Showing posts with label Paul Tillich. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Paul Tillich. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 02, 2025

The Burden Lifted

The Burden Lifted

Psalm 32[1]

If we live in a world defined by dissatisfaction, as we discussed last week, we also live in a world defined by competition. There’s probably no better time of year to talk about this. “March Madness” isn’t just about basketball. It’s a symbol of how deeply competition is drilled into our lives. In every area of our lives, from school, to work, to sports, to even the games we play for entertainment. The level of competitiveness in our world can leave us feeling like life itself is a “zero-sum game.” That’s just a fancy way of saying that somebody has to lose so that somebody else can “win.” In a tournament like “March Madness,” a whole lot of “somebodies” have to lose so that just one team can win.

I realize that this competitiveness is so much a part of our way of life that some of you may seriously ask whether there is any real alternative. We see it when more than one company has to “compete” for our business. That can be a good thing. To be sure, we also see many ways in which cooperation brings people together for mutual benefit. I think of how communities rally around a farmer who has been injured or is sick and can’t get their crops planted or harvested. But at the end of the day, when the driving force is to “win,” that means “beating the competition.”

I think that’s at least one of the reasons why the message of God’s grace gains so little traction in our culture. The idea that God’s unfailing love is unconditional, unqualified, irrevocable, and unlimited, and that it extends to everyone, everywhere regardless of who they are, where they’ve been, or what they’ve done, just doesn’t compute for us. Like everything else, we view love as something we have to “win” by outdoing others. Even many of us who sing God’s grace in church every week may try to “win” God’s love for ourselves with our morality and our religious devotion. But the very effort means we view others as the “competition.” Maybe that’s one reason why the church has lost so much spiritual credibility with so many in our day. The idea that God extends his grace and love to all people everywhere solely because that’s who God is gets lost in the drive to “outdo” others. We just cannot envision a world in which everyone “wins.” But maybe that’s part of our problem.

You might think that’s a surprising way to introduce our Psalm for today. We hear the language of “righteousness” and we think we have to “measure up” to some kind of standard. In some of the Psalms, the bar for being “righteous” is set so high it leaves us wondering who can ever reach it.[2] But that’s where the Psalm for today comes in. We discussed last week that in the Psalms being “righteous” means trusting in God completely and wholly. Our Psalm for today expands on that: the “righteous” who are “blessed” or truly “happy” are not those who by their own efforts achieve some unreachable standard of morality. Rather, the “righteous” are those who know that they are embraced by God’s love.[3] They’ve learned to be vulnerable enough to admit their pain not only to themselves, but also to God. When they do that, they know the meaning of the psalm-singer’s words: “Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered!” Unfortunately, we tend to hear this kind of language in terms of guilt and shame. But this Psalm isn’t about guilt or shame, it’s about grace.

This is more than just religious jargon. The psalm-singer knows by experience the pain of feeling “not good enough.” To paraphrase the ancient words of the Bible, when we try to hide that pain, it becomes a burden that crushes us. It grinds us down as long as we keep silent. Many of us may know by personal experience the suffering that comes from keeping silent about our burdens. Some things are too painful to admit, even to ourselves. That’s because we may we think we’re unworthy of love and acceptance, by God, by others, or even by ourselves. But the burdens we carry don’t disqualify us from God’s love. We’re more than our worst failure. We’re more than the labels people put on us.

The psalm-singer also speaks of the freedom that comes from honesty. The promise of the Psalm for today is that when we admit all the ways in which we feel unworthy or disqualified, we find God’s total and complete acceptance. Even the language of sin and forgiveness demonstrates this. The variety of Hebrew words for sin and forgiveness in Psalm 32 offers the promise and the hope that our all guilt and shame in all its dimensions is resolved in every way that is necessary.[4] And this total and complete acceptance is available to us just for the asking. All we have to do is open ourselves enough to admit to ourselves and to God who we are, what we’ve done, and how we feel about it. We may be able to share this burden with a trusted friend or a counseling professional. The offer of healing held out to us by God’s grace applies not only to what we’ve done, but also to the pain we may carry for what has been done to us. When we name what hurts in a safe environment, we find that we’re still loved by God. Always have been and always will be. The joy and the freedom that comes from this kind of honest vulnerability is rooted in knowing that we are accepted for who we are, now and to all eternity.

In this Psalm, as in the Psalms as a whole, the key to finding this kind of freedom to learn to trust God’s unfailing love. That shouldn’t come as a surprise. The Psalms are filled with testimonies of the “blessings” that come from trusting God’s unfailing love. It’s about more than just comprehending God’s love as a concept. It’s about embracing God’s love wholly and completely with our whole hearts as well as our minds, even with body and soul. It’s about entrusting all that we are and all that we will ever be to God’s care! It may be hard to wrap our heads around something that big. Maybe we need to bring it down to a level we can grasp by taking the risk of trusting a friend enough to share our deepest pain. When we do, and we find love and acceptance in the place of the rejection we feared, the burden is lifted.

More than that, this process of healing can lead us to a whole new sense of worth, value, and acceptance. When the burdens we carry are lifted by God’s unfailing love, or even by the love of a friend, we find the freedom to accept that we are accepted. We find God’s unconditional, unqualified, irrevocable, and unlimited acceptance. That’s what “grace” means.[5] It means we’re accepted by God for who we are, now and forever. Always have been and always will be. When we find this level of freedom because the burdens that may have weighed us down for years have been lifted, we’re free to live fully in the present in a way that’s grace-filled and loving. We’re free to pass on to others the acceptance we have received. It transforms us and everyone around us, as God’s unconditional love is meant to.



[1] © 2025 Alan Brehm. A sermon delivered by Rev. Alan Brehm PhD on 3/30/2025 for Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] Psalm 15 is a great example: the psalm-singer asks a question that boils down to who may live in God’s presence, and the answer is, “Those who obey God in everything and always do what is right, whose words are true and sincere, and who do not slander others. … They always do what they promise, no matter how much it may cost” (Ps 15:2-4, GNT). I think we all tend to assume that “I could never live up to that.”

[3] J. Clinton McCann, Jr. “The Book of Psalms,” New Interpreters Bible IV:806, where he points out that one of the purposes of this Psalm is to demonstrate the truth that “to be righteous is not a matter of being sinless but a matter of being forgiven.”

[4] Peter C. Craigie, Psalms 1–50, 266.

[5] Paul Tillich, “You are Accepted,” in The Shaking of the Foundations, 162. He says that we truly experience “grace” not by anything we decide to believe or do, but rather it’s as if “a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: ‘You are accepted. You are accepted, accepted by that which is greater than you, and the name of which you do not know. Do not ask for the name now; perhaps you will find it later. Do not try to do anything now; perhaps later you will do much. Do not seek for anything; do not perform anything; do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted!’” (emphasis added). See also James L. Mays, Psalms, 146: “Calvin observed that all that the Scripture says about blessedness in other beatitudes depends on the blessedness commended here, ‘the free favor of God, by which he reconciles us to himself’ (Calvin I:526).”

 

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Belonging to God

Belonging To God
Psalm 139:1-12; 1 Corinthians 6:19-20[1]
One of my favorite confessions of faith isn’t a confession at all. It’s a catechism. It’s called “Belonging To God,” and it was approved by the PCUSA in 1998 as a “children’s” catechism.[2] In fact, when it comes to explaining our faith, that which is intended for children usually does a better job of getting to the heart of things. After all, with children, whether it’s a translation like the Contemporary English Version or Sunday School literature or a catechism, the goal is to keep things simple. When it comes to understanding what it means to live our lives in the power and presence of the Spirit, I would say that simplicity is a very good thing.
Here’s a sample. The first questions go like this: “Who are you?” And the response is: “I am a child of God.” “What does it mean to be a child of God?” To which the response is: “That I belong to God, who loves me.” I find it interesting that this catechism defines our relationship to God, it defines what it means to be a “child of God,” by saying, “I belong to God, who loves me.” I’m not sure about you, but I think that says a whole lot about our faith in a very few words: we belong to God. And “belonging” to God is about the fact he loves us. And so as a result a later question asks “How do you thank God for this gift of love?” And the answer is, “I promise to love and trust God with all my heart.” We respond to God’s love by seeking to love and trust God with all our hearts. I like the simplicity of that statement: the life of faith is about knowing that God loves us and about loving God back.
Some of us might object to the language of “belonging” to anybody. In its most negative sense, to “belong” to someone can be humiliating. To be in a situation where someone “owns” us and has complete control over us would normally be something harmful. But I think our Psalm for today gives us a different idea of what it means to say that we “belong” to God. Part of what that means is that God knows us completely. He knows our inmost thoughts, even the ones we may not want anyone else to know. He knows all our actions, both good and not so good. He knows our path; he knows where we’ve come from and where we’re headed. We might be tempted to avoid having someone who knows us so completely.[3] It can be frightening. And yet, the end result is that no matter what we’ve said or done, no matter where we’ve been or where we’re headed, “we belong to God, who loves us.”[4]
But there’s more. Belonging to God means not only that God knows us completely, but also that God is always with us. No matter where we go or what we do, we are always in God’s presence. The Psalmist uses the language of his day to describe this. He says, “If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there” (Ps. 139:8). In his world, “heaven” was the highest you could go, and Sheol, or the underworld, was the lowest.[5] The Psalmist also speaks of taking the “wings of the morning” and settling “at the farthest limits of the sea” (Ps. 139:9).  This refers to going as far to the East and West as you can. Essentially, he’s saying that we can go as high and as low, and as far in any direction we may choose, and still God is there with us.[6] As Gene Peterson puts it, “you’re already there waiting!” (Ps. 139:10). Belonging to God means that no matter where we go or what we do, God is always with us. Where ever we may find ourselves, “we belong to God, who loves us.”
I think all of this is summed up well by St. Paul when he says, “your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you,” which means that “you are not your own” (1 Cor 6:19). The heart of what it means to live in the presence and power of the Spirit is the idea that we are not our own, but rather we belong to God. Living the life of the Spirit means that we recognize that we “were bought with a price” (1 Cor 6:20) and therefore, as St. Paul also says elsewhere,  “whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God” (1 Cor 10:31). In this respect, belonging to God who loves us can be challenging. It inspires us to rise above living only for ourselves. It calls us to live our lives to fulfill God’s purposes in this world.
When it comes to the idea that “we belong to God, who loves us” in all that we are and all that we do, we may respond with the Psalmist by saying, “I can’t understand all of this! Such wonderful knowledge is far above me” (Ps. 139:6, CEV). Knowing that we belong to the God who knows us through and through, and the God who is never farther away from us than the air we’re breathing can be a great comfort to us.[7] But it’s also a challenge to realize that our lives are not our own, to do with as we please, because we “were bought with a price,” the precious price of Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross. That can be intimidating. But I don’t believe God is demanding of us some kind of impossible ideal. It’s as simple as the catechism puts it. Because we know that “we belong to God, who loves us,” we respond by seeking to love and trust God with all our hearts. We respond by seeking to live our lives in the awareness that God is always with us, always loving us, and therefore we seek to love God back with what we do.[8] Living in the power and the presence of the Spirit is both as simple and as challenging as knowing in the depth of our souls that “we belong to God, who loves us” and living all of life out of that fundamental conviction.





[1] ©2015 Alan Brehm. A sermon delivered by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 1/18/2015 at Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.
[2] Cf. “Belonging to God: A First Catechism.” A catechism approved by the 210th General Assembly (1998) of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). Accessed at https://www.pcusa.org/site_media/media/uploads/theologyandworship/ pdfs/catechism.pdf
[3] Cf. Paul Tillich, “Escape From God,” in The Shaking of the Foundations, 43-44. He says, “Nobody wants to be known, even when he realizes that his health and salvation depend upon such a knowledge. We do not even wish to be known by ourselves. We try to hide the depths of our souls from our own eyes. We refuse to be our own witness. How then can we stand the mirror in which nothing can be hidden?”
[4] Cf. Tillich, “Escape From God,” 50: “We are known in the depth of darkness through which we ourselves do not even dare to look. And at the same time, we are seen in a height of a fullness which surpasses our highest vision.”
[5] Interestingly, Karl Barth insists that God is present even in whatever kind of “hell” we may find ourselves. Cf. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, 4.1:482: “For the man whom God has created and with whom He covenants, there is no corner in which he does not exist for God, in which he is not enclosed by the hand of God behind and before. There is no heaven or hell in which he is out of the reach of God’s Spirit or away from His countenance.” Cf. similarly, Jürgen Moltmann, God in Creation, 91: “By entering into the God-forsakenness of sin and death (which is Nothingness), God overcomes it and makes it part of his eternal life: ‘If I make my bed in hell, thou art there’ (Ps. 139:8).”
[6] Cf. Barth, Church Dogmatics, 4.1:327: “He ‘encloses us before and behind’ (Ps 139:5), and therefore altogether and in eternity. That we are in Him is true unreservedly and without any loophole for escape.”
[7] Cf. William P. Brown, “Psalm 139: The Pathos of Praise,” Interpretation 50 (July 1996): 284, where he says that the message of this Psalm is “You don’t have to explain yourself before God.”
[8] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Source of Life: The Holy Spirit and the Theology of Life, 12-18: “The divine becomes the all-embracing presence in which what is human—indeed everything that lives—can develop fruitfully and live eternally: ‘You encompass me on every side and hold your hand over me’ (Ps. 139:5).”

Sunday, May 06, 2012

Living Witnesses


Living Witnesses
1 Jn. 4:7-21[1]
It’s not hard to see when we look around us that we find ourselves living a world in which a lot of people are looking for love in all the wrong places.  We are one of the most connected generations of all time, and yet we are more isolated from those around us, more separated from friends, family, God, and even ourselves, and therefore lonelier than any generation of humankind.  In a recent article, one observer argued that all of our “connectedness” through social media like Facebook is in fact only an unsatisfying substitute for real relationships.[2]  The study shows that it seems the more “connected” we are through our social networks, the more lonely we’re actually likely to be!
We who have looked to the church as a place of community are, to some extent, more fortunate than most.  Communities of faith like ours serve as extended families and support groups for many of us.  But I think even those of us who continue to actively participate in church would have to admit that the Church doesn’t always do a very good job of practicing the central command that we love one another as we love ourselves.  Sadly, as much as we might wish it were not true, in the church we are all too often guilty of “shooting our wounded.”
Our lesson from 1 John for today suggests that we look to a different source to meet our needs for love.  The elder John calls us to love one another based on the fact that God is love and is the source of love.  More than that, John points to the ultimate demonstration of God’s love in Jesus.  There is some significant theology behind this.  We call it the incarnation, the belief that in Jesus, God somehow came to walk in our shoes, to experience the fullness of our suffering, our struggles, and even our loneliness. Through this amazing demonstration of love, John says that we come to know and “believe in” the love God has for us (1 Jn. 4:16). 
Now, I think the theology of incarnation is an important basis for understanding God’s love for us.[3]  But I doubt seriously that most of us came to know and “believe in” God’s love for us in the first place through dogma.  It seems to me that most of us come to know and “believe in” God’s love because somebody at some point or another in our lives served as a “living witness” of God’s love.[4]  And because we have received that love, that means that we in turn have the opportunity in each and every interaction with other human beings to be the one who helps them know and believe in God’s love for them.
Unfortunately, we often fall short in this. Even in the earliest days, the church fell short.  John the elder, who says that anyone who doesn’t love a brother or sister cannot love God (1 Jn. 4:20), also attacks people who had separated from his community over doctrinal disagreement (1 Jn. 2:22-23).  In fact, he condemns them as “antichrists” (1 Jn. 3:18-19) and children of Satan (1 Jn. 3:10)!  Doesn’t sound like there’s much love there.[5] But if we’re honest with ourselves, we have to confess that we have all been there.  We have all fallen short of relating to those around us as living witnesses of God’s love.
 I myself have to confess that I have in fact cherished hatred in my heart toward other human beings.  The sad thing about it is that when we retreat behind our walls of bitterness and hatred, we are only increasing the isolation, the separation, and the loneliness in our world.  And we do it by isolating and separating ourselves from the world of humanity around us—a world crying out for some indication that there is someone out there somewhere who cares about them, who loves them, who values them as human beings.[6]
But because we know and believe in the love God has for us, we have the opportunity to turn all that around every time we encounter another person.[7]  We have the opportunity to choose compassion, to choose to be living witnesses of God’s love for that person.  We talk a lot about God’s love; we sing songs about God’s love; God’s love and grace and mercy are at the center of our whole approach to Christian faith.  But the real question is whether we actually show that love toward the real-life people we relate to everyday. 
The challenge is that relating to other human beings can be a messy proposition; even on Facebook our relationships can get complicated.  But that’s the way life is.  It’s complicated; it can hurt to relate to another human being; it’s frustrating and challenging to try to show love.  And that’s precisely why God’s incredible love for us calls us to love each other.  God’s love for us calls us to enter into the messy, complex world of flawed people and live as witnesses to God’s love for each and every one of them.[8]


[1] © 2012 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 5/6/12 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX and at A Community of the Servant-Savior Presbyterian Church, Houston, TX.
[2] Stephen Marche, “Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?” The Atlantic (May 2012):60-69. He cites a 2004 study that suggested 25 percent of Americans reported that they had nobody they could talk to, and 20 percent only had one confidant!
[3] Cf. D. Moody Smith, First, Second and Third John, 107; cf. also Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 2.1:275: “The love of God, or God as love, is therefore interpreted in 1 Jn. 4 as the completed act of divine loving in sending Jesus Christ.”  See further, Jürgen Moltmann, The Trinity and the Kingdom, 83.
[4] Cf. Henri Nouwen, Here and Now, 127: “All human relationships, …, are meant to be signs of God’s love for humanity as a whole and each person in particular. … Jesus reveals that we are called by God to be living witnesses of God’s love.”
[5] Cf. Raymond Brown, The Epistles of John, 85.
[6] Cf. Smith, First, Second and Third John, 108: “Apart from love shared, whether by God for us or by ourselves for one another, it is meaningless to inquire about God’s reality or being.” (!)
[7] Cf. Paul Tillich, “The Golden Rule,” in The New Being, 30: “For the other one and I and we together in this moment in this place are a unique, unrepeatable occasion, calling for a unique unrepeatable act of uniting love.” Cf. also Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 121: “Christians must show the friendship of Jesus in openness for others and totally.”
[8] Cf. John Caputo, On Religion, 115: “if we say ‘God is love,’ that means we are expected to get off our haunches and do something, make that truth happen, amidst our sisters and our brothers.”

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Practicing
John 3:14-21[1]
Many of you know that I recently took up practicing yoga. I find it to be an exercise that does it all for me: increasing strength, aerobic fitness, balance and flexibility. I also find it amusing the kinds of responses I get when I tell people I practice yoga. The most frequent one is, “Do you find it relaxing?” The truth of the matter is that yoga does wonders for relieving my stress, and it is very relaxing in that we always end with a time of quiet resting. But yoga is also one of the most rigorous forms of exercise I’ve ever tried. Most of my guy friends who’ve never tried yoga look at me like I’m crazy when I say that. But just try to take on a revolved chair pose or a half-moon pose for yourself. If you need the directions, you can find them on the internet.[2] Let me just say they take a great deal of strength!
You may find it interesting that I describe this as “practicing” yoga. That’s what yoga is—something you practice. I know that the word “practice” sounds like what you do before you’re ready to do the real thing. But in the case of yoga it’s more a matter of something you’re always learning, something that is a continual journey, something that takes constant and consistent attention. It is a discipline of the mind as well as the body. In that respect, I have found it to be a practice that helps me develop my inner strength, and my peace of mind. And perhaps even more importantly, it helps me learn to focus my intentions with clarity and determination so that I can better follow through on them.
You may be wondering what this has to do with the repentance and faith that Jesus calls us to embrace. Well, I think they are very similar. Like yoga, living out the directions that are intended to make our lives more whole, more peaceful, and more joyful, is something that we must constantly learn to do. In a very real sense, we’re on a continual journey when it comes to loving God and loving others. We’re engaged in something that takes constant and consistent attention. Becoming a person who is open to God’s loving presence and who allows that love to flow through us to others is something we must constantly practice.
In our Gospel lesson for today, we find some difficult tensions that may make it hard for us to get this message. On the one hand, we find a wonderful affirmation of the unconditional love of God—for God so loved the world that he gave his only Son so that we might experience the wholeness that is called eternal life (Jn. 3:16).[3] But there is also a lot of talk about those who don’t believe being condemned that sounds pretty exclusive.
Background for John’s gospel was one of conflict; the Jewish Christians were very likely dealing with the pain of having been thrown out of their synagogues—having been cut off from their families, their friends, the very foundation and center of their lives.[4] When you experience that kind of painful rejection, it’s easy to fall into a way of thinking that is oppositional, that falls into looking at everybody in terms of whether they’re for us or against us. That seems to have been precisely what was going on with the people for whom John’s Gospel was written. And it led them to believe some things that may have been helpful for them in order to reinforce their sense of identity, but when transferred into our day and time can result in some pretty ugly exclusion. [5]
But we shouldn’t let that obscure the gems of truth found in this text. It clearly affirms Gods’ unconditional love for the whole world. It also tells us something about the kind of response that love calls forth in us. In John’s Gospel, it’s called “doing the truth.” Our faith, our truth, our convictions are meant to be put into practice in our lives, as we said last week.[6] But that’s not something you learn to do like riding a bike and once you learn it you’ve got it. It’s more like learning a musical instrument. If you’re really committed to it, you’re always learning how to practice faith in real life.
  I’ve been doing yoga for about nine months now. I’ve been doing it long enough that those muscles that at first were screaming at me because I’d never really used them before have gotten accustomed to the poses we do. Don’t get the wrong idea—I’m still very much a beginner. I have a long way to go. To some extent, although I’ve been practicing my faith a lot longer, I’m still continually learning what it means to love God and love others. I’m still learning how to get beyond my own selfishness so that I can truly love the people around me. I still learning how to open myself so that the life and love of God can flow through me. I’m still learning to relate to the people around me with compassion, understanding, kindness, and mercy. And I hope that I never stop practicing.





[1] © 2012 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 3/18/12 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX and at A Community of the Servant-Savior Presbyterian Church, Houston, TX.
[2] Revolved chair pose can be found at http://www.fitsugar.com/Yoga-Poses-Legs-16023419?slide=1. Half-moon pose can be found at http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/784.
[3] Cf. Gail. R. O’Day, “The Gospel of John,” New Interpreters Bible 9:555. She says, “The God revealed in Jesus is a God whole love knows no bounds and who asks only that one receive the gift.”
[4] Cf. David Bartlett, “Inclusive or Exclusive Grace?,” The Christian Century, Feb 27, 1991, p. 227.
[5] Paul Tillich, in “Doing the Truth,” The Shaking of the Foundations, p. 117 suggests that the division is found in this gospel text is inherent in one’s response to Jesus. He says, “You cannot have opinion about the Christ after you have faced Him. You can only do the truth by following Him, or do the lie by denying Him.”
[6] Cf. Tillich, “Doing the Truth,” p. 117: “Christian theology is rooted in the concept of truth in which no cleavage between theory and practice is admitted, because this truth is saving truth.” Cf. similarly, John D. Caputo, On Religion, 115.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Sacred Work

Genesis 11:1-9[1]

The 2005 film The World’s Fastest Indian is based on the true adventures of Burt Munro, a sixty-seven year old motorcyclist from New Zealand. Working in a cinder block garage in Invercargill spent 20 years modifying a 1920 Indian Scout motorcycle, which was originally designed to go about 50 miles an hour. In 1967 Burt travelled to the USA to compete at the Bonneville Salt Flats, setting an under-1000cc world record by reaching the speed of 183 mph! During his ten visits to the salt flats, he set three speed records, one of which still stands today.

I think one reason why Burt Munro achieved what many would have thought impossible was because he had a passion for what he was doing. He loved going fast! In fact, at one point, when asked if he’s afraid of being killed in a crash, he says, “You live more in five minutes on a bike like this going flat out than some people live in a lifetime.” Burt’s passion was also fired by his imagination—he could imagine what it looked like to set a land speed record—he could see it, he could taste it, he could feel it in his bones! His dream inspired him to the extent that he spent all his waking moments working on his beloved “old girl,” forging his own tools and parts in his shed. Not only that, but he also overcame a whole list of obstacles, from booking his passage aboard a ship (which included him working for part of the fare), to finding welding tools to repair his makeshift trailer, to talking the officials at Bonneville into letting him race even though they thought he was just a “crazy old coot”! Boy did he prove them wrong!

Our story from Genesis today tells us about a people who had another dream. The people of ancient Mesopotamia decide to build a great city and a tower “with its top in the heavens.” Now, if you think about it, there’s nothing wrong with having a passion for building great cities and impressive towers. But what was wrong was their motivation. They did it to “make a name” for themselves and to prevent them from being “scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth” (Gen. 11:4).[2] They were motivated by one of the oldest motivations of all time: pride.

Now, as we learned from the story of Cain and Abel, there’s nothing wrong with a healthy sense of satisfaction at “being good at what you’re good at.” But the kind of pride that motivated the builders of Babel was different. It’s the kind of pride that many theologians throughout the ages have called the “original” sin![3] Think about it: there’s a huge difference between the joy of finding fulfillment in what you do and the desire to “make a name” for yourself. One can inspire you with the kind of passion that enabled Burt Munro to achieve his dreams. The other will drain you of all imagination and energy, and leave you bitter and angry. Even if you achieve the goal of “making a name” for yourself, you have to guard it jealously because fame is so fleeting.

We are a people who suffer from a serious lack of imagination. The only reason we seem to be able to find for actually pursuing what we do for a living is to “make a name” for oneself or to make a lot of money. Talk about unimaginative! We keep spinning our wheels in the rat race thinking if we only get more fame or more money we’ll finally be “happy.” What’s the definition of insanity? Isn’t it doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results!

Thomas Moore reminds us that we all need to be able to see our work in the context of a larger story, a story that is concerned with what really matters in this world, a story where we make a significant contribution. [4] I would say that before we can do that, we need some idea of the larger story we’re in! This is where our Bible stories can help us. The story of Creation reminds us that we were made for the purpose of contributing to the life and beauty of God’s world. The story of Abraham and Sarah and their descendants reminds us that God’s purposes in this world don’t just “appear” out of thin air—they get done by people with flesh and bones. The story of Jesus impresses upon us the immense value God places on our being able to carry out our part in the larger story of God’s purpose.

That biblical view of God’s story might be overwhelming to you. It’s a pretty big story, after all. As my favorite Reformed Theologian, Jürgen Moltmann, reminds us, that’s the whole point of the story of God’s Spirit. God’s Spirit is poured out on all people in order to us free from everything that keeps us from fulfilling our part in God’s story. The Spirit fills us all in order to energize us to accomplish things we could never even dream of![5]

When we can live our lives in harmony with the story God’s purpose, we can view all our work as God’s work.[6] If we can have the imagination to conceive our work in that way, then all work is sacred work, and we can do it with passion and enthusiasm. Then all work is a “vocation”—a calling from deep within; it is an “occupation”—something that chooses us from outside ourselves; it is “liturgy”—we are contributing toward the well-being of life, and thus participating to God’s ongoing creation.[7]



[1] © 2008 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 10/12/08 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX and at A Community of the Servant-Savior Presbyterian Church, Houston, TX.

[2] Cf. Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 1-15, 242. Cf. also Walter Brueggemann, Genesis, 99; and Nancy L. deClaissé-Walford, “God Came Down … And Scattered: Acts of Punishment or Acts of Grace,” Review and Expositor 103 (Spring 2006): 403-417; they suggest that the scattering that God effected on them may be construed as a blessing rather than punishment!

[3] See Otto Weber, Foundations of Dogmatics I:571, 600; cf. also Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, II:50, where he defines sin as “hubris” and says, “Hubris is not one form of sin besides others. It is sin in its total form, namely, the other side of unbelief or man’s turning away from the divine center to which he belongs. It is turning toward one’s self as the center of one’s self and one’s world.”

[4] Thomas Moore, Care of the Soul, 185.

[5] See Jürgen Moltmann, The Spirit of Life: A Universal Affirmation, 114-122.

[6] Cf. Moore, Care of the Soul, 199.

[7] Moore, Care of the Soul, 181-82.

Friday, September 26, 2008

“The Journey”

Rom. 8:12-25[1]

Some of you know that I have been a “bachelor” this week. One of the ways my son Michael, his friend Nathan, and I passed the time was to have a “Star Wars” marathon. Yep—we made it through all 6 movies! It was great fun, even though some of the movies really aren’t very good. Despite the relative merits of the acting, you are probably aware as I am that students of theology, religion, and film tend to agree that part of what makes “Star Wars” such a popular series is that it represents fundamental issues in human life—issues like good and evil, justice and order, confronting darkness and overcoming it, life and death.[2]

You may not know that George Lucas actually wrote the movies to reflect the themes from Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces, the classic study of the mythic ideas that have been handed on from generation to generation in a wide variety of cultures throughout human history. So Lucas wrote “Star Wars” to create a view of the world and to define the way life works in that world using typical mythic ideas that have inspired humankind for centuries. No wonder it has been so successful at drawing us into that world and making us want to be a part of it!

One of the ways in which the Star Wars series accomplishes this is to present a world in which good and evil are clearly demarcated. There is the “good” side of the force and then there is the “dark” side of the force. Those who use the “good” side are known as Jedi Knights, and they are viewed as the defenders of peace and justice in the galaxy. Those who use the “dark” side are known as Sith Lords—and it would seem that all they are after is power. In the story, the battle between good and evil becomes focused on one person, Anakin Skywalker, and his son, Luke. As a young boy, Anakin trained to become a Jedi, but as he grew older he became more and more haunted by his own personal fears and desires. Eventually, the Emperor (who is a Sith Lord) uses those fears and desires to deceive Anakin into “crossing over” to the “dark side,” and he becomes the evil lord Darth Vader.

Though it would seem at that point that all hope is lost—Darth Vader and the Emperor kill all the other Jedi except for Master Yoda and Obi Wan Kenobi—the one ray of hope is that Anakin had fathered twins, Luke and Leia. As Luke reaches manhood, it becomes clear that his role is to undo the harm Anakin has done and to restore peace and freedom to the galaxy—and perhaps even to free Anakin from evil. Though there are times when it seems that the obstacles in Luke’s way will prevent him from completing his “hero’s journey,” Luke does in the end prevail: the Emperor is destroyed, justice and peace are restored, Anakin is redeemed, and Luke becomes a full-fledged Jedi.[3]

Joseph Campbell would say that this is the typical mythic view of a “hero’s journey.”[4] The purpose of this kind of story is to reinforce fundamental ideas that humankind have long cherished with religious fervor—that the world is locked in a battle between good and evil, that there are heroes who will achieve break-through victories for us all in that battle, and that we are called to the struggle of our own “hero’s journey,” and that good will ultimately triumph over evil. However, when you get down to the nitty-gritty of life, it’s impossible to sort out good and evil that strictly. We do many of our best “good deeds” out of questionable motives; and we often do the greatest “evil” or “harm” when we think we are serving God!

It would seem at first glance that Paul portrays the world in much the same way as George Lucas does in “Star Wars”—there is evil and there is good, and they are mutually exclusive. St. Paul spends a great deal of ink to convey the idea that we have all been given new life in Jesus the Christ. It is a gift from God, a sheer act of grace and unconditional love that no one could ever do enough to attain. Ironically, Paul then turns around and talks about how hard we have to work to actually experience this new life! In our lesson for today, he basically says that our experience of new life in Christ Jesus takes place in a context of constant tension between the “flesh” and the “Spirit.”

It doesn’t take a Ph. D. to recognize that Paul uses the word “flesh” with confusing variety. Here, “flesh” relates to the idea that we humans in our finite and flawed existence tend to rebel against God because we are influenced by an evil of cosmic proportions.[5] From this perspective to “live according to the flesh” means setting ourselves against God in willfulness and disobedience; it means living contrary to the grace that enters our lives through Jesus the Christ by the presence of the Spirit.[6] That is the backdrop to Paul’s insistence that we have to choose each day to “die to the flesh” and “live for the Spirit;” we have to choose whether we will live by our own selfish interests or live by the grace and mercy and love of God poured out on us by God’s Spirit.

If that sounds daunting to you, don’t feel bad. It sounds daunting to me too! It is sobering to be reminded that we all live out our own personal “journey” in the continual push-and-shove between giving and taking, between serving others or serving ourselves only, between a life that promotes joy and hope and love and a life that promotes death and destruction. In real life the choices aren’t as clear-cut as they are in “Star Wars.” But the good news of “the Gospel according to St. Paul,” is that we are not left to our own devices as we live our lives each day. Paul reminds us that we have the constant and never-failing presence of God’s Spirit to reassure us when we doubt, to guide us and strengthen us, and to get us back on track when we stray from our path.[7] Even when we find ourselves in those places where we might think God would abandon us, it still remains true that, as the Psalmist says, “even there your hand shall lead me and your right hand shall hold me fast” (Ps. 139:10).



[1] © 2008 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 7/20/08 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX and at A Community of the Servant-Savior Presbyterian Church, Houston, TX.

[2]See Joseph Campbell, The Power of Myth, 179: “Star Wars is not a simple morality play, it has to do with the powers of life as they are either fulfilled or broken and suppressed through the action of man [sic].”

[3] See Steve Persall, “Move Over Odysseus, here comes Luke Skywalker,” St. Petersburg Times, May 1999; http://www.folkstory.com/articles/petersburg.html .

[4] See Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces, 30-36.

[5] See Karl Barth, The Epistle to the Romans, 289-90, 293-94.

[6] James D. G. Dunn, Romans 1-8, 443; cf. also C. K. Barrett, St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, 161.

[7] Paul Tillich, “The Witness of the Spirit to the Spirit,” in The Shaking of the Foundations, 139, says it this way: even when we feel discouraged and think perhaps that God is displeased with us, the Spirit is “working quietly in the depth of our souls.”

Monday, May 26, 2008

“Everything To Live For”

Acts 2:14, 22-32; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31[1]

Several years ago my oldest son Derek and I visited two canyons in the Southwest. We spent a day at the Grand Canyon with about 12,000 other people. The sight of the canyon was truly impressive; it is one of those places on earth whose grandeur cannot be captured by photography. We also spent a day at Chaco Canyon in Northwestern New Mexico. You may not have heard of it. It is the site of the oldest Native American ruins in the U. S. It’s about 20 miles off the pavement along a bumpy dirt road.

Archaeologists think that Chaco Canyon was first occupied about the year 500 by Native American farmers.[2] By about the year 800 they were building the crescent-shaped pueblos for which the site is famous. The pueblos were built along lines marked out by the sun and the moon, as well as perfect East-West and North-South lines. The discovery of many pre-historic roads that fan out to the surrounding area suggests that Chaco Canyon may have stood at the center of a fairly large and well-developed culture, known today as the Early Puebloan People. They flourished there for another 350 years, until they were forced to leave by an extended drought. Most historians would agree that they founded the Pueblo Cultures that still thrive in the desert Southwest.

If you’ve ever been to the Grand Canyon, you can perfectly understand why so many people go there. But if you visited Chaco Canyon, you’d have to ask yourself why in the world anyone would want to visit, let alone live there. It’s a stark and barren landscape. There’s really nothing much to commend it as a place to build a fairly sophisticated complex of pueblos. We can only speculate at this point, but some have suggested that the unique geographical and astronomical alignment of the canyon may have related to ancient Puebloan religious beliefs.

As Derek and I wandered the ruins of Chaco Canyon that day—with about 12 other people as opposed to 12,000!—I found myself wondering what it was that enabled men and women to do what it took to survive the harsh conditions of that time and place. It’s hard enough to survive what life has to offer in the relative comfort of what we call “civilization.” It’s hard to understand what motivated people to endure the hardships of life in those primitive conditions. What did they have to live for?

If we took the time to study what life was like for the early Christians, we might ask the same question. As Peter says in his letter, they suffered for their faith in a wide variety of ways—ranging from ridicule to hostility, and from ostracism to lynching! In the midst of their hardships, the Apostle Peter reminded them that the Easter faith offered them a “living hope.” Their hope was “alive” because it is a hope that comes from the life of the risen Christ who defeated death. Their hope was alive because it is a hope that comes from the promise of never-ending life in God’s new creation and “brand-new” life here and now through God’s Spirit. Their hope was alive because it is a hope that nothing can quench—not doubt, not hostile enemies, not even martyrdom, which they suffered on occasion. Because of their “living hope,” Peter assured them that they had “everything to live for.”[3]

But there had to have been times when those First-Century Christians asked themselves why they had to suffer so much if all that was true. I think part of the problem is that our faith in the resurrection and our hope of new life simply exceed our grasp. But just because we may not be able to get a handle on them doesn’t mean that our faith and hope are not just as alive today as they were in Peter’s day.[4]

Even though we may not be able to fully grasp our “living hope,” the good news of Easter is that the new life of the risen Christ is something that takes hold of us and changes us forever.[5] That is the basis for our hope and faith—not that we can grasp everything there is to know about God and faith and eternity, but rather that God has grasped us through the living presence of our Lord and Savior Jesus the Christ. The hope of Easter, that new life will one day transform everything and everyone, gives us everything to live for.[6]

And as Peter assured those first Christians doing their best to live their lives in the midst of the struggles of their world, he continues to assure us that the experience of being “grasped” by God is one that cannot be diminished by time, or doubt, or even death. It is an experience that transforms us for good because we are from then on “kept safe by the power of God” (1 Peter 1:5, TEV).



[1] © 2008 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached on 3/30/08 by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX.

[2] See the article on “Chaco Culture National Historical Park,” at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chaco_Culture_National_Historical_Park .

[3] 1 Peter 1:3 (The Message): “Because Jesus was raised from the dead, we’ve been given a brand-new life and have everything to live for.”

[4] Walter Wink, “Resonating With God’s Song,” The Christian Century (March 23, 1994) “The resurrection is not a fact to be believed, but an experience to be shared”

[5] Paul Tillich, “Faith and Uncertainty,” in The New Being, 77: says, “In our uncertainty there is one fixed point of certainty, however we may name it and describe it and explain it. We may not comprehend, but we are comprehended.”

[6] Jürgen Moltmann, Theology of Hope, 85, 88; cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, 256; Jürgen Moltmann, Experiences of God, 20, 28

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

“Never Alone”

Isaiah 7:10-16; Matthew 1:18-25[1]

There is something woven into the fabric of who we are as human beings that cries out for companionship. We are simply not made to be alone. In fact, prolonged periods of forced isolation can damage a person’s very soul. In the 2000 film Cast Away, Chuck Noland is a FedEx executive who survives a plane crash and spends four years stranded on a patch of island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The need for companion-ship is so engrained in him that he makes a “friend” out of a Wilson soccer ball. When “Wilson” goes adrift during his daring escape attempt on a makeshift raft, Chuck weeps bitterly at the loss of his only companion.

I can empathize with that. I’ve never much liked being alone—especially at night. I think I’m probably not the only one who’s felt like that. Business travelers have all kinds of ways of dealing with that feeling—some healthy and some not so healthy. Loneliness is one of the most depressing, most frightening aspects of our human experience. We just need someone to be with us. We don’t even have to like the person, as long as someone is there.

Perhaps that stems from our general feeling of alienation. Deep down, we all have the sense that we’re “mourning in lonely exile here” as the hymn “O Come, O Come Immanuel” puts it. We have a feeling that it is not we who are hiding from God, but rather God is hiding from us while we cry out, “where art thou!” But with the birth of Jesus Christ, God answers that lonely cry with a resounding “Here am I!”

In Matthew’s Christmas story, the angel of the Lord not only explains to Joseph the mystery of Mary’s child but also explains Jesus’ identity. Based on the name “Jesus”, which means “Yahweh is salvation,” this child would save his people from their sins. Matthew views Jesus as the ultimate fulfillment of the promise of “Immanuel” in Isaiah 7:14![2] That might not resolve much of the mystery for us. The very name “Immanuel” is a strange one. It only occurs three times in the whole Bible (Isaiah 7:14; 8:8; Matt. 1:23). Matthew follows what seems to a literal translation of the name, “God with us” (Isaiah 8:10). As the “Immanuel,” Jesus is the one who reveals God’s saving presence among his people.

Although the word “Immanuel” may be rare, the concept is not. God’s redemptive purpose has always been an effort to restore the relationship between God and “all the families of the earth,” as the call of Abraham puts it (Genesis 12:3). In a sense, “God with us” permeates all of Scripture![3]

I think it’s important to add a word of clarification here. Many have read the story of Jesus’ mysterious birth as proof of who he is—fully divine Son of God. But the main point of Matthew’s story is not that Jesus is “very God and very man.” If we look at Matthew’s Gospel as a whole, we find that Jesus’ special identity as “Immanuel” is defined in terms of what he does:

• Jesus carries out the role of “Son of God”, or God’s divinely approved envoy;[4]
•Jesus conducts his ministry with authority and power that come from God (Matt. 11:2-6; 28:18);
• Jesus fulfills the promise of the Kingdom of God (Matt. 3:15; 5:17-19; 12:28).

Matthew consistently defines what “Immanuel” means in terms of “he will save his people from their sins.”[5]

If you think about it, that may be the only way to do it. All the efforts of theologians to explain the mystery of Jesus’ identity with abstract theories have failed to make the same impact as Matthew’s simple story of Jesus as “God with us.”[6] From Matthew’s perspective, Jesus demonstrates that he is “God with us” in everything he does: in his obedience to God; in his teaching; in his ministry with authority and power; in his healings; and ultimately through his death on the cross, his resurrection, and ascension. For Matthew, the meaning of Jesus’ birth has to do with the conviction that “in the story of Jesus, God acts.” [7]

Nevertheless, we inevitably have to face the questions a claim like this raises. Think about it—God becoming human. How can something like this be? What does the hymn tune say? “Such a Babe in such a place, can he be the Savior?” It doesn’t seem plausible, does it? And yet perhaps another hymn may provide a clue in the verse, “How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given.” There truly is something mysterious, something inexplicable about Jesus’ birth. There truly is “something surprising, unexpected about the appearance of salvation.[8]

Why does God go to such lengths to reunite us with himself? Karl Barth says it is because God “does not will to be God without us.” [9] The second verse of “Break Forth O Beauteous Heavenly Light” expresses it perfectly: “He comes in human form to dwell, Our God with us, Immanuel, The night of darkness ending, Our fallen race befriending.”

The hope of advent is that in Jesus the Christ God has already started reclaiming the world for his own out of his settled determination to be “God with us,” not God without us. The joy of advent is that the light of God’s new day is already dawning, and we can already know God’s saving presence in our lives right here and right now. The urgency of Advent is that we are called to join with the risen Lord in sharing this life-giving presence of God with those around us who still feel so desperately alone.



[1] © 2007 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 12/23/07 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson TX.

[2] Craig Blomberg, Matthew, 57; cf. R. T. France, Matthew: Evangelist and Teacher, 182–83

[3]cf. Ulrich Luz, Theology of the Gospel of Matthew, 31.

[4]Matthew 3:17; 11:25-27; 16:16-17; 22:41-45; 27:54.

[5]Anthony J. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, 166.

[6]Luz, Theology of the Gospel of Matthew, 32: “The presence of God can only be related and testified, not captured in concepts.”

[7]Luz, Theology of the Gospel of Matthew, 31-33; cf. Matthew 12:28; 17:17; 18:20; 26:29; 28:18–20.

[8]Paul Tillich, “Has the Messiah Come?,” in The New Being, 95. I don’t think anyone could sum it up better than he did: “The mystery of salvation is the mystery of a child.”

[9]Karl Barth, Christian Dogmatics, IV.1: 3-20.