Doing the Right Things for the Right Reasons
Commentary
Every parent of young children can identify with this: a little boy was asked his name, and he replied, “John Don’t.” Sometimes it seems that parents have only “no’s!” for their little ones. “No, Sarah.” “You mustn’t do that, Matthew.” “John, don’t!”
It may sound harsh, but when we say “no” to our children, it is often a matter of safety, a means of survival. We say it to keep them from falling out of a window or stepping out into a busy street or drinking poison.
Adults need “no’s” in their lives too. But for adults it is not always a matter of safety or survival. Usually it has more to do with self-definition. In order to truly say “yes” in life, we must also learn to say “no.”
Think of it. If you can’t say “no,” then you lose the power to say “yes.” If you are capable of doing anything, if there is nothing you wouldn’t do, then you have no character. Character is something we define by drawing lines, by closing off possibilities, by saying, “I am this because I am not that. I cannot be that because I want to be this.”
That is really the point of the negatives in the Ten Commandments. God is not trying to play the killjoy. God is dealing with us in grace. “Do not have any other gods before me,” God says; “if you do, you will miss the real thing your life is all about. Do not look for happiness in illicit sexual encounters; if you do, you will miss the one greatest joy of your sexuality that you could find in troth. Do not speak an untruth, or you yourself will become a lie.”
G. K. Chesterton put it marvelously. He said that art and morality have this in common: they know where to draw the line. That is definition. That is closing some things, and shutting other things out. Only when we draw lines can we develop some sense of character, some understanding of personality, some consciousness of identity.
Our religious pilgrimage often begins in places and among peoples that know no limits. One day we wake up in the slippery and enticing world where boundaries are gone. We are able to say “yes” to everything, and in so doing suddenly become a slave of fad and fashion. We don’t even know who we are anymore.
That is when the cry of desperation erupts from our lips: “Save me, Lord!” Grace works within limits: “no” to this and “yes” to that. Any true pilgrim will never crawl to the road toward the kingdom of God until she or he learns the power of the word “no,” a word that defines the beauty of God’s great “yes.”
This is the theme of each of our lectionary readings for today. Amos shouts Yahweh’s word of judgment against ancient Israel as it loses its sense of right and righteousness. Paul delights in the great “yes” of God who has transformed a world of darkness into a kingdom of light. And Jesus quietly nurtures his good friend Martha into keeping an eye on the things that truly matter.
Amos 8:1-12
Israel’s earliest prophets had several things in common. First, they were closely attached to the royal dynasties and functioned significantly as political, moral and religious advisers. Second, few of their words were written down for posterity. Third, they seem to have had close connections vocationally with either the extended royal household or the priestly families that cared for the tabernacle and later the temple. Samuel was the archetype of these prophets, according to 1 Samuel 3, and appears to have given name and status to the role of prophecy in the nation as a whole (see 1 Samuel 9).
Others in this group include Nathan, who had direct and easy access to King David (2 Samuel 7, 12); Ahijah, who seems to have been significantly responsible for the partition of the nation of Israel after the death of King Solomon (1 Kings 11:29-39), and later spoke a strong word of judgment against the king he had ensconced (1 Kings 14); and the nameless prophets of 1 Kings 13 who talk with the kings and advise them. Each played a direct role in the political life of the nation, but did so as an acknowledged representative for Israel’s true king, Yahweh. For them, there was no distinction between the religious and political dimensions of society.
Things appear to have changed significantly for prophets in the eighth century. While Isaiah was expressing the passion and purposes of Yahweh with lyric eloquence in the south, prophecy took on a decidedly angry character in the north. The powerful team of Elijah and Elisha railed against the royal pair of Ahab and Jezebel (1 Kings 17-2 Kings 9) for their anti-Yahweh religious stance and their anti-Sinai covenant betrayal of people like Naboth (1 Kings 21). Micaiah joined their entourage for one brief incident (1 Kings 22), lending credence to their pronouncements of judgment, even while having direct access to the royal council room.
The most enduring voices from this era belong, however, to those members of “the twelve” minor prophets whose words were recorded in blunt detail. Amos left his large estate near Tekoa in Judah to travel northward into the territory of its sibling rival Israel around the year 760 B.C. He explored the expansive prevalence of social sins in that realm which, he made clear, would soon result in divine judgment upon these people. According to Amos:
Colossians 1:15-28
Paul’s letter to the Colossians is quite short, but it packs a big punch of theology and perspective. First, Paul celebrates the faithfulness of these disciples of Jesus, and also the great majesty and power of the one they serve (Colossians 1:1-23). After a short declaration of Paul’s immense care for the Colossian congregation (Colossians 1:24--2:5), he addresses the problem that was beginning to divide the congregation (Colossians 2:6-23). Although it is difficult for us to know exactly what were the specific elements of the false teaching that some were embracing, it appears to have included the worship of angels, certain forms of asceticism, and possibly a unique version of how the commands given through Moses were to be kept. These slim details suggest, to some, that an early form of Gnosticism was taking root. Others find a Jewish connection, with certain leaders pushing for a Palestinian ritualistic legalism of the kind that Paul had reacted against so strongly in his letter to the Galatians. Whatever the case, Paul’s response was to urge the congregation to focus on the superlative transformation brought by Jesus, which did not need to be supported with secondary rules and regulations.
In an almost counter-intuitive move, Paul then goes on to give what might be termed “rules” for Christian living. But these commands about marriage, family and work relationships are more a projection of the social outcomes that should emerge when everyone’s focus remains on Jesus (Colossians 3:1--4:1), rather than a new set of legalistic instructions. It is interesting that after brief statements about the responsibilities of wives (Colossians 3:18), husbands (Colossians 3:19), children (Colossians 3:20), and fathers (Colossians 3:21), Paul’s advice to “slaves” is rather extended (Colossians 3:22-25). Philemon’s slave Onesimus might well be carrying this packet of letters, and would certainly know many of the slaves who were part of this nearby congregation! Paul does include a brief challenge to “masters” as well (Colossians 4:1), exactly in line with the contents of his letter to Onesimus’ master, Philemon. A few personal notes and many personnel reports bring Paul’s letter to a conclusion (Colossians 4:2-18).
Luke 10:38-42
Both Matthew (1:1-17) and Luke (3:23-38) provide genealogies tracing the family of Jesus back into the distant past. But their reasons for these ancestor trees are somewhat different. Matthew wishes to show his fellow Jews that Jesus is the Messiah promised as a fulfillment and culmination of the great covenants made by Yahweh with Abram (Genesis 12-17), and with David (2 Samuel 7). In this way, Matthew emphasizes Jesus’ connectedness with the specially called people of God, Israel, and their survivors, the Jews.
As a non-Jew writing to other Gentiles, Luke wants to emphasize Jesus’ participation in the life of all nations. So, he brings the genealogical table backward even further, beyond the era of Abraham’s family, all the way back to the beginning of biblical time, when God created humanity itself. Jesus emerges from recent Jewish stock, certainly, but like all people on earth, he belongs to the one great humanity which is ultimately born of the Creator, and not limited to the culture or religion of just one tribe or nationality.
These are not contradictory interpretations of Jesus. Instead, they complement one another well as the same message is given through the gospels: Jesus, the Jew, is Savior of the nations.
This theme seems to lie behind today’s gospel reading. The siblings Martha, Mary and Lazarus are Jesus’ very close friends, appearing at various times throughout the gospels. They live in Bethany, on the edge of Jerusalem, and their home seems to have been a home-away-from-home whenever Jesus traveled south for Jewish festivals at the temple. Martha is typically shown as the proper and appropriate Jewish woman of the house, ensuring the best of hospitality for Jesus and others who come under her care. Mary, on the other hand, begins to see and longs to see the larger world through Jesus’ eyes of global transforming vision. Jesus never chides Martha as incorrect or wrong in her rich practices of the best of Jewish hospitality. He does, however, nudge her to see the broader horizons of God’s mission that began through Abraham’s family as others are grafted into it. Martha and Mary together make a great larger expression of the best within Jesus’ disciples: Martha’s heart of organized care and Mary’s heart of missional passion intertwine as they engage others like Luke, who himself never met Jesus in any other flesh than people like Paul and Silas who loved him into the Body of Christ.
Perhaps the most striking and clearly Lukan focus in conveying the message about Jesus, is his recognition that God has special care for the poor (noted in Mary’s song, identified in the offering brought by Joseph and Mary at Jesus’ circumcision, asserted through the record of Jesus’ pronouncements of woes on the rich and blessings on the poor, and insinuated in the story of Lazarus and the rich man), the sick (notably the number of demon-possessed who are healed by Jesus, and also the lepers who are cleansed and the paralyzed who are restored to mobility), the marginalized (shepherds, children, tax collectors, prostitutes, Samaritans, and the blind), and women (Mary, Elizabeth, widows, the hemorrhaging woman, Mary and Martha, and the crippled woman).
Application
Oscar Wilde penned a powerful story about behaviors and definitions and justice called The Picture of Dorian Gray. Dorian was a handsome young man, a model of physical beauty and moral virtue. People complimented him on his good graces. Parents pointed to him as an example to their youth. One artist even painted an exquisite portrait of him.
Dorian idolized the painting. He woke each morning to admire it. He ended every day with a gaze at his mirrored perfection. Someone so lovely could do no wrong, he began to think, or at least would not be punished for it. In his vanity, he became selfish and indulgent. He sampled the sins of the streets. He debauched himself in the opium dens of London’s darker dives.
Of course, Dorian’s crimes and carelessness took their toll. Soon the perfect portrait on the wall began to haunt him. The picture of a radiant and wholesome young man gleamed down on his puffy face and diseased body and glazed eyes. If only he could look that way again! If only the portrait could absorb the marks of his sin!
And miraculously, that’s what happened. Before long, his youthful glow returned. The more he caroused at night, the healthier and handsomer he became. And on the wall, the painting slowly became etched and lined with the wickedness of Dorian Gray.
What a life! Each day, people marveled at his virtue and eternal youth. And by night he wallowed in every vice, with no recrimination. The now ugly painting on the wall absorbed every evil, and tallied each painful degradation.
Dorian could no longer endure even a casual glance at the horrible picture. He hid it in the attic and only occasionally sneaked up to survey the damage. Over the years, what little resemblance there may have been between young Dorian Gray and the grotesque monster in the painting was all but lost.
But the painting remained a sacramental testimony of his wickedness. It was a haunting conscience, an inviolate judge on the life and times of Dorian Gray. It stood as accuser. It never lied. It drove him mad.
One night he could stand it no longer. Knife in hand, he ascended the stairs to the attic courtroom and attacked the awful witness that spoke silently for the prosecution.
When his servants searched the house the next day, looking for Master Gray, they found only the wretched body of a ghastly old man in the attic, knife through his heart. And on the wall beamed the handsome and virtuous face of the painting of Dorian Gray.
Wilde’s story summarizes two themes that linger within each of us. The first is a sense of morality. Dorian knew right from wrong. He realized there was a proper way to live and a style of life that was evil and degrading. God made us with a conscience, says the apostle Paul, and no one is without excuse in matters of morality.
Second, Wilde pointed a finger to justice. Blind justice. Standing there weighing our deeds with her scales, meting out punishments. We would like to be excused. We would like a way out, a miraculous painting that absorbs our punishments and lets us off with only an ugly glance. But we know it will never happen. We get what we deserve, if not now, then when we die. Dorian Gray got his; we will get ours.
Unless someone does something about it. Unless there is a way out of this mess. Unless God might be gracious and transfer the ugliness of our sins to Jesus.
But, of course, if there is such a way, we had better listen to the message of the gospel. Even its warnings.
Alternative Application (Amos 8:1-12)
I was working the sign-off show at a radio station during my seminary days. It was just after 11:30 one night when the telephone rang. A sleepy voice at the other end asked, “Is this that religious radio station?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well I’m dialing all over the place on my radio,” she told me, “and I can’t find your music…”
So I gave her the frequency of our signal, and then tried to engage her in a little more conversation. She sounded like she needed someone to talk with as much as she needed the music.
During the next twenty-five minutes her story spilled out. Much of it was an awkward tale of bad choices and bad times, more recently etched with both physical and relational pains. That night, in the dark and lonely places of her world, it all began to seem too much for Betty, and she decided to end her life. She took a bunch of pills and now was trying to find the right kind of music on her radio. Then she would slip away exchanging my music for that of the angels. Or so she told me.
I tried to get Betty’s address so that I could call the police. I tried to get her telephone number, but she would not let anything slip out.
At midnight, I had to give a station ID along with headline news and the weather forecast before switching to a recorded program. It would all take about three minutes. I told Betty to stay on the line, and that I would be back with her as quickly as I could. But when I picked up the receiver again there was no one at the other end.
I went home that night torn inside. Who was Betty? What had happened to her? Why was she all alone? Would she survive till morning?
It was four nights later that my roommates shook me awake at 1:30 a.m. There was a woman on the telephone. She had the number at our apartment, but she didn’t know why. When I picked up the receiver, I knew immediately that it was Betty. Once again, the world had gotten very small and dark for her, and down in her dungeon, Betty needed God. Mostly Betty needed God with skin on. And that is why, when she found a scrap of paper with a strange telephone number written on it, she called our number trying to find God. And in the confessions of our second late-night phone chat, Betty did find God.
Betty knew personally the thing that we all have to face: we become followers of Jesus only with a sob of our souls when we no longer believe the lie of society. We hear it every day in its subtle forms: “Things are really getting better and better all the time.” “Everyone has an equal opportunity in life.” “Education will conquer all our ills.” “If you just try hard enough, you can make it on your own.”
The advertisements tell us that we are really pretty good, and that the world itself is a rather pleasant and harmless place when we dress right, smell right, eat right, exercise right, and drive the right cars or invest in the right companies. Everything will work out well for the nice people.
But the way of the disciple takes its first step with the jolt of crisis. She cries for help. He confesses that he cannot make it on his own. This was the call and invitation of Amos which chants in urgency, the first hint of dawn calling to minds newly awakening from the twisted darkness of the world in which they are trapped: the advertiser who claims to know what I need and what I want and who can make everything better with just a single credit card; the entertainer who promises me a quick fix, a cheap trick, a sensuous fling that really is love; the politician who has my best interests at stake, and who will make me ruler with him if I just give him my vote; the psychiatrist who will help me achieve gain without pain by lowering my standards to the mud around me.
It may sound harsh, but when we say “no” to our children, it is often a matter of safety, a means of survival. We say it to keep them from falling out of a window or stepping out into a busy street or drinking poison.
Adults need “no’s” in their lives too. But for adults it is not always a matter of safety or survival. Usually it has more to do with self-definition. In order to truly say “yes” in life, we must also learn to say “no.”
Think of it. If you can’t say “no,” then you lose the power to say “yes.” If you are capable of doing anything, if there is nothing you wouldn’t do, then you have no character. Character is something we define by drawing lines, by closing off possibilities, by saying, “I am this because I am not that. I cannot be that because I want to be this.”
That is really the point of the negatives in the Ten Commandments. God is not trying to play the killjoy. God is dealing with us in grace. “Do not have any other gods before me,” God says; “if you do, you will miss the real thing your life is all about. Do not look for happiness in illicit sexual encounters; if you do, you will miss the one greatest joy of your sexuality that you could find in troth. Do not speak an untruth, or you yourself will become a lie.”
G. K. Chesterton put it marvelously. He said that art and morality have this in common: they know where to draw the line. That is definition. That is closing some things, and shutting other things out. Only when we draw lines can we develop some sense of character, some understanding of personality, some consciousness of identity.
Our religious pilgrimage often begins in places and among peoples that know no limits. One day we wake up in the slippery and enticing world where boundaries are gone. We are able to say “yes” to everything, and in so doing suddenly become a slave of fad and fashion. We don’t even know who we are anymore.
That is when the cry of desperation erupts from our lips: “Save me, Lord!” Grace works within limits: “no” to this and “yes” to that. Any true pilgrim will never crawl to the road toward the kingdom of God until she or he learns the power of the word “no,” a word that defines the beauty of God’s great “yes.”
This is the theme of each of our lectionary readings for today. Amos shouts Yahweh’s word of judgment against ancient Israel as it loses its sense of right and righteousness. Paul delights in the great “yes” of God who has transformed a world of darkness into a kingdom of light. And Jesus quietly nurtures his good friend Martha into keeping an eye on the things that truly matter.
Amos 8:1-12
Israel’s earliest prophets had several things in common. First, they were closely attached to the royal dynasties and functioned significantly as political, moral and religious advisers. Second, few of their words were written down for posterity. Third, they seem to have had close connections vocationally with either the extended royal household or the priestly families that cared for the tabernacle and later the temple. Samuel was the archetype of these prophets, according to 1 Samuel 3, and appears to have given name and status to the role of prophecy in the nation as a whole (see 1 Samuel 9).
Others in this group include Nathan, who had direct and easy access to King David (2 Samuel 7, 12); Ahijah, who seems to have been significantly responsible for the partition of the nation of Israel after the death of King Solomon (1 Kings 11:29-39), and later spoke a strong word of judgment against the king he had ensconced (1 Kings 14); and the nameless prophets of 1 Kings 13 who talk with the kings and advise them. Each played a direct role in the political life of the nation, but did so as an acknowledged representative for Israel’s true king, Yahweh. For them, there was no distinction between the religious and political dimensions of society.
Things appear to have changed significantly for prophets in the eighth century. While Isaiah was expressing the passion and purposes of Yahweh with lyric eloquence in the south, prophecy took on a decidedly angry character in the north. The powerful team of Elijah and Elisha railed against the royal pair of Ahab and Jezebel (1 Kings 17-2 Kings 9) for their anti-Yahweh religious stance and their anti-Sinai covenant betrayal of people like Naboth (1 Kings 21). Micaiah joined their entourage for one brief incident (1 Kings 22), lending credence to their pronouncements of judgment, even while having direct access to the royal council room.
The most enduring voices from this era belong, however, to those members of “the twelve” minor prophets whose words were recorded in blunt detail. Amos left his large estate near Tekoa in Judah to travel northward into the territory of its sibling rival Israel around the year 760 B.C. He explored the expansive prevalence of social sins in that realm which, he made clear, would soon result in divine judgment upon these people. According to Amos:
- There was a growing economic gap between very rich and very poor, accentuated by the callousness of the wealthy (6:4-6).
- Public worship had become repetitions of superficial liturgical acts (4:4-5; 5:21-23).
- The rich were stealing the lands of the poor through criminal lending practices, coupled with repossessions when impossible borrowing terms caused inevitable loan repayment defaults (2:6; 8:4, 6).
- Law courts were routinely denying justice to the helpless, simply because they could not pay bribes and had no social standing (2:7; 5:10, 12).
- In the marketplace, the poor were constantly cheated (8:5).
- Throughout the nation there was overt conspicuous consumption (4:1).
- Added to these were blatant debauchery and other forms of immoral lifestyle (6:5-6).
Colossians 1:15-28
Paul’s letter to the Colossians is quite short, but it packs a big punch of theology and perspective. First, Paul celebrates the faithfulness of these disciples of Jesus, and also the great majesty and power of the one they serve (Colossians 1:1-23). After a short declaration of Paul’s immense care for the Colossian congregation (Colossians 1:24--2:5), he addresses the problem that was beginning to divide the congregation (Colossians 2:6-23). Although it is difficult for us to know exactly what were the specific elements of the false teaching that some were embracing, it appears to have included the worship of angels, certain forms of asceticism, and possibly a unique version of how the commands given through Moses were to be kept. These slim details suggest, to some, that an early form of Gnosticism was taking root. Others find a Jewish connection, with certain leaders pushing for a Palestinian ritualistic legalism of the kind that Paul had reacted against so strongly in his letter to the Galatians. Whatever the case, Paul’s response was to urge the congregation to focus on the superlative transformation brought by Jesus, which did not need to be supported with secondary rules and regulations.
In an almost counter-intuitive move, Paul then goes on to give what might be termed “rules” for Christian living. But these commands about marriage, family and work relationships are more a projection of the social outcomes that should emerge when everyone’s focus remains on Jesus (Colossians 3:1--4:1), rather than a new set of legalistic instructions. It is interesting that after brief statements about the responsibilities of wives (Colossians 3:18), husbands (Colossians 3:19), children (Colossians 3:20), and fathers (Colossians 3:21), Paul’s advice to “slaves” is rather extended (Colossians 3:22-25). Philemon’s slave Onesimus might well be carrying this packet of letters, and would certainly know many of the slaves who were part of this nearby congregation! Paul does include a brief challenge to “masters” as well (Colossians 4:1), exactly in line with the contents of his letter to Onesimus’ master, Philemon. A few personal notes and many personnel reports bring Paul’s letter to a conclusion (Colossians 4:2-18).
Luke 10:38-42
Both Matthew (1:1-17) and Luke (3:23-38) provide genealogies tracing the family of Jesus back into the distant past. But their reasons for these ancestor trees are somewhat different. Matthew wishes to show his fellow Jews that Jesus is the Messiah promised as a fulfillment and culmination of the great covenants made by Yahweh with Abram (Genesis 12-17), and with David (2 Samuel 7). In this way, Matthew emphasizes Jesus’ connectedness with the specially called people of God, Israel, and their survivors, the Jews.
As a non-Jew writing to other Gentiles, Luke wants to emphasize Jesus’ participation in the life of all nations. So, he brings the genealogical table backward even further, beyond the era of Abraham’s family, all the way back to the beginning of biblical time, when God created humanity itself. Jesus emerges from recent Jewish stock, certainly, but like all people on earth, he belongs to the one great humanity which is ultimately born of the Creator, and not limited to the culture or religion of just one tribe or nationality.
These are not contradictory interpretations of Jesus. Instead, they complement one another well as the same message is given through the gospels: Jesus, the Jew, is Savior of the nations.
This theme seems to lie behind today’s gospel reading. The siblings Martha, Mary and Lazarus are Jesus’ very close friends, appearing at various times throughout the gospels. They live in Bethany, on the edge of Jerusalem, and their home seems to have been a home-away-from-home whenever Jesus traveled south for Jewish festivals at the temple. Martha is typically shown as the proper and appropriate Jewish woman of the house, ensuring the best of hospitality for Jesus and others who come under her care. Mary, on the other hand, begins to see and longs to see the larger world through Jesus’ eyes of global transforming vision. Jesus never chides Martha as incorrect or wrong in her rich practices of the best of Jewish hospitality. He does, however, nudge her to see the broader horizons of God’s mission that began through Abraham’s family as others are grafted into it. Martha and Mary together make a great larger expression of the best within Jesus’ disciples: Martha’s heart of organized care and Mary’s heart of missional passion intertwine as they engage others like Luke, who himself never met Jesus in any other flesh than people like Paul and Silas who loved him into the Body of Christ.
Perhaps the most striking and clearly Lukan focus in conveying the message about Jesus, is his recognition that God has special care for the poor (noted in Mary’s song, identified in the offering brought by Joseph and Mary at Jesus’ circumcision, asserted through the record of Jesus’ pronouncements of woes on the rich and blessings on the poor, and insinuated in the story of Lazarus and the rich man), the sick (notably the number of demon-possessed who are healed by Jesus, and also the lepers who are cleansed and the paralyzed who are restored to mobility), the marginalized (shepherds, children, tax collectors, prostitutes, Samaritans, and the blind), and women (Mary, Elizabeth, widows, the hemorrhaging woman, Mary and Martha, and the crippled woman).
Application
Oscar Wilde penned a powerful story about behaviors and definitions and justice called The Picture of Dorian Gray. Dorian was a handsome young man, a model of physical beauty and moral virtue. People complimented him on his good graces. Parents pointed to him as an example to their youth. One artist even painted an exquisite portrait of him.
Dorian idolized the painting. He woke each morning to admire it. He ended every day with a gaze at his mirrored perfection. Someone so lovely could do no wrong, he began to think, or at least would not be punished for it. In his vanity, he became selfish and indulgent. He sampled the sins of the streets. He debauched himself in the opium dens of London’s darker dives.
Of course, Dorian’s crimes and carelessness took their toll. Soon the perfect portrait on the wall began to haunt him. The picture of a radiant and wholesome young man gleamed down on his puffy face and diseased body and glazed eyes. If only he could look that way again! If only the portrait could absorb the marks of his sin!
And miraculously, that’s what happened. Before long, his youthful glow returned. The more he caroused at night, the healthier and handsomer he became. And on the wall, the painting slowly became etched and lined with the wickedness of Dorian Gray.
What a life! Each day, people marveled at his virtue and eternal youth. And by night he wallowed in every vice, with no recrimination. The now ugly painting on the wall absorbed every evil, and tallied each painful degradation.
Dorian could no longer endure even a casual glance at the horrible picture. He hid it in the attic and only occasionally sneaked up to survey the damage. Over the years, what little resemblance there may have been between young Dorian Gray and the grotesque monster in the painting was all but lost.
But the painting remained a sacramental testimony of his wickedness. It was a haunting conscience, an inviolate judge on the life and times of Dorian Gray. It stood as accuser. It never lied. It drove him mad.
One night he could stand it no longer. Knife in hand, he ascended the stairs to the attic courtroom and attacked the awful witness that spoke silently for the prosecution.
When his servants searched the house the next day, looking for Master Gray, they found only the wretched body of a ghastly old man in the attic, knife through his heart. And on the wall beamed the handsome and virtuous face of the painting of Dorian Gray.
Wilde’s story summarizes two themes that linger within each of us. The first is a sense of morality. Dorian knew right from wrong. He realized there was a proper way to live and a style of life that was evil and degrading. God made us with a conscience, says the apostle Paul, and no one is without excuse in matters of morality.
Second, Wilde pointed a finger to justice. Blind justice. Standing there weighing our deeds with her scales, meting out punishments. We would like to be excused. We would like a way out, a miraculous painting that absorbs our punishments and lets us off with only an ugly glance. But we know it will never happen. We get what we deserve, if not now, then when we die. Dorian Gray got his; we will get ours.
Unless someone does something about it. Unless there is a way out of this mess. Unless God might be gracious and transfer the ugliness of our sins to Jesus.
But, of course, if there is such a way, we had better listen to the message of the gospel. Even its warnings.
Alternative Application (Amos 8:1-12)
I was working the sign-off show at a radio station during my seminary days. It was just after 11:30 one night when the telephone rang. A sleepy voice at the other end asked, “Is this that religious radio station?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well I’m dialing all over the place on my radio,” she told me, “and I can’t find your music…”
So I gave her the frequency of our signal, and then tried to engage her in a little more conversation. She sounded like she needed someone to talk with as much as she needed the music.
During the next twenty-five minutes her story spilled out. Much of it was an awkward tale of bad choices and bad times, more recently etched with both physical and relational pains. That night, in the dark and lonely places of her world, it all began to seem too much for Betty, and she decided to end her life. She took a bunch of pills and now was trying to find the right kind of music on her radio. Then she would slip away exchanging my music for that of the angels. Or so she told me.
I tried to get Betty’s address so that I could call the police. I tried to get her telephone number, but she would not let anything slip out.
At midnight, I had to give a station ID along with headline news and the weather forecast before switching to a recorded program. It would all take about three minutes. I told Betty to stay on the line, and that I would be back with her as quickly as I could. But when I picked up the receiver again there was no one at the other end.
I went home that night torn inside. Who was Betty? What had happened to her? Why was she all alone? Would she survive till morning?
It was four nights later that my roommates shook me awake at 1:30 a.m. There was a woman on the telephone. She had the number at our apartment, but she didn’t know why. When I picked up the receiver, I knew immediately that it was Betty. Once again, the world had gotten very small and dark for her, and down in her dungeon, Betty needed God. Mostly Betty needed God with skin on. And that is why, when she found a scrap of paper with a strange telephone number written on it, she called our number trying to find God. And in the confessions of our second late-night phone chat, Betty did find God.
Betty knew personally the thing that we all have to face: we become followers of Jesus only with a sob of our souls when we no longer believe the lie of society. We hear it every day in its subtle forms: “Things are really getting better and better all the time.” “Everyone has an equal opportunity in life.” “Education will conquer all our ills.” “If you just try hard enough, you can make it on your own.”
The advertisements tell us that we are really pretty good, and that the world itself is a rather pleasant and harmless place when we dress right, smell right, eat right, exercise right, and drive the right cars or invest in the right companies. Everything will work out well for the nice people.
But the way of the disciple takes its first step with the jolt of crisis. She cries for help. He confesses that he cannot make it on his own. This was the call and invitation of Amos which chants in urgency, the first hint of dawn calling to minds newly awakening from the twisted darkness of the world in which they are trapped: the advertiser who claims to know what I need and what I want and who can make everything better with just a single credit card; the entertainer who promises me a quick fix, a cheap trick, a sensuous fling that really is love; the politician who has my best interests at stake, and who will make me ruler with him if I just give him my vote; the psychiatrist who will help me achieve gain without pain by lowering my standards to the mud around me.
