Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.”
It seems a fair enough request to a Rabbi who might just know the law of inheritance or might just be willing to argue a different perspective for the rights of a younger son or a disinherited child. But we don’t know where the speaker comes in the family order, so we really can’t tell what he wants.
Still, it seems a fair enough request to a Rabbi who was interested in justice and fairness, who had told a story not so long ago in the text about a Good Samaritan who flouted the conventions of the time and the danger of a lonely road to care for a destitute stranger.
Yes, it seems a fair enough request…
Yet like a good Rabbi, frustratingly like a good Rabbi, the Rabbi does not answer with an answer but rather, another question, “Who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” “Who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?”
What kind of question is this? Perhaps, it is a rhetorical one that really means “Get away with you. Why are you bothering me with this?” Maybe it is another invitation to identify the identity of this Rabbi like no other: “Well God, of course, gave you the right to judgement or arbitration!” Or perhaps, just perhaps, it is an invitation to think a little differently about the dilemma in which the person in the crowd seems to find himself. And yes, according to the text, it is a he; but then women didn’t get much of a look in in the inheritance stakes in first century societies.
But then, there is a diatribe about the pitfalls of greed. Surely this is the judgement that the Rabbi questions his competence or right or responsibility to give. What’s really going on here?
If it is an invitation to think about the dilemma a little differently, then the Rabbi goes on to provide a judgement anyway. What is really going on here?
Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.”
It is the someone in the crowd who comes seeking a judgement but not upon himself, upon his brother. And the Rabbi produces a judgement upon the someone.
But it would be too easy to preach a sermon against the extravagances and injustices of greed. And you probably know all about that. I certainly do. After all, Australia comes about 12th in the worldwide prosperity stakes, and we’re pretty good consumers.
But morality barely touches the surface of the depth of this intriguing passage. And moralism would be far too easy.
No, the key to this passage doesn’t lie in the injunction against greed or the warning about bigger barns, although such a warning may certainly be warranted. No, the key to this passage lies in the tag, the sting in the tail, the reference to the superiority of being rich toward God—being rich toward God. But what does this really mean?
You’d think once we’d located the key, we’d be well and truly on track, wouldn’t you? But it seems that this key just raises more questions than it answers too. This key is more like another puzzle which needs another key, another solution, another answer, another response. But I bet if we asked this Rabbi, we’d receive another enigmatic response again.
What would we ask anyway? What must I do to be rich toward God? It sounds an awful lot like a question asked not so long ago in the text: What must I do to inherit eternal life? It was asked by a lawyer who, for his trouble, got an admonition about loving God and loving neighbour. Although, he wasn’t particularly satisfied with that, so he kept on asking and received a story about a man whom the lawyer might not have recognised as being a neighbour but yet was a neighbour to someone who needed a friend, indeed a rescuer, a saviour. Perhaps things are becoming a little clearer—or not.
The Rabbi is asked for a judgement: a judgement upon a brother; a judgement upon a neighbour. And the seeker receives a judgement upon himself; upon his seeking. And the judgement seems to be pointing back to something a little earlier about loving God and loving neighbour; and a strange story about a strange rescuer.
Judgement upon another was not a part of the parable of the Good Samaritan; mercy was. And this diatribe about greed too is not so much a judgement upon the someone in the crowd, but an act of mercy pointing to the “better part” chosen by Mary of Bethany while Martha is distracted. That wasn’t so long ago in the text either.
These better barns and this question about inheritance, are they distractions too? Or perhaps detours up wrong paths. The Rabbi seems to be saying that, even if we could achieve what this someone in the crowd might want to achieve: the laying up of ample goods, allowing a life of relaxation, eating, drinking and merry-making, it would be for nothing. Judgement may come before we have achieved what we want to achieve. Or it may come after we have achieved what we want to achieve. More likely, it will come while we are trying to achieve what we want to achieve. But whenever it comes, what won’t be significant is what we have achieved or not, or how relaxed and comfortable we are. It will be where we are at with God. And where we are at with God depends on us seeking the riches of God… or does it?
The riches of God have nothing to do with what we can or want to achieve. The riches of God have nothing to do with what we seek or what we find. The riches of God have already been achieved for us in the person of the Rabbi himself, judge and arbitrator, redeemer and saviour.
And then, what is required of us is not a striving for riches but a response to the riches already received and that response consists in the love of God and the love of neighbour. This response is not one that can be achieved or accomplished. It does not have a beginning or an ending. It is not all that complicated. It hardly seems possible that we might have missed it. Rather, it is just what it means to be overwhelmed by the gift of freedom that we find in Christ, by the gift of re-creation that we have been given in Christ, by the gift of renewal that comes to us through Christ.
Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.”
The Rabbi just might have said, “You already have what’s coming to you. Sit back and enjoy it which is to say, respond to this gracious gift by honouring the one from whom it comes and nurturing one another in the riches of this grace.” And that my friends, is now and always has been the guts of the Gospel, and the inheritance of eternal life.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
On Taking Responsiblity
Someone comes to Jesus asking him to settle a dispute in the family. That is, after all, one of the things that rabbis could be called upon to do. And yet, in the tradition of the wise judges, a dispute settlement is never just that. It’s also a teaching moment. So, as is quite common in rabbinic discussion, the teacher turns the question back on the seeker, the student—“Friend, who set me to be judge or arbitrator over you?”
“Friend, who sets me as judge? Perhaps it is you. You are the one who seeks. But what is it that you seek? Do you come seeking wealth? Be careful of your greed. You might spend a lifetime seeking wealth, only to discover that you have never enjoyed life. What is it that you seek in this request for judgement? Is it worth more than your relationship with your brother?”
As humans, we are often tempted to appeal to external authorities for gain. And yet, what is the gain that we seek? Jesus asks the seeker to really examine the priorities in life; and to consider the request that is made—“Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?”
This passage reminds us to be careful in our appeals to divine judgement and arbitration because we just may find that that judgement falls on ourselves because our priorities are skewed. It asks us to take seriously God’s call to relationship in the entirety of our lives—even in situations of the seeking of judgement and justice.
This passage also reminds us of God’s mercy, because surely if judgement was truly made, none of us would be found innocent in our actions and in our motives.
This passage invites us to focus on the things that are important in a life centred on God; and to set aside those things that don’t fit.
This passage invites us to take responsibility for God’s judgement, which is God’s mercy, in our interactions with others.
“Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you? It is better that you take responsibility for your own decisions, because those decisions are what makes your life the life that it is—one centred on God; or one dedicated to building bigger barns.”
“Friend, who sets me as judge? Perhaps it is you. You are the one who seeks. But what is it that you seek? Do you come seeking wealth? Be careful of your greed. You might spend a lifetime seeking wealth, only to discover that you have never enjoyed life. What is it that you seek in this request for judgement? Is it worth more than your relationship with your brother?”
As humans, we are often tempted to appeal to external authorities for gain. And yet, what is the gain that we seek? Jesus asks the seeker to really examine the priorities in life; and to consider the request that is made—“Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?”
This passage reminds us to be careful in our appeals to divine judgement and arbitration because we just may find that that judgement falls on ourselves because our priorities are skewed. It asks us to take seriously God’s call to relationship in the entirety of our lives—even in situations of the seeking of judgement and justice.
This passage also reminds us of God’s mercy, because surely if judgement was truly made, none of us would be found innocent in our actions and in our motives.
This passage invites us to focus on the things that are important in a life centred on God; and to set aside those things that don’t fit.
This passage invites us to take responsibility for God’s judgement, which is God’s mercy, in our interactions with others.
“Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you? It is better that you take responsibility for your own decisions, because those decisions are what makes your life the life that it is—one centred on God; or one dedicated to building bigger barns.”
Persistence in Prayer
The Gospel reading (Luke 11:1-13) reminds us to be persistent in discipleship: persistent in prayer; persistent in bringing our case and the needs of the world before God. The model of what we know as the Lord’s Prayer is provided. So does God need our persistence, or is this something about the need to us to continually be enfolded in the persistence of God?
Prayer can so often be understood as our asking God to do something for us or others; but does God really need us to tell God what to do?
My absolute favourite chapter in the scriptures is Romans 8. That chapter reminds us that it is the Spirit who prays through us, and that the act of prayer is God’s action of joining our wills to God’s purpose. It is God’s activity of forming us as God’s people and enfolding us into God’s mission in the world.
In the face of God’s persistent, we are called to persistence in opening ourselves to God in prayer for God to work in and through us.
Seeking One, you are the beginning and the end of our search.
Finding One, you are the alpha and omega of all discovery.
Asking One, you are the voice and the silence of our exploration.
Giving One, you are the fullness and the emptiness of all yearning.
Persistent One, you never abandon your search for us,
nor tire of our repetitive toings and froings.
Receiving One, you endlessly welcome us home,
and spread before us a feast
in the face of our constant requests for mere morsels of bread.
Search us, O God, and find within us the secrets we hide.
Ask us, O God, and receive from within us the pain we bear.
Keep knocking at the door of our lives
until we open our wills to your purpose,
our lives to your life, and our yearning to your hope. Amen.
Prayer can so often be understood as our asking God to do something for us or others; but does God really need us to tell God what to do?
My absolute favourite chapter in the scriptures is Romans 8. That chapter reminds us that it is the Spirit who prays through us, and that the act of prayer is God’s action of joining our wills to God’s purpose. It is God’s activity of forming us as God’s people and enfolding us into God’s mission in the world.
26 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.
In the face of God’s persistent, we are called to persistence in opening ourselves to God in prayer for God to work in and through us.
Seeking One, you are the beginning and the end of our search.
Finding One, you are the alpha and omega of all discovery.
Asking One, you are the voice and the silence of our exploration.
Giving One, you are the fullness and the emptiness of all yearning.
Persistent One, you never abandon your search for us,
nor tire of our repetitive toings and froings.
Receiving One, you endlessly welcome us home,
and spread before us a feast
in the face of our constant requests for mere morsels of bread.
Search us, O God, and find within us the secrets we hide.
Ask us, O God, and receive from within us the pain we bear.
Keep knocking at the door of our lives
until we open our wills to your purpose,
our lives to your life, and our yearning to your hope. Amen.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
A Prayer of Adoration & Confession
Seeking One, you are the beginning and the end of our search.
Finding One, you are the alpha and omega of all discovery.
Asking One, you are the voice and the silence of our exploration.
Giving One, you are the fullness and the emptiness of all yearning.
Persistent One, you never abandon your search for us,
nor tire of our repetitive toings and froings.
Receiving One, you endlessly welcome us home,
and spread before us a feast
in the face of our constant requests for mere morsels of bread.
Search us, O God, and find within us the secrets we hide.
Ask us, O God, and receive from within us the pain we bear.
Keep knocking at the door of our lives
until we open our wills to your purpose,
our lives to your life, and our yearning to your hope.
When we forget to seek you and discover that we have lost our place:
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
When we ask once and leave it at that:
Christ, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
When we draw back from knocking, lest we disturb you:
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
Strengthen our courage; bolster our endurance;
spur us onward in your way in our world
through the power of the Holy Spirit
and the name of Christ.
Amen.
Finding One, you are the alpha and omega of all discovery.
Asking One, you are the voice and the silence of our exploration.
Giving One, you are the fullness and the emptiness of all yearning.
Persistent One, you never abandon your search for us,
nor tire of our repetitive toings and froings.
Receiving One, you endlessly welcome us home,
and spread before us a feast
in the face of our constant requests for mere morsels of bread.
Search us, O God, and find within us the secrets we hide.
Ask us, O God, and receive from within us the pain we bear.
Keep knocking at the door of our lives
until we open our wills to your purpose,
our lives to your life, and our yearning to your hope.
When we forget to seek you and discover that we have lost our place:
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
When we ask once and leave it at that:
Christ, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
When we draw back from knocking, lest we disturb you:
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
Strengthen our courage; bolster our endurance;
spur us onward in your way in our world
through the power of the Holy Spirit
and the name of Christ.
Amen.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Discipleship
The story of Mary and Martha (Luke 10:38-42) is an extraordinary one; not least for the ways that it has been used extraordinarily to suggest that busy people (especially women) are somehow less the servants that they appear to be. In this way, the story has often created a double bind for people who take responsibility for many tasks, only to discover that their sense of responsibility is not really appreciated, and may in fact be denigrated as “less holy” than the activity of another.
But in its context, this story was never meant to be another weapon to bludgeon busy people (especially women) over the head with. Rather, it was a story about the freedom of the service of Christ.
Mary is permitted to sit in the place of a disciple of a rabbi—“at his feet”, i.e. learning in dialogue with him. She is allowed a freedom not normally given to women. She is treated and accepted as a disciple of a rabbi.
Martha is offered the opportunity to try something different—not to be burdened by the responsibilities that fell to her because of her gender and her position in the household; but to accept the new responsibility of the disciple of Jesus.
This story is not a juxtaposition of the active and contemplative life. The responsibility of the disciple of a rabbi was the responsibility of engagement also. Rabbinic teaching and learning occurs in dialogue between teacher and student; and sometimes it may be that the student offers a new thought or insight to the teacher as well as vice versa.
Rather this story is an invitation to everybody to be Jesus’ disciples. Whether it’s a fishing net or the washing up that you have to leave behind to travel as a disciple; whether you are female or male; whether you are the eldest or the youngest; whether you are Jew or Gentile (as Paul reminds us in Colossians 1:15-28), you are called to be a disciple of the one who has reconciled all things in his very life, death and resurrection.
But in its context, this story was never meant to be another weapon to bludgeon busy people (especially women) over the head with. Rather, it was a story about the freedom of the service of Christ.
Mary is permitted to sit in the place of a disciple of a rabbi—“at his feet”, i.e. learning in dialogue with him. She is allowed a freedom not normally given to women. She is treated and accepted as a disciple of a rabbi.
Martha is offered the opportunity to try something different—not to be burdened by the responsibilities that fell to her because of her gender and her position in the household; but to accept the new responsibility of the disciple of Jesus.
This story is not a juxtaposition of the active and contemplative life. The responsibility of the disciple of a rabbi was the responsibility of engagement also. Rabbinic teaching and learning occurs in dialogue between teacher and student; and sometimes it may be that the student offers a new thought or insight to the teacher as well as vice versa.
Rather this story is an invitation to everybody to be Jesus’ disciples. Whether it’s a fishing net or the washing up that you have to leave behind to travel as a disciple; whether you are female or male; whether you are the eldest or the youngest; whether you are Jew or Gentile (as Paul reminds us in Colossians 1:15-28), you are called to be a disciple of the one who has reconciled all things in his very life, death and resurrection.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Who is My Neighbour?
Year C Ordinary Sunday 15—9.30 am, 11 July 2010—Armidale Uniting Church—Luke 10:25-37
The story of the Good Samaritan is a very familiar one. In fact, it’s so familiar that it’s a bit of a problem. It’s a problem because it’s a parable that has almost totally been reduced to a good moral story. So, it doesn’t quite have the impact of its original telling. It doesn’t quite have the impact of a story which challenges and turns upside down our understandings about life and about God. It’s a bit of a problem really.
But it’s not quite so much of a problem if we put the story back into its context. If we remember to read it in the context in which Luke puts this parable.
Someone well versed in the law of the Jews comes to Jesus to put him to the test. The lawyer’s intent is to check Jesus out. Perhaps he wants to catch Jesus out. Perhaps he wants to decide whether Jesus is someone who can be talked to and trusted, who can be regarded as really knowing the truth about life. For whatever reason, the lawyer is said to have asked of Jesus, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Now maybe the lawyer has come searching and the question is an honest one and maybe the lawyer is just trying to make a point about the orthodoxy, the rightness, of Jesus’ views. But for whatever reason, the question is asked and an answer is given but it’s a cautious one. In fact, it’s not an answer at all, it’s another question, “Well what does the law say about it?” And before the lawyer can blink, he is providing the answer to his question himself.
“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.”
And Jesus responds, “You have answered right; do this, and you will live.”
Now it looks just a little bit stupid to have turned up asking a question of Jesus, giving him the respect due a Rabbi if you provide the answer to the question yourself. The lawyer wants to engage Jesus in a rabbinic discussion. This exchange is too short. So to save face, to prove that his question is legitimate or to show that he is honestly seeking the way of God, the lawyer asks, “Well then, who is my neighbour?” And before we can blink, Jesus has told the story of a man who was going from Jerusalem to Jericho.
Now I guess that you know that it was a rough road. And I know you remember that the story says the man was robbed, beaten and left for dead, that a Levite passed by and a priest but neither stopped to see what was going on. And I know that you know that in Jesus’ story it was a Samaritan who offered assistance to the man, who took him to an inn and who paid the man’s keep until the Samaritan could return.
But the story isn’t really an answer, so far as answers go. Rather, it is another question, a challenge to the assumptions which are behind the lawyer’s approach to Jesus. Thus the story concludes, “Which of these three, do you think, proved neighbour to the man who fell among the robbers?” “Which of these three, do you think, proved neighbour to the man who fell among the robbers?”
And the lawyer jumps in quickly and says, “The one who showed mercy on him.” And Jesus says, “Go and do likewise.”
Now the question that the lawyer asks is “who is my neighbour?” and the question which Jesus asks is “who was neighbour to the man?” And it would be easy to say that Jesus is making a point to the lawyer about the fact that rather than determining who are the neighbours who should be loved, he should be making neighbours by loving those around him and especially those in great need. That would make the story of the Good Samaritan a nice little moral tale with a good and reasonable message—a reasonable exegesis.
Or we could listen more carefully to the question that the lawyer asks is “who is my neighbour?” and the question which Jesus asks is “who was neighbour to the man?” and think about the lawyer being cast not as Levite or priest or even Samaritan but as the beaten and half dead man on the road. And then our story just might become a parable which challenges and turns upside down the presuppositions which the lawyer has brought to this conversation with Jesus.
You see, the lawyer has come as one who thinks that he knows or that he can know truth, that he can obtain eternal life, on his own, by himself, by doing certain things. Love of God and of neighbour are works which will unlock the door to eternal life as soon as he can understand how to do them perfectly.
But Jesus says, “Uh uh, see yourself for a moment not as the one who brings all the resources, all the knowledge, all the ability. See yourself as the one who has been beaten and nearly destroyed, who needs love and friendship, especially the love of a neighbour. See yourself as one in a position not to be able to choose who is your neighbour. See yourself as one who is chosen as neighbour by another. And not by someone in your own class, but by someone whom you would consider not to be orthodox, not to be right, not to be worthy, not to be able to receive eternal life, a Samaritan.”
“Then, see your neighbour as the unexpected one who offers you life without strings attached. See neighbourliness as being founded in grace and not in pedantics or legalism. Now tell me this, which one of those three was the man’s neighbour?” Of course, it is obvious and the lawyer replies, “The one who showed mercy on him.” And Jesus says, “Go and do likewise.”
“Now that you know that being a neighbour is a precious gift, a gift of grace, not something to be argued and defined or clarified with a hundred minor rules. Now you know this, go and be a true neighbour. Now you know that being a neighbour is not patronisingly offering the crumbs from your table but truly loving and caring unconditionally and without thought of reward, go and do the same. Now that you know that being a neighbour is recognising the worth of those whom you would reject, go and do likewise.” And we can only presume that the lawyer did because that is where our story ends.
But the story doesn’t really end there because that story is our story too. And we could easily ask the question that the lawyer asked “Who is my neighbour?” and look for the same easy answers, instead of hearing the question that Jesus asks “Who was neighbour to that man?” and seeing ourselves as the ones in need of neighbourliness, and seeing those others whom we had thought to be neighbourly towards as the ones who just might offer themselves to us. And perhaps in turning our assumptions upside down, we might discover something about real neighbourliness.
In our world, those neighbours who offer us something of themselves are not always the people we would wish them to be. They come from different cultural backgrounds. They have different beliefs. They have different ideas about the world and how we should live in it. They have different ways of living. They come from far away like the many asylum seekers in our world. They may be as close as our children and grandchildren who live different lives in different ways from the lives we have lived. They may be the people we pass each day in the street or those we only see on the television or read about in the newspapers.
All of these people have lives of their own, unique gifts of their own, unique contributions to make to us. All of those people are our neighbours—not because they need us, but because we need them to make our lives whole. We need them to share with us their insights, their ideas, their hopes, their dreams, their visions. Because together, not alone, we are called to be neighbours, part of the promised realm of Christ which is already being fulfilled in our midst.
“Who is your neighbour?”
“Who has been neighbour to you?”
“Go then and do the same.”
The story of the Good Samaritan is a very familiar one. In fact, it’s so familiar that it’s a bit of a problem. It’s a problem because it’s a parable that has almost totally been reduced to a good moral story. So, it doesn’t quite have the impact of its original telling. It doesn’t quite have the impact of a story which challenges and turns upside down our understandings about life and about God. It’s a bit of a problem really.
But it’s not quite so much of a problem if we put the story back into its context. If we remember to read it in the context in which Luke puts this parable.
Someone well versed in the law of the Jews comes to Jesus to put him to the test. The lawyer’s intent is to check Jesus out. Perhaps he wants to catch Jesus out. Perhaps he wants to decide whether Jesus is someone who can be talked to and trusted, who can be regarded as really knowing the truth about life. For whatever reason, the lawyer is said to have asked of Jesus, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Now maybe the lawyer has come searching and the question is an honest one and maybe the lawyer is just trying to make a point about the orthodoxy, the rightness, of Jesus’ views. But for whatever reason, the question is asked and an answer is given but it’s a cautious one. In fact, it’s not an answer at all, it’s another question, “Well what does the law say about it?” And before the lawyer can blink, he is providing the answer to his question himself.
“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.”
And Jesus responds, “You have answered right; do this, and you will live.”
Now it looks just a little bit stupid to have turned up asking a question of Jesus, giving him the respect due a Rabbi if you provide the answer to the question yourself. The lawyer wants to engage Jesus in a rabbinic discussion. This exchange is too short. So to save face, to prove that his question is legitimate or to show that he is honestly seeking the way of God, the lawyer asks, “Well then, who is my neighbour?” And before we can blink, Jesus has told the story of a man who was going from Jerusalem to Jericho.
Now I guess that you know that it was a rough road. And I know you remember that the story says the man was robbed, beaten and left for dead, that a Levite passed by and a priest but neither stopped to see what was going on. And I know that you know that in Jesus’ story it was a Samaritan who offered assistance to the man, who took him to an inn and who paid the man’s keep until the Samaritan could return.
But the story isn’t really an answer, so far as answers go. Rather, it is another question, a challenge to the assumptions which are behind the lawyer’s approach to Jesus. Thus the story concludes, “Which of these three, do you think, proved neighbour to the man who fell among the robbers?” “Which of these three, do you think, proved neighbour to the man who fell among the robbers?”
And the lawyer jumps in quickly and says, “The one who showed mercy on him.” And Jesus says, “Go and do likewise.”
Now the question that the lawyer asks is “who is my neighbour?” and the question which Jesus asks is “who was neighbour to the man?” And it would be easy to say that Jesus is making a point to the lawyer about the fact that rather than determining who are the neighbours who should be loved, he should be making neighbours by loving those around him and especially those in great need. That would make the story of the Good Samaritan a nice little moral tale with a good and reasonable message—a reasonable exegesis.
Or we could listen more carefully to the question that the lawyer asks is “who is my neighbour?” and the question which Jesus asks is “who was neighbour to the man?” and think about the lawyer being cast not as Levite or priest or even Samaritan but as the beaten and half dead man on the road. And then our story just might become a parable which challenges and turns upside down the presuppositions which the lawyer has brought to this conversation with Jesus.
You see, the lawyer has come as one who thinks that he knows or that he can know truth, that he can obtain eternal life, on his own, by himself, by doing certain things. Love of God and of neighbour are works which will unlock the door to eternal life as soon as he can understand how to do them perfectly.
But Jesus says, “Uh uh, see yourself for a moment not as the one who brings all the resources, all the knowledge, all the ability. See yourself as the one who has been beaten and nearly destroyed, who needs love and friendship, especially the love of a neighbour. See yourself as one in a position not to be able to choose who is your neighbour. See yourself as one who is chosen as neighbour by another. And not by someone in your own class, but by someone whom you would consider not to be orthodox, not to be right, not to be worthy, not to be able to receive eternal life, a Samaritan.”
“Then, see your neighbour as the unexpected one who offers you life without strings attached. See neighbourliness as being founded in grace and not in pedantics or legalism. Now tell me this, which one of those three was the man’s neighbour?” Of course, it is obvious and the lawyer replies, “The one who showed mercy on him.” And Jesus says, “Go and do likewise.”
“Now that you know that being a neighbour is a precious gift, a gift of grace, not something to be argued and defined or clarified with a hundred minor rules. Now you know this, go and be a true neighbour. Now you know that being a neighbour is not patronisingly offering the crumbs from your table but truly loving and caring unconditionally and without thought of reward, go and do the same. Now that you know that being a neighbour is recognising the worth of those whom you would reject, go and do likewise.” And we can only presume that the lawyer did because that is where our story ends.
But the story doesn’t really end there because that story is our story too. And we could easily ask the question that the lawyer asked “Who is my neighbour?” and look for the same easy answers, instead of hearing the question that Jesus asks “Who was neighbour to that man?” and seeing ourselves as the ones in need of neighbourliness, and seeing those others whom we had thought to be neighbourly towards as the ones who just might offer themselves to us. And perhaps in turning our assumptions upside down, we might discover something about real neighbourliness.
In our world, those neighbours who offer us something of themselves are not always the people we would wish them to be. They come from different cultural backgrounds. They have different beliefs. They have different ideas about the world and how we should live in it. They have different ways of living. They come from far away like the many asylum seekers in our world. They may be as close as our children and grandchildren who live different lives in different ways from the lives we have lived. They may be the people we pass each day in the street or those we only see on the television or read about in the newspapers.
All of these people have lives of their own, unique gifts of their own, unique contributions to make to us. All of those people are our neighbours—not because they need us, but because we need them to make our lives whole. We need them to share with us their insights, their ideas, their hopes, their dreams, their visions. Because together, not alone, we are called to be neighbours, part of the promised realm of Christ which is already being fulfilled in our midst.
“Who is your neighbour?”
“Who has been neighbour to you?”
“Go then and do the same.”
Prevenient Grace
Emmaus Walk--Northern Inland--July 2010
I vividly remember the time when I first became aware that God loved me, God loved me just for who I was, not for who I could be or I should be.
I was a fairly anxious child, always trying to get things right and to do the right thing. In hindsight, I know now that perhaps just a little of that came from my parents being very busy and very worried about the world; and I caught that worry well and truly. I would cry myself to sleep most night worrying about all sorts of the things—the end of the world, whether I would be a better person tomorrow; and I didn’t really have a sense of being loved and feeling secure.
It was at an Easter Camp that somehow the message was given and I finally received it, that God loved me, not for the future and for my potential, but just because, just because I was me, a creature of God’s good creation.
It is the very nature of God to have grace, to be gracious, to offer God’s self generously and without reserve to the creation that God has so lovingly made. The very act of creation is an act of God’s grace.
Before we know anything about God, God has already been at work in our lives—creating us, forming us, shaping us.
In Psalm 139 (NRSV), we read:
All things come from God; and everything we know has its origin in God.
The Psalmist is Psalm 8 (NRSV) wonders at God’s interest in human beings in the context of the wonder of creation:
The word “grace” comes from the Greek word charis meaning gift. Grace is not simply carrying yourself with style; nor is it overlooking something that might otherwise have bothered you. Grace is the absolute, unprovoked, unconditional generosity of God. God creates us, God reconciles us and God makes us holy through absolutely no effort of our own. God is above all things, and beyond all things and precedes all things in God’s great works of creation, redemption and sanctification—making us, liberating us and sustaining us as God’s people.
Now just as we understand there to be only one God—in 3 persons (Father, Son and Holy Spirit; Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer), so we also understand grace as one thing—the very nature of God—but we also think about it having 3 forms.
We think about God’s grace as being:
1. Prevenient (i.e. making and preparing the creation including us);
2. Justifying (i.e. accepting and saving God’s wandering creatures, us,); and
3. Sanctifying (i.e. sustaining and continuing to form us as the people of God for God’s mission in the world).
In this talk, we’re focussing on “prevenient grace”, but remember there’s only one grace, the very nature of God—we just like separating out the different ways in which that grace is at work in our lives.
The word “prevenient” comes from the Latin praevenire meaning “to come before”. God made us in God’s image for relationships. Just as the very nature of God is relational—to be in communion in 3 persons; so it is part of our very created nature to long and yearn for relationship. And the only satisfactory, fulfilling relationship is the one that we have with our Creator, with God. In this respect, we can talk about human beings as being “the glory of God’s creation” because we understand ourselves to be made particularly for relationship with God. And in that, we are also the hope of God’s creation—the hope of God being in relationship with the creation. God’s utter desire is to be in relationship with God’s creation and particularly with humankind, with us.
God’s grace comes before everything because grace is the very nature of God. Before we know God, God knew us. Before we fail God, God loved us. Before we honour God, God creates and awakens us for relationship. Everything we have comes from God; and everything we know has its origin in God. We have been gifted with all this through the graciousness of God—God’s utter, unprovoked, unconditional desire to share God’s self with us.
I remember when I was perhaps most fully able to accept just that—to accept that everything we have is God’s gift. I’d been working with a distance theological education college for nearly 7 years and the last 2 had been absolutely horrific in terms of workload—first as I oversaw the establishment of the postgraduate programs and then as I took on the role of Acting Principal. I was offered a preferential interview for the role of Principal and just before I was due to get on the plane to go to it, I realised that I could simply not sustain the intensity any longer. Taking on the role of Principal would be detrimental to my health. So I got on the plane to tell the interview panel that I couldn’t take on the role even if they decided they’d like me to continue. Of course, that left me with no place to go—I was looking at no job. I knew that I was too burnt out to even think about a congregational placement at that time; and I wasn’t really sure that anyone outside the church would want me in the state I was in. During the middle of that year, I had put in an application for the position of Lecturer in Liturgy & Theology at United Theological College in Sydney, more for my own sense of thinking about future possibilities than any real intuition that this was the job for me. I had already been knocked back on positions from the theological college in my own Synod. And then the position was offered, and Russell said to me, “This is the perfect role for you.” It was pure gift; and it helped me to understand those difficult final years at in my previous position as pure gift because of what they gave me; and it helped me to look back on so many parts of my life and say, “Even though I did not know it, God was there in my life and in the life God’s people.” Everything I have comes from God; and everything I enjoy or not, love or not, appreciate or not, has its origin in God.
Grace is utter good news for us. God created us. God loves us. God wants us to be in relationship so much that God is prepared to even enter God’s own creation in the person of Jesus (but that’s for another talk and someone else to tell you about). As creatures made in God’s image by God, we too are literally programmed for relationship—it’s in our “DNA” as human beings. And we are particularly created for relationship with God who will do all that God can to enable that relationship—all that God can except taking away our free will, our free decision to be in relationship with God. God will never force God’s self on us, because coerced or forced relationship is not relationship at all. God treats us with utter respect as unique and independent beings, despite the fact that God created us especially for God.
And this is God’s covenant with us. God created us for relationship. God promises us to always be open for and indeed enabling our relationship with God.
God’s covenant with us begins in creation; is present throughout human history, fully revealed in Jesus Christ; and present with us now through the work of the Holy Spirit. It is utter, unprovoked, unconditional gift—the eternal nature of God—God’s grace.
So, where do we get this wonderful gift? It’s not ours to buy or solicit, to beg or bargain for. God’s grace is fully revealed in the unique revelation of Jesus Christ, but it’s always with us; it’s encoded in our nature as God’s created beings, God’s creatures. And there are times when we just might catch a glimpse of just a slice of it as we confront the wonder of God’s good creation in the cycle of the seasons, of planting and growing and harvesting. And there are other times when we just might catch a glimpse of just a bit of it as we participate in Christian community, in the body of Christ, caring with and for each other. And there also may be those times when we are comforted, or challenged, or changed and we will know that it is God at work in our lives through the power of the Holy Spirit, working personally in us and interpersonally through others.
But it will never be something that we think we have brought about. It will never be something that we think we’ve earned or deserve. It will never be because of something that we could or should be. It will always be because of who we are and whose we are: God’s much loved, much sought, fragile, frail, glorious creatures—the ones that God wants so much to be in relationship with.
But mostly, of course, we will only recognise this truth in hindsight, as we look back on our lives and discover that God was there all along, even though we did not know it.
An anonymous writer in the Methodist tradition in the late 19th century expressed it this way:
The only question left is “What is your response?” to this previous, gracious gift.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
A long way from home, a long way from home.
I vividly remember the time when I first became aware that God loved me, God loved me just for who I was, not for who I could be or I should be.
I was a fairly anxious child, always trying to get things right and to do the right thing. In hindsight, I know now that perhaps just a little of that came from my parents being very busy and very worried about the world; and I caught that worry well and truly. I would cry myself to sleep most night worrying about all sorts of the things—the end of the world, whether I would be a better person tomorrow; and I didn’t really have a sense of being loved and feeling secure.
It was at an Easter Camp that somehow the message was given and I finally received it, that God loved me, not for the future and for my potential, but just because, just because I was me, a creature of God’s good creation.
It is the very nature of God to have grace, to be gracious, to offer God’s self generously and without reserve to the creation that God has so lovingly made. The very act of creation is an act of God’s grace.
Before we know anything about God, God has already been at work in our lives—creating us, forming us, shaping us.
In Psalm 139 (NRSV), we read:
13For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. 15My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. 16Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed.
All things come from God; and everything we know has its origin in God.
The Psalmist is Psalm 8 (NRSV) wonders at God’s interest in human beings in the context of the wonder of creation:
1 You have set your glory above the heavens… 3When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; 4what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? 5Yet you have made them a little lower than God, and crowned them with glory and honour. 6You have given them dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under their feet…
The word “grace” comes from the Greek word charis meaning gift. Grace is not simply carrying yourself with style; nor is it overlooking something that might otherwise have bothered you. Grace is the absolute, unprovoked, unconditional generosity of God. God creates us, God reconciles us and God makes us holy through absolutely no effort of our own. God is above all things, and beyond all things and precedes all things in God’s great works of creation, redemption and sanctification—making us, liberating us and sustaining us as God’s people.
Now just as we understand there to be only one God—in 3 persons (Father, Son and Holy Spirit; Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer), so we also understand grace as one thing—the very nature of God—but we also think about it having 3 forms.
We think about God’s grace as being:
1. Prevenient (i.e. making and preparing the creation including us);
2. Justifying (i.e. accepting and saving God’s wandering creatures, us,); and
3. Sanctifying (i.e. sustaining and continuing to form us as the people of God for God’s mission in the world).
In this talk, we’re focussing on “prevenient grace”, but remember there’s only one grace, the very nature of God—we just like separating out the different ways in which that grace is at work in our lives.
The word “prevenient” comes from the Latin praevenire meaning “to come before”. God made us in God’s image for relationships. Just as the very nature of God is relational—to be in communion in 3 persons; so it is part of our very created nature to long and yearn for relationship. And the only satisfactory, fulfilling relationship is the one that we have with our Creator, with God. In this respect, we can talk about human beings as being “the glory of God’s creation” because we understand ourselves to be made particularly for relationship with God. And in that, we are also the hope of God’s creation—the hope of God being in relationship with the creation. God’s utter desire is to be in relationship with God’s creation and particularly with humankind, with us.
God’s grace comes before everything because grace is the very nature of God. Before we know God, God knew us. Before we fail God, God loved us. Before we honour God, God creates and awakens us for relationship. Everything we have comes from God; and everything we know has its origin in God. We have been gifted with all this through the graciousness of God—God’s utter, unprovoked, unconditional desire to share God’s self with us.
I remember when I was perhaps most fully able to accept just that—to accept that everything we have is God’s gift. I’d been working with a distance theological education college for nearly 7 years and the last 2 had been absolutely horrific in terms of workload—first as I oversaw the establishment of the postgraduate programs and then as I took on the role of Acting Principal. I was offered a preferential interview for the role of Principal and just before I was due to get on the plane to go to it, I realised that I could simply not sustain the intensity any longer. Taking on the role of Principal would be detrimental to my health. So I got on the plane to tell the interview panel that I couldn’t take on the role even if they decided they’d like me to continue. Of course, that left me with no place to go—I was looking at no job. I knew that I was too burnt out to even think about a congregational placement at that time; and I wasn’t really sure that anyone outside the church would want me in the state I was in. During the middle of that year, I had put in an application for the position of Lecturer in Liturgy & Theology at United Theological College in Sydney, more for my own sense of thinking about future possibilities than any real intuition that this was the job for me. I had already been knocked back on positions from the theological college in my own Synod. And then the position was offered, and Russell said to me, “This is the perfect role for you.” It was pure gift; and it helped me to understand those difficult final years at in my previous position as pure gift because of what they gave me; and it helped me to look back on so many parts of my life and say, “Even though I did not know it, God was there in my life and in the life God’s people.” Everything I have comes from God; and everything I enjoy or not, love or not, appreciate or not, has its origin in God.
Grace is utter good news for us. God created us. God loves us. God wants us to be in relationship so much that God is prepared to even enter God’s own creation in the person of Jesus (but that’s for another talk and someone else to tell you about). As creatures made in God’s image by God, we too are literally programmed for relationship—it’s in our “DNA” as human beings. And we are particularly created for relationship with God who will do all that God can to enable that relationship—all that God can except taking away our free will, our free decision to be in relationship with God. God will never force God’s self on us, because coerced or forced relationship is not relationship at all. God treats us with utter respect as unique and independent beings, despite the fact that God created us especially for God.
And this is God’s covenant with us. God created us for relationship. God promises us to always be open for and indeed enabling our relationship with God.
We are not alone,
we live in God’s world.
We believe in God:
who has created and is creating,
who has come in Jesus,
the Word made flesh,
to reconcile and make new,
who works in us and others
by the Spirit.
We trust in God.
We are called to be the Church:
to celebrate God’s presence,
to live with respect in Creation,
to love and serve others,
to seek justice and resist evil,
to proclaim Jesus,
crucified and risen,
our judge and our hope.
In life, in death, in life beyond death,
God is with us. We are not alone.
Thanks be to God.
(The United Church of Canada, General Council 1968, alt. 1998)
God’s covenant with us begins in creation; is present throughout human history, fully revealed in Jesus Christ; and present with us now through the work of the Holy Spirit. It is utter, unprovoked, unconditional gift—the eternal nature of God—God’s grace.
So, where do we get this wonderful gift? It’s not ours to buy or solicit, to beg or bargain for. God’s grace is fully revealed in the unique revelation of Jesus Christ, but it’s always with us; it’s encoded in our nature as God’s created beings, God’s creatures. And there are times when we just might catch a glimpse of just a slice of it as we confront the wonder of God’s good creation in the cycle of the seasons, of planting and growing and harvesting. And there are other times when we just might catch a glimpse of just a bit of it as we participate in Christian community, in the body of Christ, caring with and for each other. And there also may be those times when we are comforted, or challenged, or changed and we will know that it is God at work in our lives through the power of the Holy Spirit, working personally in us and interpersonally through others.
But it will never be something that we think we have brought about. It will never be something that we think we’ve earned or deserve. It will never be because of something that we could or should be. It will always be because of who we are and whose we are: God’s much loved, much sought, fragile, frail, glorious creatures—the ones that God wants so much to be in relationship with.
But mostly, of course, we will only recognise this truth in hindsight, as we look back on our lives and discover that God was there all along, even though we did not know it.
An anonymous writer in the Methodist tradition in the late 19th century expressed it this way:
I sought the Lord, and afterward I knew
he moved my soul to seek him, seeking me.
It was not I that found, O Saviour true;
no I was found of thee.
Thou didst reach forth they hand and mine enfold;
I walked and sank not on the storm-vexed sea.
‘Twas not so much that I on thee took hold,
as thou, dear Lord, on me.
I find, I walk, I love, but oh, the whole
Of love is but my answer, Lord, to thee!
For thou wert long beforehand with my soul;
Always thou lovedst me.
The only question left is “What is your response?” to this previous, gracious gift.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Boast Only of Christ
Year C Ordinary Sunday 14 Sermon--2 Kings 5:1-14; Galatians 6:1-16; Luke 10:1-20
So Jesus sends disciples out—70 of them; and as they go, he warns them, “You won’t find the going easy, so you have to have some strategies in place. If people listen and respond, work with them. If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on. If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on.” Is this the Jesus we’re used to hearing, or at least thinking about? Is this really what Jesus said, what Jesus meant, what we’re supposed to do in Jesus’ name? “If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on.”
We want to believe that everyone can get it; that everyone will understand; but what if they don’t? We want to believe that we live in a Christian society, or at least one based on the Judaeo-Christian tradition; we want to feel secure that we share Christian values or values compatible with Christianity with our neighbours; but what if we don’t? And what do we do if we find ourselves in such a situation? What do we do if we realise that that’s the situation that we’ve been in all along? “If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on.”
We are living in a time when it is clear that not everyone does share the values that we would want to uphold. We certainly know that not everyone understands God in the way that we do. But where is the compassion with such an injunction: “If they don’t get it don’t waste your time. Move on.”?
If nothing else, Jesus’ words force us to confront the truth that we will not always find the message of Christ welcome in the places we inhabit. And to some extent, Jesus’ words let us off the hook: “If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on.” If you know the message is not getting through, then don’t waste your time, don’t waste your energy, don’t risk despair, ridicule and disheartenment. Move on.
But why? Why doesn’t Jesus say, “Persist”? “Never give up. Never give in. Never believe that all is lost. Always believe that you just might get my message across.”
As Galatians reminds us, other barriers don’t seem to get in the way of sharing the good news. Both Jews and Gentiles, both circumcised and uncircumcised may be part of God’s new creation in Christ Jesus. Why is the line in the sand, or rather the dust, drawn by Jesus here?
And then, the conclusion of the story in Luke indicates that the 70 received an amazing reception—that they rejoiced at the authority with which they’d been received. None of Jesus’ fears were realised apparently. And still Jesus cautions, although the caution is slightly different: “It’s not about what authority others give you. It’s about who you are in God.” “It’s not about what authority other give you. It’s about who you are in God.”
Whether people like you or don’t, whether people receive the message or not, it’s never about that. It’s always about who you are in God. You don’t need to save the world—God does that. You just need to be true to the good news. You don’t need to save the world. You just need to be true to the good news.
We can get so wrapped up in what we do, how we behave, what we achieve that it’s sometimes very easy to forget what we were doing it for, why we were behaving that way, or in whose name we were seeking to achieve. Jesus’ words remind us that it’s never about us in that sense. It’s always about us as the people whom we are in God.
For God requires very little of us. God doesn’t expect us to be God. God expects us to be us.
Naaman didn’t quite understand it either. He thought that something momentous should be required of him in order for him to be healed. He couldn’t believe that the prophet, by way of messenger, only asked him to bathe in the Jordan River.
He thought that it should have been the king who made the proclamation, but it was just a prophet and not even a prophet, but a prophet’s servant.
Naaman thought that the things of God needed to be bigger and grander and more difficult; but it was just a simple request from a servant that God demanded of Naaman. And this is all that God asks of us too—just something simple.
We humans want our lives to be grand, to be wonderful, to be larger than life, but that is not what God asks of us. God asks of us only that we honour God; only that we tell God’s story; only that we share the good news in word and deed. God doesn’t ask us to save the world, because that, friends, is God’s work. God just asks us to respond to that marvellous act of salvation.
“If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on.” Not because God does not care for them; not because things can’t change, but because God does not ask us to change them. We are not the source of such miraculous power. We are not the centre of such momentous action. We are just servants at the door of a prophet, and more than a prophet, of the reconciling one Jesus Christ. And God asks of us only this: that we deliver the message and move on.
And surely, in delivering the message, we will discover unexpectedly and joyfully, that God has used us in God’s work.
So Jesus sends disciples out—70 of them; and as they go, he warns them, “You won’t find the going easy, so you have to have some strategies in place. If people listen and respond, work with them. If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on. If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on.” Is this the Jesus we’re used to hearing, or at least thinking about? Is this really what Jesus said, what Jesus meant, what we’re supposed to do in Jesus’ name? “If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on.”
We want to believe that everyone can get it; that everyone will understand; but what if they don’t? We want to believe that we live in a Christian society, or at least one based on the Judaeo-Christian tradition; we want to feel secure that we share Christian values or values compatible with Christianity with our neighbours; but what if we don’t? And what do we do if we find ourselves in such a situation? What do we do if we realise that that’s the situation that we’ve been in all along? “If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on.”
We are living in a time when it is clear that not everyone does share the values that we would want to uphold. We certainly know that not everyone understands God in the way that we do. But where is the compassion with such an injunction: “If they don’t get it don’t waste your time. Move on.”?
If nothing else, Jesus’ words force us to confront the truth that we will not always find the message of Christ welcome in the places we inhabit. And to some extent, Jesus’ words let us off the hook: “If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on.” If you know the message is not getting through, then don’t waste your time, don’t waste your energy, don’t risk despair, ridicule and disheartenment. Move on.
But why? Why doesn’t Jesus say, “Persist”? “Never give up. Never give in. Never believe that all is lost. Always believe that you just might get my message across.”
As Galatians reminds us, other barriers don’t seem to get in the way of sharing the good news. Both Jews and Gentiles, both circumcised and uncircumcised may be part of God’s new creation in Christ Jesus. Why is the line in the sand, or rather the dust, drawn by Jesus here?
And then, the conclusion of the story in Luke indicates that the 70 received an amazing reception—that they rejoiced at the authority with which they’d been received. None of Jesus’ fears were realised apparently. And still Jesus cautions, although the caution is slightly different: “It’s not about what authority others give you. It’s about who you are in God.” “It’s not about what authority other give you. It’s about who you are in God.”
Whether people like you or don’t, whether people receive the message or not, it’s never about that. It’s always about who you are in God. You don’t need to save the world—God does that. You just need to be true to the good news. You don’t need to save the world. You just need to be true to the good news.
We can get so wrapped up in what we do, how we behave, what we achieve that it’s sometimes very easy to forget what we were doing it for, why we were behaving that way, or in whose name we were seeking to achieve. Jesus’ words remind us that it’s never about us in that sense. It’s always about us as the people whom we are in God.
For God requires very little of us. God doesn’t expect us to be God. God expects us to be us.
Naaman didn’t quite understand it either. He thought that something momentous should be required of him in order for him to be healed. He couldn’t believe that the prophet, by way of messenger, only asked him to bathe in the Jordan River.
He thought that it should have been the king who made the proclamation, but it was just a prophet and not even a prophet, but a prophet’s servant.
Naaman thought that the things of God needed to be bigger and grander and more difficult; but it was just a simple request from a servant that God demanded of Naaman. And this is all that God asks of us too—just something simple.
We humans want our lives to be grand, to be wonderful, to be larger than life, but that is not what God asks of us. God asks of us only that we honour God; only that we tell God’s story; only that we share the good news in word and deed. God doesn’t ask us to save the world, because that, friends, is God’s work. God just asks us to respond to that marvellous act of salvation.
“If they don’t get it, don’t waste your time. Move on.” Not because God does not care for them; not because things can’t change, but because God does not ask us to change them. We are not the source of such miraculous power. We are not the centre of such momentous action. We are just servants at the door of a prophet, and more than a prophet, of the reconciling one Jesus Christ. And God asks of us only this: that we deliver the message and move on.
And surely, in delivering the message, we will discover unexpectedly and joyfully, that God has used us in God’s work.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)