Good Shepherd Lutheran Church
State College, PA
In 1977, I was working with a traveling team in Uttar Pradesh, a state in North India. We stopped for a day or two at the office while the state leader was away, and as I was going through his books I picked up Studies in the Sermon on the Mount, a series of sermons by the great Welsh preacher Martyn Lloyd-Jones, who at that time was the pastor of Westminister Chapel in London. I started reading and was so taken by it that I couldn't set it aside. When we left, I took it with me, even though it wasn't possible to get permission to borrow it; I just couldn't part with it at the time. (I did later return it and eventually bought my own copy).
That book changed the way I read Scripture, because Lloyd-Jones was so insistent on observing the context and paying attention to why the authors of Scripture said things in the way they did. So often we go wrong by taking a verse or a chapter out of context without being careful to observe what the author is trying to say and why he goes about saying it in the way he does.
Lloyd-Jones also spent thirteen years expounding the book of Romans, and at the beginning of his exposition of Romans 5, he points to the importance of the word "therefore:" He says, "I sometimes think that the whole secret of the Christian life is to know how to use the word ‘Therefore.' The Christian life is in many ways a matter of logic, a matter of deduction. The Christians who have shined most brightly throughout the centuries have always been those who have been able to use this ‘Therefore.' Correspondingly most failures in the Christian life are to be traced to an inability to use this word" (Romans: Assurance, pp. 1-2).
What Paul is doing in these early verses of chapter five is drawing a conclusion. In the beginning of the letter, through the early part of chapter three, he demonstrates that all, both Jews and Gentiles, are guilty of sin and are unable to save themselves by obeying the Law. Then he makes this great statement in the middle of chapter 3: "But now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from law, although the law and the prophets bear witness to it, the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe" (vv. 21-22). He continues to discuss this through the end of the chapter and then turns aside, in chapter 4, to answer the question this raises about Abraham and whether Abraham was also justified by faith rather than works. And then, having answered that question, he begins to discuss what this means for us. His word "therefore" tells us to recall what he has been saying and to understand that he is drawing a conclusion.
The first thing he says is that "having been justified by faith, we have peace with God." We need to pause here and take note of an alternate reading. Most Bibles have a footnote attached to this verse saying something like "Other ancient authorities read let us," or "let us have peace with God," rather than "we have peace with God." This alternate reading is an exhortation; it's telling us to do something, calling for a response. The overwhelming textual evidence is in favor of this alternate reading, and yet nearly all translators and commentators are agreed in rejecting it.
The difference between the two readings is only one letter, and in use they sounded pretty-much the same. The way multiple copies of manuscripts were made in the days before printing and photocopying was that one reader would read the text to multiple copiers, who would write down what they heard. So it's easy to see how, in this case, the wrong word could have crept into the text. In one very important manuscript the original copier wrote "let us have," and someone later corrected it to "we have." The reason the great majority of translators and commentators agree with this corrector is that "let us have peace with God" really doesn't fit with what Paul is doing here. He is making a series of statements about things that are true of us in Christ rather than exhorting us to respond in a particular way. So I think we can be confident that the reading we find in the text is the correct one, rather than the alternate that is listed in the margin.
What does it mean that we are at peace with God? Paul is not talking here about a feeling of inner peace, as he is, for example, in Philippians 4:7, when he says "And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." He's saying, as he points out later in this passage, that before we were justified we were God's enemies, that we were living in rebellion against the source of all good. We've been alienated from God, and now we are restored to have a relationship with Him, to have access into His presence. To be at peace with God means not that we feel a sense of inner peace but that we are free to enter God's presence as His children, as those who've been adopted into His family. We may not always feel good about our spiritual state; we may feel unworthy to come before God in prayer; but the truth is that we are at peace with Him and are welcome in His presence.
Paul goes on to stress that our peace with God in Christ is very secure. He says that we have "gained access to this grace," this sphere of favor with God. John Stott points out that "gained access" suggests that we took the initiative and says that a better translation might be that we have been introduced, "which acknowledges our unfitness to enter, and our need for someone to bring us in" (Romans, p. 140). We have been introduced to this grace, through no effort or worthiness of our own, and Paul describes us as "standing" in this grace. Here is Stott again: "Justified believers enjoy a blessing far greater than a periodic approach to God or an occasional audience with the king. We are privileged to live in the temple and in the palace. The perfect tenses express this. Our relationship with God, into which justification has brought us, is not sporadic but continuous, not precarious but secure." Paul makes this clear in vv 9-10. Since God has done this very difficult work of redeeming us when we were His enemies, how much more will He bring this work to completion.
Christians tend to go wrong in two ways about security. Charles Finney, the 19th Century American revivalist, has had an immense influence on some forms of present-day Evangelicalism. He said, in his Systematic Theology, that a "Christian... is justified no longer than he obeys, and must be condemned when he disobeys or Antinomianism is true ... In these respects, then, the sinning Christian and the unconverted sinner are upon precisely the same ground"(p. 46). I've known Christians who were influenced by him (often without even knowing his name) who saw themselves as moving back and forth between a saved a lost state, depending on whether or not they were living in perfect obedience and had remembered, and confessed, every sin. There's more that we could say about Finney and his theological orientation, but this hardly fits with Paul's description of "standing in grace." In Finney's view, and in the view of those who follow him, the Christian position is an extremely precarious one.
But I've also talked to people at the opposite extreme, who have no interest in Christ or the gospel, who would never set foot in a church but who are perfectly assured of their salvation because they went forward in an evangelistic meeting years ago and were told that they were saved for all eternity no matter what else happens. I had a conversation with a man once who told me that he was embittered against the church, didn't read his Bible and hated Christians. But he told me he was confident that he would be in heaven because he had been saved when he was 13, and "once saved, always saved." I don't doubt that he had good reason for his bitterness; awful things often happen in churches. But his understanding of salvation is very different from that of the apostle Paul. Being at peace with God, being reconciled to Him and standing in a state of grace means that we are living in a relationship with Him. It certainly doesn't fit in with the idea that we go forward in a meeting, say a prayer and then understand this as a ticket to heaven with no further thought of God until after our death. Being reconciled to God, being free to commune with Him, is a great privilege, not a chore.
Paul says, next, that God wants us to be aware of His love for us. He's objectively demonstrated that love by giving His Son to die for us: "But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." While we were living in active rebellion as God's enemies, He gave His only Son to bear the penalty of our sins. So God has objectively demonstrated His love for us, but the problem is that it's difficult for us to believe this. And even if we believe it, it's difficult for us to remember, because we so often sin and come under a sense of condemnation because of our sin. So at times it's almost impossible for us to be assured of God's love for us, despite all that He has done objectively to show us His love.
But Paul says that God has done something about this, that "God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." It's clear from the following context that Paul is not talking here about our love for God but about His love for us. He's saying that the Holy Spirit, who has been given to all of us who believe in Him, pours into our hearts a realization of God's love for us. Sometimes He does this in an extraordinary way. A friend of ours who was a missionary in India for many years was going through a difficult time, feeling like she wasn't accomplishing anything of value and overwhelmed with a sense of emptiness. But then, one day God came to her and gave her a strong sense of His healing presence and repeated, over and over to her, the words "you are precious to me."
Henry Venn was a pastor in England in the 18th Century, a contemporary of the Wesleys and Whitefield. He had five young children when his wife died, and he wrote to a friend shortly afterward, "Did I not know the Lord to be mine, were I not certain His heart feels even more love for me than I am able to conceive, were not this evident to me, not by deduction and argument, but by consciousness, by His own light shining in my soul as the sun's doth upon my bodily eyes, into what a deplorable situation should I have been now cast?" (Lloyd-Jones, p. 82). Venn was in a position of great need, and God came to him with a strong and unmistakable assurance of His love.
But it doesn't always happen in such an extraordinary way. Sometimes God assures us of His love in quieter, more subtle ways, and yet we are reminded and assured that He loves us and is caring for us. Some years ago I was in the process of interviewing for a job that I very-much wanted to get. I didn't like the work I was doing at the time and felt very stressed about what was ahead in the future. I was going about my day at work, lifting up brief prayers about this when suddenly my whole outlook changed. I didn't have an overwhelming spiritual experience; it was more like my eyes were opened to a different way of looking at things and I knew that God had the situation in His care, that He loved me and would do the best thing. I remember this, that I was walking through a door at the time and when I came to the door I was thinking about it in one way, and as I passed through it all changed. I didn't do anything; it's not that I was able to reason myself into a different way of thinking. The Holy Spirit assured me, in a very quiet way, of God's love and care. From that moment I was able to leave the situation in His hands in a way that I was unable to do until then.
The last thing is that being secure in Christ and knowing God's love for us leads us to rejoice. Paul says we "rejoice in hope of the glory of God" (v. 2). We rejoice in our hope for the future of sharing in God's glory, being in His presence. Hope, as it's used in the New Testament, is different than the way we use the word when we say things like, "well, I sure hope this works out." John Stott describes it as "a joyful and confident expectation which rests on the promises of God" (p. 140). It's a hope because it lies in the future and we don't yet have full possession of it, but it is a secure and stable hope in the future, rooted in the promises of God.
We not only rejoice in our hope for the future; Paul goes on to say that we "rejoice in our sufferings" (v. 3), because our sufferings, in communion with Christ, are transforming us into the image of God, preparing us to live in His presence. It's not that suffering is good in any way. It's that because of our certain hope for the future, suffering is able to bring about good things, things for which we will be grateful when we arrive in God's kingdom. As Paul says a few chapters later in this letter, "the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed in us" (8:18). And then, in verse 11, he says "More than that, we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation." We who were formerly God's enemies living under His condemnation are now reconciled to Him through Jesus Christ. And because of that we are able to rejoice in God. He is no longer a source of terror and condemnation but a loving Father in whom we find joy.
Years ago I was at a conference in Belgium, and we were all sleeping in an auditorium in sleeping bags. At six in the morning, this guy came bouncing in and yelled, "alright boys, it's time for exercises." I thought he was entirely too cheerful for that time of the morning and I was sure he was faking it. In fact, I found him so irritating that I had negative thoughts of him from time to time over the next two years while I was in India. But when I returned to Belgium I ended up sharing a room with him for a few weeks and I found him to be an absolute delight to be around. His joy was deep and genuine, and he cared deeply about the people he came into contact with. He was a model of the deep spiritual joy we can know as people who've been reconciled to God through Jesus Christ.
Samuel Rutherford was a Scottish preacher in the 1600's. Here's something he wrote from prison: "Would to God that all this kingdom, and all that know God, knew what is betwixt Christ and me in this prison–what kisses, embracements, and love communion! I take his cross in my arms with joy; I bless it, I rejoice in it. Suffering for Christ is my garland. I would not exchange Christ for ten thousand worlds! Nay, if the comparison could stand, I would not exchange Christ with heaven" (The Letters of Samuel Rutherford, p. 213). As we continue in this Lenten season, may God enable us to know the certainty of our hope in Him, the stability of our position as we stand in this grace to which He has introduced us and to experience more and more the joy of His fellowship.
Sunday, February 25, 2018
Friday, February 16, 2018
Matthew 5:12, Ash Wednesday Meditation
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church
State College, PA
A few years ago I was talking to a woman on my case load about her financial situation and she informed me that she owed more than $27,000 in fines. She didn't have a job, and her sole income was from Social Security Disability, which was less than $1,000 per month. During the time I worked with her, she wasn't paying anything toward her fines; all the money she received each month was needed to pay for her housing and food. She told me, more than once, that she knew she'd spend the rest of her life in debt, that there was no possibility of paying off her fines.
The Lord's Prayer assumes that we are always in debt because of our wrongdoing. Although we usually pray "forgive us our trespasses," "forgive us our debts" is the correct translation of this passage. It's OK to pray the prayer as we do, but when we come to this verse in Matthew we need to translate it as "debts." Our sins have put us in a position where we are in debt to God, a debt we can never repay from our own resources. But this prayer also assumes that others are in need or our forgiveness. Pope Benedict, in the first volume of his series Jesus of Nazareth, says that this petition "presupposes a world in which there is trespass" (p. 157), a world in which we commit sins against God and against one another, a world in which debts because of wrongdoing are part of daily life.
A friend of mine who grew up in a very conservative church felt guilty for growing a beard, and periodically, when the guilt became too much for him, he would shave it off. Often we feel guilty for no good reason. But our basic guilt before God is an objective reality whether we feel guilty or not. We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, and are in need of God's mercy and forgiveness. We stand before God in the position of debtors, people who are guilty of violating His law. And we are also guilty of sins against one another; we need to receive forgiveness from others and others need to receive forgiveness from us. We live in a world "in which there is trespass," against God and against one another.
But this prayer also assumes that God is concerned about our guilt and wants to forgive us. Not only us, He also wants to forgive some of the people we might wish He wouldn't forgive, like those who have betrayed us, or those who have brought suffering into our lives. Or those with whom we disagree politically. Or those who have set themselves up as our enemies in the workplace. No matter how serious and inexcusable our guilt, God's desire is to offer forgiveness and admit us into His kingdom.
And the third, and most distressing, thing this prayer tells us is that God wants us to imitate Him in offering forgiveness to others. Sometimes this is relatively easy, but often forgiving others is a process. If someone has deeply wronged us we probably won't be able to forgive all at once. If we try to offer forgiveness too quickly and lightly, we may end up deceiving ourselves and accepting a counterfeit, something that looks like the real thing but isn't.. The question is how to get from where we are to where we know we should be. And this begins with a recognition of the truth about ourselves. If we're angry and bitter, if we just can't let go of the wrong, we need to begin by admitting this in God's presence. The Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann suggests that making use of the Vengeance Psalms, these Psalms that Christians often struggle with because of their anger and violence, can, surprisingly, be the first step toward learning forgiveness: "The articulation of vengeance leads us to a new awareness about ourselves.… John Calvin describes the Psalms as ‘An Anatomy of all Parts of the Soul.' And so they are. They tell us about us. The Psalms provide space for full linguistic freedom in which nothing is censored or precluded" (Walter Brueggemann, Praying the Psalms, p. 58). He suggests that instead or censoring these Psalms we bring them into God's presence and admit that they reflect the truth about how we feel.
Praying the Psalms, including those psalms where the authors are crying out for vengeance, provides a context for facing the truth about what is in our hearts. As much as we want to be like Jesus in asking forgiveness for those who hate us, we can't get there without acknowledging what we really feel. Eugene Peterson, the author of The Message, says the same thing; praying these difficult Psalms can actually point us in the direction of forgiveness: "For those who are troubled about the psalms of vengeance, there is a way beyond them. But that way is not easy or ‘natural.' It is not the way of careless religious goodwill. It is not the way of moral indifference or flippancy. It is, rather, the way of crucifixion, of accepting the rage and grief and terror of evil in ourselves in order to be liberated for compassion toward others.... My hunch is that there is a way beyond the psalms of vengeance, but it is a way through them and not around them. And that is so because of what in fact goes on with us. Willy nilly, we are vengeful creatures. Thus these harsh psalms must be fully embraced as our own. Our rage and indignation must be fully owned and fully expressed. Then (and only then) can our rage and indignation be yielded to the mercy of God. In taking this route through the Psalms, we take the route God has gone. We are not permitted a cheaper, easier, more ‘enlightened' way" (Answering God: The Psalms as Tools for Prayer, p. 68). We bring our unforgiving thoughts into God's presence and allow Him to heal us, to enable us to forgive as He does.
But we need to ask one more question. When we pray "forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors," does this imply that God only forgives us to the extent that we forgive others? We really don't know fully what is in our hearts. We may think that we've forgiven someone, only to find anger and resentment welling up that we didn't know was there. If we say that we are forgiven only to the extent that we fully and completely forgive others, we're essentially saying that we can't be forgiven; we're setting an impossible standard. In this case, we're not justified by faith through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ; we're forgiven by exercising forgiveness. Our forgiveness of others becomes the primary thing, the condition upon which God forgives us. But really the movement goes in the opposite direction. God forgives us fully and freely, and then we are called to forgive others in the same way. If we refuse to forgive we're showing that we haven't truly understood what it means for God to forgive our sins.
But struggling, and often failing, to forgive those who have wronged us is not the same thing as refusing to forgive. We're called to cultivate forgiveness, to cry out to God for grace to forgive, to take steps in the direction of forgiving from our hearts those who've wronged us; but our forgiveness at its best is an imperfect imitation of the forgiveness that God has granted us. Here's how Paul says it in Colossians: "Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other, just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive" (3:13). The Gospel of Jesus Christ first brings healing to our relationship with God, but then it also begins healing our relationships with one another. And this begins when we show others mercy because God has shown us mercy.
The truth about us, as fallen human beings, is that we are debtors and can never, even if we had all eternity to do it, pay off our debt. Paul says that by nature we have "no hope and [are] without God in the world" (Ephesians 2:12). Our condition, as fallen human beings, is absolutely hopeless; but Paul continues after this with one of his great phrases: "But now…." This was once true of you, but now everything has changed because of God's mercy and grace. "But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ" (Ephesians 2:13). We can pray these words from the Lord's Prayer in confidence because Jesus has paid in full the debt for our sins, a debt that we were incapable of ever paying. The Christian music group, Glad, has a wonderful song about this: "Be ye glad, oh, be ye glad, every debt that you ever had has been paid up in full by the grace of the Lord, be ye glad be ye glad be ye glad." Every debt has been paid up in full by the grace of the Lord. Surely this is a reason for gladness. John Newton, that notorious slave trader who experienced God's mercy, said near the end of his life, "Although my memory's fading, I remember two things very clearly: I am a great sinner and Christ is a great Savior." It would be a good thing, during this Lenten season, to meditate on the price Jesus paid to relieve us of our overwhelming debt; the more aware we are of God's mercy toward us, the better-able we will be to show mercy toward one another.
State College, PA
A few years ago I was talking to a woman on my case load about her financial situation and she informed me that she owed more than $27,000 in fines. She didn't have a job, and her sole income was from Social Security Disability, which was less than $1,000 per month. During the time I worked with her, she wasn't paying anything toward her fines; all the money she received each month was needed to pay for her housing and food. She told me, more than once, that she knew she'd spend the rest of her life in debt, that there was no possibility of paying off her fines.
The Lord's Prayer assumes that we are always in debt because of our wrongdoing. Although we usually pray "forgive us our trespasses," "forgive us our debts" is the correct translation of this passage. It's OK to pray the prayer as we do, but when we come to this verse in Matthew we need to translate it as "debts." Our sins have put us in a position where we are in debt to God, a debt we can never repay from our own resources. But this prayer also assumes that others are in need or our forgiveness. Pope Benedict, in the first volume of his series Jesus of Nazareth, says that this petition "presupposes a world in which there is trespass" (p. 157), a world in which we commit sins against God and against one another, a world in which debts because of wrongdoing are part of daily life.
A friend of mine who grew up in a very conservative church felt guilty for growing a beard, and periodically, when the guilt became too much for him, he would shave it off. Often we feel guilty for no good reason. But our basic guilt before God is an objective reality whether we feel guilty or not. We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, and are in need of God's mercy and forgiveness. We stand before God in the position of debtors, people who are guilty of violating His law. And we are also guilty of sins against one another; we need to receive forgiveness from others and others need to receive forgiveness from us. We live in a world "in which there is trespass," against God and against one another.
But this prayer also assumes that God is concerned about our guilt and wants to forgive us. Not only us, He also wants to forgive some of the people we might wish He wouldn't forgive, like those who have betrayed us, or those who have brought suffering into our lives. Or those with whom we disagree politically. Or those who have set themselves up as our enemies in the workplace. No matter how serious and inexcusable our guilt, God's desire is to offer forgiveness and admit us into His kingdom.
And the third, and most distressing, thing this prayer tells us is that God wants us to imitate Him in offering forgiveness to others. Sometimes this is relatively easy, but often forgiving others is a process. If someone has deeply wronged us we probably won't be able to forgive all at once. If we try to offer forgiveness too quickly and lightly, we may end up deceiving ourselves and accepting a counterfeit, something that looks like the real thing but isn't.. The question is how to get from where we are to where we know we should be. And this begins with a recognition of the truth about ourselves. If we're angry and bitter, if we just can't let go of the wrong, we need to begin by admitting this in God's presence. The Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann suggests that making use of the Vengeance Psalms, these Psalms that Christians often struggle with because of their anger and violence, can, surprisingly, be the first step toward learning forgiveness: "The articulation of vengeance leads us to a new awareness about ourselves.… John Calvin describes the Psalms as ‘An Anatomy of all Parts of the Soul.' And so they are. They tell us about us. The Psalms provide space for full linguistic freedom in which nothing is censored or precluded" (Walter Brueggemann, Praying the Psalms, p. 58). He suggests that instead or censoring these Psalms we bring them into God's presence and admit that they reflect the truth about how we feel.
Praying the Psalms, including those psalms where the authors are crying out for vengeance, provides a context for facing the truth about what is in our hearts. As much as we want to be like Jesus in asking forgiveness for those who hate us, we can't get there without acknowledging what we really feel. Eugene Peterson, the author of The Message, says the same thing; praying these difficult Psalms can actually point us in the direction of forgiveness: "For those who are troubled about the psalms of vengeance, there is a way beyond them. But that way is not easy or ‘natural.' It is not the way of careless religious goodwill. It is not the way of moral indifference or flippancy. It is, rather, the way of crucifixion, of accepting the rage and grief and terror of evil in ourselves in order to be liberated for compassion toward others.... My hunch is that there is a way beyond the psalms of vengeance, but it is a way through them and not around them. And that is so because of what in fact goes on with us. Willy nilly, we are vengeful creatures. Thus these harsh psalms must be fully embraced as our own. Our rage and indignation must be fully owned and fully expressed. Then (and only then) can our rage and indignation be yielded to the mercy of God. In taking this route through the Psalms, we take the route God has gone. We are not permitted a cheaper, easier, more ‘enlightened' way" (Answering God: The Psalms as Tools for Prayer, p. 68). We bring our unforgiving thoughts into God's presence and allow Him to heal us, to enable us to forgive as He does.
But we need to ask one more question. When we pray "forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors," does this imply that God only forgives us to the extent that we forgive others? We really don't know fully what is in our hearts. We may think that we've forgiven someone, only to find anger and resentment welling up that we didn't know was there. If we say that we are forgiven only to the extent that we fully and completely forgive others, we're essentially saying that we can't be forgiven; we're setting an impossible standard. In this case, we're not justified by faith through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ; we're forgiven by exercising forgiveness. Our forgiveness of others becomes the primary thing, the condition upon which God forgives us. But really the movement goes in the opposite direction. God forgives us fully and freely, and then we are called to forgive others in the same way. If we refuse to forgive we're showing that we haven't truly understood what it means for God to forgive our sins.
But struggling, and often failing, to forgive those who have wronged us is not the same thing as refusing to forgive. We're called to cultivate forgiveness, to cry out to God for grace to forgive, to take steps in the direction of forgiving from our hearts those who've wronged us; but our forgiveness at its best is an imperfect imitation of the forgiveness that God has granted us. Here's how Paul says it in Colossians: "Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other, just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive" (3:13). The Gospel of Jesus Christ first brings healing to our relationship with God, but then it also begins healing our relationships with one another. And this begins when we show others mercy because God has shown us mercy.
The truth about us, as fallen human beings, is that we are debtors and can never, even if we had all eternity to do it, pay off our debt. Paul says that by nature we have "no hope and [are] without God in the world" (Ephesians 2:12). Our condition, as fallen human beings, is absolutely hopeless; but Paul continues after this with one of his great phrases: "But now…." This was once true of you, but now everything has changed because of God's mercy and grace. "But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ" (Ephesians 2:13). We can pray these words from the Lord's Prayer in confidence because Jesus has paid in full the debt for our sins, a debt that we were incapable of ever paying. The Christian music group, Glad, has a wonderful song about this: "Be ye glad, oh, be ye glad, every debt that you ever had has been paid up in full by the grace of the Lord, be ye glad be ye glad be ye glad." Every debt has been paid up in full by the grace of the Lord. Surely this is a reason for gladness. John Newton, that notorious slave trader who experienced God's mercy, said near the end of his life, "Although my memory's fading, I remember two things very clearly: I am a great sinner and Christ is a great Savior." It would be a good thing, during this Lenten season, to meditate on the price Jesus paid to relieve us of our overwhelming debt; the more aware we are of God's mercy toward us, the better-able we will be to show mercy toward one another.
A Glimpse of Jesus' Glory, Mark 9:2-9
Transfiguration Sunday
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, State College PA
When I was in graduate school at Temple University, I worked part time in the continuing education department of a mission organization. The man I worked for was intensely concerned about people's perceptions. He told me that whenever he was going into a new setting he would try to figure out what the people wanted and then he'd adapt himself to fit their expectations. He functioned in ministry more-or-less like a chameleon. The problem was that I was never sure who he was, because he was so successful at changing himself. It always seemed like he was putting on a show, that he had no real convictions of his own. The longer I worked with him, the less I respected him, and I wondered in the end whether he even remembered who he was. I was more impressed when we first met than I was after I got to know him. A few years later, I was talking to the man who had been my pastor at Messiah College about a man we knew who had been very successful at planting Spanish-speaking churches in Florida. He said, "with many people, as you get to know them you find that there's less than appears on the surface; but he's not that way; the more you get to know him the more you see of his depth and character." This man is quiet and unassuming, but as you talk to him, even for a short time, you find that there is a lot hidden beneath the surface.
Peter, James, and John, at the Transfiguration, are given a glimpse into the hidden depths of Jesus' glory. They're finding that there's more to Him than what they've been able to see on the surface. It's not that they haven't known before now who He is. Just six days earlier, Peter had made his great confession: "You are the Messiah" (8:9). The disciples have grasped something of the truth, but now they're enabled to see the truth in a way, and with a depth, that they haven't before. The Transfiguration is recorded in all three of the synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke); Peter refers to it in his second letter: "For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty. For he received honor and glory from God the Father when that voice was conveyed to him by the Majestic Glory, saying, ‘This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.' We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain" (vv. 16-18). John may be referring to this event in his gospel when he says, "we beheld his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth" (1:14). This event stayed with them; it had a major impact on them that remained for the rest of their lives. The disciples are given, in this event, a brief glimpse into the fathomless depths of Jesus' glory.
The first thing to notice in these verses is the continuity of Jesus' ministry with the Old Testament: "And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus." Moses represents the Old Testament law, and Elijah is there as the representative of the prophets. The presence of these two stresses Jesus' continuity with their ministries. Jesus isn't doing something novel; He is doing something new, but what He's doing is connected with what has gone before.
It's important for us to keep coming back to this, because our contemporary society has an attitude of arrogant superiority toward the past. The gospel is rooted in God's revelation in the Old Testament; our faith is strongly rooted in things God has said and done in the past. I often hear Protestants, especially Evangelical Protestants, speak disdainfully about tradition, but often what they're talking about is the way things have been done in a particular church. Those things often need to change, sometimes because they're connected to cultural trends that have passed, and sometimes because they were just wrongheaded to begin with. God often calls us to make changes in these kinds of things.
But there's another way of thinking about tradition that involves stepping back and considering not just our own church or our own denomination, but the Church throughout history. The early Church spoke about the apostolic tradition, some of which was written down and some of which was embodied in the corporate worship of the Church. As they encountered false teachings which required some response, they formulated creeds, authoritative statements of some of the central teachings of Scripture. And they sought, looking to the Holy Spirit for guidance, to determine the limits of the Canon, which books belonged as part of Scripture. Every time we open our Bibles we're relying on the Tradition of the Church, we're trusting that Christians of the past have gotten it right. We're trusting that God led the Church in the past to make the right decision about which books were part of His permanent, authoritative revelation and which ones were not. Christianity is inherently traditional. That doesn't mean that we only sing old hymns. It means that we respect what has been handed to us from the past. It means that every time we read Scripture we are making present things that happened in history thousands of years ago. And it means recognizing that we're able to read Scripture because of the diligent efforts of millions of other believers throughout history; we're connected with these people as part of the body of Christ, and we owe them an immense debt of gratitude.
Over the next several months, these disciples are going to experience things that will turn their worlds upside down. They're going to have to unlearn all the assumptions they've grown up with about contact with the Gentile world, because Jesus is going to lead them to take the gospel to all nations. They're going to have to make radical changes about things that have been very important to them, but these changes are rooted firmly in God's revelation in the past. The thing that's absolutely essential for them at this point is to know the truth about Jesus. So they're given this brief glimpse of His glory, a glimpse that stays with them for the rest of their lives.
The second thing to notice is the superiority of Jesus' ministry. His ministry is in continuity with the Old Testament, but He's not just one prophet among many (which is how Muslims understand Him). When Peter sees what is happening, he blurts out, "Lord, it is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will put up three shelters – one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah." The problem is that he's thinking of Jesus as part of the group, he's putting these three on more-or-less equal footing. So a bright cloud envelops them and a voice from the cloud says, "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" The voice of God sets Jesus apart and says, "This is the One I want you to listen to."
Jesus' ministry is connected with that of Moses and Elijah, but it's not on the same level. He's the fulfillment of their ministries, the One they were pointing to and looking forward to. As the author of Hebrews says, "So, my dear Christian friends, companions in following this call to the heights, take a good hard look at Jesus. He's the centerpiece of everything we believe, faithful in everything God gave him to do. Moses was also faithful, but Jesus gets far more honor. A builder is more valuable than a building any day. Every house has a builder, but the builder behind them all is God. Moses did a good job in God's house, but it was all servant work, getting things ready for what was to come. Christ as Son is in charge of the house" (3:1-6, The Message).
These things that they see and hear are overwhelming. In Matthew's account of the Transfiguration, he says: "When the disciples heard this, they fell face down, terrified." I enjoy looking at icons, paintings of Jesus and the saints that originate in Eastern Orthodox churches. They often help me see things about biblical events that I would have missed otherwise. The icon of the transfiguration has Jesus, standing on the pinnacle of a mountain, in a background of light (called a mandorla, a device intended to show the reality of heaven breaking into the world). Moses and Elijah are on either side, bowed toward Him to show their submission. And Peter, James and John have fallen backward further down the mountain, overcome by the glory of Jesus. Looking at that icon gives me a glimpse of what it might have been like to have been there on that day.
The third thing to notice is that this revelation of His glory is directly connected with Jesus' predictions of the rejection and suffering He is going to endure. Seeing the glory of Jesus revealed in this way, knowing that this is the truth of who He is, we might expect that He'd allow this to be seen in His public ministry. After all, wouldn't people be more likely to believe if they saw what the disciples are seeing on the top of the mountain? But He doesn't do that; He tells the disciples, "As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead." After this brief glimpse, His glory becomes hidden again, and He continues on the way to the cross. He "did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross" (Philippians 2:6-8).
In many ways, the disciples are being stretched to the breaking point. Just a few days earlier, after Peter had made his great confession, saying "You are the Messiah," Jesus had begun "to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again: (8:31). This is too much for Peter, knowing what he does about Jesus. If Jesus is "the Messiah," how can He possibly be talking about suffering and death? "And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him" (v. 32). All their expectations for the Messiah are being shattered. They've seen this overwhelming revelation of Jesus' glory on the mountain, and yet He's still talking about dying and rising from the dead.
Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Canterbury, has a wonderful series of meditations on the icons of Christ. In his meditation on the transfiguration icon, he makes this observation: "It is surely not an accident that it is Peter and James and John who are also with Jesus in Gethsemane: the extreme mental and spiritual agony that appears there is the test of what has been seen in the transfiguration. We are shown that God can be God even in the very heart of human terror" (The Dwelling of the Light, p. 12).
He goes on: "This is an icon of quite violent force, explosive quality; it shows an extreme experience. We may find it difficult to relate to it at first for that reason: we may be struck and impressed by it, yet feel also that nothing in our own experience corresponds to this. We weren't there; we haven't seen the skies opening, the light suffusing the lonely figure on the rock, the weight of divine presence forcing us back, bowing us down. But the point of this, as of any icon, is not either to depict or to produce some kind of special experience in that sense: it is to open our eyes to what is true about Jesus and the saints. And what is true about Jesus is – if we really encounter it in its fullness – shocking, devastating: that this human life is sustained from the depths of God without interruption and without obstacle, that it translates into human terms what and who God the Son eternally is. The shock comes from realizing this means that God's life is compatible with every bit of human life, including the inner terrors of Gethsemane (fear and doubt) and the outer terrors of Calvary (torment and death).... The point of this image of the transfiguration is to reinforce how the truth about Christ interrupts and overthrows our assumptions about God and about humanity" (pp. 11-12). That's what is happening to the disciples, and it's what happens to us when we encounter God in truth: He interrupts and overthrows our assumptions.
We're especially conscious right now, with Lent beginning in a few days, that Jesus is headed toward Gethsemane and the cross. It doesn't shock us that Jesus reveals His glory in such a powerful way and then continues on His journey toward Jerusalem. But part of the purpose of the Lenten season is to seek to enter into the experience of these disciples, to accompany Jesus on His journey toward the suffering of Holy Week, so that we'll also be able to taste something of the wonder and joy these same disciples experienced on Easter Sunday. I often think we hinder ourselves from this by jumping too quickly to the Resurrection, telling ourselves, "yes, but of course Jesus is risen from the dead now; all that is over."
Our experience is different than that of the apostles. But we're dealing with the same God, and if we think about it at all it might give us some pause when we realize what a shattering experience it was for them to encounter the reality of God's purposes. Their lives were turned upside down; all their assumptions were overthrown; they were called to make changes they never in their wildest dreams imagined making. Often our carefully protected assumptions are ways of protecting ourselves from God's interruptions. But from time to time we get glimpses of the fact that God has something very different in mind (something better, but, at the same time, threatening). Williams, reflecting on the disciples' experience at the Transfiguration, says "Looking at Jesus seriously changes things; if we do not want to be changed, it is better not to look too hard or too long. The apostles in the icon are shielding their eyes, because what they see is not easily manageable in their existing world" (p. 13). When we encounter God, He often calls us to make changes, both in our thinking and in our daily lives, that are not easily manageable in our existing worlds.
But the purpose of the Lenten season is to make space for Jesus, for Jesus as He is, not as we imagine Him to be. So let's cry out to Him, asking Him to make Himself known to us in truth. The wonderful thing in the Transfiguration is the realization "that God can be God even in the very heart of human terror." We can enter into the depths of human experience and find that God is there with us, that Jesus Himself knows what our darkest times are like from the inside. When the disciples are overcome by terror, Jesus comes to them, touches them and says "Get up and do not be afraid." In the same way, this One who revealed His great glory on the Mount of Transfiguration will walk with us in all the experiences of life until we arrive safely in His presence. He shatters our illusions out of kindness, so that we'll be able to perceive Him when He comes to us, so that we'll be able to hear Him when He says, "do not be afraid."
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, State College PA
When I was in graduate school at Temple University, I worked part time in the continuing education department of a mission organization. The man I worked for was intensely concerned about people's perceptions. He told me that whenever he was going into a new setting he would try to figure out what the people wanted and then he'd adapt himself to fit their expectations. He functioned in ministry more-or-less like a chameleon. The problem was that I was never sure who he was, because he was so successful at changing himself. It always seemed like he was putting on a show, that he had no real convictions of his own. The longer I worked with him, the less I respected him, and I wondered in the end whether he even remembered who he was. I was more impressed when we first met than I was after I got to know him. A few years later, I was talking to the man who had been my pastor at Messiah College about a man we knew who had been very successful at planting Spanish-speaking churches in Florida. He said, "with many people, as you get to know them you find that there's less than appears on the surface; but he's not that way; the more you get to know him the more you see of his depth and character." This man is quiet and unassuming, but as you talk to him, even for a short time, you find that there is a lot hidden beneath the surface.
Peter, James, and John, at the Transfiguration, are given a glimpse into the hidden depths of Jesus' glory. They're finding that there's more to Him than what they've been able to see on the surface. It's not that they haven't known before now who He is. Just six days earlier, Peter had made his great confession: "You are the Messiah" (8:9). The disciples have grasped something of the truth, but now they're enabled to see the truth in a way, and with a depth, that they haven't before. The Transfiguration is recorded in all three of the synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke); Peter refers to it in his second letter: "For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty. For he received honor and glory from God the Father when that voice was conveyed to him by the Majestic Glory, saying, ‘This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.' We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain" (vv. 16-18). John may be referring to this event in his gospel when he says, "we beheld his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth" (1:14). This event stayed with them; it had a major impact on them that remained for the rest of their lives. The disciples are given, in this event, a brief glimpse into the fathomless depths of Jesus' glory.
The first thing to notice in these verses is the continuity of Jesus' ministry with the Old Testament: "And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus." Moses represents the Old Testament law, and Elijah is there as the representative of the prophets. The presence of these two stresses Jesus' continuity with their ministries. Jesus isn't doing something novel; He is doing something new, but what He's doing is connected with what has gone before.
It's important for us to keep coming back to this, because our contemporary society has an attitude of arrogant superiority toward the past. The gospel is rooted in God's revelation in the Old Testament; our faith is strongly rooted in things God has said and done in the past. I often hear Protestants, especially Evangelical Protestants, speak disdainfully about tradition, but often what they're talking about is the way things have been done in a particular church. Those things often need to change, sometimes because they're connected to cultural trends that have passed, and sometimes because they were just wrongheaded to begin with. God often calls us to make changes in these kinds of things.
But there's another way of thinking about tradition that involves stepping back and considering not just our own church or our own denomination, but the Church throughout history. The early Church spoke about the apostolic tradition, some of which was written down and some of which was embodied in the corporate worship of the Church. As they encountered false teachings which required some response, they formulated creeds, authoritative statements of some of the central teachings of Scripture. And they sought, looking to the Holy Spirit for guidance, to determine the limits of the Canon, which books belonged as part of Scripture. Every time we open our Bibles we're relying on the Tradition of the Church, we're trusting that Christians of the past have gotten it right. We're trusting that God led the Church in the past to make the right decision about which books were part of His permanent, authoritative revelation and which ones were not. Christianity is inherently traditional. That doesn't mean that we only sing old hymns. It means that we respect what has been handed to us from the past. It means that every time we read Scripture we are making present things that happened in history thousands of years ago. And it means recognizing that we're able to read Scripture because of the diligent efforts of millions of other believers throughout history; we're connected with these people as part of the body of Christ, and we owe them an immense debt of gratitude.
Over the next several months, these disciples are going to experience things that will turn their worlds upside down. They're going to have to unlearn all the assumptions they've grown up with about contact with the Gentile world, because Jesus is going to lead them to take the gospel to all nations. They're going to have to make radical changes about things that have been very important to them, but these changes are rooted firmly in God's revelation in the past. The thing that's absolutely essential for them at this point is to know the truth about Jesus. So they're given this brief glimpse of His glory, a glimpse that stays with them for the rest of their lives.
The second thing to notice is the superiority of Jesus' ministry. His ministry is in continuity with the Old Testament, but He's not just one prophet among many (which is how Muslims understand Him). When Peter sees what is happening, he blurts out, "Lord, it is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will put up three shelters – one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah." The problem is that he's thinking of Jesus as part of the group, he's putting these three on more-or-less equal footing. So a bright cloud envelops them and a voice from the cloud says, "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" The voice of God sets Jesus apart and says, "This is the One I want you to listen to."
Jesus' ministry is connected with that of Moses and Elijah, but it's not on the same level. He's the fulfillment of their ministries, the One they were pointing to and looking forward to. As the author of Hebrews says, "So, my dear Christian friends, companions in following this call to the heights, take a good hard look at Jesus. He's the centerpiece of everything we believe, faithful in everything God gave him to do. Moses was also faithful, but Jesus gets far more honor. A builder is more valuable than a building any day. Every house has a builder, but the builder behind them all is God. Moses did a good job in God's house, but it was all servant work, getting things ready for what was to come. Christ as Son is in charge of the house" (3:1-6, The Message).
These things that they see and hear are overwhelming. In Matthew's account of the Transfiguration, he says: "When the disciples heard this, they fell face down, terrified." I enjoy looking at icons, paintings of Jesus and the saints that originate in Eastern Orthodox churches. They often help me see things about biblical events that I would have missed otherwise. The icon of the transfiguration has Jesus, standing on the pinnacle of a mountain, in a background of light (called a mandorla, a device intended to show the reality of heaven breaking into the world). Moses and Elijah are on either side, bowed toward Him to show their submission. And Peter, James and John have fallen backward further down the mountain, overcome by the glory of Jesus. Looking at that icon gives me a glimpse of what it might have been like to have been there on that day.
The third thing to notice is that this revelation of His glory is directly connected with Jesus' predictions of the rejection and suffering He is going to endure. Seeing the glory of Jesus revealed in this way, knowing that this is the truth of who He is, we might expect that He'd allow this to be seen in His public ministry. After all, wouldn't people be more likely to believe if they saw what the disciples are seeing on the top of the mountain? But He doesn't do that; He tells the disciples, "As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead." After this brief glimpse, His glory becomes hidden again, and He continues on the way to the cross. He "did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross" (Philippians 2:6-8).
In many ways, the disciples are being stretched to the breaking point. Just a few days earlier, after Peter had made his great confession, saying "You are the Messiah," Jesus had begun "to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again: (8:31). This is too much for Peter, knowing what he does about Jesus. If Jesus is "the Messiah," how can He possibly be talking about suffering and death? "And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him" (v. 32). All their expectations for the Messiah are being shattered. They've seen this overwhelming revelation of Jesus' glory on the mountain, and yet He's still talking about dying and rising from the dead.
Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Canterbury, has a wonderful series of meditations on the icons of Christ. In his meditation on the transfiguration icon, he makes this observation: "It is surely not an accident that it is Peter and James and John who are also with Jesus in Gethsemane: the extreme mental and spiritual agony that appears there is the test of what has been seen in the transfiguration. We are shown that God can be God even in the very heart of human terror" (The Dwelling of the Light, p. 12).
He goes on: "This is an icon of quite violent force, explosive quality; it shows an extreme experience. We may find it difficult to relate to it at first for that reason: we may be struck and impressed by it, yet feel also that nothing in our own experience corresponds to this. We weren't there; we haven't seen the skies opening, the light suffusing the lonely figure on the rock, the weight of divine presence forcing us back, bowing us down. But the point of this, as of any icon, is not either to depict or to produce some kind of special experience in that sense: it is to open our eyes to what is true about Jesus and the saints. And what is true about Jesus is – if we really encounter it in its fullness – shocking, devastating: that this human life is sustained from the depths of God without interruption and without obstacle, that it translates into human terms what and who God the Son eternally is. The shock comes from realizing this means that God's life is compatible with every bit of human life, including the inner terrors of Gethsemane (fear and doubt) and the outer terrors of Calvary (torment and death).... The point of this image of the transfiguration is to reinforce how the truth about Christ interrupts and overthrows our assumptions about God and about humanity" (pp. 11-12). That's what is happening to the disciples, and it's what happens to us when we encounter God in truth: He interrupts and overthrows our assumptions.
We're especially conscious right now, with Lent beginning in a few days, that Jesus is headed toward Gethsemane and the cross. It doesn't shock us that Jesus reveals His glory in such a powerful way and then continues on His journey toward Jerusalem. But part of the purpose of the Lenten season is to seek to enter into the experience of these disciples, to accompany Jesus on His journey toward the suffering of Holy Week, so that we'll also be able to taste something of the wonder and joy these same disciples experienced on Easter Sunday. I often think we hinder ourselves from this by jumping too quickly to the Resurrection, telling ourselves, "yes, but of course Jesus is risen from the dead now; all that is over."
Our experience is different than that of the apostles. But we're dealing with the same God, and if we think about it at all it might give us some pause when we realize what a shattering experience it was for them to encounter the reality of God's purposes. Their lives were turned upside down; all their assumptions were overthrown; they were called to make changes they never in their wildest dreams imagined making. Often our carefully protected assumptions are ways of protecting ourselves from God's interruptions. But from time to time we get glimpses of the fact that God has something very different in mind (something better, but, at the same time, threatening). Williams, reflecting on the disciples' experience at the Transfiguration, says "Looking at Jesus seriously changes things; if we do not want to be changed, it is better not to look too hard or too long. The apostles in the icon are shielding their eyes, because what they see is not easily manageable in their existing world" (p. 13). When we encounter God, He often calls us to make changes, both in our thinking and in our daily lives, that are not easily manageable in our existing worlds.
But the purpose of the Lenten season is to make space for Jesus, for Jesus as He is, not as we imagine Him to be. So let's cry out to Him, asking Him to make Himself known to us in truth. The wonderful thing in the Transfiguration is the realization "that God can be God even in the very heart of human terror." We can enter into the depths of human experience and find that God is there with us, that Jesus Himself knows what our darkest times are like from the inside. When the disciples are overcome by terror, Jesus comes to them, touches them and says "Get up and do not be afraid." In the same way, this One who revealed His great glory on the Mount of Transfiguration will walk with us in all the experiences of life until we arrive safely in His presence. He shatters our illusions out of kindness, so that we'll be able to perceive Him when He comes to us, so that we'll be able to hear Him when He says, "do not be afraid."
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