Sermon: Letting Go of Our Stones

Letting Go of Our Stones

Acts 6:16-8:1

(preached at First Baptist Church, Edmonton, Alberta, on April 22, 2015)

 

Today, we enter into the story of Stephen, the first martyr of the Christian faith. The first – but not the last. Long before the likes of ISIS and long after, we will continue to hear the stories of brave men and women who were killed – often brutally – because of their faith in Jesus of Nazareth. From our earliest years of Sunday School, we are taught to stand up for our faith and to boldly declare the name of Jesus, regardless of the consequences – whether they be ridicule, ostracism, or even death. We in the First World have sometimes cheapened the idea of martyrdom, misapplying the word “persecution” to ourselves who have so many rights but perhaps not all of them. But most of all, we have a rich history of outstanding saints who stood firm to the end – whether that end came by stone or lion or fire or machete.

As we enter into the story of Stephen, it’s interesting to note that he didn’t get killed by the government. This time at least, the Romans weren’t the ones doing the persecuting. Stephen got killed by the religious officials in the name of the very God he was proclaiming. One commentator writes this:

The people who kill Stephen are neither the local hooligans nor the Roman soldiers who nailed Jesus to a cross. They are…upstanding members of religious communities: regular members of synagogues, elders, religious professionals, priests. They are guardians of vital traditions. (source: Matt Skinner)

Two groups of people – brothers, Stephen will call them – who each claim to worship the same God, but one ends up dead at the hands of the others. Christians, Jews and Muslims – three cousins, all with a faith grounded in the God who appeared to Abraham – have repeated this story over and over again, killing each other in the name of the God we each profess to worship.

Lord, have mercy. How did this happen? And why does it keep happening?

The Questioners and The Comfortable: Toward a Healthy, Robust Community

There's a river, swift and raging and growing bigger every day, of people who are leaving: leaving church, leaving evangelicalism, leaving orthodoxy, leaving God altogether. They are wounded, cynical, discouraged, and angry. And more than a few of them are sad to be leaving, but feel there is no place left for them in the traditional church. The reasons are as varied as the people who make them, but there is one theme that flows like a strong undercurrent, forcefully lending speed to the waters. There is one accusation that recurs again and again, murmered, whispered, shouted, or thrown like a dagger to strike a mortal blow:

"My questions weren't welcome."

I have read so many stories of sincere and intelligent, tenderhearted people who were earnestly seeking to understand God and the Bible - people who asked honest, difficult questions - who were made to feel unwelcome by Those In Charge. Their questions, their very presence in the church, were viewed as a threat. Their struggles and doubt and openness to shades of gray were viewed as a disease, which, if given a voice, might spread and infect others in the church. Some were silenced. Others were asked or forced to leave. 

Not all of us have such scary questions. Some are content with a simple faith, one that doesn't ask much but trusts completely, and nestles into the comfort of unquestioning faith. Some have questions but have learned through trial and error which ones are safe to speak out loud, and which are better left unasked. Some have no questions left because they presume to have found all the answers. But others - a growing number in our postmodern age - are full to bursting with questions that cannot be silenced and will not be pacified with pat answers. 

Soul Whispers: The Unspoken Questions of Our Lives

In his first epistle, Peter says that we must always "be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have." Further, we are to do so with "gentleness and respect," a phrase I repeated in the form of a prayer many times one year when I was a part of a Hare Krishna discussion group. I had been invited to join by a friendly orange-clad follower of Krishna as I walked down Byres Road in Glasgow years ago. I told the fellow I was a Christian, but he didn't seem to mind, so I went ahead and joined the group. I wanted to be a witness for the truth, but I also had to respect the fact that this was their discussion group, not mine. My witness usually took the form of questions about their faith, rather than statements about my own. This approach eventually allowed me the privilege of sharing some of my own beliefs with them, and through this gentle dialogue, we became friends.

It was obvious to me in that particular situation that tactfulness would be required. I could not hijack their topics or begin proselytizing the group members. The first goal was to take time to really get to know them and understand their beliefs. If I showed such respect, perhaps I might (and in fact did) win the right to speak gently and be heard with an open mind.

There are times when I have not shared my faith so gently or respectfully. My evangelical heritage sometimes tempts me to throw doctrine at nonbelievers, like little "thou shalt not" daggers of condemnation. True as it may be, "You're wrong" is not always the best approach, and may sometimes be the worst. Peter writes about giving an answer for the hope that is in us, and it is doubtful whether any healthy Christian would respond by talking primarily about their own sinfulness or that of others. The presence of sin is what makes hope necessary and what by contrast makes it so wonderful, but what embodies that hope? Forgiveness of the unforgiveable? Love for the unloveable? Healing for broken bodies and hearts? The promise of a future where the world will be made right again? To be sure, there is very bad news in the Bible - we are indeed sinful and separated from God. But that's only the lead-up to the Good News - the comedy that God loves us anyway and the fairy tale that there really is a "happily ever after" for those who will receive it in grace (I am borrowing here from Buechner's Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale).

Don't get me wrong, recognition of one's sin and genuine confession are essential for every person who would be saved; I'm just arguing that it's usually not the first thing a person needs to hear when being introduced to God: "Bob, this is Jesus. He says you're a scoundrel. Oh, and he loves you even though you don't deserve it." It's difficult for most of us to receive criticism well from our most trusted friends, how much more so from this Jesus, who to Bob is a total Stranger?

I've always thought of Peter's words in terms of responding to the direct question of a skeptic: "Becky, I was just wondering...what is the reason for the hope that is in you?" but the truth is I don't get asked that question all so much. In the rare moments when I probably should've spoken more directly to a person, I have tried to justify my cowardly silence with the quote (questionably attibuted to St Francis) "Preach the gospel at all times; use words when necessary." Actions, like words, are essential. But what words?

It's occurred to me recently that the most important questions people ask are rarely spoken with words, but whispered (although sometimes shouted) with their lives. If our words are to take root in the hearts of others, they must address those whispered questions they are asking with their lives rather than the questions we think they should be asking. This is powerful stuff. Time and again in the Gospels we see Jesus demonstrating this intimate understanding of people's hearts, fulfilling Simeon's prophesy that by him "the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed." A Samaritan woman asks him for water but he answers her deeper question by telling her about living water. The Pharisees are routinely confounded when he identifies the true, ugly motives behind their questions, sometimes by asking a question of his own. Even with good old Thomas, whose doubt keeps it real for the rest of us, Jesus knows what he really needs and invites him to touch Him and believe.

So with this idea of giving an answer to the often unspoken but deepest questions of others' lives, how can we "be prepared" to do so? We must rely on the work of the Holy Spirit, searching out and revealing the truth all around us, about ourselves and others. We must embody the love of God, who went to extreme lengths to show that love to the needy and deluded. And we must be like Jesus, taking the time to talk to people, meeting with and loving them right where they're at. We must be abiding in intimate relationship with these Three, so that our efforts are fueled by their wisdom and words, not our own.

Aside from answering the unspoken questions, we may be called to help people discover exactly what question or questions their own uniquely-loved-by-God souls are struggling to ask. It seems likely that most of us couldn't put our deepest questions into words even if we tried. Ideas, emotions, opinions, and experiences hover like the mists of Avalon between the worlds of our conscious and our subconscious. I have spent the past two years trying to articulate a few of my own questions, and I've only recently begun to discover some of the key words, thanks to several Spirit-led friends who have taken the time to get to know me and my struggles.

So instead of telling our friends that they should do this or don't do that, maybe we can point them beyond the command to the Spirit from whom it came. Darrell Johnson gave me a new perspective on the Ten Commandments. Yes, they are rules. But they are there because of God's love for us. He writes,

The Law is given not to tie us up but to release us into the fullness of freedom. How do the commandments do this? By telling us who we are, by revealing who we were created to be..."You shall have no other gods before me." Why? Because God is an egoist and cannot handle rivals? No. "You shall have no other gods" because we were created in such a way that only the one, true, Living God can satisfy us. We finite creatures were made in such a away that only the Infinite God can fill and fulfill us. God speaks the commandment to protect us, to keep us from ruining our lives by seeking satisfaction in what ultimately does not satisfy. (from Fifty-Seven Words, pp 59-60)

People need to know that God has a standard for living. But the way we present that information can do much to help or hinder a person's receptivity to spiritual matters. Pharisaic zeal for rules is a spirit-crushing, hypocrite-inducing, us-versus-them approach. It is motivated by anger or resentment that someone else might "get away" with doing something they've denied themselves. Godly zeal is for souls to be reconciled to Christ. Jesus addressed people's sin, but only after first pouring out kindness and healing and friendship on the broken and outcast: "Go and sin no more." 

God and His word can speak to people about rules and standards; who is more able to soften a heart for repentance than God Himself? I believe our job is primarily to show unbelievers the deep, deep love of Jesus in word and deed, so that when the time comes for the Holy Spirit to convict and guide them into wholeness and holiness, we will have helped Jesus win the "right" to be heard. If our words are motivated by repulsion at a person's sinfulness, they might be better left unsaid - I am especially referring to the case of an unbeliever. But if our words are motivated by a sincere and nonjudmental desire to see a person freed from the weight of sin and released into the full joy of life as God intended it for him or her, then it might be appropriate to speak...but only after listening to the Holy Spirit and being assured that it's His words we speak, and not our own.

Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing. ~ Proverbs 12:18

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Wrath: The Fluid That Love Bleeds

Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer, by CS Lewis
progress: completed

In Chapter XVIII, Lewis challenges Malcolm's view of God's wrath, which denies that God experiences wrath as anything akin to an emotion (he uses the phrase "fit of temper"), rather it is an inevitable, impersonal response of holiness to unholiness. Malcolm compares it to what happens when one touches a live wire: "The live wire doesn't feel angry with us, but if we blunder against it we get a shock." (96)

"My dear Malcolm," writes Lewis in his typical winsome way, "what do you suppose you have gained by substituting the image of a live wire for that of angered majesty? You have shut us all up in despair; for the angry can forgive, and electricity can't." (96)

It's no secret that most believers are not entirely comfortable with the idea of God's wrath, especially as it relates to God's love. Those who are zealously at home with God's wrath tend to scare the rest of us off - the hellfire and brimstone may frighten us into repentance, but it does little to encourage us into relationship with God. Some would much rather ignore the fact of God's wrath completely, insinuating perhaps that God's love cancels it out. Still others, such as Malcolm, attempt to reimage wrath into something more tolerable and less terrifying.

Malcolm and Lewis both agree that God's wrath can only be understood in terms of analogy; as with all divine attributes, the human versions are too polluted and self-aggrandizing to do more than offer guesses as to what the perfected version of wrath (or love or jealousy or holiness) is truly like. Lewis reminds us of the danger of becoming overconfident in our attempts at defining God: "Every idea of Him we form, He must in mercy shatter." (82) Nor should we ever think that our finite minds can ever fully comprehend the character and ways of God, who is infinite - in the end we must accept as incomplete our attempts to define and systematize God's personality, and bow down before His divine Mystery, believing that what He has revealed of Himself is enough.

Malcolm mistakenly attempts to reduce God's wrath to a sort of predictable, scientific reaction of a divine Force instead of the personal, relational response of the Persons of the Trinity. What Lewis points out is that if we strip away the nuances of relationship, will, and emotion from our idea of wrath, we must also strip it away from our idea of love and all the rest of God's attributes. He cannot be a Force in one area and a Person in another. Wrath may be gone, as he says, but forgiveness, too.

Surely the attributes of love and wrath inform each other? No man could be said to truly love his wife if wrath was not a possiblity. Can you imagine a lover responding with indifference to the other's confession of unfaithfulness? Surely such "love" would be proven a fraud? Lewis writes,

"Anger - no peevish fit of temper, but just, generous, scalding indignation - passes (not necessarily at once) into embracing, exulting, re-welcoming love. That is how friends and lovers are truly reconciled. Hot wrath, hot love. Such anger is the fluid that love bleeds when you cut it...Wrath and pardon are both, as applied to God, analogies; but they belong to the same circle of analogy - the circle of life, and love, and deeply personal relationships. All the liberalising and 'civilising' analogies only lead us astray. Turn God's wrath into mere enlightened disapproval, and you also turn His love into mere humanitarianism. The 'consuming fire' and the 'perfect beauty' both vanish. We have, instead, a judicious headmistress or a conscientious magistrate." (97)

I believe that God's love and wrath are intimately connected to each other; we need them both if we are to have any hope of understanding God and His ways. The problem arises when we draw too heavily from human examples of either: human love can be shallow, selfish, and temporary; human wrath can be unfair, unwarranted, and cruel. In humans, wrath and love can rarely if ever coexist. With God, they must, for He never contradicts Himself. He IS love (always and forever), and yet He is also revealed in Scripture as a God of wrath and vengeance. He loves us and yet - and so - He pours out the wrath we deserve on His beloved Son, on Himself. What can we make of this? It is mystery.

We dare not play favourites with His attributes lest we pollute them all. Without wrath, God's love would become sentimental and uninvolved. Without love, His wrath would be cruel and inescapable. God loves, God avenges, God judges, God forgives. He is love, He is just, He is holy. It's a tightrope act that we are called to walk, constantly holding these truths in balance. Only then can we have any hope of becoming wise.

"The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom..." - Proverbs 9:10a

"The one who fears God will avoid all extremes." - Ecclesiastes 7:18b

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