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  • The Church and Controversy or Why Trouble Ourselves

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    Page 31

    PROTAGONIST CORNER

    The Church and Controversy or Why Trouble Ourselves?

    Robert W. Debnam

    First Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Mississippi

    It goes without saying that the church exists in a world filled with controversy. Cries for freedom, justice, and for human rights . . . in areas social, political, economic, as well as religious . . . fill our consciousness. More often than not competing sides of the controversies seek our allegiance and support. The material that crosses my desk weekly on abortion . . . capital punishment . . . prison injustices . . . women’s rights . . . homosexuality . . . race relations . . . boycotts . . . arms reduction . . . atomic energy . . . and child abuse boggles the mind while often depressing the spirit. Today, just keeping up with the issues at stake in these controversies is a full time job. Given the controversies, the question is what role should we in the church be playing in this cacophony of human voices? One response would be just to ignore the whole mess! We could cover our ears and shut our eyes to the chaos that exists around us. We could concentrate on “spiritual things”—Bible study, prayer groups, visiting the sick, communion and baptism, marrying and burying. We could thus make the church into an island of concord surrounded by a sea of discord. We could provide precious relief from everything controversial by simply concentrating exclusively on the non-controversial agenda of our work. This “hear no evil, see no evil” response can be defended as the pragmatic one. After all, we in the church have paid dearly whenever we have ventured forth into the seas of controversy. We have paid through the loss of membership, diminished financial support, and congregational splits. Still, as inviting as this kind of response seems to our weary minds and hearts, we must ask ourselves, is it faithful? I, for one, think not! As troublesome as it may be, our faith is that in Christ God has entered our human affairs and the history of our world, gathering a people into His work as witnesses and co-workers. The standards of righteousness, freedom, justice, and mercy revealed to us through scripture are received not merely as information, but as evidence of God’s grace and as an expression of His will for our salvation. These standards are not offered as a blueprint for some life in the bye and bye—they apply now. It is our responsibility as the church to seek to walk by these standards . . . and to inform the controversies of our age by these standards. We as the church have “God given” contributions to make to controversies that challenge humanity. Before we can make these contributions, however, we must do our homework. We must listen and study so as to understand the issues that are at stake. We must study and apply the insights derived from our faith. Then we should respond humbly with word and deed. In short the church must be involved in controversy. To accept this more involved posture does not mean that we believe that as the church we are incapable of error. We know that we are. Neither does it mean

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    that we expect to speak with a unified voice. I gave up on that a long time ago! Good Christians, it has been my experience, can be found on opposing sides of most life issues. “Well,” you say, “if we can’t expect agreement, and we can’t expect always to be right, why trouble ourselves in the first place?” I believe we trouble ourselves in order to be faithful! We trouble ourselves in the faith that God is alive and working through His people for the redemption of the world. I believe, further, we trouble ourselves in the faith that, after all is said and done, God is with us. Successful or unsuccessful, right or wrong, that we have attempted to be obedient affirms our faith in God’s grace, God’s purpose, and God’s control. Finally, I believe we trouble ourselves in the faith that what holds us together is stronger than anything that can divide us. Though divided by most controversial issues (as is the rest of the world), we as the church affirm, through the courage of our voluntary involvement, that the love of Christ which binds us together is stronger than all the cumulative forces that divide us. To summarize then: When I see the church take a stand on a controversial issue such as abortion, I do not hear the church saying, “Listen to us, we are infallible!” . . . and I do not hear the church saying, “All of us Christians view this issue this way!” All of us Christians don’t see everything the same way. What I do see in such instances is this . . . I see the church affirming her faith that God is alive and actively caring and working through His people for the salvation of humanity. I also see the church, knowing that while the best of such efforts is subject to error, affirming its faith in God’s forgiveness by having the courage to speak out. We risk being wrong in an effort to be God’s obedient people. Finally, I hear the church speaking and I see it taking a stand even though a sizable minority in its own ranks may disagree . . . as our faith affirmation that the God who joined us together is stronger than any of the issues that divide us. In such affirmations, and in such models of action, there is seen the hope of the world—the living, active, forgiving, reconciling God revealed in Christ our Lord.

  • A New Idolatry

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    PROTAGONIST CORNER

    A New Idolatry?

    Andrea E. Ahlers

    Regional Communicator, Synod of Florida

    It has come upon us gradually—this new idolatry.

    For years, for centuries, we did not recognize it for what it is. Few of us questioned; we assumed what seemed to be plain truth. God is male. Or at least, to be more sophisticated, God has chosen to reveal himself (sic) as male. Clearly the Scriptures, both Old and New Testaments, refer to God with masculine nouns and pronouns and masculine images. While there are occasional feminine images used in reference to God, until recently few have noticed them. An elder was irate when, in a worship service, I referred to the protectiveness of divine love using the image of a mother hen, until Í explained that I was quoting an image Jesus used. One can point out that Elohim is basically a feminine word with a masculine plural ending or that the word for Spirit in Hebrew is feminine and in Greek is neuter. But such arguments mean little or nothing until we are willing to confess that all languages and all images are inadequate as names or descriptions of the one who gave no name to Moses and is revealed as an infant in diapers and a political criminal on a cross. There is a sense in which the name of God must always be as unpronounceable to us as YHWH was to the Israelites. There is a sense in which any language about God is idolatrous. Yet, most of us, whatever linguistic theories we may know or not know, will admit that language is a necessary part of our human experience. Language develops and changes as human experience develops and changes. Language and experience are connected. God is revealed in human experience and we describe that experience in words and images. We Presbyterians take words very seriously. We trust them to share our experience of the mystery that is God. We are a people of the Word, revealed in the person Jesus, recorded in the Bible, interpreted in sermon and sacrament. We preachers use words as an artist uses his paints or a doctor her medicines. We intend them to have a positive effect on the body and spirit of our hearers. One wonders what effect we have when we use exclusively male language about God. What effect does exclusively male language about God have on our understanding of humanity being created in the image of God? Throughout the history of the church there have been theologians who have claimed that women lack the image of God. Do we believe that? Do we suggest it by our language about God? Does exclusively male language about God suggest to anyone that only males are created in Godfs image? Does it suggest that female persons are derivative creations, a secondary form of humanity? Alternatively, will we spiritualize the image of God? Will we separate the soul from the body and claim it is the soul alone that is created in Godfs image? How then will we relate such a dualistic concept of humanity to a nondocetic doctrine of the incarnation of God? Moreover, we need to ask whether a God who is referred to in exclusively male language is to be thought of as having exclusively masculine characteristics? Which

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    culture’s definition of masculine is to be employed? And what is to be thought about gentleness, patience, kindness, goodness: fruits of the Spirit often assigned in our culture to the feminine. Do not the fruits of the Spirit also in some way describe that very Spirit? And when we say “a man can also be gentle11 are we not acknowledging that gentleness is uncharacteristic of men in our culture? Thus one exciting possibility latent in expansion of our language about God is a corresponding expansion of our understanding of ourselves as human beings, whether male or female. Our language about God has never limited God. Our language certainly limits us and sets boundaries for our experience of God. To refer to God continually as Father in a neighborhood where fathers are the ones who are permanently absent, for whatever reasons, conveys little of God’s abiding love. To refer to God repeatedly as Lord and King in a nation whose very existence begins in the repudiation of lords and kings creates, at best, the need for further explanation. Referring to God entirely in masculine words and images in a world that is at least fifty percent women may have something to do with men’s experience of sin as pride and women’s experience of sin as self-abnegation. The hermeneutical challenge is not to be rid of masculine images and words for expressing our experience of God. That would be to disconnect ourselves from the rich heritage of the saints who have gone before. The challenge is to expand our language, to stretch our language in ways that more accurately share our total experience of God’s revelation. A recent book title gives us a hint: My Mother who Fathered Me. Why not begin a prayer by addressing God as Our Father who gives us birth or Our Mother who protects us? Is that mixing metaphors? Or is it legitimizing life-giving characteristics for men and life-protecting characteristics for women? And even more, is not such language more faithful to the fullness of God who is revealed to us in Scriptures as both life-giving and life-protecting? Stretching our language about God to include both male and female names, both feminine and masculine images and characteristics, recognizes that God is beyond any human divisions or dualities. Inclusive language about God accepts with humility the limitations of any language in referring to God. Inclusive language about God transcends the male idol we often have put in God’s place.

  • Back to Basics

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    PROTAGONIST CORNER

    Back to Basics

    M· Anderson Sale

    First Presbyterian Church, Pulaski, Virginia

    “Will you fulfill your office in obedience to Jesus Christ, under the authority of Scripture, and continually guided by our Confession and Catechisms?” Book of Church Order, “Ordination Vows,” 29-3, k

    “a search for the core of Christian Experience and tradition”—”a process”—”an intention”—”depends upon the ability of significant confessors and professors.” The Fire We Can Light, Martin Marty

    Since decision and actions form the framework for expressing the Christian faith, I have become increasingly concerned about the basis upon which our church, our congregations and pastors have been making decisions and taking actions, especially as we move into the 1980s· I am becoming more deeply aware of how the forces of professional efficiency and practical expediency have become more powerful in church and denominational activities than is a well-informed and reflective theological and biblical position. Perhaps my problem is just the frustrated bellowing of a pastor in a secular and technological society, but bear with me for a moment to draw this problem into the perspective of our church life.

    1. Theological Education: One of the strengths of the Presbyterian heritage has been our historic allegiance to the biblically and theologically trained minister. Have you, however, reviewed the catalogues of seminaries recently? Have you noticed how “practical courses” have tended to move toward the center of the curriculums threatening to replace Bible and theology in the number of hours required? Or, have you noticed the popularity among ministers of those programs that emphasize the techniques of professionals? Is there any wonder that such trained professionals are little interested in and unable to engage in serious theological discussion about issues before the church and world?

    2. Civil Religion and Professional Captivity; Most Presbyterian churches and pastors are performing ministry in an unholy alliance with the standards and values of middle class America and the free-enterprise system. A new popular piety—that of professionalism—has become the rule of the day tempting us to keep peace at all cost through “conflict management.” The extent of this captivity can be observed in the decision-making process of the usual session or Presbytery meeting. How often is the biblical faith or reformed heritage brought to bear on a decision, besides the obligated opening and closing prayer?

    3. Votes on the Lord’s Table Admission; There has not been a greater opportunity in recent years for a good theological and biblical discussion than the

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    debate in presbyteries over the question of admitting children to the Lord!s Table. Perhaps your experience was different from mine, but I would venture that most of the discussions have centered on the psychological and social analysis of adolescence rather than on the theological and biblical concept of the covenant of grace into which our children are baptized.

    4. Confessional Standards; The recent denominational discussion about our confessional standards in the Southern Presbyterian Church was premised on the need to restate our faith in a new time and idiom. Those who opposed the New Declaration opted for the present Westminster Confession and Catechisms, while those who sought a change felt the inadequacy of these standards. Now that this discussion is over, rarely, if ever, is Westminster used by its adherents to make a point in a presbytery or session meeting, nor do its detractors find cause to point where they are out of accord with Westminster’s theology. How can we be faithful to the biblical faith in the reformed tradition if we wander into the 1980s in such a standardless fashion?

    5. Preaching and Pastoral Life Styles; The dangers of the professional pastor are often evident in the distance between what one preaches and what one practices. The issues of success, competency and peer pressure, not to mention congregational expectations, often blur the biblical and theological foundations of the office of minister of the Word and Sacraments. Large salaries, country club life styles and fine housing allowances all seem to fly in the face of our best stewardship sermon or bible study on the Beatitudes, and are an affront to the poor and oppressed to whom we should minister. Nowhere, perhaps, are the dangers of our professionalism seen so clearly as in these economic issues. As professionals, we deserve large salaries. After all, look what other professionals are making, and don’t we have advanced degrees?

    Perhaps it is time for us to come clean with ourselves and our biblical and theological foundations, and get back to basics. Perhaps it is time for us as pastors to practice more closely what we preach. Perhaps it is time for us as church leaders to demand and require a more biblical and theological discussion of issues before us. Perhaps it is time for us to be more obedient adherents to our faith in Jesus Christ. Perhaps?

    2«

  • Old Age: Sabbath of Life?

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    Old Age: Sabbath Of Life?

    Daniel D. Dickenson Administrator, Westminister-Canterbury Home, Norfolk, Virginia

    Eleven years ago, I preached a sermon entitled “The Pepsi Generation” concerning the ministry of the church to the young. It was a good, appropriate sermon on a valid subject. So it came as a surprise when one of the older members of the congregation objected that all the emphasis was being placed on the young. This was perhaps the first time I had been forced to think seriously about the church’s ministry to and with the old. One thing after another is forcing today’s society to take its elders seriously. The statistics alone compel our attention. A youth dominated society from the founding of our nation to the turn of the century, when only four persons in a hundred lived past 65 and there were only three million persons past the age of 65, has changed to quite a different society today when twenty-three million elder citizens comprise one of the largest minorities (over 20% of the population ). This change has meant we are experiencing a revolution in attitudes toward the old. Demographers tell us that there will be nearly 29 million persons over 65 by the turn of the century, and we are realizing how ill-equipped our society is to deal with this fact. Activists like Maggie Kuhn, founder of the Gray Panthers, have sensitized us to the needs of the old and writers such as Robert Butler have graphically portrayed the shortcomings of our society in meeting those needs. “Agism” is coming to be known as a threat comparable to racism. We are increasingly becoming aware that the so-called “golden years” have a dual potential: to be golden indeed or to be the very opposite. Poverty is an ever present threat to most older persons. It is estimated that one-third of those over sixty-five live in poverty and more would if they didn’t live with someone else. And apart from poverty, too many find their “golden years” years of misery and self-pity. As Maggie Kuhn has said, “The third age (after youth and middle age) can be an age of great bitterness, loneliness, frustration, isolation, or it can be an age of enormous freedom; liberation from all the structures and strictures that hemmed you in, from some of the responsibilities that kept you moored to certain kinds of jobs, liberation from some of the old mindsets and prejudices that narrowed our world.” (Thesis Theological Cassettes, Pittsburg, Pa., 1973). What then is the church’s response to this challenge? Three approaches suggest themselves. First, the church can help people to grow old in a good way. Second, it can provide a climate for ministry to and with the old. And third, it has a word for the old to help them keep life in perspective.

    I It has long been said that the early childhood years are the most formative in a person’s life. “The child is father to the man,” we say and so it is. But it is

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    also true, that the man is father to the old man. The Christian faith with its promise of new life in Christ holds out the possibility that we can transcend who we are and thereby overcome those flaws in our childhood molding. Whether through explicit religious experience or through some form of therapy, we can change. For many, change is necessary if old age is to be an enjoyable and constructive part of life. For the older we get the more we become like we are. Character traits intensify and undesirable traits become more undesirable. There are warning signals which can be pointed out to persons in their adult years alerting them to work on these traits. Such warning signals include obsessions and compulsions, rigidities, seclusiveness and suspiciousness (being unable to trust or count on another person), eccentricity, narrowness of interest (putting all the personality eggs in one basket), poor adaptability, and social inadequacy (the inability to develop a broad range of acquaintances and several close friends). Reuel Howe describes human life as a pilgrimmage from birth to death and points out how life is in a constant tension between death and growth, between fear and trust. The person who would grow and live must take risks in trusting self, other people, the possibilities in a situation, exploring the unknown, and ultimately, God. When we give in to fear, Howe says, we dry up inside and become prematurely old. He says “Fear can cause us to withdraw from our own pilgrimage and from the living of our story.” (R. L. Howe, How to Stay Young While Growing Older. Word Books, Waco, Texas, 1974.) It can lead to stagnation , which he equates with death. Both in its message and its program, the church can point out the dangers of stagnating traits and provide opportunities for growth. For these all basically root in self-centeredness, and the Christian message is one of self-giving that calls its hearers to develop a broad range of interests and concerns. One who fully responds to the gospel has vision widened to take in the whole world. Some aproaches to religion narrow one’s outlook and encourage parochialism. But a true glimpse of God’s love for the whole world and all that is in it must broaden one’s vision. We are called beyond a concern for just our family, our job, our congregation, our denomination, or our nation. And the religious vision that does not do this must be questioned and reevaluated. For the Christian, the basic answer to the self-centered life that leads to dreary self-centered old age is a living relationship with the one who showed once and for all what life and death devoted wholly to others can accomplish. For the testimony of the ages is that such a relationship changes people and turns them outward. We come to share his concern for the world, its people, and its problems. The church, then, is ideally composed of those who have met and known the Savior and been transformed into outward looking persons, more concerned for others than themselves. Such a community of faith will have a special concern and place for its elders. It can be a community with elders whose lives grow richer and broader as they grow older. It will then rightfully hear and heed the words of the law, “You are to rise up before grey hairs, you are to honour old age and fear your God.” (Leviticus 19:32:The Jerusalem Bible). Respect and honor for the elderly will continue to be a mark of the Christian community. For in this verse from the holiness code

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    of the monarchy of Judah, where a holy God demands holiness from his people, respect for old age and the fear of God are linked. Perhaps this had more force in á pre-literate society where old people were much rarer than today, and in great demand as bearers of tradition. Yet, the principle of honor and respect continues as well as the need for the old to preserve a continuity of family, church, and national tradition. The presence of all the media of communication do not eliminate the need for personal contact between the generations. Indeed, modern suburban society may have just as few elders functionally present as ancient society. Families scatter and grandparents may be known only as people who come bearing gifts at Christmas time. One of the great opportunities for the church today is to facilitate cross-generational contact, an opportunity that is largely being passed by. One formal way this is being provided in some places is through foster grandparent programs. We must beware lest our age-group oriented programs perpetuate a lack of contact between generations . The need for this was highlighted for me a few years ago in a local church renewal event when all ages were mixed into discussion groups of only three or four persons. At the conclusion one of the women, a leader in the church who had no children of her own, confessed, “That’s the first time in years I have really talked with a young person.” In providing such an opportunity, the church supported a healthy manner of growing old.

    II

    A part of the church’s ministry with the elderly is to keep them involved and participating in the total life of the church. Much of the church’s program is oriented toward children and youth and it is the parents of those children who often make up the prime leadership for much of the program. There is a tendency for those whose children are grown to step aside and let others take up the task—and the church all too often lets this happen. Then a point comes when the one who has stepped aside finds himself or herself relegated to a secondary status, put on the shelf. The challenge to the church is to find a way to provide full involvement for both young and old, getting the young involved in a responsible way without pushing the old aside. One way this needs to be approached is to find new ways for older persons to be involved rather than continuing in the same leadership and teaching position for fifty years. Trying a new role or challenge is one way to continue to grow. So the church’s challenge is primarily ministry with the aged. Yet, there remains the challenge to minister to the special needs of the aged, with the aged by no means being excluded from the planning and delivery of this ministry. Whole books have been written on the concrete aspects of ways the church can plan and carry out this ministry, including case studies and reports and of actual projects. One might suppose that increased government funding of programs for the aging would reduce the need for church sponsored programs, but this does not seem to be the case. Government funding may open up new possibilities for ministries by churches. In the church the writer served until recently,

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    a senior center has been operated for some seven years with the church providing space, utilities and janitor service, while the area agency on aging provides staff, program, and transportation. One might categorize church programs for the aging in the following categories : traditional ministries, social action or the provision of services, and advocacy for social change. Traditional ministries include preaching, education, counseling, and other religious support. These can become more important to the older person who is a part of the church although the belief that people become more reigious as they get older is probably a myth. The challenge to the church is to make religious activities available at times and places that meet the needs of the seniors, whether in the community or confined to institutions. One example of how this was done is seen in the case where a poorly attended traditional Wednesday night prayer meeting patronized largely by older retired church members was moved to Wednesday morning. It was still poorly attended but it met a time need and reduced tensions on those who feared going out at night. It was an attempt to say “We care.” Other such programs may include a ministry of providing recordings of services to shut-ins. Those traditional ministries can also be enlarged to make special provision for the needs of the aged and the special contributions they can make to the life of the church. Groups for those recently bereaved, death and dying seminars, and other group opportunities may capitalize on the values of group life that have been previously applied primarily to younger people. Maggie Kuhn suggests that churches can enable old people to engage in a life-review process which will create “skill banks where all kinds of knowledge could be deposited and drawn upon for the benefit of our aging society.” (D. Hesseil, (ed.), Maggie Kuhn on Aging, Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1977). In addition it would furnish personal emotional reinforcement. Every church needs to examine its total program to see that older members are included. Social action through programs designed to meet specific problems of specific groups is the second major way the churches can meet the needs of the old. This kind of action seems less controversial in the life of a church than the third approach of advocacy for social change. Therefore, it is more widely practiced and includes such programs as meals on wheels, shut-in companion programs, telephone contact programs, senior centers, medical clinics, blood pressure screening and a multitude of others. Churches have beeA enormously effective in meeting many needs, not only of their own older members but of old people in the community at large through such ministeries. Donald Clingan’s pamphlet “Aging Persons in the Community of Faith” is especially helpful in guiding church and synagogue leaders in developing such programs. Advocacy for social change is an old role for the churches, but seems new and threatening to many. Many of the good features of today’s social order are results of such advocacy in ages past. One of the great opportunities for the church today is to challenge and oppose “agism” wherever it appears. Maggie Kuhn, a former church employee, defined agism as the “arbitrary discrimination against people on the basis of their chronological age.” (Hessel, op. cit.) As the founder of Gray Panters, she has been a prominent crusader against agism

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    and issues a clarion call to the churches to go beyond simple social ministries and to fight for the changes needed in our society to make old age dignified and rewarding. Here is a real challenge to the church to be prophetic in a world that has tired of prophets.

    Ill

    Finally, the church has a word to old people. That word is that God has given you extra years for a purpose. Those years are yours to enjoy but not just in a selfish way. They can be years of continued growth and expanded service. Rabbi Robert Katz of the Hebrew Union College has pointed out that Jewish tradition looks on old age as Sabbath of life, a time for rest, reflection and growth. He writes, “Nothing captures the essence of the theology of aging in Judaism as does the concept of aging as the Sabbath of the soul with its rich possibilities for self-realization.” (Seward Hiltner, ed., Toward A Theology of Aging. Human Sciences Press, New York, 1975.) Of course, it is up to society to help make possible such a use of old age. The more basic needs of persons must be met so they can devote themselves to higher things. Maslow’s need hierarchy indicates that psysiological, safety, social and esteem needs must be met before persons can go on to meet selfrealization needs. If old age is to be a time of self-realization, then the other needs must have first been met so that the individual does not spend all his or her time in meeting these. The church is in a position to do much about meeting these needs or providing a climate in which they can be met. It would seem that while society as a whole is best placed to care for psysiological and safety needs on a large scale, the church is uniquely situated and equipped to meet social and esteem needs, which is to a great extent what we have been discussing. Freed to pursue self-realization, the elder can indeed find these years a time of liberation and opportunity. There can be a freedom to pursue new interests, develop new skills, make new friends or to realize the potential of old interests and skills. There can be time to help others and serve a community in a way there was never time for before. If one keeps active and interested without the handicap of a closed mind, that person can find that old age does indeed provide a “Sabbath of the soul.” A pre-eminent task for contemporary Christians is to proclaim and embody a gospel that makes such a Sabbath available to us all as we grow older. It will include a call away from self-absorption, an offer of cross generational community , specific experiences of nurture, and the claim that God allots time to all his people for a purpose.

  • Is There An Emmaus Road In Our Town

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    Is There An Emmaus

    Road In Our Town?

    Patricia Gladney Holland

    Waco, Texas

    Wouldn’t you love to have been the men

    who met the Risen Christ

    on the road to Emmaus?

    To have been so encountered

    in the midst of your daily life

    with the presence of the Risen Christ

    that you and those who heard your story

    could never again doubt

    the truth of the Ressurrection?

    Is there an Emmaus Road in our town?

    I peel grapefruit and wonder:

    Where does one go?

    What does one do

    to meet the Risen Christ

    in the late 1970’s?

    Is there really an Emmaus Road here?

    I glance out the window

    to check on our two-year-old Kirk

    and his friend Lindsay.

    She’s potty-trained and he’s street-trained

    but together they sometimes

    venture to the edge of the street.

    Sure enough there they sit:

    tricycle overturned two feet out

    from the curb,

    they sit in the gutter —

    no doubt pleased to have

    an excuse to get that far!

    I march out wearing my best “mean mama”

    look, pick them up,

    and swat them both soundly

    on the bottom,

    explaining simply and sternly

    the dangers of going into the street.

    Their lips quiver, then poke out,

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    their feelings seem hurt more than their seats; but the looks on their faces say they are undoubtedly suffering the wages of sin: the worst form of death to a two-year-old — estrangement from mother.

    I walk away to pick up the toys strewn in the neighbor’s yard, physically reinforcing the distance between us, sending instructions on the wind for them to ride their trikes nearer the house. They move slowly away from the street obviously miserable.

    I step up to the second step about to go back to my supper preparation and leave them in their repentance. Then I am reminded how desperately one who is rebuked wants the relationship restored — at any age but especially at two.

    I walk back and meet them in the driveway, giving no hint of my changed mood till I kneel in front of them saying: “You know something? I love Lindsay and I love Kirk.”

    What a look! Her blue eyes were flooded with love, gratitude, instant reception of that love. His sturdy body hurled itself into my arms clinging tightly as he soaked up the love and acceptance he had so deeply missed the past three minutes. “I don’t want you to get hurt in the street because I love you.”

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    I reinforced the rules, but all they heard was the love restored. How can I exlain it? The road to Emmaus in my driveway? Absurd? But, yes, He was there — in her blue eyes the Reconciling Christ who came to bring release to the captives, to set the prisoners free.

    Where? In her eyes, in my heart, in the sturdy arms clenching my neck, He was among us. How? I do not know, but I could not doubt His presence.

    I finished reading the above “Experience of Faith,” paused and said to the congregation: “Let us stand and affirm together our faith in the Risen Christ.” After worship, men and women pressed forward, but it was the women of all ages who, with tears in their eyes, said again and again: “Yes, we’ve been there, too. Thank you for lifting up our experience. We, too, have met the Risen Christ in our driveways, over a neighborly cup of coffee, in the eyes of our children.” And for me, it no longer seemed absurd to have walked the Emmaus Road in my own driveway. Is this not the nucleus of the Easter faith? The Lord of Easter is known only as He makes Himself known to women and men where they are. In contrast to the apocalyptic day of the Lord, Luke’s day of the Lord is squarely in the midst of history. He comes to us in the midst of daily life. Where does one go? Nowhere . He comes to us where we are.

    June 7, 1978 He came again this morning, as before, unexpected. His visit recognized and remembered afterwards with awe and thanksgiving that I had been privileged to be present.

    My friend, whom I’ll call Dena, had told me the week before this encounter: “Ever since we set our appointment I have savored this moment like a fresh dewdrop.” This week I phoned Dena to change the time of our visit. She agreed then offered to just call it off. Knowing her need of friendship, I said, “No, if you can’t stay an hour, then come for thirty minutes.” She was here before I

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    could get dressed. A visit that had almost been called off became the occasion for her pouring out her heart: the verbal abuse she endures, the withdrawal with which she responds, and her fear of another trip to an “insane assylum.” “I just let him rage on. If I say anything it makes it worse. I’ve decided silence is best. But when I’m silent for a week or so, he goes crying those big crocodile tears for the judge, and I end up in the state hospital.” Many times Dena had talked of past illnesses, never before revealing the irritating drip in her daily life that eats away her rock-like character. I responded — one woman encouraging another to resist verbal abuse — one person believing in another, caring, wanting the other to live.

    She left resolving not to withdraw again. A decision to live . . . “and he sets the oppressed free . . . .” She left resolved to hold fast to the freedom she’s bloomed in the past four years, resolved not to fall back into the bonds of slavery.

    He was among us — uninvited (there wasn’t time to pray). She was here. I responded. But He came. Unexpected, unrecognized until it happened — an oppressed woman left my embrace holding fast to freedom. I could not doubt His presence. April 23, 1978 Riding across East Texas on a bus I encountered Edna. I first noticed her befriending a young black man falsely accused of stealing a suitcase. In Tyler another young man boarded the bus, a person with some obvious abnormality. He sat behind me and tried to strike up a conversation . I responded politely but briefly. Periodic attempts to relate with me and the other women around continued for the next hundred miles. No one encouraged him.

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    I felt some guilt, believing he needed relationship more than the average person. I did not want to add to his pile of rejection slips, but I really did not want to talk with anyone. Edna also responded politely but briefly. Finally as we passed the Louisiana border, she responded more kindly to his random attempts at conversation. She lived in California and was returning to visit family in Shreveport. He, in turn, said he was returning to school in Shreveport and added with pride that he went to Evergreen Presbyterian Vocational School near Minden. He now lived at Evergreen House in Shreveport. She knew exactly where it was. She had worked for the Espiscopal priest across the street. The young man was delighted. He worshipped at the same Episcopal church and knew the priest well. On the seat ahead I sank lower, my guilt compounded. Evergreen is a service agency of my own denomination. It had been born and nurtured by my own home church and generously supported by my own family. Who was the Christ figure? The mentally handicapped young man despised and rejected by his travelling companions (including me)? Edna, the nurturing black woman from California? Both? Neither? My eyes were opened: the Christ was among us — in the defense of the accused . . . in the affirming of the alienated . . . . His presence evident in action. Our God is a verbal God — not because He talks, but because He acts. Verbs are words of action or being. God’s being is action with and for persons. Therefore, for us, made in His image, to be sinless is not to be better than others, but to be with and for others. Action with and for people, is this not what all the archetypes of His promised presence have in common? “Fear not,” He says repeatedly, “for I am with you always.” Especially he promised in archetypes such as reconciliation, release of the captives (Luke 4), feeding of the hungry, visiting the sick and imprisoned, clothing the naked (Matthew 25), hope for those in despair, sharing the common meal (Luke 24), healing the sick, and advocacy — boldness on behalf of those in need (Acts 4:5-20). Being with and for persons. What’s new about that? An awareness of the presence of the Lord with and for people in everyday life is certainly prior to the Resurrection. The Psalmists affirmed One who was a “very present help in trouble” and asked “Whither shall I go from His presence?” The God of Abraham and Moses has always delivered His people. Amos’ cry for justice in the gate was eight hundred years before Jesus read Isaiah in the synagogue. The continuous availability summed up in Christ’s promise “I will be with you always,” is not that new to the people of God. What then distinguishes the presence of the Risen Christ from the Eternal presence of the Creator, Sustainer God? Is the power of the Risen Christ really different from the power of the Spirit which sustained Jesus in the wilderness and has been experienced in all post-resurrection communities of the faithful? The question is not raised to pursue trinitarian gymnastics. We who are firmly rooted in the unity of a triune God need not waste much time worrying about who is doing what when. John’s affirmation rings in the ears: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God . . . all things were made through him . . . .”

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    The question is raised to help us recognize him. Reading “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” with Luke 4 and Matthew 25 echoing in the background was an “aha” moment. In saying all acts of ministry to persons in need are acts of ministry to Him (Matthew 25), Christ takes on their flesh. He is both the one who proclaims good news to the poor (Luke 4) and the one to whom it is proclaimed (Matthew 25). He is both the one who proclaims release to the captives and the captive himself. I see the unique function of the Risen Christ — the redeeming activity of God — in those occasions when (1) our eyes are opened to the Lord’s identification with the need of persons and (2) we are able to respond to that need. There is both the ability to see people as God sees them and the power from beyond ourselves to respond to their need. The Risen Christ acts on both sides of any chasm in human relationships. I experienced this two-fold action of the Risen Christ in overcoming a chasm which often looms between husband and wife.

    The old agony overwhelms me. Must I always fly alone? Is soaring only solo? Will you never dive into the ocean depths with me? Must we always wade in the shallows?

    Would that we could plunge together into the deepness of each other’s needs! Would that we could soar together into the far reaches of each other’s hopes and dreams! Must I always fly alone? I do so miss you on those lonely flights?

    When others seem too far away, the temptation is to justify the distance with one’s concept of God. To hear Him answer our plaintive: “Must I always fly alone?” with an inviting: “No! I am higher than you’ve ever soared. Fear not, I am with you. Fly on! I am ahead of you.” There is some truth and solace in this. However, the Risen Christ first answers with a qualifying “but”:

    But fly with the other— for I am with him, too. Fly not away from him to Me, to reject him is to turn away from Me.

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    Dive in, my child, but dare to plunge into the deepness of his needs! Fly, my child, but dare to soar into the far reaches of his hopes and dreams! And then He adds an empowering, liberating “and”: And, my chid, dare to share the deepness of your needs. Risk revealing the far reaches of your hopes and dreams.

    Fly together . . . for wherever two or three fly together in My name there am I in the midst of them. If the empowering, liberating “and,” is left off, I could spend a life-time imprisoned in resentful martyrdom, never allowing myself to be heard or my own needs met, In drawing us together, the Lord of Easter redeems us both. To see the needs of people in the late 1970’s is no great feat. When the chasms are magnified into national and international proportions, the problem becomes not one of seeing the need as much as a lack of hopefulness that the needs can be met. The experience of the Risen Christ keeps us looking for alternatives to the overwhelming needs of world hunger, prison reform, child abuse, human rights . . . . The Lord of Easter assures us the power is available.

    We work in a double infinity: immeasurable need and immeasurable power. Our task: to be so open to the Risen Christ that the infinities meet. Is there an Emmaus Road in our town? Yes! In the midst of our daily lives He comes. Where do we go? Nowhere. He comes to us where we are. Whenever our eyes are opened to the Lord’s identification with the need of persons and we are able to respond to that need — in that time and in that place — we walk the King’s Highway!

  • The Inward Source of Human Rights, Freedom, and Responsibility

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    THE INWARD SOURCE OF HUMAN RIGHTS,

    FREEDOM, AND RESPONSIBILITY

    Ronald S. Wallace

    Edinburgh, Scotland

    Sometime several years ago, on a Sunday visit to a Church in Alabama, I heard at a men’s Sunday School class a story about a quarrel between a brother and his elder sister. Without meaning it, he had been annoying her by constantly running round the room. She called her Dad and complained, knowing that she was his favorite. As expected he took her side and made junior sit down on a chair with instructions not to move for half an hour. Dad gone, she taunted him: “Ha! Ha! Dad made you sit down quickly enough.” But, maintaining his dignity and his innocence, he made the splendid retort, “Outside I’m sitting down, but inside I’m standing up”—a good example of our basic human right and duty to individual inward dissent within the restraints of obedience to outward authority, and of our basic right and freedom to engage in such dissent. I was able to use the tale to illustrate one or two points in Calvin’s teaching on Christian liberty and conscience, and in a discussion with colleagues whether some aspects of our current practice in the Church might not conflict with Reformed tradition on this matter, it was suggested that I might write a few things down for further discussion.

    INNER FREEDOM AND RESPONSIBILITY AT THE REFORMATION

    The Inner and Outer Forum

    It was accepted at the Reformation that, as things are, both with respect to our human nature and our Christian faith in the world we live in, a Christian is forced into two quite distinct roles. He or she must be both a public person and a private one, living in such a way that, even in the healthiest state these aspects do not merge into one another. Calvin works often with the distinction which he picks up from Paul’s teaching about the “inner” and “outward” person (cf. e.g., 2 Cor. 4:16, Rom. 7:22). His teaching suggests that we are each forced to decide about our reactions to life, its pressures and challenges, at two levels, the open and the secret. Calvin not only distinguishes, but actually at times separates the outward realm in which we live publicly from the “inner forum of conscience.” He describes the Christian life as lived always under a “twofold government.” In the outer forum we deal with our fellow men and women, and are under the powers that operate in Church and society. In the inner realm at the same time we live in intense privacy and personal responsibility with our conscience before God alone (Inst. 4:20:i <5c 4:10:5). His use of the word "forum" in this connection, is, I think, deeply significant. It suggests indeed that each of us is engaged in debate and decision within these two distinct centres of responsibility. The outward forum includes Washington, Ponce de Leon, the Presbytery, the local Church, the family and the business sphere; but all the time, deep down, there is the ongoing debate between the inner self and God. The relationship between these two aspects of our life must

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    be determined by each individual at the level of, and on the initiative of, his or her inner freedom. The outward forum before which we live such a large part of our life, is, of course vitally important. It is in this sphere that we give our Christian witness, do our Christian works and fulfill our duties of earthly citizenship. It is often for us a matter of simple and straightforward duty to obey the external rules without question, though.there can arise the situation in which we have to disobey man in order to obey God. But occasionally we may find ourselves having to decide to render external obedience even though we may find ourselves inwardly very much at variance with what we are compelled to do. Such “public obedience” to which we have at times to force ourselves, can be given along with deep inner reservations (Inst. 4:20:25) and “spiritual freedom can perfectly well exist along with civil bondage” (Inst. 4:20:1).

    The Solitude and Impenetrability of the Individual

    As the person inwardly debates and decides before God, the individual is isolated. In the outward forum, the world and the Church are there with all their pressures and promises and compromises. But in the inward forum it is as Augustine described it: “God and my own soul—nothing else.” Even though no one could at times speak more eloquently of the warmth and strength of the Christian fellowship, Luther described the Christian as being like the “sparrow that is alone upon the housetop hovering between heaven and earth.” He stressed the fact that in death and in the day of judgment each stands alone before God entirely beyond the range of help from any other except Christ. But, distant though we are from each other in these crises, we can at present nevertheless “shout in one anothers ears” an appeal to prepare ourselves each in our lonely isolation now for that final great personal crisis. (See e.g., the introduction to his famous series of sermons at Wittenberg 1522 L.W. 51:70.) Calvin’s teaching presupposes the same background to human existence. For example, he insists that confession of sins should be made in such solitude to God alone (of course within the context of life in the Church). Only where the individual fails to attain a true sense of consolation through such deeply personal confession has he or she to seek out another for help in attaining it. He stresses, too, the hiddenness of what goes on in the inner life of the person. He was, of course, deeply concerned about the need of the Church for outward discipline. It has a right to make rules and expect loyalty and punish offenders. But all this can take place only on the surface of its life. In no measure can the judgment of the Church penetrate into, or evaluate anything within that sphere where the inner life is lived before God, and ultimate decisions are made by the individual. “The ungodliness of the inner life, and anything secret, do not come under the Church’s judgment” (Comm. on 1 Cor. 5:11). In the deep inner recesses of our personal life, each of us in impenetrable.

    Inner Freedom and Its Potential

    In the solitude and impenetrability of the individual lies the secret source of all freedom, of all hopeful change, and of all human rights. The Reformers, as we have indicated, believed that each individual was indeed free to make a quite independent and responsible inner decision, and to live in spiritual liberty, no

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    matter what their outward circumstances might be. They also believed that it was the individual exercise of each spiritual liberty that was most likely to bring about in the long run the most effective and radical changes in Church and society. Calvin would no doubt have heartily approved of the little boy’s stance in his story, recognizing, as all parents must, that unless the sanctions enforcing conformity can at the same time as they are applied win the approval of the heart those who are temporarily restrained by them will in the long run, as the tension mounts, begin to express their inward revolt in more open and disruptive ways. After all, we have to remember that the important turning points both of the Renaissance and the Reformation took place when truly radical decisions were made inwardly against the most severe external pressure to conform. Our story illustration makes us think of Galileo, outwardly recanting his criticism of the current doctrine of the immobility of the earth, yet at the same time muttering under his breath “nevertheless, it moves.” And we recognize that in Luther himself, the final decision to challenge Rome outwardly was the result of long built-up inward pressure.

    The Power of the Church, and the Inward Freedom of the Individual

    There are, of course, vicious aspects of our isolation from one another within human life. Our redemption by Christ means that we are now made members of his body in which we experience a deep communion that transcends all our isolating and segregating barriers, and enables us to “lay down our burdens” within the community, and find them lifted by Christ (Of Luther’s early treatise on The Blessed Sacrament of the Body of Christ LN. 35:43-73). Mother Church, as Calvin insisted, is there to give us nurture and guidance (4:1:4). But though within the Church our burdens of sin and care are lifted, our responsibility for our own inward and solitary decision before God is not lessened. It is, indeed, within the Church alone that each of us is set free and alone to decide. WITHIN THIS UNIQUE COMMUNITY WE ARE NOW DELIVERED FROM THE FALSE PRESSURE OF COMMUNITY. Calvin discusses our individual freedom in the nineteenth chapter of the third book of the Institutes (in a chapter in which he follows Luther closely), and in his later chapters on the Church and State he refers back to this previous discussion, as if to point out that living in community in no way cancels our inward liberty. Especially talking about the individual within the Church, he says that even though we should be inclined to obey, yet “each of us is to keep his freedom,” and “the Lord alone is to be heard.” It is love, and not law, that must bind us together in freedom (cf. Institutes 4:10:31-2, 4:20:1-2, 32). We have noted that in his discussion of the power of the Church, Calvin insisted on its inability to probe conscience or the “inner man.” Certainly the Church has the right and the power from Christ to judge whether or not its members and pastors conform outwardly to the law of God and its own justifiable laws, and it must exercise this power when judging the fitness of any person for office or membership. In this process it might have to probe certain aspects of “private behaviour,” but it should never imagine that Christ has given it any right or power to understand or evaluate what goes on deep within the human heart. The jurisdiction of the Church extends to the outward life, but inner attitudes are not within the sphere of its powers of discernment and do not come under the scope of its judgment (Institutes 4:12:6). The Church must recognize that its ecclesiastical laws and discipline “bind only outward works” and must “leave the conscience free” (4:10:4). As long as the

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    pastor, or office bearer, or theological candidate is willing outwardly to conform, he or she is free to have and maintain inward reserve even towards ecclesiasical laws, just as firmly as he or she would maintain such inward reserve or resistance against State laws which have to be outwardly obeyed. Of course when Church and/or civil government in its demands upon us is fully and simply reflecting God’s law then the conscience is bound to wholehearted observance. But many ecclesiastical and civil laws are about what Calvin calls “things intrinsically indifferent,” and in relation to these the individual owes only outward conformity. Calvin recognized that many such ecclesiastical practices and customs were foolish enough to deserve only lip service. THE CHURCH ITSELF, HOWEVER GOOD ITS LAWS, MUST BE SATISFIED WITH ONLY OUTWARD CONFORMITY, AND IT HAS BEEN GIVEN BY CHRIST NO AUTHORITY IN THE REALM OF CONSCIENCE. In drawing such severe limitation to the power of the Church, the Reformers took issue with the Roman Church of their day. That Church had not only sought to secure its outward authority over the individual through its complicated system of ecclesiastical law, but it had extended its “unlimited and barbarous empire” into the realm of conscience, and with its use of the confessional, under the guise of pastoral counseling it has subjected the souls of men and women to “cruel butchery” (4:10:1) allowing psychological “bullies and thugs” of the day to inflict deep wounds and intense torture on miserable souls (Inst. 3:4:2-3). In this way, of course, Rome sought to secure its authority and crush all potential to inward dissent where it might originate in the freedom of the will before the Word of God. The Reformation involved the destruction of the confessional system. No one henceforth was to be subject to a process that would put him or her under pressure or obligation to reveal inner reaction or to conform that response to an expected pattern (Inst. 3:4:7). The Church must begin again not only to respect the inward sovereignty of the individual, but to encourage the individual to resist intrusion into the deepest levels of privacy, and to assert and maintain a freedom dearly won by the sacrifice of Christ. Calvin’s word encouraging civil disobedience when the conscience is in danger of violation could equally apply in ecclesiastical affairs: “We have been redeemed by Christ at so great a price as our redemption cost him, so that we should not enslave our consciences to the wicked desires of men” (Inst. 4:30:32). It is not only the right, but the duty of the individual to maintain an inward reserve before God.

    OUR PRESENT CHANGE OF EMPHASIS

    Since the sixteenth century, there has been some shift of accent in our basic assumptions about life, the Gospel, and humanity; and it is not difficult to locate some of the points of which these aspects of Reformed teaching give rise to questioning and discussion today. Our stress today is on togetherness, and we do not like the individual to think too much about solitariness unless to regard it mainly as a curse. It is significant that in our most recent worship book we have robbed the hymn, “Here O my Lord I see thee face to face,” of its real meaning by making it “Here O our Lord we see you face to face.” We tend to identify reality with the outward world rather than with the inward, and we regard any form of withdrawal from outward life or any suspicion of split-mindedness as psychologically undesirable. We are afraid, too, that to emphasize the individual as the Reformers did, might

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    lessen our zeal for social justice and community action, and in this respect we question their priorities. In a recent TV interview in England the Archbishop of Canterbury was serverely taken to task by an activist clergyman because in his recent call to the nation he had stressed so heavily the responsibility of each individual for improving the state of affairs around him. The critic felt that the Archbishop was out of touch with the Church and the world for everybody knew it was affirmed that it was quite useless to appeal to the individual when it was the system that was entirely wrong! Possibly we have diverged most from the Reformed tradition in the confidence we have developed in the power and right of the Church, in its exercise of pastoral care, to probe the inner life, to analyze it, and to dissolve the undesirable contradictions sometimes caused by forms of the Gospel. We have ways of putting pressure on individuals, especially within our institutions, to discard what would formerly have been regarded as a healthy and natural reserve. Moreover, we tend to use such intense pastoral care as a means of discipline. Whereas the Reformed Church was concerned to ensure that the external life of a candidate for the ministry, for example, was free from scandal, accepting the candidate’s own word about the heart’s intentions, we are even more greatly concerned to ensure that, in spite of his or her profession, the internal life is free from anything abnormal. Instead of a pattern of outward behavior being regarded as a norm, we tend to substitute a pattern of inward development, defined by the psychological expert as healthy or unhealthy, mature or immature. And in certain cases where, according to custom, one would expect disciplinary proceedings to be taken, the matter is shelved by referring it to the expert in pastoral counseling.

    POINTS FOR RE-EVALUATION

    We choose here two aspects of our Church life today that might benefit from some reconsideration of the practice of the Reformation.

    Preaching to the Individual

    In our preaching to the individual today, we constantly remind him or her of his or her INVOLVEMENT with others in social sins, problems, responsibilities, and possibilities. Might our approach be more effective, and more in accordance with things as they really are, if we gave greater priority to an appeal to the individual in his or her APARTNESS? In the Gospels we find Jesus often selecting an individual, sometimes deliberately singling him or her out from among the crowd, for his exclusive attention. Can we not assume that through our preaching it is His purpose to reach towards, find, and address Himself to the individual in this way today? Of course the Reformers insisted that all true knowledge of God involved obedience, and one aspect of this obedience was acceptance of the task which involvement in the world laid upon us as Christians. But such obedience can only be the accompaniment and the fruit of personal surrender to God Himself, and the individual is most effectively called to such personal surrender when, as it were, he or she is taken apart from that very involvement and addressed as a solitary individual. In our present day concern to avoid undesirable purely individualistic piety, and narrowness of ethical concern, are we not in danger of failing to point the individual towards the reality of God Himself, and of putting him or her in touch with that Kingdom which, though it is not of this world, can nevertheless change

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    everything in the present structure of things? Moreover, when it comes to the appeal for individual involvement and obedience, might it not be wiser, and more effective in the long run for social reform itself, if we spoke less often than we are tempted to do about the necessity of our participation in the widest social and international concerns, and tried more patiently to begin exactly where many people feel they really live. After listening, as I have had to do, to innumerable sermons and addresses during the last fifteen years, I have often wished that preachers and teachers would face me even sometimes with the kind of appeal that was given much more frequently fifty years ago than it is today—with the call to face more frankly than I am prone to do, the full implications of forgiveness and repentance in the immediate context of my daily life, and to live in Christian love, chastity, honesty and godliness within my home, family and personal affairs—all this without my having to wait for the next election or the coming social revolution.

    The Place, Use, and Nature of Pastoral Counseling

    Pastoral care, within the Reformed Church, was based on the belief that the ministry of the under-shepherds should as much as possible reflect the ministry of the Good Shepherd. Therefore the sheep to whom the Word is spoken should be known as intimately as possible by the one who speaks the Word and who is prepared to lay down his or her life in the service of the flock. The people in their turn should know their pastor and not have to regard the pastor as a stranger (John 10). Pastoral care was also thought of as being especially helpful to the individual who was unable to grasp fully for him or herself the promises and the comfort normally offered in the public preaching (3:4:14). Linked up with the administration of discipline, pastoral care helped to make discipline effective and to temper, at times, its inevitable harshness. When it involved pastoral conversation, the aim of the pastor was to point to Christ and the Word rather than to probe the individual’s inner state (3:4:3). It is unfortunate that in the Reformed Church the tyranny of which the Reformers sought to purge the Church in abolishing compulsory confession ultimately tended to reappear in connection with its discipline, and indeed at times pastoral care tended to become simply an adjunct to discipline. Today, however, we have to ask whether in our tendency to make pastoral care a substitute for discipline, and, indeed, a means of discipline, we are following a healthy line of development. Might we not here be in danger of subjecting one individual to both the power and judgment of another in a manner that is quite alien to the Reformed tradition? We have to ask seriously, too, if the chief concern within all such pastoral ministry is that of really encouraging the sinner to look away (“with both eyes,” as Calvin insisted—Inst. 3:4:3) from his or her own subjective state to Christ and His word. It is perhaps at this latter point that we are tending to depart most from our own tradition. Is our new found confidence in being able to probe and judge the “inner person” really justified? In a review of Southey’s LIFE OF WESLEY, one critic remarked that the best comment might be that of the woman of Samaria: “Sir, thou has nothing to draw with, and the well is deep.”

  • Preaching to a Born Again Culture

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    PREACHING TO A BORN AGAIN CULTURE

    Robert H. Walkup

    Helena, Arkansas

    Somewhere someone has said that “the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small.” The homiletical mills for preachers have to grind faster than that and get a somewhat larger product. That is the reason, no doubt, someone else has said “nearly everything and anything is grist for the homiletical mill.” Fifty-two Sundays a year are a lot of Sundays which need sermons and sometimes this grim reality goads us into preaching. What I propose to do is to suggest some sermon recipes for some of those Sundays, hoping that they may be of help as you mix and stir the stuff that flows from your own homiletical mill. A good sermon, like a good casserole, has many things in it skillfully blended, but usually there is one ingredient which subtly dominates both the aroma and the taste and gives it its identity. What I want to do is to look at the born again casserole, analyze its ingredients, and propose a number of variations on the basic dish.

    I

    It is absolutely essential in the very beginning that we understand the nature as well as the side-effects of this casserole. Now this sounds silly since we live in a time when the in thing is being born again. After all, it is widely, and even internationally, known that our President is born again. Added to that, any number of former government officials (and one in particular) are born again, so we need to stop and look at what it means. The first place to look is in the third chapter of John’s Gospel where our friend Nicodemus is having trouble. He seems to have difficulty understanding what our Lord said, and it is only fair to Nicodemus to say that millions since have had the same difficulty. Those who are surest that they, and they alone, know what it means to be truly born again are the ones who have usually missed the whole point. Nicodemus, like too many of our people today, was too materialistic. He could not imagine being born in any but materialistic terms. Yet, ironically enough, our difficulty is that we cannot imagine being born again in anything but jaded spiritual terms—terms so aseptic that they do not touch flesh and blood. That is part of the deadliness of our “born again culture.” What we need is an incarnational rebirth—a rebirth of the spirit that reveals itself clearly and emphatically in human life. What Nicodemus knew of birth applied only to the function of a womb, but there are other parts of the body which also know a birth process and which point beyond the popular idea of being born again: ideas are born in the mind, dreams and hopes in the heart, and lifestyles in the reins. They all emerge from what is often a painful birth process and grow to maturity in a world of beauty and injustice, joy and sorrow. With this broadened understanding of being “born again,” let’s enlarge our sermonic treatment of this very important process. Let me use a very personal illustration. When my twin brother and I were a little over three, our father died and our mother tried to go on, but the flu epidemic made this a futile effort, and

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    within three years she too was dead, and we small boys went to live with grandparents. It was a devastating experience for me. Mother had been the very center of my life. Across these years I cherish memories of her. She was overprotective , over-supportive, over-affectionate, and I suppose over-loving, and then suddenly I was moved to a home where I found a new family, a new environment, and a new lifestyle—all of which seemed grim and somber and left me a bewildered and frightened little boy. To add to that desolation, I started to school in a room full of strangers—and even recess was a frightening experience. Those first few years were grim beyond accounting. My grandmother’s sternness left me fearful. It seemed like teachers in those days were not very perceptive. We were living with my mother’s parents and the teachers could not seem to get through their heads that my name was Walkup and Papa’s name was Caldwell. Every time we got a new teacher she broke open the old wounds again. It was not what even Charles Dickens would call a happy childhood, but something happened. My rather dour and grim grandmother frightened me, but it was she who worked a miracle. After I had learned to read, my grandmother took me one day and had me wash my hands which were inspected and accepted as being clean. Then we went into a musty-smelling parlor which was also the library. Here Mama introduced me to her friends, pointing to the books around the walls. At first I thought her friends were the books, but her friends were Mr. Tennyson, Mr. Browning, Mr. Ruskin, and that wonderful Scot, Mr. Thomas Carlyle, and that fascinating Scot, Mr. Robert Burns, and one of Mama’s dearest friends, Sir Walter Scott. Mama had opened the door to a new and glorious world. The opening of this door changed everything. In opening this door, she served as the midwife and I had been born again, and nothing would ever be the same. The drabness was gone and here in this world I found joy unbounded. Hours that might have been wasted in self-pity were filled with these friends of Mama’s who had now become my friends. Now I think those of us who have been blessed by being called to preach have a call to take our congregation into the library that we may introduce them to our friends in the pages of scripture. This must be the first ingredient of our born again casserole. Years ago Mr. Ruskin, Mr. Tennyson, and Mr. Carlyle became my friends. Our preaching today can help the men and the women of the scriptures, who are often imprisoned in the pages of the Bible, come alive and become the friends of the congregation. If our culture is to have new eyes, new ways of looking out on the world, it will be because the door to the scriptures has been opened. If we are to preach to a “born again culture,” let us look again at the scriptures, not as a collection of doctrines, not as a retelling of dusty old tales or insipid “spiritual” insights, but as the story of God’s dealing with real persons who breathed air, who sweat when it was hot and shivered when it was cold—persons used of God. If our preaching opens this door, introduces our congregations to this book, who knows, we could be midwives aiding in the birth struggle of those whose lives have been dull, wounded, and grim. Now having said this, we need to stop right here and remind ourselves that being born again is not our fault. The second ingredient in our casserole must be humility. We get no credit at all for the new world to which we have been introduced. I did not meet Mr. Ruskin or Mr. Tennyson or Mr. Anybody Else on my own. I met them because my grandmother took me to them. I did not find Jesus Christ by myself—He found me. We don’t get credit for being born again—it is His idea. My brother John and I are twins, but I can assure you that it was not my idea or John’s. Our wishes, our desires, our work had nothing to do with it. Being a twin is a very convenient

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    way to be born. It gives you a brother without the real problem of older or younger siblings. You are in it together. But, brilliant as it may seem, it wasn’t my idea. In the same way being born again is not our idea. It is not dependent on our devotion or our skill, and it is not a reward for good deeds. Actually, there is no occasion for pride at all any more so than is there occasion for pride in being born the first time. The second birth is equally out of our hands. One thing that frightens me sometimes, and I think frightens a lot of people in the church, is to hear someone speaking about being born again in such a way that it sounds almost like a boast. It sounds almost like saying, “I have a quality that you don’t possess, and don’t you wish you were near enough to God to have been born again?” That’s not what we are talking about at all, and I can’t say that too strongly. Now if we bear this in mind—if we know the whole idea is God’s, and if we keep on with our increased understanding of being born again, I think it is altogether likely that God has some words to be spoken to a “born again culture.” If we remember that we are not the message, just messengers, we can speak those words. For is not our task to bring some word from God to bear upon the situation in which our world finds itself in the midst of fear, injustice, anxiety, boredom, and everything else that makes life wretched? Yes, there is one sure word we are called to speak to a “born again culture” and that is the word we hear so emphatically in this same third chapter of John. It is the one word that ought to underlie every thought we think—GOD LOVES LIKE THAT! No matter what we are preaching about, no matter what type of sermon we decide to use, underneath its motive, care, purpose, and form should be this one sure word from God—his love for us in Jesus Christ. This is the one sure word from God to a “born again world.” It is the only word that anybody can preach—God loves like that. How? Like we see Him loving in Jesus. Nicodemus was swept off his feet; he just couldn’t take it in. John, in writing of this, commented in worshipful wonder, “for God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son.” John was convinced that these words were the only explanation. It had to be love: God loved so much that He gave us this man of Galilee. If we can see this, we are indeed born again and have the sure word, the core center of the message, we are to preach to a “born again culture.”

    II

    Now let’s take this basic recipe and see if we can do a little mixing and stirring and come up with some variations on the dish. Let’s go back, say to our friend Abraham—you remember Abraham, he was the father of the faithful. He also was the husband of laughing girl, Sarah. And he was the father of Ishmael and Isaac. There is a chapter in the Bible which leaves me shivering every time I read it. It’s the chapter that tells about Abraham and Isaac going to the top of the mountain, and Isaac breaking Abraham’s heart all the time when he kept saying, “Where is the sacrifice, the sacrificial animal, Father? What are we going to sacrifice when we get to the top of the mountain?” When I was a little boy, we had a book with a drawing in it of a little boy carrying a bundle of sticks; Mama told me he was taking those sticks to the top of the mountain to make a fire so he could be sacrificed, and it sent shivers through me. How could Abraham be willing to do a thing like this; how in the world could Abraham ever get his own consent? Well, I think we need to see that. I think there is a word from God right here that is more than the word that God doesn’t desire human sacrifice. The story shows us something about the depth as well as the

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    breadth of Abraham’s faith. Now faith isn’t believing something that we know isn’t so; it’s trusting. And Abraham so trusted a loving God that he kept going a step at a time, and who of us didn’t breathe a sigh of relief when we heard of the ram in the bush, the substitute? How must Abraham have felt that night? How must Isaac have felt when he knew he had been spared, that God in His mercy had provided the ram in the bush! We can’t preach on Abraham now as just the Father of the faithful. We can’t preach on Abraham now as just the head of the Jewish race. Always when we preach on Abraham to a “born again culture,” we must help our people see the gracious love of God that called Abraham out of his old world into a new land and demanded of him a radical faithfulness. Now it seems to me, if we are to preach effectively to a “born again culture,” we will have to develop this theme of God’s love. We need to address the issues of our day in the light of that love and in the hope that there will be some new births, some new ways of looking at the world and responding in faithfulness. There might be, for example, a need for us to be born again in regard to race relations. We have some old prejudices that we thought we had left behind. But if we can catch a glimpse of God’s great love for us and all people, then surely we will go through a new birth process—as painful as it may be. Or the same thing might be said about the growing economic crisis ahead of us. What will it mean for us, and our Presbyterian congregations, to be born again to a new way of looking out on the economic world? What new doors are opening as we are being called to face, in the light of God’s love, economic injustice around us? Or what about our infatuation with success and our self-preoccupation? Do we need to be born again to see that it can be glorious to lose, that the only way to save our life is to lose it, to give it up to a loving God? Or once again, what about the women’s issue? According to Edna St. Vincent Milay, St. Paul was a misguided misogynist. Many people consider him a woman hater in less classy terminology. Even so, it is Paul who reminds us that there is neither male nor female for the very good reason that all are one in Christ Jesus. Some of us have read that for years, but it is taking a birth miracle before the words can really spread to our understanding.

    In all of this, we are called to preach to a people—us preachers included—who have come to think of being born again as simply a pious religious ritual that has little to do with flesh and blood. Yet every Sunday, we see people get up and come to church that need to be told in different ways of God’s love and of the world that love reveals. Our poor earth stumbles on, bleeding and hurting. I know of nothing that can transform us, that can birth us and send us out into the world as a new people, but the vision of God’s love for us in Christ Jesus. And who knows, perhaps we have come to the kingdom to preach of that love and be midwives aiding in the birth struggles of our people.

  • Lenten Musings of a Minister

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    Lenten Musings Of A Minister

    W. Robert Martin, Jr.

    The Fund For Theological Education, Princeton, N.J.

    “The Church in our house sends greetings to the Church in yours.” That was the way “Jas. A.” Jones always closed his letters. That benediction not only went to close friends with whom he had shared some intimate concern or recall, but it also went to strangers who made mere institutional inquiry of him. To the friend, the statement carried a bond of overarching spirit and intention that vaulted geographical separation. To a stranger, there was conveyed a marvelous note of redeeming presumptiousness—Christian relationships are never limited to personal familiarity. We were both reminded that although the church is Catholic, it, more often than seldom, finds its most viable witness, its strongest nurture and its final testimony “close in”—within those private places of our habitation—our houses. I always found that phrase in his letters to be a tremendous source of “bonding” for me. It lifted up individual turf that now became linked in common cause. I always appreciated greetings to the cell of human effort in which, finally, a “good and faithful witness” stands or falls. For all the “fallings,” I was always encouraged to try again. For all the “goods,” I was reminded that was “bottom line.” So it is, that I write this article with that phrase as the “greeting” rather than as its benediction. Many of the ones who will read it, I have known for a very long time and we have cared about each other for decades. There will be others who I only know about or know not at all. In either case, I now dare to include both persons in an intimate chain of reflections on matters about which I care, shaped even more by raising them up in the midst of Lenten musings. They will be diverse probings rather than a single theme. Throughout, I will be assuming that we and those we most care about do intend to be “ways in the wilderness” and “rivers in the desert” in the name of One who calls us to be one in our time. The Cross is a reminder of the seriousness of that shared call, the empty Tomb, the startling reminder of the intention of God for us to hear that call and become free to pursue it. Let me begin with reflections on “oneness.” The longer I live and the longer I live out responsibilities belonging to the vocation of ordained ministry, the more I come to appreciate the massive diversity of lives, styles, confessions, and affirmations that rightly belong to the Christian family. Those things that bind us together become far more precious than the things that divide us are important . I am far more hungry for the theological substance we can share than giving primary importance to those things that allow us to claim differences and impose alienation. I am far more excited to search after actions and attitudes that attempt to be risks at faithfulness and venture than I am to applaud those who enjoy rigorous and rigid posturings of theological “properness,” and by so doing, intimidate and, mostly, attack. The latter continues to create Calvaries

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    for the One who called us “friends” rather than tradition’s slaves. The longer I live, the more important the Reformed Tradition becomes for me, but it remains redeeming, and I am permitted to attempt to be redemptive in the midst of it only in so far as it does not rob me of compassionate imagination. It is a tradition that is far too vulnerable in wishing to claim blind allegiance and totally rational comprehension of a “tradition.” It cannot be permitted to overrun my constant call to Oneness in the name of a Risen Lord. It can become the mandate for everyone’s “house” rather than being that delicate, precious attempt of but one room in the great household of faith to express faithfulness. In this Lenten Season, reminded afresh of that unnervingly diverse group of folk Jesus first called to join Him in a faithful venture, I am humbled by the diversity that “my” tradition rightly should celebrate and haunted by the divisiveness that my very own tradition often times seems joyfully interested in authoring. Ecclesiastical righteousness becomes the goal in that arena. The fact is, we are called to faithfulness and to discovery. Amid a religious season of muted kettle drums, cries of HOSANNA gone stale and stultified by betrayals, denials and hammer blows to nailheads, I best always be more concerned to see a Way in the Wilderness and know a River in the Desert when I see it in order to quest in faithfulness toward that oneness to which we are all called on Easter Morn. What about the church in our houses, in the houses of those who are called to be priests and prophets, pastors and practitioners of holy things? How do we break out of the routines of gathering data to dispense to others and claim insight that becomes resources for our own religious fidelity, our own spiritual survival? As we have gone and will continue to go our separate ways, touching and being touched now and again by other lives and ministries, returning to or finding each other along the way, where do we turn for discovery, recovery, restoration? Where do we find the shade from the heat of having to “pull it off” every Lenten Season, bring not just “knowledge” but wisdom to every Maundy Thursday, peel the insularity from every Good Friday, rise refreshed and eager every Resurrection Morn? Let me advance a very simple statement. We can become vulnerable “one more time” to grace, to the grace that intrudes even into our own houses; to a “presence” that will not let us go; to a “good word” that is still “Good News” for us and not just through us to “them.” Believing fully, along with you, that the Bible is indeed a narrative of incredible worth and vitality, that it is a story that still moves us to depths of our own being as persons, it helps me every now and again to listen for myself. “wounded for our transgressions . . . bruised for our iniquities . . . borne our grief. . . carried our sorrows . . . by whose stripes we are healed . . . upon that One was the chastisement that made us whole . . .!!” Those are the astounding reminders as to the terrifying risks God was/is/will forever be willing to love us, not always just “them”—a love given with no assurance that “they” then or “we” now would/will even notice. Those are the clear evidences of a God who intends to get us out of Egypt and intends to get Egypt out of us. These are those luminous gems in our darkness that are gifts to our house and to the Church within it to free us at last. Great God A’mighty! Lo and behold, we are set apart not just to dispense grace but to receive it!

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    Suddenly, Maundy Thursday looms large. We’ve got Communion to do. The elders had better all show up. The bread had better be prepared and whacked into the appropriate itsy-bitsy pieces. We had better have no “interlopers.” What do we do if there are? On the other hand, we have got a chance not to trivialize or be trivialized. That bread snap and that wine splash is sufficient for all our days. “Adequate comprehension” is no longer sufficient for me to bar anyone from the Table. Who of us can really comprehend grace or accept finally a gift merely as “given?”—perhaps the children among us better than any. The Orthodox priest, placing wine on thumb and placing it in the mouth of a suckling infant is onto something more profound and responsible than we, who, in our tradition, posture as if “to know” is requirement to “experience” a gift, first given to twelve folk, each of whom thought Jesus believed that he was that one who was the betrayer! It is a new day in the life of the soul when we are far more moved by who is to be included in that moment than being often obsessed with who should be excluded. Ways open in the wilderness and rivers do flow in the desert. We are called to Oneness! “Emmanuel” joins us at table there, here, over yonder and the Kingdom breaks in upon us, for us, with us. We even are linked with all “the saints who from their labors rest” and we are rested in grace. We, as humans beings, cannot talk about “oneness” without also dealing frontally with language. Language still remains the currency of human evaluation . I have been saddened by how lightly many of us deal with that reality. Is it not far better theology to refer to God as God than as “He?” “She” doesn’t cut it either but it is a declaration of who will no longer be excluded from our sloppy address, even when “tradition” is on “our” side. The amazing mystery of the Gospel is its serious commitments to inclusiveness, vulnerable to the bungling minds of even its best chroniclers. Christian nurture inevitably has been borne in the lives and words of women amid all night vigils and sides of family and friends, Sunday school rooms, around session tables, by new colleagues at ordination services where they, too, were being ordained as women of faith and competence who remained and remain faithful even when male language exclude, mostly unintentional, and because ofthat “unthinkingness,” even more hurtful. “Inclusive language” is no mere fad, no mere band-wagon matter. It has to do with a call to oneness. Inclusive language deals openly with ways in the wilderness and rivers appearing in the desert of human exclusion. We best rethink how we pray and preach, pastor and administer. Who was excluded last week? Who would have felt excluded this Easter morn had we not checked outselves? It is not an issue of allowing someone, some “movement,” some editorial board to invade our right to speak. Rather, it is a matter that calls us to oneness to insure that we do not violate some other person’s rights by the way we speak. I would always prefer at least to have tried to be inclusive substantively than to be known as one who would never be willing to do other than exclude because of some “generic rhetoric” that rings with hollow justification . I know you share that wish with me, but we best be getting on with it. Easters really do occur not just for “them” but for “us,” too. “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by God and without God

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    was not anything made that was made. In God was life and life was the light sufficient for us all.” Confident that, in oneness, we will be ways in the wilderness and rivers in the deserts in God’s good name, know that the Church in our house sends affectionate greetings to the Church in yours amid this Lenten Season, 1979.

  • The Fullness of Time

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    THE FULLNESS OF TIME

    J. Randolph Taylor

    Myers Park Presbyterian Church, Charlotte, North Carolina

    Time is a problem for all of us. We never seem to have enough of it; we are running out of it when we are not marking it; trying to find it when we are not wasting it. We always try to be on it, but often get behind it. Time is a terrible hassle for us.

    TWO WAYS

    There are two ways to think about time, both of which can be found in the Bible as well as in our life today. One way is to think of time as simply sequence. The chronological character of time is all important for contemporary Western men and women; we think of time as something to be measured, by clocks and calendars. This chronological counting of time is not a modern phenomenon, although we stress it as much as any generation in history. Chronological time gets its descriptive sense from the Greek word chronos: the word which the New Testament uses to describe time as measured sequence or duration. The other way of thinking about time is in terms of opportunity. It approaches moments and days, events and experiences, on the basis of the reality of their content and potential. We speak of doing things “at the right time.” We say, “Now is the time,” or “Time stands still,” without much specific clarity as to what we mean. In contrast to our inability to articulate the meaning of this qualitative sense of time, the Bible has a rich word which it uses over and over again to describe time in terms of potential: the Greek word kairos. Chronos may speak of a short time, such as “in a moment of time” (Luke 4:5); it may also refer to a long time, as when Paul says, “For a time of forty years he bore with them in the wilderness” (Acts 13:18). In both cases the sense of time is extent or duration, and the word used is chronos. Kairos is used to describe more than that, as in the case of Jesus’ explanation of the parable of the sower and the soils: “But these have no root, they believe for a while and in time of temptation fall away” (Luke 8:13). Throughout the New Testament the varied use of the concept of kairos is seen: “the time of harvest” (Matthew 13:30), “the signs of the times” (Matthew 16:3), “the time of visitation” (Luke 19:44), “redeem the time” (Ephesians 5:16, Colossians 4:5).

    OUR TIME AND THEIR’S

    Here the contrast between our world of thought and that of the Bible is most dramatically demonstrated. We understand chronos, perhaps better than almost anything else in our culture; but we are vague about what time means when it refers to opportunity or content. In the New Testament, and also in the Old, time seen simply as sequence is relatively unimportant. It is the potential of time which gives it meaning. They understood and built their life upon kairos.

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    Our life is spent in a series of meetings. Go to any gathering and suggest that the group hold another session and you will see one of the most characteristic pantomimes of contemporary society. Almost every participant will reach into the recesses of coat pockets or purses and draw out little calendars and begin to talk about time. And who of us has not seen or given avid attention to a wrist watch or a time clock, sometimes with a wistful glance and sometimes with a defiant stare. These are our tablets and monuments of chronos. They quickly come to rule our lives and to organize our society. Events are measured not by meaning or content, but by duration. Work becomes quantified for all of us. Travel is clocked in minutes or hours. Education, communication, entertainment, politics, community relations, family life and even sex are organized and assessed in terms of time. Worship itself bows down to the rule of chronos. No wonder we have difficulty understanding the world of the prophets and the apostles. Chronos meant little if anything to them. Time was thought of in a much more qualitative sense. It was spoken of in terms of its content. It could refer to the realistic assessment of natural events: evening (Genesis 8:11), harvest (Matthew 13:30), rain (Ezra 10:13). It could refer to the celebrations or duties of .social life: marriage (I Samuel 18:19), meals (Ruth 2:14), battle (I Chronicles 20:1), drawing water (Genesis 24:18). It could refer to the cycle of life itself: birth (Genesis 38:27), death (I Samuel 4:20). Kairos, along with its precedessor Hebrew word feth, was much more significant in interpreting time. Simple sequence was accepted, understood and set aside as secondary in importance.

    THREE ASPECTS OF TIME

    Events in time, for the Biblical writers, drew their meaning from three things. The first was opportunity. A time (‘eth or kairos) was significant because it held within it the opportunity for something to take place. The catalogue of “times” in Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 is the classic expression of this understanding. These are not listed nor linked because of sequence, but because of the varied and contrasting possibilities which each holds—a time to plant and a time to pluck, a time to break and a time to build, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to seek and a time to lose, a time to keep silence and a time to speak. Each moment in time is an opportunity, and all taken together are valued for the risk and the promise which they contain. The second factor of events in time is the challenge to human response to the opportunity given. Time is not something valued or even assessed in isolation from the men and women who are involved in it. The opportunity of time challenges people to some form of appropriate action. Thus time is seen as a gift which demands a reply. One accepts or debates or refers or refuses the opportunity contained in time. Life is not measured solely by time, but by the way one relates to time. The third aspect of events in time is that they are seen as the gift of God the Creator and Sustainer of life, who provides the opportunity to be found in time. Events are of God’s ordaining and, even in responding to the opportunities of different times that appear to be most natural, we are actually responding to God. This is true of events of nature and events of history. God is seen at work in time in such a way as to provide meaning for each event as well as for the whole continuum. All events, therefore, have religious and theological significance.

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    THE PROPHETS

    The prophets of Israel saw their mission as making plain to the nation that the events through which they were moving were not just accidental, but were a series of significant times given by God for God’s own purposes. Thus the times demanded appropriate responses. The prophet may speak of judgment or hope or both, depending on the course of events. But he or she will speak and demand action in every historical situation because God is the One who gives the opportunity to be found in time. Thus, the prophets’ words are directly tied to contemporary events and yet are even more significant beyond their day, precisely because they speak of and for the God who stands in and beyond all times. The prophets view history as made up of various times which are of God’s appointment. The prophet understands the kairos nature of events. He or she may be destroyed, but God is working God’s purpose out at all times and in all time. Thus the word of God, which is always related to time, will abide and will not return empty or meaningless. The time of its fulfillment may be delayed, as Jeremiah came in anguish to see, but it will not be defeated.

    JESUS

    This helps us to see how the New Testament flows out of the faith and insight of the Old. The affirmation of the New Testament is that the expected time—the kairos—has come. This is presented first in the New Testament by Jesus himself: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent, and believe in the gospel” (Mark 1:15). The time of which Jesus spoke is God’s kairos. It is seen as the great moment of opportunity. The contents of that time were pointedly and personally related to the events by which God established Israel. That is why the writers of the New Testament were so eager to show that the events of Jesus’ life were clearly the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy. We do not need to follow them in every application of prophecy to the life of Christ. It is enough to recognize their working principle and to accept their central insight that the supreme kairos has come. What Jesus presents is the moment of opportunity. What God was intending in the Exodus and the creation of Israel becomes fulfilled in the time of his coming and the initiation of God’s kingdom. Because the time is fulfilled, this is the great moment of challenge to response. To accept and to be committed to that opportunity means life and wholeness and salvation. To neglect it or reject it is disaster. Jesus’ introduction into history is the decisive expression of kairos. Repentance and belief are the indications of adequate response. Repentance means turning around and moving in the other direction. Our word belief comes from two Old English words meaning”by” and “life.” Turn and by your life testify to the truth of God’s good news in him. That is to respond to God’s gift in Jesus Christ, to accept the opportunity inherent in this fulfillment of kairos.

    THE APOSTLES

    The apostles see themselves as having “discerned the signs of the time” (cf. Matthew 16:3). By the grace of God they have responded to the gift which God has given. Paul insists that Christians “know what hour it is, how it is full time now for

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    you to wake from sleep” (Romans 13:11). On more than one occasion he exhorts his sisters and brothers in Christ to “make the most of the times” (Ephesians 5:16, Colossians 4:5). He holds before the Christians in Corinth the challenge of the present moment as the kairos for them (and for us): “Behold, now is the acceptable time; now is the day of salvation” (II Corinthians 6:2, referring to Isaiah 49:8). Thus, in the New Testament we see that the understanding of time is not that of duration or mechanical progress or chronology. It is basically one of promise and fulfillment, in which history is made up of times in which God gives opportunity and challenges us to respond. The central and determinative opportunity which God gives is the life and death and vistory of Jesus Christ. His time is our ultimate kairos.

    PAST AND FUTURE

    Time, in this Biblical sense, is in some state of tension with the past and with the future. It is related to the past, in that it draws from the past its reference points. The time of Exodus and the time of the prophets inform the time of Jesus. Fulfillment implies relationship to earlier hopes and expectations. Therefore, part of the content of opportunity in time is its relationship to the past and the possibility of earlier potential becoming realized. But time is also related to the future. The meaning of the present opportunity cannot be interpreted except in terms of some ultimate goal or direction. A trip can only be described if we have some way of indicating where it begins and where it ends. It is in this sense that the Biblical understanding of time is always straining toward eternity. References to time in the New Testament are easily applicable to eschatological understandings of the future. The fulfillment of time is yet to be fully realized. Jesus has come, but Jesus is also coming. There is an unfinished quality in time, which is part of its content and its potential.

    TIME IS QUALITATIVE

    Time is not just the quantitative calculation of minutes and hours and days and years. Time has a qualitative sense about it. Not all moments are the same and they are to be judged by the opportunity which they contain on the basis of what God has done and of what God is yet doing. It can be argued that the technological and organizational progress of our society is rooted in the commitment which we have made to time in the sense of chronos. We could not think in terms of corporations and committees and computers and count downs if it were not for the understanding of time as chronological duration. On the other hand, it is perhaps this thoroughgoing commitment to time as being entirely quantitative which is guaranteeing the flat, gray, measured world of chronos which we are in process of becoming. To say that there is a qualitative character of time is to speak heresy to modern ears. But this is precisely what the Biblical faith does. God has moved in history in decisive events and God is still on the move. Part of our task is to seek to understand what God has done in the past in order that we may be better equipped to read with alertness the signs of the time concerning what God is doing today. A part of our task is also to read the signs of the contemporary times with eyes cocked and ears tuned toward the future, so that the immediacy of present events does not blind us nor deafen us to God’s movement

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    and destination. What does this mean for us today? The Biblical faith and orientation helps to bring a radical critique to bear upon our contemporary cultural commitment to chronos. Some years ago, my family was hosting an African family who was in this country while the father was studying at an American university. I took them shopping one Saturday and, at one shop which specialized in household goods and kitchenwares, a clerk took particular interest in them and showed them many items which could be used in their university apartment. After some time he came over to me and said, “We must buy something from this store.” I asked if he had found something he especially liked, to which he replied: “No, but I must buy something from her. She has given us so much of her time.” What a cultural difference! From my Western roots, it would never have occurred to me to buy something just because I had taken a clerk’s time. But it is that valuing of time—another’s as well as one’s own—which moves in the direction of kairos. The Biblical writers shared that general cultural orientation with my African friend. Time is qualitative in nature and is to be valued for the opportunity whick lies within it, not least of all the opportunity of relating to others. There is a genuine fullness of time which most of us miss. And missing it causes us to miss some of the richness and meaning of faith and of life.

    ADVENT

    We are approaching the Season of Advent. It is the best season of the year to talk with our people about the meaning of time, in the contemporary and in the Biblical sense. For one thing, this is the beginning of the Christian Year and all know that it is not the beginning of the calendar year. Inherent in that difference is the contrast between chronos and kairos. For another thing, with the approach of Christmas everyone is increasingly aware that all time is not the same. The excitement of pre-Christmas anticipation, compared with the dog days of August, helps everyone to see that chronos has not said the last, nor even the most significant, word about time. The difference in the days of December is the sense of opportunity which is contained in them. Taken even in their most commercially extravagant sense, these days are days of kairos, when the time is judged by the possibilities inherent in it. When you dig underneath that to the deeper significance of Advent, you are focusing upon the meaning of kairos. For Advent is the anticipation of God’s great Gift, the greatest opportunity to which we are challenged to respond. It is tied to the past—”The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). But it is also tied to the future: O come, O come, Emmanuel, And ransom captive Israel, That mourns in lonely exile here Until the Son of God appear. The One who has come is the One who is coming. Therefore we live not only in the monotony of tick-tock time, but also in the tension of Advent time. The words of institution of the Lord’s Supper set that tension before us and call us, not only to his meal, but also to his mission: ‘”Do this . . . remembering me.’ . . . until he comes.”

  • Serious Stewardship: A Second Look at the Ananias and Sapphira Narrative

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    SERIOUS STEWARDSHIP

    A Second Look at the Ananias and Sapphira Narrative

    M. Thomas Norwood, Jr.

    First Presbyterian Church, Greenville, Mississippi

    The powerful yet perplexing account of Ananias and Sapphira evokes a variety of responses from preachers. Some follow the lead of lectionary makers throughout the history of the church and ignore the passage; others hide behind the “thispassage -is-a-creation-of-the-early-church-and-thus-is-not-re levant-or-binding-forme ” smokescreen. At the other end of the theological spectrum, biblical literalists use its “you’d-better-give~or-else” message to scare additional dollars into church coffers. However, in spite of the embarrassment and misuse it precipitates, this text deserves a second look, for it challenges Christians to re-examine their commitment to the community of faith and to serious stewardship.

    I

    In this section of Acts, Luke continues his straight-forward description of the early church in Jerusalem. He does not attempt to cover up the Ananias and Sapphira incident, nor does he apologize for its presence in his account. Rather, he uses this tradition in his narrative for theological purposes. There are many theories regarding the deaths of Ananias and Sapphira. Some, like William Barclay, feel that the deaths were natural ones, i.e., heart failure induced by the shock of having their sins discovered. Others hold that this narrative is a legend. Ananias and Sapphira (so the argument runs) were the first Christians to die. Their deaths were such a shock to the rest of the Christian community (who thought that death had been abolished by the resurrection of Christ) that the survivors created this story, which attributed the deaths to undetected sin. Neither of these theories satisfactorily explains the deaths, but both provide clues for the interpretive task. The “natural death” explanation reveals how seriously the early church viewed past-baptismal sin (cf. Hebrews 10:26). The other argument rightly recognizes that Luke’s purpose is more literary/theological than historical. Thus, to concentrate on the narrow issue of the historicity of the tradition reflected in this passage is to miss Luke’s purpose entirely. But what exactly is Luke’s purpose? Any attempt to answer that question must begin with a literary analysis of the text in context. In his recently published dissertation, Luke T. Johnson suggests that a discernible literary pattern dominates Luke-Acts. Luke, says Johnson, expands the prophecy/fulfillment motif so that the words of the Old Testament prophets are fulfilled not only in the events of Jesus’ life, but also in the events of the early church’s life.(l) The Jerusalem narrative of Acts, of which this text is a part, functions to demonstrate that 1) there was indeed a believing community within historic Israel to whom God’s blessing came, 2) that the twelve were the nucleus of this newly founded community, and 3) that Paul and other missionaries remained under the authority of the Twelve.(2)

    *

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    Johnson also argues that Luke uses possessions to highlight several theological concerns. In fact, these concerns become symbolic of life in the Christian community. First of all, Luke believes that the sharing of allpossessions preserves the spiritual unity of the community. In holding back possessions, Ananias and Sapphira undermine this essential unity. Secondly, the laying of the possessions at the feet of the apostles is more than an act of material generosity; it is an act of self-dedication. As the members of the community turn over their material wealth, they turn over their own lives to the authority of the Twelve. In excluding their lives from apostolic authority, Ananias and Sapphira exclude themselves from the community of faith. Finally, by mentioning Barnabas as the one who brought forth his possessions (thereby submitting to the authority of the community leaders), Luke extends the authority of the Twelve to the Gentile community.(3) It is clear that the Ananias and Sapphira narrative serves mainly as a “negative foil” in Luke’s literary design. Luke does, however, allow this text to make some positive statements about the life under the lordship of Jesus Christ. Writing to a community of Gentile Christians about 2>7 A.D., he attempts to convince them that the church is in an extended period of involvement with its culture. He also tells them that the church of which they are a part has a significant role to play in the overall scheme of salvation history. Luke wants his readers to think through the past and examine exactly how they should relate to God and to their immediate culture. This thought process would necessarily include an examination of their relationship to the other members of the community. In other words, the dramatic account of Ananias and Sapphira is introduced at this point so that Luke can engage in a theological discussion with his community about the nature of God, the nature of Sin, and the nature of the church. First of all, Luke makes it clear that God’s work in their time will be done through the power of the Holy Spirit. To tempt the Spirit is to tempt God; to lie to the Holy Spirit is to lie to God. Luke’s emphasis is on the reality of the presence of the Holy Spirit in the Christian community and the serious implications of that fact. Just as Peter is God’s agent of life in the healing of the lame man (Acts 3:1-10), so also he is God’s agent of death in this situation. The second point Luke makes is that sin cannot be thought of only in terms of individual transgressions; it has a corporate dimension as well. To Luke, this was clearly shown in the sin of Achan in the Old Testament (Joshua 7) (his Bible), and he makes the lesson just as clear in this narrative. From his viewpoint (put in the words of Peter), the sin of Ananias was not only an individual act of deception against his community, but was also a communal deception against the Spirit. In other words:

    Ananias, in the effort to gain a reputation for greater generosity than he deserved, tried to deceive the believing community, but in trying to deceive the community, he was really deceiving the Holy Spirit, whose life-giving power had created the community and maintained it in being. So real was the apostles’ appreciation of the presence and authority of the Spirit in their midst. A lie told to Peter as a private man would have been relatively venial, but this—whether Ananias knew it or not—was a lie told to God, something suggested by none other than the great adversary of God and man.(4)

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    Finally, Luke has a powerful message regarding the nature of the church, especially the early church in which this story is set. Luke shows the early church as is, warts and all. His honest portrayal allows his readers to have a more realistic picture of the church as an institution. He implores his readers not to wear sackcloth and ashes every time a sin is exposed, but to recognize the reality of sin and its consequences for the community of faith. More importantly, Luke asks them to re-examine their commitment to the community, especially in regards to the stewardship of their possessions. Ananias wanted to become a prominent, respected member of the community without making the necessary sacrifices. In including this tradition in his narrative, Luke forces his community to wrestle with the ultimate implications of joining the Christian community. Are they like Barnabas, offering to share their surpluses with others; or are they like Ananias and Sapphira, holding something back because of the cost? To join this community is to become accountable to God not only for the conduct of their own lives, but also for the interests of the larger community.

    II

    Sermons are not theoretical treatises constructed in a vacuum, but (hopefully) have a specific Sitz im Leben. What is the particular cultural context of stewardship preaching today? Two issues merit special attention. The first of these is the energy crisis. The harsh realities of energy addiction confront Americans in every socio-economic strata. The economy has been disrupted, the fragile political consensus undermined, the traditional patterns of life threatened. Most Christians are anxious about the current state of affairs; some are downright depressed about the prospects for the future. Such a situation challenges the talents of preachers. Pastors certainly must address this loss of hope. At the same time, they have a prophetic responsibility to remind those in the pews that Americans make up 6% of the world’s population and yet consume 40% of its goods and resources. Howard Rice, recently elected moderator of the UPCUSA, illuminates the crux of the issue in these words:

    We need to take some more-than-symbolic actions to reduce our dependence on luxuries, reduce our traveling, endless meetings, consumption of energy, and in some way begin to act as the people of God in a world of limited resources and energy. Our standard of living isn’t possible any more. The Gospel will not permit us to live this way any more.(5)

    The other related cultural issue is what Bruce Robertson has termed the “pathological self-preoccupation” of Americans. The evidence for such a label abounds. Self-assertion books proliferate and dominate the best-seller lists. The “I’ve got mine, you get yours” message is drummed into the national consciousness by the media. On a recent Johnny Carson show, the author of one of the best-selling self-help books related with pride an incident in a bakery when an elderly woman began to pour out her troubles to him. He cut her off in mid-sentence: “Lady, you must have me confused with someone who cares about you and wants to hear about your problems.” Such attitudes of brazen selfishness are finding acceptance in this society; the threat of increasingly secularized communities of faith is very real.

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    Another effect of the disease of self-interest is the growing tendency to define meaning in life in economic terms: position, salary, size of house, type and number of cars. The church has, for the most part, remained silent as the culture defined a person’s “net worth” according to the “financial assets minus liabilities” formula. It is now reaping the harvest of years of giving an inordinate amount of attention to the economic dimension of life while neglecting the spiritual dimension. This, too, is an “opening” for sermons. At the heart of the problem of rampant narcissism is the neglect of community relationships. Rugged individualism, ingrained in the American character from its origins, is reasserting itself. Traditional cultural and moral sanctions which once encouraged community consciousness no longer hold sway. Volunteer work is frowned upon as demeaning. In the religious sphere, the phrase “I have been born again” has become the entry fee into much of American Christendom. In allowing such individualistic piety to remain unchallenged, preachers have undermined the community of faith. Church members need to be reminded again and again that they are members of the Christian community by virtue of their acceptance of the lordship of Christ. Certainly, one of the goals of preaching is to enable those in the pew to understand the corporate dimension of the faith, to view life together as something to be celebrated, not simply endured. The energy crisis is real. Rampant self-interest is a fact of life. Despair about the present and anxiety about the future are part and parcel of life in twentieth century America. How then do preachers constructively apply the exegesis of the passage to the exegesis of the culture?

    Ill

    The Ananias and Sapphira narrative speaks specifically to the above concerns, especially in the context of stewardship emphasis. First of all, the passage encourages a broader perspective on stewardship. A good number of Christians confuse stewardship with the annual fund-raising efforts. The Greek word for stewardship, ΟΙΚΟΝΟΜΙΑ, combines the noun meaning “house” or “household” with the verb meaning “to distribute.” The idea behind the word stewardship, then, is the management of the resources of a family, not only of the biological family but of the middle-eastern extended family home.(6) Just as President Carter, in his televised energy speech last Summer, noted that the crisis in America is far deeper than the debate over the decontrol of the price of oil, so Luke argues that stewardship is more than the payment of a pledge. This pericope illustrates Luke’s point. Ananias and Sapphira thought that their generosity would be rewarded by increased standing in the community. But they radically misunderstood the nature of stewardship. The gift of possessions, while meeting the immediate needs of the community members, nevertheless symbolized the far greater commitment of self to God and others. Ananias wanted to write a check; God wanted the check writer. Secondly, this passage clearly illuminates the corporate dimension of the Christian faith. A community’s use of its possessions gives it its self-identity. In other words, a community’s witness is largely determined by the use to which it puts its resources. If churches insist upon being islands of affluence in a sea of poverty, then their proclamation of the Gospel will be hollow and have no integrity. If, on the other hand, the communities of Christ demonstrate through their stewardship of possessions that they are committed to serving the needs of the larger human

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    community, then its witness will be authentic. Finally, this narrative proclaims that stewardship is serious. It is far more than a dollar dropped in the collection plate, even more than a successful Every Member Canvass. Stewardship is the community’s response to the grace of God. It is the acknowledgement that God continues to call out persons and bind them together in service in his name.

    IV

    There are many ways to preach this passage. Preachers can focus on the difference between Barnabas and Ananias and Sapphira, on the role of the Holy Spirit in the Christian community, or, by comparing Ananias with Achan, on the individual in relationship to the community. A first-person monologue in which the preacher (as Luke) tries to explain his theological concerns to his community, followed by an evaluation of how well he succeeded, is another possibility. One of the biggest problems that the church has faced in its history has been the tendency to view the New Testament, especially the troublesome parts, as only relevant for the first century of the world. The result is that biblical principles are not always applied to situations which are not “biblical” in nature (dehumanizing technology, the energy crisis, etc.). But Christians must realize that they can see themselves in the Bible, and thus, can gain self-understanding from the Scriptures. So it is with this passage. Luke’s message is aimed at a specific Gentile audience, but it speaks just as clearly to the communities of faith in the twentieth century. It deserves a second look.

    (1) Johnson, Luke T., The Literary Function of Possessions in Luke-Acts. SBL Dissertation Series 39. (Missoula: Scholar’s Press, 1977), p. 15. (2) Ibid., p. 172. (3) Ibid., p. 310. (4) Bruce, F. F., The Book of Acts, The New International Commentary on the New Testament. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1954), p. 113. (5) Quoted in The Presbyterian Outlook, July 9, 1979. (6) Rooy, Sidney, “The Stewardship of Gifts in the Universal Church” in The Reformed Journal 29:2 (Feb. 79), p. 16.