Family privilege
Commentary
My daughters know the direct access code to my office phone. Not everyone gets that information, and most of those who do have it, use it sparingly, but that's not true of my daughters. They know they can call me anytime. When I see theirs as the incoming number, I answer my phone, even if I have others with me. My daughters have privilege. They're family.
Something of that family privilege is part of each of today's passages. Hagar and Ishmael lost family privilege in the household of Abraham, but gained it in the household of God. Spiritual family privilege marks Paul's conversations about what resources we have available to us in order to do battle with the darker side of life. Jesus talks about the family resemblance that comes to those who are claimed by him as part of the family.
Family privilege is a two-way street, of course. It carries a number of benefits that are allowed only to those in the inner circle. At the same time, it expects a certain lifestyle that matches the family coat-of-arms. Whose I am determines who I am.
John Bowler remembers an incident of family privilege that gave him a lifetime of reflection on its meaning. In 1959, John watched intently as his little brother was caught in the act of writing in their father's brand new hymnbook with a pen. Suddenly their father walked into the room, and both brothers cowered; they sensed that the younger boy had done something very wrong when he scribbled across the length and breadth of the entire first page. Both boys were certain that a grievous punishment would follow.
But John's father picked up his prized hymnal, looked at it carefully, and then sat down without saying a word. Books were precious to him; he was a clergyman with several earned degrees. For him, books were knowledge. But more important, as this day proved, he loved his children. Instead of punishing John's younger brother, instead of scolding or yelling or reprimanding, John's father sat down, took the pen from John's brother's hand and then wrote in the book himself, right alongside the scribbles John had made: "John's word 1959, age two. How many times have I looked into your beautiful face and into your warm, alert eyes looking up at me and thanked God for the one who has now scribbled in my new hymnal? You have made the book sacred as have your brothers and sister to so much of my life."
Only a parent who has understood what it means to be a child of God could respond so profoundly to such a seeming disgrace and disobedience. There is, indeed, something important in family privilege.
Genesis 21:8-21
There are four major story cycles in the book of Genesis: the story of Origins (1-11), the story of Abraham (12-25), the story of Jacob (26-36), and the story of Joseph (37-50). Included within each of these there are many other little stories like the one we read today. But it is important to read each little story within the context of the larger story cycle in which it is found. For the nation of Israel, receiving the covenant at Mount Sinai (Exodus 20-24), each of these story cycles in Genesis asked and answered a fundamental question of identity:
* Origins story cycle (1-11): Why is God making this covenant with us? Because this world is the creation and kingdom of God, and it is in civil war against God.
* Abraham story cycle (12-25): Who are we, that God should come to us with this covenant? We are the descendents of the chosen son of Abraham, through whom the covenant was originated.
* Jacob story cycle (26-36): What is our character? We are tricksters and con artists like our father Jacob, but we are also "Israel" like him -- those who wrestle with God.
* Joseph story cycle (37-50): But why were we in Egypt rather than in the land of God's promise to Abraham? Because of a famine and Joseph's protective care.
Thinking of the book of Genesis in this way helps us understand several things about the story in today's lectionary reading. First, Hagar and Ishmael needed to be separated from the family of Abraham, Sarah, and Isaac, because the covenant bloodline was being formulated. While Hagar and Ishmael received grace within the tents of Abraham, there was a larger drama being played out, and they were a threat to it. We may argue the wisdom of this view, and debate the theological conundrums it causes, but the text is quite clear on this point. For Israel at Sinai, this would confirm their right in the battles ahead with the descendents of Ishmael.
Second, the "distress" of Abraham (v. 11) is evidence of grace. Although a separation between two sides of the family was demanded by Sarah (v. 10) and permitted by God (v. 12), it went against Abraham's nature and against the promises made to him in Genesis 12:1-3. This note of grace is echoed both in the speech of God in verse 13 and in the kindness of Abraham's actions in verse 14. For Israel at Sinai, this tenderhearted compassion would become a necessary part of the international mission and hospitality that the Sinai Covenant would lay upon the nation.
Third, God's direct care is found in the promises made (v. 18) and the provision offered (v. 19). For Israel at Sinai, the covenant would seek to instill this hospitable approach to life in its very character as a nation (cf. Exodus 23:9).
There is, in this story, the typical (and somewhat quirky) biblical upending of things: the first becomes last, the older is ruled over by the younger, the outcast becomes family and the family outcast. Yet neither first nor last, older nor younger, outcast nor family is ever far from grace. Dr. E. Stanley Jones told of an incident from his missionary days that illustrates the point. A young girl got tired of things at home. She longed for the freedom of the streets, and the excitement of the nightlife. She ran away to a large city. It wasn't long before she fell under the spell of a pimp and was degraded into a prostitute.
The girl's mother was beside herself with anxiety. It was true that things hadn't been going right between them, but a mother's love is restless and protective, and she had to find her daughter again. She remembered the child who sat on her lap, and the daughter who whispered in her ear, and needed somehow to renew their bond of trust. Yet how should she begin the search? All she had heard were rumors about her daughter, third-hand reports that she was now wasting her body in the red-light district. The mother went to the city and simply began to walk, hoping to stumble across someone who might know her daughter. Up one street and down the next she trudged, talking to anyone who would listen, hoping for a clue to follow, but to no avail. Her daughter didn't want to be found: shame, rebellion, spite -- who can say what reasons mingle in our deceptive minds?
Eventually the quest tired even the mother. Before she returned home, she did one more thing. She carried a photograph that had been taken several years before, a picture of the two of them, mother and daughter, at a happier moment in both their lives. She got the photograph enlarged and made dozens of copies. Then she scattered those pictures around the area, hoping that one would catch her daughter's eye. On each photo she penned these five words: "Come home! I love you!" And one day the girl did see. She began to remember what love was all about. A holy restlessness gripped her soul, battering her resentment until she had to call her mother. The next day she was home.
Was she ever not her mother's child? Was Ishmael ever not his father's son? Are Abraham or Israel or we ever not the children of God? Perhaps only in our own minds and attitudes at times, but God maintains privilege with God's family.
Romans 6:1b-11
In a large outline, Paul's letter to the Romans can be summarized as Sin (1-3), Salvation (4-11), and Service (12-16). The plight of humanity (1-3) calls out God's redemptive care (4-11) which creates a new consciousness of what it means to be in God's family (12-16). Here Paul continues to redraw the family tree as he began in chapter 5. There (5:12-21) he said the original family tree had wilted and died under the influence of its patriarch Adam. Because God was not willing for the human race to deteriorate into extinction, God started over and grafted the old family onto a new patriarch root -- Jesus (this theme is restated in Romans 11).
Now the implications of this transaction are recounted. The two realms of this world and the next, of earth and Hades, of life and death, have no legal connection. What happens here may influence the next world, but one cannot take anything from this world into the next. Metaphorically this is what happens to us: we were born sinners (5:12-21), but were then transferred into the family of Jesus. Because Jesus lived on our behalf, then died our death in this world, and finally came alive again, we are freed from the automatic links to sin that dogged us. Like Jean Valjean in Les Miserables, we have been given our same lives back again, but separated from the sinful bloodlines of our past. The act of baptism (which means "to immerse," and was a common cleansing rite in many religious circles, including Judaism) powerfully pictured death (from the family of the first Adam and its sin-tainted bloodline) and resurrection (into the family of the second Adam and its redemptive bloodline).
From Australia comes a story of two brothers caught stealing sheep. A large "ST" was branded on each forehead; all would know that they were "Sheep Thieves," and not to be trusted. One brother immediately left town in shame. He couldn't abide the stares and isolation caused by this ignominy. He traveled from town to town in the outback, always trying to hide his telltale scar under the brim of a hat. But infamy and suspicion dogged him, and without fail his evil deeds came to light. He died young and diseased and feeble with alcoholism, lost forever from his family and home community.
The other brother realized he could never run from his past; but he also believed that he had not been born a sheep thief. This was not his true character. He stayed in his hometown. It was not easy -- stares and mockery and gossip wove a shroud of isolation, but he believed his crime had been punished and the debt paid. He lived as if he had a right to the streets, a place at the diner counter, and the privilege of citizenship. Slowly, over the years, this brother's actions of care, consistency of good deeds, and partnership in the enterprise of the town won for him a new identity. One day a traveler passed through town and saw this old man walking the sidewalks with the scars looking like "ST" on his forehead. When he asked the clerk at the general story what had happened to the man, the clerk thought for a moment, shook his head, and then said, "I'm not exactly sure. I know there's a story behind it. Knowing the man, I'd guess that the 'ST' stands for 'saint.' "
So states Paul's exhortation in these verses. We were guilty sinners. God took care of the punishment for that sin in Jesus, and, from a theological perspective, we died in that transaction. Now we are part of the family of God and have been made free. Freedom has its privileges, but it also has its responsibilities. How now will we live?
Matthew 10:24-39
These verses come at the end of Jesus' missionary commissioning of the twelve (10:1-5). Jesus makes a strong identification between the twelve and himself. They are part of the family and have family privileges.
Within the gospel as a whole, chapter 10 forms a bridge between the original work of Jesus and its ongoing expression in the life of the Christian community. Christians are privileged children of God. It is in the family character to live in the house of the Master (v. 25), carry oneself with the confidence of the royal household (vv. 26-31), speak as an ambassador of the great king (v. 32), and live on the battlefield of the universe as a person clearly under the banner of heaven (vv. 34-39). These are all part of the family resemblance that follows through in our lives because of the life-giving grace of God.
Application
Fred Craddock tells a great story that provides an excellent application on these passages. Fred and his wife were on vacation in the Great Smoky Mountains of eastern Tennessee when they stumbled onto an out-of-the-way restaurant called the Black Bear Inn. It proved to be a good place to eat, besides offering the possibility of actually seeing one of those black bears. An entire wall was glass, opening out onto a wild and rugged valley. As they sat at supper, quietly communing with nature and each other, their solitude was broken by a tall man with a shock of white hair who ambled over. They could see he was well along in years, probably past the fourscore allotted by the psalmist.
He was hard of hearing as well, since he rudely interrupted their quiet reverie with noisy and nosy questions at least twenty decibels too loud. When he found that Fred taught at a seminary he suddenly had a story to tell about preachers. Without an invitation he pulled up a chair and invaded their space. Nodding out the great glass window, he said, "I was born back here in these mountains." But the story was not to be a pretty one. "My mother was not married," he went on, "and the reproach that fell upon her, fell upon me. The children at school had a name for me, and it hurt. It hurt very much." In fact, he said, "During recess I would go hide in the weeds until the bell rang. At noon hour I took my lunch and went behind a tree to avoid them. And when I went to town with my mamma, all the grownups would stop and stare at us. They'd look at my mamma, and then they'd look at me, and I could see they were trying to guess who my daddy might have been. Painful years, those."
But something big was about to happen. "I guess it was about the seventh or eight grade," he continued, "when a preacher came to town. He frightened me when he preached, and he attracted me, all at the same time. Every time he preached he caught me with his words. I didn't want the people to catch me, though, so I never went to church on time. I'd sneak in just as he was getting warmed up. When he was finished I'd rush right out. But one morning I got caught. A bunch of women lined up in the aisle, and I couldn't get out, and I knew somebody was going to see me and say, 'What's a boy like you doin' in church?' Sure enough, suddenly a hand clamped down on my shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the preacher's face. 'Whoa, boy!' he said to me. He turned me around, and looked me in the face. I could see he was trying to find the family resemblance. Finally he said, 'Well, boy, I can see it now...! I can see you're a child of ... You're a child of ... Wait now ...' And he stared me right in the face. 'Yep!' he said. 'I can see it now! You're a child of ... God! There's a striking resemblance!' He swatted me on the bottom, and he said, 'Go on, boy! Go claim your family inheritance!' "
The Craddocks were quite taken by the story the old man had to tell. Fred thought there was something familiar about it, so he asked the elderly gent, "Sir, what's your name?"
The man replied, proudly, "Ben Hooper!"
It was then that Fred Craddock remembered his daddy telling him the story of the time the people of Tennessee twice elected an illegitimate bastard boy as governor, and how Ben Hooper had done the state proud. Ben Hooper gained faith when a preacher told him he was child of God. He proved his faith when he carved a future of grace out of a mixed inheritance.
An Alternative Application
Romans 6:1b-11. The Pauline passage preaches well by itself. Scenes from Alex Haley's Roots, or the movie, Amistad, might make for excellent expressions of the pain of slavery and the amazement of release. Two questions need to be part of the presentation: "How will you die?" and "How will you live?" The first gets at the need to become aware of the transaction that takes place in order for us to become children of God. The second focuses on behavior and lifestyle within the family of God.
John Perkins' story is a great illustration of these things. His journey from poverty and racism through skepticism and finally faith, and the rebirth of New Hebron and Mendenhall, Mississippi, under his new walk with God, are a profound testimony of how this transformation can happen.
The language of Paul in this passage indicates that the transformation from death to life, from slavery to freedom, from outcast to family, involves at least three things. First, our consciences need to be reactivated. Under sin's slavery we can no longer think clearly. Spiritual resurrection begins when our consciences are renewed so that we begin both to see our lost condition and also gain a taste for the life of freedom. Second, our vision needs to be broadened. We need to gain the eyes of the heart that can see the world from God's perspective. Third, we need to have our wills strengthened, since part of the transaction from slavery to freedom includes our own choices.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 86:1-10, 16-17
Some psalms display a clear context, a human situation that has led to the writing of the hymn. Such is the case with Psalm 86. While we cannot discern the context in every detail, it is clear that this psalm arises from the lips of a person who is surrounded by fearsome enemies. These enemies are "insolent"; they rise up against the psalmist, threatening to take his life (v. 14). For his own part, he is "poor and needy," and has nowhere else to turn for protection but to the Lord (v. 1). While the superscription identifies David as the author of this psalm, this poverty and need could be seen as belonging to David's younger days. Or, perhaps it refers to a sense of spiritual poverty.
There is a real confidence, here, that the psalmist's cry for help will not be in vain. While there is a certain tone of urgency, even desperation, there is never any doubt that the worshiper's cry for help will be heard and heeded. More than simply requesting a timely rescue, the author asks for more: he asks for a sign, so his enemies may be confounded (v. 17). "Show me a sign" is a common-enough prayer. So often we speak our prayers into the silence, and we wonder whether anything will come back to us. Some concrete sign of God's favor would powerfully encourage us. We yearn for such a sign.
What is the purpose of a prayer of supplication? Is it to get something done? Or is it somehow to voice the deepest desires of our hearts, as we enter into personal dialogue with our Maker, seeking spiritual communion? Addressing this conundrum, Kathleen Norris observes in her book, Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith, that "Sometimes people will say things like, 'Your prayers didn't work, but thanks,' as if a person could be praying for only one thing. A miracle. A cure. But in the hardest situations, all one can do is to ask for God's mercy: 'Let my friend die at home. Let her go quickly, God, and with her loved ones present.' I have learned that prayer is not asking for what you think you want but asking to be changed in ways you can't imagine. To be made more grateful, more able to see the good in what you have been given instead of always grieving for what might have been.
"People who are in the habit of praying -- and they include the mystics of the Christian tradition -- know that when a prayer is answered, it is never in a way that you expect."
Something of that family privilege is part of each of today's passages. Hagar and Ishmael lost family privilege in the household of Abraham, but gained it in the household of God. Spiritual family privilege marks Paul's conversations about what resources we have available to us in order to do battle with the darker side of life. Jesus talks about the family resemblance that comes to those who are claimed by him as part of the family.
Family privilege is a two-way street, of course. It carries a number of benefits that are allowed only to those in the inner circle. At the same time, it expects a certain lifestyle that matches the family coat-of-arms. Whose I am determines who I am.
John Bowler remembers an incident of family privilege that gave him a lifetime of reflection on its meaning. In 1959, John watched intently as his little brother was caught in the act of writing in their father's brand new hymnbook with a pen. Suddenly their father walked into the room, and both brothers cowered; they sensed that the younger boy had done something very wrong when he scribbled across the length and breadth of the entire first page. Both boys were certain that a grievous punishment would follow.
But John's father picked up his prized hymnal, looked at it carefully, and then sat down without saying a word. Books were precious to him; he was a clergyman with several earned degrees. For him, books were knowledge. But more important, as this day proved, he loved his children. Instead of punishing John's younger brother, instead of scolding or yelling or reprimanding, John's father sat down, took the pen from John's brother's hand and then wrote in the book himself, right alongside the scribbles John had made: "John's word 1959, age two. How many times have I looked into your beautiful face and into your warm, alert eyes looking up at me and thanked God for the one who has now scribbled in my new hymnal? You have made the book sacred as have your brothers and sister to so much of my life."
Only a parent who has understood what it means to be a child of God could respond so profoundly to such a seeming disgrace and disobedience. There is, indeed, something important in family privilege.
Genesis 21:8-21
There are four major story cycles in the book of Genesis: the story of Origins (1-11), the story of Abraham (12-25), the story of Jacob (26-36), and the story of Joseph (37-50). Included within each of these there are many other little stories like the one we read today. But it is important to read each little story within the context of the larger story cycle in which it is found. For the nation of Israel, receiving the covenant at Mount Sinai (Exodus 20-24), each of these story cycles in Genesis asked and answered a fundamental question of identity:
* Origins story cycle (1-11): Why is God making this covenant with us? Because this world is the creation and kingdom of God, and it is in civil war against God.
* Abraham story cycle (12-25): Who are we, that God should come to us with this covenant? We are the descendents of the chosen son of Abraham, through whom the covenant was originated.
* Jacob story cycle (26-36): What is our character? We are tricksters and con artists like our father Jacob, but we are also "Israel" like him -- those who wrestle with God.
* Joseph story cycle (37-50): But why were we in Egypt rather than in the land of God's promise to Abraham? Because of a famine and Joseph's protective care.
Thinking of the book of Genesis in this way helps us understand several things about the story in today's lectionary reading. First, Hagar and Ishmael needed to be separated from the family of Abraham, Sarah, and Isaac, because the covenant bloodline was being formulated. While Hagar and Ishmael received grace within the tents of Abraham, there was a larger drama being played out, and they were a threat to it. We may argue the wisdom of this view, and debate the theological conundrums it causes, but the text is quite clear on this point. For Israel at Sinai, this would confirm their right in the battles ahead with the descendents of Ishmael.
Second, the "distress" of Abraham (v. 11) is evidence of grace. Although a separation between two sides of the family was demanded by Sarah (v. 10) and permitted by God (v. 12), it went against Abraham's nature and against the promises made to him in Genesis 12:1-3. This note of grace is echoed both in the speech of God in verse 13 and in the kindness of Abraham's actions in verse 14. For Israel at Sinai, this tenderhearted compassion would become a necessary part of the international mission and hospitality that the Sinai Covenant would lay upon the nation.
Third, God's direct care is found in the promises made (v. 18) and the provision offered (v. 19). For Israel at Sinai, the covenant would seek to instill this hospitable approach to life in its very character as a nation (cf. Exodus 23:9).
There is, in this story, the typical (and somewhat quirky) biblical upending of things: the first becomes last, the older is ruled over by the younger, the outcast becomes family and the family outcast. Yet neither first nor last, older nor younger, outcast nor family is ever far from grace. Dr. E. Stanley Jones told of an incident from his missionary days that illustrates the point. A young girl got tired of things at home. She longed for the freedom of the streets, and the excitement of the nightlife. She ran away to a large city. It wasn't long before she fell under the spell of a pimp and was degraded into a prostitute.
The girl's mother was beside herself with anxiety. It was true that things hadn't been going right between them, but a mother's love is restless and protective, and she had to find her daughter again. She remembered the child who sat on her lap, and the daughter who whispered in her ear, and needed somehow to renew their bond of trust. Yet how should she begin the search? All she had heard were rumors about her daughter, third-hand reports that she was now wasting her body in the red-light district. The mother went to the city and simply began to walk, hoping to stumble across someone who might know her daughter. Up one street and down the next she trudged, talking to anyone who would listen, hoping for a clue to follow, but to no avail. Her daughter didn't want to be found: shame, rebellion, spite -- who can say what reasons mingle in our deceptive minds?
Eventually the quest tired even the mother. Before she returned home, she did one more thing. She carried a photograph that had been taken several years before, a picture of the two of them, mother and daughter, at a happier moment in both their lives. She got the photograph enlarged and made dozens of copies. Then she scattered those pictures around the area, hoping that one would catch her daughter's eye. On each photo she penned these five words: "Come home! I love you!" And one day the girl did see. She began to remember what love was all about. A holy restlessness gripped her soul, battering her resentment until she had to call her mother. The next day she was home.
Was she ever not her mother's child? Was Ishmael ever not his father's son? Are Abraham or Israel or we ever not the children of God? Perhaps only in our own minds and attitudes at times, but God maintains privilege with God's family.
Romans 6:1b-11
In a large outline, Paul's letter to the Romans can be summarized as Sin (1-3), Salvation (4-11), and Service (12-16). The plight of humanity (1-3) calls out God's redemptive care (4-11) which creates a new consciousness of what it means to be in God's family (12-16). Here Paul continues to redraw the family tree as he began in chapter 5. There (5:12-21) he said the original family tree had wilted and died under the influence of its patriarch Adam. Because God was not willing for the human race to deteriorate into extinction, God started over and grafted the old family onto a new patriarch root -- Jesus (this theme is restated in Romans 11).
Now the implications of this transaction are recounted. The two realms of this world and the next, of earth and Hades, of life and death, have no legal connection. What happens here may influence the next world, but one cannot take anything from this world into the next. Metaphorically this is what happens to us: we were born sinners (5:12-21), but were then transferred into the family of Jesus. Because Jesus lived on our behalf, then died our death in this world, and finally came alive again, we are freed from the automatic links to sin that dogged us. Like Jean Valjean in Les Miserables, we have been given our same lives back again, but separated from the sinful bloodlines of our past. The act of baptism (which means "to immerse," and was a common cleansing rite in many religious circles, including Judaism) powerfully pictured death (from the family of the first Adam and its sin-tainted bloodline) and resurrection (into the family of the second Adam and its redemptive bloodline).
From Australia comes a story of two brothers caught stealing sheep. A large "ST" was branded on each forehead; all would know that they were "Sheep Thieves," and not to be trusted. One brother immediately left town in shame. He couldn't abide the stares and isolation caused by this ignominy. He traveled from town to town in the outback, always trying to hide his telltale scar under the brim of a hat. But infamy and suspicion dogged him, and without fail his evil deeds came to light. He died young and diseased and feeble with alcoholism, lost forever from his family and home community.
The other brother realized he could never run from his past; but he also believed that he had not been born a sheep thief. This was not his true character. He stayed in his hometown. It was not easy -- stares and mockery and gossip wove a shroud of isolation, but he believed his crime had been punished and the debt paid. He lived as if he had a right to the streets, a place at the diner counter, and the privilege of citizenship. Slowly, over the years, this brother's actions of care, consistency of good deeds, and partnership in the enterprise of the town won for him a new identity. One day a traveler passed through town and saw this old man walking the sidewalks with the scars looking like "ST" on his forehead. When he asked the clerk at the general story what had happened to the man, the clerk thought for a moment, shook his head, and then said, "I'm not exactly sure. I know there's a story behind it. Knowing the man, I'd guess that the 'ST' stands for 'saint.' "
So states Paul's exhortation in these verses. We were guilty sinners. God took care of the punishment for that sin in Jesus, and, from a theological perspective, we died in that transaction. Now we are part of the family of God and have been made free. Freedom has its privileges, but it also has its responsibilities. How now will we live?
Matthew 10:24-39
These verses come at the end of Jesus' missionary commissioning of the twelve (10:1-5). Jesus makes a strong identification between the twelve and himself. They are part of the family and have family privileges.
Within the gospel as a whole, chapter 10 forms a bridge between the original work of Jesus and its ongoing expression in the life of the Christian community. Christians are privileged children of God. It is in the family character to live in the house of the Master (v. 25), carry oneself with the confidence of the royal household (vv. 26-31), speak as an ambassador of the great king (v. 32), and live on the battlefield of the universe as a person clearly under the banner of heaven (vv. 34-39). These are all part of the family resemblance that follows through in our lives because of the life-giving grace of God.
Application
Fred Craddock tells a great story that provides an excellent application on these passages. Fred and his wife were on vacation in the Great Smoky Mountains of eastern Tennessee when they stumbled onto an out-of-the-way restaurant called the Black Bear Inn. It proved to be a good place to eat, besides offering the possibility of actually seeing one of those black bears. An entire wall was glass, opening out onto a wild and rugged valley. As they sat at supper, quietly communing with nature and each other, their solitude was broken by a tall man with a shock of white hair who ambled over. They could see he was well along in years, probably past the fourscore allotted by the psalmist.
He was hard of hearing as well, since he rudely interrupted their quiet reverie with noisy and nosy questions at least twenty decibels too loud. When he found that Fred taught at a seminary he suddenly had a story to tell about preachers. Without an invitation he pulled up a chair and invaded their space. Nodding out the great glass window, he said, "I was born back here in these mountains." But the story was not to be a pretty one. "My mother was not married," he went on, "and the reproach that fell upon her, fell upon me. The children at school had a name for me, and it hurt. It hurt very much." In fact, he said, "During recess I would go hide in the weeds until the bell rang. At noon hour I took my lunch and went behind a tree to avoid them. And when I went to town with my mamma, all the grownups would stop and stare at us. They'd look at my mamma, and then they'd look at me, and I could see they were trying to guess who my daddy might have been. Painful years, those."
But something big was about to happen. "I guess it was about the seventh or eight grade," he continued, "when a preacher came to town. He frightened me when he preached, and he attracted me, all at the same time. Every time he preached he caught me with his words. I didn't want the people to catch me, though, so I never went to church on time. I'd sneak in just as he was getting warmed up. When he was finished I'd rush right out. But one morning I got caught. A bunch of women lined up in the aisle, and I couldn't get out, and I knew somebody was going to see me and say, 'What's a boy like you doin' in church?' Sure enough, suddenly a hand clamped down on my shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the preacher's face. 'Whoa, boy!' he said to me. He turned me around, and looked me in the face. I could see he was trying to find the family resemblance. Finally he said, 'Well, boy, I can see it now...! I can see you're a child of ... You're a child of ... Wait now ...' And he stared me right in the face. 'Yep!' he said. 'I can see it now! You're a child of ... God! There's a striking resemblance!' He swatted me on the bottom, and he said, 'Go on, boy! Go claim your family inheritance!' "
The Craddocks were quite taken by the story the old man had to tell. Fred thought there was something familiar about it, so he asked the elderly gent, "Sir, what's your name?"
The man replied, proudly, "Ben Hooper!"
It was then that Fred Craddock remembered his daddy telling him the story of the time the people of Tennessee twice elected an illegitimate bastard boy as governor, and how Ben Hooper had done the state proud. Ben Hooper gained faith when a preacher told him he was child of God. He proved his faith when he carved a future of grace out of a mixed inheritance.
An Alternative Application
Romans 6:1b-11. The Pauline passage preaches well by itself. Scenes from Alex Haley's Roots, or the movie, Amistad, might make for excellent expressions of the pain of slavery and the amazement of release. Two questions need to be part of the presentation: "How will you die?" and "How will you live?" The first gets at the need to become aware of the transaction that takes place in order for us to become children of God. The second focuses on behavior and lifestyle within the family of God.
John Perkins' story is a great illustration of these things. His journey from poverty and racism through skepticism and finally faith, and the rebirth of New Hebron and Mendenhall, Mississippi, under his new walk with God, are a profound testimony of how this transformation can happen.
The language of Paul in this passage indicates that the transformation from death to life, from slavery to freedom, from outcast to family, involves at least three things. First, our consciences need to be reactivated. Under sin's slavery we can no longer think clearly. Spiritual resurrection begins when our consciences are renewed so that we begin both to see our lost condition and also gain a taste for the life of freedom. Second, our vision needs to be broadened. We need to gain the eyes of the heart that can see the world from God's perspective. Third, we need to have our wills strengthened, since part of the transaction from slavery to freedom includes our own choices.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 86:1-10, 16-17
Some psalms display a clear context, a human situation that has led to the writing of the hymn. Such is the case with Psalm 86. While we cannot discern the context in every detail, it is clear that this psalm arises from the lips of a person who is surrounded by fearsome enemies. These enemies are "insolent"; they rise up against the psalmist, threatening to take his life (v. 14). For his own part, he is "poor and needy," and has nowhere else to turn for protection but to the Lord (v. 1). While the superscription identifies David as the author of this psalm, this poverty and need could be seen as belonging to David's younger days. Or, perhaps it refers to a sense of spiritual poverty.
There is a real confidence, here, that the psalmist's cry for help will not be in vain. While there is a certain tone of urgency, even desperation, there is never any doubt that the worshiper's cry for help will be heard and heeded. More than simply requesting a timely rescue, the author asks for more: he asks for a sign, so his enemies may be confounded (v. 17). "Show me a sign" is a common-enough prayer. So often we speak our prayers into the silence, and we wonder whether anything will come back to us. Some concrete sign of God's favor would powerfully encourage us. We yearn for such a sign.
What is the purpose of a prayer of supplication? Is it to get something done? Or is it somehow to voice the deepest desires of our hearts, as we enter into personal dialogue with our Maker, seeking spiritual communion? Addressing this conundrum, Kathleen Norris observes in her book, Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith, that "Sometimes people will say things like, 'Your prayers didn't work, but thanks,' as if a person could be praying for only one thing. A miracle. A cure. But in the hardest situations, all one can do is to ask for God's mercy: 'Let my friend die at home. Let her go quickly, God, and with her loved ones present.' I have learned that prayer is not asking for what you think you want but asking to be changed in ways you can't imagine. To be made more grateful, more able to see the good in what you have been given instead of always grieving for what might have been.
"People who are in the habit of praying -- and they include the mystics of the Christian tradition -- know that when a prayer is answered, it is never in a way that you expect."
