Commitment
Commentary
Object:
According to social researchers there are five basic reasons why people fail to make long-
term commitments such as marriage. First, some are hurt by a past relationship that came
undone in a nasty or painful way. "Once bitten, twice shy" is the way the modern proverb
puts it. Troublesome difficulties in a passionate romance where we allowed ourselves to
become vulnerable and then felt abused or misused by the object of our emotions can
cause us to pull back from similar future possibilities.
Second, there is a fear of losing our freedom that hammers down the brakes for some, especially men. In the socialization processes of adolescence, one of the key components is that of differentiation and individuation. We need to separate ourselves from our parents and learn what it means to be a unique person in our own right. This is why teens often push back at the controls of dads and moms. It is a God-designed tussle that must be won by the children in order for each new generation to emerge from the chrysalis of family identity formation. But this newfound freedom can become addictive, especially in males. Females by nature are generally more relationally driven, but guys can press the button on achievement, which is often a solo play, even in team sports. The multiple demands on time and choices that a deep relationship implies can seem threatening to the bold individualism of Rambo heroics.
Closely related is the third hindrance to deep relationships: fear of losing individuality. We all crave personal space. No matter where we live in the world, packed into dense urban populations or scaling a wilderness mountain peak all alone, we look for some evidence that "I" is different from "we." Although interdependence is the goal of a mature relationship, no solid friendship can hold us if we do not compromise our sacred personal space or bend our wills in some form of blended camaraderie. How tightly we need to hold onto the borders of our own personalities is a barometer of our openness to the vulnerability and psychic porousness of relational engagement.
Fear of boredom is the fourth pseudo-barrier to long-term relationships. Change and newness are absolute values in our consumerist culture. A two-year-old cell phone is an antique; a car without factory-installed GPS is so yesterday; clothes that are too short or too bulky or the wrong color are not intended to be worn out in some stewardship contest but must be thrown out. This mentality seeps quickly into our relationships. What if I commit to someone and find out that domestic tranquility is dull? What if I say, "Yes" to you and find out that I also want to say, "Yes" to the person at the office and the one at the gym and the neighbor across the street? How can I commit to you if all I will get from you will be the same old same old, year after year? No thanks!
Finally, closely related, is the fear of inadequacy in myself. Worse than getting bored with you is the horrific possibility that you will get bored with me! During courtship we deliberately strut and preen and mime our hypocritical imitations of stars and celebrities and winners and persons of distinction or merit or achievement. But if we spend the remaining years of our eternity together, won't the make-up crack and the trophies tarnish and the teeth fall out and the hair thin and the accomplishments get relegated to high school yearbooks that only the psychologically challenged drama queens keep dragging out of mildewed storage boxes? What if I am not all I promised I would be?
It is these trepidations that undermine commitment in our society. Fascinating then, how so many of the Bible's words are spilled in describing commitments that shaped the world. Jacob would become the patriarch of the family that changed human history, and it rested, in part, on his unwavering commitment to a woman who was withheld from him for seven years and daughter to a man who almost outstripped Jacob himself in conniving trickery. Paul finds even greater promises in the commitment of God to us and pens one of the loftiest poetic tributes to the only sure thing we can count on in life and in death. Jesus reminds us that those who lack the discipline of commitment cannot hope to lay claim to the ultimate treasure of the universe, the very kingdom of heaven.
Today is a great day to renew commitments, strengthen courageous backbones, and rekindle the ardor of faith's promises.
Genesis 29:15-28
As a father of three daughters I have sometimes secretly hoped that I could imitate Laban. What a wonderful thing it would be to require of future sons-in-law a seven-year period of indentured servitude to me! Twenty-one years of slave labor I should be able to pull out of the unlucky males who dared to take my daughters from me!
It is because of this that I understand why many cultures demand a high bride price. No one should participate in the transitioning of our wonderful daughters from our home to other familial units without giving me a very clear indication that he understands the supreme worthiness of these girls we have raised.
The lectionary passage for today is unfortunately sliced and diced from its larger context, and thus lends itself to pious moralisms on dating behaviors. But if it is replaced into the literary unfolding of the entire book of Genesis, the pericope can serve as a microcosm of the larger message being announced. Genesis serves as the extended historical prologue to the covenant between Yahweh and Israel at Mount Sinai. It informs the nation as to why this covenant is being made and how it will impact their culture and values as a communal participant in the global economy of the ancient near east.
Chapters 1-11 define the nature of reality, spelling out the distinct perspectives that emerge when humanity is understood as the intended crowning achievement of a creator who is wonderfully invested in the world around. Chapters 12-25, focusing on the person and experiences of father Abraham, answer the question of this particular nation: Why are we a special people and how does this play into our deliverance from Egyptian slavery and the future that is being programmed for us? Here, in chapters 26-36, the attention turns to Jacob and an exploration of our fundamental character, that of being a conniver and trickster and huckster like our imperfect forebear. Finally, in chapters 37- 50, the attention will shift once again to the stories of Joseph and the recounting of how our family ended up in Egypt.
If this larger schema is kept in mind and presented homiletically, the snippet of Genesis in today's reading becomes an analogy of the joy that emerges from long-term commitments to relationships that matter. Yes, Jacob loved Rachel, and so he should have. But in their relationship was an allegory of Israel's own need to deepen its fealty for Yahweh. Standing at the base of Mount Sinai, the nation had to take stock of its commitments. Egyptian slavery had pulverized their identity to spineless obeisance. Now they were free to choose: life, direction, and the object(s) of their devotion. In this wonderful world where the boundaries had been exiled and the shackles were pounded into jewelry, how would they find themselves again? The story of Jacob was both a fine object lesson for parents to use with their hormonally charged teens and also a terrific allegory for the nation as a whole. True love involves deep commitment. It is a form of slavery that brings life rather than death. Here, on the open sweeps of expansive possibilities, limiting one's freedom to the bonds of a single relationship that truly matters is the most liberating exercise of all. It is the backbone of biblical religion.
Romans 8:26-39
When John Calvin first wrote his Institutes of the Christian Religion it was a much slimmer volume than the one published today in two sizeable books. It was, of course, a book that would stand among the great writings of human history, even if it served to polarize Christianity on one of its key tenets: the doctrine of predestination.
What few people know is that Calvin shifted his thinking about predestination in a major way over the course of subsequent editions of the Institutes. Calvin begins by reflecting that there are two dominant quests for knowledge in the human arena, the one seeking truth or truths about God and the other searching for a deeper understanding of our own personal and cultural identities. "Right order of teaching," according to Calvin, suggested that he explore first what could be stated about knowledge of God. Here is where Calvin was about to move on a journey that is deeply related to Paul's renderings in Romans 8.
In the first two editions of the Institutes, Calvin considered the subject of the decrees of God as part of the content of theology proper and summarized his thoughts on predestination in Book I. In this way Calvin was trying to combine the ordering of the universe by the creator with the structuring of even individual lives in our day-to-day existence. But Calvin soon felt uncomfortable with that. Such an approach carried with it tendencies toward absolute determinism and rendered faith not much more than fatalism. If God's decrees of creation established the natural laws that keep galaxies and planets in their orbits, such talk about the divine predestination of human society made life rigid and brittle.
By edition three, Calvin had shifted his discussion of predestination to Book III, under the rubric of the work of the Holy Sprit. Calvin explained that when we come to know God as creator and the powerful originator of all that exists, our reaction ought to be a free act of worship rather than a frustrated sense of being overwhelmed into submission. So Calvin was not as much the deterministic monster that many of his detractors made him out to be. Furthermore, when discussing passages like Romans 8 and Ephesians 1 as part of the theology of the Spirit, Calvin struck gold. He took the tack that Paul himself established in his letter to the Romans. Predestination is a very important topic for those who are foundering in the stormy seas of life. As much as we think we are strong and willful and self-determining, we find too often that our best efforts don't make the grade, and few of us find first chairs in the orchestra of society.
It is precisely then that we need to rely on the chief doctrine of salvation, that we are loved with an unconditional love, that we are cared for by a partner who will never abandon us, and that our value lies not in our achievements but in the gift of grace and the commitment of divine care. Predestination is not a doctrine to be argued about in supra- and infralapsarian debates; it is, instead, like the security blanket that Linus always carried in the Peanuts comic strips of Charles Schultz. Linus didn't need that blanket when doing most things his life involved. But when the lights went out, and when other kids called him names, and when random acts of violence ripped his world, Linus clung to that blanket. It reminded him of a mother who had birthed him. It recalled the devotion of parents who set a schedule for him, fed and clothed him, provided safety in a warm house for him, and loved him unconditionally before even he was able to reciprocate in any substantial way.
Paul ties the assurances of our salvation directly to the work of the Holy Spirit (Romans 8:1-27). So did the more mature Calvin. So ought we. We do not need to argue the silly and excessive pronouncements that have been made about predestination. But when we look out over a sea of faces etched with the sorrows of our times, the frailty of human achievement, and the fragile securities upon which we build our lives, there must be a voice that shouts with no uncertainty, "God loves you! The creator cares about you! You matter to God!" This is the voice of Paul in his finest hour literary art. This is the voice of the church declaring the word of God. This is the great theme of divine commitment that makes today's message come alive.
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Matthew 13 is a profound collection of parables by Jesus whose primary focus is the kingdom of heaven. Writing to a primarily Jewish-Christian community Matthew honors the devout tradition of minimizing public use of the name of God by using the term "kingdom of heaven." Elsewhere among the gospels and throughout the New Testament the equivalent idea "kingdom of God" is dominant.
It is important to hear the undercurrent of what Jesus is saying. First of all, the idea of "kingdom" implies citizenship, or at least allegiance to a governing authority. This is Jesus' theme in his parable of the treasures (vv. 44-46). Among the pieces of properties that we collect in this life, says Jesus, we may someday suddenly stumble upon a treasure that collects us. It possesses us. It demands allegiance from us.
When we choose other pearls, or dig around for treasures in our own backyards, we get from them what we are looking for -- things that we can possess. But when the great prize of the hidden treasure comes our way, or we stumble onto the pearl of great price, we realize that our little hoards are insufficient. It is not enough to own a piece of fading substance; we need to be owned by something that transcends our time. We need God to lay hold on us.
A second implication of Jesus' parables in this chapter is that we are under orders. The kingdom of heaven is like a net that catches fish. It is not like a hook thrown carelessly into the water in case a silly fish might be stupid enough to nip at it. No, the kingdom of heaven, says Jesus, is a network of citizens who together are constantly under orders to bring in others.
So the parable of the net (vv. 47-52) reminds us of our marching orders in the kingdom of heaven. We are not saved so that we may politely pat ourselves on the back and smile at one another in the tiny corners we occupy. No, we are part of a net that seeks and engages the fish of this world who might be swimming to their own destruction.
Finally, Jesus' stories in this chapter tell us that we are on the winning side in the battles of life. When Jesus tells the parables of the seed and the yeast (vv. 31-35) he presents a picture of the kingdom of heaven that grows and dominates until it is the primary factor shaping the world. The tiny mustard seed morphs into a tree that provides a home for the birds and the bit of yeast transforms the entire loaf until it is utterly and completely changed. And, it is important to note, these things happen rather automatically. The change takes place from within the seed and from within the grain of yeast.
In other words, the kingdom of heaven has the winning power within itself and invites us along on the journey. We do not create the kingdom, but the kingdom creates us. Even though it appears to be insignificant at the start, the essence of greatness and the confidence of success lies within.
Application
Our youngest daughter was born in Nigeria while I was teaching there. Because the Nigerian government does not automatically grant citizenship to all who are born on its soil, Kaitlyn was truly a person without a country in her earliest days. Until I could process her existence with the United States consulate in Kaduna, she had no official identity, no traveling permissions, and no rights in society outside of our home. We took a picture of her at five days old, sleeping in my hands, and this became the photograph used on her passport for the first ten years of her life. The snapshot may have become outdated quickly as she grew through the stages of childhood, but the passport to which it was affixed declared that she belonged to the United States of America. She had rights. She had privileges. She had protection under the law. When the time came for us to leave Nigeria and travel through three continents to get back to North America, that little passport opened doors and prepared the way for her. She had never lived in the US, but the US knew her by name and kept watch over her.
This is the value of commitment. Beyond our own resources, we are always looking for others who can and will commit themselves to us. Like Jacob with Rachel, like God to us in Paul's marvelous hymnic testimony, like the reciprocal relationship between ourselves and the kingdom of heaven in Jesus' wonderful parables, no truly great thing can happen without someone, somewhere making a profound commitment to another. God makes such a commitment to us, and the best of our faith does the same in response.
Alternative Application
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52. When we learned the "Pledge of Allegiance" we were taught to understand and respect the flag as a symbol of our country and to renew our commitments to its well-being. Far more significant, as Jesus reminds us in the parables of Matthew 13, is our need as Christians to regularly and repeatedly stand together and recite the greatest pledge of allegiance of all time, to the Christian flag and the Savior for whose kingdom it stands.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 105:1-11, 45b
One hears much these days about "seekers." The word in contemporary usage usually refers to people who are vaguely spiritual in nature but have not managed to focus on a particular tradition or practice. These wandering souls are much sought after by churches these days. There are Seeker Worship Services, Seeker Discussion Groups, Seeker Suppers, and even Seeker Singles Groups. Within the confines of these groups one often hears people self-described as "spiritual." Often someone will say, "I'm very spiritual, but I'm not into organized religion."
The ready wit always responds to this, saying "You don't like organized religion? Brother, you've come to the right church! We're anything but organized here!" But in truth there is something unsettling and unspoken behind this dislike of so-called organized religion.
It is, candidly, a form of spiritual laziness. Spirituality requires more than a romantic walk on the beach. It is deeper than an infatuation with shallow wanderings into the antechambers of the great religious traditions. Any spirituality requires discipline. Whether it is Buddhist, Hindu, Jewish, Islam, or Christian matters not. Any serious pursuit of spirituality requires discipline, and, yes ... organization. No one would think to pick up a Stradivarius violin and play it like a master without decades of practice. Not just anyone can mount the stage with a professional ballet company and dance as well as the members of the company. Indeed, these concepts are almost humorous to us. We understand that years and years of practice are necessary to achieve mastery in the arts. Yet somehow we assume that a person can simply "be spiritual" by merely stating the case.
A true seeker after the holy engages a rigorous discipline of prayer, meditation, and living. It isn't a hobby or a pastime. It is a way of life. It is this kind of seeking that these verses in Psalm 105 address. To "seek God's presence continually," is to focus and engage. It is to set aside the ego and the fleeting desires of our own daily lives, and give one's self over to the seeking. And for us, this search involves singing God's praises and calling out God's name. It leads us to remembering God's mighty works and to continually keeping ourselves open to the leading of God's Spirit.
As churches across the land try to open their doors to "seekers," one avenue might be to invite people into the disciplines of spirituality. Instead of lowering the bar so that anyone can merely step into spirituality's realm, perhaps the best idea is to raise that same bar and invite everyone into excellence and wonder. It might just be that the key to reviving the church is found in claiming spiritual practice and discipline. It might just be that this is the call of the church in a new time.
Second, there is a fear of losing our freedom that hammers down the brakes for some, especially men. In the socialization processes of adolescence, one of the key components is that of differentiation and individuation. We need to separate ourselves from our parents and learn what it means to be a unique person in our own right. This is why teens often push back at the controls of dads and moms. It is a God-designed tussle that must be won by the children in order for each new generation to emerge from the chrysalis of family identity formation. But this newfound freedom can become addictive, especially in males. Females by nature are generally more relationally driven, but guys can press the button on achievement, which is often a solo play, even in team sports. The multiple demands on time and choices that a deep relationship implies can seem threatening to the bold individualism of Rambo heroics.
Closely related is the third hindrance to deep relationships: fear of losing individuality. We all crave personal space. No matter where we live in the world, packed into dense urban populations or scaling a wilderness mountain peak all alone, we look for some evidence that "I" is different from "we." Although interdependence is the goal of a mature relationship, no solid friendship can hold us if we do not compromise our sacred personal space or bend our wills in some form of blended camaraderie. How tightly we need to hold onto the borders of our own personalities is a barometer of our openness to the vulnerability and psychic porousness of relational engagement.
Fear of boredom is the fourth pseudo-barrier to long-term relationships. Change and newness are absolute values in our consumerist culture. A two-year-old cell phone is an antique; a car without factory-installed GPS is so yesterday; clothes that are too short or too bulky or the wrong color are not intended to be worn out in some stewardship contest but must be thrown out. This mentality seeps quickly into our relationships. What if I commit to someone and find out that domestic tranquility is dull? What if I say, "Yes" to you and find out that I also want to say, "Yes" to the person at the office and the one at the gym and the neighbor across the street? How can I commit to you if all I will get from you will be the same old same old, year after year? No thanks!
Finally, closely related, is the fear of inadequacy in myself. Worse than getting bored with you is the horrific possibility that you will get bored with me! During courtship we deliberately strut and preen and mime our hypocritical imitations of stars and celebrities and winners and persons of distinction or merit or achievement. But if we spend the remaining years of our eternity together, won't the make-up crack and the trophies tarnish and the teeth fall out and the hair thin and the accomplishments get relegated to high school yearbooks that only the psychologically challenged drama queens keep dragging out of mildewed storage boxes? What if I am not all I promised I would be?
It is these trepidations that undermine commitment in our society. Fascinating then, how so many of the Bible's words are spilled in describing commitments that shaped the world. Jacob would become the patriarch of the family that changed human history, and it rested, in part, on his unwavering commitment to a woman who was withheld from him for seven years and daughter to a man who almost outstripped Jacob himself in conniving trickery. Paul finds even greater promises in the commitment of God to us and pens one of the loftiest poetic tributes to the only sure thing we can count on in life and in death. Jesus reminds us that those who lack the discipline of commitment cannot hope to lay claim to the ultimate treasure of the universe, the very kingdom of heaven.
Today is a great day to renew commitments, strengthen courageous backbones, and rekindle the ardor of faith's promises.
Genesis 29:15-28
As a father of three daughters I have sometimes secretly hoped that I could imitate Laban. What a wonderful thing it would be to require of future sons-in-law a seven-year period of indentured servitude to me! Twenty-one years of slave labor I should be able to pull out of the unlucky males who dared to take my daughters from me!
It is because of this that I understand why many cultures demand a high bride price. No one should participate in the transitioning of our wonderful daughters from our home to other familial units without giving me a very clear indication that he understands the supreme worthiness of these girls we have raised.
The lectionary passage for today is unfortunately sliced and diced from its larger context, and thus lends itself to pious moralisms on dating behaviors. But if it is replaced into the literary unfolding of the entire book of Genesis, the pericope can serve as a microcosm of the larger message being announced. Genesis serves as the extended historical prologue to the covenant between Yahweh and Israel at Mount Sinai. It informs the nation as to why this covenant is being made and how it will impact their culture and values as a communal participant in the global economy of the ancient near east.
Chapters 1-11 define the nature of reality, spelling out the distinct perspectives that emerge when humanity is understood as the intended crowning achievement of a creator who is wonderfully invested in the world around. Chapters 12-25, focusing on the person and experiences of father Abraham, answer the question of this particular nation: Why are we a special people and how does this play into our deliverance from Egyptian slavery and the future that is being programmed for us? Here, in chapters 26-36, the attention turns to Jacob and an exploration of our fundamental character, that of being a conniver and trickster and huckster like our imperfect forebear. Finally, in chapters 37- 50, the attention will shift once again to the stories of Joseph and the recounting of how our family ended up in Egypt.
If this larger schema is kept in mind and presented homiletically, the snippet of Genesis in today's reading becomes an analogy of the joy that emerges from long-term commitments to relationships that matter. Yes, Jacob loved Rachel, and so he should have. But in their relationship was an allegory of Israel's own need to deepen its fealty for Yahweh. Standing at the base of Mount Sinai, the nation had to take stock of its commitments. Egyptian slavery had pulverized their identity to spineless obeisance. Now they were free to choose: life, direction, and the object(s) of their devotion. In this wonderful world where the boundaries had been exiled and the shackles were pounded into jewelry, how would they find themselves again? The story of Jacob was both a fine object lesson for parents to use with their hormonally charged teens and also a terrific allegory for the nation as a whole. True love involves deep commitment. It is a form of slavery that brings life rather than death. Here, on the open sweeps of expansive possibilities, limiting one's freedom to the bonds of a single relationship that truly matters is the most liberating exercise of all. It is the backbone of biblical religion.
Romans 8:26-39
When John Calvin first wrote his Institutes of the Christian Religion it was a much slimmer volume than the one published today in two sizeable books. It was, of course, a book that would stand among the great writings of human history, even if it served to polarize Christianity on one of its key tenets: the doctrine of predestination.
What few people know is that Calvin shifted his thinking about predestination in a major way over the course of subsequent editions of the Institutes. Calvin begins by reflecting that there are two dominant quests for knowledge in the human arena, the one seeking truth or truths about God and the other searching for a deeper understanding of our own personal and cultural identities. "Right order of teaching," according to Calvin, suggested that he explore first what could be stated about knowledge of God. Here is where Calvin was about to move on a journey that is deeply related to Paul's renderings in Romans 8.
In the first two editions of the Institutes, Calvin considered the subject of the decrees of God as part of the content of theology proper and summarized his thoughts on predestination in Book I. In this way Calvin was trying to combine the ordering of the universe by the creator with the structuring of even individual lives in our day-to-day existence. But Calvin soon felt uncomfortable with that. Such an approach carried with it tendencies toward absolute determinism and rendered faith not much more than fatalism. If God's decrees of creation established the natural laws that keep galaxies and planets in their orbits, such talk about the divine predestination of human society made life rigid and brittle.
By edition three, Calvin had shifted his discussion of predestination to Book III, under the rubric of the work of the Holy Sprit. Calvin explained that when we come to know God as creator and the powerful originator of all that exists, our reaction ought to be a free act of worship rather than a frustrated sense of being overwhelmed into submission. So Calvin was not as much the deterministic monster that many of his detractors made him out to be. Furthermore, when discussing passages like Romans 8 and Ephesians 1 as part of the theology of the Spirit, Calvin struck gold. He took the tack that Paul himself established in his letter to the Romans. Predestination is a very important topic for those who are foundering in the stormy seas of life. As much as we think we are strong and willful and self-determining, we find too often that our best efforts don't make the grade, and few of us find first chairs in the orchestra of society.
It is precisely then that we need to rely on the chief doctrine of salvation, that we are loved with an unconditional love, that we are cared for by a partner who will never abandon us, and that our value lies not in our achievements but in the gift of grace and the commitment of divine care. Predestination is not a doctrine to be argued about in supra- and infralapsarian debates; it is, instead, like the security blanket that Linus always carried in the Peanuts comic strips of Charles Schultz. Linus didn't need that blanket when doing most things his life involved. But when the lights went out, and when other kids called him names, and when random acts of violence ripped his world, Linus clung to that blanket. It reminded him of a mother who had birthed him. It recalled the devotion of parents who set a schedule for him, fed and clothed him, provided safety in a warm house for him, and loved him unconditionally before even he was able to reciprocate in any substantial way.
Paul ties the assurances of our salvation directly to the work of the Holy Spirit (Romans 8:1-27). So did the more mature Calvin. So ought we. We do not need to argue the silly and excessive pronouncements that have been made about predestination. But when we look out over a sea of faces etched with the sorrows of our times, the frailty of human achievement, and the fragile securities upon which we build our lives, there must be a voice that shouts with no uncertainty, "God loves you! The creator cares about you! You matter to God!" This is the voice of Paul in his finest hour literary art. This is the voice of the church declaring the word of God. This is the great theme of divine commitment that makes today's message come alive.
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Matthew 13 is a profound collection of parables by Jesus whose primary focus is the kingdom of heaven. Writing to a primarily Jewish-Christian community Matthew honors the devout tradition of minimizing public use of the name of God by using the term "kingdom of heaven." Elsewhere among the gospels and throughout the New Testament the equivalent idea "kingdom of God" is dominant.
It is important to hear the undercurrent of what Jesus is saying. First of all, the idea of "kingdom" implies citizenship, or at least allegiance to a governing authority. This is Jesus' theme in his parable of the treasures (vv. 44-46). Among the pieces of properties that we collect in this life, says Jesus, we may someday suddenly stumble upon a treasure that collects us. It possesses us. It demands allegiance from us.
When we choose other pearls, or dig around for treasures in our own backyards, we get from them what we are looking for -- things that we can possess. But when the great prize of the hidden treasure comes our way, or we stumble onto the pearl of great price, we realize that our little hoards are insufficient. It is not enough to own a piece of fading substance; we need to be owned by something that transcends our time. We need God to lay hold on us.
A second implication of Jesus' parables in this chapter is that we are under orders. The kingdom of heaven is like a net that catches fish. It is not like a hook thrown carelessly into the water in case a silly fish might be stupid enough to nip at it. No, the kingdom of heaven, says Jesus, is a network of citizens who together are constantly under orders to bring in others.
So the parable of the net (vv. 47-52) reminds us of our marching orders in the kingdom of heaven. We are not saved so that we may politely pat ourselves on the back and smile at one another in the tiny corners we occupy. No, we are part of a net that seeks and engages the fish of this world who might be swimming to their own destruction.
Finally, Jesus' stories in this chapter tell us that we are on the winning side in the battles of life. When Jesus tells the parables of the seed and the yeast (vv. 31-35) he presents a picture of the kingdom of heaven that grows and dominates until it is the primary factor shaping the world. The tiny mustard seed morphs into a tree that provides a home for the birds and the bit of yeast transforms the entire loaf until it is utterly and completely changed. And, it is important to note, these things happen rather automatically. The change takes place from within the seed and from within the grain of yeast.
In other words, the kingdom of heaven has the winning power within itself and invites us along on the journey. We do not create the kingdom, but the kingdom creates us. Even though it appears to be insignificant at the start, the essence of greatness and the confidence of success lies within.
Application
Our youngest daughter was born in Nigeria while I was teaching there. Because the Nigerian government does not automatically grant citizenship to all who are born on its soil, Kaitlyn was truly a person without a country in her earliest days. Until I could process her existence with the United States consulate in Kaduna, she had no official identity, no traveling permissions, and no rights in society outside of our home. We took a picture of her at five days old, sleeping in my hands, and this became the photograph used on her passport for the first ten years of her life. The snapshot may have become outdated quickly as she grew through the stages of childhood, but the passport to which it was affixed declared that she belonged to the United States of America. She had rights. She had privileges. She had protection under the law. When the time came for us to leave Nigeria and travel through three continents to get back to North America, that little passport opened doors and prepared the way for her. She had never lived in the US, but the US knew her by name and kept watch over her.
This is the value of commitment. Beyond our own resources, we are always looking for others who can and will commit themselves to us. Like Jacob with Rachel, like God to us in Paul's marvelous hymnic testimony, like the reciprocal relationship between ourselves and the kingdom of heaven in Jesus' wonderful parables, no truly great thing can happen without someone, somewhere making a profound commitment to another. God makes such a commitment to us, and the best of our faith does the same in response.
Alternative Application
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52. When we learned the "Pledge of Allegiance" we were taught to understand and respect the flag as a symbol of our country and to renew our commitments to its well-being. Far more significant, as Jesus reminds us in the parables of Matthew 13, is our need as Christians to regularly and repeatedly stand together and recite the greatest pledge of allegiance of all time, to the Christian flag and the Savior for whose kingdom it stands.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 105:1-11, 45b
One hears much these days about "seekers." The word in contemporary usage usually refers to people who are vaguely spiritual in nature but have not managed to focus on a particular tradition or practice. These wandering souls are much sought after by churches these days. There are Seeker Worship Services, Seeker Discussion Groups, Seeker Suppers, and even Seeker Singles Groups. Within the confines of these groups one often hears people self-described as "spiritual." Often someone will say, "I'm very spiritual, but I'm not into organized religion."
The ready wit always responds to this, saying "You don't like organized religion? Brother, you've come to the right church! We're anything but organized here!" But in truth there is something unsettling and unspoken behind this dislike of so-called organized religion.
It is, candidly, a form of spiritual laziness. Spirituality requires more than a romantic walk on the beach. It is deeper than an infatuation with shallow wanderings into the antechambers of the great religious traditions. Any spirituality requires discipline. Whether it is Buddhist, Hindu, Jewish, Islam, or Christian matters not. Any serious pursuit of spirituality requires discipline, and, yes ... organization. No one would think to pick up a Stradivarius violin and play it like a master without decades of practice. Not just anyone can mount the stage with a professional ballet company and dance as well as the members of the company. Indeed, these concepts are almost humorous to us. We understand that years and years of practice are necessary to achieve mastery in the arts. Yet somehow we assume that a person can simply "be spiritual" by merely stating the case.
A true seeker after the holy engages a rigorous discipline of prayer, meditation, and living. It isn't a hobby or a pastime. It is a way of life. It is this kind of seeking that these verses in Psalm 105 address. To "seek God's presence continually," is to focus and engage. It is to set aside the ego and the fleeting desires of our own daily lives, and give one's self over to the seeking. And for us, this search involves singing God's praises and calling out God's name. It leads us to remembering God's mighty works and to continually keeping ourselves open to the leading of God's Spirit.
As churches across the land try to open their doors to "seekers," one avenue might be to invite people into the disciplines of spirituality. Instead of lowering the bar so that anyone can merely step into spirituality's realm, perhaps the best idea is to raise that same bar and invite everyone into excellence and wonder. It might just be that the key to reviving the church is found in claiming spiritual practice and discipline. It might just be that this is the call of the church in a new time.
