Good cop, bad cop
Commentary
I do not watch a lot of entertainment television (most days none at all), but there is one television show of which I am a genuine fan: NBC's Law & Order. Obviously the show has a number of other fans, since it is slated to launch its fourth concurrent "spin-off" series (Law & Order: Trial by Jury) in the upcoming season.
Every episode includes interrogations of crime suspects by Detectives Briscoe and Green. It is always interesting to watch these dramatizations, especially in the way the characters sometimes use the technique of "good cop/bad cop" in hopes of gaining a confession. You have to wonder why this technique remains effective in real life, since by now everyone must know how it works (in fact, occasionally even suspects being interrogated on the show will identify that Briscoe and Green are trying to use the tactic against them). One detective comes across as harsh, even abusive, trying to wear down the suspect; the other positions himself between the "out of control" cop and the suspect, maybe even seeming to side with the suspect, encouraging him or her to "make things easy on yourself." Sometimes Detective Briscoe plays the part of the "heavy," other times it is Green, and on occasions they even switch "good cop/bad cop" roles while the interrogation is in progress.
These heavy handed interrogation techniques are not all that different from what we find in the opening chapter of Isaiah. In fact, even the setting of the confrontation within a legal or judicial context provides part of the backdrop for this lectionary reading. It is one of several occasions where ancient Israel's prophets presented disputes between God and the chosen people as if they were being played out in the courts. Thus, when God demands of the people, "Come now, let us argue it out," we have a challenge similar to a subpoena demanding that a person come and defend their actions before a grand jury. From the tone of the charges being leveled, there can be no doubt that the prosecutor, namely God, is not pleased.
Isaiah 1:1, 10-20
This passage from Isaiah clearly casts God as the "bad cop" in this drama. God's tactics are forceful and even somewhat demeaning. The Divine refuses to call the defendants by name, but rather addresses the leadership of ancient Judah as "you rulers of Sodom! ... you people of Gomorrah!" (1:10). Anyone familiar with the destruction of those two cities by "sulfur and fire ... out of heaven" (Genesis 19:24) cannot miss this not-so-veiled threat. But that is just the warm-up. God goes on to rail against even the people's attempts to be religious. Even when they have kept the ritual observances of the Mosaic law, they have only managed to further infuriate God because they have done so "with iniquity" and with "hands ... full of blood" (Isaiah 1:11-15). God's accusations against them are both general and specific; they have done evil and failed to seek justice, they have not rescued the oppressed, defended the orphan, or pleaded for the widow (1:16-17).
At the very last, however, it seems that God is switching to the tactic of "good cop," holding out some hope that the future might be better. Or so we have often understood the promises that "though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be like snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool" (1:18). Though the people seem to be indelibly stained by their sins, God offers to completely remove the taint of wickedness from them. It is almost as if our crime drama has been interrupted by a commercial for some laundry product. We have heard in the summons to "argue it out" God telling us not to soak the stains of sin out, but rather to "Shout them out."
But these images of "crimson" and "wool" come from the medical suite, not the laundry room. The references are most likely to the progression of the dreaded skin disease leprosy. To draw out the imagery in paraphrase, God is saying that "although your sins are now scarlet like inflamed skin, they shall become like snow as the cells die; though they are inflamed red like crimson, they will ultimately slough off like wool." That is to say, if you do not stop the progress of sin in your lives, then it will slowly devour you before your very eyes. Not at all an appealing picture. These are promises of the sure progress of the corrupting influence and effects of sin, not promises of restoration.
That is not to say that there is no "good cop" present at all within this interrogation. It is still possible to take the easy way out. If we come clean, stop the spread of the infection by ceasing evil, and do the work of God's justice on behalf of the oppressed (1:16-17), then it is still possible to share in the benefits of God's justice for all (1:19). But if we continue in our obstinate refusal to cooperate, then God will not spare us from the consequences of our rebellious acts (1:20).
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16
The Epistle Lesson for this Sunday inaugurates a four-week series of continual readings from the final chapters of the book of Hebrews. It begins with one of the best-known sections of the book, what has sometimes been called the "roll call of the heroes of the faith." Hebrews 11 is treated over the course of two weeks in the lectionary assignments. This reading includes what might be considered the author's definition of faith and the first half of the case study, if you will, on Abraham's faith. The assigned reading for Proper 15 resumes the argument from Israel's history at the point of the escape from Egypt.
Although many Christians can recite the opening verse of this chapter (perhaps mixing and matching particular words from the various traditional and modern English translations), it is doubtful that many of them realize the level of philosophical reasoning that lies behind the verse. The sophistication behind the arguments in this book is, in fact, one of the greatest hurdles to clear in preaching on it. Far from being a definition intended to clarify the abstract meaning of "faith" by simple, everyday language ("assurance" and "conviction" in the NRSV, "substance" and "conviction" in the KJV), the author defines "faith" by using technical terms from Greek science and philosophy. Just how technical are these terms? It is perhaps sufficient to note that in stating "faith is the assurance/substance of things hoped for," the author employs the very word (hypostasis) that will centuries later be employed to describe the distinctions of Father, Son, and Spirit within the single essence (ousia) of God (cf. an earlier use of this word here in Hebrews where it designates the Son as "the exact imprint of God's very being"). Obviously, we are breathing in some very philosophically rarefied air.
Yet the point of the author's argument is one that is desperately needed within our modern world as well. To those who think that "faith" is a leap in the dark, an insubstantial hoping against hope, a commitment of the self to a belief despite what may seem the contrary evidence of reality, this author argues that they have it exactly backwards. Faith is in fact the genuine "underlying reality behind appearances" (the philosophical meaning of hypostasis), the only real "evidence for the truth" or "proof" of things. If these realities and truths remain "hoped for" and "not seen" it is not because their existence is in some sense in doubt. The very physical universe that we so often presume to be the final and ultimate reality was in fact called into existence by God from just such "things that are not seen" (1:1-3).
But having introduced the philosophical categories that provide the context for his argument, the author quickly turns to case studies for its explication. In each instance, these heroes of faith are said to have acted not contrary to reality, but rather in accord with the underlying reality beneath what may have only appeared to be contrary appearances. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob may have lived "in tents" as "strangers and foreigners" (11:9, 13), but such appearances did not change the reality that they were "heirs" to an "inheritance" given to them by God. Abraham and Sarah may have appeared too old to have children, but the reality was that God had placed the "power of procreation" within them.
Not all the contrary appearances were removed during their lifetimes, but the patriarchs and matriarchs were still able to see and accept the reality of God (11:13a). Nor did they go around denying that these apparent contradictions were present (11:13b-14). What had been proven to them by their faith was that the world of appearances was not the final reality of what God was calling into existence. They acted in accord with this "better country," the "heavenly one" that is the realm of the ultimate divine reality, and in so doing demonstrated what faith really is.
Luke 12:32-40
What are the best motivators for diligence? From this Gospel Lesson we can conclude that Jesus did not believe that fear was one of them. The reading opens with Jesus reassuringly addressing his disciples as "little flock" and comforting them with the knowledge that they have no reason to be afraid because it is God's desire to include rather than exclude them from the coming realm of God's justice. But as with the appearances of angelic messengers who almost invariably arrive with the same announcement, "Do not be afraid," there arises from what follows some clear evidence as to why such initial reassurance was warranted.
God's "good pleasure to give ... the kingdom" to us does not remove all responsibility from us for establishing justice in the world. God may give the kingdom, but those who receive this gift must commit themselves totally to it. Rather than hoarding to ourselves the material goods that are the basis of assurance in this world's value system, Jesus directs disciples to sell their possessions and to use the proceeds to assure a just distribution of God's gifts among all people (12:33a). In a realm ruled by divine wisdom, so contrary to the logic of materialist societies, the only way to truly hold on to what really matters is through such just distribution of goods. That is the point of Jesus' rather enigmatic instruction to "make purses for yourselves that do not wear out." If we have committed both our resources and our very selves (our "heart") to the purposes of God's kingdom, we will have placed our treasure "where no thief comes near and no moth destroys" (12:33b-34).
Such commitment to God's reign cannot be only an occasional thing. It is, in our modern parlance, a 24/7 job. It is the difference between being a slave in Jesus' cultural world, and being an employee in ours. For genuine slaves who belong to a master, there really is no time when they are off the clock, whether the master "comes during the middle of the night, or near dawn" (12:38); there is no time when they can take a vacation from their responsibilities. Masters will reward their slaves who demonstrate such diligence (12:37b), but even rewards of this kind do not absolve the slaves' responsibilities or finally reverse the relationship between slave and master. Being a disciple, like being a slave, is a matter of one's very identity and not simply tasks one may occasionally pursue as time and energy permit.
The final verses of the reading shift the symbolic identification of the disciples within the householder imagery. Now the disciples are the owners, but even in this role responsible diligence is required. Perhaps this shift in identification is evidence of a seam in the traditional layers behind this gospel, or perhaps it was a deliberate attempt to show that the responsibilities of discipleship apply to everyone no matter one's social status within the world. Either way, it is important to remember that even this warning about the uncertainty of when a thief might strike is not a reversion to motivation by fear. The householder has responsibilities, but it is the "Father's good pleasure" to provide assistance so there is no reason for fear. Diligence is motivated by a commitment of one's very identity and an understanding of the responsibilities one has to one's self and to others as a consequence.
Application
We don't like Isaiah's picture of God that casts the Divine in the role of the "bad cop" threatening us with dire consequences if we don't confess our crimes. No, we all tend to be at least somewhat like the hurt yuppie couple depicted in one of Gary Trudeau's Doonesbury comics. The Reverend Scott Sloan, the pastor of a small and desperately-trying-to-be-relevant congregation that appears regularly in the strip, has slipped up and said the word "sin," and so the couple explains their exit from that church by telling him, "We're looking for a church which meets our needs." We come to the church longing to hear "good news," to have our emotional and also spiritual needs met, not expecting to be brow-beaten by a divine "bad cop."
And so it is that we gladly hear Jesus call to us, "Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom" (Luke 12:32). Is it any wonder that some people within the church will thankfully exclaim, "We serve the New Testament God of grace, and not an Old Testament God of wrath." Here in our Old Testament and New Testament lessons we meet Isaiah's description of a God making threats and railing against even attempts to be religious, and we meet Jesus' description of a God whose highest pleasure is to grant us the kingdom. Which God would you rather deal with?
Be careful how you answer that question. I wouldn't go so far as to say that it was a trap, but you do need to realize that there are not really two different gods to choose from. No, the choice is more like choosing between dealing with God as "bad cop" in Isaiah, and God as "good cop" in Luke. Either way, we are going to be confronted with the fact that we must confess our sins. Jesus does reassure us that we "do not [have to] be afraid" of God, yet he does not reprieve the demands "to do good, seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow" that reverberated in Isaiah. "It is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom," Jesus said, so "sell your possessions and give alms." Jesus warns us to live our lives in a constant state of readiness through fulfilling God's plan for our world, because our accounting before God "is coming at an unexpected hour."
What we need to be reminded of in seeing God as "good cop" is that although there is Good News for us in Jesus Christ, it does not come without cost. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Christian theologian murdered by the Nazis in the closing days of World War II, insisted that although God's grace is freely given to us, it is not "cheap." It does not come easily and without consequence.
We don't like to hear it, but the fact remains that we both individually and corporately as a society have much that we need to confess. And God will find a way, whether as "good cop" or as "bad cop" to confront us with the reality of how far our world and our individual lives have deviated from God's perfect desire and design. If we will confess our sin, "if [we] are willing and obedient, [we] shall eat the good of the land" (Isaiah 1:19) because "it is [our] Father's good pleasure to give [us] the kingdom." But it is equally true that "if [we] refuse and rebel, [we] shall be devoured" by judgment (Isaiah 1:20) when it comes as unexpectedly as a thief in the night. Which will it be -- "good cop" or "bad cop"?
An Alternative Application
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16. There are two approaches that one might take toward the definition of faith in the book of Hebrews and its relationship to our modern uses of the word "faith." One would be to emphasize that our cultural understanding of faith as stressing the unreality of the thing (at least at present if not potentially in future) is precisely the reverse of what faith was for this author. The goal would be to challenge and potentially change the congregation's understanding of the nature of faith. Conversely, one could establish that faith is the "underlying reality behind appearances" and then ask the question: In what do we put our faith in actuality? Is the underlying reality on which we base our lives the existence of an unseen God whose word creates all other realities? Or have we put our faith in an understanding of reality that is fundamentally physical? The difference between the two is not an absence of hope in the latter, for both can imagine a world different than what appears currently to be the case. Rather, the difference would be our commitment to what is fundamentally real. Do we have faith in the reality of God who transforms the appearance of the world? Or do we believe in the reality of the world and hope that there may also be a God who might do something about the sorry state of affairs we see around us? And what answer do we give to that question, not with our minds and words, but with the practical ways in which we go about living our lives?
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 50:1-8, 22-23
Imagine the shock of arriving for worship one Sunday morning and finding the doors of the church blocked by a sheriff's deputy.
"I am sorry," the deputy says, "but you cannot enter the sanctuary."
As the congregation gathers at the door, everyone wants to know what the problem is; why can't they enter for worship?
The deputy hands a legal document to the minister. His face becomes ashen as reads it. With a stunned look on his face, the pastor announces to his congregation, "God is suing us for breach of contract!"
As absurd as that may sound to our modern sensibilities, that is precisely what the psalmist is writing about to his congregation. God the righteous judge has a complaint, a legal complaint with his people. God entered into a covenant, a contract, with his people and they have not kept their end of the bargain. Therefore, God has a complaint, a suit. And God plans to be judge, jury, and chief witness: "Hear, O my people, and I will speak, O Israel, I will testify against you. I am God, your God" (v. 7).
But what is the breach? If we return to our scene outside our local church, the minister might continue by saying, "We are being sued for a failure to be faithful."
"But how can that be?" the congregation responds. "We are here for worship aren't we? We maintain this worship place with our tithes, don't we? We give to missions and benevolence. We teach our children and youth in Sunday school. Where is our failure?"
The minister scans the document and announces, "God's complaint is not what we do in church. His complaint is what we do after church."
The psalmist put it this way to his congregation, "Not for your sacrifices do I rebuke you; your burnt offerings are continually before me" (v. 8). The problem is not their ritual worship. The problem is their covenant fidelity.
The psalmist writes, "Those who bring thanksgiving as their sacrifice honor me; to those who go the right way I will show the salvation of God" (v. 23).
Thanksgiving as a sacrifice points to a quality of worship. God does not want mere ritual attendance. God desires the heart of those who call his name. Simply going through the motions, offering lip service is not enough. God wants us engaged with him to the point that we are deeply aware of what God has done for us. If we are, we will bring "thanksgiving" as the first fruits of our lives.
And it does not end in the worship place. Worship is but the first step on what the psalmist calls "the right way" (v. 23). What we do in worship, we must also do in life. What we celebrate as truth in prayer, we demonstrate in the daily practices of our life. We cannot be holy in worship only. We are God's people every day, all day, everywhere we go.
It is what we promised to do when we agreed to the covenant. God will be God, the agreement says, and God is faithful. God does his part, and we are God's people. Our part of the covenant calls us to worship and to observe faithfully the demands of worship. But the covenant also calls us to integrity. To be God's people the way God wants us to be God's people. That means that our words and our life must show that we are God's people.
Every episode includes interrogations of crime suspects by Detectives Briscoe and Green. It is always interesting to watch these dramatizations, especially in the way the characters sometimes use the technique of "good cop/bad cop" in hopes of gaining a confession. You have to wonder why this technique remains effective in real life, since by now everyone must know how it works (in fact, occasionally even suspects being interrogated on the show will identify that Briscoe and Green are trying to use the tactic against them). One detective comes across as harsh, even abusive, trying to wear down the suspect; the other positions himself between the "out of control" cop and the suspect, maybe even seeming to side with the suspect, encouraging him or her to "make things easy on yourself." Sometimes Detective Briscoe plays the part of the "heavy," other times it is Green, and on occasions they even switch "good cop/bad cop" roles while the interrogation is in progress.
These heavy handed interrogation techniques are not all that different from what we find in the opening chapter of Isaiah. In fact, even the setting of the confrontation within a legal or judicial context provides part of the backdrop for this lectionary reading. It is one of several occasions where ancient Israel's prophets presented disputes between God and the chosen people as if they were being played out in the courts. Thus, when God demands of the people, "Come now, let us argue it out," we have a challenge similar to a subpoena demanding that a person come and defend their actions before a grand jury. From the tone of the charges being leveled, there can be no doubt that the prosecutor, namely God, is not pleased.
Isaiah 1:1, 10-20
This passage from Isaiah clearly casts God as the "bad cop" in this drama. God's tactics are forceful and even somewhat demeaning. The Divine refuses to call the defendants by name, but rather addresses the leadership of ancient Judah as "you rulers of Sodom! ... you people of Gomorrah!" (1:10). Anyone familiar with the destruction of those two cities by "sulfur and fire ... out of heaven" (Genesis 19:24) cannot miss this not-so-veiled threat. But that is just the warm-up. God goes on to rail against even the people's attempts to be religious. Even when they have kept the ritual observances of the Mosaic law, they have only managed to further infuriate God because they have done so "with iniquity" and with "hands ... full of blood" (Isaiah 1:11-15). God's accusations against them are both general and specific; they have done evil and failed to seek justice, they have not rescued the oppressed, defended the orphan, or pleaded for the widow (1:16-17).
At the very last, however, it seems that God is switching to the tactic of "good cop," holding out some hope that the future might be better. Or so we have often understood the promises that "though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be like snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool" (1:18). Though the people seem to be indelibly stained by their sins, God offers to completely remove the taint of wickedness from them. It is almost as if our crime drama has been interrupted by a commercial for some laundry product. We have heard in the summons to "argue it out" God telling us not to soak the stains of sin out, but rather to "Shout them out."
But these images of "crimson" and "wool" come from the medical suite, not the laundry room. The references are most likely to the progression of the dreaded skin disease leprosy. To draw out the imagery in paraphrase, God is saying that "although your sins are now scarlet like inflamed skin, they shall become like snow as the cells die; though they are inflamed red like crimson, they will ultimately slough off like wool." That is to say, if you do not stop the progress of sin in your lives, then it will slowly devour you before your very eyes. Not at all an appealing picture. These are promises of the sure progress of the corrupting influence and effects of sin, not promises of restoration.
That is not to say that there is no "good cop" present at all within this interrogation. It is still possible to take the easy way out. If we come clean, stop the spread of the infection by ceasing evil, and do the work of God's justice on behalf of the oppressed (1:16-17), then it is still possible to share in the benefits of God's justice for all (1:19). But if we continue in our obstinate refusal to cooperate, then God will not spare us from the consequences of our rebellious acts (1:20).
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16
The Epistle Lesson for this Sunday inaugurates a four-week series of continual readings from the final chapters of the book of Hebrews. It begins with one of the best-known sections of the book, what has sometimes been called the "roll call of the heroes of the faith." Hebrews 11 is treated over the course of two weeks in the lectionary assignments. This reading includes what might be considered the author's definition of faith and the first half of the case study, if you will, on Abraham's faith. The assigned reading for Proper 15 resumes the argument from Israel's history at the point of the escape from Egypt.
Although many Christians can recite the opening verse of this chapter (perhaps mixing and matching particular words from the various traditional and modern English translations), it is doubtful that many of them realize the level of philosophical reasoning that lies behind the verse. The sophistication behind the arguments in this book is, in fact, one of the greatest hurdles to clear in preaching on it. Far from being a definition intended to clarify the abstract meaning of "faith" by simple, everyday language ("assurance" and "conviction" in the NRSV, "substance" and "conviction" in the KJV), the author defines "faith" by using technical terms from Greek science and philosophy. Just how technical are these terms? It is perhaps sufficient to note that in stating "faith is the assurance/substance of things hoped for," the author employs the very word (hypostasis) that will centuries later be employed to describe the distinctions of Father, Son, and Spirit within the single essence (ousia) of God (cf. an earlier use of this word here in Hebrews where it designates the Son as "the exact imprint of God's very being"). Obviously, we are breathing in some very philosophically rarefied air.
Yet the point of the author's argument is one that is desperately needed within our modern world as well. To those who think that "faith" is a leap in the dark, an insubstantial hoping against hope, a commitment of the self to a belief despite what may seem the contrary evidence of reality, this author argues that they have it exactly backwards. Faith is in fact the genuine "underlying reality behind appearances" (the philosophical meaning of hypostasis), the only real "evidence for the truth" or "proof" of things. If these realities and truths remain "hoped for" and "not seen" it is not because their existence is in some sense in doubt. The very physical universe that we so often presume to be the final and ultimate reality was in fact called into existence by God from just such "things that are not seen" (1:1-3).
But having introduced the philosophical categories that provide the context for his argument, the author quickly turns to case studies for its explication. In each instance, these heroes of faith are said to have acted not contrary to reality, but rather in accord with the underlying reality beneath what may have only appeared to be contrary appearances. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob may have lived "in tents" as "strangers and foreigners" (11:9, 13), but such appearances did not change the reality that they were "heirs" to an "inheritance" given to them by God. Abraham and Sarah may have appeared too old to have children, but the reality was that God had placed the "power of procreation" within them.
Not all the contrary appearances were removed during their lifetimes, but the patriarchs and matriarchs were still able to see and accept the reality of God (11:13a). Nor did they go around denying that these apparent contradictions were present (11:13b-14). What had been proven to them by their faith was that the world of appearances was not the final reality of what God was calling into existence. They acted in accord with this "better country," the "heavenly one" that is the realm of the ultimate divine reality, and in so doing demonstrated what faith really is.
Luke 12:32-40
What are the best motivators for diligence? From this Gospel Lesson we can conclude that Jesus did not believe that fear was one of them. The reading opens with Jesus reassuringly addressing his disciples as "little flock" and comforting them with the knowledge that they have no reason to be afraid because it is God's desire to include rather than exclude them from the coming realm of God's justice. But as with the appearances of angelic messengers who almost invariably arrive with the same announcement, "Do not be afraid," there arises from what follows some clear evidence as to why such initial reassurance was warranted.
God's "good pleasure to give ... the kingdom" to us does not remove all responsibility from us for establishing justice in the world. God may give the kingdom, but those who receive this gift must commit themselves totally to it. Rather than hoarding to ourselves the material goods that are the basis of assurance in this world's value system, Jesus directs disciples to sell their possessions and to use the proceeds to assure a just distribution of God's gifts among all people (12:33a). In a realm ruled by divine wisdom, so contrary to the logic of materialist societies, the only way to truly hold on to what really matters is through such just distribution of goods. That is the point of Jesus' rather enigmatic instruction to "make purses for yourselves that do not wear out." If we have committed both our resources and our very selves (our "heart") to the purposes of God's kingdom, we will have placed our treasure "where no thief comes near and no moth destroys" (12:33b-34).
Such commitment to God's reign cannot be only an occasional thing. It is, in our modern parlance, a 24/7 job. It is the difference between being a slave in Jesus' cultural world, and being an employee in ours. For genuine slaves who belong to a master, there really is no time when they are off the clock, whether the master "comes during the middle of the night, or near dawn" (12:38); there is no time when they can take a vacation from their responsibilities. Masters will reward their slaves who demonstrate such diligence (12:37b), but even rewards of this kind do not absolve the slaves' responsibilities or finally reverse the relationship between slave and master. Being a disciple, like being a slave, is a matter of one's very identity and not simply tasks one may occasionally pursue as time and energy permit.
The final verses of the reading shift the symbolic identification of the disciples within the householder imagery. Now the disciples are the owners, but even in this role responsible diligence is required. Perhaps this shift in identification is evidence of a seam in the traditional layers behind this gospel, or perhaps it was a deliberate attempt to show that the responsibilities of discipleship apply to everyone no matter one's social status within the world. Either way, it is important to remember that even this warning about the uncertainty of when a thief might strike is not a reversion to motivation by fear. The householder has responsibilities, but it is the "Father's good pleasure" to provide assistance so there is no reason for fear. Diligence is motivated by a commitment of one's very identity and an understanding of the responsibilities one has to one's self and to others as a consequence.
Application
We don't like Isaiah's picture of God that casts the Divine in the role of the "bad cop" threatening us with dire consequences if we don't confess our crimes. No, we all tend to be at least somewhat like the hurt yuppie couple depicted in one of Gary Trudeau's Doonesbury comics. The Reverend Scott Sloan, the pastor of a small and desperately-trying-to-be-relevant congregation that appears regularly in the strip, has slipped up and said the word "sin," and so the couple explains their exit from that church by telling him, "We're looking for a church which meets our needs." We come to the church longing to hear "good news," to have our emotional and also spiritual needs met, not expecting to be brow-beaten by a divine "bad cop."
And so it is that we gladly hear Jesus call to us, "Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom" (Luke 12:32). Is it any wonder that some people within the church will thankfully exclaim, "We serve the New Testament God of grace, and not an Old Testament God of wrath." Here in our Old Testament and New Testament lessons we meet Isaiah's description of a God making threats and railing against even attempts to be religious, and we meet Jesus' description of a God whose highest pleasure is to grant us the kingdom. Which God would you rather deal with?
Be careful how you answer that question. I wouldn't go so far as to say that it was a trap, but you do need to realize that there are not really two different gods to choose from. No, the choice is more like choosing between dealing with God as "bad cop" in Isaiah, and God as "good cop" in Luke. Either way, we are going to be confronted with the fact that we must confess our sins. Jesus does reassure us that we "do not [have to] be afraid" of God, yet he does not reprieve the demands "to do good, seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow" that reverberated in Isaiah. "It is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom," Jesus said, so "sell your possessions and give alms." Jesus warns us to live our lives in a constant state of readiness through fulfilling God's plan for our world, because our accounting before God "is coming at an unexpected hour."
What we need to be reminded of in seeing God as "good cop" is that although there is Good News for us in Jesus Christ, it does not come without cost. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Christian theologian murdered by the Nazis in the closing days of World War II, insisted that although God's grace is freely given to us, it is not "cheap." It does not come easily and without consequence.
We don't like to hear it, but the fact remains that we both individually and corporately as a society have much that we need to confess. And God will find a way, whether as "good cop" or as "bad cop" to confront us with the reality of how far our world and our individual lives have deviated from God's perfect desire and design. If we will confess our sin, "if [we] are willing and obedient, [we] shall eat the good of the land" (Isaiah 1:19) because "it is [our] Father's good pleasure to give [us] the kingdom." But it is equally true that "if [we] refuse and rebel, [we] shall be devoured" by judgment (Isaiah 1:20) when it comes as unexpectedly as a thief in the night. Which will it be -- "good cop" or "bad cop"?
An Alternative Application
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16. There are two approaches that one might take toward the definition of faith in the book of Hebrews and its relationship to our modern uses of the word "faith." One would be to emphasize that our cultural understanding of faith as stressing the unreality of the thing (at least at present if not potentially in future) is precisely the reverse of what faith was for this author. The goal would be to challenge and potentially change the congregation's understanding of the nature of faith. Conversely, one could establish that faith is the "underlying reality behind appearances" and then ask the question: In what do we put our faith in actuality? Is the underlying reality on which we base our lives the existence of an unseen God whose word creates all other realities? Or have we put our faith in an understanding of reality that is fundamentally physical? The difference between the two is not an absence of hope in the latter, for both can imagine a world different than what appears currently to be the case. Rather, the difference would be our commitment to what is fundamentally real. Do we have faith in the reality of God who transforms the appearance of the world? Or do we believe in the reality of the world and hope that there may also be a God who might do something about the sorry state of affairs we see around us? And what answer do we give to that question, not with our minds and words, but with the practical ways in which we go about living our lives?
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 50:1-8, 22-23
Imagine the shock of arriving for worship one Sunday morning and finding the doors of the church blocked by a sheriff's deputy.
"I am sorry," the deputy says, "but you cannot enter the sanctuary."
As the congregation gathers at the door, everyone wants to know what the problem is; why can't they enter for worship?
The deputy hands a legal document to the minister. His face becomes ashen as reads it. With a stunned look on his face, the pastor announces to his congregation, "God is suing us for breach of contract!"
As absurd as that may sound to our modern sensibilities, that is precisely what the psalmist is writing about to his congregation. God the righteous judge has a complaint, a legal complaint with his people. God entered into a covenant, a contract, with his people and they have not kept their end of the bargain. Therefore, God has a complaint, a suit. And God plans to be judge, jury, and chief witness: "Hear, O my people, and I will speak, O Israel, I will testify against you. I am God, your God" (v. 7).
But what is the breach? If we return to our scene outside our local church, the minister might continue by saying, "We are being sued for a failure to be faithful."
"But how can that be?" the congregation responds. "We are here for worship aren't we? We maintain this worship place with our tithes, don't we? We give to missions and benevolence. We teach our children and youth in Sunday school. Where is our failure?"
The minister scans the document and announces, "God's complaint is not what we do in church. His complaint is what we do after church."
The psalmist put it this way to his congregation, "Not for your sacrifices do I rebuke you; your burnt offerings are continually before me" (v. 8). The problem is not their ritual worship. The problem is their covenant fidelity.
The psalmist writes, "Those who bring thanksgiving as their sacrifice honor me; to those who go the right way I will show the salvation of God" (v. 23).
Thanksgiving as a sacrifice points to a quality of worship. God does not want mere ritual attendance. God desires the heart of those who call his name. Simply going through the motions, offering lip service is not enough. God wants us engaged with him to the point that we are deeply aware of what God has done for us. If we are, we will bring "thanksgiving" as the first fruits of our lives.
And it does not end in the worship place. Worship is but the first step on what the psalmist calls "the right way" (v. 23). What we do in worship, we must also do in life. What we celebrate as truth in prayer, we demonstrate in the daily practices of our life. We cannot be holy in worship only. We are God's people every day, all day, everywhere we go.
It is what we promised to do when we agreed to the covenant. God will be God, the agreement says, and God is faithful. God does his part, and we are God's people. Our part of the covenant calls us to worship and to observe faithfully the demands of worship. But the covenant also calls us to integrity. To be God's people the way God wants us to be God's people. That means that our words and our life must show that we are God's people.
