You Are My Son

The following is the lesson for Ash Wednesday from the Lenten small group study we are doing at our church entitled Christ in the Psalms. You can purchase the entire study for 99 cents on Amazon.com at this link.

http://www.amazon.com/Christ-Psalms-Lenten-Journey-ebook/dp/B00AWGELDO/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1360773600&sr=1-2&keywords=christ+in+the+psalms

Psalm 2 was a song of promise concerning the rule of Israel’s king. It may even have been written for the day of the king’s coronation. It celebrates the reign of Israel’s king and the close relationship that the king enjoys with Yahweh.
The Psalm begins by acknowledging that there are other powers in the world. Indeed, the Psalmist says that the kings of the earth plot and fight against Yahweh and his anointed king. The promise of this Psalm, however, is that whatever the other nations and kings do, it is God who ultimately reigns supreme. God, in all his sovereignty, sits on his throne and laughs at the weak attempts of earthly kings to overthrow his rule. 

In contrast to these kings, Israel’s king is the very means of God’s righteous purposes in the world. As a result, God promises to work on behalf of Israel’s king. In fact, Israel’s king enjoys such a favored status with Yahweh that Yahweh declares of the king “You are my son. Today I have begotten you.” Given Israel’s stringent commitment to monotheism (belief in only one God), this is not a declaration that the king of Israel is actually divine. It is to say that God’s anointed king enjoys a relationship with Yahweh unlike any other. Yahweh and king are like Father and Son. As a result, God tells the king that all he has to do is ask and all the nations will be given to him as an inheritance. Psalm 2 envisions God’s sovereignty being embodied in Israel’s king as he reigns over every nation on earth. 

Given what the first Christians believed about Jesus, its not hard to see how they began to see this Psalm with Jesus in mind. They believed that Jesus was the Christ (Greek equivalent of the Hebrew “Messiah” which means “anointed one”), the king who would one day rule the nations and that the people had, indeed, plotted against him. They confessed that Jesus enjoyed a uniquely close relationship with Yahweh; one they described as Father and Son. 

However, it is just as easy to see that Jesus does not fulfill this Psalm in an obvious or simplistic way. One would already have to be convinced that the titles of Messiah and Son of God should be applied to Jesus in order to think that he could be found in Psalm 2 in any way. There is no room in the kingly imagery of Psalm 2 for God’s anointed to experience crucifixion. In fact, one would be hard pressed to find an image more against the grain of Psalm 2 than Jesus on the cross. For most first century Jews, Jesus’ shameful and disgraceful death would have been the surest sign that he was not who he had claimed to be. 

With this in mind, we can see that it is an especially bold move that Mark makes when he links the promise of Psalm 2 specifically to Jesus’ crucifixion. The Psalm first appears in Mark 1:11. Jesus has just been baptized by John and coming up out of the water, the heavens are torn open, the Spirit descends upon Jesus and a voice from heaven echoes Psalm 2, saying “You are my beloved Son, with you I am well pleased.” This is a promising beginning to Jesus’ ministry but we will see that it is also a foreshadowing of the cross that awaits him. A voice speaks from heaven with the same words again in chapter 9 after Jesus’ transfiguration, declaring “This is my beloved Son; listen to him.” The very next words that Jesus speaks warn the disciples not to tell anyone what they had seen “until the Son of Man has risen from the dead.” The disciples wonder what Jesus could possibly mean by this. Finally in Mark 15, Jesus is crucified, the temple curtain is torn in two (remember the heavens at his baptism?), Jesus breathes out his Spirit, and rather than a voice from heaven, we hear a centurion standing nearby say “Truly this man was the Son of God!” Thus we see that Mark portrays Jesus’ baptism and his declaration as Son as intimately connected to his crucifixion. 

Likewise, we are called sons and daughters of God. Although, unlike Jesus, ours is an adoption into the family of God, it is an adoption which leads to the same path as Jesus’ Sonship. Our baptism was the beginning of our journey toward the cross; our transformation for the purpose of taking up our cross and following Jesus. On Ash Wednesday, as we begin the season of Lent and are reminded of Jesus’ journey toward the cross, we are reminded that we have been saved for the same journey. We receive ashes to remind us of our own weakness and frailty. We receive them in the shape of the cross to remind us that weakness is also the shape of our redemption. As we receive our ashes this evening, let us remember that the way of our King, Messiah, and Son of God is the way of the cross.

Gracious Holiness

Haggai 2:10-19 depends on some ideas of ritual purity which are rather foreign to us. As I mentioned in some of my posts on Leviticus a few months ago, sin and impurity were seen almost like a disease or pollutant. It could easily spread from one object or place to another and if it contaminated the house of God, it could threaten to drive the presence of God right out of Israel's midst. It is this basic idea which underlies the questions which God commands Haggai to ask of the priests.

"If someone carries holy meat in the fold of his garment and touches with his fold bread or stew or wine or oil or any kind of food, does it become holy?" The priests answered and said, "No." Then Haggai said, "If someone who is unclean by contact with a dead body touches any of these, does it become unclean?" The priests answered and said "It does become unclean."

In short, impurity is contagious. Holiness is not. If someone touches something common with something holy, it does not make the common object holy. But if someone becomes unclean and touches something common then that common object does become unclean.

God says through Haggai that this is how it is with the people of Israel as well.

"So it is with this people, and with this nation before me, declares the Lord, and so with every work of their hands. And what they offer there is unclean." 

We have heard previously in Haggai that the people have begun to rebuild the temple. This verse seems to imply that they have also started to offer sacrifices there as well. One would think that this would be a good thing but God declares that "every work of their hands" is unclean because they themselves are unclean. They are polluting the very sacrifice which is meant to bring cleansing, not because they are offering the sacrifice wrongly but merely because they are an unclean people. It is God's presence alone which can sanctify this people and their gifts but it is their own impurity which drives God's presence away. In essence, it seems a hopeless situation.

But God promises to bless the people anyway. Rebuilding the temple and offering sacrifices isn't enough to make room for God because no matter what works are done they are offered by unclean hands. But God ignores that reality and promises to dwell with the people and bless them despite their impurity. God chooses to enter into the very contaminant of sin and impurity which should guarantee God's absence.

This passage in Haggai reminds me of a story in the first chapter of Mark's gospel. A leprous man came to Jesus asking to be cleansed. Mark tells us that Jesus was moved with pity and reached out and touched the man. According to Jewish ritual law, this action should have made Jesus unclean. Instead, just the opposite happens. The leper is cleansed.

In many ways, this is the essence of the gospel. We live in a world fouled by the stench of injustice and contaminated by the sins of misdirected love. Even whatever good works we might offer, are stained by the brokenness of our frail nature and the corrosive systems that surround us. These are the things that should drive a holy God away from us. Instead, this God steps into our world and into our flesh and even into our death and bursts the bonds of all our corruption and weakness with the new breath of resurrection life. This is grace. Grace that is greater than all our sin...

And I think this grace of God says something about what it means to be the holy people of God too. Often, in our "holiness tradition" as Nazarenes especially, we have envisioned holiness as a separateness from our culture. Undoubtedly, there is something to be said for being a people who live differently than those around us. But perhaps we should consider what it means for our notions of holiness to accommodate this passage from Haggai and the story from Mark as well. If we are the body of the Christ whose touch cleansed the leper rather than being contaminated by him then perhaps we can rub shoulders with those who might threaten our "purity" without fear. Maybe if we remember that we serve a  God who sanctifies the un-sanctifiable, namely us, then we will understand that holiness is not something we maintain by our own act of separation. It is not the absence of certain things. It is the presence of the sanctifying Spirit of God in our lives; a presence which is not threatened by the impurity of our world. It is a presence which can bring healing if the Body of Christ which it inhabits will only be moved by pity and reach out to those who are hurting.

Hearing in the Present

As I mentioned last week, the people of Israel have returned from their exile in Babylon (which has in turn been conquered by Persia). They have had time to begin rebuilding their own homes and livelihood and now, through the prophet Haggai, God has called upon the people to begin rebuilding God's house, the temple. The people have been stirred by God's call and have begun to carry out that task.

The second chapter of Haggai begins by noting that it is only about a month after this rebuilding project began and the naysayers are hard at work. God commands Haggai to say:

"Who is left among you who saw this house in its former glory? How do you see it now? Is it not as nothing in your eyes?"

Apparently, nostalgia was as prevalent in 520 B.C. as it is today. These people who have been returned from exile, at least the few who are old enough to remember the former temple, are longing for the "glory days". They see this puny temple that is being rebuilt and they know that it will never compare to the temple Solomon had built. And they are right. That house was built by one of Israel's greatest kings at the height of Israel's power. It was constructed with stone and overlaid with fine cedar and cypress imported from foreign lands much of which was itself overlaid with gold. It was a house filled with luxury and ornate craftsmanship; a symbol of the wealth and strength of Solomon's empire. The temple described in Haggai is built with nothing more than the timber that the people can collect from nearby forests. It is as nothing in the eyes of those who beheld the glory of the former temple.

But God tells the people through Haggai that it is not the appearance of the house that matters but the One who dwells in it. This is the God who brought the people up out of their slavery in Egypt. This is the God who reigns sovereign over the nations. This God says:

"Work, for I am with you... My Spirit remains in your midst. Fear not."

The current temple may not be much to look at. It may not resemble the glory of that former temple. But the same God who enabled Solomon to build that former temple is the God who continues to dwell with this people even now. And that, Haggai says, should be their ultimate source of strength and hope. The temple was never supposed to be about the temple. It was always supposed to be God's presence with the people. It was only God's presence that made this temple or this people what they were.

There is a question, or a variety of questions with the same underlying theme,  I am asked frequently by folks in my church.

"Pastor, what do you think will happen to our church?"

Its a question that I sense is filled with pain, anxiety, and a longing for days gone by. It is a question that remembers the "glory days" of our church; a time when the building was so full there was felt a need for a new one, a time when church was a regular part of people's lives, and perhaps a time when it seemed just a little easier to be a Christian and to invite others to be as well. It is a question for which I do not have an answer. Like the days of Haggai, like all times really, these are uncertain times.

But in these uncertain times...in these times most of all... God still speaks. God reminds us that it was never about the temple. It was never about the attendance numbers or the building or the pastor or all the things good things we could do as a church. It has always been and will always be about the presence of God among us. The God who delivered us from our slavery resides among us. The God who will one day shake the heavens and the earth, the sea and the dry land and all the nations resides among us. And this God who resides among us promises us that "the latter glory of this house shall be greater than the former."

Our task in these uncertain times is not to get back to the days of old. It is to hear God's voice in the present, to be stirred, and to begin the work of rebuilding, however, un-glamorous that work may seem. For our focus, our hope, our foundation as the Church is and must always be responding to the presence and the voice of God among us.

Rebuilding God's House

God speaks. The people are stirred. God's house is built.

This seems to me to be the essence of Haggai chapter 1.

God speaks by the prophet Haggai to a particular people in a particular time and place. The book of Haggai begins by noting that particularity quite precisely. "In the second year of Darius, the king, in the sixth month, the word of the Lord came by the hand of Haggai the prophet to Zerubabbel the son of Shealtiel, governor of Judah, and to Joshua the son of Jehozadak, the high priest...". That is, in 520 B.C. God spoke through Haggai to the governor and priest of a people recently returned from exile. God's people have been allowed to return to their homeland by Cyrus, ruler of Persia. We get the sense that they have had the opportunity to rebuild in that homeland but that the situation is still far from ideal. These people dwell there not as an independent nation but as a sub-province of the mighty Persian empire and Haggai tells us that the people live with drought and famine. In other words, they are a people who are making it but whose future is still very uncertain.

In the midst of that uncertainty, God speaks to this people. God calls the people to turn their attention away from their own homes and uncertain futures and toward God's house. The people have had time after returning from exile to rebuild their own homes but God's house, the temple, still lies in ruins. God declares by the prophet Haggai that now is the time for God's house to be rebuilt.

Haggai tells us that the message God spoke through him stirred the people. Zerubabbel, Joshua, and all the people responded to God's call and began to rebuild the temple.

God spoke. The people were stirred. God's house began to be rebuilt.

What a novel idea.

If God could speak to a people in 520 B.C in a little sub-province of the Persian empire and their spirit could be stirred and they could begin to rebuild God's house, perhaps the same could happen in 2013 in a little town in central Illinois.

Of course, for us to begin rebuilding God's house is not a matter of constructing a building. The New Testament tells us repeatedly that WE are God's house. WE are the place that God's Spirit dwells. If God is to have a house, WE are the ones who must be rebuilt. But that is not a rebuilding we can accomplish ourselves. First, God must speak. Which means we must listen.

Esther's Baptism

Water and Grace

The people are whispering about John. "Is he the one? Is this the Christ we've been looking for?"

John answers in very strong terms. He is not the one. In fact, the One will be so incomparably greater than John that John will not even be worthy to untie the strap of his sandal. John has only baptized with water but the One who is coming will baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire. He will separate the wheat from the chaff and burn the chaff with unquenchable fire. 

These are images of judgment but it is judgment for the purpose of refinement and purification, not mere destruction. John is proclaiming that the One who comes after him will purify Israel. He will be the refiner's fire spoken of in Malachi. He will purge Israel of its corruption. He will baptize, not merely with water, but with God's own Holy Spirit thus making real holiness possible. 

Shortly after John's proclamation of the One, Jesus appears on the scene. After having been baptized by John, the heavens are opened, the Holy Spirit descends on Jesus, and a voice from heaven proclaims "You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased." The first phrase this voice speaks is supplied by Psalm 2:7. This Psalm spoke of the special relationship between God and God's anointed king; a relationship so unique in its closeness that God referred to the king as his son. Luke's point is fairly obvious. This is the One about whom John had been speaking. He is the Lord's anointed. 

But if you read Luke 3:15-22, you'll notice that the story doesn't run quite as smoothly as I've presented it here. There is an interruption between John's proclamation and his baptism of Jesus. V. 18-20 tell us that Herod had locked up John in prison because John had reproved Herod for his relationship with Herodias, his brother's wife. Chronologically speaking, these verses do not belong here. That is, this imprisonment of John obviously comes later. Why does Luke interrupt his story about Jesus' baptism by John with this aside about John's later fate? 

Luke is too polished a story teller for this to be an accident. This is not an "Oh, by the way, let me tell you what ends up happening to John while I'm thinking about it." Luke has placed this story about John's imprisonment here intentionally. It is a foreshadowing of what is to come. Luke intends for us to connect Jesus' baptism with John's imprisonment. Jesus is, indeed, the Lord's anointed but his path will be similar to John's. By being baptized by John, Jesus has essentially cast his lot with John. While John proclaims the very real difference between himself and Jesus, Jesus' baptism signifies what is the same. Like John, Jesus will be a prophetic voice at odds with the powers that be and his prophetic voice will earn him a fate similar to John's. 

I believe we are doing something similar when we are baptized into Christ. Just as Jesus identifies with John in his baptism, I believe we are identifying with Jesus in our own baptism. We confess that this Jesus is the Lord's Christ, the one who is filled with the Holy Spirit, the one who can refine us and baptize us with the Holy Spirit. And in making that confession, we also confess that we know where this path leads; that this journey must go through the cross. There is no confessing Jesus as Lord without also confessing him as crucified. When we are baptized, we confess that we want to be identified with this Jesus, this crucified Messiah. We signify that we intend to join his movement toward the cross. 

This Sunday, we will baptize our youngest daughter just as we have our other two children. The sheer cuteness of a child only a few months old, the mundane simplicity of plain water poured from a pitcher into a waiting basin, the day to day grind it takes to raise a child, and the weekly repetitions and routines of frail, human attempts at worship all threaten to drown out the gravity of that moment when a parent chooses to baptize a child. For in that moment, we will be committing her to the way of Jesus and his kingdom and, in so doing, we acknowledge that we are setting her feet - those weak and helpless feet of our precious baby girl, feet not yet able to support the weight of her own body - along a path that must eventually bear the weight of a cross. If that seems a painfully stark contrast, I mean for it to be. Far too often we forget - I forget - what it means to call ourselves both parents and disciples of Jesus. When we baptize Esther, we confess that she is on loan to us. That she is God's first and ours second. That we are only stewards. As such, it is not our task to make her happy or successful. It is to reveal to her the way of the crucified messiah by continually walking that path toward the cross ourselves. 

Of course, there will be a day (and many after that initial one) when Esther will choose or reject this path for herself. Jess and I will not always be able to make this confession on her behalf as we do now. However, we baptize her now believing that long before we ever chose to walk this cross-shaped path, Christ walked it on our behalf. Before Christ called us to identify with his suffering, he identified with us in our suffering. The Son of God cast his lot with us human beings choosing to have his fate bound to ours, his divinity bound to our flesh. It is only possible for us to choose him because he first chose us. That is why Esther can be baptized into the Body of Christ before she is even old enough to be aware of her own body. God has already chosen her - just as he chose all of us - by his grace, apart from any of our own doing. We will baptize our daughter because it is among our deepest of hopes that Esther will walk in that grace for all of her days. 

Burn Out Bright

"Wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, saying, "Where is he who has been born king of the Jews?" Herod gathered all of the religious experts and scholars to find out where this king might be. Their answer comes from Micah 5:2

"And you, O Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who will shepherd my people Israel."  

So Herod sends the wise men on their way to Bethlehem. Upon finding Jesus, they fall down and worship him. Jesus is the King of the Jews for whom the wise men were looking. He is the mighty ruler spoken of by the prophet Micah who would deliver his people.

But there is more to Matthew's story. Without mentioning it specifically, Matthew tells the story of the wise men in a way reminiscent of next Sunday's Old Testament reading, Isaiah 60. Similar to the passage from Micah, this chapter from Isaiah speaks of Israel's deliverance. The prophet says to Israel:

"Arise, shine, for you light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For behold, darkness shall cover the earth and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will rise upon you, and his glory will be seen upon you. And nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your rising."

It's that last verse which is especially interesting for the story of the Magi in Matthew. Isaiah 60 envisions a day when Israel's deliverance will be so complete that not only will it stand prosperous and secure but it will also be like a beacon of light to which all the others kings and nations will be drawn. V. 5-6 read:

"the wealth of the nations shall come to you...They shall bring gold and frankincense and shall bring good news, the praises of the Lord."

Matthew tells a story in which gentile, pagan kings are drawn to a shining light over Israel. They bring with them gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. The wealth of the nations has been symbolically brought into Israel. Thus Matthew shows us that Jesus is not only the King of the Jews who will deliver Israel. He is also the king who will complete Isaiah's vision of a day when all the nations of the earth will come to the God of Israel.

This is good news. The best of news. There's just one problem. There is already a king in Israel. His name is Herod and he is not interested in giving up his power to a toddler. Quite to the contrary, he is so set on maintaining his power that he will use it to murder every male child under the age of two in Bethlehem.

This Sunday is the day known as Epiphany and begins the season by the same name. Epiphany is a season for contemplating the kingdom of Christ. It is appropriate then that it begins with the story of the wise men visiting Jesus for there may be no other story more fitting for contrasting the nature of Christ's kingdom with the kingdom of this world. Matthew proclaims to us without hesitation that Jesus is a king.... The King. But he also shows us in his presentation of Jesus that this king and his kingdom are unlike any other. Whereas the Herod's of the world build their kingdom on the use of force and power, Jesus' kingdom is one of humility and vulnerability. Herod's kingdom holds all the swords. Jesus' kingdom holds only a flight to Egypt and the promise of a cross.

I feel this is a message I repeat a lot. It seems to come up so much in my preaching that I often wonder if my congregation grows tired of hearing it. When I come to a passage of Scripture like this one, where the weakness and vulnerability of Jesus and his kingdom as compared to the kingdoms of this world is on display, I often go out of my way to look for another theme, something else, something new to say. And yet I can't seem to escape it. Perhaps if it is a message that Scripture finds worthy of repetition then it is one that bears repeating in my preaching.

I imagine most of us don't see ourselves as being in much danger of being like Herod. There is, undoubtedly, an enormous difference between the murderous ways of Herod and the ways we practice church. But that doesn't mean we haven't bought into the basic premise of his rule, the premise of gaining and maintaining power, the idea that the goal of our existence as a church is to constantly expand our influence. We often assume, along with every other power structure in the world, that bigger is better.

I believe Christ calls us to something different from that way of thinking and that his kingdom is founded on different principles. Rather than being a kingdom which is concerned with perpetuating its own existence and rule, I believe Christ's kingdom is one that comes into being only by constantly giving itself away. It is a kingdom that arises out of the little, otherwise insignificant town of Bethlehem in the midst of a peasant family and humble conditions. It is one that is often painfully vulnerable to the murderous forces in our world. But it is also one that, in all of its vulnerability, is a light which will draw all the nations of the world into the worship of its King.

That light burns brightest, not when we insist on its own preservation, but when we imitate a savior "who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness and being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death, even death on a cross."