Rightful Place
Commentary
My wife, who thrives on organization, has a motto: “A place for everything, and everything in its place.” It’s an expression of her passion for keeping a room, a house, or a garage orderly. But I think the principle extends still further. It goes beyond just physical spaces. For what is true of cupboards and closets is even more profoundly true of a human life.
Consider for a moment the impact of things not being in their rightful places. When something is out of its proper place, you see, it might qualify as lost. Think, for example, of a mis-shelved book in a large library. Or when something is not in its proper place, it cannot function as it is meant to. An unscrewed light bulb comes to mind. A player who is out of position can’t contribute to the team’s success. A picture or piece of furniture that is out of place disrupts the beauty of a room. On the other hand, when there is a place for everything and everything is in its place, there is accessibility, functionality, effectiveness, order, and beauty.
Sadder, still, are those settings where the human being himself or herself is out of place. We sense that a homeless man is a person who is not where he really belongs. Likewise an abandoned child or a wife in an abusive marriage. The estranged siblings, the prodigal son, the child in a cancer ward, the talented person whose abilities are squandered in a misplaced career -- we perceive that all of these are people who are not in their proper place, and that’s a tragic business.
And then, within an individual human life, we know what it looks like when there’s not a place for everything and when not everything is in its place. When the career comes ahead of the family, when entertainment comes before responsibilities, and when there’s no room for God: these are all instances of life with things out of place.
Our three selected passages of scripture for this week invite us to consider the spiritual dynamics of things being out of place or in their rightful place. Important things. Things like us and God.
Zephaniah 3:14-20
Zephaniah is not a name that springs quickly to the minds of our people. He is much lesser known than many other prophets. We have familiar stories about Elijah, Elisha, Jonah, Ezekiel, and Daniel. We have familiar passages that we have heard again and again from Isaiah, Jeremiah, Micah, and Joel. But Zephaniah is likely a character that fades into the woodwork. He may not have made any sort of lasting impression on the minds or hearts of our people.
This week, therefore, offers us a good opportunity to introduce Zephaniah to our congregations.
Make a list of the judgment prophets of the Old Testament, and Zephaniah will be on the list. His brief ministry comes during the reign of King Josiah, a godly man who enacted a variety of excellent reforms in Judah. Yet Josiah was preceded by the long and wicked tenures of Manasseh and Amon, during which time all sorts of hideous and evil practices became entrenched in the land. And it was not long after Josiah’s reign that the wheels came off in Judah, as foreign powers began to exert their control, eventually leading to the destruction of Jerusalem only about twenty-five years after Josiah’s death.
So Zephaniah was one of those servants of God with the thankless task of preaching a judgment message that no one wanted to hear and few believed. And yet, if we only read this concluding excerpt from Zephaniah, we wouldn’t think him a judgment prophet, at all. The message in this week’s Old Testament lection is entirely upbeat and hopeful.
This is precisely the reason, of course, that it is important for us to frame Zephaniah as a judgment prophet. It speaks to the character and heart of God that even his messengers of warning still proclaimed such words of hope. For while judgment is a word from God, it is never the last word. In his mercy and beauty, there is always goodness on the other side of the judgment. Indeed, the judgment can be understood as the necessary path to that goodness on the other side. So it is, then, that Zephaniah sounds like the psalmist here, inviting the people to sing and exult.
The singing and rejoicing are in response to the good things the Lord will have done. And, more than that, the rejoicing is in response to who and what the Lord is. He is God, he is king, he is “a warrior who gives victory,” and he is “in your midst.” Those statements alone cry out for a four-part sermon series!
Meanwhile, we are struck by the pattern of what God promises to do for his people. He will put an end to their fears and their enemies. He will reverse the people’s fortunes, bring them home, and raise them up to the place of his perfect will for them.
The content of this hopeful message should resonate with us. While Zephaniah may not be familiar to us, the heart of God reflected in his message is very familiar. It is consistent with the promises of restoration we read of in other prophets. It reminds us of the ultimate promises of God associated with the New Jerusalem at the end of Revelation. And it echoes so many of the very truths that we sing at this time of year.
That final point is especially appropriate, for this is a season of singing and rejoicing. Zephaniah would be pleased! And our rejoicing is primarily in the very same things -- what the Lord is, who he is, and what he has done.
Philippians 4:4-7
In the 1953 movie The Robe, we are introduced to a fictitious young woman named Miriam. She has a radiant joy and contagious faith. Yet she is a paraplegic, who had met Jesus, but who was not physically healed by him. There is no such character in the Gospels, but the moviemakers use Miriam to illustrate an important truth. “He could have healed my body,” she observes, “and then it would have been natural for me to laugh and sing.” As it is, though, we see her smiling and singing joyfully even though her physical circumstances remain unchanged.
The Gospels do not tell any story quite like Miriam’s, for the testimony of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John seems to be that Jesus healed all who were brought to him. Yet still Miriam’s story rings true. For scripture features many men and women of God whose physical circumstances remain unchanged, yet they are filled with hope and joy. The author of the letter to the Philippians is one such story.
Paul’s letter to the Philippians is often nicknamed “the joyful epistle.” It is conspicuous for the many appearances of words like joy, joyful, and rejoice. Indeed, we see that theme prominent even within the small slice of the letter that is assigned to us this week. Yet Paul is known to have written “the joyful epistle” from prison.
I suppose it would have been a theoretically correct thing to say “Rejoice in the Lord always” if Paul had been sitting on a beach with his feet up. But his words pack more punch precisely because he wrote them from prison. His circumstances give credibility to his words.
Paul’s circumstances should be taken to heart by us in whatever our circumstances may be. For while the people in your pews are not in jail, a moment’s consideration will reveal many overlaps between Paul’s suffering and ours. Perhaps, for example, there are folks in your congregation who are feeling that they are being treated unjustly in some relationship or area of life. Welcome to Paul’s world! Or perhaps there are some who living with physical pain. They have a soulmate in Paul. Perhaps there are those whose life has been frustratingly placed on hold by circumstances beyond their control. So, too, with the apostle. Or perhaps they are laboring under the cloud of an uncertain future. They, too, have a companion in Paul.
Yet in the midst of such circumstances, Paul is full of rejoicing. And from that place, he encourages the Christians in Philippi -- and, by extension, us -- to rejoice always. But see the key factor: “rejoice in the Lord...”
Our natural reflex is to rejoice in our circumstances. And when our circumstances are inconvenient, turbulent, unfair, or marked by pain, we grumble and chafe rather than rejoice. But Paul sets us free from such fluctuations, for he does not encourage us to rejoice in our circumstances. Rather, he recommends to rejoice in the Lord.
See, then, the even keel with which the apostle lives and loves. If he, like most of us, were to rejoice in his circumstances, then he could not always rejoice. On the contrary, he would be up one day and down the next. But if his rejoicing is in the Lord, then he can, indeed, rejoice always. For while circumstances change, the Lord does not, and so neither does Paul’s joy.
Personally, I would not dare to speak such a word to the people in my pews. I know the pain and grief that some of them live with. Who am I to blithely speak a word of rejoicing to them, when my life is so good? And so I will not presume to say such a thing to them myself. But I will gladly tell them that Paul said such a thing. For Paul was in prison. Paul was in pain. And yet Paul was rejoicing always.
Luke 3:7-18
Each Gospel writer offers us unique gifts. John, for example, gives us a much fuller picture of the Last Supper, for example, then Matthew, Mark, or Luke. And, in our selected Gospel lection for this week, Luke offers us a glimpse into the ministry of John the Baptist that no one else does.
John is a more central figure than many church folks recognize. By way of contrast, we might note that only two gospels tell us about Christmas, while all four tell us about John. He enjoys the rare distinction of being a person who is said to fulfill prophecies (Matthew 17:10-13, Luke 3:2-6). And Jesus calls him the greatest man to have lived to-date (Matthew 11:11). Whatever glimpse we get into the man and his message, therefore, should be counted as a gift to us.
In this unique passage, we get a sense for the boldness of John. He displays the fearlessness of the Old Testament prophets. “Speaking truth to power” is a phrase we like to bandy about in our day, but the fact is that our American system makes that a minimally risky enterprise. In John’s day, however, it required tremendous courage. And, indeed, we see that in the end it cost John his life.
John does not try to curry the favor of his audience. He neither flatters nor aims to please. Instead, in a gesture that seems most discourteous to us, he begins by calling members of his audience names. The “brood of vipers” image, combined with the challenges that immediately follow, suggest that John doubts the genuineness of his hearers. Perhaps they are there out of idle curiosity. Perhaps they fancy themselves spectators of a current events headline. Or perhaps they are merely superstitious in their aped effort to “flee from the wrath to come.” And so he demands more of them.
The subsequent references to fruit are small samples of a much larger theme in scripture. Fruitfulness is a study all its own. From creation to the New Jerusalem, fruit is associated with the perfect will of God. The tree that bears good fruit is, you see, the tree that is functioning according to God’s design. It makes a natural metaphor, therefore, for a life that is pleasing to God (e.g., Psalm 1 and Galatians 5:22-23). And so it is that John insists on seeing fruit from these people. Their lives ought to produce certain unmistakable results of their repentance. And he warns, as Jesus also does elsewhere, that what is unfruitful will be cut off and burned up. It’s a judgment message, but the metaphor proves that the judgment is not so much angry as sensible.
Then comes the real gift. Specific members of John’s audience ask for specific advice. “Fruit,” after all, is a metaphor. The tax collectors, soldiers, and other folks in the crowd, however, want to hear a translation. What does the fruit look like in my life, in my situation? Those folks are to be commended for their pragmatic earnestness. And we should cultivate such a response within ourselves and our people -- an eagerness to know what righteousness looks like in our daily lives.
Application
I was just off to college when the longtime Christian singing group, The Imperials, released an album called “Priority.” The final song on the album, written by Michael and Stormie Omartian, rightly captured the theme of the album. It was called “Seek Ye First,” and along the way it featured this line: “For you are my God, first concern of my day...”
The line was impactful for me. It captured so succinctly a truth that I was coming to know. And what was being expressed in song was also impressed on me by a word picture.
During those first weeks off at college, I was introduced to Robert Boyd Munger’s challenging little pamphlet, “My Heart -- Christ’s Home.” Munger imagines the Christian life in terms of a house, with the goal being that we invite Christ into that house as our guest, and then allow him to move into every room of that house, every part of our lives. Along the way, Munger writes about the pattern of meeting Jesus in the living room of his house every morning. But then, “under the pressure of many responsibilities, little by little, this time began to be shortened... I assumed I was just too busy to give special, regular time to be with Christ... Matters of urgency demanding my attention were continually crowding out the quiet times of conversation with Jesus.”1
And those two contributions to my 18-year-old heart recalled a line from a poem I had learned as a child. Ralph Cushman wrote of the importance of meeting with God in the morning, “when the day was at its best.” He recalled the troubles and regrets that followed when he did not put God first in his day. And he concluded, “I think I know the secret, / Learned from many a troubled way; / You must seek Him in the morning / If you want Him through the day.”2
God deserves his rightful place in our lives, you see. This was the practical application of John the Baptist’s message. It was insufficient merely to be Abraham’s descendant, or even to be baptized. The living of daily life had to be consistent with that covenant heritage and our expressed commitment.
The Apostle Paul, meanwhile, bears witness to the benefits of the Lord having his rightful place in our lives. If integrity and justice are the evidences of our lives being in proper order, rejoicing, thanksgiving, and “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding” are the byproducts.
And then there is one more layer. For it is God himself, you see, with whom each rightful place originates. In other words, the issue is not just played out in the microcosms of our individual lives. There is the macrocosm of God’s perfect will: everything in its rightful place in his order. And that, graciously, includes our being in our rightful place.
The Jews in Babylonian exile, you see, were a people out of place. Defeated and tormented by enemies; torn from the promised land; far removed from the peace and well-being that God desires -- this was the predicament of a judged people. God had not had his rightful place in their lives and community, and so they -- like Adam and Eve -- forfeited their rightful place. But God’s good will prevails in the end, and the prophet Zephaniah gave expression to that assurance in our Old Testament passage. God had plans for his people: restoration, triumph, peace, and exaltation. He would return them again, you see, to their rightful place.
Alternative Application(s)
Zephaniah 3:14-20 -- “Let Earth Receive Her King”
Early in our Old Testament lection, the Lord is identified as “the king of Israel.” This is noteworthy at a couple of levels within its immediate context. And it also speaks a word to us in our day and in this season of the year.
First, we should note that “Israel” would have seemed like an anachronistic reference in Zephaniah’s day. Some generations before, the once-united kingdom of Israel had divided into two separate kingdoms. “Israel” was the name given to the northern kingdom, while “Judah” became the name of the southern kingdom. Zephaniah’s audience is Judah, while the northern kingdom of Israel had been wiped off the map by the Assyrian Empire a century before. Yet the Lord is identified as the king of Israel, hearkening back to a time when all the tribes were together, and suggesting a restoration -- indeed, a resurrection -- of something that had died long ago.
Furthermore, even longer ago, back in the days of Samuel, the people had asked for a human king. This led eventually to the anointing of Saul and the beginning of a monarchy in Israel. But at that pivotal moment when the people made the request, the Lord said to Samuel, “(the people) have rejected me from being king over them” (1 Samuel 8:7 NASB). Now, so many centuries later, the prophet anticipates the good day when the Lord will again have his rightful place, on the throne for his chosen people.
What happens in Israel’s history serves as a metaphor both for something bigger and for something smaller.
On the larger scale, what is true for Israel is true for the whole world writ large. The Lord is meant to be sovereign over this world, which he created, but humankind threw off his lordship. Our coup against his majesty has not gone well. But we are assured in scripture that the day is coming when all things will be put right again. The Lord will again resume his rightful place on the throne. And we anticipate that glad prospect each year at this time when we sing with Isaac Watts, “Let earth receive her King!”3
Meanwhile, the truth also applies on the smaller scale of the individual human life. In our private, personal reflections, we sense the degree to which the Lord is or is not on the throne in our lives. Perhaps we have a moment or development that mirrors the events of Samuel’s day -- some choice we made along the way that God knew, even if we did not, was a rejection of him. And if so, we may recognize today that the Lord needs to be returned to his rightful place in our own lives. And so we sing with Charles Wesley, “born to reign in us forever, now thy gracious kingdom bring.”4
1 Robert Boyd Munger, My Heart -- Christ’s Home (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1986), pp. 13-14.
2 Ralph Spaulding Cushman, “I Met God in the Morning” Bible.org
3 Isaac Watts, Joy to the World (UMH #246)
4 Charles Wesley, Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus (UMH #196)
Consider for a moment the impact of things not being in their rightful places. When something is out of its proper place, you see, it might qualify as lost. Think, for example, of a mis-shelved book in a large library. Or when something is not in its proper place, it cannot function as it is meant to. An unscrewed light bulb comes to mind. A player who is out of position can’t contribute to the team’s success. A picture or piece of furniture that is out of place disrupts the beauty of a room. On the other hand, when there is a place for everything and everything is in its place, there is accessibility, functionality, effectiveness, order, and beauty.
Sadder, still, are those settings where the human being himself or herself is out of place. We sense that a homeless man is a person who is not where he really belongs. Likewise an abandoned child or a wife in an abusive marriage. The estranged siblings, the prodigal son, the child in a cancer ward, the talented person whose abilities are squandered in a misplaced career -- we perceive that all of these are people who are not in their proper place, and that’s a tragic business.
And then, within an individual human life, we know what it looks like when there’s not a place for everything and when not everything is in its place. When the career comes ahead of the family, when entertainment comes before responsibilities, and when there’s no room for God: these are all instances of life with things out of place.
Our three selected passages of scripture for this week invite us to consider the spiritual dynamics of things being out of place or in their rightful place. Important things. Things like us and God.
Zephaniah 3:14-20
Zephaniah is not a name that springs quickly to the minds of our people. He is much lesser known than many other prophets. We have familiar stories about Elijah, Elisha, Jonah, Ezekiel, and Daniel. We have familiar passages that we have heard again and again from Isaiah, Jeremiah, Micah, and Joel. But Zephaniah is likely a character that fades into the woodwork. He may not have made any sort of lasting impression on the minds or hearts of our people.
This week, therefore, offers us a good opportunity to introduce Zephaniah to our congregations.
Make a list of the judgment prophets of the Old Testament, and Zephaniah will be on the list. His brief ministry comes during the reign of King Josiah, a godly man who enacted a variety of excellent reforms in Judah. Yet Josiah was preceded by the long and wicked tenures of Manasseh and Amon, during which time all sorts of hideous and evil practices became entrenched in the land. And it was not long after Josiah’s reign that the wheels came off in Judah, as foreign powers began to exert their control, eventually leading to the destruction of Jerusalem only about twenty-five years after Josiah’s death.
So Zephaniah was one of those servants of God with the thankless task of preaching a judgment message that no one wanted to hear and few believed. And yet, if we only read this concluding excerpt from Zephaniah, we wouldn’t think him a judgment prophet, at all. The message in this week’s Old Testament lection is entirely upbeat and hopeful.
This is precisely the reason, of course, that it is important for us to frame Zephaniah as a judgment prophet. It speaks to the character and heart of God that even his messengers of warning still proclaimed such words of hope. For while judgment is a word from God, it is never the last word. In his mercy and beauty, there is always goodness on the other side of the judgment. Indeed, the judgment can be understood as the necessary path to that goodness on the other side. So it is, then, that Zephaniah sounds like the psalmist here, inviting the people to sing and exult.
The singing and rejoicing are in response to the good things the Lord will have done. And, more than that, the rejoicing is in response to who and what the Lord is. He is God, he is king, he is “a warrior who gives victory,” and he is “in your midst.” Those statements alone cry out for a four-part sermon series!
Meanwhile, we are struck by the pattern of what God promises to do for his people. He will put an end to their fears and their enemies. He will reverse the people’s fortunes, bring them home, and raise them up to the place of his perfect will for them.
The content of this hopeful message should resonate with us. While Zephaniah may not be familiar to us, the heart of God reflected in his message is very familiar. It is consistent with the promises of restoration we read of in other prophets. It reminds us of the ultimate promises of God associated with the New Jerusalem at the end of Revelation. And it echoes so many of the very truths that we sing at this time of year.
That final point is especially appropriate, for this is a season of singing and rejoicing. Zephaniah would be pleased! And our rejoicing is primarily in the very same things -- what the Lord is, who he is, and what he has done.
Philippians 4:4-7
In the 1953 movie The Robe, we are introduced to a fictitious young woman named Miriam. She has a radiant joy and contagious faith. Yet she is a paraplegic, who had met Jesus, but who was not physically healed by him. There is no such character in the Gospels, but the moviemakers use Miriam to illustrate an important truth. “He could have healed my body,” she observes, “and then it would have been natural for me to laugh and sing.” As it is, though, we see her smiling and singing joyfully even though her physical circumstances remain unchanged.
The Gospels do not tell any story quite like Miriam’s, for the testimony of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John seems to be that Jesus healed all who were brought to him. Yet still Miriam’s story rings true. For scripture features many men and women of God whose physical circumstances remain unchanged, yet they are filled with hope and joy. The author of the letter to the Philippians is one such story.
Paul’s letter to the Philippians is often nicknamed “the joyful epistle.” It is conspicuous for the many appearances of words like joy, joyful, and rejoice. Indeed, we see that theme prominent even within the small slice of the letter that is assigned to us this week. Yet Paul is known to have written “the joyful epistle” from prison.
I suppose it would have been a theoretically correct thing to say “Rejoice in the Lord always” if Paul had been sitting on a beach with his feet up. But his words pack more punch precisely because he wrote them from prison. His circumstances give credibility to his words.
Paul’s circumstances should be taken to heart by us in whatever our circumstances may be. For while the people in your pews are not in jail, a moment’s consideration will reveal many overlaps between Paul’s suffering and ours. Perhaps, for example, there are folks in your congregation who are feeling that they are being treated unjustly in some relationship or area of life. Welcome to Paul’s world! Or perhaps there are some who living with physical pain. They have a soulmate in Paul. Perhaps there are those whose life has been frustratingly placed on hold by circumstances beyond their control. So, too, with the apostle. Or perhaps they are laboring under the cloud of an uncertain future. They, too, have a companion in Paul.
Yet in the midst of such circumstances, Paul is full of rejoicing. And from that place, he encourages the Christians in Philippi -- and, by extension, us -- to rejoice always. But see the key factor: “rejoice in the Lord...”
Our natural reflex is to rejoice in our circumstances. And when our circumstances are inconvenient, turbulent, unfair, or marked by pain, we grumble and chafe rather than rejoice. But Paul sets us free from such fluctuations, for he does not encourage us to rejoice in our circumstances. Rather, he recommends to rejoice in the Lord.
See, then, the even keel with which the apostle lives and loves. If he, like most of us, were to rejoice in his circumstances, then he could not always rejoice. On the contrary, he would be up one day and down the next. But if his rejoicing is in the Lord, then he can, indeed, rejoice always. For while circumstances change, the Lord does not, and so neither does Paul’s joy.
Personally, I would not dare to speak such a word to the people in my pews. I know the pain and grief that some of them live with. Who am I to blithely speak a word of rejoicing to them, when my life is so good? And so I will not presume to say such a thing to them myself. But I will gladly tell them that Paul said such a thing. For Paul was in prison. Paul was in pain. And yet Paul was rejoicing always.
Luke 3:7-18
Each Gospel writer offers us unique gifts. John, for example, gives us a much fuller picture of the Last Supper, for example, then Matthew, Mark, or Luke. And, in our selected Gospel lection for this week, Luke offers us a glimpse into the ministry of John the Baptist that no one else does.
John is a more central figure than many church folks recognize. By way of contrast, we might note that only two gospels tell us about Christmas, while all four tell us about John. He enjoys the rare distinction of being a person who is said to fulfill prophecies (Matthew 17:10-13, Luke 3:2-6). And Jesus calls him the greatest man to have lived to-date (Matthew 11:11). Whatever glimpse we get into the man and his message, therefore, should be counted as a gift to us.
In this unique passage, we get a sense for the boldness of John. He displays the fearlessness of the Old Testament prophets. “Speaking truth to power” is a phrase we like to bandy about in our day, but the fact is that our American system makes that a minimally risky enterprise. In John’s day, however, it required tremendous courage. And, indeed, we see that in the end it cost John his life.
John does not try to curry the favor of his audience. He neither flatters nor aims to please. Instead, in a gesture that seems most discourteous to us, he begins by calling members of his audience names. The “brood of vipers” image, combined with the challenges that immediately follow, suggest that John doubts the genuineness of his hearers. Perhaps they are there out of idle curiosity. Perhaps they fancy themselves spectators of a current events headline. Or perhaps they are merely superstitious in their aped effort to “flee from the wrath to come.” And so he demands more of them.
The subsequent references to fruit are small samples of a much larger theme in scripture. Fruitfulness is a study all its own. From creation to the New Jerusalem, fruit is associated with the perfect will of God. The tree that bears good fruit is, you see, the tree that is functioning according to God’s design. It makes a natural metaphor, therefore, for a life that is pleasing to God (e.g., Psalm 1 and Galatians 5:22-23). And so it is that John insists on seeing fruit from these people. Their lives ought to produce certain unmistakable results of their repentance. And he warns, as Jesus also does elsewhere, that what is unfruitful will be cut off and burned up. It’s a judgment message, but the metaphor proves that the judgment is not so much angry as sensible.
Then comes the real gift. Specific members of John’s audience ask for specific advice. “Fruit,” after all, is a metaphor. The tax collectors, soldiers, and other folks in the crowd, however, want to hear a translation. What does the fruit look like in my life, in my situation? Those folks are to be commended for their pragmatic earnestness. And we should cultivate such a response within ourselves and our people -- an eagerness to know what righteousness looks like in our daily lives.
Application
I was just off to college when the longtime Christian singing group, The Imperials, released an album called “Priority.” The final song on the album, written by Michael and Stormie Omartian, rightly captured the theme of the album. It was called “Seek Ye First,” and along the way it featured this line: “For you are my God, first concern of my day...”
The line was impactful for me. It captured so succinctly a truth that I was coming to know. And what was being expressed in song was also impressed on me by a word picture.
During those first weeks off at college, I was introduced to Robert Boyd Munger’s challenging little pamphlet, “My Heart -- Christ’s Home.” Munger imagines the Christian life in terms of a house, with the goal being that we invite Christ into that house as our guest, and then allow him to move into every room of that house, every part of our lives. Along the way, Munger writes about the pattern of meeting Jesus in the living room of his house every morning. But then, “under the pressure of many responsibilities, little by little, this time began to be shortened... I assumed I was just too busy to give special, regular time to be with Christ... Matters of urgency demanding my attention were continually crowding out the quiet times of conversation with Jesus.”1
And those two contributions to my 18-year-old heart recalled a line from a poem I had learned as a child. Ralph Cushman wrote of the importance of meeting with God in the morning, “when the day was at its best.” He recalled the troubles and regrets that followed when he did not put God first in his day. And he concluded, “I think I know the secret, / Learned from many a troubled way; / You must seek Him in the morning / If you want Him through the day.”2
God deserves his rightful place in our lives, you see. This was the practical application of John the Baptist’s message. It was insufficient merely to be Abraham’s descendant, or even to be baptized. The living of daily life had to be consistent with that covenant heritage and our expressed commitment.
The Apostle Paul, meanwhile, bears witness to the benefits of the Lord having his rightful place in our lives. If integrity and justice are the evidences of our lives being in proper order, rejoicing, thanksgiving, and “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding” are the byproducts.
And then there is one more layer. For it is God himself, you see, with whom each rightful place originates. In other words, the issue is not just played out in the microcosms of our individual lives. There is the macrocosm of God’s perfect will: everything in its rightful place in his order. And that, graciously, includes our being in our rightful place.
The Jews in Babylonian exile, you see, were a people out of place. Defeated and tormented by enemies; torn from the promised land; far removed from the peace and well-being that God desires -- this was the predicament of a judged people. God had not had his rightful place in their lives and community, and so they -- like Adam and Eve -- forfeited their rightful place. But God’s good will prevails in the end, and the prophet Zephaniah gave expression to that assurance in our Old Testament passage. God had plans for his people: restoration, triumph, peace, and exaltation. He would return them again, you see, to their rightful place.
Alternative Application(s)
Zephaniah 3:14-20 -- “Let Earth Receive Her King”
Early in our Old Testament lection, the Lord is identified as “the king of Israel.” This is noteworthy at a couple of levels within its immediate context. And it also speaks a word to us in our day and in this season of the year.
First, we should note that “Israel” would have seemed like an anachronistic reference in Zephaniah’s day. Some generations before, the once-united kingdom of Israel had divided into two separate kingdoms. “Israel” was the name given to the northern kingdom, while “Judah” became the name of the southern kingdom. Zephaniah’s audience is Judah, while the northern kingdom of Israel had been wiped off the map by the Assyrian Empire a century before. Yet the Lord is identified as the king of Israel, hearkening back to a time when all the tribes were together, and suggesting a restoration -- indeed, a resurrection -- of something that had died long ago.
Furthermore, even longer ago, back in the days of Samuel, the people had asked for a human king. This led eventually to the anointing of Saul and the beginning of a monarchy in Israel. But at that pivotal moment when the people made the request, the Lord said to Samuel, “(the people) have rejected me from being king over them” (1 Samuel 8:7 NASB). Now, so many centuries later, the prophet anticipates the good day when the Lord will again have his rightful place, on the throne for his chosen people.
What happens in Israel’s history serves as a metaphor both for something bigger and for something smaller.
On the larger scale, what is true for Israel is true for the whole world writ large. The Lord is meant to be sovereign over this world, which he created, but humankind threw off his lordship. Our coup against his majesty has not gone well. But we are assured in scripture that the day is coming when all things will be put right again. The Lord will again resume his rightful place on the throne. And we anticipate that glad prospect each year at this time when we sing with Isaac Watts, “Let earth receive her King!”3
Meanwhile, the truth also applies on the smaller scale of the individual human life. In our private, personal reflections, we sense the degree to which the Lord is or is not on the throne in our lives. Perhaps we have a moment or development that mirrors the events of Samuel’s day -- some choice we made along the way that God knew, even if we did not, was a rejection of him. And if so, we may recognize today that the Lord needs to be returned to his rightful place in our own lives. And so we sing with Charles Wesley, “born to reign in us forever, now thy gracious kingdom bring.”4
1 Robert Boyd Munger, My Heart -- Christ’s Home (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1986), pp. 13-14.
2 Ralph Spaulding Cushman, “I Met God in the Morning” Bible.org
3 Isaac Watts, Joy to the World (UMH #246)
4 Charles Wesley, Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus (UMH #196)
