Saints and the Golden Rule (All Saints' Day Sermon)

 “Saints and the Golden Rule”

Isaiah 40:6-11 and Luke 6:20-31

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

10/23/11

 

⁶ A voice says, “Cry out!”
    And I said, “What shall I cry?”
All flesh is grass;
    their constancy is like the flower of the field.
⁷ The grass withers; the flower fades,
    [[when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
    surely the people are grass.
⁸ The grass withers; the flower fades,]] 
    but the word of our God will stand forever.
⁹ Get you up to a high mountain,
    O Zion, herald of good news; 
lift up your voice with strength,
    O Jerusalem, herald of good news; 
    lift it up, do not fear;
say to the cities of Judah,
    “Here is your God!”
¹⁰ See, the Lord God comes with might,
    and his arm rules for him;
his reward is with him
    and his recompense before him.
¹¹ He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
    he will gather the lambs in his arms
and carry them in his bosom
    and gently lead the mother sheep.

(Isaiah 40:6-11 NRSV)

 

 

²⁰ Then he looked up at his disciples and said:

“Blessed are you who are poor,
    for yours is the kingdom of God.
²¹ “Blessed are you who are hungry now,
    for you will be filled.
“Blessed are you who weep now,
    for you will laugh.

²² “Blessed are you when people hate you and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. ²³ Rejoice on that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven, for that is how their ancestors treated the prophets.

²⁴ “But woe to you who are rich,
    for you have received your consolation.
²⁵ “Woe to you who are full now,
    for you will be hungry.
“Woe to you who are laughing now,
    for you will mourn and weep.

²⁶ “Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets.

²⁷ “But I say to you who are listening: Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; ²⁸ bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you. ²⁹ If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. ³⁰ Give to everyone who asks of you, and if anyone takes away what is yours, do not ask for it back again. ³¹ Do to others as you would have them do to you. (Luke 6:20-31 NRSV)

 

 

         When we hear of the Beatitudes, many of us probably think first of the Sermon on the Mount, Matthew’s version of Jesus’ most famous sermon. High and lifted up, Jesus begins with spiritualized blessings. “Blessed are the poor in spirit…Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…Blessed are the meek…Blessed are the merciful…” and so on. As the three-chapter sermon continues, Jesus does get very earthy and practical, but he begins with those inner conditions and postures of blessedness that make everything that follows possible. 

By contrast, Luke’s version of the Beatitudes happens on “a level place,” with everyone on equal footing. And Luke’s conditions of blessedness are stark and discomforting. Blessed are the poor. Blessed are the hungry. Blessed are those who weep. Blessed are you when people hate…exclude…and revile you. The implication is that things are going to get better for those folks.

Then, stirring the pot even further, Jesus turns the tables and pronounces Woes on everyone who is, right now, “rich…full…[and] laughing.” You’ve had your fun. Prepare to suffer.

         In Luke, the Good News doesn’t sound all that good, does it? At least not for everyone. And wasn’t even Jesus accused of indulgent eating and drinking with tax collectors and sinners? It seems to me that when Jesus showed a lack of patience, it was with consumption that was so mindless and selfish that those who enjoyed some version of the good life did so without regard for the harm it caused to others and to the earth.

The trouble is that it’s embarrassingly easy to get so caught up in enjoying ourselves that we begin to exploit whoever and whatever isn’t me or us. And when that reaches the point of causing us to mistake selfish enjoyment for divine blessing, we ignore God’s call to become blessings to others, especially to those in need. That, it seems to me, is what Jesus and Luke are talking about.

Now, while there’s an awful lot more to unpack between verses 20 and 30, verse 31 sums it all up in the very simple and memorable statement we call the golden rule. Do to others as you would have them do to you. All of the world’s major religions teach some version of this proverb. And if there’s a reason that these spiritual traditions continue to survive, one reason may be that, along the way, enough adherents to those traditions have taken the golden rule seriously. Even when many other followers and leaders within a golden-rule tradition wander into unfaithfulness, when they capitulate to the violence-embracing woes of fundamentalism, nationalism, militarism, and so on, the spirit and vigor of true blessedness continue to hold things together. Humility, mutuality, compassion, and love-driven justice can be trusted when bullets and bank accounts fail us.

If that sounds like foolishness, it probably is. “But,” as Paul tells the Corinthians, “²⁷God chose what the world considers foolish to shame the wise. God chose what the world considers weak to shame the strong. ²⁸ And God chose what the world considers low-class and low-life—what is considered to be nothing—to reduce what is considered to be something to nothing.” (1Cor. 1:27-28 CEB)

Through the prophets, Jesus, Paul, and others, God holds us to an entirely different standard of wisdom, strength, and worth. And during those times when we, too, hold ourselves to that higher standard, we discover how God’s grace keeps outlasting everything that human selfishness and fear keep trying to revere and protect. Indeed, nations, empires, and celebrities come and go, “but,” as Isaiah says, “the word of our God will stand forever.” (Isaiah 40:8 NRSV)

In the long run, it’s the little things that last. It’s the daily gestures of love, kindness, respect, faithfulness, and good humor that make the world better. It’s not armies and affluence that make nations great and livable. It’s the people’s blessedness. It’s their commitment to the pathway of holiness Jesus teaches and which he demonstrates in his living.

When I prepare for a memorial service, I like to sit down with the family of the person who has died and just listen. I want to hear the stories that are most important to them because that’s how they will remember their loved one. And those stories always include cherished memories of laughter, kindnesses, and gratitude.

Having said that, I’m always aware that reality also includes more than enough heartache. Sometimes I even know of specific ways that the person we remember caused pain for the people that loved them. It always seems to me, though, that while all of us hurt the people we love, the things we do to build up and encourage, the things we do to “bless” tend to redeem the things we do to cause “woe.”

Twenty-six years of pastoral ministry has taught me that people are remembered most fondly and most enduringly for the gestures that brought true and lasting blessedness to others—the humility we had the wisdom to embody, the compassion we had the strength to offer, the joy we had the freedom to share, the redeeming justice we had the courage to do. All of that blessedness is the fruit of the simple, Christlike act of doing to others as we would have them do to us. And nothing we can achieve, and nothing we can own can hold a candle to that kind of faithfulness.

As we remember, give thanks to God, and light candles for the saints whom we have lost, let’s remember the ways in which they modeled Christlike love to us, the ways in which they, on their best days, treated us as we would want to be treated—and as we, on our best days, want to treat others.

The Within-Us-And-Among-Us Kingdom (Sermon)

 “The Within Us and Among Us Kingdom”

Psalm 27:7-14 and Luke 18:1-8

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

10/23/22

 

⁷ Lord, listen to my voice when I cry out—
    have mercy on me and answer me!
⁸ Come, my heart says, seek God’s face. 
    Lord, I do seek your face!
⁹ Please don’t hide it from me!
    Don’t push your servant aside angrily—
        you have been my help!
    God who saves me,
        don’t neglect me!
        Don’t leave me all alone!
¹⁰ Even if my father and mother left me all alone,
    the Lord would take me in.
¹¹ Lord, teach me your way;
    because of my opponents, lead me on a good path.
¹² Don’t give me over to the desires of my enemies,
    because false witnesses and violent accusers
    have taken their stand against me.
¹³ But I have sure faith
    that I will experience the Lord’s goodness
    in the land of the living!

¹⁴ Hope in the Lord!
    Be strong! Let your heart take courage!
        Hope in the Lord!

 (Psalm 27:7-14 – CEB)   

 

It feels paradoxical to me, but Luke’s Jesus often says things that seem inconsistent with what Jesus says and does in the broader New Testament witness. In Luke 17, for example, Jesus talks about “fire and sulfur” raining down from the heavens. That’s a favorite passage for those who like to use scripture as a horror reel to scare people into embracing absolutes.

Then, on the heels of those unnerving words, chapter 18 begins this way:

 

Jesus was telling them a parable about their need to pray continuously and not to be discouraged. 2He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor respected people. 3In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him, asking, ‘Give me justice in this case against my adversary.’ 4For a while he refused but finally said to himself, I don’t fear God or respect people, 5but I will give this widow justice because she keeps bothering me. Otherwise, there will be no end to her coming here and embarrassing me.” 6The Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. 7Won’t God provide justice to his chosen people who cry out to him day and night? Will he be slow to help them? 8I tell you, he will give them justice quickly. But when the Human One comes, will he find faithfulness on earth?” (Luke 8:1-8 – CEB)

 

         “A parable about their need to pray continually and not to be discouraged.”

Luke wrote his gospel around the time Rome conquered Jerusalem and destroyed the temple in 70AD. For the young church, it probably felt like heaven was raining down fire and sulfur. Luke’s point, though, is that if fire and sulfur do rain down, it’s always from violent power and its idols. Not from God.

         Let’s remember something else. In the midst of all those upsetting words in chapter 17 lies a little gem of hope. In verse 20, the Pharisees ask Jesus when God’s kingdom was coming, and Jesus tells them that God’s realm isn’t like the kingdoms of Israel or Rome. “Don’t you see,” says Jesus. “God’s kingdom is already among you.” The word “among” may also be translated “within.” So, the realm of God is already among us because it’s always within each of us.

         To pray continuously, then, is to do more than ask God for material things, or for assurances or protection. Through prayer, we engage and inhabit the within-us-and-among-us realm of God. Jesus and Luke invite us to see that external realities cannot threaten the presence of God’s realm. Neither fire nor sulfur nor some “unjust judge” can remove God’s holiness from us. And while suffering will always be a part of this life, nothing can remove God or God’s help from us.

         There are two things for us to highlight in all of this. First, we live in our own scary context. For many of us, the world feels in danger of crumbling like ancient Jerusalem. In our own culture, the political square designed to offer leaders with differing opinions an arena for debate, understanding, and compromise has become a battlefield for adversaries in a zero-sum “war.” Increasingly, we hear and read about members of one side not simply disagreeing with members of another side, but pummeling each other with insults and referring to them as, quite literally, “the enemy.” What way forward is there when our actual neighbors cease to be objects of Christlike love and become foes to vanquish?

         Into realities that test our courage Jesus says, Keep praying. Don’t get discouraged. Pray for the world, the earth, the nations, for all whose needs are greater than their means. Pray for yourselves, your neighbors, and especially for your enemies.

Now yes, prayer includes spilling out to God shouts of joy and cries of sorrow. And, as a language to learn and a discipline to practice, prayer is also the path of intimacy with God. That means prayer includes wordless silence, waiting patiently and expectantly, opening ourselves to the presence of God so that we might know God’s voice in our own lives—especially when the world seems to be crashing down around us. That means that prayer equips us to live in a scary world encouraged by faith, hope, and love.

That brings us to the second thing. Four times in his parable about the persistent widow, Jesus uses the word justice. And the unresponsive judge is called “unjust”—a label specifically defined as having neither fear of God nor respect for people. Jesus is clearly linking prayer and justice.

Years ago, I talked with someone who expressed deep irritation with the use of the word justice when it came up in sermons or during the liturgy. They said that “justice and all that it implies” shouldn’t be a part of the religious conversation, and especially not in worship.

I don’t remember all the details of the conversation, but I remember feeling bewildered. If the Church is the body of Christ, how can justice not hold a central place in our practice, prayer, and worship? Didn’t Jesus eat with the most despised and care for the most vulnerable? Didn’t he send his disciples to cure the sick, feed the hungry, and visit those in prison? Didn’t he teach us to pray “thy will be done on earth”? And how can we read the Beatitudes and not hear Jesus calling us to do justice so that we are signs of God’s blessedness, of God’s world-restoring grace? Is a congregation that avoids “justice and all that it implies,” really the Church?

Here’s the thing, though: Justice and prayer must inform each other. When we don’t connect the two, the only justice we’re likely to practice is retributive justice—punishing wrong-doers and getting even with enemies. And the prayers we pray are likely to focus only on selfish wants, needs, and fears. Even when Jesus sharply challenges the religious leaders, he does so with the prayerful intent of restoring them to faithfulness, because if they experience redemption—if they experience the presence of the within-us-and-among-us-kingdom—then they, as leaders, will welcome others into the blessing. That makes justice synonymous with the “faithfulness” that the Human One seeks.

Richard Rohr calls the life of that kind of dynamic prayer contemplation. “The contemplative,” says Rohr, “responds to the divine in everyone. God wills the care of the poor…; so, therefore, must the true contemplative. God wills the end of oppressors who stand with [their] heel in the neck of the weak; so, therefore, does the true contemplative…The…truly spiritual person, [the truly prayerful person]…insist[s] on justice…”¹

         I think Jesus wants us to see that the widow in his parable hounds the unjustjudge because that woman knows that somewhere within the judge’s ego-encrusted heart lies the holiness of God’s image. And eventually, even if for selfish reasons only, the judge will relent and do the just and good thing for the woman. And maybe tending to her will be good for him because the suffering of one means the suffering of all; and the exaltation of one who suffers means the exaltation of all. Life on this planet is simply too interconnected for that not to be true.

         Another bit of good news Jesus makes clear in this parable is that God is in no way like that judge. Praying to God, praying with God, praying in God means engaging the very Source of proactive justice, mercy, and love. That very conviction allows the psalmist to declare that, no matter what, even if his parents abandon him, he “will experience the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living!” (Ps. 27:13)

         So, yes, our times are troubling and challenging. They remind us of Jesus saying that because of him, fathers and sons, and mothers and daughters will pit themselves against each other. (Luke 12:53)

Nonetheless, the kingdom of God is within us and among us. And through the gift of prayer, we inhabit that kingdom.

We receive its strength and guidance.

We become agents of God’s justice and shalom.

And through Christ, we become Christ to one another. That is God’s promise and our true and lasting hope—even in times like these.

 

¹https://email.cac.org/t/ViewEmail/d/2531B4205D362B942540EF23F30FEDED/A2AE94689C106E613D3F7F9A22A6E02E?alternativeLink=False

A New Creation (Sermon)

 “A New Creation”

2Kings 5:1-19 and Galatians 6:12-15

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

10/9/22

         

Naaman, a general for the king of Aram, was a great man and highly regarded by his master, because through him the Lord had given victory to Aram. This man was a mighty warrior, but he had a skin disease. ² Now Aramean raiding parties had gone out and captured a young girl from the land of Israel. She served Naaman’s wife.

³ She said to her mistress, “I wish that my master could come before the prophet who lives in Samaria. He would cure him of his skin disease.” ⁴ So Naaman went and told his master what the young girl from the land of Israel had said.

⁵ Then Aram’s king said, “Go ahead. I will send a letter to Israel’s king.”

So Naaman left. He took along ten kikkars of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten changes of clothing. ⁶ He brought the letter to Israel’s king. It read, “Along with this letter I’m sending you my servant Naaman so you can cure him of his skin disease.”

⁷ When the king of Israel read the letter, he ripped his clothes. He said, “What? Am I God to hand out death and life? But this king writes me, asking me to cure someone of his skin disease! You must realize that he wants to start a fight with me.”

⁸ When Elisha the man of God heard that Israel’s king had ripped his clothes, he sent word to the king: “Why did you rip your clothes? Let the man come to me. Then he’ll know that there’s a prophet in Israel.”

⁹ Naaman arrived with his horses and chariots. He stopped at the door of Elisha’s house. ¹⁰ Elisha sent out a messenger who said, “Go and wash seven times in the Jordan River. Then your skin will be restored and become clean.”

¹¹ But Naaman went away in anger. He said, “I thought for sure that he’d come out, stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, wave his hand over the bad spot, and cure the skin disease. ¹² Aren’t the rivers in Damascus, the Abana and the Pharpar, better than all Israel’s waters? Couldn’t I wash in them and get clean?” So he turned away and proceeded to leave in anger.

¹³ Naaman’s servants came up to him and spoke to him: “Our father, if the prophet had told you to do something difficult, wouldn’t you have done it? All he said to you was, ‘Wash and become clean.’” ¹⁴ So Naaman went down and bathed in the Jordan seven times, just as the man of God had said. His skin was restored like that of a young boy, and he became clean.

¹⁵ He returned to the man of God with all his attendants. He came and stood before Elisha, saying, “Now I know for certain that there’s no God anywhere on earth except in Israel. Please accept a gift from your servant.”

¹⁶ But Elisha said, “I swear by the life of the Lord I serve that I won’t accept anything.”

Naaman urged Elisha to accept something, but he still refused. ¹⁷ Then Naaman said, “If not, then let me, your servant, have two mule loads of earth. Your servant will never again offer entirely burned offerings or sacrifices to any other gods except the Lord.¹⁸ But may the Lord forgive your servant for this one thing: When my master comes into Rimmon’s temple to bow down there and is leaning on my arm, I must also bow down in Rimmon’s temple. When I bow down in Rimmon’s temple, may the Lord forgive your servant for doing that.”

¹⁹ Elisha said to him, “Go in peace.” (CEB)

 

 

Life has been good for Naaman. In Aram, he’s a great general, respected by both his king and the men under his command. He’s got fame, fortune, influence, and all that. Then one day, he notices a spot on his skin, a spot that makes him unclean and will derail his reputation and career unless someone can heal him.

         Naaman’s wife’s servant is an Israelite girl captured on one of Aram’s military campaigns. She learns of the general’s affliction and tells Naaman’s wife, Back home in Israel there’s a prophet named Elisha. He can get rid of that spot quicker than you can say Jezebel.

         So Naaman heads to Israel with his king’s blessing and half the country’s treasury to boot. He plans to purchase a healing from Elisha; but a letter sent by the Aramean king on behalf of his valued general is addressed to the king of Israel. And when the Israelite king reads it, he comes unglued thinking he’s being set up. Ripping his robe, he shouts, Does this Aramean troublemaker think I’m God? I can’t anymore cure leprosy than I can the madness that made him ask! I know why he’s asking. He wants me to fail! He wants Naaman to go home with that spot still there. Then he’ll march his army down here and start something!

         When Elisha hears of the king’s tantrum, he shows up and asks why the king ruined a perfectly good outfit.

         Send Naaman to me, says Elisha. I’ll take care of this. And he does, but not to Naaman’s liking. All Elisha does is send a messenger to Naaman telling him to go wash in the Jordan River seven times. This infuriates Naaman, who considers himself a VIP, someone deserving deferential treatment. So, Naaman throws a fit of his own.

Surely, he says, the great rivers of Aram out-class this pathetic little trickle they call a river! Better for me to go home and wash in them!

         Naaman’s servants look at each other and say, Um, sir, we mean no disrespect, but had the prophet told you to do something difficult, or even dangerous, you would have done it, wouldn’t you? All he’s asking you to do is go dip yourself in a river. We’re nothing but servants, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt, just this once, to give him the benefit of the doubt.

         Because one mark of a good leader is the humility to take good advice, Naaman walks down to the Jordan River and plunges into the water seven times. When he finishes, and the spot is gone, he hurries back to Elisha and says, It worked! What do I owe you?

         The prophet looks at Naaman and says, Not even in God’s name will accept anything from you.

         This confounds Naaman. In his world you pay for or earn whatever you get. But Elisha, who has restored Naaman to society, to his career, to life itself will accept nothing in return.

To people of privilege and power, grace is often more disorienting than liberating. When we’re open, though, disorientation can become re-orientation. And we begin to see evidence of Naaman’s own re-orientation. Preparing to return to Aram, he asks for a couple of mule-loads of Israelite dirt to take home with him. In ancient polytheism, gods were territorial and could only be worshiped when the worshiper was on that god’s turf. So, Naaman tries to take Yahweh with him by taking some of Israel with him. And through that ritualistic act, Naaman professes his faith in and devotion to the God of Israel.

Naaman had come to buy help with a skin irritation. What he got was a new life. When he went home, the old Naaman was gone and a new Naaman had begun. He was a new creation.

         The point of the story really isn’t the healing. It’s Naaman realizing that there is something greater than him, something greater than king and country, something greater than military and economic power. There is Yahweh, who is present in sickness and in health and who does not withhold grace, not even from those who don’t believe in God.

On top of that, Elisha’s response reveals that there are at least some who do not wield their faith as a weapon or exploit it for personal advantage. To Elisha, neither Aramean nor Israelite matters. What matters is who a person becomes when he or she loves and follows God.

This brings us to Paul’s letter to the Galatians. In the sixth chapter, Paul says:

¹² Whoever wants to look good by human standards will try to get you to be circumcised, but only so they won’t be harassed for the cross of Christ. ¹³ Those who are circumcised don’t observe the Law themselves, but they want you to be circumcised, so they can boast about your physical body

¹⁴ But as for me, God forbid that I should boast about anything except for the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ. The world has been crucified to me through him, and I have been crucified to the world. ¹⁵ Being circumcised or not being circumcised doesn’t mean anything. What matters is a new creation. (Galatians 6:12-15 – CEB)

“What matters,” says Paul, is who we are becoming in Christ. The trick is recognizing that real and lasting change involves a turn of the heart. When we concentrate on nothing but externals, we are blind to the presence and work of God within us and among us. For Naaman, grace comes not so much through the healing of his spot, but through the clever way Elisha baptizes him and blesses him. And in his selfishness, he could have missed it, because he didn’t even know what kind of healing he really needed.

It seems to me that God most often makes us new by healing us of things for which we don’t even know we need healing, especially that pervasive gremlin of selfishness and all of its blinding offspring, like pride, fear, and violence. For Naaman, self-serving nationalism and racism had become the spot he needed to recognize, confess, and to have washed away. And as that spot faded, he began to see himself, his neighbors, and the world in a new and more gracious light.

Externals don’t matter, says Paul. What matters is becoming new creations in Christ who heals us by empowering us to love one another as he loves us.

I know that I’m fond of saying that we are to love everyone, and I do trust that to be true. Having said that, I’ve also been re-thinking how I say that. To say that we are to love everyone is abstract, and that makes is a little too easy. The hard thing to do is to love the person standing next to us in the moment. And to love that person, here and now, whoever they are, is how we love everyone. This is what Richard Rohr means when he says, “How we do anything is how we do everything.”

To love the person in front of us as Christ loves us—that’s what Elisha does for Naaman. And that’s precisely how we, too, embrace and embody the new creation we are becoming in Christ.