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Commentary
A friend, who was about to become a father, asked me about the relationship I had with my father when I was growing up. My friend sensed that my relationship with my dad was a good one, and that I regarded my dad as a good father. This friend of mine, however, had grown up without a father, and so as he anticipated becoming a father himself, he found that he was without a good role model. He hoped to be able to borrow one from me.
My friend was deliberately seeking what we all crave, more or less consciously. In whatever area of life, we need and long for role models -- someone who will show us how it's done, whatever "it" may be.
This pursuit becomes a public one in the buying of books written by people who have been successful. Whether the author has made it big in business, in sports, or whatever, thousands -- perhaps millions -- of people will manifest their desire for a role model by buying his book.
You and I do the same in our field. Although folks like to say that we learn more from defeat than from victory, it's not the defeated pastors and preachers who have lost hundreds of members and who lead struggling churches, who write books and lead seminars. Rather, we seek out colleagues who have enjoyed remarkable success, and we borrow them and their methods as models for ourselves and our ministries.
Our two New Testament readings this week remind us of the need that we -- and our congregations -- have for role models in the faith.
Joshua 3:7-17
Every death leaves some sense of vacancy, of absence. And some deaths leave in their wake a very great void for the people left behind. The empty chair at the dinner table or in the living room; the voice that is missing; the presence, the humor, the influence, the love ... all elements of some great and beloved person's absence.
In our family settings, of course, a part of our grief is simply that absence. No one sits, now, where father used to sit, and we all know that no one can replace him. In most circumstances, no one tries. Or at least not right away.
In the larger context of our Old Testament passage, however, that is not the case. A great and beloved person had died, and there was immediately someone there to try to take his place.
Moses had died, and his absence must have left an immense void for the children of Israel. No one among them (except, arguably, Joshua and Caleb) had ever known life without Moses. Just as a generation of Americans who grew up in the '30s and '40s didn't know any other president besides Franklin Roosevelt, so the Israelites who grew up in the wilderness had never known any other leader than Moses. He was always there, he was always in charge, and he was, literally, a radiant presence in their midst.
Moses had been God's agent of deliverance in Egypt, God's spokesman for the people of Israel, and God's friend. But now Moses was gone, and who could possibly sit in his chair at the table?
That unenviable responsibility fell to Joshua. From early on, Joshua had been Moses' right-hand-man (see, for example, Exodus 17:8-9, 14; 24:12-13; 33:7-11). But the much-appreciated back-up quarterback is not necessarily the guy you welcome as the new team leader when the beloved star quarterback retires.
And so God, in our selected passage, does a favor for Joshua. Indeed, it seems to be a calculated effort by God to help establish Joshua in Moses' place. And so, when the children of Israel came to the Jordan River, the Lord caused the river to pile up in the north so that the people could cross over on dry ground. Like a variation on a motif in a musical composition, God reprises his water-parting miracle from a generation before. Just as God had parted the Red Sea for Moses, so now God parted the Jordan for Joshua, and thus he began "to exalt (Joshua) in the sight of all Israel" so that they would know that "I will be with (Joshua) as I was with Moses."
A part of Joshua's assignment at the Jordan was to "select twelve men from the tribes of Israel, one from each tribe." There, too, we see a symbolic promotion of Joshua. A generation earlier, Moses had selected twelve representatives from the tribes (Numbers 13:1-16), and Joshua was among one of those selected. Now, forty or so years later, it was Joshua doing the choosing.
While God was promoting and protecting Joshua, however, Joshua was not promoting himself. Notice how he introduces the parting of the Jordan River to the people: "By this you shall know that among you is the living God...." Faithfully, Joshua directs the people's attention to God. He does not say, "By this you shall know that I am the rightful successor to Moses," or some such self-proclamation. Rather, he makes the miracle always and only about God. It is a great virtue in God's leaders if we leave it to God to establish us, while we make it our only business to proclaim and point to him, not to ourselves.
Finally, though the parting of the Jordan River is certainly -- and deliberately -- reminiscent of what God did through Moses at the Red Sea, it is worth noting that the method of the miracle is not the same. At the Red Sea, God instructed Moses to "lift up your staff, and stretch out your hand over the sea and divide it, that the Israelites may go into the sea on dry ground" (Exodus 14:16). At the Jordan, by contrast, God told Joshua to instruct the priests, "When you come to the edge of the waters of the Jordan, you shall stand still in the Jordan." Hence, "when the soles of the feet of the priests who bear the ark of the Lord ... rest in the waters.... the waters of the Jordan flowing from above shall be cut off."
We do God and ourselves a great disservice if we forget what he has done in the past. But we also err when we limit him to what he has done in the past -- or limit him to how he has done it. God provided dry ground for his people on both occasions, but while the result was the same, the method was not.
1 Thessalonians 2:9-13
Paul's first letter to the Christians in Thessalonica is thought to have been written not long after his first visit there (a part of what we commonly identify as Paul's Second Missionary Journey, which took him beyond Asia and into Europe for the first time). Paul and his companions had been forced to leave Thessalonica by Jewish factions that were jealous of the gospel's reception among the people there (see Acts 17:1-10), and that opposition eventually chased Paul out of nearby Berea, as well (17:13-15).
The nature of Paul's missionary work was such that he planted seeds in one place after another, but he did not or could not stay to cultivate the fragile young plants, nor could he be assured that they were thriving and bearing fruit. He relied on letters and personal reports to learn how the Christians and churches that he had left behind in a given place were doing. Evidently, Paul had recently received such a report from Thessalonica, and he gave thanks for the good word about the Thessalonians' faith and faithfulness.
What cultivating and nurturing Paul could do at a distance, meanwhile, he did through his letters. And, right on the heels of giving thanks for all that the Thessalonian Christians were, he moved on to encourage them in what they should be. That encouragement, in large measure, took the form of a reminder about the example Paul and his companions had set for the Thessalonians during their time together.
Within the larger context of this epistle, we see Paul's emphasis on working, on earning a living. It's a theme revisited, we discover, in his second letter to the Thessalonians, as well (2 Thessalonians 3:6-12), suggesting that this was something of a continuing issue within that congregation. Paul repeatedly cites the example set by him and his companions -- working diligently, supporting themselves, and keeping their motives for ministry unalloyed.
Both Paul's example before the Thessalonians and his challenge to them are of the highest order. His example was "pure, upright, and blameless." And the calling was to "lead a life worthy of God." These are not modest goals. They are not part of the contemporary shoulder shrugging so common in American Christianity, where "nobody's perfect" seems to be an "article of religion." No, but rather they are no-nonsense reminders that the gospel deserves a certain kind of representative, and that God deserves a certain kind of people. That does not narrow or limit the invitation of God's grace, mind you. It simply clarifies the proper response to that grace.
Finally, Paul commends the Thessalonians for receiving "the word of God that you heard from us ... not as a human word but as what it really is, God's word." God's message through human messengers; God's Word in human words -- this is God's strange choice and our high calling.
The Second Helvetic Confession addressed the matter: "Wherefore when this Word of God is now preached in the church by preachers lawfully called, we believe that the very Word of God is preached, and received of the faithful ... (and although the preacher) be evil and a sinner, nevertheless the Word of God abides true and good."
And so we are challenged to be pure vessels for the Word we contain and transmit. The Word deserves that, and the world to which we preach desires it. Yet even when we are not, the Word remains "what is really is, God's Word" "true and good."
Matthew 23:1-12
Focus groups are monitored to discover their gut reactions -- both positive and negative -- to candidates, slogans, products, policies, and more. If we could thus monitor the people in our pews during the reading of the scripture, I suspect that we'd find an interesting reversal of reputations from Jesus' day to our own.
While the prevailing attitude of Jesus' contemporaries toward the Samaritans was aggressively negative, for example, our people have connected "Samaritan" with "good." Meanwhile, though the people of Jesus' day had a native respect for the scribes and Pharisees, the mention of those groups among American churchgoers elicits a negative reaction.
It's a shame that we think of the scribes and Pharisees as the bad guys, for the people of first-century Palestine assumed they were the good guys. And while they clearly did not universally deserve the favorable reputation that they had, our people are at a disadvantage in understanding many of Jesus' teachings without something of a prejudice in favor of those Pharisees and the scribes.
This section of Jesus' teaching is the kind of passage that creates and perpetuates our negative connotation of "scribes and Pharisees," for it is highly critical of them and exposes their hypocrisies. Still, for the sake of understanding the passage -- and applying it! -- we need to begin where Jesus' audience did: with a prejudice in favor of these religious leaders.
Jesus says that those religious leaders "sit on Moses' seat," which is a picturesque way of identifying their authority and responsibility. Those two things -- authority and responsibility -- almost always go together, and in the case of the role played by the scribes and Pharisees, we naturally think of James' caution: "Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness" (James 3:1).
As men and women of the pulpit, expounding the word of God to the people of God, you and I may be among those who "sit on Moses' seat" today, and so this passage may be particularly important reading for us.
For example, I certainly recognize the phenomenon of passing along to people heavy burdens that are hard to bear. At its best, I call that challenging teaching and preaching. I wonder how much challenge some souls can take, though, before it becomes a heavy burden. I suspect it is "ought-heavy" preaching (as in, "you ought to ...") that has given the words "preach" and "sermon" their unfavorable connotations in the culture outside of the church (as in "don't preach at me," "I didn't mean to sound preachy," or "I don't need a sermon about....").
The later admonition about being called "rabbi," "father," and "instructor" is also a difficult word for us as clergy. In different denominations, and in different regions of the country, different appellations for clergy prevail. Here among Wisconsin Protestants, "pastor" seems to be the title of choice. But I wonder, as "pastor" means "shepherd," if Jesus might not also say, "Nor are you to be called pastors, for you have one Shepherd."
In the end, it seems, the real issue is not the titles but the misplaced honor that accompanies them. Earlier in Matthew (20:25-28), Jesus explained to his followers that they were to function differently than the world around them -- not to be menacing, self-serving authorities, but rather to be servants of all. And while that earlier teaching juxtaposed how the Gentiles do things with how his followers were to do things, this teaching uses the scribes and Pharisees as the negative example of how his followers should not be.
Finally, Jesus' observation that the scribes and Pharisees "do all their deeds to be seen by others" is a sobering word to all of us. The attention and admiration of people is an intoxicating thing, and when we have tasted a bit of the applause for our good and godly deeds, our motivation for doing them becomes contaminated. While we may not live in a world where piety is generally applauded, it remains a risk within the church. If I let my motivation for serving God slip just a bit so that I am, partly, endeavoring to please people, then I have left myself vulnerable. For what will I do when the paths of pleasing God and pleasing people separate, and they require different things? If my entire motivation has been to please God, then I will hardly notice as the human approval comes and goes.
Application
Most of what we have learned along the way, we learned from watching someone else. From tinkering in the garage to cooking in the kitchen; how we converse, how we carry ourselves, how we do our relationships ... all of these can be traced back to one or several persons who were major influences on us along the way. Sometimes we deliberately seek a role model for ourselves in some area of life. Other times we adopt our role models rather unconsciously, and it's only in retrospect that we come to recognize the flow of influence and imitation between ourselves and our role models.
The two New Testament lections for this week present us with the reality and importance of role models in righteousness.
In the Thessalonians passage, we see evidence of Paul's emphasis on role models. Here and elsewhere, he is unapologetic about holding himself up as a model to be considered and imitated (see also 1 Corinthians 4:16; 11:1; Philippians 3:17; 1 Thessalonians 1:6; 2 Thessalonians 3:7-9). It stands to reason that, since human beings learn by example, Christians also learn by seeing and imitating the examples of other Christians.
In the Matthew passage, meanwhile, Jesus warns about the example set by the scribes and Pharisees. They are held up as a kind of anti-role-model: "Be careful not to imitate them" is the thrust of Jesus' message to his followers.
And so, between the words of Paul and the teachings of Jesus, we are presented with several sobering prospects. First, our high calling is to be examples worthy of imitation. Second, the human likelihood that, whether we promote ourselves as exemplary or not, our example is an influence on others. And, third, that some men and women of God ought not to be imitated, for their example is a misleading one.
Our calling, then, is twofold.
First, to be discerning and deliberate about our role models. Let us select, consciously and carefully, men and women of God whose examples we can follow as we endeavor to live lives pleasing and serviceable to God.
And, second, to be mindful of our own responsibility as role models. "I would be true," Howard A. Walter wrote, "for there are those who trust me; I would be pure, for there are those who care." You and I do not necessarily know who those people are. We do not know, at any given moment, who is watching, or who may be influenced by our example. But that is a part of the human reality, and it becomes a part of our spiritual responsibility.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 23:1-12. "Daddy, watch me!" My wife and I have three little girls -- ten, four, and two years old. They are at different stages, to be sure, but they are all still young enough that they want to be watched by their daddy. Whether it is the two-year-old who repeats some little stunt that got a laugh the first time, or the four-year-old with her nascent cartwheels, or the ten-year-old with her assorted tricks in the pool, they all call out, "Daddy, watch me!"
There is something sweet, natural, and wholesome about that part of childhood. The question, however, is how that "watch me" instinct will evolve as children grow into adults.
I imagine a fork in the road, and both choices are natural extensions of what we have been and known as children. Will my daughters grow up in such a way that they will always want some human being to watch, approve, and applaud? Or will my daughters grow up in such a way that they always will want some father (as in divine Father) to watch, approve, and applaud?
The scribes and the Pharisees, according to Jesus, were men who lived for a human audience. "They do all their deeds to be seen by others." Like children, still, they want other human beings to see what they do, and to be impressed.
The call of Christ, however, is to live for a divine audience. "But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you" (Matthew 6:6). We are still like children, but now it is our heavenly Father's approval and applause that we seek. And no one else's.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 107:1-7, 33-37
The psalm celebrates the steadfast love (hesed) of the Lord. After an introductory section (vv. 1-3), it moves on to tell the stories of four groups of redeemed people: desert wanderers (vv. 4-9); those who sit in darkness and gloom (vv. 10-16); sinners who become sick as a result of their sin (vv. 17-22); and those who "go down to the sea in ships" and nearly lose their lives in storms (vv. 23-32). Verses 33-43 complete the psalm, recapping God's goodness as seen in abundant water and bountiful harvests. Today's lectionary selection is composed of the introduction, the first of the four salvation stories, and a portion of the conclusion -- that part corresponding to water in the desert, which matches up nicely with the first salvation story of desert survival.
A popular movie serial from the early days of motion pictures was The Perils of Pauline. This psalm could perhaps be subtitled, "The Perils of the Faithful Believer." The psalmist gives us four "cliffhanger" crises, each of which would have resulted in disaster, were it not for the miraculous intervention of the Lord. "Hindsight is always 20/20," as they say -- and the hindsight of this believer is that, in his experience and in the experience of others, God can always be counted upon to rescue and redeem the faithful.
The viewpoint of Psalm 107 is a cliffhanger place, that place that can also be called (to mix a metaphor) "rock bottom." It's the place, well-known to those in the recovery (twelve-step) movement, where there's "nowhere to go but up."
The rock-bottom place is the coronary care unit, where a young, up-and-coming professional lies, hooked up to the monitors. The view from that hospital bed is different from anyplace else; from that vantage point, it's easy to see that Stephen Covey is right, when he remarks that no one, but no one, on their death bed, wishes they had spent more time at the office.
The rock-bottom place is bereavement: when a life-partner is suddenly gone, and nothing seems to be as it was. Life, suddenly, has become a fearful place. New skills must be learned. Lonely nights must be endured.
The rock-bottom place is imprisonment, of one sort or another. Maybe not literally time in jail, but a time when life is put "on hold," nonetheless. Maybe a parent or spouse has become an invalid, and we are called upon to be the primary caregiver. Or corporate downsizing has blocked career advancement. Or mental illness has intruded where we never imagined it would.
Some of the most insightful explorations into the human spirit were written in rock-bottom places -- some of these, literally, in prisons. The Bible contains the book of Revelation, and a good many of Paul's letters. In modern times books written from personal experience include Dietrich Bonhoeffer's Letters and Papers From Prison; Viktor Frankl's, Man's Search For Meaning, outlined in a concentration camp; Martin Luther King, Jr.'s, Letter From Birmingham Jail; Solzhenitsyn's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. From the imprisoned feeling of the rock-bottom place, life appears starkly different. The choice before us, then, is rather like the state motto of New Hampshire: We've got to decide whether we're going to "Live free, or die." In the steadfast love of the Lord, we are empowered to live free, regardless of our external circumstances.
My friend was deliberately seeking what we all crave, more or less consciously. In whatever area of life, we need and long for role models -- someone who will show us how it's done, whatever "it" may be.
This pursuit becomes a public one in the buying of books written by people who have been successful. Whether the author has made it big in business, in sports, or whatever, thousands -- perhaps millions -- of people will manifest their desire for a role model by buying his book.
You and I do the same in our field. Although folks like to say that we learn more from defeat than from victory, it's not the defeated pastors and preachers who have lost hundreds of members and who lead struggling churches, who write books and lead seminars. Rather, we seek out colleagues who have enjoyed remarkable success, and we borrow them and their methods as models for ourselves and our ministries.
Our two New Testament readings this week remind us of the need that we -- and our congregations -- have for role models in the faith.
Joshua 3:7-17
Every death leaves some sense of vacancy, of absence. And some deaths leave in their wake a very great void for the people left behind. The empty chair at the dinner table or in the living room; the voice that is missing; the presence, the humor, the influence, the love ... all elements of some great and beloved person's absence.
In our family settings, of course, a part of our grief is simply that absence. No one sits, now, where father used to sit, and we all know that no one can replace him. In most circumstances, no one tries. Or at least not right away.
In the larger context of our Old Testament passage, however, that is not the case. A great and beloved person had died, and there was immediately someone there to try to take his place.
Moses had died, and his absence must have left an immense void for the children of Israel. No one among them (except, arguably, Joshua and Caleb) had ever known life without Moses. Just as a generation of Americans who grew up in the '30s and '40s didn't know any other president besides Franklin Roosevelt, so the Israelites who grew up in the wilderness had never known any other leader than Moses. He was always there, he was always in charge, and he was, literally, a radiant presence in their midst.
Moses had been God's agent of deliverance in Egypt, God's spokesman for the people of Israel, and God's friend. But now Moses was gone, and who could possibly sit in his chair at the table?
That unenviable responsibility fell to Joshua. From early on, Joshua had been Moses' right-hand-man (see, for example, Exodus 17:8-9, 14; 24:12-13; 33:7-11). But the much-appreciated back-up quarterback is not necessarily the guy you welcome as the new team leader when the beloved star quarterback retires.
And so God, in our selected passage, does a favor for Joshua. Indeed, it seems to be a calculated effort by God to help establish Joshua in Moses' place. And so, when the children of Israel came to the Jordan River, the Lord caused the river to pile up in the north so that the people could cross over on dry ground. Like a variation on a motif in a musical composition, God reprises his water-parting miracle from a generation before. Just as God had parted the Red Sea for Moses, so now God parted the Jordan for Joshua, and thus he began "to exalt (Joshua) in the sight of all Israel" so that they would know that "I will be with (Joshua) as I was with Moses."
A part of Joshua's assignment at the Jordan was to "select twelve men from the tribes of Israel, one from each tribe." There, too, we see a symbolic promotion of Joshua. A generation earlier, Moses had selected twelve representatives from the tribes (Numbers 13:1-16), and Joshua was among one of those selected. Now, forty or so years later, it was Joshua doing the choosing.
While God was promoting and protecting Joshua, however, Joshua was not promoting himself. Notice how he introduces the parting of the Jordan River to the people: "By this you shall know that among you is the living God...." Faithfully, Joshua directs the people's attention to God. He does not say, "By this you shall know that I am the rightful successor to Moses," or some such self-proclamation. Rather, he makes the miracle always and only about God. It is a great virtue in God's leaders if we leave it to God to establish us, while we make it our only business to proclaim and point to him, not to ourselves.
Finally, though the parting of the Jordan River is certainly -- and deliberately -- reminiscent of what God did through Moses at the Red Sea, it is worth noting that the method of the miracle is not the same. At the Red Sea, God instructed Moses to "lift up your staff, and stretch out your hand over the sea and divide it, that the Israelites may go into the sea on dry ground" (Exodus 14:16). At the Jordan, by contrast, God told Joshua to instruct the priests, "When you come to the edge of the waters of the Jordan, you shall stand still in the Jordan." Hence, "when the soles of the feet of the priests who bear the ark of the Lord ... rest in the waters.... the waters of the Jordan flowing from above shall be cut off."
We do God and ourselves a great disservice if we forget what he has done in the past. But we also err when we limit him to what he has done in the past -- or limit him to how he has done it. God provided dry ground for his people on both occasions, but while the result was the same, the method was not.
1 Thessalonians 2:9-13
Paul's first letter to the Christians in Thessalonica is thought to have been written not long after his first visit there (a part of what we commonly identify as Paul's Second Missionary Journey, which took him beyond Asia and into Europe for the first time). Paul and his companions had been forced to leave Thessalonica by Jewish factions that were jealous of the gospel's reception among the people there (see Acts 17:1-10), and that opposition eventually chased Paul out of nearby Berea, as well (17:13-15).
The nature of Paul's missionary work was such that he planted seeds in one place after another, but he did not or could not stay to cultivate the fragile young plants, nor could he be assured that they were thriving and bearing fruit. He relied on letters and personal reports to learn how the Christians and churches that he had left behind in a given place were doing. Evidently, Paul had recently received such a report from Thessalonica, and he gave thanks for the good word about the Thessalonians' faith and faithfulness.
What cultivating and nurturing Paul could do at a distance, meanwhile, he did through his letters. And, right on the heels of giving thanks for all that the Thessalonian Christians were, he moved on to encourage them in what they should be. That encouragement, in large measure, took the form of a reminder about the example Paul and his companions had set for the Thessalonians during their time together.
Within the larger context of this epistle, we see Paul's emphasis on working, on earning a living. It's a theme revisited, we discover, in his second letter to the Thessalonians, as well (2 Thessalonians 3:6-12), suggesting that this was something of a continuing issue within that congregation. Paul repeatedly cites the example set by him and his companions -- working diligently, supporting themselves, and keeping their motives for ministry unalloyed.
Both Paul's example before the Thessalonians and his challenge to them are of the highest order. His example was "pure, upright, and blameless." And the calling was to "lead a life worthy of God." These are not modest goals. They are not part of the contemporary shoulder shrugging so common in American Christianity, where "nobody's perfect" seems to be an "article of religion." No, but rather they are no-nonsense reminders that the gospel deserves a certain kind of representative, and that God deserves a certain kind of people. That does not narrow or limit the invitation of God's grace, mind you. It simply clarifies the proper response to that grace.
Finally, Paul commends the Thessalonians for receiving "the word of God that you heard from us ... not as a human word but as what it really is, God's word." God's message through human messengers; God's Word in human words -- this is God's strange choice and our high calling.
The Second Helvetic Confession addressed the matter: "Wherefore when this Word of God is now preached in the church by preachers lawfully called, we believe that the very Word of God is preached, and received of the faithful ... (and although the preacher) be evil and a sinner, nevertheless the Word of God abides true and good."
And so we are challenged to be pure vessels for the Word we contain and transmit. The Word deserves that, and the world to which we preach desires it. Yet even when we are not, the Word remains "what is really is, God's Word" "true and good."
Matthew 23:1-12
Focus groups are monitored to discover their gut reactions -- both positive and negative -- to candidates, slogans, products, policies, and more. If we could thus monitor the people in our pews during the reading of the scripture, I suspect that we'd find an interesting reversal of reputations from Jesus' day to our own.
While the prevailing attitude of Jesus' contemporaries toward the Samaritans was aggressively negative, for example, our people have connected "Samaritan" with "good." Meanwhile, though the people of Jesus' day had a native respect for the scribes and Pharisees, the mention of those groups among American churchgoers elicits a negative reaction.
It's a shame that we think of the scribes and Pharisees as the bad guys, for the people of first-century Palestine assumed they were the good guys. And while they clearly did not universally deserve the favorable reputation that they had, our people are at a disadvantage in understanding many of Jesus' teachings without something of a prejudice in favor of those Pharisees and the scribes.
This section of Jesus' teaching is the kind of passage that creates and perpetuates our negative connotation of "scribes and Pharisees," for it is highly critical of them and exposes their hypocrisies. Still, for the sake of understanding the passage -- and applying it! -- we need to begin where Jesus' audience did: with a prejudice in favor of these religious leaders.
Jesus says that those religious leaders "sit on Moses' seat," which is a picturesque way of identifying their authority and responsibility. Those two things -- authority and responsibility -- almost always go together, and in the case of the role played by the scribes and Pharisees, we naturally think of James' caution: "Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness" (James 3:1).
As men and women of the pulpit, expounding the word of God to the people of God, you and I may be among those who "sit on Moses' seat" today, and so this passage may be particularly important reading for us.
For example, I certainly recognize the phenomenon of passing along to people heavy burdens that are hard to bear. At its best, I call that challenging teaching and preaching. I wonder how much challenge some souls can take, though, before it becomes a heavy burden. I suspect it is "ought-heavy" preaching (as in, "you ought to ...") that has given the words "preach" and "sermon" their unfavorable connotations in the culture outside of the church (as in "don't preach at me," "I didn't mean to sound preachy," or "I don't need a sermon about....").
The later admonition about being called "rabbi," "father," and "instructor" is also a difficult word for us as clergy. In different denominations, and in different regions of the country, different appellations for clergy prevail. Here among Wisconsin Protestants, "pastor" seems to be the title of choice. But I wonder, as "pastor" means "shepherd," if Jesus might not also say, "Nor are you to be called pastors, for you have one Shepherd."
In the end, it seems, the real issue is not the titles but the misplaced honor that accompanies them. Earlier in Matthew (20:25-28), Jesus explained to his followers that they were to function differently than the world around them -- not to be menacing, self-serving authorities, but rather to be servants of all. And while that earlier teaching juxtaposed how the Gentiles do things with how his followers were to do things, this teaching uses the scribes and Pharisees as the negative example of how his followers should not be.
Finally, Jesus' observation that the scribes and Pharisees "do all their deeds to be seen by others" is a sobering word to all of us. The attention and admiration of people is an intoxicating thing, and when we have tasted a bit of the applause for our good and godly deeds, our motivation for doing them becomes contaminated. While we may not live in a world where piety is generally applauded, it remains a risk within the church. If I let my motivation for serving God slip just a bit so that I am, partly, endeavoring to please people, then I have left myself vulnerable. For what will I do when the paths of pleasing God and pleasing people separate, and they require different things? If my entire motivation has been to please God, then I will hardly notice as the human approval comes and goes.
Application
Most of what we have learned along the way, we learned from watching someone else. From tinkering in the garage to cooking in the kitchen; how we converse, how we carry ourselves, how we do our relationships ... all of these can be traced back to one or several persons who were major influences on us along the way. Sometimes we deliberately seek a role model for ourselves in some area of life. Other times we adopt our role models rather unconsciously, and it's only in retrospect that we come to recognize the flow of influence and imitation between ourselves and our role models.
The two New Testament lections for this week present us with the reality and importance of role models in righteousness.
In the Thessalonians passage, we see evidence of Paul's emphasis on role models. Here and elsewhere, he is unapologetic about holding himself up as a model to be considered and imitated (see also 1 Corinthians 4:16; 11:1; Philippians 3:17; 1 Thessalonians 1:6; 2 Thessalonians 3:7-9). It stands to reason that, since human beings learn by example, Christians also learn by seeing and imitating the examples of other Christians.
In the Matthew passage, meanwhile, Jesus warns about the example set by the scribes and Pharisees. They are held up as a kind of anti-role-model: "Be careful not to imitate them" is the thrust of Jesus' message to his followers.
And so, between the words of Paul and the teachings of Jesus, we are presented with several sobering prospects. First, our high calling is to be examples worthy of imitation. Second, the human likelihood that, whether we promote ourselves as exemplary or not, our example is an influence on others. And, third, that some men and women of God ought not to be imitated, for their example is a misleading one.
Our calling, then, is twofold.
First, to be discerning and deliberate about our role models. Let us select, consciously and carefully, men and women of God whose examples we can follow as we endeavor to live lives pleasing and serviceable to God.
And, second, to be mindful of our own responsibility as role models. "I would be true," Howard A. Walter wrote, "for there are those who trust me; I would be pure, for there are those who care." You and I do not necessarily know who those people are. We do not know, at any given moment, who is watching, or who may be influenced by our example. But that is a part of the human reality, and it becomes a part of our spiritual responsibility.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 23:1-12. "Daddy, watch me!" My wife and I have three little girls -- ten, four, and two years old. They are at different stages, to be sure, but they are all still young enough that they want to be watched by their daddy. Whether it is the two-year-old who repeats some little stunt that got a laugh the first time, or the four-year-old with her nascent cartwheels, or the ten-year-old with her assorted tricks in the pool, they all call out, "Daddy, watch me!"
There is something sweet, natural, and wholesome about that part of childhood. The question, however, is how that "watch me" instinct will evolve as children grow into adults.
I imagine a fork in the road, and both choices are natural extensions of what we have been and known as children. Will my daughters grow up in such a way that they will always want some human being to watch, approve, and applaud? Or will my daughters grow up in such a way that they always will want some father (as in divine Father) to watch, approve, and applaud?
The scribes and the Pharisees, according to Jesus, were men who lived for a human audience. "They do all their deeds to be seen by others." Like children, still, they want other human beings to see what they do, and to be impressed.
The call of Christ, however, is to live for a divine audience. "But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you" (Matthew 6:6). We are still like children, but now it is our heavenly Father's approval and applause that we seek. And no one else's.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 107:1-7, 33-37
The psalm celebrates the steadfast love (hesed) of the Lord. After an introductory section (vv. 1-3), it moves on to tell the stories of four groups of redeemed people: desert wanderers (vv. 4-9); those who sit in darkness and gloom (vv. 10-16); sinners who become sick as a result of their sin (vv. 17-22); and those who "go down to the sea in ships" and nearly lose their lives in storms (vv. 23-32). Verses 33-43 complete the psalm, recapping God's goodness as seen in abundant water and bountiful harvests. Today's lectionary selection is composed of the introduction, the first of the four salvation stories, and a portion of the conclusion -- that part corresponding to water in the desert, which matches up nicely with the first salvation story of desert survival.
A popular movie serial from the early days of motion pictures was The Perils of Pauline. This psalm could perhaps be subtitled, "The Perils of the Faithful Believer." The psalmist gives us four "cliffhanger" crises, each of which would have resulted in disaster, were it not for the miraculous intervention of the Lord. "Hindsight is always 20/20," as they say -- and the hindsight of this believer is that, in his experience and in the experience of others, God can always be counted upon to rescue and redeem the faithful.
The viewpoint of Psalm 107 is a cliffhanger place, that place that can also be called (to mix a metaphor) "rock bottom." It's the place, well-known to those in the recovery (twelve-step) movement, where there's "nowhere to go but up."
The rock-bottom place is the coronary care unit, where a young, up-and-coming professional lies, hooked up to the monitors. The view from that hospital bed is different from anyplace else; from that vantage point, it's easy to see that Stephen Covey is right, when he remarks that no one, but no one, on their death bed, wishes they had spent more time at the office.
The rock-bottom place is bereavement: when a life-partner is suddenly gone, and nothing seems to be as it was. Life, suddenly, has become a fearful place. New skills must be learned. Lonely nights must be endured.
The rock-bottom place is imprisonment, of one sort or another. Maybe not literally time in jail, but a time when life is put "on hold," nonetheless. Maybe a parent or spouse has become an invalid, and we are called upon to be the primary caregiver. Or corporate downsizing has blocked career advancement. Or mental illness has intruded where we never imagined it would.
Some of the most insightful explorations into the human spirit were written in rock-bottom places -- some of these, literally, in prisons. The Bible contains the book of Revelation, and a good many of Paul's letters. In modern times books written from personal experience include Dietrich Bonhoeffer's Letters and Papers From Prison; Viktor Frankl's, Man's Search For Meaning, outlined in a concentration camp; Martin Luther King, Jr.'s, Letter From Birmingham Jail; Solzhenitsyn's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. From the imprisoned feeling of the rock-bottom place, life appears starkly different. The choice before us, then, is rather like the state motto of New Hampshire: We've got to decide whether we're going to "Live free, or die." In the steadfast love of the Lord, we are empowered to live free, regardless of our external circumstances.
