"Old Mother Hubbard"
Ruth 1:1-22
Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard,
To give the poor dog a bone:
When she came there,
The cupboard was bare,
And so the poor dog had none.
The story of Ruth is an endearing one. This story also has great historical significance, because Ruth will become King David’s great grandmother. The story is not only about Ruth. It also as to do, just as much, with her mother-in-law, Naomi.
Now when talking about mothers-in-law, one must be very careful. The position and status of the mother-in-law rises and falls depending on who you are talking to. For example, there was the wife who said to her husband when he came home from work “Such an odd thing happened today. The clock fell off the mantle. If it had fallen one minute sooner, it would have hit poor mother on the head.”
To which the husband replied, “I’ve always said that clock was slow.”
Most couples have a healthy, if not odd, sense of respect for mothers-in-law. Although after watching a couple of episodes on that TV show, “Monsters In Law,” I don’t know. That’s kind of a terrifying show. I like to think I can pretty much get along with anyone, but after seeing a couple of those mothers-in-law, I’m not so sure.
There was once one long-suffering guy. He always wanted to go to Africa and go on a safari. He kept trying to talk his wife into going on his dream trip. She kept balking. Finally, she said, “I’ll go; but only if mother can come along, too.” The man wasn’t too sure about that arrangement. Finally he relented, wanting to go on a safari so bad. The mother-in-law could come along.
One morning, the couple woke up in their tent, and discovered “mother,” was missing. They look every where around the encampment for her. Finally, in frantic alarm, they found mother standing in a clearing, staring eye-to-eye with a lion. “John,” the wife screamed in a whisper. “What shall we do?”
After some thought, the husband replied, “Well, it looks to me like the lion got himself into this fix. Let him get himself out of it.”
Which is kind of the dilemma faced by Naomi. Though she wasn’t facing a lion, she was nonetheless, staring down a lion-sized problem. We must first understand her situation as if we were people sharing her same cultural setting, time period, and religious background.
Naomi was a pleasant woman. We know that from her name. Names were give to people to fit their disposition. Her name meant “sweetness.” In other words, Naomi was a sweetheart.
Because of a famine, Naomi and her husband, Elimelech, and their two sons, packed up and moved to Moab, where there was promise of food. Though they finally had enough to eat, a different tragedy struck this little family. Elimelech died. And then, a short time later, the two sons died. That left Naomi with her two daughters-in-law, both of which were Moabite, non-Jews. It’s interesting that the names of the two sons of Naomi mean “weakness,” and “come to an end.” They seem to have been ill-fated from their birth.
The lion that Naomi faced was a result of those three deaths. She wanted to go back to her home town of Bethlehem, but it wouldn’t be easy going for her. She wouldn’t be welcomed back with open arms. She faced deep social and religious stigma. The reason was at least two-fold.
First, she faced being powerless in a culture that gave much more honor and value to a married woman than a single woman. In our culture, even though single adults make up the largest number of households, singles are still looked at a bit sideways. Why aren’t they married? is the spoken and unspoken question. Singles are looked at as if they aren’t quite whole.
In Naomi’s culture, some provisions were made for a widow. The brother of her deceased husband was to marry her and care for her as one of his wives. But Naomi had no such chance since her husband had no brothers. Naomi would be returning to her home town where her friends would look down their nose at her because she had no husband from whom she could draw her honor and respect. In Naomi’s place and time, a woman trying to make a go of it on her own was extremely dishonorable.
Secondly, Naomi faced being helpless in a culture where the only Social Security system was your children. When parents reached old age, and were no longer able to provide for themselves, their children took them in and provided for their needs. That’s why Jewish mothers push for their sons success. If their sons are not successful, these mothers know they won’t be taken care of very well in their old age.
Three Jewish mothers are sitting on a bench in Central Park talking about how much their sons love them. Sadie says "You know the Chagall painting hanging in my living room? My son, Arnold, bought that for me for my 75th birthday. What a good boy he is and how much he loves his mother."
Minnie says,"You call that love? You know the Mercedes I just got for Mother's Day? That's from my son Bernie. What a doll."
Hilda says "That's nothing. You know my son Stanley? He's in analysis with a psychiatrist. Five sessions a week, $500 a pop. And what does he talk about the whole time? Me."
But Naomi had no room to brag. Naomi’s boys were not only unsuccessful, they were dead. She was getting old. She had no one to look after her security and well-being. It was a fearful position to be in for a single, elderly, family-less woman. Her future was one huge question mark. Worse than that, it probably seemed to Naomi, facing her lion-sized problem, she had nothing to do but sit and wait for the inevitable.
Naomi was an Old Mother Hubbard with nothing in her cupboard. There were no prospects for getting her cupboard filled, or getting a bone for any dog she might have had. Thus, Naomi changed her name to Marah, which means “bitterness.” As Marah, she felt she now had a name that better described her new situation and character.
In spite of all that, Naomi’s, now Marah, homeland offered her the most she might ever expect to get out of life. Her late husband owned a small piece of land there, and its value was enough to draw her home. But moving back to Bethlehem offered little, if anything to the daughters-in-law, Orpah and Ruth. Naomi was a realist in that respect.
Her sons had married foreign wives. The Jewish morality was clear. The negative cultural pressures exerted would be immense concerning intermarriage. Not only was life going to be hard for the widow Naomi; bringing home foreign daughters-in-law was not going to help matters.
So Naomi, even though she appreciated their devotion, demanded they be realistic about what lay ahead. She spelled out the absurdity of their continuing on this journey with her. Like every normal woman of those times, the daughters-in-law must desire the esteem, satisfaction, and security that accompanied marriage and children. Were they really willing to sacrifice all that to live with an aging widow among strange people?
Naomi’s words made sense of Orpah. Despite her attachment to the old woman, she kissed her mother-in-law goodbye and headed back to Moab to start a brand new chapter in her life. It is interesting that Orpah’s name means, “back of the neck,” or, “stiff-necked.” She is literally showing the back of her neck to Naomi as she turned to go home. Orpah is not condemned for her decision. She is an example of common sense in the face of tragedy.
But as such, Orpah served even more effectively to contrast Ruth’s greater character. Ruth stepped beyond common sense. Ruth ventured beyond human horizons or human affirmations of what is correct or safe. She exemplifies the spirit of Abraham, who made a similar leap of faith. She moved out of the security of the familiar and into the frontiers of God’s beckoning. Just as Abraham’s courageous faith turned the tragic, plummeting course of human history upward, so Ruth’s unselfish commitment to Naomi breaks the gloom of the story thus far. Ruth introduces a glimmer of hope.
All who would hear this story in the future would quickly realize that such selfless, generous persons are the ones who become the instruments of God’s immeasurable good. Naomi’s cupboard is about to be filled.
The story begins to turn, then, not on what little Naomi has to offer Ruth, but on what Ruth, by what she is willing to give up, has to offer Naomi. The two women become lashed together on the mast of a storm-wracked ship. They hold on to each other. Naomi must have looked at Ruth with a wry smile, saying no more to discourage her from going to Bethlehem. Naomi’s silence was her permission.
G.K. Chesterton once said that people would often not be born but for the courage of their mothers. In the case of Ruth, it wasn’t her birth, but her rebirth. It was her chance at a new life, with new people. It was through the courage of her mother-in-law that this hope was lodged. A hope now set in motion for labor and delivery.
Naomi represents all those people who have willingly given place to those who have no place. She is all the people who have flown in the face of culture at large, making a place for the disinherited. Even though her resources were on the negative side of the ledger, Naomi represents the courage to buck societal systems, and open her life to outsiders.
With the death of her son, Naomi really had no legal relationship to Ruth anymore. Ruth wasn’t family; Naomi didn’t have to bother with her. She could have left Ruth to fend for herself. No one in Bethlehem would have slighted her for it.
Naomi takes a chance. Ruth takes that chance with her. If we have our God-eyes open, what a beautiful chance it is. It’s the chance we take when we say Yes to Christ: “Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God--not even death itself is going to come between us” (vs. 16-17). In Christ we are leaving a people and culture behind, for the hope of a new start, a new people, a new life.
What our world so desperately needs are Naomi’s for people who are looking for a way to live anew, like Ruth. We need people of faithful hospitality; people who may look at their meager resources, their empty cupboards and still realize what they have to offer best is themselves.
The world is full of Ruth’s: people of energy, faith, commitment, and a pioneer spirit, but feel they don’t have anyone to tie on with, to be mentored by, or given a place. What a great vision for a congregation--to be a place and a people who bring the Naomi’s and Ruth’s together, who despite limited resources, find a Godly compulsion to keep moving forward, together, anyway.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star
"Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star"
Exodus 3:1-5
Isaiah 6:1-5
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
How I wonder what you are;
Up above the sky so high,
Like a diamond in the sky;
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Or, maybe you’d prefer this version of that familiar nursery rhyme:
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
I don’t wonder what you are,
An incandescent ball of gas,
Compressed into a solid mass;
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
I don’t wonder what you are.
Let’s take a vote. How many of you preferred “Twinkle, Twinkle” number one? And how many of you preferred “Twinkle, Twinkle” number two? If you like number one better than number two, why was that? Anyone willing to tell why you liked your preference between the two versions?
The main reason I like the number one version is because it expresses poetic wonder. It allows for a certain amount of mystery. It doesn’t need to know it all. It is content to gaze in awe at the stars. It allows the stars to be. Part of that is a sense of holiness that comes from the mystery of the unknowing.
It seems to me that people have become less and less comfortable with unknowing and mystery. We want to know it all. We want to know which chromosome on the DNA strand controls which functions of the human body. We want to explore everything--which isn’t bad in and of itself. When I was a kid, that’s what I wanted to be when I grew up--an explorer. Someone like Daniel Boone or Lewis and Clark. Someone who went to unknown places with unknown people and unknown sights and made them all known.
But it isn’t so much the exploring and the desire to understand that is so bad. It’s a certain attitude that seems to go along with that. It’s the attitude that once something is discovered, it must be conquered or subdued. It’s the lack of holy awe, to step back, remove your shoes, and say, “This is a wondrous sight.”
We are quickly losing our sense of reverence about life. We want to understand mechanistic workings, but we miss seeing the holiness that permeates everything. We don’t see “diamonds in the sky” any more. We don’t look into the night sky and wonder. We don’t look up and say, “I am on holy ground this night.” Instead, we look up and see a night sky filled with “incandescent balls of gas, pressed into a solid mass.”
In the movie, “Contact,” Jodi Foster plays the part of a hard-nosed skeptical scientist. She is listening for signals from space that might prove there is life out there in the universe beyond ours. She’s searching for life on other planets. She eventually picks up a signal. It’s not a random signal, but one that has a pattern to it. Within the signal are instructions for a space travel device. The special space travel machine is built. She gets to go as the sole occupant.
She traveled through time and space. She had a conversation with another being. But it appeared to those at mission control that her craft went nowhere. She tried to convince them of her “holy ground” experience, but no one is convinced. They show her the video tapes. Nothing happens. It appeared her craft just dropped into the water below.
It’s an ironic twist that her character, this hard-boiled scientist, had to convince other scientists and government officials of her spiritual experience. Yet she doesn’t have the wherewithal to do it. They all treat her as if she’d been hallucinating. But she knows what she saw. She knows what she experienced was real.
Or remember Sputnik, the first Russian rocket launch that sent the first man into space? Yuri Gregorian. That’s what started the whole space race. I remember it all clearly as a young boy. I remember how he came back to earth and said, “I have been to the heavens, and I did not see God. Where is God? He was not there.”
Maybe that was the start of the modern decline of sacred awe. That’s when science and technology became our gods, and we have been bowing down to them ever since. Isn’t it interesting that it was at that same time that attendance at church began to slow, and then reverse. In our day and time there is a huge river of people draining our churches. Organized religion is quickly becoming a dry lake bed.
Where once churches and personal piety formed people’s morals and drew the borders of behavior, now media and technology have taken over that role. Sacred awe has all been explained if you only google it on the internet. Reverence for God has been replaced by devotion to the micro-processor and the internet. Al the “answers” are there.
Parents want to make sure their children are more adept at browsing, surfing the net, and word-processing than praying, contemplating, and worshipping. We parents quickly hear ourselves saying things like, “My kids or grandkids are going to need to know how to work on the computer if they are going to get along in the world.” How often do we hear ourselves say, “My kids and grandkids need to have an experience with the divine and living God if they are going to get along in the world”?
All people, young and old, need to be in touch with holiness. They need to cultivate a sense of awe for the divine mystery. They need to know what it’s like to be in the divine presence. Maybe parents don’t make these kinds of statements about their children’s spiritual development, because they don’t make them about themselves either.
I have drawn your attention to two stories of encounters with God, recorded in scripture. One is of Moses who is visited by God in a bush that is on fire but not burning up. The other is the prophet Isaiah who sees God in the temple. Both men’s experiences give us a glimpse of what it is like to be in God’s presence, and understand what it means to have sacred awe.
Once Moses is attracted by the sight of the burning bush, he is pulled into the presence of God. Moses is first instructed by God to take off his sandals because he was “standing on holy ground.”
Now why take off your sandals when encountering holiness? Partly it was a sign of respect in the presence of a great one. Old Testament priests serving in the temple, especially those who went into the Holy of Holies, performed their duties barefoot. It was an expression of humility. It was also a way of avoiding polluting a sacred place. The sandals would be removed, and the feet would be washed, and then they would enter the temple for their religious duties.
When I visited the Holy Land, we were in Jerusalem for a couple of days. We went to the Dome of the Rock, a Moslem holy place, where the great Jewish temple once stood. Before we were allowed in, we had to remove our shoes and socks. There were literally hundreds of pairs of sock stuffed shoes in piles outside the main entrance. The place was full of bare-footed tourists and worshippers inside. (I didn’t have to worry about anyone “trading up” and taking my shoes out of the pile; I didn’t see anyone there who looked like they wore size 16.)
It made me think about what we do, that symbolizes our attitude when we come into the sanctuary to worship. What is it that we do, that is similar to taking the shoes off our feet, to demonstrate our sense of awe and humility in the presence of the holy? I couldn’t think of anything. And I began to wonder if we’re missing something.
I’m not sure about this next statement, but it feels right to me. Maybe Moses, and all the others, took off their shoes so there was nothing separating themselves from the touch of holiness. Maybe God wanted their skin to touch and feel what holiness feels like. The bottoms of your feet are the most sensitive part of your body. Is it possible that God wanted people to have just a touch of what holiness felt like through the most sensitive parts of their bodies?
When we approach God, or an experience with God, we do that bare-footed. That is, with humility, with respect, with deference, with all the sensitivity we can muster so that we know we are treading on holy ground. When we meet God, we bow in humility before the one who is unbelievably awesome.
Which brings us to the next thing Moses does: he hides his face in fear. This is probably one of the most common reactions to being in the presence of God.
Remember the story of the prophet Elijah. He had had all the false prophets in the land executed. Queen Jezebel was furious. Elijah ran into the wilderness and hid in a cave. He was feeling sorry for himself. God came for a visit. Fire, storm, and earthquake passed before the mouth of the cave where Elijah was hiding. Then a “still, small voice.” Elijah knew it was God. Elijah stepped out to the mouth of the cave to talk with God. But before he did, he wrapped his cloak around his face so that he wouldn’t look at God.
In the story of Isaiah the prophet, Isaiah sees God sitting on the throne in the temple. Six-winged creatures were flying around. With two of their wings they were hiding their faces so the couldn’t look at God. Isaiah himself cringes in fear because he looked at God, and now awaited his quick death, because no one looks at the face of God and lives.
No one could look at pure holiness or God’s radiance and survive. Emperor Hadrian once said to Rabbi Joshua ben Hannah, “I desire to see your God.”
Rabbi Joshua said, “Face the sun, sire, and gaze upon it.”
“I cannot! It is too bright! It blinds my eyes.”
Then Rabbi Joshua said, “If you are not able to look upon the sun, which is only a servant of God, how much less can you gaze upon the Divine Presence?”
Among the prophets in the Bible, there was tremendous wonder, mystery and awe about God, to the point of taboo and fear of death. Being in God’s mysterious presence was not like sitting on your grandfather’s knee. It was terrifying and wondrous all wrapped together.
Even the name of God was not spoken, it was considered so holy. God has a name, but that name was only spelled in the Bible with consonants. The vowels were left out so that it couldn’t be pronounced. Other names or words for God were substituted for the actual name. Words like “adonai” which means “lord;” or, “Elohim” which means “great one;” or, “el shaddai,” the “almighty.”
In light of these reactions to the presence of God, I wonder how we have gotten to be so flip with God, so casual. How is it that we think we can just stroll into the throne room of God and not be terrified by what we see? Not take off our shoes? Not be overwhelmed by the mystery? Where did we lose that fearful respect that had always been a part of the worship and awe of God?
In C.S. Lewis’ excellent story series, The Chronicles of Narnia, the main character is a magnificent lion named Aslan. Aslan is the Christ figure in these stories. In one of the books, Aslan shows himself to two children. They tell their sister Susan about Aslan. She isn’t sure she wants to meet a lion. She is talking about this with Mr. Beaver inside the beaver dam. “Is he, is he quite safe?” Susan asked Mr. Beaver.
“Safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good,” replied Mr. Beaver.
We have, in our minds, removed all the teeth and claws from God and made God into some kind of cuddly stuffed animal. But those who have been in God’s presence have told a different story. They tell about a God who is awesome, and terrible, and scary, and wonderful, all at the same time. A God who is mysterious with weird creatures flying about. A God who is so totally other, that the only way God is described is by mystery, and clouds, and blinding light. A God who is “up above the sky so high, like a diamond in the sky.”
A God whose presence makes us understand immediately who is God and who is the creature. A God whose presence forces us to hide our faces--a God whose presence makes us want to look and not look at the same time. An awesome God.
Our God is an awesome God
He reigns from heaven above
With wisdom, power, and love
Our God is an awesome God.
Exodus 3:1-5
Isaiah 6:1-5
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
How I wonder what you are;
Up above the sky so high,
Like a diamond in the sky;
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Or, maybe you’d prefer this version of that familiar nursery rhyme:
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
I don’t wonder what you are,
An incandescent ball of gas,
Compressed into a solid mass;
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
I don’t wonder what you are.
Let’s take a vote. How many of you preferred “Twinkle, Twinkle” number one? And how many of you preferred “Twinkle, Twinkle” number two? If you like number one better than number two, why was that? Anyone willing to tell why you liked your preference between the two versions?
The main reason I like the number one version is because it expresses poetic wonder. It allows for a certain amount of mystery. It doesn’t need to know it all. It is content to gaze in awe at the stars. It allows the stars to be. Part of that is a sense of holiness that comes from the mystery of the unknowing.
It seems to me that people have become less and less comfortable with unknowing and mystery. We want to know it all. We want to know which chromosome on the DNA strand controls which functions of the human body. We want to explore everything--which isn’t bad in and of itself. When I was a kid, that’s what I wanted to be when I grew up--an explorer. Someone like Daniel Boone or Lewis and Clark. Someone who went to unknown places with unknown people and unknown sights and made them all known.
But it isn’t so much the exploring and the desire to understand that is so bad. It’s a certain attitude that seems to go along with that. It’s the attitude that once something is discovered, it must be conquered or subdued. It’s the lack of holy awe, to step back, remove your shoes, and say, “This is a wondrous sight.”
We are quickly losing our sense of reverence about life. We want to understand mechanistic workings, but we miss seeing the holiness that permeates everything. We don’t see “diamonds in the sky” any more. We don’t look into the night sky and wonder. We don’t look up and say, “I am on holy ground this night.” Instead, we look up and see a night sky filled with “incandescent balls of gas, pressed into a solid mass.”
In the movie, “Contact,” Jodi Foster plays the part of a hard-nosed skeptical scientist. She is listening for signals from space that might prove there is life out there in the universe beyond ours. She’s searching for life on other planets. She eventually picks up a signal. It’s not a random signal, but one that has a pattern to it. Within the signal are instructions for a space travel device. The special space travel machine is built. She gets to go as the sole occupant.
She traveled through time and space. She had a conversation with another being. But it appeared to those at mission control that her craft went nowhere. She tried to convince them of her “holy ground” experience, but no one is convinced. They show her the video tapes. Nothing happens. It appeared her craft just dropped into the water below.
It’s an ironic twist that her character, this hard-boiled scientist, had to convince other scientists and government officials of her spiritual experience. Yet she doesn’t have the wherewithal to do it. They all treat her as if she’d been hallucinating. But she knows what she saw. She knows what she experienced was real.
Or remember Sputnik, the first Russian rocket launch that sent the first man into space? Yuri Gregorian. That’s what started the whole space race. I remember it all clearly as a young boy. I remember how he came back to earth and said, “I have been to the heavens, and I did not see God. Where is God? He was not there.”
Maybe that was the start of the modern decline of sacred awe. That’s when science and technology became our gods, and we have been bowing down to them ever since. Isn’t it interesting that it was at that same time that attendance at church began to slow, and then reverse. In our day and time there is a huge river of people draining our churches. Organized religion is quickly becoming a dry lake bed.
Where once churches and personal piety formed people’s morals and drew the borders of behavior, now media and technology have taken over that role. Sacred awe has all been explained if you only google it on the internet. Reverence for God has been replaced by devotion to the micro-processor and the internet. Al the “answers” are there.
Parents want to make sure their children are more adept at browsing, surfing the net, and word-processing than praying, contemplating, and worshipping. We parents quickly hear ourselves saying things like, “My kids or grandkids are going to need to know how to work on the computer if they are going to get along in the world.” How often do we hear ourselves say, “My kids and grandkids need to have an experience with the divine and living God if they are going to get along in the world”?
All people, young and old, need to be in touch with holiness. They need to cultivate a sense of awe for the divine mystery. They need to know what it’s like to be in the divine presence. Maybe parents don’t make these kinds of statements about their children’s spiritual development, because they don’t make them about themselves either.
I have drawn your attention to two stories of encounters with God, recorded in scripture. One is of Moses who is visited by God in a bush that is on fire but not burning up. The other is the prophet Isaiah who sees God in the temple. Both men’s experiences give us a glimpse of what it is like to be in God’s presence, and understand what it means to have sacred awe.
Once Moses is attracted by the sight of the burning bush, he is pulled into the presence of God. Moses is first instructed by God to take off his sandals because he was “standing on holy ground.”
Now why take off your sandals when encountering holiness? Partly it was a sign of respect in the presence of a great one. Old Testament priests serving in the temple, especially those who went into the Holy of Holies, performed their duties barefoot. It was an expression of humility. It was also a way of avoiding polluting a sacred place. The sandals would be removed, and the feet would be washed, and then they would enter the temple for their religious duties.
When I visited the Holy Land, we were in Jerusalem for a couple of days. We went to the Dome of the Rock, a Moslem holy place, where the great Jewish temple once stood. Before we were allowed in, we had to remove our shoes and socks. There were literally hundreds of pairs of sock stuffed shoes in piles outside the main entrance. The place was full of bare-footed tourists and worshippers inside. (I didn’t have to worry about anyone “trading up” and taking my shoes out of the pile; I didn’t see anyone there who looked like they wore size 16.)
It made me think about what we do, that symbolizes our attitude when we come into the sanctuary to worship. What is it that we do, that is similar to taking the shoes off our feet, to demonstrate our sense of awe and humility in the presence of the holy? I couldn’t think of anything. And I began to wonder if we’re missing something.
I’m not sure about this next statement, but it feels right to me. Maybe Moses, and all the others, took off their shoes so there was nothing separating themselves from the touch of holiness. Maybe God wanted their skin to touch and feel what holiness feels like. The bottoms of your feet are the most sensitive part of your body. Is it possible that God wanted people to have just a touch of what holiness felt like through the most sensitive parts of their bodies?
When we approach God, or an experience with God, we do that bare-footed. That is, with humility, with respect, with deference, with all the sensitivity we can muster so that we know we are treading on holy ground. When we meet God, we bow in humility before the one who is unbelievably awesome.
Which brings us to the next thing Moses does: he hides his face in fear. This is probably one of the most common reactions to being in the presence of God.
Remember the story of the prophet Elijah. He had had all the false prophets in the land executed. Queen Jezebel was furious. Elijah ran into the wilderness and hid in a cave. He was feeling sorry for himself. God came for a visit. Fire, storm, and earthquake passed before the mouth of the cave where Elijah was hiding. Then a “still, small voice.” Elijah knew it was God. Elijah stepped out to the mouth of the cave to talk with God. But before he did, he wrapped his cloak around his face so that he wouldn’t look at God.
In the story of Isaiah the prophet, Isaiah sees God sitting on the throne in the temple. Six-winged creatures were flying around. With two of their wings they were hiding their faces so the couldn’t look at God. Isaiah himself cringes in fear because he looked at God, and now awaited his quick death, because no one looks at the face of God and lives.
No one could look at pure holiness or God’s radiance and survive. Emperor Hadrian once said to Rabbi Joshua ben Hannah, “I desire to see your God.”
Rabbi Joshua said, “Face the sun, sire, and gaze upon it.”
“I cannot! It is too bright! It blinds my eyes.”
Then Rabbi Joshua said, “If you are not able to look upon the sun, which is only a servant of God, how much less can you gaze upon the Divine Presence?”
Among the prophets in the Bible, there was tremendous wonder, mystery and awe about God, to the point of taboo and fear of death. Being in God’s mysterious presence was not like sitting on your grandfather’s knee. It was terrifying and wondrous all wrapped together.
Even the name of God was not spoken, it was considered so holy. God has a name, but that name was only spelled in the Bible with consonants. The vowels were left out so that it couldn’t be pronounced. Other names or words for God were substituted for the actual name. Words like “adonai” which means “lord;” or, “Elohim” which means “great one;” or, “el shaddai,” the “almighty.”
In light of these reactions to the presence of God, I wonder how we have gotten to be so flip with God, so casual. How is it that we think we can just stroll into the throne room of God and not be terrified by what we see? Not take off our shoes? Not be overwhelmed by the mystery? Where did we lose that fearful respect that had always been a part of the worship and awe of God?
In C.S. Lewis’ excellent story series, The Chronicles of Narnia, the main character is a magnificent lion named Aslan. Aslan is the Christ figure in these stories. In one of the books, Aslan shows himself to two children. They tell their sister Susan about Aslan. She isn’t sure she wants to meet a lion. She is talking about this with Mr. Beaver inside the beaver dam. “Is he, is he quite safe?” Susan asked Mr. Beaver.
“Safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good,” replied Mr. Beaver.
We have, in our minds, removed all the teeth and claws from God and made God into some kind of cuddly stuffed animal. But those who have been in God’s presence have told a different story. They tell about a God who is awesome, and terrible, and scary, and wonderful, all at the same time. A God who is mysterious with weird creatures flying about. A God who is so totally other, that the only way God is described is by mystery, and clouds, and blinding light. A God who is “up above the sky so high, like a diamond in the sky.”
A God whose presence makes us understand immediately who is God and who is the creature. A God whose presence forces us to hide our faces--a God whose presence makes us want to look and not look at the same time. An awesome God.
Our God is an awesome God
He reigns from heaven above
With wisdom, power, and love
Our God is an awesome God.
Monday, June 11, 2012
The Winning Smile
"The Winning Smile"
Exodus 32:1-14
“We’ve got to get him back down there,” God whispered to the angel Michael.
“But how?” pleaded the frustrated angel. “He’s been up on this mountain far too long. I have tried everything.”
“I think I have an idea,” God murmured, mostly to himself. Then God spoke quietly to Michael for quite some time. Finally, the angel nodded his head and disappeared.
God cleared his voice, as he approached Moses. Moses turned his head and said, “Oh; Hi, God. I was just sitting here enjoying the view.”
“But there isn’t any view, Moses,” God retorted. “Not with this thick cloud covering everything.”
“Exactly,” said Moses, staring off into the fog. “I can’t see a thing. No valley, no tents, and best of all, no people. It’s the best view there is. No wonder you like being God so much--you never have to see any people. Just an occasional visitor like me.”
“And some times that’s even too much,” God thought to himself. “You’ve still got the two stone tablets, don’t you?” God finally asked Moses after a brief silence.
“Oh, yes. I put them down the hill a ways and piled a bunch of rocks over the top of them so no one would find them.”
“You still realize, don’t you, that I want those words told to the people,” God hinted. “There’s no use having words if no one knows what they are and that they’re my words.”
“It wouldn’t matter,” Moses said a little under his breath.
“What was that?” God asked.
“I said, ‘It wouldn’t matter.’ You could give those people a whole Bible full of words, or just one word for that matter, and it wouldn’t be followed.”
“I know,” said God. “I already tried that with a tree a long time ago.”
“A tree?”
“Oh, it’s a long story. I’ll give you the one stone tablet version. The first man and the first woman I made were in this beautiful garden. I called it Eden. They had everything they needed. One of the things they needed was a little tension. I created tension; did you know that?”
Moses nodded his head a little bit too vigorously in the affirmative.
“Anyway,” continued God, “I gave them a little tension by putting a tree in that garden and told them not to eat the fruit on the tree. They could have fruit from any other tree except that one.”
“What kind of tree was it?” asked Moses.
“Everyone thinks it was an apple tree,” replied God. “But actually, apple trees are one of my favorites. The kind of tree it really was, was…” At this point God looked to the right and to the left and behind him. And Moses looked around, mimicking God. God said, quietly, “...kumquat.”
“Kumquat!” Moses shouted.
“Shhhhhh,” hushed God waving his hands.
“Who would want to eat one of those, anyway?”
“Well, duh,” said God. “That’s what I thought, too. But guess which tree was the first one the man and woman headed for? And the funniest part of it was,” God continued, “was that the first man and woman thought the fruit looked tasty to eat. You should have seen their faces when they bit into one of the kumquats! Absolutely hilarious! Everything went sour after that,” God said a little more seriously.
“Of course,” said Moses understanding completely. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I might as well just leave those two stone tablets under that pile of rocks. That’s what the people will do with them anyway. They’ll just stick them in some special box, or cover them with leather thinking they’ve done something wonderful with them, but then go and forget about them. They don’t want your words; they just want to do what they want to do and not have anybody tell them anything different. This world would have been a lot better off if you hadn’t made people.”
“Hmmm,” God hmmmed. In his best Rogerian therapy voice, God said, “So you don’t think people want new words? Especially MY new words?”
“Exactly.”
“And you feel frustrated about that.”
“Frustrated doesn’t even begin to touch it,” Moses blasted. “Do you have any idea what it’s like trying to lead these people? I say, ‘north,’ and they say, ‘south.’ I say, ‘up,’ and they say, ‘down.’ I say, ‘go,’ and they say, ‘stay.’ I say, ‘forward,’ they say ‘backwards.’ I say, “New Book of Order,” they say, ‘Old Book of Order.’” Moses paused, and then said, “I know you’re trying to do a new thing, here, God. But these people wouldn’t know a new thing if you etched it in stone and smacked them up the side of the head with it.”
“Well, uh, that’s kind of what I had in mind,” God said.
“I know,” said Moses. “That’s why those stone tablets are down there underneath all those rocks. It’s not going to work. These people don’t want a new thing. I’m just saying.” Moses blew out some steam and God could see the cloud Moses’ exhaled breath had made as it floated by.
“It can be aggravating sometimes, can’t it,” God sighed.
“‘Sometimes!’ How about ALL the time!” Moses retorted.
“It can’t be bad all the time,” said God. “There must be some times when things are going well.”
“Well, let me see,” Moses began sarcastically. “Let me think for a while and see if I can come up with a good time. I’m done. There haven’t been any.”
“But…”
“But, nothing,” Moses interrupted. “How would you know how I felt? How do you know what it’s like to have to lead those people down there? You’re God, for God’s sake!”
“You don’t need to remind me of that fact, Moses. Believe me, there are days I wish I was somebody else. And I think this is going to be one of those days.”
After a brief silence, Moses said, “Well, I don’t care what you say. I’m not going back down there. I’m staying up here. I like it here. It’s, it’s spiritual up here, but not religious. It’s calm. I feel more devout up here. More worshipful. Down there is disorder. It’s messy. Unpredictable in a scary way. I barely have time to utter a word your way, and usually it’s not an utter, it’s a mutter. Up here is heaven. Down there is hell.”
God just stayed in his crouched position next to Moses, staring off into the shroud and allowing Moses to ventilate.
“They don’t deserve you, God,” Moses continued. “They don’t deserve me. They don’t appreciate me for who I am. As long as I’m doing all the work and shoulder most of the responsibility they think I’m great. But what if I quit? What if I never came back down off this blessed mountain? Or what if I came back and just said, ‘I quit. You all can have it. I’m just one of the travelers now. Somebody else gets to be in charge,’ and went off and took a nap in my tent. Would they appreciate me then? I don’t think so.”
“If you quit,” God interjected in a mock serious tone, “I’d have to take back your magic staff. No more snake tricks or dividing the sea miracles.”
“Oh, no; you can’t take back my staff. Take anything but that.”
“Sorry, it goes with the job.” God knew how much Moses liked technology toys in his ministry.
“Well, if that’s the way it’s got to be. Here.” Moses handed over his staff without looking at it. God took it, then gave it back to him.
“Ah, you can have it back. It won’t do anything for you anymore, except hold you up or whack a stubborn mule.” Moses took it back and they were both silent for a long time.
“You miss them, don’t you?” God finally stated more than asked.
“Hello; is anybody home in there? Wake up, God,” Moses mocked. “Haven’t you been listening to the words coming out of my mouth? I’m fed up. I’ve had enough. They don’t care. They won’t change. You said it yourself--it’s been like this from the beginning. Who am I trying to fool by thinking I can make a difference? What a deluded egomaniac I’ve been. Miss them!? No way. I’m staying here. You better get used to me.”
Just then, the angel Michael appeared before God. “I’m afraid I have some good news and some bad news, sir.”
“What is it?” God demanded, still looking at Moses.
Michael looked at Moses, and said he should speak to God in private. Moses said he got the idea and began to saunter off with his staff. “The good news, sir, is that Aaron has taken up sculpting. The bad news is that he’s got everyone worshipping his sculpture.”
“What!?” God bellowed so loud it sounded like a thunder clap. “What!?” God thundered again. “He did what!? They are doing what!?”
“I’m afraid it’s true, sir.”
Moses came running back to the angel and God and said, “What’s going on? Something’s happened down there hasn’t it? I just know it. You’ve got to tell me.”
“It appears your brother, Aaron, got the idea in his head to collect everyone’s gold jewelry, melted it down, sculpted a gold bull out of it, and has everyone worshipping it! He evidently preached some sermon to them convincing them it was the gold bull that lead them out of Egypt and saved them from slavery.”
“What!?” Moses thundered. “He did what!? He said that!?” God and the angel nodded in unison. “And they went along with that crock of crap!?” God and the angel nodded again. “Damn that Aaron. How could he? I’m the one who led them out of Egypt--well, you and I, God. I mean, I have invested myself in those people. How could they do this now? How could they have gotten so turned around?”
“I wonder the same thing, Moses,” God said. “This time they’ve gone and twisted my knickers a bit too tightly. You’re right, Moses. You’ve been right all along. I’m through with them, too. So, I know you’ll agree with my decision to wipe them out. I’m just going to wipe the old slate clean and start over. We’ll find you a good wife somewhere and you and she will be my new starting point. The rest of those stiff-necked people are going to be toast when I’m through with them. Get the marshmallows out, Moses; there’s going to be a bonfire. Stand back, it’s barbecue time!”
“Wait!” shouted Moses. “You just can’t do that to all those people. Yeah, they’re stubborn. Yes, they do what they want and don’t pay attention to you or me. But there’s too much history between you and them. There’s some good folks there who have their hearts in the right place. You can’t take them out with all the rest. They’re just misguided. Aaron’s not the man for the job. He’s got all these New Age ideas about a cafeteria religion, with a little bit of this and a little bit of that. The people are suckers for his Generation Y ideas. They need someone more solid. With more backbone.”
Moses was walking and talking. He headed for a pile of rocks and began unpiling them, throwing them in every direction. “I’ll take these stone tablets with your new words on them if you want. But what they really need is a person. A leader. Someone they can follow. Someone who’s not afraid to tell them ‘what for,’ when it’s necessary. Someone who can stand up to the heat and not back down. They need someone who can give them direction and who knows what direction they need to be heading. These people need a personal leader they know cares about them like a shepherd; someone who knows what worship really is, like a priest; and someone who can say ‘no’ to all their silly schemes, like a prophet.”
Moses finally had moved all the rocks from the two stone tablets, and had them in his arms. “They need a leader who has a vision, and who can plant that vision in their hearts. They need me. Please, God; don’t fry these people yet. Give me another chance. I can do it. I know I can. Just don’t wipe them out. Will you promise me that?”
“Well…” God said with a pondering tone and look.
“Please,” Moses continued to plead. “I find that I really do care about what happens to these people. I feel responsible for them. Just give me one more chance.”
“All right,” God exhaled. “Just one more chance.”
“YES!” Moses fist pumped, almost dropping the stone tablets.
Before God could think twice about his decision, Moses turned and was almost running down the mountain. With his back to God, he was smiling to himself a winning smile because he had been able to change God’s mind.
As they stood and watched Moses hastening down the mountain, out of the shrouding mist and into the light of day, the angel, Michael, leaned over to God and said, “Your plan worked perfectly.”
“Thanks,” God said through his winning smile.
Exodus 32:1-14
“We’ve got to get him back down there,” God whispered to the angel Michael.
“But how?” pleaded the frustrated angel. “He’s been up on this mountain far too long. I have tried everything.”
“I think I have an idea,” God murmured, mostly to himself. Then God spoke quietly to Michael for quite some time. Finally, the angel nodded his head and disappeared.
God cleared his voice, as he approached Moses. Moses turned his head and said, “Oh; Hi, God. I was just sitting here enjoying the view.”
“But there isn’t any view, Moses,” God retorted. “Not with this thick cloud covering everything.”
“Exactly,” said Moses, staring off into the fog. “I can’t see a thing. No valley, no tents, and best of all, no people. It’s the best view there is. No wonder you like being God so much--you never have to see any people. Just an occasional visitor like me.”
“And some times that’s even too much,” God thought to himself. “You’ve still got the two stone tablets, don’t you?” God finally asked Moses after a brief silence.
“Oh, yes. I put them down the hill a ways and piled a bunch of rocks over the top of them so no one would find them.”
“You still realize, don’t you, that I want those words told to the people,” God hinted. “There’s no use having words if no one knows what they are and that they’re my words.”
“It wouldn’t matter,” Moses said a little under his breath.
“What was that?” God asked.
“I said, ‘It wouldn’t matter.’ You could give those people a whole Bible full of words, or just one word for that matter, and it wouldn’t be followed.”
“I know,” said God. “I already tried that with a tree a long time ago.”
“A tree?”
“Oh, it’s a long story. I’ll give you the one stone tablet version. The first man and the first woman I made were in this beautiful garden. I called it Eden. They had everything they needed. One of the things they needed was a little tension. I created tension; did you know that?”
Moses nodded his head a little bit too vigorously in the affirmative.
“Anyway,” continued God, “I gave them a little tension by putting a tree in that garden and told them not to eat the fruit on the tree. They could have fruit from any other tree except that one.”
“What kind of tree was it?” asked Moses.
“Everyone thinks it was an apple tree,” replied God. “But actually, apple trees are one of my favorites. The kind of tree it really was, was…” At this point God looked to the right and to the left and behind him. And Moses looked around, mimicking God. God said, quietly, “...kumquat.”
“Kumquat!” Moses shouted.
“Shhhhhh,” hushed God waving his hands.
“Who would want to eat one of those, anyway?”
“Well, duh,” said God. “That’s what I thought, too. But guess which tree was the first one the man and woman headed for? And the funniest part of it was,” God continued, “was that the first man and woman thought the fruit looked tasty to eat. You should have seen their faces when they bit into one of the kumquats! Absolutely hilarious! Everything went sour after that,” God said a little more seriously.
“Of course,” said Moses understanding completely. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I might as well just leave those two stone tablets under that pile of rocks. That’s what the people will do with them anyway. They’ll just stick them in some special box, or cover them with leather thinking they’ve done something wonderful with them, but then go and forget about them. They don’t want your words; they just want to do what they want to do and not have anybody tell them anything different. This world would have been a lot better off if you hadn’t made people.”
“Hmmm,” God hmmmed. In his best Rogerian therapy voice, God said, “So you don’t think people want new words? Especially MY new words?”
“Exactly.”
“And you feel frustrated about that.”
“Frustrated doesn’t even begin to touch it,” Moses blasted. “Do you have any idea what it’s like trying to lead these people? I say, ‘north,’ and they say, ‘south.’ I say, ‘up,’ and they say, ‘down.’ I say, ‘go,’ and they say, ‘stay.’ I say, ‘forward,’ they say ‘backwards.’ I say, “New Book of Order,” they say, ‘Old Book of Order.’” Moses paused, and then said, “I know you’re trying to do a new thing, here, God. But these people wouldn’t know a new thing if you etched it in stone and smacked them up the side of the head with it.”
“Well, uh, that’s kind of what I had in mind,” God said.
“I know,” said Moses. “That’s why those stone tablets are down there underneath all those rocks. It’s not going to work. These people don’t want a new thing. I’m just saying.” Moses blew out some steam and God could see the cloud Moses’ exhaled breath had made as it floated by.
“It can be aggravating sometimes, can’t it,” God sighed.
“‘Sometimes!’ How about ALL the time!” Moses retorted.
“It can’t be bad all the time,” said God. “There must be some times when things are going well.”
“Well, let me see,” Moses began sarcastically. “Let me think for a while and see if I can come up with a good time. I’m done. There haven’t been any.”
“But…”
“But, nothing,” Moses interrupted. “How would you know how I felt? How do you know what it’s like to have to lead those people down there? You’re God, for God’s sake!”
“You don’t need to remind me of that fact, Moses. Believe me, there are days I wish I was somebody else. And I think this is going to be one of those days.”
After a brief silence, Moses said, “Well, I don’t care what you say. I’m not going back down there. I’m staying up here. I like it here. It’s, it’s spiritual up here, but not religious. It’s calm. I feel more devout up here. More worshipful. Down there is disorder. It’s messy. Unpredictable in a scary way. I barely have time to utter a word your way, and usually it’s not an utter, it’s a mutter. Up here is heaven. Down there is hell.”
God just stayed in his crouched position next to Moses, staring off into the shroud and allowing Moses to ventilate.
“They don’t deserve you, God,” Moses continued. “They don’t deserve me. They don’t appreciate me for who I am. As long as I’m doing all the work and shoulder most of the responsibility they think I’m great. But what if I quit? What if I never came back down off this blessed mountain? Or what if I came back and just said, ‘I quit. You all can have it. I’m just one of the travelers now. Somebody else gets to be in charge,’ and went off and took a nap in my tent. Would they appreciate me then? I don’t think so.”
“If you quit,” God interjected in a mock serious tone, “I’d have to take back your magic staff. No more snake tricks or dividing the sea miracles.”
“Oh, no; you can’t take back my staff. Take anything but that.”
“Sorry, it goes with the job.” God knew how much Moses liked technology toys in his ministry.
“Well, if that’s the way it’s got to be. Here.” Moses handed over his staff without looking at it. God took it, then gave it back to him.
“Ah, you can have it back. It won’t do anything for you anymore, except hold you up or whack a stubborn mule.” Moses took it back and they were both silent for a long time.
“You miss them, don’t you?” God finally stated more than asked.
“Hello; is anybody home in there? Wake up, God,” Moses mocked. “Haven’t you been listening to the words coming out of my mouth? I’m fed up. I’ve had enough. They don’t care. They won’t change. You said it yourself--it’s been like this from the beginning. Who am I trying to fool by thinking I can make a difference? What a deluded egomaniac I’ve been. Miss them!? No way. I’m staying here. You better get used to me.”
Just then, the angel Michael appeared before God. “I’m afraid I have some good news and some bad news, sir.”
“What is it?” God demanded, still looking at Moses.
Michael looked at Moses, and said he should speak to God in private. Moses said he got the idea and began to saunter off with his staff. “The good news, sir, is that Aaron has taken up sculpting. The bad news is that he’s got everyone worshipping his sculpture.”
“What!?” God bellowed so loud it sounded like a thunder clap. “What!?” God thundered again. “He did what!? They are doing what!?”
“I’m afraid it’s true, sir.”
Moses came running back to the angel and God and said, “What’s going on? Something’s happened down there hasn’t it? I just know it. You’ve got to tell me.”
“It appears your brother, Aaron, got the idea in his head to collect everyone’s gold jewelry, melted it down, sculpted a gold bull out of it, and has everyone worshipping it! He evidently preached some sermon to them convincing them it was the gold bull that lead them out of Egypt and saved them from slavery.”
“What!?” Moses thundered. “He did what!? He said that!?” God and the angel nodded in unison. “And they went along with that crock of crap!?” God and the angel nodded again. “Damn that Aaron. How could he? I’m the one who led them out of Egypt--well, you and I, God. I mean, I have invested myself in those people. How could they do this now? How could they have gotten so turned around?”
“I wonder the same thing, Moses,” God said. “This time they’ve gone and twisted my knickers a bit too tightly. You’re right, Moses. You’ve been right all along. I’m through with them, too. So, I know you’ll agree with my decision to wipe them out. I’m just going to wipe the old slate clean and start over. We’ll find you a good wife somewhere and you and she will be my new starting point. The rest of those stiff-necked people are going to be toast when I’m through with them. Get the marshmallows out, Moses; there’s going to be a bonfire. Stand back, it’s barbecue time!”
“Wait!” shouted Moses. “You just can’t do that to all those people. Yeah, they’re stubborn. Yes, they do what they want and don’t pay attention to you or me. But there’s too much history between you and them. There’s some good folks there who have their hearts in the right place. You can’t take them out with all the rest. They’re just misguided. Aaron’s not the man for the job. He’s got all these New Age ideas about a cafeteria religion, with a little bit of this and a little bit of that. The people are suckers for his Generation Y ideas. They need someone more solid. With more backbone.”
Moses was walking and talking. He headed for a pile of rocks and began unpiling them, throwing them in every direction. “I’ll take these stone tablets with your new words on them if you want. But what they really need is a person. A leader. Someone they can follow. Someone who’s not afraid to tell them ‘what for,’ when it’s necessary. Someone who can stand up to the heat and not back down. They need someone who can give them direction and who knows what direction they need to be heading. These people need a personal leader they know cares about them like a shepherd; someone who knows what worship really is, like a priest; and someone who can say ‘no’ to all their silly schemes, like a prophet.”
Moses finally had moved all the rocks from the two stone tablets, and had them in his arms. “They need a leader who has a vision, and who can plant that vision in their hearts. They need me. Please, God; don’t fry these people yet. Give me another chance. I can do it. I know I can. Just don’t wipe them out. Will you promise me that?”
“Well…” God said with a pondering tone and look.
“Please,” Moses continued to plead. “I find that I really do care about what happens to these people. I feel responsible for them. Just give me one more chance.”
“All right,” God exhaled. “Just one more chance.”
“YES!” Moses fist pumped, almost dropping the stone tablets.
Before God could think twice about his decision, Moses turned and was almost running down the mountain. With his back to God, he was smiling to himself a winning smile because he had been able to change God’s mind.
As they stood and watched Moses hastening down the mountain, out of the shrouding mist and into the light of day, the angel, Michael, leaned over to God and said, “Your plan worked perfectly.”
“Thanks,” God said through his winning smile.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Basic Training
"Basic Training"
John 3:1-17
Nicodemus comes, probably like most of us do, to Jesus in the night time. That is, we come when we are in some dark night of the soul. We are hurting, and we don’t want anyone to see we are hurting. We have needs that we finally come to the conclusion that only Jesus can meet. But we don’t want the others around us to know we are needy, hurting people. So,under the cloak of our aloneness we come to him.
The conversation goes politely at first. Again, like Nicodemus, we butter up Jesus, telling him all kinds of things he already knows about himself. We may start out that way because it has been so long since we have talked with the Lord. We think we’ve got to make some marks with him early. We only betray our dis-ease of being in Christ’s presence. Like most people who come to their pastor, making small talk at first, conversing about insignificant trivia, trying to assess if this pastor can be trusted, and slowly divulge the more important stuff that’s going on.
With Nicodemus, Jesus cuts through the pleasantries. At least that’s how it seems. The report of this conversation is so condensed. The way it’s given to us, it appears Jesus saw the need to get right to the deep stuff with Nicodemus.
In cutting to the chase, either Jesus is answering a question that Nicodemus DIDN’T ask; or, possibly we only have part of the discussion here, as it was remembered by John. Or else, Jesus intuitively knows what Nicodemus’ needs are and anticipates the big questions that he is wanting to ask.
Whichever it may be, I think we can do a fairly good job of piecing together Nicodemus’ needs and question, based on Jesus’ answer. Jesus tells Nicodemus that if he wants to see the Kingdom of God, if he wants to be a participant in life as it was meant to be lived, and not just sit on the sidelines, he needs to be “born again.” It’s a term which literally means to be “born from above.” We will get to this answer later, but right now, as I have said, we have to sleuth out the question and the need that brought Nicodemus to Jesus alone in the dark.
For Jesus to tell his night visitor that he needs to start life over again tells me that Nicodemus was suffering from one of the “outs.” Burn-out. Rust-out. Blow-out.
Nicodemus was a Pharisee. Not only that, John describes him as a “man of the Pharisees,” a “ruler of the Jews,” and, “a teacher of Israel.” He was the religious answer man. He was the one who was the teacher. He was the one to whom many came when they had problems.
But now the tables were turned. No longer does Nicodemus have any answers, especially to his own needs and questions. Religious life for him was at an impasse. The growth of his storm cloud has heightened, the end of which is unforeseeable.
He says all the right words, but feels nothing in his heart. He has preserved his orthodoxy, but has lost any sense of intimacy with God. His prayers have become riddled with cliches, a sure indication that they have ceased being personal. And soon they may cease altogether.
He has become an institutional man, rather than a personal lover of God. He has felt his life drift toward the shoals of nonchalance. He has lived by the liturgical calendar, routinely going through the prescribed texts of events long since voided of meaning and impact. He is a traditionalist, whose traditions mean little or nothing anymore. His life is a pencil long on lead, but short on eraser. Each new day has become just another bite into a stale piece of bread. Quite a position to be in for “a man of the Pharisees.” Or anyone, for that matter.
And so, Jesus’ answer: To really be living, to see the Kingdom of God, Nicodemus is going to have to be born from above. Jesus’ answer is in figurative language. At first reading, it appears that Nicodemus doesn’t understand. He seems a little dull to what Jesus has told him.
What was Nicodemus looking for, anyway? Was he looking for some complex answer, or intricate step-by-step method of salvation from his empty life? Had he become so entrenched in a religious system built on layered lettuce salad theology? Lots of big words and traditionalistic worship practices that he couldn’t understand anything new? Was he so much a part of the bureaucracy of religion that he couldn’t fathom simplicity anymore? Had he been so caught up in the super-structure of his religion that the basic foundations were no longer visible or discernible? The answer to all these questions is, probably, “yes.”
But there’s another part of me that thinks that Nicodemus understands what Jesus is saying with all the “born from above” talk. He understands it all too well. It all depends on tone of voice. It is not with misunderstanding tones that Nicodemus answers, but with tones of depression and uselessness. He isn’t taking Jesus literally. He is playing the figurative game right along with Jesus.
“How can I start over in life, when I have messed up what I’ve had, and have so little time to rebuild?”
“How can I run with the horses, when I’m about ready to be put out to pasture?”
“How can I find vision for the future, when I am so disillusioned with the past?”
“How do I dare dream when suddenly I find everything is a nightmare?”
“How can I feel like the New Year when I feel like Father Time?”
“How can I plug into life, when I feel so disconnected to the life around me?”
Though they many not sound like it, these are all faith questions. They are the questions that we all, at one time or another--usually alone in the dark--bring to Christ for an answer. What Christ faces is the question of how to reach this man--how to reach any of us who may have been good people, even good church people, but suddenly have woken up to the fact that we are spiritually bankrupt.
What Jesus does is to lead Nicodemus in the direction of basic training. That is, Jesus is challenging Nicodemus to go back to a boot camp level of religious basics. That Nicodemus return to a simpler, fundamental level of his faith.
In one of the “Far Side” Cartoons there is a geeky looking man, who had just woken up. He’s sitting on the side of his bed facing the wall. On the wall is a large sign that reads, “First pants, THEN your shoes.” Jesus was holding up a sign for Nicodemus about the essential way to go at life: “First be born from above, THEN you live.” It’s impossible to do the second before doing the first.
If we choose to take Jesus’ advice--which incidentally, we never find out if Nicodemus did or not--then we’re headed for big change. The advice is simple. Doing it may not be.
It is hard to imagine which is more painful, birth or rebirth. Both involve a great deal of comfort in a former way of life. But sooner or later the labor must begin. If we want to be alive--really alive--then the birth process has to take place. Babies don’t have a choice. They will be born, one way or another. Grown up people must choose to be reborn, to start all over again at a point of spiritual re-entry into the world. They must decide if they want to restart again in a place of spiritual infancy.
Think what it must have meant for Nicodemus. He faced erasing all previous knowledge and writing a whole new knowledge base about life. He had spent his whole lifetime building what he had. Jesus, in one little statement is bidding him to tear it all down. By taking a wrecking ball to his life meant that all the other tenants who lived in that structure with him would have to go as well. Not just friends, associates, but also theologies, philosophies about life, and personal perspectives.
Because, let’s face it, starting over means, well, starting over. “Which is worse,” Nicodemus must have thought: “To live with my sense of meaninglessness; or, to start over brand new with Christ?” Let us not say, so blithely, that such a choice is an easy one. Because it is a choice that Jesus is going to bid us make, not just once, but in all likelihood, time and time again.
When you start at a new beginning, you must start at the right place and in the right way. A minister friend of mine is doing a doctoral project on church revitalization. She is trying to come up with a method whereby churches can choose the right area of its ministry to begin the revitalization process. To start in the right area of ministry is to create a domino effect on all the other aspects of the church’s work. That, then, leads to a more comprehensive and positive revitalization.
I think the same process has to take place in the individual. That is why Jesus told Nicodemus that he could be born of the flesh or he could be born of the Spirit, but not both. To be born of the Spirit is the most essential. It is the first major domino to be pushed in order for all the others in your life to fall. We must start from the inside out, not the other way around. You can change your appearance, but that’s not going to change the inner person. But on the other hand, you can change the internal person--be born from above--and the outward parts of our lifestyle can’t help but change along with it.
The question, then, is, Why didn’t Nicodemus get it? Why didn’t he understand what Jesus was trying to tell him? Or did he?
Look at the kinds of questions Nicodemus was asking and the word that starts out his questions: “How can anyone…” “What are you saying…” “How does this happen?” Those are the detail questions of how the whole thing happens. Nicodemus understands the basic premise of what Jesus is saying. Nicodemus just wants to know how to do it.
Most of the time we understand the basic premise of change. Anxiety or some kind of pain has caused us to say, “I’m just so sick of living like this, or being like this. I need to change. But, HOW do I do it?” That’s what people want to know. HOW do I go about making the kinds of changes I need to make to live in an entirely new direction?
That’s what Nicodemus was needing from Jesus. Nicodemus was not only needing a Savior; Nicodemus was also needing a Mentor. Someone who could walk beside him, someone who would be a go-to guy when Nicodemus would get frustrated in his new direction; or feel like giving up and just going back to the old way.
The work of mentoring, or as we call it in the church, spiritual guidance, is a lot of things. Mostly it’s helping someone take seriously what they have previously treated so dismissively. Nicodemus spent all his time building up the form of religion, and treated dismissively the power of religion. We do the same thing with life. We spend careers building the forms of living, without really living.
Spiritual direction has to do with helping others by guiding the formation of a self-understanding that has to do with God rather than all the other factors we think are important. It’s not about just adjusting your job description, but rearranging your life perspective. That involves learning how to read and follow the Holy Spirit--which is what Jesus is showing Nicodemus he hasn’t figured out yet. The problem with Nicodemus, and most of us is we want a step-by-step plan. But Jesus told Nicodemus following the Spirit, is like following the wind. It’s more a spiritual sensitivity than it is doing A, B, C.
The other thing that Jesus may be looking for in Nicodemus is whether he really believes it can be done. People don’t attempt something unless they believe it can be done. That’s what Nicodemus said at the very start of the conversation with Jesus: “We know that you are a teacher sent by God. No one could perform the miracles you are doing unless God were with him.” In other words, Nicodemus sees that Jesus is doing what he wants to be doing with his life. So Nicodemus wants to know if he can not only totally rearrange his life, but also do what Jesus is doing--if he can make an impact on people for the better; and if so, how?
Jesus wants to know if Nicodemus really believes those kinds of changes can really happen in his life. That belief has to come first. If that is there, then Jesus is ready to give spiritual direction and mentoring to Nicodemus on his new path.
But, as I mentioned earlier, we never know the end of this story--how this conversation concluded. What did Nicodemus decide? Did he really believe? Did he make the choice to rearrange his life--to take a totally different fork in the road of his future? We don’t know.
You can know, not how Nicodemus’ story ended up, but how yours will. Are you at the point of knowing, deep in the gut, that you need to make your way, maybe in the night, to have a conversation with the Lord? Do you feel like your spiritual center is off center, and you are warbling and disoriented? Are you suffering from one of the “outs”: burnout, rust out, blowout? Are you an outwardly religious person but inwardly stale? Are you sensing your life is like a river, once described by Mark Twain, as a mile wide but only an inch deep?
Maybe this is a time to be born from above, rather than shrivel up from below. Maybe this is the time you would like to take a risk with your life and your past with the Lord. Maybe this is the time you’d like to begin again.
John 3:1-17
Nicodemus comes, probably like most of us do, to Jesus in the night time. That is, we come when we are in some dark night of the soul. We are hurting, and we don’t want anyone to see we are hurting. We have needs that we finally come to the conclusion that only Jesus can meet. But we don’t want the others around us to know we are needy, hurting people. So,under the cloak of our aloneness we come to him.
The conversation goes politely at first. Again, like Nicodemus, we butter up Jesus, telling him all kinds of things he already knows about himself. We may start out that way because it has been so long since we have talked with the Lord. We think we’ve got to make some marks with him early. We only betray our dis-ease of being in Christ’s presence. Like most people who come to their pastor, making small talk at first, conversing about insignificant trivia, trying to assess if this pastor can be trusted, and slowly divulge the more important stuff that’s going on.
With Nicodemus, Jesus cuts through the pleasantries. At least that’s how it seems. The report of this conversation is so condensed. The way it’s given to us, it appears Jesus saw the need to get right to the deep stuff with Nicodemus.
In cutting to the chase, either Jesus is answering a question that Nicodemus DIDN’T ask; or, possibly we only have part of the discussion here, as it was remembered by John. Or else, Jesus intuitively knows what Nicodemus’ needs are and anticipates the big questions that he is wanting to ask.
Whichever it may be, I think we can do a fairly good job of piecing together Nicodemus’ needs and question, based on Jesus’ answer. Jesus tells Nicodemus that if he wants to see the Kingdom of God, if he wants to be a participant in life as it was meant to be lived, and not just sit on the sidelines, he needs to be “born again.” It’s a term which literally means to be “born from above.” We will get to this answer later, but right now, as I have said, we have to sleuth out the question and the need that brought Nicodemus to Jesus alone in the dark.
For Jesus to tell his night visitor that he needs to start life over again tells me that Nicodemus was suffering from one of the “outs.” Burn-out. Rust-out. Blow-out.
Nicodemus was a Pharisee. Not only that, John describes him as a “man of the Pharisees,” a “ruler of the Jews,” and, “a teacher of Israel.” He was the religious answer man. He was the one who was the teacher. He was the one to whom many came when they had problems.
But now the tables were turned. No longer does Nicodemus have any answers, especially to his own needs and questions. Religious life for him was at an impasse. The growth of his storm cloud has heightened, the end of which is unforeseeable.
He says all the right words, but feels nothing in his heart. He has preserved his orthodoxy, but has lost any sense of intimacy with God. His prayers have become riddled with cliches, a sure indication that they have ceased being personal. And soon they may cease altogether.
He has become an institutional man, rather than a personal lover of God. He has felt his life drift toward the shoals of nonchalance. He has lived by the liturgical calendar, routinely going through the prescribed texts of events long since voided of meaning and impact. He is a traditionalist, whose traditions mean little or nothing anymore. His life is a pencil long on lead, but short on eraser. Each new day has become just another bite into a stale piece of bread. Quite a position to be in for “a man of the Pharisees.” Or anyone, for that matter.
And so, Jesus’ answer: To really be living, to see the Kingdom of God, Nicodemus is going to have to be born from above. Jesus’ answer is in figurative language. At first reading, it appears that Nicodemus doesn’t understand. He seems a little dull to what Jesus has told him.
What was Nicodemus looking for, anyway? Was he looking for some complex answer, or intricate step-by-step method of salvation from his empty life? Had he become so entrenched in a religious system built on layered lettuce salad theology? Lots of big words and traditionalistic worship practices that he couldn’t understand anything new? Was he so much a part of the bureaucracy of religion that he couldn’t fathom simplicity anymore? Had he been so caught up in the super-structure of his religion that the basic foundations were no longer visible or discernible? The answer to all these questions is, probably, “yes.”
But there’s another part of me that thinks that Nicodemus understands what Jesus is saying with all the “born from above” talk. He understands it all too well. It all depends on tone of voice. It is not with misunderstanding tones that Nicodemus answers, but with tones of depression and uselessness. He isn’t taking Jesus literally. He is playing the figurative game right along with Jesus.
“How can I start over in life, when I have messed up what I’ve had, and have so little time to rebuild?”
“How can I run with the horses, when I’m about ready to be put out to pasture?”
“How can I find vision for the future, when I am so disillusioned with the past?”
“How do I dare dream when suddenly I find everything is a nightmare?”
“How can I feel like the New Year when I feel like Father Time?”
“How can I plug into life, when I feel so disconnected to the life around me?”
Though they many not sound like it, these are all faith questions. They are the questions that we all, at one time or another--usually alone in the dark--bring to Christ for an answer. What Christ faces is the question of how to reach this man--how to reach any of us who may have been good people, even good church people, but suddenly have woken up to the fact that we are spiritually bankrupt.
What Jesus does is to lead Nicodemus in the direction of basic training. That is, Jesus is challenging Nicodemus to go back to a boot camp level of religious basics. That Nicodemus return to a simpler, fundamental level of his faith.
In one of the “Far Side” Cartoons there is a geeky looking man, who had just woken up. He’s sitting on the side of his bed facing the wall. On the wall is a large sign that reads, “First pants, THEN your shoes.” Jesus was holding up a sign for Nicodemus about the essential way to go at life: “First be born from above, THEN you live.” It’s impossible to do the second before doing the first.
If we choose to take Jesus’ advice--which incidentally, we never find out if Nicodemus did or not--then we’re headed for big change. The advice is simple. Doing it may not be.
It is hard to imagine which is more painful, birth or rebirth. Both involve a great deal of comfort in a former way of life. But sooner or later the labor must begin. If we want to be alive--really alive--then the birth process has to take place. Babies don’t have a choice. They will be born, one way or another. Grown up people must choose to be reborn, to start all over again at a point of spiritual re-entry into the world. They must decide if they want to restart again in a place of spiritual infancy.
Think what it must have meant for Nicodemus. He faced erasing all previous knowledge and writing a whole new knowledge base about life. He had spent his whole lifetime building what he had. Jesus, in one little statement is bidding him to tear it all down. By taking a wrecking ball to his life meant that all the other tenants who lived in that structure with him would have to go as well. Not just friends, associates, but also theologies, philosophies about life, and personal perspectives.
Because, let’s face it, starting over means, well, starting over. “Which is worse,” Nicodemus must have thought: “To live with my sense of meaninglessness; or, to start over brand new with Christ?” Let us not say, so blithely, that such a choice is an easy one. Because it is a choice that Jesus is going to bid us make, not just once, but in all likelihood, time and time again.
When you start at a new beginning, you must start at the right place and in the right way. A minister friend of mine is doing a doctoral project on church revitalization. She is trying to come up with a method whereby churches can choose the right area of its ministry to begin the revitalization process. To start in the right area of ministry is to create a domino effect on all the other aspects of the church’s work. That, then, leads to a more comprehensive and positive revitalization.
I think the same process has to take place in the individual. That is why Jesus told Nicodemus that he could be born of the flesh or he could be born of the Spirit, but not both. To be born of the Spirit is the most essential. It is the first major domino to be pushed in order for all the others in your life to fall. We must start from the inside out, not the other way around. You can change your appearance, but that’s not going to change the inner person. But on the other hand, you can change the internal person--be born from above--and the outward parts of our lifestyle can’t help but change along with it.
The question, then, is, Why didn’t Nicodemus get it? Why didn’t he understand what Jesus was trying to tell him? Or did he?
Look at the kinds of questions Nicodemus was asking and the word that starts out his questions: “How can anyone…” “What are you saying…” “How does this happen?” Those are the detail questions of how the whole thing happens. Nicodemus understands the basic premise of what Jesus is saying. Nicodemus just wants to know how to do it.
Most of the time we understand the basic premise of change. Anxiety or some kind of pain has caused us to say, “I’m just so sick of living like this, or being like this. I need to change. But, HOW do I do it?” That’s what people want to know. HOW do I go about making the kinds of changes I need to make to live in an entirely new direction?
That’s what Nicodemus was needing from Jesus. Nicodemus was not only needing a Savior; Nicodemus was also needing a Mentor. Someone who could walk beside him, someone who would be a go-to guy when Nicodemus would get frustrated in his new direction; or feel like giving up and just going back to the old way.
The work of mentoring, or as we call it in the church, spiritual guidance, is a lot of things. Mostly it’s helping someone take seriously what they have previously treated so dismissively. Nicodemus spent all his time building up the form of religion, and treated dismissively the power of religion. We do the same thing with life. We spend careers building the forms of living, without really living.
Spiritual direction has to do with helping others by guiding the formation of a self-understanding that has to do with God rather than all the other factors we think are important. It’s not about just adjusting your job description, but rearranging your life perspective. That involves learning how to read and follow the Holy Spirit--which is what Jesus is showing Nicodemus he hasn’t figured out yet. The problem with Nicodemus, and most of us is we want a step-by-step plan. But Jesus told Nicodemus following the Spirit, is like following the wind. It’s more a spiritual sensitivity than it is doing A, B, C.
The other thing that Jesus may be looking for in Nicodemus is whether he really believes it can be done. People don’t attempt something unless they believe it can be done. That’s what Nicodemus said at the very start of the conversation with Jesus: “We know that you are a teacher sent by God. No one could perform the miracles you are doing unless God were with him.” In other words, Nicodemus sees that Jesus is doing what he wants to be doing with his life. So Nicodemus wants to know if he can not only totally rearrange his life, but also do what Jesus is doing--if he can make an impact on people for the better; and if so, how?
Jesus wants to know if Nicodemus really believes those kinds of changes can really happen in his life. That belief has to come first. If that is there, then Jesus is ready to give spiritual direction and mentoring to Nicodemus on his new path.
But, as I mentioned earlier, we never know the end of this story--how this conversation concluded. What did Nicodemus decide? Did he really believe? Did he make the choice to rearrange his life--to take a totally different fork in the road of his future? We don’t know.
You can know, not how Nicodemus’ story ended up, but how yours will. Are you at the point of knowing, deep in the gut, that you need to make your way, maybe in the night, to have a conversation with the Lord? Do you feel like your spiritual center is off center, and you are warbling and disoriented? Are you suffering from one of the “outs”: burnout, rust out, blowout? Are you an outwardly religious person but inwardly stale? Are you sensing your life is like a river, once described by Mark Twain, as a mile wide but only an inch deep?
Maybe this is a time to be born from above, rather than shrivel up from below. Maybe this is the time you would like to take a risk with your life and your past with the Lord. Maybe this is the time you’d like to begin again.
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