“A New Day”

1 Corinthians 15:19-28[1]

I know you’ve heard me say this before, but it never ceases to amaze me how the Gospel of hope and salvation has been turned into its very opposite by the church. If you ask about what the Christian faith says about human destiny, I think it’s a fair bet that many would repeat the scenario of the “Left Behind” series with all its terrifying catastrophes and horrible suffering. It seems that people are fascinated with fire and brimstone—as if Sodom and Gomorrah represent what we have to look forward to! All I can say is that has never been the heart of the Christian Gospel!

In fact, a very strong case can be made that those ideas came from outside the Christian faith! Many of the ancient religions believed that destiny of humankind was something fearful.[2] But in contrast to all that fear and horror, the prophet we know as Isaiah declares in the name of the Lord that God is in the process of creating a new heavens and a new earth (Isa. 65:17)! For him, the future of humankind was something to rejoice over, not something to fear!

And yet, somehow, the Christian church became enamored with images of horrific destruction. Fire and blood and pain became the normal way of envisioning our fate. Of course, the average medieval person “believed” in these fiery depictions of the end time because they had no choice but to accept what was told them. And I realize that is why many people still believe in them today—some more firmly than they seem to believe in Jesus Christ![3] Again, that has never been the heart of the Christian Gospel! But I fail to grasp how it is that the violent images religions have drawn of human destiny continue to persuade anyone when compared the faith of our crucified and risen Lord and Savior Jesus Christf!

In the New Testament, the heart of the Christian faith is Easter faith. Paul emphasizes this clearly in his letter to the Corinthians. He makes it clear to them that the Gospel that Jesus died for us and rose again was something “of first importance,” (1 Cor. 15:3-4). In fact, Paul is so convinced that Christian faith is resurrection faith, that he tells the Corinthians without this faith and this hope, “we are of all people most to be pitied” (1 Cor. 15:19)!

But make no mistake—for Paul, the resurrection of Jesus Christ meant the dawn of a new day.[4] Paul tells the Corinthians that Jesus’ resurrection is like the ancient Jewish practice of “first fruits,” the offering of the first of the crop that signified one’s acknowledgement that the whole harvest belonged to God. When applied to Easter faith, it means that the resurrection serves as the dawn of new life that one day will embrace all things! Paul says, “as all die in Adam, all will be made alive in Christ.” As the effects of sin are universal, so the salvation effected through the resurrection is universal. [5] Paul’s image of human destiny is one of hope and joy, where nothing—neither human willfulness nor even death itself—can limit the salvation that Christ now freely offers to all.[6]

The new day of Jesus’ resurrection rolls back the clouds of fear and death that have overshadowed our lives and reveals the light of God’s new creation already breaking into this world.[7] The light of God’s new day that dawned on that first Easter points us to the final day when death will no longer be our “inevitable destiny.”[8] It points us to the end of the despair that says death means that everything we think is meaningful comes to a pathetic end. The light of God’s new day points us to the time when everything that once separated us from God will be removed.

Paul says that the new day of the resurrection points us to the time when God will be “all in all”: “when … the God who has created everything and redeemed everything will so indwell his creation” that God fills everything and everyone with his life and his beauty and his love.[9] The Christian faith looks more like the Garden of Eden renewed than some horrible fire and brimstone day of reckoning! The Christian faith is about the good news of the Gospel of new life! With the dawn of that first new day of Easter came a faith and a hope in the God who creates, redeems, and gives new life to all things! Christ is Risen! Alleluia! Amen!

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[1] A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 4/8/07 at First Presbyterian Church Dickinson, TX.

[2]See Alan E. Bernstein, The Formation of Hell, 1-18; see also J. Moltmann, In the End, The Beginning, 140-41.

[3] Moltmann, In the End, 146-47, rather bluntly states that these notions are positively not Christian ideas, even if Christian churches have taken them over! Cf. Emil Brunner, Dogmatics III:344-45, 350: “time-bound apocalyptic” statements in the Bible do not take away from faith in Christ, for “Jesus Christ is Himself in His Person the promise of eternal life.”

[4] Moltmann, In the End, 87: “faith is Christian faith when it is Easter faith”; cf. also Brunner, Dogmatics II:365.

[5] Brunner, Dogmatics, II:304, 364; III:343, 371; Moltmann, In the End, 161, 164.

[6] Moltmann, In the End, 149. He adds that the traditional idea of Christ’s descent into Hell means that he fills it with his life! Cf. also Ibid., 163.

[7]J. Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, 182; J. Moltmann, Theology of Hope, 197; J. Moltmann, The Church In the Power of the Spirit, 98-100; cf. N. T. Wright, Simply Christian, 92; Otto Weber, Foundations of Dogmatics II:97-98; Brunner, Dogmatics III:346, 366; Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV.1, 311-12.

[8] Moltmann, In the End, 48, 145; cf. Barth, Church Dogmatics IV.3:319: we look forward to the day when “the light of life which has appeared in Him will penetrate and fill even the remotest corner of the cosmos.”

[9] Moltmann, In the End, 155, 158.

“Something New”

Isaiah 43:16-21; Philippians 3:4-14[1]

It was the “preacher” of Ecclesiastes who perhaps said it first—there’s nothing new under the sun. That sentiment would have sounded strange about 50 years ago. In the decade of my childhood, the sixties, there was still a sense of optimism about the future. We were just venturing into space, and every new technological breakthrough inspired us to dream about the progress that lay ahead.

But something broke that spirit. Was it political scandal—learning that our leaders misused their office and lied to us? Was it the violence of wars both cultural and actual? Was it social upheaval—the speed of change growing more and more dizzying? Was it simply the process of urbanization—more and more people stacked on top of each other in our cities making life more and more frustrating? Somehow, somewhere along the way, our optimism for the future was broken. For most of us, the future is something we fear. It seems that life gets harder and harder and the future seems to hold only unseen and unknown difficulties.

Of course, that’s not the case for young people. For them, it’s the future that defines them. Not only in their eyes, but also in our eyes. We see them as full of potential.[2] When we talk about them, the conversation inevitably turns to what their plans are for school or career.

But at some point, we all cross a line somewhere and we no longer see ourselves as “young people” any more. We tend to shift our attention from our future to our children’s future. While that is a normal part of life, unfortunately it also tends to mean that we no longer have a “future.”[3] We tend to call it the “mid-life crisis.” But the loss of a “future” is one that we shouldn’t take too lightly. It is in fact a catastrophic loss; it can be deadening, because only those with a future have hope.[4]

The heart of the Bible’s promise is that we all are people with a future. I think one of the most important tasks Christians face in this day and age is to reclaim our hope and our future. I’ll give you a hint, though; it looks nothing like the frightening fire and brimstone predictions of Hal Lindsey or Tim LaHaye!

The future that the Bible promises us is construed in many ways. Isaiah pictured it in terms of the blossoming of a desert into a lush and verdant land. He also depicts the future as a great feast where everyone has a place at the table and more than enough to eat and drink. The Revelation of John uses the image of a city of light that is set in the midst of a new paradise, the Garden of Eden restored.

In these and other ways the Bible points us toward a future that consists of a wonderful life—free from pain, suffering, sorrow, and death! It points us to a life that is beautiful—full of love and joy and freedom. All our images of utopia pale in comparison—a “place in the sun”, where “the hills are alive with the sound of music” and the fields are all “fields of dreams.”

Of course, the fact is that all people everywhere have dreamed these dreams. Throughout time there have been various images of paradise. Despite the pain and suffering in the world, or perhaps precisely because of it, people throughout history have cherished dreams of a perfect world.[5]

But there is a difference. The promise of a future in the Bible is not just wishful thinking. This future rests on the promise of the God who raised Jesus from the dead.[6] This future rests on the reality of God’s Spirit creating faith and hope where there is nothing to believe in or hope for.[7] This future, this hope, this promise rests on the new life opened for us all by Jesus the Christ. It is the witness of Scripture that Jesus’ death and resurrection broke the power of death that overshadows so much of what we experience in this world and marked the dawn of a new life that is still breaking through the clouds.[8]

That is our future; that is the “new thing” that God is doing; that is the future that defines us all. What if we really believed that? What difference would it make for us? I think it would fill us with enthusiasm for life. I think it would give us courage to love—truly give ourselves away in love. I think it would give us a perspective on things we tend to occupy ourselves with—things that don’t really amount to much in comparison with what God is doing in this world. I think it would enable us to see everybody in a whole new light—as those who are destined for this future.[9]

We usually think of Lent as a time for changing our lives through mourning and penitence. But part of what re-orients our whole being toward the Gospel is the promise of a future that is beyond all imagining. The promise that the one who created us and who loves us will come to finish the work he has started forges for us a future and a hope that has the power to inspire even the most skeptical among us.[10]

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[1] A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 3/25/07 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX.

[2] Cf. J. Moltmann, In the End—The Beginning, 3-10.

[3] This is true not only experientially, but also in modern philosophy; see Otto Weber, Foundations of Dogmatics, II:96.

[4] Weber, II: 99, suggests that without this hope of a future, our lives here boil down to “the loving care and tending of graves”!

[5] Cf. Frederick Buechner, A Room Called Remember, 29-30.

[6] Weber, II:99, reminds us that the one who promises a new creation is the one who created all things in the beginning and who “does not surrender his creation to the fate of death”! Emil Brunner, Dogmatics, III:345, says, “The same God who in Christ assures me of His love, assures me also in Him of its eternal fulfillment.”

[7] J. Moltmann, Church in the Power of the Spirit, 191; he also says that the Spirit “makes enslaved creation live and fills everything with the powers of the new creation.”

[8] Weber, II:97-98; Brunner, III:346, 366; Moltmann, Church in the Power, 98-100; cf. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV.1, 311-12.

[9] Moltmann, Church in the Power, 78, 82-85, 88-89, 164-189.

[10] Brunner, III:374.

“Coming to Our Senses”

2 Cor. 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11-32[1]

The story of the prodigal is so commonly told and retold that it has become commonplace in our society. But for all our sentimental attachment to it, I don’t think we as a culture have embraced one of its central points: there is only one way to find wholeness and peace and joy in this fallen world. That way is through brokenness. The one segment of our culture that has taken hold of this truth is found in the various twelve-step support groups. They know it as “hitting bottom,” but they know that it’s the only way to find freedom and true happiness.

In the parable of the Prodigal Son, it is portrayed as a young man “coming to his senses.” He has wasted his fortune, he is starving, he has been reduced to feeding pigs—the most unclean of the unclean animals. And he’s so hungry he would eat the slop that he’s feeding them! But unless he “comes to his senses,” he cannot begin the journey back home. For many of us, the prime question we have to ask ourselves is what it will take for us to “hit bottom,” to “come to our senses,” to realize that we are starving.

The problem with this is that it all sounds to hard, so painful, so humiliating. And that it can be. But for most of us, the only way we ever find out that we’re headed in the wrong direction is to run headlong into a brick wall! And yet, as painful and difficult as it can be, most of those who experience this brokenness will say it was the best thing that ever happened to them. As one preacher puts it, “the paradox of conversion is that in the break-down there is a break-through—to a new experience of God and the human family.”[2]

The truth is that great freedom comes from brokenness. There is great freedom in acknowledging something you want to keep most secret about yourself—especially to someone you love and respect—and finding out they accept you unconditionally any way. There is great freedom in having your worst nightmare come true, and learning that you can live through it and come out on the other side stronger and happier.

For Paul, what provoked this life-changing crisis was his experience of God’s love in a way he had never known. In 2 Corinthians, he talks about the way his experience of the love of God poured out for us in Jesus Christ and the gift of wholeness through him re-oriented his whole outlook on life. In a very real sense, that’s what happens when we experience God’s forgiveness—unconditional, complete, unwavering, irrevocable acceptance. It creates in us the desire to change our ways.[3] When we are “grasped by the certainty that we are forgiven,” we learn to accept ourselves, to love others, and to enjoy life—perhaps for the first time!

In the light of that sunrise of a new day, Paul saw that his former point of view on pretty much everything was “flesh.” It was self-oriented, it was plagued by the burden of proving oneself by clawing one’s way to the “top” (wherever that might be), and it was occupied by the constant attempt to outdo somebody else in order to justify one’s own existence.

That was the perspective of the “self-righteous” religious people of Jesus’ day—they were the ones, like Paul, who had devoted their whole lives to doing God’s will. But the whole thing really boiled down to an elaborate attempt to justify themselves in God’s sight and everybody else’s. That kind of self-justifying “righteousness” misses the point of the gospel altogether. That’s why the older brother stays fuming out in the field when the father throws a party for the prodigal.

I must confess that I’ve never really been able to identify with the prodigal. Oh, I had my “prodigal moments” when I was a teenager like everybody else did. But I can honestly say that I have spent my life trying to do the “right thing.” I may not have always succeeded, but I did try!

The problem with that kind of “righteousness” is that it can blind us to our own fallenness—as if saying a few prayers or memorizing some Scriptures or going through the motions of rituals could possibly heal what is wrong with us! All of our efforts to do what is right become another means of hiding the ugly truth that we would rather keep secret. Yes, we all have ugly truth that we would rather keep secret.

So for me—and for those of you like me—the real challenge isn’t overcoming the guilt of some wretched past, but rather it is a matter of getting to the place where we, too, realize that God accepts us unconditionally, regardless of all our (mostly misguided) efforts to do the “right thing.”

Whether we are “prodigals” or “older brothers,” Lent brings us face to face with the reality of our sin so that we can find true freedom and wholeness.[4] It provokes in us an “awakening to the whole gospel”[5] in a way that completely re-shapes our whole life!

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[1] A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 3/18/07 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX.

[2] Fr. Patrick Brennan, “From Conversion to Mission,” a sermon preached 3/7/1992, accessed at http://www.csec.org/csec/sermon/brennan_3621.htm.

[3] Paul Tillich, “To Whom Much is Forgiven …,” in The New Being, 3-14.

[4] Emil Brunner, Dogmatics III:285-89.

[5] Brennan, “From Conversion to Mission.”

“Surprises”

Micah 5:2-5; Luke 1:39-55[1]

At this time of year, it seems that many of us are concerned with surprises. We want once again to surprise those we love with gifts that convey our love, and we want to be surprised again with gifts from them that convey their love. I’m not very good at surprising people. I’m too predictable. I find it amazingly challenging to try to understand a woman’s heart and mind, and then try to figure out what I can give her that will really surprise her. I think I’m not alone in that dilemma.

As we come to the celebration of Christmas, we need to be reminded again that we worship a God of surprises. The story of Jesus’ birth is one that is full of surprises—but then, so is the story of his life! The Savior of humankind comes to us not as a Roman aristocrat, but as a Jewish peasant! He is born not in the finest villa but in a cave cut out for livestock! He is worshipped not by the “high and mighty” among his people, but by the down and out, simple shepherds (I think about the guys who stand around at certain convenience stores in our area waiting to be hired for the day; or the guys who sell the Houston Chronicle on street corners 365 days a year, whether it’s pouring down rain or blistering with heat.) Those nobles who do pay homage to him are foreigners; they are astrologer-priests from Babylon whom we call “wise men” but who would have been considered magicians, enchanters, diviners, and sorcerers by the Jewish people (see Daniel!).

The story of Jesus’ birth is the prime illustration of God’s surprising mercy and love. It is a story of grace for sinners and restoration for the outcasts. Jesus reveals to us the God of love “who commits himself unreservedly to [humanity], to their needs and hopes: who does not demand but gives, does not oppress but raises up, does not wound but heals; who spares those who impugn his holy law and consequently himself, who forgives instead of condemning, liberates instead of punishing, leaves grace to rule instead of law.”[2] For some reason, that comes to us again and again as a surprise. But It’s the fundamental revelation of God’s nature: Throughout the Scriptures, God reveals himself as the God of unshakeable, indestructible, inexhaustible, unchangeable, unconditional love.

Perhaps the greatest surprise in the story of Jesus is that he shows us definitively once and for all that God is for us. In all that God does, God is “for us.” “For us” defines God’s essential nature. God has always worked to show himself as “the Father of the forsaken, the God of the godless and the refuge of those without hope.”[3] That’s the nature of God’s love. Whether it’s disobedient Israel or godless, ruthless Nineveh, God’s steadfast love prevails, even through an unwilling prophet like Jonah. He reaches out to those who promise to obey him but who disobey instead. He forgives those who seem to have no interest in God in the first place. He loves those who are hostile toward him—yes, even his enemies. God is the one who has always been “slow to chide and swift to bless.”

As one of my favorite theologians puts it: “The God who makes Himself known to us in His revelation, who above all, discloses His Name to us in the Incarnation of the Word in Jesus Christ, is the God whose whole revelation is one sole movement of gracious condescension to man, and act of saving Mercy.”[4]

The surprising story of Jesus’ birth is the most dramatic part of the ongoing story of God’s surprising way of redeeming us all. God redeems us through suffering shame and rejection, not by taking an earthly throne and winning over the power-mongers. God redeems us without any fanfare whatsoever. As the hymn puts it, “How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given”! And yet that is how God always works to redeem us—“so God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heaven”! And God redeems us humbly, by taking his place among us as one of the least, one of the last, one of those cast out and brushed aside. God redeems us not by coming with ten thousands of his angel armies; he does it by taking the form of a helpless infant lying in a feed trough. He does it by becoming God in flesh, God with us, Immanuel.

We must not fail to hear the challenge this surprising story poses to all of us. This surprising story of non-heroes and nobodies, the weak and the foolish, undercuts our traditional values and our pecking orders. But this surprising reversal occurs precisely “so that the integrity and worth of every person, thing, and moment—however lowly—may be defended and become the object of special wonder and delight.”[5] To some this seems absurd, but by this “marvelous absurdity,” we come to see that our God of surprises “opens up the future to a world where everything is possible, including the final setting of things right.”[6]

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[1] A sermon preached 12/24/06 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson TX.

[2] Hans Küng, Does God Exist? , 675.

[3] Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 94.

[4] Emil Brunner, The Christian Doctrine of God, 184

[5] Conrad Hyers, “The Nativity as Divine Comedy” The Christian Century (Dec. 11, 1974): 1168-72; http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=1590.

[6] Glen V. Wilberg, “God’s Surprise” The Christian Century (Dec. 7, 1994), http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_n35_v111/ai_15974911 .

“Vulnerable Messiah”

Hebrews 5:1-10; Mark 10:35-45[1]

We don’t like vulnerability, not in our dog-eat-dog world where it seems so often that you have to fight to survive. Vulnerability reminds us of two facts that we would rather avoid: other people often have the power to take advantage of us, and we are powerless to do anything about it.

Yet vulnerability is a part of what it means to be human. As C. S. Lewis observed, “to love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one …. Wrap it carefully around with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; …. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”[2]

The last thing anyone in the First Century was looking for was a vulnerable Messiah. They expected a conquering hero to come riding in on a stallion—the ancient equivalent of an armored vehicle like a Humvee. They expected the Messiah to be a powerful warrior who would overthrow their enemies and give them back the “good old days.”

But the New Testament insists that Jesus came not as a warrior but as a servant. Jesus came to hope to the hopeless, to bring freedom to captives, to bring healing to those who were “inoperable”, to give acceptance to outcasts, and to bring God to the godless.[3]

We catch a glimpse of Jesus’ vulnerability in the book Hebrews: “while Jesus was on earth, he begged God with loud crying and tears to save him” (Heb. 5:7, CEV). It sounds like Jesus’ experience in the garden of Gethsemane. After his Last Supper with the disciples, he went out of the city to the garden to pray. He took Peter, James, and John with them and said, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me” (Matt. 26:38).

There, the Gospels tell us that Jesus prayed fervently, asking God to take away the suffering he was facing. Some ancient versions of Luke’s Gospel add, “in his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground” (Lk. 22:44). It suggests that Jesus was so anguished about what lay ahead that he was drenched with sweat!

Of course, that is only one episode from Jesus’ life—a life that was lived under the motto, “the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mk. 10:45). And because he came as a vulnerable Messiah who called into question the hypocrisy of a religion that promised blessing and security and prosperity, they crucified him.

Why would anybody have followed a crucified Messiah? As Paul explained (1 Cor. 1:23), a Savior who was lynched like a common criminal was utterly foolish to the civilized world. And to Jewish people it was nothing short of blasphemy to claim that one who was accursed enough to be strung up was in fact God’s anointed one.[4]

Why would anybody follow a Messiah who was vulnerable enough to be executed? We spend our time running after things like safety, happiness, and status. How can a crucified Messiah possibly help with that? We hedge everything in our lives, from redundant computer systems to insurance up to the neck—all to stave off the inevitable losses of life. How does that fit with faith in a Messiah who calls us to lose our lives?

We follow a vulnerable Messiah because he reveals to us a vulnerable God. [5] As one contemporary prophet puts it, “Only those who stand beneath the cross and watch him suffer and die will be convinced that at the heart of reality is One who enters into suffering.”[6] For most of our lives we have revered and feared a God who was so exalted as to be remote, so supreme as to be incapable of personal relationships, so all-powerful as to be untouched by our heartaches and struggles.[7] But in Jesus, the vulnerable Messiah, we see the God who “has moved into … our guilt, our alienation, our suffering, our death”[8] and has overcome them all!

God’s vulnerability doesn’t mean that God is not majestic or powerful. God is exalted, but not remote! God is supreme, but that does not stop God from being supremely capable of personal relationships![9] God is all-powerful, but God is also deeply touched by our struggles.[10] God is not separated from us, but loves us so completely that God is intimately involved with every aspect of our lives.[11] God is both majestic and merciful.

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[1] A Sermon preached 10/22/06 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson TX.

[2] C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves, 121.

[3] Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God, 242-45, 248, 276.

[4] F. F. Bruce, Paul, Apostle of the Heart Set Free, 70-71

[5] William C. Placher, Narratives of a Vulnerable God, 15, 17-19; cf. Clark Pinnock, Most Moved Mover: A Theology of God’s Openness, 27, 58, 81-2, 88-92, 94.

[6] Bishop Kenneth L. Carder, “Why Follow a Crucified Christ?” The Christian CenturyAugust 27, 1997:753, accessed at http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=655.

[7] Emil Brunner, The Christian Doctrine of God, 139-41, 183-84, 187, 242-43.

[8] Carder, “Why Follow?”

[9] Moltmann, The Trinity and the Kingdom, 75, 96, 127, 157, 178, 209-212.

[10] Moltmann, Crucified God, 246-47, 277. Moltmann, Trinity, 38-39, 57, 60.

[11] Cf. Pinnock, Most Moved Mover, 57.

“Deliverance!”

Hebrews 7:11-25[1]

The movie “Shawshank Redemption” is a story about a guy who is in the wrong place at the wrong time and goes to jail for a crime he didn’t commit. His name is Andy Dufresne. After serving almost 20 years of a life sentence in a literal hell-hole of a prison he disappears. As it turns out, he had dug himself a hole in the wall of his cell, a wet wall in which were housed all kinds of pipes, including a sewage line that ran out of the prison and to freedom.

But Andy not only delivers himself; he also delivers his friend Red. A few years after Andy’s deliverance, and after serving 40 years of his life sentence, Red gets paroled. The problem is, he’s an “institutional man”—he had lived longer inside prison than on the outside. And the outside world terrified him. But before he escaped, Andy had made Red promise to find a box he had hidden in a nearby field. In the box was enough cash to take him to the paradise on the Mexican coast of the Pacific Ocean where Andy had vowed to go when he got out. Red could have backed out, but his faith in his friend Andy inspired him to take the risk. And Red found his friend Andy working on an old boat on a white sandy beach in front of the bluest ocean you can imagine.

What is salvation? The best we can do is come up with analogies. For me, I think spending an eternity on a beautiful beach by the Pacific Ocean with my best friend would come pretty close. The church has tried to articulate the meaning of salvation in many ways. The “official” view that most people live by today was developed by Anselm in the 11^th Century. Anselm used the analogy of the medieval feudal system to explain the meaning of salvation. He said that human sin had offended God’s honor, and that the only way for God’s offended honor to be satisfied was for a penalty to be paid. Anselm went on to say that Jesus paid the penalty for us so that we would not have to.

That sounds a lot like the letter to the Hebrews. But there is a different analogy for salvation here. The author appeals to the sacrificial system of the OT to explain the meaning of salvation. He acknowledges the sacrifices that were established as a means of forgiveness for sins. But he points out two things—the sacrifices were not permanent, and the priests were just as flawed as anyone else. By contrast, Jesus’ death on the cross is presented as a sacrifice that is both perfect and complete. It is perfect in that it effects permanently what the other sacrifices could not—forgiveness for sins. And it is complete in that it never needs to be repeated; because he lives forever “he is able, now and always, to save those who come to God through him” (Heb. 7:25, TEV).

Talk about the offended honor of a feudal lord that is satisfied by the penalty being paid may have worked a thousand years ago, but today it carries some implications that don’t fit the Gospel. It suggests an image of God as strict, exacting, and punitive; a God who keeps track of every little mistake we make and refuses to forgive even the slightest failing. I’m afraid the same can be said about the precise logic of the letter to the Hebrews—analogies of salvation based on the fine points of the Jewish sacrificial law fall on deaf ears these days.

In all fairness to the author of Hebrews, however, there are some interesting clues that there is more to “salvation” than just some kind of heavenly balance sheet. He speaks of true freedom (Heb. 2:15), lasting rest (Heb. 4:9-10), secure hope (Heb. 6:19), and open access (Heb. 10:20). He says (Heb. 8:8-12) that Jesus brings the better covenant of Jeremiah 31, where the prophet promises in the name of the Lord that God will change the people’s hearts and forgive their sins. In that same chapter, Jeremiah also promises that “their life will be like a watered garden” (Jer 31:12)!

Those analogies speak more to me than talk about penalties and punishments. The good news is that God is out to make right whatever it is that is wrong with humanity. Whether you call it alienation, fragmentation, or selfishness; violence, greed, or falsehood; there is something about our lives that just doesn’t seem to be right.[2] It keeps us from being our true selves, it keeps us from relating to others in a healthy way, and it keeps us from the life we were intended to live.

But the message of salvation is one of deliverance: God is working to set us free from all that. God is working to heal the wounds, to right all wrongs, and to restore the beauty of life. God is working to overcome violence with peace, to end all forms of oppression by establishing true justice, to expose all the lies with the truth that sets us free. God is working to restore all creation to the point where everything is “very good” again.[3] God is working to establish his reign, which will bring “justice and compassion for all people, everywhere.”[4] God is working to reunite everything and everyone with God’s own rich, joyful, loving, eternal life.[5]

That’s what salvation is about—freedom, peace, beauty, and life. It’s about deliverance. Whether your image of that is a thriving garden or a white sandy beach by a beautiful blue ocean, the good news is that God’s grace will prevail.[6]

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[1] A Sermon preached 10/29/06 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson TX.

[2] See Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol. 2, 47-55, where he speaks of sin as “estrangement” under three headings: God, self and others.

[3] Emil Brunner, Eternal Hope, 61; Otto Weber, Foundations of Dogmatics II:187; Clark Pinnock, Most Moved Mover: A Theology of God’s Openness, 37.

[4] Shirley C. Guthrie, “The Way, the Truth, and the Life,” Presbyterian Outlook (Feb. 11, 2002); at http://www.pres-outlook.com/HTML/guthrie030602.html. Cf. also Emil Brunner, Dogmatics, vol. 2: The Christian Doctrine of Creation and Redemption, 299.

[5] Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol. 1, 181; cf. also Paul Tillich, “Salvation,” in The Eternal Now, 114; Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol. 2, 166-67, 177-180. See further Jürgen Moltmann, Crucified God, 129, 178, 244; Jürgen Moltmann, The Trinity and the Kingdom, 38-39, 57, 151; Jürgen Moltmann, God in Creation, 76, 85.

[6] Hans Küng, The Christian Challenge, 120; see also Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 77, 190, 216; Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 2.1, 411.

“Real Faith”[1]

James 1:17-27

America is into “reality.” Or so it would seem, from a quick glance at the television lineup. The show “Survivor” started it all off a few years ago. It was so successful that it spawned a whole new genre, “reality TV.” Now we have “Wife Swap”, “Fear Factor,” and “American Chopper.” It seems there's no end to the possibilities for “reality TV.” The irony to me is that it seems that, more than ever before, Americans are turning to “reality TV” precisely to escape reality. I would say there’s precious little “reality” in “reality TV.” We may see people as they really are, but how many “real” people do we see?

I think this problem crosses over into the spiritual aspects of our lives as well. Being a “real” person isn’t easy. We have to face our demons; we have to come to terms with our dirty laundry; we have to come clean with ourselves.

One of the basic teachings of Scripture about faith is that it must be real. According to James, there’s no such thing as faith that’s a sham. It’s either real or it’s not faith. And if it’s not real, the only person we’re fooling is ourselves.

The Bible consistently demands that faith be real. According to Scripture, real faith is about God’s grace changing your heart and mind so much that it changes the way you live.[2] From the very beginning, God’s amazing grace has demanded of us that we not simply respond by saying something, but by doing something.[3] God has always expected those who profess faith in him to show that their faith truly makes a difference in the way they live.[4] Otherwise, it’s no faith at all; as Jesus said, it’s just “lip service” (Mk. 7:6-7; quoting Isa. 29:13). As Dietrich Bonhoeffer puts it, only those who are obedient believe![5]

Now it may seem strange to people raised on Paul's gospel of “justification by grace” through faith to hear this. When James says that “true religion” is to bridle your tongue, care for widows and orphans, and keep yourself untainted by the world (Jas. 1:27), it sounds like he’s making a new set of rules to follow. It sounds like he’s trying to set up a “religion” in the institutional sense of the word rather than promoting Christian faith. But when we look more closely at Scripture, we find that James’ demand for faith that changes the way you live stands right in the mainstream of biblical teaching.

The interesting feature of James’ contribution to this line of biblical teaching is the way he gets specific. James is not content to state the principle that we demonstrate real faith by how we live. He characteristically goes right to the heart of the matter by finding concrete illustrations. It should come as no surprise that he pinpoints these three specific areas—how you use your words, how you treat the powerless and destitute, and how you view “holiness.” A quick overview of Scripture will show how often they show up as indicators of real faith or the lack thereof!

If you think about it, these three areas of our lives are precisely where the lack of real faith shows up. How easy is it to turn from our “Christian life” to cursing, slandering, and condemning another person! How easy it is to make ourselves feel less impotent in this world by mistreating someone who has no voice! How easy it is to rationalize and justify our failure to “do justly and love mercy and walk humbly with our God” by wrapping ourselves in a mantle of false piety—we and people like us are “holy,” but those who are different aren’t.

It seems to me that is precisely the problem with American Christianity. In our society religion is a cultural phenomenon—it enforces the norms and standards of the status quo and uses the Bible and church as tools to that end. But since God’s word challenges all societies and cultures to recognize their profound failures, we must ignore it. That means justifying the way things are by presuming that we’re holy and those who differ from us are unholy (and therefore they’re to blame for all the problems). If we are going to support our culture as it is, then we must become “merely hearers who deceive themselves” (Jas. 1:22).

What about that part where James talks about keeping yourself untainted from the world? It sounds like James would fit right in with our self-justifying version of holiness. But that’s precisely not what James is saying. He’s echoing what Jesus said—it's not the so-called cultural “sins” that defile you, that render you “unclean” or impure in God's sight. You know what I’m talking about here—those ways we define people who are different from us as “less than” us regardless of their true character! For the Pharisees of Jesus’ day it was washing your hands the right way. We have different ways of defining people as unholy, but they are just as culturally motivated.

But Jesus says that it is what you do that defiles you. The list that Jesus makes has some things in it that I think we'd all agree have a unique ability to poison your soul—taking what you want, refusing to tolerate any rival, blowing your own horn, using others for your own gratification. Jesus presents us with a choice. The reality is that if we choose to live the life of real faith, we will have to turn our back on sham religion that justifies our sin. Real faith is about God’s grace changing your heart and mind so much that it changes the way you live.

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[1] A sermon preached 9/3/06 First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX.

[2] Emil Brunner, The Divine Imperative, 116, speaking of God claiming us for his kingdom through his love.

[3] Cf. Paul Tillich, “Doing the Truth,” The Shaking of the Foundations, 114-117.

[4] Marcus Borg, The Heart of Christianity, 187-206; Brian McLaren, Generous Orthodoxy, 249-51.

[5] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship, 63.