On Christ the solid rock I stand
Commentary
Object:
Edward Mote was a Baptist pastor in nineteenth-century England, serving for 26 years at Horshem in Sussex. If American Christians know him at all, it is for the hymn he wrote, "My Hope Is Built." There is a story that Mote was so beloved by his congregation that they once offered him the title to the church building. Mote declined, however, saying, "I do not want the chapel, I only want the pulpit; and when I cease to preach Christ, then turn me out of that."
Such single-minded purpose in preaching is reminiscent of the apostle Paul (1 Corinthians 1:23; 2 Corinthians 4:5). And if such a sense of focused purpose is not always ours, it must be ours this week. For this week, above all, we are called upon to preach Christ.
We must concede the point that it is easy to preach something else, something less.
It is easy for a preacher to play the part of a would-be columnist and preach personal opinion rather than gospel truth. It is natural for the person responsible for a church to use the pulpit to promote that church. It is gratifying to craft messages that evoke approval and affection from one's listeners. And it is tempting for a frustrated leader to turn his pulpit into a bully pulpit, indeed, by striking out against his opposition, obstacles, and critics from his unanswerable perch.
Our calling is higher than all of that, however. I have told my present congregation never to suspect that I am ever preaching merely about money or politics, for I believe that those subjects are too small for a sermon and too temporary for a pulpit that is dedicated to the proclamation of things eternal.
Our calling is to preach Christ. And if we give any attention at all to either of our New Testament lections this week, then we will have no choice but to preach him. Indeed, if we don't preach Christ, then perhaps the people of Edward Mote's old church in Sussex should come along and turn us out of our pulpits.
Jeremiah 31:7-14
We live in a biblically illiterate age. And that is as true of many of our churches as of our society as a whole. When we say that this morning's Old Testament text comes from Jeremiah, therefore, it probably will not mean enough to the people who hear it. We need to begin by establishing an introduction to Jeremiah -- a backdrop against which they can see and appreciate this excerpt from his book.
First, they need to know the times in which he lived. Jeremiah was a prophet in Jerusalem during the age when the Babylonian empire was spreading across and consuming the Fertile Crescent. Jeremiah lived among a people who understood themselves to be God's specially chosen and protected people, and to that people he had to preach a most unorthodox message: that God was going to use some other nation to destroy them. And Jeremiah watched as Judah's kings were coerced, Judah's people starved and captured, and Judah's capital wiped out by the seemingly invincible Babylonian army.
Second, they need to know Jeremiah's reputation. We call him "the weeping prophet" and coin the term "jeremiad" after him. This is the nature of his reputation. And he earned it by both the tone and content of his message, as well as the overwhelming grief of his life experience.
That, at a minimum, is what our people ought to know when they hear that the Old Testament reading comes from Jeremiah. Against that backdrop, then, let them hear these surprising words: "Sing aloud with gladness for Jacob, and raise shouts of joy for the chief of the nations." If it were an unidentified quote, we might place it in Psalms. But we'd take a dozen or so other guesses before thinking of Jeremiah.
Jeremiah is preaching good news here. It is not a retraction of the dire judgment warnings for which he is known, mind you, but this message is in addition to those. Indeed, this is a necessary addition, for the other message would be incomplete without it. To preach only the destruction would leave the impression that God's purpose was to obliterate his people. But, no. As the old liturgy said, God's "property is always to have mercy," and his purpose is always to redeem. To speak only of destruction, therefore, is to shortchange the message and to misunderstand the judgment.
We observe in those judgment message passages a high degree of description. The prophets do not limit themselves to simple declarative statements. Rather, they go to great lengths to paint pictures of what lies ahead. And so, in the case of Jeremiah, we meet with poetic descriptions of the people's condition (e.g., 2:13-19; 18:13-17), the prophet's anguish (e.g., 4:19-22; 8:18-9:2; 12:1-4; 20:7-10), and the coming terror (e.g., 4:5-17; 6:1-8, 22-30; 25:32-38).
Likewise, the promise of God's good future for his people is also highly descriptive. The messenger's skill and creativity are not exhausted on judgment. Rather, we see that this positive passage is a marvelous portrait of all manner of good that the Lord has in store.
First, there is the dramatic sense of the tables being turned. Where the people had been in such hopelessness and misery, now the scene is filled with images of joy and plenty (grain, wine, oil, a watered garden, dancing, merriment, fatness, and bounty). Furthermore, that change in the people's conditions is God's own doing. This is not mere fate, some roll of the dice. No, God himself has "ransomed" and "redeemed" them. And, in exceedingly personal imagery, he offers them consolation and comfort, and he personally turns "their mourning into joy" and gives them "gladness for sorrow." The whole scene anticipates the heavenly prospect of him wiping away all our tears from our eyes (Revelation 7:17; 21:4).
Second, in keeping with that personal touch, the good news is portrayed in relational terms. God is not at a distance -- the infamous divine watchmaker. No, he identifies himself as father and the people as his firstborn. He calls himself a shepherd and owns them as his flock. This is the gospel of a personally present God.
Third, we observe that there is a change in location. This is a significant detail for Jeremiah's generation since the judgment was so often portrayed in terms of an undesirable change of location -- that is, those who flee from their besieged and conquered homeland, plus those who are exiled off to Babylon. But now God will bring them back. Hence the language of "bring," "gather," and "from the farthest parts of the earth," as well as the promises of "walk(ing) by brooks of water" and enjoying "a straight path."
Finally, we see a global quality to this good news, which bears witness to the true sovereignty of God, as well as the breadth and comprehensiveness of his work. The announcement is made to all the nations, including "the coastlands far away." The gathering is "from the farthest parts of the earth." And it includes every imaginable person, specifically including those who might be overlooked, left behind, or unable to keep up -- "the blind and the lame, those with child and those in labor."
This is not the sort of message that we might naturally associate with Jeremiah. But it is precisely the sort of redemptive, personal, relational, and thorough good news that we associate with God.
Ephesians 1:3-14
When the time comes to read this New Testament lection during worship, you may want to precede it with this word of introduction: The passage you are about to hear was, originally, all one single sentence! (William Barclay, The Daily Study Bible Series: The Letters to the Galatians and Ephesians [Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1976], p. 76)
That is the fascinating trivia behind this week's epistle reading. What appears in our Bibles as a twelve-verse passage was, in Paul's original Greek, one very long sentence. Chances are that the English translations from which our people read have helpfully divided the passage into more manageable portions. The NRSV we are using, for example, breaks down the material into six sentences. Yet, even so, our people may still find it difficult reading, as Paul's thought flows enthusiastically from truth to truth.
This is not uncommon for Paul. One senses in his letters that he is frequently carried away by inspiration. Just when we think he is making a point or offering some teaching, he becomes so enthralled by the truth and beauty of what he proclaims that he gushes on, with little regard for sentence structure or punctuation.
This tendency was no doubt aided by the fact that at least some of Paul's letters were dictated rather than written by him. We all know that our spoken word may be less structured than our written word. Even if we don't realize it about ourselves in conversation, we often discover it when leaving a voicemail for someone. And so we can understand Paul -- and forgive his amanuensis -- for the excited complexity of the passage.
The text is so thick with doctrinal issues and affirmations of faith that we cannot possibly exposit the entire passage here -- or, most likely, in a single Sunday's sermon. What we can and should do, however, is highlight Paul's central focus: Jesus Christ.
Because of the sometimes uncertain use of personal pronouns, it is difficult to say with precision how many times Paul makes reference to Jesus here. By my conservative count, I would say that we see at least eleven explicit references in just twelve verses.
One approach to the text would be an examination of the recurring prepositional phrases and their meaning. Paul includes "of Christ," "in Christ," "on Christ," and "through Jesus Christ." The truths contained in each phrase would be worthy of our meditation.
Another approach to the text that I would consider is a relational approach. That is to say, how does Paul portray here the relationship between Christ and the Father, between Christ and the world, and between Christ and us? Each of these themes reveals the uniqueness of Christ, as well as his relevancy to us. Specifically, for an age that is inclined to relegate Jesus to history, I would want to make special use of this third theme, helping my congregation see what Jesus has to do with them.
Finally, we might also unpack this material by pondering Christ's place in God's plan. This is a theologically tougher row to hoe, but it is central to Paul's piece. The apostle does not limit the gospel message to an individual's salvation. Rather, he sees also the bigger picture of "the fullness of time" and "all things… things in heaven and things on earth." In a relativistic age, in which Jesus is easily dismissed as a matter of individual taste, this larger understanding of Christ's role in all history and eternity is a vitally important word to proclaim.
John 1:(1-9) 10-18
A good expository preacher could take this ripe text for his assignment beginning this Sunday and not return for a new assignment until sometime next February. It is almost unfair to ask a preacher to preach this entire passage in a single Sunday, let alone fold it in with two other texts, as well.
Our selected verses begin with a reference to the world -- indeed, three references to the world in a single verse! Students of John's gospel, of course, will recognize the significance of the theme. In his 21 chapters, John makes no fewer than 75 references to "the world" or "this world." John has the world in view from beginning (1:9) to end (21:25). The world is a prevailing theme, and it is central to John's theology. Specifically, John is primarily concerned with the world's relationship to Christ, which ranges from the Lord as its source (1:10), Savior (3:16-17), and light (8:12) to the world's spiritual obtuseness (1:10) and animosity (15:18) toward him.
That central issue of the world's relationship to Jesus is at the heart of the next three verses. There were those who did not recognize or accept him (vv. 10-11) and those who did receive him (v. 12). We will give more thought below to the first category of people. It is the second category, however, on which John elaborates here.
John characterizes the response of this group of people in two phrases: they "received him" and they "believed in his name." We sometimes speak of a person having a "personal faith" in Christ. Such personal faith, you see, is the intersection of receiving him and believing in his name.
Meanwhile, regarding those who did "receive him" and "believe in his name," John reports that to them Jesus "gave power to become children of God." For as familiar as parts of John 1 may sound to our people, this particular bit of theology may be unfamiliar. Most folks in Western Christendom walk around with a kind of happy assumption that all people are "children of God." The prospect of needing to "become" children of God, therefore, may be foreign, let alone the necessity of "power" to do it.
Those who did become God's children, meanwhile, are portrayed in terms of birth. This should recall for us Jesus' later dialogue with Nicodemus about the need for a new birth (3:1-8). In both settings, the birth is understood as a spiritual rather than a physical birth. With Nicodemus, Jesus juxtaposes born "of water" with born "of Spirit," noting that flesh gives birth to flesh while the Spirit gives birth to spirit (3:5-6). Here, meanwhile, the same point is made by setting "of blood," "of the will of the flesh," and "of the will of man" over against "of God."
Finally, John concludes with certain, heady affirmations about Christ. Immediately in the wake of juxtaposing our spiritual vs. fleshly births, John declares that "the Word became flesh." That, plus the statement that "he lived among us," is the essential truth of the Incarnation.
Witnesses and testimonies are important to John -- not only in this gospel, but also as a recurring theme in other parts of the Johannine literature. Accordingly, it is significant that "we have seen his glory" and that "John testified to him."
Important doctrinal themes are evident in quick succession here. The preexistence of Christ ("he was before me"), his divinity ("the glory as of a Father's only Son," "God the only Son"), and his role in salvation history ("the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ," "God the only Son… has made him known") are all on display in these packed closing verses.
All this, combined with what Paul wrote to the Ephesians, compels us to declare the person and work of Christ this day.
Application
Week after week, you and I bear the challenge of trying to do right by our text, our subject, and our audience. Who can do that? The text is the word of God. The audience is the people of God. And the subject is God himself!
That burden -- and opportunity -- is especially acute this week as we embrace the assignment that is at the heart of our calling: to preach Christ.
I would begin with Jeremiah. The sixth-century-BC prophet makes no explicit reference to Jesus, of course, but as we discovered above, this excerpt from Jeremiah surely gives us a glimpse into the heart of God. We see his desire for redemption. We see his personal involvement. We see his desire for relationship with us. And we see that his will and purpose are not parochial, but global. With that before-Christ peek into the heart of God, the stage is set for us to turn to Paul.
The apostle, as we noted above, has a sense for Christ's place in -- indeed, his fulfillment and culmination of -- the whole will and purpose of God. And while the historical contexts are completely different, we observe that the motifs in Jeremiah are now woven together by Paul. The apostle sees in Christ God's desire for both global redemption and personal relationship.
Then, when we turn to the gospel, we see the same truths eloquently set forth. God's willingness to get personally involved reaches its apex here, as "the Word became flesh and lived among us." We see him turning the tables in the most ultimate way as "the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it." We note again the broad, inclusive, global goal: "The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world." And we behold the redemption: "He gave power to become children of God."
In short, my endeavor this week is to show the people God's heart and God's plan. And when you put those two things together, you come to Christ!
Alternative Applications
John 1:(1-9) 10-18. "Who Was that Masked Man?" In Genesis 19, we read the story of two angels visiting the infamous city of Sodom. They are on a divine reconnaissance mission for "great (was) the outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah and… grave their sin!" The angels were to evaluate the situation in the place, ostensibly to determine whether the twin cities of sin were ripe for the judgment of God.
The men of Sodom were aware of these visitors in their midst, but they had no idea who they were. So, like a criminal who deals unknowingly with an undercover police officer, the citizens of Sodom seal their own doom by their grotesque treatment of these divine visitors.
Two-thousand years later, the Bible reports an even more terrible case of mistaken identity. As John introduces the story of Jesus, he declares that Jesus came into the world, "Yet the world did not know him." Furthermore, John adds, "his own people did not accept him."
Like the ancient people of Sodom, the men and women of Jesus' day did not know who had come to visit. Yet this was a worse scenario for, as John notes, the one who walked among them was their very Creator. They were made by him and belonged to him, yet they did not know him. Like Henry V moving unrecognized among his troops before the Battle of Agincourt, the Jews of first-century Palestine did not recognize their liege in their midst.
Jesus himself warned his unresponsive contemporaries that the final judgment would be more tolerable for the people of Sodom than for that generation (Matthew 11:23-24), for the people of his day were failing so much more severely. They played host, not merely to angels, but to the Son of God. They did not recognize their own maker. And, most tragic of all, unlike the angels of Sodom, this Divine Visitor had come not to judge them but to save them (John 3:17).
Preaching the Psalm
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 147:12-20
This psalm of praise leans wonderfully into the many blessings given by God. It lifts up and celebrates the favor of God. From peace and security to abundance in terms of food and shelter, this God provides it all. Even the weather and climate that come from God are a blessing in this psalm.
It's good and appropriate to praise God. Who would argue anything else? Of course, a faithful people will shout and praise and list the attributes of their God. Should we do any differently? Well, perhaps. While the biblical witness may call us to such praise, these days such braggadocio is unseemly. It's marginally okay to be religious, but we'd really rather that people didn't discuss it openly. This is particularly true for Christianity. And while Christians have done much to earn the ire of the general public, should those who strive to be faithful allow themselves to be shoved aside by the so-called post-Christian Culture?
Why is it that when people get enthusiastic about God we turn uncomfortably away or look with chagrin at our shoes. What, as young people are inclined to say, is that about? How has it come to this?
Could it be that God is no longer relevant? Hardly. How could the Creator of the universe lose relevance? Yet, the sanctuaries of many a declining church echo with the roll of dismissive eyes and yawning jaws precisely because the church is no longer relevant.
In the midst of this dismissive current, a third question arises. Is it about relevance? Or is the headlong rush away from Christianity about our own inability to be faithful? The conclusion of this psalm lays out the notion that God favors Israel more than any other nation. Could it be that the assumption of God's favor has led to arrogance? Could it be that arrogance has led to a sense of superiority and that a sense of superiority has been the gateway to a vast cavern of hypocrisy in the church?
When people self-identify as the "chosen," there is an almost overwhelming temptation to act badly. The notion leads to a feeling privilege, and in case no one has noticed this anywhere else in the world, those who feel privileged seldom feel obliged to behave themselves.
So by all means, let us praise God for the abundant and profuse blessings we have received. But sisters and brothers, amidst the shouts and the waving of hands, let us sip the cup of humility. Let us look, not so much to our sense of chosen-ness, but to our sense of responsibility and accountability to a God who has been so generous and wonderful; a God who has indeed, chosen us.
Such single-minded purpose in preaching is reminiscent of the apostle Paul (1 Corinthians 1:23; 2 Corinthians 4:5). And if such a sense of focused purpose is not always ours, it must be ours this week. For this week, above all, we are called upon to preach Christ.
We must concede the point that it is easy to preach something else, something less.
It is easy for a preacher to play the part of a would-be columnist and preach personal opinion rather than gospel truth. It is natural for the person responsible for a church to use the pulpit to promote that church. It is gratifying to craft messages that evoke approval and affection from one's listeners. And it is tempting for a frustrated leader to turn his pulpit into a bully pulpit, indeed, by striking out against his opposition, obstacles, and critics from his unanswerable perch.
Our calling is higher than all of that, however. I have told my present congregation never to suspect that I am ever preaching merely about money or politics, for I believe that those subjects are too small for a sermon and too temporary for a pulpit that is dedicated to the proclamation of things eternal.
Our calling is to preach Christ. And if we give any attention at all to either of our New Testament lections this week, then we will have no choice but to preach him. Indeed, if we don't preach Christ, then perhaps the people of Edward Mote's old church in Sussex should come along and turn us out of our pulpits.
Jeremiah 31:7-14
We live in a biblically illiterate age. And that is as true of many of our churches as of our society as a whole. When we say that this morning's Old Testament text comes from Jeremiah, therefore, it probably will not mean enough to the people who hear it. We need to begin by establishing an introduction to Jeremiah -- a backdrop against which they can see and appreciate this excerpt from his book.
First, they need to know the times in which he lived. Jeremiah was a prophet in Jerusalem during the age when the Babylonian empire was spreading across and consuming the Fertile Crescent. Jeremiah lived among a people who understood themselves to be God's specially chosen and protected people, and to that people he had to preach a most unorthodox message: that God was going to use some other nation to destroy them. And Jeremiah watched as Judah's kings were coerced, Judah's people starved and captured, and Judah's capital wiped out by the seemingly invincible Babylonian army.
Second, they need to know Jeremiah's reputation. We call him "the weeping prophet" and coin the term "jeremiad" after him. This is the nature of his reputation. And he earned it by both the tone and content of his message, as well as the overwhelming grief of his life experience.
That, at a minimum, is what our people ought to know when they hear that the Old Testament reading comes from Jeremiah. Against that backdrop, then, let them hear these surprising words: "Sing aloud with gladness for Jacob, and raise shouts of joy for the chief of the nations." If it were an unidentified quote, we might place it in Psalms. But we'd take a dozen or so other guesses before thinking of Jeremiah.
Jeremiah is preaching good news here. It is not a retraction of the dire judgment warnings for which he is known, mind you, but this message is in addition to those. Indeed, this is a necessary addition, for the other message would be incomplete without it. To preach only the destruction would leave the impression that God's purpose was to obliterate his people. But, no. As the old liturgy said, God's "property is always to have mercy," and his purpose is always to redeem. To speak only of destruction, therefore, is to shortchange the message and to misunderstand the judgment.
We observe in those judgment message passages a high degree of description. The prophets do not limit themselves to simple declarative statements. Rather, they go to great lengths to paint pictures of what lies ahead. And so, in the case of Jeremiah, we meet with poetic descriptions of the people's condition (e.g., 2:13-19; 18:13-17), the prophet's anguish (e.g., 4:19-22; 8:18-9:2; 12:1-4; 20:7-10), and the coming terror (e.g., 4:5-17; 6:1-8, 22-30; 25:32-38).
Likewise, the promise of God's good future for his people is also highly descriptive. The messenger's skill and creativity are not exhausted on judgment. Rather, we see that this positive passage is a marvelous portrait of all manner of good that the Lord has in store.
First, there is the dramatic sense of the tables being turned. Where the people had been in such hopelessness and misery, now the scene is filled with images of joy and plenty (grain, wine, oil, a watered garden, dancing, merriment, fatness, and bounty). Furthermore, that change in the people's conditions is God's own doing. This is not mere fate, some roll of the dice. No, God himself has "ransomed" and "redeemed" them. And, in exceedingly personal imagery, he offers them consolation and comfort, and he personally turns "their mourning into joy" and gives them "gladness for sorrow." The whole scene anticipates the heavenly prospect of him wiping away all our tears from our eyes (Revelation 7:17; 21:4).
Second, in keeping with that personal touch, the good news is portrayed in relational terms. God is not at a distance -- the infamous divine watchmaker. No, he identifies himself as father and the people as his firstborn. He calls himself a shepherd and owns them as his flock. This is the gospel of a personally present God.
Third, we observe that there is a change in location. This is a significant detail for Jeremiah's generation since the judgment was so often portrayed in terms of an undesirable change of location -- that is, those who flee from their besieged and conquered homeland, plus those who are exiled off to Babylon. But now God will bring them back. Hence the language of "bring," "gather," and "from the farthest parts of the earth," as well as the promises of "walk(ing) by brooks of water" and enjoying "a straight path."
Finally, we see a global quality to this good news, which bears witness to the true sovereignty of God, as well as the breadth and comprehensiveness of his work. The announcement is made to all the nations, including "the coastlands far away." The gathering is "from the farthest parts of the earth." And it includes every imaginable person, specifically including those who might be overlooked, left behind, or unable to keep up -- "the blind and the lame, those with child and those in labor."
This is not the sort of message that we might naturally associate with Jeremiah. But it is precisely the sort of redemptive, personal, relational, and thorough good news that we associate with God.
Ephesians 1:3-14
When the time comes to read this New Testament lection during worship, you may want to precede it with this word of introduction: The passage you are about to hear was, originally, all one single sentence! (William Barclay, The Daily Study Bible Series: The Letters to the Galatians and Ephesians [Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1976], p. 76)
That is the fascinating trivia behind this week's epistle reading. What appears in our Bibles as a twelve-verse passage was, in Paul's original Greek, one very long sentence. Chances are that the English translations from which our people read have helpfully divided the passage into more manageable portions. The NRSV we are using, for example, breaks down the material into six sentences. Yet, even so, our people may still find it difficult reading, as Paul's thought flows enthusiastically from truth to truth.
This is not uncommon for Paul. One senses in his letters that he is frequently carried away by inspiration. Just when we think he is making a point or offering some teaching, he becomes so enthralled by the truth and beauty of what he proclaims that he gushes on, with little regard for sentence structure or punctuation.
This tendency was no doubt aided by the fact that at least some of Paul's letters were dictated rather than written by him. We all know that our spoken word may be less structured than our written word. Even if we don't realize it about ourselves in conversation, we often discover it when leaving a voicemail for someone. And so we can understand Paul -- and forgive his amanuensis -- for the excited complexity of the passage.
The text is so thick with doctrinal issues and affirmations of faith that we cannot possibly exposit the entire passage here -- or, most likely, in a single Sunday's sermon. What we can and should do, however, is highlight Paul's central focus: Jesus Christ.
Because of the sometimes uncertain use of personal pronouns, it is difficult to say with precision how many times Paul makes reference to Jesus here. By my conservative count, I would say that we see at least eleven explicit references in just twelve verses.
One approach to the text would be an examination of the recurring prepositional phrases and their meaning. Paul includes "of Christ," "in Christ," "on Christ," and "through Jesus Christ." The truths contained in each phrase would be worthy of our meditation.
Another approach to the text that I would consider is a relational approach. That is to say, how does Paul portray here the relationship between Christ and the Father, between Christ and the world, and between Christ and us? Each of these themes reveals the uniqueness of Christ, as well as his relevancy to us. Specifically, for an age that is inclined to relegate Jesus to history, I would want to make special use of this third theme, helping my congregation see what Jesus has to do with them.
Finally, we might also unpack this material by pondering Christ's place in God's plan. This is a theologically tougher row to hoe, but it is central to Paul's piece. The apostle does not limit the gospel message to an individual's salvation. Rather, he sees also the bigger picture of "the fullness of time" and "all things… things in heaven and things on earth." In a relativistic age, in which Jesus is easily dismissed as a matter of individual taste, this larger understanding of Christ's role in all history and eternity is a vitally important word to proclaim.
John 1:(1-9) 10-18
A good expository preacher could take this ripe text for his assignment beginning this Sunday and not return for a new assignment until sometime next February. It is almost unfair to ask a preacher to preach this entire passage in a single Sunday, let alone fold it in with two other texts, as well.
Our selected verses begin with a reference to the world -- indeed, three references to the world in a single verse! Students of John's gospel, of course, will recognize the significance of the theme. In his 21 chapters, John makes no fewer than 75 references to "the world" or "this world." John has the world in view from beginning (1:9) to end (21:25). The world is a prevailing theme, and it is central to John's theology. Specifically, John is primarily concerned with the world's relationship to Christ, which ranges from the Lord as its source (1:10), Savior (3:16-17), and light (8:12) to the world's spiritual obtuseness (1:10) and animosity (15:18) toward him.
That central issue of the world's relationship to Jesus is at the heart of the next three verses. There were those who did not recognize or accept him (vv. 10-11) and those who did receive him (v. 12). We will give more thought below to the first category of people. It is the second category, however, on which John elaborates here.
John characterizes the response of this group of people in two phrases: they "received him" and they "believed in his name." We sometimes speak of a person having a "personal faith" in Christ. Such personal faith, you see, is the intersection of receiving him and believing in his name.
Meanwhile, regarding those who did "receive him" and "believe in his name," John reports that to them Jesus "gave power to become children of God." For as familiar as parts of John 1 may sound to our people, this particular bit of theology may be unfamiliar. Most folks in Western Christendom walk around with a kind of happy assumption that all people are "children of God." The prospect of needing to "become" children of God, therefore, may be foreign, let alone the necessity of "power" to do it.
Those who did become God's children, meanwhile, are portrayed in terms of birth. This should recall for us Jesus' later dialogue with Nicodemus about the need for a new birth (3:1-8). In both settings, the birth is understood as a spiritual rather than a physical birth. With Nicodemus, Jesus juxtaposes born "of water" with born "of Spirit," noting that flesh gives birth to flesh while the Spirit gives birth to spirit (3:5-6). Here, meanwhile, the same point is made by setting "of blood," "of the will of the flesh," and "of the will of man" over against "of God."
Finally, John concludes with certain, heady affirmations about Christ. Immediately in the wake of juxtaposing our spiritual vs. fleshly births, John declares that "the Word became flesh." That, plus the statement that "he lived among us," is the essential truth of the Incarnation.
Witnesses and testimonies are important to John -- not only in this gospel, but also as a recurring theme in other parts of the Johannine literature. Accordingly, it is significant that "we have seen his glory" and that "John testified to him."
Important doctrinal themes are evident in quick succession here. The preexistence of Christ ("he was before me"), his divinity ("the glory as of a Father's only Son," "God the only Son"), and his role in salvation history ("the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ," "God the only Son… has made him known") are all on display in these packed closing verses.
All this, combined with what Paul wrote to the Ephesians, compels us to declare the person and work of Christ this day.
Application
Week after week, you and I bear the challenge of trying to do right by our text, our subject, and our audience. Who can do that? The text is the word of God. The audience is the people of God. And the subject is God himself!
That burden -- and opportunity -- is especially acute this week as we embrace the assignment that is at the heart of our calling: to preach Christ.
I would begin with Jeremiah. The sixth-century-BC prophet makes no explicit reference to Jesus, of course, but as we discovered above, this excerpt from Jeremiah surely gives us a glimpse into the heart of God. We see his desire for redemption. We see his personal involvement. We see his desire for relationship with us. And we see that his will and purpose are not parochial, but global. With that before-Christ peek into the heart of God, the stage is set for us to turn to Paul.
The apostle, as we noted above, has a sense for Christ's place in -- indeed, his fulfillment and culmination of -- the whole will and purpose of God. And while the historical contexts are completely different, we observe that the motifs in Jeremiah are now woven together by Paul. The apostle sees in Christ God's desire for both global redemption and personal relationship.
Then, when we turn to the gospel, we see the same truths eloquently set forth. God's willingness to get personally involved reaches its apex here, as "the Word became flesh and lived among us." We see him turning the tables in the most ultimate way as "the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it." We note again the broad, inclusive, global goal: "The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world." And we behold the redemption: "He gave power to become children of God."
In short, my endeavor this week is to show the people God's heart and God's plan. And when you put those two things together, you come to Christ!
Alternative Applications
John 1:(1-9) 10-18. "Who Was that Masked Man?" In Genesis 19, we read the story of two angels visiting the infamous city of Sodom. They are on a divine reconnaissance mission for "great (was) the outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah and… grave their sin!" The angels were to evaluate the situation in the place, ostensibly to determine whether the twin cities of sin were ripe for the judgment of God.
The men of Sodom were aware of these visitors in their midst, but they had no idea who they were. So, like a criminal who deals unknowingly with an undercover police officer, the citizens of Sodom seal their own doom by their grotesque treatment of these divine visitors.
Two-thousand years later, the Bible reports an even more terrible case of mistaken identity. As John introduces the story of Jesus, he declares that Jesus came into the world, "Yet the world did not know him." Furthermore, John adds, "his own people did not accept him."
Like the ancient people of Sodom, the men and women of Jesus' day did not know who had come to visit. Yet this was a worse scenario for, as John notes, the one who walked among them was their very Creator. They were made by him and belonged to him, yet they did not know him. Like Henry V moving unrecognized among his troops before the Battle of Agincourt, the Jews of first-century Palestine did not recognize their liege in their midst.
Jesus himself warned his unresponsive contemporaries that the final judgment would be more tolerable for the people of Sodom than for that generation (Matthew 11:23-24), for the people of his day were failing so much more severely. They played host, not merely to angels, but to the Son of God. They did not recognize their own maker. And, most tragic of all, unlike the angels of Sodom, this Divine Visitor had come not to judge them but to save them (John 3:17).
Preaching the Psalm
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 147:12-20
This psalm of praise leans wonderfully into the many blessings given by God. It lifts up and celebrates the favor of God. From peace and security to abundance in terms of food and shelter, this God provides it all. Even the weather and climate that come from God are a blessing in this psalm.
It's good and appropriate to praise God. Who would argue anything else? Of course, a faithful people will shout and praise and list the attributes of their God. Should we do any differently? Well, perhaps. While the biblical witness may call us to such praise, these days such braggadocio is unseemly. It's marginally okay to be religious, but we'd really rather that people didn't discuss it openly. This is particularly true for Christianity. And while Christians have done much to earn the ire of the general public, should those who strive to be faithful allow themselves to be shoved aside by the so-called post-Christian Culture?
Why is it that when people get enthusiastic about God we turn uncomfortably away or look with chagrin at our shoes. What, as young people are inclined to say, is that about? How has it come to this?
Could it be that God is no longer relevant? Hardly. How could the Creator of the universe lose relevance? Yet, the sanctuaries of many a declining church echo with the roll of dismissive eyes and yawning jaws precisely because the church is no longer relevant.
In the midst of this dismissive current, a third question arises. Is it about relevance? Or is the headlong rush away from Christianity about our own inability to be faithful? The conclusion of this psalm lays out the notion that God favors Israel more than any other nation. Could it be that the assumption of God's favor has led to arrogance? Could it be that arrogance has led to a sense of superiority and that a sense of superiority has been the gateway to a vast cavern of hypocrisy in the church?
When people self-identify as the "chosen," there is an almost overwhelming temptation to act badly. The notion leads to a feeling privilege, and in case no one has noticed this anywhere else in the world, those who feel privileged seldom feel obliged to behave themselves.
So by all means, let us praise God for the abundant and profuse blessings we have received. But sisters and brothers, amidst the shouts and the waving of hands, let us sip the cup of humility. Let us look, not so much to our sense of chosen-ness, but to our sense of responsibility and accountability to a God who has been so generous and wonderful; a God who has indeed, chosen us.
