Knowing our limits
Commentary
Object:
During the years when Jesus was passing his childhood in Palestine, the Latin poet, Ovid, was writing a collection of poems titled Metamorphoses. Included in this retelling of classical myths of the ancient Greeks is the familiar story of Daedalus and his son Icarus (Book VIII, lines 182-239). Daedalus had been exiled to the island of Crete, where his marvelous inventions had so ingratiated him to King Minos that the king refused to let him leave. Convinced that Minos would block any exit by land or sea, Daedalus decided that the only way of escape was through the air. He ingeniously crafted wings from feathers, thread, and wax for himself and his son.
As he instructed his son how to fly with these wings, he warned him, "You must follow a course midway between earth and heaven, in case the sun should scorch your feathers, if you go too high, or the water make them heavy if you are too low." Ovid muses about how peasants and workers must have been astonished as Daedalus and Icarus made their escape through the sky, "believing that these creatures who could fly through the air must be gods."
Of course Icarus failed to heed his father's warning, and soon his exuberance led him to soar ever higher until "he came too close to the sun, and it softened the sweet-smelling wax that bound his wings together." The wax melted, the wings disintegrated, and his cries for his father were literally drowned by the sea into which he crashed.
Daedalus' warning to his young son neither to fly too high nor too low captures the essence of humanity's constant search for moderation between destructive pulls of hubris and humiliation. As Paul puts it in writing to the Romans, "We boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God ... but we also boast in our sufferings." The psalmist proudly declares we are "made a little lower than God" even as he wonders why God should care at all about us mere mortals. Our sinful nature drives us, like Icarus, to try to transcend our human limits through intellectual and technological prowess, but the scriptures argue instead for living within our limits and within a gracious relationship with God.
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31
In the eighth chapter of Proverbs we meet the personification of wisdom as a woman. This choice of gender may be in part because the Hebrew word for wisdom, hokmah, is grammatically feminine, but probably owes more to the parallel figure of "Folly" in the preceding chapter of Proverbs, personified in the role of an adulteress "decked out like a prostitute." Both figures are presented as a women standing at the gates of the city calling to all who pass by to join with them (Proverbs 7:6-12; 8:1-5). But Wisdom is no seductress. She is in fact the very design of creation and its order from before even the first of God's creative acts (vv. 22-23). It should come as no surprise then that those who are looking for direction in making their way through this world should look to her and her counsel.
But, she is surprising to the culture of ancient Israel, nevertheless. In such a patriarchal society, a woman "beside the gates in front of the town" would have been largely ignored. The "gates" were the place where men gathered to make decisions for the community and to settle disputes. Women were not heard from at the gates, even when their personal interests were at stake (recall the story about Naomi, Ruth, and Boaz in Ruth 4). Thus it is not surprising that Hokmah must plead for people to heed her counsel; she holds the keys to life, but human cultural expectations blind people to the presence of God's wisdom in their own midst.
In the liturgical context of Trinity Sunday, it is impossible to read the description of wisdom in Proverbs 8:22-31 without calling to mind the evangelist's description of the pre-incarnate Christ as the Word in John 1:1-5. There we again meet one who is the divine counsel to God in the work of creation. But that counselor was not only "with God, [but] was God," and is called the "Word" rather than "Wisdom." Once again, the peculiarities of grammatical gender are no doubt at work, for the Greek word for wisdom, sophia, is feminine like its Hebrew counterpart. Because God's wisdom is not just personified as a literary figure of speech in the gospel, but actually incarnated in the human person of Jesus, the evangelist shifts the imagery from "wisdom" to "Word," the grammatically masculine logos in Greek. The Father, the Word, and the Spirit (as we learn later in John's gospel from another of this Sunday's lections) are the one God who works to bring us the divine counsel, wisdom, and knowledge that we need.
Romans 5:1-5
One of the first lessons I was taught in biblical exegesis is that when you are given a passage that begins with the word, "Therefore," then you know you have been dropped down in the middle of something. Before you keep reading ahead, you need to look back. The focus of Paul's argument to this point in Romans has been on the need for human redemption from sin and God's means of accomplishing that redemption through Christ. This brief paragraph marks a transitional point in the letter where Paul moves from stressing the surety of that redemption to addressing the reality that while we are already completely reconciled with God the full benefits of our redemption from the consequences of our sin is yet to be realized.
In bringing the first phase of his argument to a conclusion, Paul stresses that having been "justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ" (v. 1). As the verb tenses make clear (another point of emphasis from those early exegesis classes) that justification was accomplished in the past through the death and resurrection of Jesus, so we already have in the present, peace with God. That peace brings with it some remarkable benefits. We have access to God's grace that enables our very living and have hope of sharing in God's glory itself. No wonder Paul exudes that we have something to "boast" about.
Paul then suggests that our continued suffering plays an important role in balancing our exuberance about our special relationship with God with the continuing effects of our sinfulness in shattering God's good created order (Romans 8:18-23). All our technological marvels have not brought an end to suffering; but by the same token, suffering does not obliterate the glory and honor of humanity. In other words, to be in the "image of God" inevitably involves both suffering and glory.
The very glory we enjoy as a result of our relationship with the Divine is grounded in God's participation in suffering with and for creation. The highest demonstration of God's love for us is "that while we were still weak... Christ died for us" (v. 6). When we were weak and ungodly, when we were sinners and God's enemies, Christ died for us so that we might be reconciled to God. God is the love that stands at the beginning of all things, and the glory toward which all things move. Christ is the active agent bringing God's love to action, the one through whom we are able to experience God's salvation. The Holy Spirit is the one through whom and in whom we actually experience the love of God. It is the Spirit who continues to give concrete expression to divine love and does so within us where God's self converges with our own selves.
John 16:12-15
Having heard the first scripture lesson for this Trinity Sunday from Proverbs, one must wonder why the lectionary committee chose this text to be read from John's gospel. Yes, the passage presents Jesus' indirect claim to unity with the Father in that "all that the Father has" belongs to him and will be revealed to his disciples by the Spirit. Certainly it was true that his original disciples were certainly not ready to bear the truth of the doctrine of the Trinity even before his crucifixion and resurrection, and one may wonder if we are even now ready for the Spirit to lead us into that truth. Yet, clearly passages like the prologue to this gospel figured more prominently in the development of Trinitarian doctrine.
What this passage does offer is some insight into what theologians have sometimes called "the economy of the Godhead," that is, the specific and defining functions of each person of the Trinity. It is by the work of the Spirit that humanity is now drawn into the relationship of the Godhead. The Spirit accomplishes this not by drawing attention to the Spirit's own place as one person of the Trinity, but by revealing the essential nature of God as being in relationship within the Godhead itself (the Spirit "will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears" in the relationship of Father, Son, and Spirit, v. 13). Although there are things that properly belong to the Father, they are not held by the Father as an exclusive possession, but rather freely shared among the persons of the Godhead. The Father shares "all that the Father has" with the Son who in turn provides those things to the Spirit to be made known to humanity (v. 15).
Again, it should be stressed that such Trinitarian interpretations of these words go far beyond what the disciples themselves could possibly have conceived at the Last Supper, and even beyond what the evangelist's first readers would have understood at the close of the first century. Within both that narrative context and the historical "life-setting" of the fourth gospel itself, this passage is far more about acknowledging the limits of our ability to understand the mystery of God than about providing specific answers to complex theological and philosophical questions. Conceding our inability to grasp the divine mystery, Jesus here promises that the "Spirit of truth" will continue to guide our halting steps toward understanding by drawing us into the relationship that already exists between the Father and the Son. As was true of the disciples it remains so with us: there are "still many things" that God has to teach us that we cannot fully comprehend, but the relationship continues.
Application
Nothing serves to put us in our place so rapidly as when our own technology confronts us with evidence that we are not only not the center of a universe constructed around us, but are instead isolated on the "third rock" orbiting one minor star among billions on the fringes of one minor galaxy among billions in the vastness of the universe. This awareness, couched in a thorough secularism, is captured in an observation by a young radio astronomer in Carl Sagan's Contact. In response to the question of whether humanity is alone as the highest form of life and yet confined to earth, she echoes her father's response to her in childhood: "If so, it seems like an awful waste of space."
Yet the very technology that "puts us in our place" is itself evidence that unlike any other limited and mortal life form known to us, we have "dominion" over our environment. In the words of praise the psalmist directed to God: "You have given humanity dominion over the works of your hands." All too often we have used our "dominion" not as a tool for faithful stewardship and care, but as an excuse to "dominate." Our very success has made us lose sight of who we truly are. The psalmist asserted that humanity has been "made a little lower than God"; we simply omit the qualifying phrase, "a little lower than," and look upon ourselves as the peasants looked upon Daedalus and Icarus, "believing that these creatures who could fly through the air must be gods." It is God's sovereignty that sets the bounds of humanity. Human honor, glory, and dominion are God-given gifts, not inherent qualities or inalienable rights. Human dominion is derivative. The assertion of the human self apart from the claim of God over us is the essence of wickedness, and it invites disaster, ecological and otherwise.
The humiliation of humanity ultimately lies not in its insignificance as measured on some cosmic scale, but in its refusal to accept its status as creature in rebellion and enmity with its creator. The glory of humanity ultimately lies not in its knowledge or technological wizardry, but in its status as the object of such divine love that God would take on humanity even in the fullness of suffering and death to bring reconciliation to the relationship between creature and Creator.
There is, then, something of a spiritual lesson to be drawn from Daedalus' warning to Icarus. Because of his actions and his fate, we quickly conclude that we must now allow hubris to carry us too high. If we come to see ourselves as gods, holding absolute dominion over all things, surely our wings will be melted away and we will plunge to destruction. But as Daedalus also warned, there is a danger to flying too low as well. If we do not accept the change that has been brought to us by our reconciliation with God in Christ, if we see ourselves only in the desperation of suffering and cosmic insignificance, then the weight of those things on our wings will likewise drag us down into the waves. The truth of who we are in relation to who God is is found in that middle path through the sky that rejects both hubris and humiliation.
Alternative Applications
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31; John 16:12-15. Of all the Sundays and special days in the cycle of the church year, Trinity Sunday is the only one that designates a specific doctrine of the church. Now in a broader sense, all the Sundays are about doctrine. Pentecost last week is about the work of God's Spirit in our lives and world. Good Shepherd Sunday and Christ the King Sunday emphasize truths about who Jesus is in relationship with the world and with each of us individually. Advent, Epiphany, Easter -- all these designations point to important theological ideas, but they are also firmly rooted in events or stories of the scriptural tradition that give witness to those spiritual insights into our relationship with God that are theology in its most basic sense. Trinity Sunday is different. It is about a doctrine -- and without doubt, one of the most abstract, mind-bending, abstruse theological concepts not only of Christian faith but of any religious tradition.
You don't hear too many sermons about specific Christian doctrines any more, especially complex ones like the Trinity or the doctrine of the two natures of Christ (which presents many of the same philosophical and mental challenges). Most pastors, myself among them, find narratives and practical life-issues connect more easily with our congregations in our current cultural climate. Perhaps that is why one of my clergy colleagues once opened our lectionary study group in the week leading up to Trinity Sunday with the question, "So what practical difference does the doctrine of the Trinity make in your lives?" To be honest, I almost broke out laughing when I heard him. "You have got to be kidding! As esoteric a doctrine as the Trinity? Practical difference in my daily life?" But that question echoed as a challenge in the back of my head. In the end, I think I found an answer.
The eternal relationship of creator, redeemer, and sustainer within the one God was, in the view of the great reformed theologian Karl Barth, the essential spiritual truth of the doctrine of the Trinity. God is relational within the very divine essence, and we are created to share in that life of relationship. But to do so requires that we "hear [Wisdom's] instruction and ... not neglect it." Blessedness belongs to those who find the Word, for there we "find life and obtain favor from the LORD." That insight is a personal difference the doctrine of the Trinity has for my life, but there is another even more practical way it should affect our daily lives.
As with Hokmah at the city gates, Christ even now has much to teach us that we still are not able to bear (John 16:12). Whether personified as the woman Wisdom or incarnated as the man Word, our culture continues to resist the divine counsel for life that would bring us into genuine relationship with God and the creation formed by God's design. The Spirit continues to bring that counsel to us, female and male, wisdom and word, to continue to personify and embody God's design to those who persist in the darkness hovering over the gates of sinful human judgment. Being in relationship with the God whose very essence is relationship should be the most practical aspect of our lives, shaping our whole understanding of life. The hope that others will come to share in that relationship in many ways depends on it.
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 8
God has given us dominion over creation. It says so in the Bible! This means we're in charge! We get to run things and subdue nature and do whatever we want! The childish and reckless glee of this reminds one of a bunch of kids left on their own for the first time without the parents watching. "You mean we get to decide? We can do whatever we want? Yahoo!" The chuckles of delight and abandon come right before these kids manage to fall into a well or set the house on fire while playing with matches. Yes. The parents told them to do whatever they wanted. But the unspoken piece of it all is that their actions had to take place within the bounds of reason. Perhaps the problem is the unspoken part. Boundaries need to be clearly articulated in most areas of human endeavor. Otherwise we tend to run amuck.
For us, the boundaries are clearly laid out in scripture. We don't get to merely do what we want to do. Indeed, we are called to God and God's way before all else. God has left us as stewards of the planet and given us the guidance we need to take care of God's Creation responsibly and honorably. Yes, the question runs through this writers mind as it may run through the reader's thoughts. "What was God thinking?" We are more like the kids left alone shrieking for joy at our newfound freedom than we are a group of people with whom the welfare of the planet has been entrusted. We love the idea of being in charge, but we disdain the idea of accountability. We dearly long for the times when we're able to call the shots, but we do most anything we can to keep from having to obey God's Word.
We're lower than God all right. One is left to wonder, though, if it's only a "little lower," as scripture indicates. This is a serious consideration. We are, as we read in scripture, "created in God's image." It leads us to ask in what ways we are like God. It leads us to confess that ways that we diverge from God. When we lend our energies to creating and building; to healing and hope, we are a little like God. Yet, when we try to be in charge of it all, when we insist on our own way, and when we slip into the abyss of selfishness and greed then we are not like God at all.
We created in God's image, but the mirror sometimes gets distorted by our endless ability to blunder our way through life. We are a little lower than God, yet sometimes we seem to want to dive off the cliff and get a lot lower. Perhaps we can join hearts and minds as we strive to maintain our natural position just a little lower than God as we care for Creation and one another?
As he instructed his son how to fly with these wings, he warned him, "You must follow a course midway between earth and heaven, in case the sun should scorch your feathers, if you go too high, or the water make them heavy if you are too low." Ovid muses about how peasants and workers must have been astonished as Daedalus and Icarus made their escape through the sky, "believing that these creatures who could fly through the air must be gods."
Of course Icarus failed to heed his father's warning, and soon his exuberance led him to soar ever higher until "he came too close to the sun, and it softened the sweet-smelling wax that bound his wings together." The wax melted, the wings disintegrated, and his cries for his father were literally drowned by the sea into which he crashed.
Daedalus' warning to his young son neither to fly too high nor too low captures the essence of humanity's constant search for moderation between destructive pulls of hubris and humiliation. As Paul puts it in writing to the Romans, "We boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God ... but we also boast in our sufferings." The psalmist proudly declares we are "made a little lower than God" even as he wonders why God should care at all about us mere mortals. Our sinful nature drives us, like Icarus, to try to transcend our human limits through intellectual and technological prowess, but the scriptures argue instead for living within our limits and within a gracious relationship with God.
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31
In the eighth chapter of Proverbs we meet the personification of wisdom as a woman. This choice of gender may be in part because the Hebrew word for wisdom, hokmah, is grammatically feminine, but probably owes more to the parallel figure of "Folly" in the preceding chapter of Proverbs, personified in the role of an adulteress "decked out like a prostitute." Both figures are presented as a women standing at the gates of the city calling to all who pass by to join with them (Proverbs 7:6-12; 8:1-5). But Wisdom is no seductress. She is in fact the very design of creation and its order from before even the first of God's creative acts (vv. 22-23). It should come as no surprise then that those who are looking for direction in making their way through this world should look to her and her counsel.
But, she is surprising to the culture of ancient Israel, nevertheless. In such a patriarchal society, a woman "beside the gates in front of the town" would have been largely ignored. The "gates" were the place where men gathered to make decisions for the community and to settle disputes. Women were not heard from at the gates, even when their personal interests were at stake (recall the story about Naomi, Ruth, and Boaz in Ruth 4). Thus it is not surprising that Hokmah must plead for people to heed her counsel; she holds the keys to life, but human cultural expectations blind people to the presence of God's wisdom in their own midst.
In the liturgical context of Trinity Sunday, it is impossible to read the description of wisdom in Proverbs 8:22-31 without calling to mind the evangelist's description of the pre-incarnate Christ as the Word in John 1:1-5. There we again meet one who is the divine counsel to God in the work of creation. But that counselor was not only "with God, [but] was God," and is called the "Word" rather than "Wisdom." Once again, the peculiarities of grammatical gender are no doubt at work, for the Greek word for wisdom, sophia, is feminine like its Hebrew counterpart. Because God's wisdom is not just personified as a literary figure of speech in the gospel, but actually incarnated in the human person of Jesus, the evangelist shifts the imagery from "wisdom" to "Word," the grammatically masculine logos in Greek. The Father, the Word, and the Spirit (as we learn later in John's gospel from another of this Sunday's lections) are the one God who works to bring us the divine counsel, wisdom, and knowledge that we need.
Romans 5:1-5
One of the first lessons I was taught in biblical exegesis is that when you are given a passage that begins with the word, "Therefore," then you know you have been dropped down in the middle of something. Before you keep reading ahead, you need to look back. The focus of Paul's argument to this point in Romans has been on the need for human redemption from sin and God's means of accomplishing that redemption through Christ. This brief paragraph marks a transitional point in the letter where Paul moves from stressing the surety of that redemption to addressing the reality that while we are already completely reconciled with God the full benefits of our redemption from the consequences of our sin is yet to be realized.
In bringing the first phase of his argument to a conclusion, Paul stresses that having been "justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ" (v. 1). As the verb tenses make clear (another point of emphasis from those early exegesis classes) that justification was accomplished in the past through the death and resurrection of Jesus, so we already have in the present, peace with God. That peace brings with it some remarkable benefits. We have access to God's grace that enables our very living and have hope of sharing in God's glory itself. No wonder Paul exudes that we have something to "boast" about.
Paul then suggests that our continued suffering plays an important role in balancing our exuberance about our special relationship with God with the continuing effects of our sinfulness in shattering God's good created order (Romans 8:18-23). All our technological marvels have not brought an end to suffering; but by the same token, suffering does not obliterate the glory and honor of humanity. In other words, to be in the "image of God" inevitably involves both suffering and glory.
The very glory we enjoy as a result of our relationship with the Divine is grounded in God's participation in suffering with and for creation. The highest demonstration of God's love for us is "that while we were still weak... Christ died for us" (v. 6). When we were weak and ungodly, when we were sinners and God's enemies, Christ died for us so that we might be reconciled to God. God is the love that stands at the beginning of all things, and the glory toward which all things move. Christ is the active agent bringing God's love to action, the one through whom we are able to experience God's salvation. The Holy Spirit is the one through whom and in whom we actually experience the love of God. It is the Spirit who continues to give concrete expression to divine love and does so within us where God's self converges with our own selves.
John 16:12-15
Having heard the first scripture lesson for this Trinity Sunday from Proverbs, one must wonder why the lectionary committee chose this text to be read from John's gospel. Yes, the passage presents Jesus' indirect claim to unity with the Father in that "all that the Father has" belongs to him and will be revealed to his disciples by the Spirit. Certainly it was true that his original disciples were certainly not ready to bear the truth of the doctrine of the Trinity even before his crucifixion and resurrection, and one may wonder if we are even now ready for the Spirit to lead us into that truth. Yet, clearly passages like the prologue to this gospel figured more prominently in the development of Trinitarian doctrine.
What this passage does offer is some insight into what theologians have sometimes called "the economy of the Godhead," that is, the specific and defining functions of each person of the Trinity. It is by the work of the Spirit that humanity is now drawn into the relationship of the Godhead. The Spirit accomplishes this not by drawing attention to the Spirit's own place as one person of the Trinity, but by revealing the essential nature of God as being in relationship within the Godhead itself (the Spirit "will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears" in the relationship of Father, Son, and Spirit, v. 13). Although there are things that properly belong to the Father, they are not held by the Father as an exclusive possession, but rather freely shared among the persons of the Godhead. The Father shares "all that the Father has" with the Son who in turn provides those things to the Spirit to be made known to humanity (v. 15).
Again, it should be stressed that such Trinitarian interpretations of these words go far beyond what the disciples themselves could possibly have conceived at the Last Supper, and even beyond what the evangelist's first readers would have understood at the close of the first century. Within both that narrative context and the historical "life-setting" of the fourth gospel itself, this passage is far more about acknowledging the limits of our ability to understand the mystery of God than about providing specific answers to complex theological and philosophical questions. Conceding our inability to grasp the divine mystery, Jesus here promises that the "Spirit of truth" will continue to guide our halting steps toward understanding by drawing us into the relationship that already exists between the Father and the Son. As was true of the disciples it remains so with us: there are "still many things" that God has to teach us that we cannot fully comprehend, but the relationship continues.
Application
Nothing serves to put us in our place so rapidly as when our own technology confronts us with evidence that we are not only not the center of a universe constructed around us, but are instead isolated on the "third rock" orbiting one minor star among billions on the fringes of one minor galaxy among billions in the vastness of the universe. This awareness, couched in a thorough secularism, is captured in an observation by a young radio astronomer in Carl Sagan's Contact. In response to the question of whether humanity is alone as the highest form of life and yet confined to earth, she echoes her father's response to her in childhood: "If so, it seems like an awful waste of space."
Yet the very technology that "puts us in our place" is itself evidence that unlike any other limited and mortal life form known to us, we have "dominion" over our environment. In the words of praise the psalmist directed to God: "You have given humanity dominion over the works of your hands." All too often we have used our "dominion" not as a tool for faithful stewardship and care, but as an excuse to "dominate." Our very success has made us lose sight of who we truly are. The psalmist asserted that humanity has been "made a little lower than God"; we simply omit the qualifying phrase, "a little lower than," and look upon ourselves as the peasants looked upon Daedalus and Icarus, "believing that these creatures who could fly through the air must be gods." It is God's sovereignty that sets the bounds of humanity. Human honor, glory, and dominion are God-given gifts, not inherent qualities or inalienable rights. Human dominion is derivative. The assertion of the human self apart from the claim of God over us is the essence of wickedness, and it invites disaster, ecological and otherwise.
The humiliation of humanity ultimately lies not in its insignificance as measured on some cosmic scale, but in its refusal to accept its status as creature in rebellion and enmity with its creator. The glory of humanity ultimately lies not in its knowledge or technological wizardry, but in its status as the object of such divine love that God would take on humanity even in the fullness of suffering and death to bring reconciliation to the relationship between creature and Creator.
There is, then, something of a spiritual lesson to be drawn from Daedalus' warning to Icarus. Because of his actions and his fate, we quickly conclude that we must now allow hubris to carry us too high. If we come to see ourselves as gods, holding absolute dominion over all things, surely our wings will be melted away and we will plunge to destruction. But as Daedalus also warned, there is a danger to flying too low as well. If we do not accept the change that has been brought to us by our reconciliation with God in Christ, if we see ourselves only in the desperation of suffering and cosmic insignificance, then the weight of those things on our wings will likewise drag us down into the waves. The truth of who we are in relation to who God is is found in that middle path through the sky that rejects both hubris and humiliation.
Alternative Applications
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31; John 16:12-15. Of all the Sundays and special days in the cycle of the church year, Trinity Sunday is the only one that designates a specific doctrine of the church. Now in a broader sense, all the Sundays are about doctrine. Pentecost last week is about the work of God's Spirit in our lives and world. Good Shepherd Sunday and Christ the King Sunday emphasize truths about who Jesus is in relationship with the world and with each of us individually. Advent, Epiphany, Easter -- all these designations point to important theological ideas, but they are also firmly rooted in events or stories of the scriptural tradition that give witness to those spiritual insights into our relationship with God that are theology in its most basic sense. Trinity Sunday is different. It is about a doctrine -- and without doubt, one of the most abstract, mind-bending, abstruse theological concepts not only of Christian faith but of any religious tradition.
You don't hear too many sermons about specific Christian doctrines any more, especially complex ones like the Trinity or the doctrine of the two natures of Christ (which presents many of the same philosophical and mental challenges). Most pastors, myself among them, find narratives and practical life-issues connect more easily with our congregations in our current cultural climate. Perhaps that is why one of my clergy colleagues once opened our lectionary study group in the week leading up to Trinity Sunday with the question, "So what practical difference does the doctrine of the Trinity make in your lives?" To be honest, I almost broke out laughing when I heard him. "You have got to be kidding! As esoteric a doctrine as the Trinity? Practical difference in my daily life?" But that question echoed as a challenge in the back of my head. In the end, I think I found an answer.
The eternal relationship of creator, redeemer, and sustainer within the one God was, in the view of the great reformed theologian Karl Barth, the essential spiritual truth of the doctrine of the Trinity. God is relational within the very divine essence, and we are created to share in that life of relationship. But to do so requires that we "hear [Wisdom's] instruction and ... not neglect it." Blessedness belongs to those who find the Word, for there we "find life and obtain favor from the LORD." That insight is a personal difference the doctrine of the Trinity has for my life, but there is another even more practical way it should affect our daily lives.
As with Hokmah at the city gates, Christ even now has much to teach us that we still are not able to bear (John 16:12). Whether personified as the woman Wisdom or incarnated as the man Word, our culture continues to resist the divine counsel for life that would bring us into genuine relationship with God and the creation formed by God's design. The Spirit continues to bring that counsel to us, female and male, wisdom and word, to continue to personify and embody God's design to those who persist in the darkness hovering over the gates of sinful human judgment. Being in relationship with the God whose very essence is relationship should be the most practical aspect of our lives, shaping our whole understanding of life. The hope that others will come to share in that relationship in many ways depends on it.
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 8
God has given us dominion over creation. It says so in the Bible! This means we're in charge! We get to run things and subdue nature and do whatever we want! The childish and reckless glee of this reminds one of a bunch of kids left on their own for the first time without the parents watching. "You mean we get to decide? We can do whatever we want? Yahoo!" The chuckles of delight and abandon come right before these kids manage to fall into a well or set the house on fire while playing with matches. Yes. The parents told them to do whatever they wanted. But the unspoken piece of it all is that their actions had to take place within the bounds of reason. Perhaps the problem is the unspoken part. Boundaries need to be clearly articulated in most areas of human endeavor. Otherwise we tend to run amuck.
For us, the boundaries are clearly laid out in scripture. We don't get to merely do what we want to do. Indeed, we are called to God and God's way before all else. God has left us as stewards of the planet and given us the guidance we need to take care of God's Creation responsibly and honorably. Yes, the question runs through this writers mind as it may run through the reader's thoughts. "What was God thinking?" We are more like the kids left alone shrieking for joy at our newfound freedom than we are a group of people with whom the welfare of the planet has been entrusted. We love the idea of being in charge, but we disdain the idea of accountability. We dearly long for the times when we're able to call the shots, but we do most anything we can to keep from having to obey God's Word.
We're lower than God all right. One is left to wonder, though, if it's only a "little lower," as scripture indicates. This is a serious consideration. We are, as we read in scripture, "created in God's image." It leads us to ask in what ways we are like God. It leads us to confess that ways that we diverge from God. When we lend our energies to creating and building; to healing and hope, we are a little like God. Yet, when we try to be in charge of it all, when we insist on our own way, and when we slip into the abyss of selfishness and greed then we are not like God at all.
We created in God's image, but the mirror sometimes gets distorted by our endless ability to blunder our way through life. We are a little lower than God, yet sometimes we seem to want to dive off the cliff and get a lot lower. Perhaps we can join hearts and minds as we strive to maintain our natural position just a little lower than God as we care for Creation and one another?
