LIVING THIS SIDE OF THE CROSS: PART II
Jean-Jacques Rousseau…did I get that right? Jean-Jacques Rousseau was an 18th century social theorist. His political philosophy influenced the French Revolution, and the development of modern sociological thought. In a book entitled Discourse on Inequality, he wrote:
The first man who fenced in a piece of land and said, “This is mine,” then found people naïve enough to believe him...that man was the true founder of civil society. From how many crimes and wars and murders; from how many horrors and misfortunes might not anyone have saved mankind by pulling up the stakes or filling in the ditch and crying to his fellows: Beware of listening to this imposter; you are undone if you once forget that the fruits of the earth belong to us all, and the earth itself to nobody.
That is really quite profound. Jean-Jacques Rousseau was a brilliant man, but Jean-Jacques Rousseau was not a humble man. In the first pages of his final book, ironically titled, Confessions, Rousseau imagines himself having died and gone to heaven. He approaches the heavenly gates with his head held high. He carries a copy of his Confessions. As he passes through the Pearly Gates all of heaven turns toward him. The heavenly host actually set their praise of God aside to listen to his story. He boasts, “I have bared my secret soul, as God himself hast seen it. So let the numberless legion of my fellow men gather round me and hear my confessions. And may any man who dares, say, ‘I was a better man than he.’”
Wow! Now there was a man who was full of himself. Contrast this scenario with the story of a man named Karl Barth. Karl Barth was arguably the greatest theologian of the 20th century. His epic work was entitled, Church Dogmatics. It consists of 14 volumes, and it is some of the most complex reading I have ever encountered. Someone once quipped, “When Karl Barth dies, God is immediately going to take him up to heaven so he can find out more about himself.” Such was the intricacy and complexity of Karl Barth’s writing.
In his biography of Karl Barth, a man named Eberhard Busch quotes the great theologian speculating on his appearance at the Pearly Gates. Barth imagines himself pushing along a cart full of books. Yet the heavenly host does not turn to him for a reading. Instead…they laugh. “In heaven,” Barth says, “we shall know all that is necessary, and we shall not have to write on paper or read any more. Indeed…I shall be able to dump even the Church Dogmatics on some great heavenly floor as a pile of waste paper.”
Rousseau dared to imagine that God and the heavenly host might be illumined by what he had to say. Barth understood that his mortal understanding of God – as great as it was – was still very limited. Which of these two stories better captures your understanding of your own self-worth in God’s eyes? Which of these two stories better describes your sense of your own standing before God? If it’s the former, I think you may have a small problem. If it’s the latter, congratulations! You’ve been paying attention all these years.
While we may have our standing before God in proper perspective, I’m not so sure we have our standing in the world in proper perspective. We have become an individualistic society. Ask a teacher. If a child gets in trouble at school and his parents are called into the principal’s office to deal with it, who are the parents most likely to believe is at fault: their child…or the teacher? Ask an employer. Many will agree that these days, a lot of people feel as if they are doing the employer a favor by showing up for work. As I’ve said before, there are two common phrases that pretty much sum up one of the greatest problems in our society. One is the Burger King mantra: “Have it your way.” The other is a code by which many retail stores abide. That code is, “The customer is always right.” Those two phrases have helped to skew our perspective on our place in the world. Perhaps we could even say that our world-view has become more Rousseauian than Barthian. Keep that thought in mind as we move on.
Last week we began a sermon series entitled, Living This Side of the Cross. The thesis of that sermon was pretty much summed up in verses 14 and 15 in the 4th chapter of the book of Ephesians. There the Apostle Paul writes, “We must no longer be children, tossed to and fro, and blown about by every wind of doctrine. But speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head…into Christ Jesus our Lord.” In other words, this is a sermon series on growing up in Christ.
When it comes to growing up in Christ, perhaps the place to start is the church. Jesus Christ himself established the church through his disciples. The church was called the body of Christ.
The church is not Jesus, yet it is called to do the work of Christ in the world. And many of the epistles in our New Testament were letters written to specific churches. Case in point, the passage I read from the book of Ephesians. The church in Ephesus was established by an eloquent Jewish preacher by the name of Apollos. Paul initially stopped to visit this fledgling Christian congregation on his second missionary journey. He met with them – there were only twelve of them at the time – and guided them into receiving the Holy Spirit. Due to certain trying circumstances, he ended up staying with them for three years.
Now most of the epistles in the Bible were written to resolve some particular problem that had arisen in the church. In Thessalonica some of the members of the church were sure that Jesus’ return was so imminent…that they quit working. The Corinthians were squabbling about diet, sex and worship. The Galatians were regressing into tired old Jewish legalism and needed a thorough shaking up. Like I said, most of the epistles in the Bible were written to resolve some particular problem that had arisen in the church. It seems as though there have always been problems in the church.
The book of Ephesians is the lone exception. The book of Ephesians was not provoked by a problem. Ephesians may have actually been a general church letter that was circulated among several first century congregations. So you see…the book of Ephesians works from the other direction. It immerses us in holy and healthy conditions...out of which a mature Christian life can develop. That is why it will be my primary text throughout the course of this series of sermons.
The book of Ephesians begins with such peaceful eloquence. “To the saints who are faithful in Christ Jesus,” Paul writes, “Grace to you, and peace from God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ.” It sounds so calm. It sounds so serene. It sounds so ideal. And isn’t that the way we all want to experience church? Yet IS that the way we all experience church?
There is a quote from Eugene Peterson printed in the Silent Reflection portion of your bulletin this morning. He writes, “Church is the textured context in which we grow up in Christ to maturity.” Like I said earlier, “When it comes to growing up in Christ, perhaps the place to start is the church.” Then he writes, “But church is difficult.” In fact, “Many Christians find church to be the most difficult aspect of being a Christian.” Finally, he adds, “So many drop out. There may be more Christians who don’t go to church, or go only occasionally, than there are who embrace it, warts and all. And there are certainly plenty of warts.”
What has hurt the church more than the scandals involving Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart? And need I mention the headlines some Catholic priests made a few years ago? And then there are the endless arguments over the ordination of homosexuals…and the burgeoning debate over same-sex marriage. Casual or superficial experience with the church can leave one with impressions of bloody fights, acrimonious arguments, blatant hypocrisy, and warring factions. If the church is meant to be God’s advertisement to the world – if the church is meant to be a utopian community put on display so that people will flock to it, clamoring to get it...it has obviously become a piece of failed strategy.
Yet the church is meant to be the core element for providing a human witness and a physical presence to the coming kingdom of God. In other words, it’s all we’ve got. As my systematic theology professor, Harold Nebelsick, used to say, “The kingdom is here…but not fully here.” Perhaps the question now...is this: Could it be that the church we have is exactly what God intended when he created the church? Could it be that the church we have provides the very conditions necessary for growing up in Christ? Could it be that God knew what he was doing when he gave us the church; this church? Perhaps the answer to those questions depends on whether you are Rousseauian or Barthian. In other words, is the church meant to please people, or is the church meant to challenge people to grow?
I want you to listen to a story. I don’t know who the author was, but one could assume that the person who wrote it is in his – or her – mid-to-late seventies. In any case, listen closely.
I grew up in the 1940s with practical parents. My mother would wash aluminum foil after she cooked with it, and then reuse it. She was the original recycling queen…even before they had a name for it. My father was always happier getting an old pair of shoes fixed, rather than buying new ones. Their marriage was good; their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave away.
I can almost see them now: Dad in trousers, a t-shirt, and a hat; Mom in a house dress with a dish in one hand and a towel in the other. It was the time for fixing things: a curtain rod, the kitchen radio, the screen door, the oven, the hem in a dress…they were things we kept. It was a way of life, and it sometimes made me crazy. All that fixing, saving and reusing…just once I wanted to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant that you knew there would always be more.
But then my mother died, and on that clear summer’s night in the warmth of a hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning: Sometimes, there isn’t any more. Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away, never to return. So – while we have it – it’s best that we love it, and care for it, and fix it when it’s broken. This goes for the kitchen radio, the screen door, the oven…and the hem in a dress.
Yet maybe it also applies to marriages, to children with bad report cards, to strained relationships and even to churches. We live in a throw-away society. Yet maybe there are some things we shouldn’t throw away. Maybe there are some things that are worth fighting to keep.
God certainly feels that way about us. That’s why he sent his Son, Jesus Christ, in the first place. So maybe we can let ourselves off the hook when it comes to that desperate question: “Am I in the right place? Have I done the right thing?” Sometimes we need to acknowledge that we – or others – have made mistakes, and we must certainly try to learn from them. But we should not foster the kind of worry that leads to despair. We should not give up…on the church, on others, or on ourselves. The providence of God means that wherever we have gotten to – whatever we have done – that is precisely…where the road to heaven begins. Amen.
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