God's greatness (and ours)
Commentary
When my son was in middle school he was assigned to make a timeline poster of the history of ancient Egypt for his science and social studies classes. The assignment was quite detailed in precision of its instructions. It spelled out exactly what the dimensions of the poster must be, the precise scale of the timeline itself, the number of events and pictures to be included, etc. It even gave the precise beginning and ending years for the line: 4236 B.C. and 332 b.c. respectively. Now I have yet to determine where the date 4236 b.c. came from. Most historians would tell you that there can be no such precision for dates in Neolithic cultures. But I had no doubts about the choice of 332 b.c. for the end of the timeline. That was the year that Alexander the Great conquered Egypt, beginning the Hellenistic Age in the eastern Mediterranean basin and North Africa.
When I pointed this fact out to my then 11-year-old son, he not surprisingly quipped, "So what was so 'great' about Alexander?" He got an impromptu history lesson in the midst of his science homework. I told him about the young student of Aristotle who had consolidated his father's rule over Macedonia and Greece, and then forged an empire that extended across the Mediterranean into Africa and eastward to the Indus Valley - all before dying at an age younger than I was even at the time. I also reminded him that the majority of Alexander's army had marched across those vast distances on foot over a period of less than a decade. Like most of those on whom history has subsequently awarded the sobriquet "the Great," Alexander's greatness was rooted in power - military and political power that could impose his will on his and subsequent generations.
Since these are the qualities that our society identifies with greatness among human leaders, it is hardly surprising that we tend to generalize them and apply them to God as well. If human beings can so impose their will on others like themselves, how much more could the very creator of the universe do so? But rather than just assuming that God's greatness is human power writ large, perhaps we should consider how the scriptures qualify God's greatness.
Job 38:1-7 (34-41)
With this Sunday's first lesson, the continuous readings from the book of Job begun two weeks earlier reach their climax (like the book itself, the reading cycle will find its actual conclusion in the epilogue assigned for the next Sunday). "The words of Job are ended" (31:40c), and even the angry outburst of the youthful Elihu - who had until this point bit his tongue out of deference to his elders - has finally fallen silent (chs. 32-37). So many contradictory things have been said about God through the three cycles of debates between Job and his three "friends" (and now also Elihu) that it should not be too surprising that God answers Job's summons to respond to what has been said.
Nor, at one level, is God's response especially surprising. God begins by asserting that all of the light Job and his interlocutors have attempted to shed on the complicated issues of theodicy (If there is a good and just God capable of intervening in the world, then why do the righteous suffer?) have only managed to obscure things more. "Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?" (v. 2). Before one can be considered competent to enter into discussions of this mystery, there are some preliminary, qualifying exams one must pass (v. 3).
The questions that God poses over the course of the next two chapters, in some of the most powerful poetry ever composed, are genuinely cosmic in their scope. They begin with the very issue of the creation of the universe itself (vv. 4-7), and with clear echoes of Genesis 1, move from the ordering of the earth and the sky to the course of life for earth's many natural inhabitants. The implication is clearly that the answer to the theodicy question is woven into the very fabric of the universe as we know it. What we consider good and evil are the very warp and woof of the stuff of creation, and perceiving the sense and pattern of it all requires a perspective far above our plain of vision.
What is perhaps surprising, however, is the harshness of God's tone. Repeatedly God not only points out the limits of human understanding as compared with the fullness of divine knowledge, but does so in an essentially sarcastic manner. "Tell me, if you have understanding ... - surely you know!" (vv. 4-5, emphasis added; cf. vv. 18 and 21). The response takes on all the qualities of an attack by the time it reaches its conclusion: "Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty? Anyone who argues with God must respond" (40:2). Yet even when Job seems to concede ("I have spoken once, and I will not answer; twice, but will proceed no further," 40:5), the fusillade does not stop. God immediately repeats the challenge that opened the initial response (compare 38:1, 3 and 40:6-7). It is as if God were saying, "No, Job, you're not getting off that easy!" Job will not be allowed simply to walk away from the debate.
It may take a poet-theologian to open a path for us into the work of this poet-theologian. Consider what Frederick Buechner has said about this passage: "Maybe the reason God doesn't explain to Job why terrible things happen is that he knows what Job needs isn't an explanation. Suppose that God did explain ... the reason ... the children [were] killed was thus and so ... Job would have his explanation. And then what? Understanding in terms of the divine economy why his children had to die, Job would still have to face their empty chairs at breakfast every morning ... God doesn't reveal his grand design. He reveals himself ... Even covered with sores and ashes, [Job] looks oddly like a man who has asked for a crust and been given the whole loaf" (Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC, 47).
Following Buechner's path, we see that the point of the display of divine power from the whirlwind is not to browbeat Job into submission. The point is to reveal the power that is at work for our benefit even in the harshness of the world we know. If we stay in relationship with the one who does know the answers to all these questions, who can do all the awesome things mentioned, then we can find the faith to accept the wisdom of God's plan over our own. True power is seen less in the grandeur of the display than in the purposes for which it is exercised.
Hebrews 5:1-10
The discussion of Jesus as "a great high priest" within this epistolary lesson actually begins at 4:14. The author's purpose is to show that in Christ the Christian community has a high priest before God who is orders of magnitude superior to every high priest who had come before. This superiority of Christianity to traditional Judaism is a point to which the author will give extended treatment in chapters 7-10. Problematic though it remains for our modern ecumenical sensitivities, it must be stressed that this author's supercessionist tendencies relate to the understanding of God's covenant with the Jews in the light of Christ rather than the superiority of a separate Christian religion as over against Judaism conceived as a distinct religion.
The Letter to the Hebrews constructs its arguments by intricately weaving together the Jewish religious tradition and certain strands of Hellenistic philosophy, particularly Neo-Platonism. Much like the biblical interpretations of Philo of Alexandria, this interweaving is frequently accomplished by applying the philosophical modes of thought to the traditional religious vocabulary. Thus, when the author of Hebrews uses language like "the heavens" (4:14) and "mortals" (5:1), "weakness" (5:2) and "perfect" (5:9), the relationships among the terms may be quite different than what immediately comes to mind for modern Americans.
In Neo-Platonic thought, the world of human experience is not ultimately real. What is genuinely "real" in the ultimate, philosophical sense is the "ideal plain," the state of perfection where the essence of a thing exists in purity. The world of human experience ("reality" for those of us shaped by philosophical materialism and pragmatism) is by contrast only an illusion formed by the imposition of these ideal forms upon the corrupt stuff of matter. Consequently everything that belongs to the material world is necessarily "mortal" rather than "eternal," "weak" rather than "perfect."
The issue, then, is who is best able to mediate between the worlds of human experience and the Divine that by very definition resides in the perfection of the ideal plain (a spatial metaphor within Neo-Platonism, not a physical location for reasons related to corruption of physicality just discussed). Being "mortal" themselves, all high priests prior to Christ have likewise been "subject to weakness" and were compelled to "offer sacrifice for [their] own sins" (5:1-4) because their very nature is tied to the corruption of the material realm. Even though Christ has experienced the corruption of the material realm (4:15; 5:7), he was in his very nature "a Son" (5:8), that is divine, and so was able once again to be "made perfect" (5:9) by having "passed through the heavens" (4:14) where "he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him" (5:9).
What Christ shares in common with his high priestly colleagues is that a priest is chosen by God rather than assuming the office and function by one's own volition. This divine commission is thereby indicated an essential (in the philosophical sense) aspect of what it means to be a priestly mediator. Nevertheless, Christ is also distinct in his priesthood. As we have seen, this distinction is ultimately grounded in the fact that he is an ideal priest. Consequently, his priesthood is eternal, unbounded by time, as opposed to mortal priests who not only die but whose appointment comes in the course of time as well. Because it is eternal, "forever," he belongs to a different order of priests, "the order of Melchizedek" (5:6) rather than the Aaronic priesthood. How it is that Melchizedek can be considered an eternal priest ("having neither beginning of days nor end of life," 7:3) is set out in the argument of chapter 7.
Mark 10:35-45
Given all the perks associated with power in human societies, it is little wonder that James and John wanted to associate themselves with God's greatness. And let us be clear: they didn't just want to bask in God's glory. Their requests to Jesus "to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory" were requests to share in the administration and use of this divine power and ability to impose their will on others. Why, they were already trying it out on Jesus. Did you notice how they asked for Jesus' acquiescence even before spelling out the details? "Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you" (v. 35). But then, given the nature of what it was that they wanted, who could blame them for trying to secure Jesus' agreement even before coming right out and asking for it!
Even though Jesus wondered aloud whether they were really ready for what would be required of them to gain their desire, he did not rule it out (vv. 38-39). And, predictably as the sunrise, when other disciples caught wind that James and John might become greater than they, they were immediately angry. Jesus quickly moved to nip this power struggle for greatness in the bud. Yes, what we would call secular society labels as "great ones" those who rule over others as tyrants, but it is not so among those who are under the reign of God. "Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant" (vv. 42-43). True greatness, what God recognizes as greatness, is not power lorded over others but power exercised for the purpose of serving others. And that is not just true of human greatness. God's greatness also lies not so much in the cosmic power extolled in the exalted poetry of Job, but in the use of that power to serve creation. "For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many" (v. 45).
Application
Power and the ability to impose one's will on another - these it seems have always been the definitions of greatness within most human societies. It was certainly the case with Alexander the Great, and more recently with Peter the Great. But it was also the case in the way even the psalmist perceived God's greatness. "O Lord my God, you are very great." Why? Because God created the universe to serve as a tent in which the Divine might dwell. So mind-boggling is God's power and control that God can even "set beams" on the chaotic waters. The very forces of nature such as wind and fire are compelled to be God's ministers and messengers. God sets the boundaries, and not even the chaotic forces of evil can move beyond those boundaries (Psalm 104:1-4).
But to what end does God put all that awesome power? Not to dominate creation, but to be in relationship with it. Job wanted God to weigh-in to his argument with his friends and prove to them that he, Job, was right and they were wrong. God spoke from the whirlwind, reminding Job of the great power of the Divine, not to browbeat Job into submission but to remind him that if this was the one with whom he was in such personal relationship, then why was he so bothered by what his friends thought? Neither Job nor his friends could answer God's questions, but by the same token neither he nor they doubted that God knew the answers.
Have you ever strived for greatness? Maybe it was athletic, or academic, or social, or economic. Maybe it was even to have personal spiritual greatness or together with others to become a "great church." There is nothing wrong with a desire for greatness (not even James and John were rebuked). Nothing wrong, that is, so long as you understand what true greatness is.
God's greatness is not about using power to bend others to our will. It is about bending our wills to use our power to meet the needs of others. We don't become a "great church" forcing others into our mold. We only become great by becoming servants to their needs. Admittedly, such "greatness" probably won't get you into the history books as "So-and-So the Great," but it will get you into the kingdom of God. And where would you really rather be?
An Alternative Application
Hebrews 5:1-10. One of the great difficulties of preaching from the book of Hebrews is that world of ideas in which it operates is so alien to the thought systems of modern American Christians. Our religious practices are not related to the sacrificial system of ancient Israelite and first-century Jewish praxis, and our philosophical conceptions have little in common with Neo-Platonic speculation. Moreover, the pulpit is not a lectern in a lecture hall; it is not the preacher's task as preacher to instruct the congregation in the intricacies of rabbinic exegesis and Hellenistic philosophical disputes as a necessary preamble to proclaiming the Word. That does not mean, however, that the preacher should simply avoid preaching from Hebrews altogether.
How then does one fairly treat the text of Hebrews while opening it up for modern parishioners to hear it as God's Word to them? The answer is to parallel what that ancient author was doing for his audience as we address our audience. Although the particulars of the argument are drawn from rabbinic exegesis and neo-Platonic philosophy, the point of the argument is to demonstrate that what purely human priests are unable to do in mediating between God and humanity because of their human limitations Christ can accomplish because he shares in both the human and divine.
Both then and now, the challenge was to demonstrate not only the necessity but the possibility that Christ can mediate between God and humanity because Christ participates in both deity and humanity. Frankly, the author of Hebrews had the easier task - at least as regards the possibility. Our culture longs to believe that there is something more than material reality, but our cultural materialist philosophy denies the possibility. The temptation then is to emphasize Jesus' humanity to the exclusion of his divine nature. What we must assert with Hebrews is that there is a reality beyond the material, and that through Christ we are able to participate in that ultimate reality. If Christ is not human, then the Divine cannot bridge the gulf to the material. If Christ is not divine, then we cannot bridge the gulf to a reality that transcends the material. Preaching may not any longer be able to provide logical proofs of this mediation, but it can evoke an encounter with the Spirit where this mediation can be experienced.
Psalm 104:1-9, 24, 35c
Psalm 104 begins and ends with a unique call to praise. Instead of calling on others to praise the Lord, the psalmist instructs himself: "Bless the Lord, O my soul." This psalm and Psalm 103 are the only places in the Bible where this particular expression occurs. What are we to make of this unusual phrase?
The occasion of this call to praise is a celebration of God's great creative power. In fact, Psalm 104 follows both the content and the sequence of the creation account found in Genesis 1:1-2:4. In this regard we might characterize the psalm as a meditation on the meaning of creation.
This reflection leads to an awareness of the greatness of God. This greatness is made manifest in the marvelous act of creation (v. 24). Standing in awe of the glories of God's handiwork, the psalmist cannot find any better way to express this feeling but in exuberant praise.
The psalm provides a fitting backdrop to discuss praise as an element of worship. When we are stirred spontaneously to deep feelings of awe or gratitude or wonder, it is appropriate for those deep experiences to emerge in words and gestures of praise.
It is worth noting, however, that while it is possible for all these feelings of joy to arise spontaneously, they cannot arise in a theological vacuum. The psalmist is able to see the majesty of God in creation because he is looking for it, and by orientation and tradition, has some idea what to look for. This is the significance of addressing the self. Worship and praise are the results of intentional acts of disciplined and informed worship.
In other words, the psalmist's praise is not a case of manufactured wonder. The emotions have not emerged by chance. Because the psalmist has carefully meditated on the meaning and scope of creation, he has been drawn step by step into an awareness of the profound intricacies of God's creative power. And since this awareness comes from deep reflection and not shallow emotion, the praise takes on a singularly meaningful dimension.
By instructing the self to "bless the Lord," the psalmist is demonstrating a disciplined and careful attention to all things sacred. This intentional discipline results in the humble awareness that the glory of God is not ours to exploit but rather to enjoy. It is a choice we make for ourselves whether we will experience this glory, or only hear about it from others. The psalmist wants it for himself, and is determined to find it. "Bless the Lord, O my soul" expresses this conviction of his heart.
When I pointed this fact out to my then 11-year-old son, he not surprisingly quipped, "So what was so 'great' about Alexander?" He got an impromptu history lesson in the midst of his science homework. I told him about the young student of Aristotle who had consolidated his father's rule over Macedonia and Greece, and then forged an empire that extended across the Mediterranean into Africa and eastward to the Indus Valley - all before dying at an age younger than I was even at the time. I also reminded him that the majority of Alexander's army had marched across those vast distances on foot over a period of less than a decade. Like most of those on whom history has subsequently awarded the sobriquet "the Great," Alexander's greatness was rooted in power - military and political power that could impose his will on his and subsequent generations.
Since these are the qualities that our society identifies with greatness among human leaders, it is hardly surprising that we tend to generalize them and apply them to God as well. If human beings can so impose their will on others like themselves, how much more could the very creator of the universe do so? But rather than just assuming that God's greatness is human power writ large, perhaps we should consider how the scriptures qualify God's greatness.
Job 38:1-7 (34-41)
With this Sunday's first lesson, the continuous readings from the book of Job begun two weeks earlier reach their climax (like the book itself, the reading cycle will find its actual conclusion in the epilogue assigned for the next Sunday). "The words of Job are ended" (31:40c), and even the angry outburst of the youthful Elihu - who had until this point bit his tongue out of deference to his elders - has finally fallen silent (chs. 32-37). So many contradictory things have been said about God through the three cycles of debates between Job and his three "friends" (and now also Elihu) that it should not be too surprising that God answers Job's summons to respond to what has been said.
Nor, at one level, is God's response especially surprising. God begins by asserting that all of the light Job and his interlocutors have attempted to shed on the complicated issues of theodicy (If there is a good and just God capable of intervening in the world, then why do the righteous suffer?) have only managed to obscure things more. "Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?" (v. 2). Before one can be considered competent to enter into discussions of this mystery, there are some preliminary, qualifying exams one must pass (v. 3).
The questions that God poses over the course of the next two chapters, in some of the most powerful poetry ever composed, are genuinely cosmic in their scope. They begin with the very issue of the creation of the universe itself (vv. 4-7), and with clear echoes of Genesis 1, move from the ordering of the earth and the sky to the course of life for earth's many natural inhabitants. The implication is clearly that the answer to the theodicy question is woven into the very fabric of the universe as we know it. What we consider good and evil are the very warp and woof of the stuff of creation, and perceiving the sense and pattern of it all requires a perspective far above our plain of vision.
What is perhaps surprising, however, is the harshness of God's tone. Repeatedly God not only points out the limits of human understanding as compared with the fullness of divine knowledge, but does so in an essentially sarcastic manner. "Tell me, if you have understanding ... - surely you know!" (vv. 4-5, emphasis added; cf. vv. 18 and 21). The response takes on all the qualities of an attack by the time it reaches its conclusion: "Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty? Anyone who argues with God must respond" (40:2). Yet even when Job seems to concede ("I have spoken once, and I will not answer; twice, but will proceed no further," 40:5), the fusillade does not stop. God immediately repeats the challenge that opened the initial response (compare 38:1, 3 and 40:6-7). It is as if God were saying, "No, Job, you're not getting off that easy!" Job will not be allowed simply to walk away from the debate.
It may take a poet-theologian to open a path for us into the work of this poet-theologian. Consider what Frederick Buechner has said about this passage: "Maybe the reason God doesn't explain to Job why terrible things happen is that he knows what Job needs isn't an explanation. Suppose that God did explain ... the reason ... the children [were] killed was thus and so ... Job would have his explanation. And then what? Understanding in terms of the divine economy why his children had to die, Job would still have to face their empty chairs at breakfast every morning ... God doesn't reveal his grand design. He reveals himself ... Even covered with sores and ashes, [Job] looks oddly like a man who has asked for a crust and been given the whole loaf" (Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC, 47).
Following Buechner's path, we see that the point of the display of divine power from the whirlwind is not to browbeat Job into submission. The point is to reveal the power that is at work for our benefit even in the harshness of the world we know. If we stay in relationship with the one who does know the answers to all these questions, who can do all the awesome things mentioned, then we can find the faith to accept the wisdom of God's plan over our own. True power is seen less in the grandeur of the display than in the purposes for which it is exercised.
Hebrews 5:1-10
The discussion of Jesus as "a great high priest" within this epistolary lesson actually begins at 4:14. The author's purpose is to show that in Christ the Christian community has a high priest before God who is orders of magnitude superior to every high priest who had come before. This superiority of Christianity to traditional Judaism is a point to which the author will give extended treatment in chapters 7-10. Problematic though it remains for our modern ecumenical sensitivities, it must be stressed that this author's supercessionist tendencies relate to the understanding of God's covenant with the Jews in the light of Christ rather than the superiority of a separate Christian religion as over against Judaism conceived as a distinct religion.
The Letter to the Hebrews constructs its arguments by intricately weaving together the Jewish religious tradition and certain strands of Hellenistic philosophy, particularly Neo-Platonism. Much like the biblical interpretations of Philo of Alexandria, this interweaving is frequently accomplished by applying the philosophical modes of thought to the traditional religious vocabulary. Thus, when the author of Hebrews uses language like "the heavens" (4:14) and "mortals" (5:1), "weakness" (5:2) and "perfect" (5:9), the relationships among the terms may be quite different than what immediately comes to mind for modern Americans.
In Neo-Platonic thought, the world of human experience is not ultimately real. What is genuinely "real" in the ultimate, philosophical sense is the "ideal plain," the state of perfection where the essence of a thing exists in purity. The world of human experience ("reality" for those of us shaped by philosophical materialism and pragmatism) is by contrast only an illusion formed by the imposition of these ideal forms upon the corrupt stuff of matter. Consequently everything that belongs to the material world is necessarily "mortal" rather than "eternal," "weak" rather than "perfect."
The issue, then, is who is best able to mediate between the worlds of human experience and the Divine that by very definition resides in the perfection of the ideal plain (a spatial metaphor within Neo-Platonism, not a physical location for reasons related to corruption of physicality just discussed). Being "mortal" themselves, all high priests prior to Christ have likewise been "subject to weakness" and were compelled to "offer sacrifice for [their] own sins" (5:1-4) because their very nature is tied to the corruption of the material realm. Even though Christ has experienced the corruption of the material realm (4:15; 5:7), he was in his very nature "a Son" (5:8), that is divine, and so was able once again to be "made perfect" (5:9) by having "passed through the heavens" (4:14) where "he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him" (5:9).
What Christ shares in common with his high priestly colleagues is that a priest is chosen by God rather than assuming the office and function by one's own volition. This divine commission is thereby indicated an essential (in the philosophical sense) aspect of what it means to be a priestly mediator. Nevertheless, Christ is also distinct in his priesthood. As we have seen, this distinction is ultimately grounded in the fact that he is an ideal priest. Consequently, his priesthood is eternal, unbounded by time, as opposed to mortal priests who not only die but whose appointment comes in the course of time as well. Because it is eternal, "forever," he belongs to a different order of priests, "the order of Melchizedek" (5:6) rather than the Aaronic priesthood. How it is that Melchizedek can be considered an eternal priest ("having neither beginning of days nor end of life," 7:3) is set out in the argument of chapter 7.
Mark 10:35-45
Given all the perks associated with power in human societies, it is little wonder that James and John wanted to associate themselves with God's greatness. And let us be clear: they didn't just want to bask in God's glory. Their requests to Jesus "to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory" were requests to share in the administration and use of this divine power and ability to impose their will on others. Why, they were already trying it out on Jesus. Did you notice how they asked for Jesus' acquiescence even before spelling out the details? "Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you" (v. 35). But then, given the nature of what it was that they wanted, who could blame them for trying to secure Jesus' agreement even before coming right out and asking for it!
Even though Jesus wondered aloud whether they were really ready for what would be required of them to gain their desire, he did not rule it out (vv. 38-39). And, predictably as the sunrise, when other disciples caught wind that James and John might become greater than they, they were immediately angry. Jesus quickly moved to nip this power struggle for greatness in the bud. Yes, what we would call secular society labels as "great ones" those who rule over others as tyrants, but it is not so among those who are under the reign of God. "Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant" (vv. 42-43). True greatness, what God recognizes as greatness, is not power lorded over others but power exercised for the purpose of serving others. And that is not just true of human greatness. God's greatness also lies not so much in the cosmic power extolled in the exalted poetry of Job, but in the use of that power to serve creation. "For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many" (v. 45).
Application
Power and the ability to impose one's will on another - these it seems have always been the definitions of greatness within most human societies. It was certainly the case with Alexander the Great, and more recently with Peter the Great. But it was also the case in the way even the psalmist perceived God's greatness. "O Lord my God, you are very great." Why? Because God created the universe to serve as a tent in which the Divine might dwell. So mind-boggling is God's power and control that God can even "set beams" on the chaotic waters. The very forces of nature such as wind and fire are compelled to be God's ministers and messengers. God sets the boundaries, and not even the chaotic forces of evil can move beyond those boundaries (Psalm 104:1-4).
But to what end does God put all that awesome power? Not to dominate creation, but to be in relationship with it. Job wanted God to weigh-in to his argument with his friends and prove to them that he, Job, was right and they were wrong. God spoke from the whirlwind, reminding Job of the great power of the Divine, not to browbeat Job into submission but to remind him that if this was the one with whom he was in such personal relationship, then why was he so bothered by what his friends thought? Neither Job nor his friends could answer God's questions, but by the same token neither he nor they doubted that God knew the answers.
Have you ever strived for greatness? Maybe it was athletic, or academic, or social, or economic. Maybe it was even to have personal spiritual greatness or together with others to become a "great church." There is nothing wrong with a desire for greatness (not even James and John were rebuked). Nothing wrong, that is, so long as you understand what true greatness is.
God's greatness is not about using power to bend others to our will. It is about bending our wills to use our power to meet the needs of others. We don't become a "great church" forcing others into our mold. We only become great by becoming servants to their needs. Admittedly, such "greatness" probably won't get you into the history books as "So-and-So the Great," but it will get you into the kingdom of God. And where would you really rather be?
An Alternative Application
Hebrews 5:1-10. One of the great difficulties of preaching from the book of Hebrews is that world of ideas in which it operates is so alien to the thought systems of modern American Christians. Our religious practices are not related to the sacrificial system of ancient Israelite and first-century Jewish praxis, and our philosophical conceptions have little in common with Neo-Platonic speculation. Moreover, the pulpit is not a lectern in a lecture hall; it is not the preacher's task as preacher to instruct the congregation in the intricacies of rabbinic exegesis and Hellenistic philosophical disputes as a necessary preamble to proclaiming the Word. That does not mean, however, that the preacher should simply avoid preaching from Hebrews altogether.
How then does one fairly treat the text of Hebrews while opening it up for modern parishioners to hear it as God's Word to them? The answer is to parallel what that ancient author was doing for his audience as we address our audience. Although the particulars of the argument are drawn from rabbinic exegesis and neo-Platonic philosophy, the point of the argument is to demonstrate that what purely human priests are unable to do in mediating between God and humanity because of their human limitations Christ can accomplish because he shares in both the human and divine.
Both then and now, the challenge was to demonstrate not only the necessity but the possibility that Christ can mediate between God and humanity because Christ participates in both deity and humanity. Frankly, the author of Hebrews had the easier task - at least as regards the possibility. Our culture longs to believe that there is something more than material reality, but our cultural materialist philosophy denies the possibility. The temptation then is to emphasize Jesus' humanity to the exclusion of his divine nature. What we must assert with Hebrews is that there is a reality beyond the material, and that through Christ we are able to participate in that ultimate reality. If Christ is not human, then the Divine cannot bridge the gulf to the material. If Christ is not divine, then we cannot bridge the gulf to a reality that transcends the material. Preaching may not any longer be able to provide logical proofs of this mediation, but it can evoke an encounter with the Spirit where this mediation can be experienced.
Psalm 104:1-9, 24, 35c
Psalm 104 begins and ends with a unique call to praise. Instead of calling on others to praise the Lord, the psalmist instructs himself: "Bless the Lord, O my soul." This psalm and Psalm 103 are the only places in the Bible where this particular expression occurs. What are we to make of this unusual phrase?
The occasion of this call to praise is a celebration of God's great creative power. In fact, Psalm 104 follows both the content and the sequence of the creation account found in Genesis 1:1-2:4. In this regard we might characterize the psalm as a meditation on the meaning of creation.
This reflection leads to an awareness of the greatness of God. This greatness is made manifest in the marvelous act of creation (v. 24). Standing in awe of the glories of God's handiwork, the psalmist cannot find any better way to express this feeling but in exuberant praise.
The psalm provides a fitting backdrop to discuss praise as an element of worship. When we are stirred spontaneously to deep feelings of awe or gratitude or wonder, it is appropriate for those deep experiences to emerge in words and gestures of praise.
It is worth noting, however, that while it is possible for all these feelings of joy to arise spontaneously, they cannot arise in a theological vacuum. The psalmist is able to see the majesty of God in creation because he is looking for it, and by orientation and tradition, has some idea what to look for. This is the significance of addressing the self. Worship and praise are the results of intentional acts of disciplined and informed worship.
In other words, the psalmist's praise is not a case of manufactured wonder. The emotions have not emerged by chance. Because the psalmist has carefully meditated on the meaning and scope of creation, he has been drawn step by step into an awareness of the profound intricacies of God's creative power. And since this awareness comes from deep reflection and not shallow emotion, the praise takes on a singularly meaningful dimension.
By instructing the self to "bless the Lord," the psalmist is demonstrating a disciplined and careful attention to all things sacred. This intentional discipline results in the humble awareness that the glory of God is not ours to exploit but rather to enjoy. It is a choice we make for ourselves whether we will experience this glory, or only hear about it from others. The psalmist wants it for himself, and is determined to find it. "Bless the Lord, O my soul" expresses this conviction of his heart.
