Christian (Version 7.0)
Commentary
Personality tests, such as the Meyers-Briggs, will place two-word sets side by side and ask the participant to indicate a preference between the two. Without much time to think through all the nuances, the person using the device has to move quickly through the columns of words, sometimes agonizing and sometimes choosing easily.
Relying on reflex more than reflection, which of these two words do you prefer? New. Old.
Our preference varies with the situation, of course. We may long for a new house, while cherishing an old chair. We shop for a new computer to replace the old one, but we put it on the same old desk that we would never think of replacing. We buy a new sound system, and then we play our old music on it.
The people of God are always contending with issues of "new" and "old." In one circumstance, "old" means time-tested and proven. In another circumstance, it simply means outdated. For some, "new" means improved. For others, it connotes unorthodox.
Things old and new play major roles in our Old and New Testament lections for this week.
Isaiah 43:16-21
Keynote speakers are introduced by their resumes and bios. Whoever has the job of introducing the main speaker for some event usually has before him a vitae listing that speaker's accomplishments, qualities, and titles. For example:
Our special guest today is a renowned author ... is CEO of such-and-such Fortune 500 company ... is the pastor of the fastest growing church in America ... is one of the foremost authorities on ... has achieved unprecedented success in his field ... etc.
The audience's pump has been primed, and they wait with anticipation, eager to hear what this remarkable person has to say.
The prophet Isaiah, like a good emcee, has gone out of his way to introduce this word from the Lord by citing God's resume. Unwilling to simply pronounce -- as he does in other places -- "Thus says the Lord," followed by the prophecy, Isaiah makes a point of reminding his audience of God's past deeds. Specifically, Isaiah calls to mind the deliverance God provided for his people at the Red Sea in the days of Moses.
One would think that was a good approach. Speaking to a people in need of miraculous deliverance, it seems just right for Isaiah to recall aloud God's marvelous acts of deliverance on behalf of the people's ancestors. To a generation in captivity in a foreign land, Isaiah reminds the people how God saved an earlier generation from their captivity in a foreign land. He introduces God's word by citing God's credentials as a deliverer.
And then comes God's surprising word: "Forget about it."
All those past accomplishments; the marvelous stories that are Israel's testimony; the signs and wonders of old -- God instructs the people to set them aside, not to give them a second thought.
It's an astonishing command coming from the God who typically exhorts his people to remember -- that is, to recall, ritually and regularly, God's saving deeds from days gone by. But not now. Now, in the moment when deliverance is needed again, God urges his people to forget what he has done in the past.
I suppose it is an irksome thing for a musician to have concert crowds wanting only to hear the old favorites. If the artist or band has been around for a while, and if their songs have become cherished oldies to a generation of fans, it is almost impossible to introduce a new song. The concertgoers are so emotionally attached to the old stuff that any new songs are almost unwelcome.
So it is oftentimes between God and God's people. We have so fallen in love with some "hit" from long ago. It meant so much to us at the time, and new layers of fond and sentimental attachment have been added with each passing year. We may be unwittingly unwilling, as a result, to let God do a new and different thing in our lives.
And so God urged the people of Isaiah's day to stow away their old 45s -- those well-worn records singing of what God had done in the days of Moses, or Joshua, or David. He was coming out with a new hit, and he wanted his people to be prepared to hear it, and to sing and dance along with it.
Philippians 3:4b-14
The standard magician will startle his audience by seeming to destroy something precious or valuable. Here is a legal tender $50 bill that seems to be torn in pieces or set on fire. Here is an expensive wristwatch or piece of jewelry that seems to have been crushed or to have disappeared altogether. And here is a real, living human being that seems to have been cut in two.
The sleight of hand has more impact because the thing involved has value. Few audiences would watch wide-eyed if a performer appeared to saw a log in two and put it back together. No one would gasp at a cheap thing being set on fire.
Paul invites a gasp from the Philippian audience in this passage. He trots out something of great value, and then seems to make that thing vanish before their eyes.
The thing of value, in this case, is Paul's proud past.
In our materialistic world, where people are judged more by what they have than by what they are, Paul's heritage may go unappreciated. But Paul came from a world -- and wrote, at least in part, to a people -- for which the great measure in life was not possessions but the Law. And when Paul set himself against that measure, the measure of the Law, the audience was impressed.
On the one hand, there are the matters that Paul could take no credit for personally. His unblemished Jewish pedigree included his tribe, his circumcision according to the Law, and his Hebrew parentage.
On the other hand, there were those matters for which Paul could take credit.
First, he was a Pharisee. That does not sound like a favorable claim in the ears of most of our people, for all we know of Pharisees is some of what Jesus said about them. In this context, however, we must recognize that the Pharisees were the most devoutly religious and most carefully obedient men of that day in Israel. Jesus' issue with the Pharisees was their hypocrisy, but there is no indication that hypocrisy was a problem for Paul. He was, we gather, an impeccably pious man.
Second, there was Paul's zeal. His was not a mind-your-own-business religiosity. No, he was a crusader, a zealot, a man of holy indignation who sought to do right and to right wrongs. And, up until his conversion on the road to Damascus, the wrong he sought to right was that seemingly heretical movement within Judaism involving the followers of Jesus. In his passionate obedience to God, Paul endeavored to shut up and shut down the heretics.
Finally, there was Paul's most remarkable claim: he was blameless. Who can make a claim like that? Yet Paul had weighed himself in the balance of the Law and found that he was not wanting.
Then comes the moment when Paul takes the saw or the fire to these things of value. "Whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss ... I regard them as rubbish." This thing I treasured...? Watch me crumple it up and throw it away. This thing of great value...? See how I put it down the disposal, run it through the shredder, toss it in the garbage.
A materialistic world may not value the same things that Paul did, but we do value things. And we can be certain that Paul's response to our things of value would be precisely the same. Watch me throw it all away.
The shock and strength of what Paul says is found best in the Greek word skubalon, translated here "rubbish." The King James Version translates it "dung." We might think of still other words. The very stuff that Paul was so proud of previously now he can't wait to scrape off the bottom of his shoe. He is eager to shake it loose and leave it behind, for he has found something so much better.
Here is where Paul and the standard magician part company. The audience is shocked when the large bill is set on fire, but relieved to find that it somehow survived. The audience is startled to see a living person cut in half, but delighted to see that apparent victim in one piece when the trick is over.
Paul, however, does not reassemble the thing of value. He leaves it burned, cut, and shredded. What he wants his Philippian audience to see is not the magic of the valuable thing restored, but the testimony of the valuable thing cast aside -- cast aside in favor of "the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord."
John 12:1-8
This dinner must have been a come-as-you-are affair, for that's surely how everyone came. In just a few descriptive verses, John gives us a glimpse around the table, and we discover that everyone there looks very familiar.
First, there is Martha being Martha.
Most of us would be able to predict within our own family gatherings who is likely to do what. At our extended family's Christmas celebration, for example, I could predict to you who will arrive early and who will arrive late. We know who is going to carve the turkey, who is going to hand out the presents, and who is going to be continually getting up from the table to make sure that everyone has what he or she needs.
Likewise, when you ate dinner at the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, you could bet that Martha was going to serve. The Gospel of Luke (10:38-42) provides us with the famous episode that makes this account ring so true. Martha fusses away at making preparations, while Mary neglects the housework in favor of sitting and listening to Jesus. Martha does not compare favorably in that passage. In the larger business of the kingdom and of Jesus' teachings, however, we must evaluate Martha generously. Serving, after all, is the great hallmark of the follower of Jesus (see Matthew 23:11; Luke 12:35-40; 17:7-10; 22:27; John 12:26; Philippians 2:5-7). Serving is the essence of greatness in the kingdom (Matthew 20:25-28). And serving is how Martha loved -- a vital missing element from so much of what passes for love in our day.
Next, there is Mary being Mary.
As we mentioned before, Luke offers the quintessential character profile of Mary and Martha in Jesus' visit to their home in chapter 10. And, as in that passage, Mary is here again at Jesus' feet (Luke 10:39; John 12:3). Mary is the portrait of worship: at Jesus' feet, attentive and adoring.
Next, there is Judas being Judas.
Folks in my generation will likely remember the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar. This episode from John's Gospel appears early in that musical account of Jesus' final days. A friend and I were joking recently that Jesus Christ Superstar might better have been titled Judas Iscariot: Tragic Hero, for the psyche of Judas seems to be the real issue of the piece. Judas is depicted as a tortured but well-intentioned tragic figure, which is a much more flattering portrayal than the one the Gospel writer offers us.
John shows us a Judas who is not only a thief, but also a thief who deliberately veils his vice under the guise of humanitarian concern. The embezzler dares to condemn the worshiper for misappropriation of funds. The wicked one pretends the indignation of the righteous.
We are well acquainted with the 30 pieces of silver Judas was paid for betraying Jesus. It's hard to imagine that such an average sum would drive a man to such epic treachery. Such is the intoxication of money, however, and when we live under its influence, we lose our judgment and proper reflexes. So it is that no one can serve both God and money (Matthew 6:24), hard as we may try.
When Judas looks at an act of worship but only sees dollar signs, we simply observe Judas being Judas.
Perhaps the question to ask is whether we also see ourselves.
Next, there is Lazarus being, well, there.
Lazarus is the only individual at this dinner who is named but not described as doing or saying anything. We know what both Mary and Martha did. We know what both Judas and Jesus said. All that we know about Lazarus, however, is that he was there. And that is enough, for he was a living testimony to the power of Christ. It was only one chapter earlier that Lazarus was bound and foul in the tomb, his sisters bereaved, and Jesus at a distance. Now, however, the whole group of friends and siblings is seated together around a table, full of life and joy.
Finally, there is Jesus being Jesus. He is the one who comes and sups with us (Revelation 3:20). He is the one who corrects and challenges us (John 12:7-8). He is the one at whose feet we bow down and worship (John 12:3).
Application
A computerized generation understands the language of upgrades and new versions of old software. The latest Pentium makes us wonder how we ever got anything done with our old 486. The newest, biggest, sharpest flat screen makes our old monitor seem intolerable. All the things that this new version of a program or operating system can do makes the earlier version obsolete.
Why would we choose to hold onto that which is slower, weaker, and less productive? Why wouldn't we toss aside the outdated and inadequate version for the new and improved one?
Historically, however, the people of God have resisted upgrades.
Sometimes the people of God have wanted to retreat to the past because the future seemed too frightening (Numbers 14:3-4). Sometimes they have so cherished the past that it became idolatrous (2 Kings 18:4). Sometimes they have allowed "past good" to morph into "only good" (Luke 5:36-39).
The people of Isaiah's day, however, were challenged not to "remember the former things, or consider the things of old." Those former things were not bad, mind you. They were glorious deeds of God and part of Israel's testimony. But with their eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, God's people were apt to miss what he had for them down the road. "I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?"
Paul, meanwhile, declared that he had indeed set aside the former things. He was no longer finding glory in the old things, but rather "forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal...."
So it is that we are presented with a God who does new things, and who invites us into new things.
Now I believe that the pulpit is too important to be used as a proprietary weapon during in-house battles. And the truth at stake in these lections is more profound than local church squabbles between new styles and old traditions. The issue at hand is not superficial questions of style and taste. Rather, the issue is a God who was offering something better than what Isaiah's contemporaries had known to date; a God who offered something better than what Paul had known before; and a God who, very likely, has something better for us -- individually and corporately -- than what we have experienced thus far. Our scriptural challenge is not to keep up with the times, the fashions, or the technology. Our real challenge is to keep up with God.
Alternative Applications
1) John 12:1-8. We illustrated above the characteristic differences between the two sisters, Mary and Martha. Differences can be embraced or resisted in our congregations. How you and I are different may be a cherished source of celebration or a bitter point of constant tension.
Our churches will be healthier and happier if we leave room -- make room -- for the different ways that different people love and serve the Lord. I'm not a proponent of "anything goes." But one of the lovely truths of this passage is that Mary and Martha were different types of people, and so naturally they manifested their love and service in different ways. Martha was the one always on her feet. Mary, by contrast, was the one always on her knees.
I see Mary and Martha in this scene, and I am reminded of the Hebrew word abad. A comparison of a few translations of Psalm 100:2 will reveal the beauty of this word. The King James and Revised Standard Versions offer the familiar translation, "Serve the Lord with gladness." The New International and New Revised Standard Versions, meanwhile, translate the phrase, "Worship the Lord with gladness."
What a discovery to find that worshiping and serving God are not separate acts. To worship him is to serve him, and to serve him is to worship him. While Martha serves the Lord with gladness, Mary worships him with gladness.
Perhaps in our churches from time to time, Martha needs to be challenged to a deeper devotional life while Mary is encouraged to leave the prayer group and help out in the kitchen every once in a while. Most of the time, though, both Mary and Martha should be blessed and embraced for how they each serve and worship the Lord with gladness.
2) John 12:1-8. Different congregations celebrate the sacrament of Communion at different times. If your congregation will be partaking of the sacrament together on this Sunday, perhaps the passage from John would provide a good opportunity to work with the motif of dining with Jesus.
Dining with Jesus is a personal thing -- a symbol of his grace toward us and his friendship and fellowship with us. This homey episode with the family of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus is a good picture. So, too, the way Jesus invited himself to eat with Zacchaeus (Luke 19:5) and the way he awaits our invitation to have him sup with us (Revelation 3:20).
Dining with Jesus is also a celebrative thing. Surely it was a happy occasion for Lazarus and his sisters to have Jesus back in their home following the miraculous events of the previous chapter. One senses, too, that the meal with Zacchaeus was a happy occasion. We also see Jesus at the wedding feast in Cana (John 2:1-12). And the dining we do with Jesus here is only a foretaste of the festive celebration that will be the great banquet in the kingdom (see Matthew 26:29; Luke 14:15-24).
Dining with Jesus is also a sacramental thing. It is an occasion of worship for Mary (John 12:3), of epiphany for the disciples in Emmaus (Luke 24:28-35), and of God's presence and grace for his believers in every generation (1 Corinthians 11:23-26).
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 126
There is perhaps no greater challenge to the life of faith than suffering. There is an implicit expectation that God, who is strong and loving, will protect those of his children who are weak. When tragedy befalls the innocent, it is hard not to wonder about either God's strength or his goodness or both.
That experience was writ large for the people of Israel during the Exile. For those Hebrews who believed that God had called them and formed them into a covenant people, it was nearly impossible to understand how they could be conquered by a foreign power. Instead of impugning God, however, with charges of lack of love or lack of strength, the prophets interpreted the Exile as punishment for sin.
The fact is, all pain feels like punishment. How many times have we heard someone in the midst of a struggle say, or have said ourselves, "What did I do to deserve this?"
Obviously the mystery of evil and suffering will not be solved in the course of one sermon (or even a thousand sermons!). But it is interesting to observe what the psalmist does with the suffering of the people of Israel. Drawing on the power of memory, the psalmist evokes praise for the past deeds of God's goodness. In the narrative of Israel's history there are many examples of God's gracious intervention just in the nick of time. Out of this memory, the psalmist draws a prayer: "Restore our fortunes, O Lord" (v. 4).
But what to do with the suffering? What is the point of having a powerful God if he will not protect you?
The psalmist offers a beautiful image for dealing with suffering. He describes the tears we shed during times of difficulty as "seeds for joy."
Comparing our tears to seed is a powerful way of expressing hope at several different levels. For instance, thinking of our tears as prelude to joy is intended to help us realize that though we suffer now, we will not always be in pain. After all, the courage to endure is directly related to our belief that our suffering will eventually end.
Another instance, what we learn about ourselves during times of distress and difficulty, may contribute to the strengthening of our character and our resolve. There is wisdom gained from pain and loss that cannot be gained any other way. As the saying goes, you just have to be there.
And finally, experiencing the distress of privations and pitfalls can have an enormous impact on the way we view the world when we are not deprived. Living without for a while may help us express deep and sincere gratitude when we have what we need.
In these ways the seeds of our tears can produce joy. We rejoice when our sufferings end. We rejoice from the new perspectives we gain. We give thanks for the way God cares for us.
And like the psalmist begins his poem, we learn to remember the good things God has done for us in the past.
The folk who worship in our churches will know something of the doubt and fear that comes from loss. This psalm may be an effective medium for giving voice to those feelings, while at the same time engendering hope where hope is almost dead.
Relying on reflex more than reflection, which of these two words do you prefer? New. Old.
Our preference varies with the situation, of course. We may long for a new house, while cherishing an old chair. We shop for a new computer to replace the old one, but we put it on the same old desk that we would never think of replacing. We buy a new sound system, and then we play our old music on it.
The people of God are always contending with issues of "new" and "old." In one circumstance, "old" means time-tested and proven. In another circumstance, it simply means outdated. For some, "new" means improved. For others, it connotes unorthodox.
Things old and new play major roles in our Old and New Testament lections for this week.
Isaiah 43:16-21
Keynote speakers are introduced by their resumes and bios. Whoever has the job of introducing the main speaker for some event usually has before him a vitae listing that speaker's accomplishments, qualities, and titles. For example:
Our special guest today is a renowned author ... is CEO of such-and-such Fortune 500 company ... is the pastor of the fastest growing church in America ... is one of the foremost authorities on ... has achieved unprecedented success in his field ... etc.
The audience's pump has been primed, and they wait with anticipation, eager to hear what this remarkable person has to say.
The prophet Isaiah, like a good emcee, has gone out of his way to introduce this word from the Lord by citing God's resume. Unwilling to simply pronounce -- as he does in other places -- "Thus says the Lord," followed by the prophecy, Isaiah makes a point of reminding his audience of God's past deeds. Specifically, Isaiah calls to mind the deliverance God provided for his people at the Red Sea in the days of Moses.
One would think that was a good approach. Speaking to a people in need of miraculous deliverance, it seems just right for Isaiah to recall aloud God's marvelous acts of deliverance on behalf of the people's ancestors. To a generation in captivity in a foreign land, Isaiah reminds the people how God saved an earlier generation from their captivity in a foreign land. He introduces God's word by citing God's credentials as a deliverer.
And then comes God's surprising word: "Forget about it."
All those past accomplishments; the marvelous stories that are Israel's testimony; the signs and wonders of old -- God instructs the people to set them aside, not to give them a second thought.
It's an astonishing command coming from the God who typically exhorts his people to remember -- that is, to recall, ritually and regularly, God's saving deeds from days gone by. But not now. Now, in the moment when deliverance is needed again, God urges his people to forget what he has done in the past.
I suppose it is an irksome thing for a musician to have concert crowds wanting only to hear the old favorites. If the artist or band has been around for a while, and if their songs have become cherished oldies to a generation of fans, it is almost impossible to introduce a new song. The concertgoers are so emotionally attached to the old stuff that any new songs are almost unwelcome.
So it is oftentimes between God and God's people. We have so fallen in love with some "hit" from long ago. It meant so much to us at the time, and new layers of fond and sentimental attachment have been added with each passing year. We may be unwittingly unwilling, as a result, to let God do a new and different thing in our lives.
And so God urged the people of Isaiah's day to stow away their old 45s -- those well-worn records singing of what God had done in the days of Moses, or Joshua, or David. He was coming out with a new hit, and he wanted his people to be prepared to hear it, and to sing and dance along with it.
Philippians 3:4b-14
The standard magician will startle his audience by seeming to destroy something precious or valuable. Here is a legal tender $50 bill that seems to be torn in pieces or set on fire. Here is an expensive wristwatch or piece of jewelry that seems to have been crushed or to have disappeared altogether. And here is a real, living human being that seems to have been cut in two.
The sleight of hand has more impact because the thing involved has value. Few audiences would watch wide-eyed if a performer appeared to saw a log in two and put it back together. No one would gasp at a cheap thing being set on fire.
Paul invites a gasp from the Philippian audience in this passage. He trots out something of great value, and then seems to make that thing vanish before their eyes.
The thing of value, in this case, is Paul's proud past.
In our materialistic world, where people are judged more by what they have than by what they are, Paul's heritage may go unappreciated. But Paul came from a world -- and wrote, at least in part, to a people -- for which the great measure in life was not possessions but the Law. And when Paul set himself against that measure, the measure of the Law, the audience was impressed.
On the one hand, there are the matters that Paul could take no credit for personally. His unblemished Jewish pedigree included his tribe, his circumcision according to the Law, and his Hebrew parentage.
On the other hand, there were those matters for which Paul could take credit.
First, he was a Pharisee. That does not sound like a favorable claim in the ears of most of our people, for all we know of Pharisees is some of what Jesus said about them. In this context, however, we must recognize that the Pharisees were the most devoutly religious and most carefully obedient men of that day in Israel. Jesus' issue with the Pharisees was their hypocrisy, but there is no indication that hypocrisy was a problem for Paul. He was, we gather, an impeccably pious man.
Second, there was Paul's zeal. His was not a mind-your-own-business religiosity. No, he was a crusader, a zealot, a man of holy indignation who sought to do right and to right wrongs. And, up until his conversion on the road to Damascus, the wrong he sought to right was that seemingly heretical movement within Judaism involving the followers of Jesus. In his passionate obedience to God, Paul endeavored to shut up and shut down the heretics.
Finally, there was Paul's most remarkable claim: he was blameless. Who can make a claim like that? Yet Paul had weighed himself in the balance of the Law and found that he was not wanting.
Then comes the moment when Paul takes the saw or the fire to these things of value. "Whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss ... I regard them as rubbish." This thing I treasured...? Watch me crumple it up and throw it away. This thing of great value...? See how I put it down the disposal, run it through the shredder, toss it in the garbage.
A materialistic world may not value the same things that Paul did, but we do value things. And we can be certain that Paul's response to our things of value would be precisely the same. Watch me throw it all away.
The shock and strength of what Paul says is found best in the Greek word skubalon, translated here "rubbish." The King James Version translates it "dung." We might think of still other words. The very stuff that Paul was so proud of previously now he can't wait to scrape off the bottom of his shoe. He is eager to shake it loose and leave it behind, for he has found something so much better.
Here is where Paul and the standard magician part company. The audience is shocked when the large bill is set on fire, but relieved to find that it somehow survived. The audience is startled to see a living person cut in half, but delighted to see that apparent victim in one piece when the trick is over.
Paul, however, does not reassemble the thing of value. He leaves it burned, cut, and shredded. What he wants his Philippian audience to see is not the magic of the valuable thing restored, but the testimony of the valuable thing cast aside -- cast aside in favor of "the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord."
John 12:1-8
This dinner must have been a come-as-you-are affair, for that's surely how everyone came. In just a few descriptive verses, John gives us a glimpse around the table, and we discover that everyone there looks very familiar.
First, there is Martha being Martha.
Most of us would be able to predict within our own family gatherings who is likely to do what. At our extended family's Christmas celebration, for example, I could predict to you who will arrive early and who will arrive late. We know who is going to carve the turkey, who is going to hand out the presents, and who is going to be continually getting up from the table to make sure that everyone has what he or she needs.
Likewise, when you ate dinner at the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, you could bet that Martha was going to serve. The Gospel of Luke (10:38-42) provides us with the famous episode that makes this account ring so true. Martha fusses away at making preparations, while Mary neglects the housework in favor of sitting and listening to Jesus. Martha does not compare favorably in that passage. In the larger business of the kingdom and of Jesus' teachings, however, we must evaluate Martha generously. Serving, after all, is the great hallmark of the follower of Jesus (see Matthew 23:11; Luke 12:35-40; 17:7-10; 22:27; John 12:26; Philippians 2:5-7). Serving is the essence of greatness in the kingdom (Matthew 20:25-28). And serving is how Martha loved -- a vital missing element from so much of what passes for love in our day.
Next, there is Mary being Mary.
As we mentioned before, Luke offers the quintessential character profile of Mary and Martha in Jesus' visit to their home in chapter 10. And, as in that passage, Mary is here again at Jesus' feet (Luke 10:39; John 12:3). Mary is the portrait of worship: at Jesus' feet, attentive and adoring.
Next, there is Judas being Judas.
Folks in my generation will likely remember the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar. This episode from John's Gospel appears early in that musical account of Jesus' final days. A friend and I were joking recently that Jesus Christ Superstar might better have been titled Judas Iscariot: Tragic Hero, for the psyche of Judas seems to be the real issue of the piece. Judas is depicted as a tortured but well-intentioned tragic figure, which is a much more flattering portrayal than the one the Gospel writer offers us.
John shows us a Judas who is not only a thief, but also a thief who deliberately veils his vice under the guise of humanitarian concern. The embezzler dares to condemn the worshiper for misappropriation of funds. The wicked one pretends the indignation of the righteous.
We are well acquainted with the 30 pieces of silver Judas was paid for betraying Jesus. It's hard to imagine that such an average sum would drive a man to such epic treachery. Such is the intoxication of money, however, and when we live under its influence, we lose our judgment and proper reflexes. So it is that no one can serve both God and money (Matthew 6:24), hard as we may try.
When Judas looks at an act of worship but only sees dollar signs, we simply observe Judas being Judas.
Perhaps the question to ask is whether we also see ourselves.
Next, there is Lazarus being, well, there.
Lazarus is the only individual at this dinner who is named but not described as doing or saying anything. We know what both Mary and Martha did. We know what both Judas and Jesus said. All that we know about Lazarus, however, is that he was there. And that is enough, for he was a living testimony to the power of Christ. It was only one chapter earlier that Lazarus was bound and foul in the tomb, his sisters bereaved, and Jesus at a distance. Now, however, the whole group of friends and siblings is seated together around a table, full of life and joy.
Finally, there is Jesus being Jesus. He is the one who comes and sups with us (Revelation 3:20). He is the one who corrects and challenges us (John 12:7-8). He is the one at whose feet we bow down and worship (John 12:3).
Application
A computerized generation understands the language of upgrades and new versions of old software. The latest Pentium makes us wonder how we ever got anything done with our old 486. The newest, biggest, sharpest flat screen makes our old monitor seem intolerable. All the things that this new version of a program or operating system can do makes the earlier version obsolete.
Why would we choose to hold onto that which is slower, weaker, and less productive? Why wouldn't we toss aside the outdated and inadequate version for the new and improved one?
Historically, however, the people of God have resisted upgrades.
Sometimes the people of God have wanted to retreat to the past because the future seemed too frightening (Numbers 14:3-4). Sometimes they have so cherished the past that it became idolatrous (2 Kings 18:4). Sometimes they have allowed "past good" to morph into "only good" (Luke 5:36-39).
The people of Isaiah's day, however, were challenged not to "remember the former things, or consider the things of old." Those former things were not bad, mind you. They were glorious deeds of God and part of Israel's testimony. But with their eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, God's people were apt to miss what he had for them down the road. "I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?"
Paul, meanwhile, declared that he had indeed set aside the former things. He was no longer finding glory in the old things, but rather "forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal...."
So it is that we are presented with a God who does new things, and who invites us into new things.
Now I believe that the pulpit is too important to be used as a proprietary weapon during in-house battles. And the truth at stake in these lections is more profound than local church squabbles between new styles and old traditions. The issue at hand is not superficial questions of style and taste. Rather, the issue is a God who was offering something better than what Isaiah's contemporaries had known to date; a God who offered something better than what Paul had known before; and a God who, very likely, has something better for us -- individually and corporately -- than what we have experienced thus far. Our scriptural challenge is not to keep up with the times, the fashions, or the technology. Our real challenge is to keep up with God.
Alternative Applications
1) John 12:1-8. We illustrated above the characteristic differences between the two sisters, Mary and Martha. Differences can be embraced or resisted in our congregations. How you and I are different may be a cherished source of celebration or a bitter point of constant tension.
Our churches will be healthier and happier if we leave room -- make room -- for the different ways that different people love and serve the Lord. I'm not a proponent of "anything goes." But one of the lovely truths of this passage is that Mary and Martha were different types of people, and so naturally they manifested their love and service in different ways. Martha was the one always on her feet. Mary, by contrast, was the one always on her knees.
I see Mary and Martha in this scene, and I am reminded of the Hebrew word abad. A comparison of a few translations of Psalm 100:2 will reveal the beauty of this word. The King James and Revised Standard Versions offer the familiar translation, "Serve the Lord with gladness." The New International and New Revised Standard Versions, meanwhile, translate the phrase, "Worship the Lord with gladness."
What a discovery to find that worshiping and serving God are not separate acts. To worship him is to serve him, and to serve him is to worship him. While Martha serves the Lord with gladness, Mary worships him with gladness.
Perhaps in our churches from time to time, Martha needs to be challenged to a deeper devotional life while Mary is encouraged to leave the prayer group and help out in the kitchen every once in a while. Most of the time, though, both Mary and Martha should be blessed and embraced for how they each serve and worship the Lord with gladness.
2) John 12:1-8. Different congregations celebrate the sacrament of Communion at different times. If your congregation will be partaking of the sacrament together on this Sunday, perhaps the passage from John would provide a good opportunity to work with the motif of dining with Jesus.
Dining with Jesus is a personal thing -- a symbol of his grace toward us and his friendship and fellowship with us. This homey episode with the family of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus is a good picture. So, too, the way Jesus invited himself to eat with Zacchaeus (Luke 19:5) and the way he awaits our invitation to have him sup with us (Revelation 3:20).
Dining with Jesus is also a celebrative thing. Surely it was a happy occasion for Lazarus and his sisters to have Jesus back in their home following the miraculous events of the previous chapter. One senses, too, that the meal with Zacchaeus was a happy occasion. We also see Jesus at the wedding feast in Cana (John 2:1-12). And the dining we do with Jesus here is only a foretaste of the festive celebration that will be the great banquet in the kingdom (see Matthew 26:29; Luke 14:15-24).
Dining with Jesus is also a sacramental thing. It is an occasion of worship for Mary (John 12:3), of epiphany for the disciples in Emmaus (Luke 24:28-35), and of God's presence and grace for his believers in every generation (1 Corinthians 11:23-26).
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 126
There is perhaps no greater challenge to the life of faith than suffering. There is an implicit expectation that God, who is strong and loving, will protect those of his children who are weak. When tragedy befalls the innocent, it is hard not to wonder about either God's strength or his goodness or both.
That experience was writ large for the people of Israel during the Exile. For those Hebrews who believed that God had called them and formed them into a covenant people, it was nearly impossible to understand how they could be conquered by a foreign power. Instead of impugning God, however, with charges of lack of love or lack of strength, the prophets interpreted the Exile as punishment for sin.
The fact is, all pain feels like punishment. How many times have we heard someone in the midst of a struggle say, or have said ourselves, "What did I do to deserve this?"
Obviously the mystery of evil and suffering will not be solved in the course of one sermon (or even a thousand sermons!). But it is interesting to observe what the psalmist does with the suffering of the people of Israel. Drawing on the power of memory, the psalmist evokes praise for the past deeds of God's goodness. In the narrative of Israel's history there are many examples of God's gracious intervention just in the nick of time. Out of this memory, the psalmist draws a prayer: "Restore our fortunes, O Lord" (v. 4).
But what to do with the suffering? What is the point of having a powerful God if he will not protect you?
The psalmist offers a beautiful image for dealing with suffering. He describes the tears we shed during times of difficulty as "seeds for joy."
Comparing our tears to seed is a powerful way of expressing hope at several different levels. For instance, thinking of our tears as prelude to joy is intended to help us realize that though we suffer now, we will not always be in pain. After all, the courage to endure is directly related to our belief that our suffering will eventually end.
Another instance, what we learn about ourselves during times of distress and difficulty, may contribute to the strengthening of our character and our resolve. There is wisdom gained from pain and loss that cannot be gained any other way. As the saying goes, you just have to be there.
And finally, experiencing the distress of privations and pitfalls can have an enormous impact on the way we view the world when we are not deprived. Living without for a while may help us express deep and sincere gratitude when we have what we need.
In these ways the seeds of our tears can produce joy. We rejoice when our sufferings end. We rejoice from the new perspectives we gain. We give thanks for the way God cares for us.
And like the psalmist begins his poem, we learn to remember the good things God has done for us in the past.
The folk who worship in our churches will know something of the doubt and fear that comes from loss. This psalm may be an effective medium for giving voice to those feelings, while at the same time engendering hope where hope is almost dead.
