. Zechariah's reaction was not atypical of the characters we will meet over the next five weeks. Zechariah, we are told, was terrified and overwhelmed with fear.
I can understand that. To see an angel standing next to the altar of incense was not an everyday occurrence. Many of us probably do not believe in angels, and for those of us who do we would be as shocked as Zechariah to actually meet one face to face. "But the angel said to him, 'Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard.'" (Luke 1:13a).
Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth, you see, had been praying for a child. They had lived a godly life, following all the commandments and regulations of the Lord. Both of them were now getting on in years, and they had given up on the power of God to answer prayers. "But the angel said to him, 'Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John.... You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go on ahead, ...to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.'" (Luke 1:13-15a, 17).
Now, I would imagine, Zechariah was really afraid. Not only was he seeing an angel, face to face, but the angel was promising that Elizabeth in her old age would bear a son who would make ready a people prepared for the Lord. Talk about impossible! This was Abraham and Sarah all over again, only this time Zechariah had deacons waiting for him outside the sanctuary door, wondering what in the world was taking so long. What was he going to say to them? How could he explain this? What if he went and said that he saw an angel who told him that Elizabeth would bear a son, only to find out that the whole thing was nothing more than a dream, an apparition, a mere phantasm of an old man who dearly hoped for the impossible.
Zechariah doubted the testimony of his own eyes and ears. "How will I know that this so?" he asked hopefully, "For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years." (Luke 1:18). Zechariah was afraid that God might let him down. Zechariah was afraid of abandonment.
I must confess that I can identify with the fear of Zechariah. My earliest childhood memory is of being left alone in the house to watch television while my mother went next door to talk with a neighbor. All of a sudden the phone rang, the buzzer on the stove went off, and the television started to wail with a test, but only a test, of the emergency broadcast system. Needless to say I went into a total panic, fearing that I had been abandoned and that the world was about to come to an end. My mother quickly learned that abandonment was a pretty good threat to keep me in line. Whenever I started to act up I can remember her familiar refrain, "If you don't shape up, I'm going to sell you to the Indians." For years I actually thought she would and could do it.
What's your greatest fear? It may well have to do with an earliest childhood memory, or with some other part of your early years. As children we are vulnerable, dependent, gullible, and weak. As children we can cry and be afraid, without the same baggage and defensiveness as adults.
I would suggest to you this morning that Zechariah and little children can teach us a valuable lesson when it comes to fear. Fear can be our path to God.
Scripture tells us that "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge." (Proverbs 1:7). We don't hear much about the fear of the Lord these days. We would rather talk about the love of God than the fear of God. We would rather talk about a positive mental attitude than about the fears we face in our everyday lives. But there is something the self-help books don't tell you. There is no way around fear. It cannot be ignored, stuffed, or silenced. It cannot be ridiculed, negotiated, or traded. It cannot be minimized, rationalized, or bastardized. It can only be faced and accepted as a gift, for it is only at the point of our fears that we discover our need for God.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt was wrong when he said that we have nothing to fear but fear itself. Fear is not to be feared. Fear is to be revered. Fear is a gift from God that can lead us to self-understanding, to community with one another, and ultimately to communion with God. "Serve the Lord with fear," the psalmist writes, "with trembling kiss the feet of God." (Psalm 2:11) Talk about paradox! To know the love of God we must acknowledge and face our fears. To know the love of God we must allow God to break into life at the point of our fears. To know the love of God we must stand naked before the One who made us.
Robert K. Hudnut in his book Meeting God in the Darkness writes about this paradox. "This linking of the fear of God with the love of God is one of the paradoxes of the Bible. The trouble is that we want the love without the fear, and then we wonder why we rarely experience the love. Nobody talks about the fear of God anymore, and that is why we tend to miss the love. 'The love of God,' writes (one Bible scholar), '...is never separated from the fear of God ...because absolute love means total surrender.'" (Regal Books, 1989)
Elijah had to face his fear of abandonment before he could ascend to heaven in the fullness of God's glory and power. It has never ceased to amaze me, this story of Elijah and Queen Jezebel. Immediately prior to the confrontation we heard about today, Elijah had worked miracle after miracle. He had held back the rain for three years, he had a blessed a widow with an endless supply of food, he had raised another widow's son from the dead, and he had vanquished the prophets of Baal in a fiery confrontation on Mount Carmel. If anyone should have been full of himself, if anyone should have had a positive mental attitude, if anyone should have been on top of things, it should have been Elijah.
But when Elijah heard of Jezebel's threat to take his life by this time tomorrow, he grew afraid, and he got up and fled for his life. He went into the wilderness and sat under a solitary broom tree where he asked that he might die.
How quickly we forget the mighty hand of God. This man had just moved mountains with one miracle after another, and yet he still had to face his deepest fear. The fear of abandonment. The fear that when things really got tough God would not be there to carry him through. And so he laid down under the broom tree and fell asleep.
Perhaps we can take some comfort in this. If Elijah could work miracles and still be afraid that God would leave him. If Zechariah could see an angel and still be afraid that God would not honor his promise. Then certainly we can face our fears of abandonment without embarrassment or disgrace. And so Elijah went to the mountain of God where he first heard a great wind, but God was not in the wind. And after the wind there was a terrible earthquake, but God was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake there was a furious fire, but God was not in the fire. And after the fire there was a sound of sheer silence, and God was in the stillness.
Can you hear the voice of God? Elijah knew all about winds and earthquakes and fires. He could control these. They were his friends. Indeed these had been his weapons as champion of the Holy One of Israel. But Elijah did not know about silence and fear and abandonment. Elijah did not know that God is never really absent from life, no matter how hard it may be to hear God's voice or understand God's will. Elijah did not know that even in the worst of times God could pick him up and carry him through to the promised land. Elijah did not know about being all alone.
Elijah did not know, that is, until after he sat under that broom tree, wishing he was dead, facing his fear. "Go, return on your way," anoint kings and priests and prophets, and "I will leave seven thousand in Israel who have not bowed to Baal." (1 Kings 19:15-18). These words were spoken to a man who had feared that he was the only one left, in all of Israel, who was faithful to the Lord our God. But in the stillness he learned that God never abandons us, that God never leaves us alone, and that God always gives us people with whom we can share our journey of faith.
It has been said that there are only two primary emotions, fear and love. Everything else is derivative. You cannot know the love of God without going through your fear. Your fears may be very different than mine. You may not exactly resonate with the stories of Elijah and Zechariah and being sold to the Indians. But one thing is certain. You have known, or will know, or right now may know what it's like to be filled with fear.
Do not run away. Go through your fear to discover the grace of God. Fear is not fun or pleasurable or desirable. But fear is a gift. It can be necessary and received as a pathway to God. Confess your fear and allow God to assuage you with those everlasting arms. Then in some solitary moment, perhaps while sitting under a broom tree or while taking the dog for a walk, God will help you to overcome fear with love. That is our hope. That is God's promise. That is the momentous significance of the advent of Jesus Christ. Amen.
The Fear of Disgrace
First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
December 5, 1993
Memory Verse: But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people." Luke 2:10
Today's Texts: Jonah 3:1-4:11 and Matthew 1:18-25
Opening Prayer: God of Grace and God of Glory, on thy people pour thy power. Crown thine ancient church's story; Bring her bud to glorious flower. Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, For the facing this hour, For the facing of this hour. Lo! the hosts of evil round us, Scorn thy Christ, assail his ways! From the fears that long have bound us, Free our hearts to faith and praise. Grant us wisdom, Grant us courage, For the living of these days, For the living of these days. (Harry Emerson Fosdick) Amen.
This past week I was in conversation with a person who observed that last week's sermon on the fear of abandonment did not have the same pitch as my previous four sermons on the blessings of God. After some discussion, I made the comment, "It's hard to talk about fear with the same enthusiasm as when we talk about blessings."
We truly are flying over different terrain when we approach such a deep-seated and negative emotion as fear. With a series on the blessings of God we were flying high, from California to New York if you will, with a tailwind that helped us arrive at our destination in record time. With a series on fear, however, we have decided to fly in the opposite direction, fighting a headwind that slows us down and burns more gas in the process.
Last week we looked at Zechariah and the fear of abandonment. In the process, we began to discover a positive value to fear. Fear, like pain, can let us know when we have a problem and can help us draw closer to God. I will never forget one elderly man in Chicago who had been a part of our church before he died. His problems began one night when he fell asleep with his foot on the radiator near the bed. His diabetes had caused him to lose sensation in this leg, and when the heat came on in the middle of the night he could feel no pain as the radiator proceeded to badly burn his foot. This burn led to one complication after another, and eventually to his death.
Most people do not enjoy pain or seek to produce pain in their bodies, but this man would have given anything to be able to feel the pain of his burning foot. Pain lets us know when something is wrong. In the same way, fear points to a problem that needs attention. Sometimes we can take direct action, as in locking our car doors or speeding away when someone suspicious begins to approach. Other times, however, fear points to a deep seated problem that can only be fixed by opening ourselves to the grace of God.
Last week in talking about the fear of abandonment I mentioned how my mother had used the threat abandonment to help keep me in line throughout my early childhood. I have a friend whose mother used a different approach, relying more on the fear of disgrace. Every time my friend would leave home, whether to go to school or to go out on a date, he would hear the words, "Don't forget who you are." And whenever he did act up, he would hear the rejoinder, "Have you no shame?"
For my friend the fear of disgrace became a powerful reminder that his family was set apart from everyone else. They had a reputation to uphold. They had a tradition to live up to do. They had an image to be preserved. Regardless of what all the other kids might be doing, he had to act according to the standards established by his parents, and his grandparents, and his ancestors before them. Other kids might act wild and crazy, but he had a name to maintain.
My children have recently received a tape of stories and music by Christian comedian Mark Lowery who may well have come from a family like my friend's. On this tape, Lowery relishes the thought of that day when his parents get so old that they need to come and live with him. His first act, he tells us, will be to take away his mother's car keys. When his mother complains that Scott Davis lets his mother drive, Mark will retort with a familiar refrain, "But I'm not Scott Davis."
Most of us, I would guess, are driven in some measure by the appearance of respectability. Shame, embarrassment, and disgrace can become a most pressing and profound fear. Avoiding impropriety and imperfection, or at least the appearance of impropriety and imperfection, can become a chief focus in life. No one can see our weaker side. No one can know about problems. No one can find out about what really goes on behind closed doors. We can be screaming one minute at our children or spouse, only to have the telephone ring and out comes that happy voice. The fear of disgrace can even make asking for prayer problematic as it invades our privacy and shatters our illusions of perfection, strength, and invulnerability.
From what we have heard today, Jonah seems to be someone filled with the fear of disgrace. The story of Jonah has long been one of my favorites. What a character! Jonah, we are told, is the son of Amittai. That is all we know. But I suspect that the Amittai family was a very proud and stubborn family for whom control and appearances were very big issues.
One day the word of the Lord came to Jonah, telling him to proclaim judgment upon the great city of Nineveh. In language strongly reminiscent of God's judgment against Sodom and Gomorrah, God tells Jonah to speak out against Nineveh because of their wickedness. But Jonah refused. Jonah was certain that he would face public humiliation, and in Jonah's mind avoiding disgrace was worth more than sparing the lives of 120,000 people. Jonah knew that the people of Nineveh, hearing the judgment of God, would humble themselves and change their ways. Jonah knew that the Lord God Almighty, seeing the repentance of Nineveh, would be moved to commute their sentence and to overrule their destruction. Jonah knew that this would leave him looking like a fool and turn him into a laughing stock, so he ran away from the word of God.
What a powerful fear of disgrace. To turn your back on 120,000 people in order to protect your reputation. Jonah, of course, was not successful at running away. He boarded a ship going to Tarshish to flee from the presence of God, but the Lord stirred up a storm that could only be calmed by throwing Jonah overboard to face his fear from the belly of a fish. After three days and three nights, Jonah prayed to God saying, "Lord, I lift up my prayer to you from the depths of the sea. Those who worship vain idols forsake their true loyalty. But I with the voice of thanksgiving will make sacrifice to you who has spared my life from the Pit." (Jonah 2, paraphrased).
Jonah was a tough cookie. He had been worshipping an idol, the idol of pride, and that idol had to be sacrificed in order for Jonah to become the person God wanted him to be. It took three days and three nights in the belly of a fish for Jonah to sacrifice that idol. It took three days and three nights for Jonah to put his trust in God rather than in the opinion polls of his day. It took three days and nights for Jonah to realize that our primary concern should be more the grace of God than the disgrace of society.
What a powerful contrast! What a poignant word! "Dis-grace" literally means to be out of grace, to be bankrupt of favor, and it is commonly used to mean falling from social grace or position, to be dishonored or ostracized. But there is another grace in life, more constant and more important that any human convention. There is another opinion in life, that matters more than any opinion of family or friends. There is another reference point in life, that can make us more internally than externally referenced. It is the grace, opinion, and reference point of God.
Joseph did not have to spend three days and three nights in the belly of a fish, but he did have the same lesson to learn. His fiancée, Mary, was found to be with child before they had lived together or had marital relations. What was he to assume? Who was this baby's father if it was not he? Even in this liberated day and age, such an occurrence would no doubt cause consternation and the likely end of a relationship, much less of wedding plans.
2,000 years ago the problem was even more pronounced. In the patriarchal culture of the ancient Middle East, women were treated as little more than chattel property. They had no rights. They could not own land or hold jobs outside the family. They could be dismissed or even killed for infidelity. Such was the position of Mary. Pregnant without a husband. Betrothed to a man she had never known. Caught, by all appearances, in the very act of adultery.
Perhaps Jesus remembered his mother's disgrace when he met up with another woman caught in the act of adultery. Bending down he wrote with his finger on the ground. "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her." (John 8:6f). "And just when Joseph 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.'" (Matthew 1:20).
Do not fear what people may say. Do not fear what rumors may fly. Do not fear public disgrace, for the child conceived in her is there by the grace of God. And where there is divine grace, there can be no public disgrace that matters. So Joseph awoke from his dream and took Mary as his wife, and when her son was born he named him Jesus, son of Mary.
From the beginning Jesus knew all about public disgrace. In the patriarchal culture of the ancient Middle East, men were always named after their fathers. Jesus should have been called Jesus, son of Joseph. But Mark tells us that he was called Jesus, son of Mary. (Mark 6:3). Talk about insult. Talk about shame. Talk about disgrace. Jesus lived for 30 years with this monkey on his back. No wonder he came to find Father, Abba, Daddy such a powerful appellation for God. In God Jesus found the power and the grace that he was never accorded in life. And in the end, his followers called him Jesus, son of God, to make sure we would never forget the internal reference point that was the source of his strength and authority.
You see my friend's mother had it right, in a way. It really is important to remember who you are and who you belong to. It really is important to have some shame, not over what people may say but over what God may think. We belong to God, and divine grace can overshadow public disgrace every time. Social convention and popular opinion will come and go, but the steadfast love of God endures forever. Those who build their house upon the rock of divine grace will never fall, though the winds blow and the rains beat upon the house. But those who cater to public disgrace will quiver in their ever changing winds. When the rains fall and the floods come the house will fall as though built upon the sand--and great will be its fall. (Matthew 7:24-27).
This morning we celebrate the sacrament of Holy Communion. It is a reminder of God's suffering and shame. It is an opportunity to make divine grace more important in our lives than public disgrace. The fear of disgrace comes ultimately from our need for communion. We want to be liked, we want to be included, we want to be accepted, we want to be loved. But when we become externally referenced in our search for community, we are pulled in every direction according to the whims and fancies of others. We end up reaping chaos and confusion. It is only in the love and opinion of God that we find our balance and our rest.
Dr. William H. Willimon tells the story of catching a young boy in some mischief at church. As he marched the child to the office, the young boy looked up at Dr. Willimon and said, "You can't hurt me, I've been baptized." Now that child has potential! He may not have figured out the details, but he has put his trust in the right place. Paul writes that "in baptism we are baptized into the death of Christ, so that just as Christ was raised from the dead so we too might walk in newness of life." (Romans 6:3f). The cross was indeed an emblem of suffering and shame. It was execution at the hands of the Romans. It was humiliation and ignominy. It was public disgrace.
But the message of the cross became the power of God to those who are being saved. In death Jesus rose to the ultimate challenge of faith. He took on public disgrace through the power of divine grace. He walked to Nineveh, like Jonah, he cared for Mary, like Joseph, and he gave you and me the freedom to walk in his steps. None of us has it altogether. None of us is so strong that we don't need God or each other. And the cross of Christ makes this truth a matter of grace and power, rather than of weakness and law.
Whenever the fear of disgrace starts to loom large in our lives, it points to a problem that can only be cured through the grace and love of God. Holy communion is one opportunity to make that correction. It our chance to renew a right spirit within us. Do not fear what people may think, do not fear what trouble may come, do not fear the judgment of any human court. Rather come to this table and be free.
The Fear of Violation
First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
December 12, 1993
Memory Verse: But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people." Luke 2:10
Today's Texts: Genesis 32:22-31 and Luke 1:26-38
Opening Prayer: O God Most High, overshadow us with your Spirit and your power. You are the potter, and we are the clay. Transform us into your image through the renewal of our minds. Do not allow us to sit complacent in the pews. Do not allow us to grow idle in our ways. Instead, stir us to faith and service through the active and living power of your word. Melt us, mold us, fill us, use us. Empower us through your Son Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. Amen.
This morning we have had the blessing, the privilege, the honor, and the responsibility of receiving 13 people into the membership of First Congregational Church, United Church of Christ. In addition, four more people have already indicated their desire to join the church the next time we receive members, hopefully in January or February. By then I would expect to have a membership class at least as large as the one we received today. First Church is a rapidly growing church, drawing people together from all around the city, suburbs, and rural areas.
From what I have seen of First Church in the past six weeks all this comes as no surprise. You just can't get what First Church has to offer anywhere else. The diversity, commitment, caliber, friendliness, and spirituality of our church stands out as extraordinary. I will never forget my very first Sunday here, meeting two of the people who joined our church today. Taking them downstairs for coffee hour, I had to hand them off to one of our church members who ably started to show them around and introduce them to others. 45 minutes later these prospective members were still here, having had a very good first impression and a growing sense that this might be the church for them.
It's hard to know just what brings someone to the point of deciding to join one church over another, or to join any church whatsoever. I suppose there are as many reasons as there are people, for each person has a unique story to tell regarding the grace of God and the movement of God's Spirit in his or her life. Some people join a church because they like the preaching, others because they like the music, for still others its the social witness, the community, the tradition, the denomination, the building, the educational programs, the small groups, the spiritual life, or some combination that brings them to the point of decision.
Whatever may be your reason for belonging to this church, I salute you for taking the plunge and sticking with it. Whether you joined this morning for the very first time, or whether you have been a long-time member with stories to tell that go back to the time of Washington Gladden, you have made a decision with profound and far-reaching effects. Belonging to a church is not the same as belonging to any other organization. Belonging to a church is to open yourself to the transforming power of God.
Perhaps this lies at the heart of why some people choose not to join one church over another, or not to join any church at all. The secularization of modern society notwithstanding, the church has somehow managed to hold on to the idea that it actually has something to do with God.
It's really quite amazing when you stop to think about it. The same God who created the universe and fills the deep places of life with mystery, the same God who walked on water and raises little children from the dead, the same God who spoke through the prophets of old and groans even today among the least of these our sisters and brothers, that same God chooses to be here, in this church, right now, working on people like you and me.
Somehow this truth has not been lost on secular society. Joining a church is not just about paying your dues, attending the meetings, and helping out with special events. Joining a church is about who you are as a person, and who you hope to become.
For people who want to stay the way they are, for people who do not want to change or grow, I would not recommend joining a church. It can be hazardous to your equilibrium. It can disrupt even the staunchest of conservatives and flaming of liberals. It can overshadow even the deepest of commitments and carefree of lifestyles. It can trouble even the stillest of waters and confident of souls. In short, it can violate the boundaries and assumptions we have established for our lives.
If all this sounds rather scary, it should. No one likes to change course. Sir Isaac Newton called this the first law of motion: an object at rest tends to remain at rest and an object in motion tends to remain in motion, unless acted upon by an outside force. To make a small course correction requires a small force, to turn around 180o requires a large force. The more profound and radical the change, the more force has to be applied--and the more we dread the prospect.
For the last two weeks we have talked about fear as an opportunity to grow closer to God. The point is not to become masochistic, seeking out fear and fearful situations, the point is to use fear for spiritual growth when it comes upon us in the course of our everyday lives. The point is also to not pretend as though we have no fears, whether to one another or to ourselves. The fear of violation, the fear of being hurt, the fear of being changed unalterably and profoundly, is no different than the fear of abandonment and disgrace. It too can point us to God.
Too many people have been victims of violence. The daily news documents violence as a way of life in our society. Protecting ourselves from one another has become a national preoccupation and a big business. Even in love we do not want to make ourselves vulnerable, we do not want to risk violation, and so we sign prenuptial agreements or we hesitate to love at all.
The fear of violation does not stop with society and human relationships. The fear of violation also applies to our relationship with God. Indeed, this fear has kept more than one person from joining the church. It may not be articulated in exactly this way, but there is an underlying consciousness, even in secular society, that joining the church has something to do with changing our ways and allowing ourselves to be acted upon by God.
That is what we open ourselves to through the simple act of joining a church. We no longer belong to ourselves, but we belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God.
Many people who join the church do so with at least some idea that the church may help to make them a better person. Indeed, many members can tell you something they would like help with in their lives. Perhaps they want to stop smoking, or drinking, or gambling. Perhaps they want to stop cheating on their spouse or lying to their friends. Perhaps they want to stop quarreling, or judging, or gossiping. Most of us, I would venture, have some idea of the more obvious things that need attention in our lives.
But God is not content to stop with the obvious. Replacing bad habits with good habits is the beginning not the end of the road for the Christian. Indeed, the Christian walk can often get more rather than less challenging as time goes on. God carries us to new levels of faithfulness and service, putting us in situations that may take even more courage, more patience, or more love than we ever imagined at the outset. God is an outside force that seeks to do a tremendous thing with us, changing our direction, interests, gifts, and attitudes. We may fear these changes, and that fear may keep us from God. But if we allow ourselves to see these fears as road signs pointing the way to God, perhaps we can stop fighting against the inevitable.
C.S. Lewis writes of the transforming power of God in his book mere Christianity. "Imagine yourself a living house," Lewis writes. "God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps you can understand what [God] is doing. [God] is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently [God] starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is [God] up to? The explanation is that [God] is building quite a different house from the one you thought of--throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but [God] is building a palace. [God] intends to come and live in it Himself." (Macmillan Paperbacks, 1973, p. 174).
Not everyone wants to be knocked around by God. Indeed, many people would rather be left alone. Remember the rich man? He wanted to inherit eternal life, so Jesus told him to keep the commandments, to do the obvious. "All these I have kept since my youth," the young man replied, "what do I still lack?" (Matthew 19:20). Jesus, we are told, looked at him and loved him. "You lack one thing; go, sell what you own and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me." (Mark 10:21). When the rich man heard this he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions. He had imagined that God would make of him a decent little cottage, but God wanted a palace. God wanted it all.
Time and again we encounter this theme in Scripture. To encounter God, we are told, is a harsh and dreadful thing. We are lucky to be left alive and we are never left unchanged.
Jacob had his encounters with God. After cheating his brother Esau out of his birthright and his blessing, Jacob has a dream at Bethel of a ladder set up on earth, reaching into heaven. The angels of God were going up and down the ladder, and Jacob hears the word that God will be with him wherever he goes. It all sounds rather exciting, if you ask me, but when Jacob awoke from his dream he was filled with fear. Perhaps Jacob knew more about God than you and I suspect.
Fourteen years later, having worked for two wives and having lived in constant fear of his brother's wrath, Jacob returns home to the promised land only to meet God again, this time at Peniel. Here there was no ladder in a dream, but instead a man of God who came to wrestle with Jacob until daybreak. It was, by all accounts, a titanic struggle. Neither won, but neither lost. "When the man of God saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then the man of God said, 'Let me go, for the day is breaking,' But Jacob said, 'I will not let you go unless you bless me.' So the man of God said to him, 'What is your name?' And he said, 'Jacob.' Then the man of God said, 'You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with divine and human beings and have prevailed.'" (Genesis 32:25-28).
That's the way it is when we encounter the living God. We do not go away unchanged. We do not go away unharmed. Jacob was given a new name, Israel, and he was left limping for the rest of his life. But Jacob was thankful, for he had seen God face to face, and yet his life was preserved. (Genesis 32:30).
Mary stands out as an even more profound example of someone who had reason to fear being violated by God. "You will conceive in your womb and bear a son," the angel Gabriel announces to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. "You will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David." Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?" The angel said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you." (Luke 1:31-35).
Have you ever had the experience of walking down the street and having a shadow cross your path? It can be rather unnerving until you find out the cause. Indeed, it can be downright terrifying to have a shadow fall upon you for it can signal the approach of danger and the advent of violence. Quickly we turn around and look up to see who or what has crossed our path. Shadows are often not pleasurable things. They are the stuff of our fears. In ancient Greek there is not a single positive use of the word "shadow". It is rather used of negative things that obscure the true view, always the opposite of reality--unstable, fleeting, empty, vain. Even today, in Carl Jung's psychology, the word "shadow" is used to denote our fearful side. No wonder Mary had to be reassured by the angel that this shadow of the Most High God would be different. "Do not afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God." (Luke 1:30).
What a tremendous change this woman had in store for her. From virgin to pregnant, from obscurity to fame, from Nazareth to Jerusalem. Mary had every reason, like the rich young man, to be shocked and to turn away in grief. This was asking far more than any commandment found anywhere in Scripture. This was asking far more than God had any right by any human standard to ask. This was God once again asking for it all. And Mary said "Here am I, Lord; let it be with me according to your word." (Luke 1:38).
To join a church is to stand in the company of Mary. To join a church be overshadowed by the Spirit of God Most High. To join a church is to open ourselves to being changed, deep down, by the One who is our Advocate and Comforter.
On the third Sunday in Advent we light the rose colored candle in honor of Mary. It is a lightening of the mood, a visible reminder of the love that can be ours when we submit ourselves, like Mary, to the power and grace of God. Submission is not a comfortable position for 20th century North American Christians. Allowing ourselves to be overshadowed by anyone or anything is not a natural way for us to be. And yet Mary stands out as an example for us all.
Do not be afraid. Yes, the Lord may knock down your house as God transforms it into a palace. Yes, the Lord may violate the boundaries and assumptions you have created for your lives. Yes, the Lord may change you into new creations through water and the Spirit. But do not be afraid, for you have found favor with God.
Two Kinds of Kings
First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
December 24, 1993
Memory Verse: But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people." Luke 2:10
Today's Texts: Isaiah 9:2-7 and Matthew 2
Opening Prayer: Wonderful Counselor--counsel us. Mighty God--sanctify us. Everlasting Father--parent us. Prince of Peace--heal us. Come to us again this evening with the wonder of new life and new creation. If only for this one hour, help us to set aside the "hurry, hurry" and "busy, busy" of the season. Enable us to focus on you and the alternative you present. Give us the grace to contemplate your incarnation and to see your blessings. We ask this in the name of one whose birth we celebrate. Amen.
I recently read the following parody of Luke's Christmas story.
"And there were in the same country children keeping watch over their stockings by the fireplace. And, Lo! Santa Claus came upon them; and they were sore afraid. And Santa said unto them: 'Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which be to all people who can afford them. For unto you will be given great feasts of turkey, dressing and cake; and many presents; and this shall be a sign unto you, ye shall find the presents, wrapped in bright paper, lying beneath a tree adorned with tinsel, colored balls, and lights. And suddenly, there will be with you a multitude of relatives and friends, praising you and saying, 'Thank you so much, it was just what I wanted.' And it shall come to pass as the friends and relatives have gone away into their own homes, the parent shall say to one another, 'Darn it! What a mess to clean up! I'm tired, let's go to bed and pick it up tomorrow. Thank goodness, Christmas only comes once a year.' And they go with haste to their cold bed and find their desired rest."
Sound familiar? It is the Americana version of Christmas. And it is selling very well, thank you, especially in Japan. According to a recent newspaper report, there are more sightings of Santa in Tokyo this year than anywhere else in the world. Japan has fallen in love with Christmas, and they have learned to celebrate Christmas without any reference to Christ whatsoever. I wonder, if you will pardon the sarcasm, what gave them such an idea.
Finding ways to keep the Christ in Christmas has been a concern of many Christians for many years. As the stores push Christmas lights, Christmas decorations, and Christmas gifts earlier and earlier into the fall, I hear more and more complaints from Christians who have heretofore been silent. Deep down most of us sitting here tonight know that there must be something more, something significant, something powerful about the celebration of Christmas for this holy day to have survived.
Perhaps that's why we're here. Perhaps we're a bit tired of our culture's vain attempts to find meaning and happiness in everything but the God who came to us in Jesus Christ. Perhaps we have grown weary of places and people who seem embarrassed to search out the depths of the Spirit, the Comforter promised to us by Jesus of Nazareth. Perhaps we want to make a new start for a new year, addressing our fears with the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit. For those who share this heartfelt spirit, I have good news of great joy for all the people. You're in the right place. Unto us is born a child with the authority to establish justice, to uphold righteousness, and to love mercy. Unto us is born a child with the power to scatter the proud, to lift up the lowly, and to fill the hungry with good things. Unto us is born a child with a light the world has never seen before, replacing the shadow of death with the gift of life.
What a contrast between the Americana version of Christmas, marketed around the world as good business sense, and the Biblical version of Christmas as told to us tonight in the second chapter of Matthew. Three wise men came from the east and presented themselves, as visiting heads of state, to King Herod who ruled with force and harshness over Galilee. "Where is the child who has been born king of Jews? For we have observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." (Matthew 2:2)
"When King Herod heard this he was frightened." After all, there cannot be two kings. Either people will hate one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. (Luke 16:13b) If a new king has been born in Israel, then the old king's days are numbered.
"When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men." (Matthew 2:16)
No wonder we prefer the Americana version of Christmas. It's so easy and nice. It's so sugar coated and soft. It's so pleasant and charming. No disturbing images. No troubling impressions. Certainly no talk about mass murder of innocent children by a frightened king who could not cope with any threat, real or imagined, to his power and position.
What a stark contrast between King Herod and King Jesus. One frantically grasping and striving for power; the other lying in a manger, with the peace of his nativity. One impatiently demanding and insisting on his rights as king; the other resting in bands of cloth, waiting for the fullness of time. One desperately seeking to cling to life; the other graciously seeking to give life. And give it he would. Jesus Christ, although in the form of God, emptying himself to be born in human likeness; humbling himself to the point of death, even death on a cross.
We worship tonight a king, who rules not through fear and intimidation but through faith and persuasion. Look upon this child and believe. Allow your hearts to be touched by him. Allow your minds to be transformed by him. Allow your lives to be shaped by him. This is the drama of the nativity.
It is also the drama of Holy Communion and the Ceremony of Lights. These outward and visible signs of an inward and spiritual grace serve tonight not only as reminders but as reenactments of God's love. From the Christ candle we light our candles, even as our lives can channel the life of Christ. From the bread and cup we eat and drink, even as Christ can nourish us with his body and blood. Paul writes, "For all who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves." (1 Corinthians 11:29)
Do you discern the body of Christ in this sanctuary tonight? It lies in the manger. It shines from the advent wreath. It soars to the organ. It sits next to you and me. The matter of discerning the body has more to do with our attitudes than with any magic words uttered from the communion table. And it all goes back to whether we worship King Herod or King Jesus.
The problem in Corinth was that people were sharing in the sacrament of holy communion, a principal reminder of King Jesus, but they were acting like followers of King Herod. When they got together as a church they divided in factions and competed against one another. When it came time to eat of the bread and wine, some would eat and drink so much as to leave others hungry. The whole scene is of unbridled appetites, immediate gratification, and selfish concern. "So then, my brothers and sisters," Paul concludes, "when you come together to eat, wait for one another." (1 Corinthians 11:33).
North Americans are not very good at waiting. Perhaps that's why God puts so much of it into our lives this time of year. Children wait anxiously for the moment presents can be opened. Parents wait anxiously and impatiently in long lines at traffic lights and checkout counters. Everyone waits for someone, especially this time of year, and the longer we wait the more fretful and the more demanding we become.
Perhaps these times of waiting are designed to give us time to look at ourselves, who we are, and what we find important. Perhaps they are times for confession and renewal. Perhaps they are times for sorting out priorities, discerning our citizenship and commitments.
This past summer Rev. Beemer along with others from this church attended the General Synod meeting of the United Church of Christ in St. Louis. One of their concerns was the language being used in the new hymnal under development for our denomination. After lengthy and considered debate it was decided that the word "Lord" should be retained in the new hymnal. The issue, for some, was the masculine imagery of the word, going back to the lords and ladies of merry old England. But the issue, for others, was the importance of having a word that says something about the authority and supremacy of God. Some do not like a God with overarching authority, but a larger majority prevailed. By action of General Synod, the word "Lord" will appear in our new hymnals.
I, for one, am thankful for the wisdom of the deliberative process in St. Louis. 2,000 years ago Christians were fed to the lions for confessing that Jesus was Lord. A common greeting when one person met another person on the street, like "Hello! How are you?" for us North Americans, was "Caesar is Lord." He was emperor and ruler and ultimate and divine. This caused a problem for Christians. As they met people on the street, they would be greeted with the words, "Caesar is Lord" only to respond, "No, Jesus is Lord." For this they would be incarcerated, tried, convicted, and executed as seditious discontents.
Who is Lord for you? Is it King Herod, with his frightened attempt to rule through fear and intimidation? Or is it King Jesus, with his peaceful attempt to rule through faith and inspiration? Tonight, Jesus Christ quietly enters the world--a King born in a manger. In his birth, life, and death he teaches us about love, joy, peace, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. He models for us the fruit and power of the Spirit. He establishes himself as Lord, from the time of his birth to this very night almost 2,000 years later.
On this Christmas Eve we are asked to search ourselves and to rededicate ourselves to the cause of Christ. For you who are faithful in the habit of coming to this church, we will grow together in the coming year as we deepen our faith and strengthen our service. We will learn to submit our lives to Christ in order to be free. We will learn to offer our lives to one another in order to be whole. We will learn to transform our lives through faith in order to be fit for the reign of God. Amen
The Fear of Death
First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
December 26, 1993
Memory Verse: But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people." Luke 2:10
Today's Texts: Exodus 3:1-6 and Luke 2:8-20
Opening Prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, we celebrate in this season of Christmas your birth among mortals such as us. We don't know why you did what you did, but you did, and we are thankful. To think that you would love us so much as to share our common lot leaves us speechless. To think that you would set us free from sin and death leaves us dumb-founded. Bless this time of preaching with the power of your Spirit. Fill our hearts not only with gratitude but with newness of life. Work among us for peace, for justice, and for love. Amen.
For those of you who have not been with us during the past few weeks, next Sunday will be the last Sunday in a five-part series on fear. We were led to this topic by the stories of Jesus' Advent and Nativity.
This morning we come to the shepherds, greeted by an angel as they were keeping watch over their flock by night. Once again we hear of fear, for they were startled, terrified, and panic stricken by the approach of an angel. They feared for their very lives, as the glory of the Lord shone around them. Perhaps they assumed that something terrible was about to happen. Perhaps they thought they had already died. But the angel quickly sought to reassure them with those now familiar words: "Do not be afraid, for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord."
What is it about encountering the living God that can strike fear in the hearts of men and women? Perhaps it's just a matter of shock. After all, we don't usually expect to stand face to face with an angel of God. In the movie It's a Wonderful Life Clarence Oddbody, the guardian angel of George Bailey, asks George if he believes in angels. When George answers yes, he guesses so, Clarence responds, "Then why look so surprised when you see one?"
It's a good question, that apparently goes back in time far beyond the modern era. Even the ancients could be surprised by God. The larger fear, however, was not just of being surprised by God but of being caught by God. Caught, if you will, with our hand in the cookie jar. There is something terrible about the thought of standing face to face with the Creator of the universe and the Promulgator of the law. This is someone who knows us better than we know ourselves; someone who can account for every lie and every half-truth, our every harsh word and every vicious thought, our every evil deed and every forgotten kindness. This is someone who never forgets, from the beginning to the end of our days.
No wonder Moses was afraid to go any closer. He had already killed one man, an Egyptian official, and who knows what other things may have been upon his conscience when that angel of the Lord appeared to him in the wilderness. It was a burning bush with the voice of God, "Moses, Moses!" And Moses said, "Here I am." Then God said, "Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground." And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God.
I wonder how it made God feel to fill people with so much fear and trembling. I wonder if God felt lonely? I wonder if God felt satisfied? I wonder if God felt proud of the awesome image that surrounded the divine presence and the company of heaven? To listen to the prophets of God, one quickly learns that all was not well. God's covenant, meant to bless life with goodness, instead served only to segregate people into saints and sinners. God's law, meant to bless life with righteousness, instead served only to condemn people for their shortcomings. God, the holy one of Israel, had an image problem, becoming more and more isolated and unavailable to people.
This was not the design of God. And in the person of Jesus Christ, God acted decisively to start the pendulum swinging in a new direction.
The story is told of a kind, decent, mostly good man, generous to his family, upright in his dealings with other people, but who could never bring himself to believe all that incarnation stuff which the churches proclaim at Christmas time. It didn't make sense to him and he was too honest to pretend otherwise. He just couldn't swallow the Jesus story about God coming to earth as a man.
One Christmas he told his wife and children, "I'm truly sorry to distress you, but I'm not going to church with you this Christmas Eve." He said he'd feel like a hypocrite, that he'd much rather stay at home, but that he would wait up for them. And so he stayed home and they went to the midnight service.
Shortly after the family drove away in the car, snow began to fall. He went to the window to watch the flurries getting heavier and heavier, and then went back to his fireside chair, and began to read his newspaper. Minutes later he was startled by a thudding sound, then another, and then another, sort of a thump or a thud. At first he thought someone must be throwing snowballs against his living room windows. But when he went to the front door to investigate, he found instead a flock of birds, huddled miserably in the snow. They'd been caught in the storm, and in a desperate search for shelter they had tried to fly through his windows.
Well, he couldn't let the poor creatures lie there and freeze, so he remembered the barn where his children stabled their pony. That would provide a warm shelter if he could get the birds into it. Hurriedly, he put on his coat and boots and tramped through the deepening snow to the barn. He opened the door wide and turned on a light. But the birds would not come in. He figured food would entice them, so he hurried back into the house, fetched bread crumbs, sprinkled them on the snow, making a trail to the yellow lighted wide-open doorway of the stable. But, to his dismay, the birds ignored the bread crumbs and continued to flop around rather helplessly in the snow.
He tried catching them, he tried shooing them into the barn by walking around them and waving his arms. But the commotion only served to scatter them in every direction except into the warm, lighted barn. Then he realized that they were afraid of him. He resigned himself, "The problem must be me. I am just a strange and terrifying creature to these birds. If only I could think of some way to let them know that I'm not trying to hurt them, that they can trust me, and that I want to help them. But how?" Any move that he made tended to frighten the birds and confuse them. They just would not be led or shooed, because they feared him.
"If only I could be a bird," he thought to himself, "and fly with them and speak their language. Then I could tell them not to be afraid. Then I could show them the way to the safe, warm barn. But I would have to be one of them so they could see, and hear, and understand."
At that moment the church bells began to ring. The sound reached his ears above the sounds of the wind, and he stood their listening to the bells, listening to the bells heralding the glad tidings of our Savior's birth, and he sank to his knees in the snow.
2,000 years ago God reached that same conclusion. "I must be a strange and terrifying creature to these people," God thought. "If only I could think of some way to let them know that I'm not trying to hurt them, that they can trust me, and that I want to help them. But how?" And so God came among us, taking the form of a man, walking with us and speaking our language, showing us the way to go home.
Unfortunately, 2,000 years later our secular society has reached the conclusion that this supreme sacrifice of the one, true God is little more than a cute little story to be presented annually in Christmas pageants, television specials, and holiday movies. We see the drama but we miss the message. We enjoy the production but we ignore the product. We package the myth but we trivialize the man.
Until and unless, of course, we come face to face with our own mortality. Death has a way of getting us to ask the hard questions of life, and our attitude towards death reveals much about our understanding of God. Do you fear death? Do not misunderstand the question. I'm not talking about whether you have a sense of loss at the prospect of leaving so much behind. There is no way to approach death without a sense of loss; anyone who has ever moved very far from one home to another knows what I mean. There are always mixed emotions when it comes time to move on. But our fear of death is something different, and it can be used by God to bring us closer to him through the person of Jesus Christ.
Paul writes extensively in his letters about death, and life, and the confidence of the gospel. Paul writes as one who has seen the living God in the person of Jesus Christ. It was a life transforming experience for Paul, who first heard the voice of Jesus on the road to Damascus. From the persecutor named Saul to the promoter named Paul, this man became an almost overnight sensation. The Christians could not believe what had happened. From an agent of death, Paul became a herald of the good news of eternal life.
"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:38f).
"But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died. For since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ." (1 Corinthians 15:20-22)
"We know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus, and will bring us with you into his presence. Yes, everything is for your sake, so that grace, as it extends to more and more people, may increase thanksgiving to the glory of God." (2 Corinthians 4:14f).
Each of us fears death, some of us more and some of us less, and it is that fear that drove the apostle Paul to faith. Indeed, it is the fear of death that lies at the root of all the other fears. As infants our primordial fear is the fear of abandonment, for to be abandoned is to die. Our fear of disgrace stems from the possibility that we might lose the sense of community that we need for our survival. Our fear of violation and change is the fear that life as we know it will be taken from us, and that we will not survive the change. With our God given survival instinct, our tenacious drive to protect and preserve life, we cling to and cherish the familiarity of our time on earth.
But our fear of death can keep us away from God just as easily as it can bring us closer to God in Jesus Christ. When we conceive of God only as a harsh and punitive judge, when we conceive of God like those little birds conceived of the man as large, strange and confusing, we may find it easier to run from God or to deny God altogether than to recognize God as one who seeks to point the way to shelter, warmth and life.
No wonder the shepherds were afraid--they had not yet heard the good news that Jesus was born to proclaim. When we imagine death as the final reckoning, as a remembering of every failing and fault of all our days on earth, death is certainly to be feared, for none of us has lived an entirely holy life. But when we know God as one who proclaims from the cross, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," when we know God as one who remembers our rights as well as our wrongs, and who cherishes us inspite of it all, when we know God as one who welcomes us to the great banquet of heaven along with those who have gone before, when we know God as the one who vanquished sin and death once and for all in the resurrection of Jesus, our fears are calmed and we--like Paul--can find peace.
It is in this peace that we rest. We rest from the fears that drive us, that trouble and torment us, that hound and badger and cajole us. We rest. We rest from our frantic attempts to outrun our fears, to be good enough, to be acceptable, to be invulnerable and controlled enough, to survive. We don't have to run. None us is going to get out of this place alive. But we are known, and we are loved completely, so its okay. Our God has brought light into the darkness, our God has conquered sin and death, our God will welcome us into a mystery that is beyond our knowing. This is the good news that Jesus was born to tell us. This is the good news that Jesus died to show us. This is the good news that we celebrate as we worship here today.
Amen.
Perfect Love Casts Out Fear
First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
January 2, 1994
Memory Verse: But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people." Luke 2:10
Today's Texts: Isaiah 65:17-25 and 1 John 4:7-21
Opening Prayer: Loving God, Heavenly Father, Wisdom of the Ages, surround us with the knowledge of your love and grace. Give us the eyes to see and the ears to hear your word. Sweep over this place with your Spirit, even as you swept over the face of the waters at the beginning of creation. You who have the power to bring order out of chaos and life out of death, speak to us now a word of hope. You who know how to heal the body and the sin-sick soul, speak to us now a word of love. Take from us our fears, and give us peace. We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ our Risen Savior. Amen.
I love the soaring aspiration and magnificent vision of the prophet called Isaiah.
Behold, "I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. Be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy and its people as a delight. I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and delight in my people; no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress. (My people) shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit. They shall not labor in vain, or bear children for calamity. Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking I will hear. They shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord " (Isaiah 65:17-25, selections)
Something there is in each of us that wants life to be perfect. On the one hand, we know it will never measure up to our wildest dreams. But on the other hand, most of us think it ought to and we hold on to the hope that if we can just get past today's hurdle--whatever that may be--tomorrow will certainly be better. If we can just get past Christmas and the holidays, life will settle down to a more manageable pace. If we can just finish this particular project, life will become less stressful and more doable. If we can just hang in there long enough, the heavens will finally break open and life will be good.
Believe me, I know the feeling. For those who have not discovered this about me by now, I confess to being something of a perfectionist. I want every newsletter to read without typos and to print without blemish. I want every sermon to grip every soul, every Sunday, with the truth of the gospel. I want every decision to be right and every venture to succeed. I want our computers to be state of the art, our payrolls to be accurate, and our floors to shine. I want every first-time visitor to join this church and to make at least one new friend within six months. Let's face it: I want it all. I want this church to be the best church that has ever been or will ever be. And there is a part of me that thinks we can actually do it.
These perfectionist tendencies are not easily left at the office. I also take them home, and to some extent share them with my wife. We have to leave our house especially clean, for example, whenever we leave on vacation. Quite apart from the good feeling it gives us to walk into a clean house after being away, there is also the recognition that one can never be certain of returning from a trip. And what will people think if they have to come in, only to find a mess?
In spite of my tendency to leave my shoes and socks wherever I take them off in the house, I am absolutely certain that life was not meant to be messy. It was meant to be ship-shape, tip-top, and to run like a well-oiled machine. It was meant to be clean, sweet-smelling, and perfect. It was meant to be like the vision of Isaiah, the way God created things in the very beginning.
But then someone turns around and bites the apple. Enter reality. Despite every effort to the contrary, things still go awry. Some call it Murphy's Law: whatever can go wrong will go wrong. Others call it original sin. Still others call it bad luck. The fact is that time after time, day after day, we are struck by the difficulty of making life conform to our expectations. Life has a way of squishing away from our grasp, like a ripe banana or a slippery bar of soap.
That is life as we know it, even for Christians. There are those who preach a prosperity gospel, but they are wrong. Becoming a Christian does not put an impenetrable wall of protection around you and your loved ones. Becoming a Christian does not promise to make life easy, rich, and full. Becoming a Christian does not guarantee success and respectability and fame and fortune. I once had a church member who received a cardboard key in the mail from Rev. Ike. "Hold the key while praying," she was told, "and send me money. You will receive 10 times whatever you send me." It does not work that way.
But there is something to be said for becoming a Christian. Today's New Testament lesson puts it this way:
"So we have known and believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.... There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because God first loved us." (1 John 4:16, 18f)
"Perfect love casts out fear." That is the promise of the gospel. The Greek word for "cast out" literally translates to "throw away" or to "throw out". In one tense it can mean to banish completely, to throw away once and for all time. John knows how to use this tense, the gnomic and futuristic aorist. For example, in his gospel John writes these words of Jesus, "Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned." (John 15:6). Now to cut off a branch, and to burn it in a fire, is to throw away completely, irrevocably, and finally.
But when it comes to fear, John uses the simple present indicative. Perfect love throws away fear, perhaps in much the same way that we throw out the garbage or the first ball at a baseball game. Given the realities of life as we know them, John conjugated the verb correctly. Perfect love casts out fear, day by day, moment by moment, as we open ourselves in those fearful moments to the love of God in Jesus Christ.
I like the analogy to throwing out the garbage and getting one's house clean. It is such a good feeling to get things cleaned up, but we all know that it will only be a matter of time before we will have to do it all over again. Life is like that. Life is a messy business. No matter how perfect we make things today, no matter how neat and tidy we arrange our affairs, no matter how clean a bill of health we receive from our doctor, tomorrow is promised to no one and we can easily find ourselves once again in the clutches of fear. Who among us has not known confusion, conflict, insecurity, anxiety, temptation, guilt, anger, doubt, alienation, illness, pride, sin, despair, or even death? These things are common to us all. They represent the very stuff of life. They cannot be avoided. They cannot be ignored.
Perhaps this is part of the blessing for this church in the past two years, years that have been marked by change. As I have listened to people talk about these years, I am aware that they have certainly not been the easiest of times. There are some who have been troubled by the way the ministerial staff treated them, and others who have been troubled by the way the ministerial staff was treated. There are some who found themselves in the middle of many a conflict and many a doubt, and others who found themselves puzzled to learn that there were any troubles whatsoever. There are some who lost a sense of the church as a place they wanted to be, and others who lost a sense of themselves as Christian persons.
This church has known something about fear and hard times and negative emotions. But before we move on too quickly from these days of change, I would suggest we pause to give thanks. God has used this time to teach us about faith, hope, and love. God has used this time to bring us new conviction and new resolve. God has used this time to shatter our illusions and to toughen our leadership. We would not be who we are today if we had not gone through what we went through yesterday, last month, and last year.
God uses hard times to divine advantage. Indeed, we cannot offer strong, Christian leadership without the disillusionment of the past two years. The word "disillusionment" literally means to have one's illusions cast out or thrown away. The illusion that all is well, when, in fact, all is not well. The illusion that leaders are perfect, when, in fact, no one is perfect. The illusion that troubles cannot happen here, when, in fact, troubles can always happen here. Shattering these illusions is a prerequisite to the kind of tough, preeminent leadership I envision for this church. Indeed, I believe God has been working here to get us ready for one other.
That is the way of God. God works with us and through us, especially during the hard times of life. God does not put a protective shield around us, God does not promise to make life a bowl of cherries, and there is no truth in the prosperity gospel. But God does stand ready, day after day, to cast out fear. In Jesus Christ God came to us, sharing our common lot, to save us from aimlessness and sin. We are reminded of this truth every time we break bread together at the table of our Lord.
There was a bag lady, a homeless and destitute woman, who sat everyday in one particular spot selling roses to those who passed by. The perpetual smile on her face perplexed those who passed by, as her situation was as difficult as anyone could imagine. "Where does that smile come from," she was asked? "The Bible says, 'And it shall come to pass,'" she responded, "not 'And it shall come to stay.'"
Wisdom from the entryways and gutters of life. "The Bible says, 'And it shall come to pass,'" she responded, "not 'And it shall come to stay.'" Think back, if you will, to a difficult time in your life, a day when you felt overwhelmed and perplexed by trouble. Perhaps the problem was here at church, or maybe at home, or maybe inside yourself. Perhaps the problem was with money, or with another person, or with the law. Perhaps the problem was with an addiction, or a phobia, or a temptation. Don't think about the problem you have right now; think back to a problem that lies in the past. Think back to a hurdle you have jumped, think back to a pit you have managed to crawl out of and away from. Think back, and give thanks.
"The Bible says, 'And it shall come to pass,' not 'And it shall come to stay.'" "God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.... There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear." (1 John 4:16b, 18a). Day after day, week after week, year after year, God comes to us in the person of Jesus Christ to minister to our souls. The fact that we are here this morning is not a matter of course, it is a miracle. God has been with us through danger, both real and imagined. God has been with us through disappointment, both here and in other areas of life. God has been with us through dark times, both public and private.
John Baille writes, "Quite evidently there are many others who have encountered the very same occurrences as have been to us revelatory of the presence of God, but who have entirely failed to find in them any such deeper significance. Only a few who saw and heard all that transpired in Galilee and Jerusalem, only a few of those who witnessed our Lord's Crucifixion, were alive to the presence of God in these things. They were nothing to those who passed by. However cynical it may have been in intention, there is nothing extravagant in Anatole France's story of Pontius Pilate's meeting in his old age with a friend of his early days in Judaea, who asked him if he remembered a young man called Jesus, a native of Nazareth who was crucified for some crime or other, and of Pilate's knitting his brows for a few moments before replying, 'Jesus? Jesus of Nazareth? No, I don't remember.'" (The Sense of the Presence of God, Scribners, 1962).
Don't let that happen to you. Don't overlook or explain away the power of God in life. Why do you think Paul counsels the Phillippians with the words: "Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things...and the God of peace will be with you." (Phillippians 4:98f). God is in these things. God can drive away the dark night of fear through the power of perfect love.
"We love because God first loved us." (1 John 4:19). That is the beginning and end of the Christian faith. "Indeed, God proves his love for us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us." (Romans 5:8). There is no problem that can separate from the love of God in Jesus Christ. There is no fear that can loom too large for God. There is no trouble deep enough, no problem large enough, that God will not walk through it with us.
It is for this companionship, this comfort, and this freedom that we come to Jesus Christ. Do not consider God a disappointment just because the garbage piles up again, day after day, and week after week. Life is like that. But God always stands ready to throw out the garbage and start over with a clean slate and a fresh canvass. God always stands ready to cast out fear whether of abandonment, disgrace, violation, or death. God always stands ready to love through the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ. Thanks be to God. Amen.