Sale price
Commentary
Object:
A friend of mine once described a man he knew as someone who "knew the cost of everything and the value of nothing." It is a striking indictment. When do we know what really has value?
Sometimes there are children who can remind us in remarkable ways as Dale Galloway related in his book Dream a New Dream (Tyndale, 1975). A friend's son was very shy, he said. Chad was usually by himself, and others took no effort to include him in their circles of friends. Every afternoon Chad's mother would see the children pile off the school bus in groups, laughing, playing, and joking around with each other. Chad, however, would always be the last down the steps, always alone. No one ever paid much attention to him.
One day in late January Chad came home and said, "You know what, Mom? Valentine's Day is coming and I want to make a valentine for everyone in my class!"
Chad's mother told Dale how terrible she felt. "Oh no!" she thought. "Chad is setting himself up for a fall now. He's going to make valentines for everyone else, but nobody will think of him. He'll come home all disappointed, and just pull back further into his shell."
But Chad insisted, so they got paper and crayons and glue. Chad made 31 valentine cards. It took him three weeks.
The day he took them to school his mother cried a lot. When he came off the bus alone as usual, bearing no valentine cards from others in his hands, she was ready for the worst.
Amazingly Chad's face was glowing. He marched through the door triumphant. "I didn't forget anybody!" he said. "I gave them all one of my hearts!"
That day Chad gained something more than just friends. He gained a sense of himself. He won a sense of dignity and worth. "I gave them all one of my hearts!" he said.
That's where today's passages all bring us. Jeremiah buys a field all others find worthless, because he trusts the economies of God. Paul warns Timothy about the screwy value systems that infiltrate church life, and even the pastor's heart. And Jesus puts it all on the line in a parable for which there are no misunderstandings.
Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15
Jeremiah lived almost a century after Isaiah. By his time, Assyria had long ago destroyed Judah's northern brother neighbor Israel (722 BC). Judah was itself only a tiny community now, limping along with diminishing resources, and constantly tossed around by the bigger nations of its world.
But things were changing rapidly on the international scene. Assyria was being beaten down in 612 BC by its eastern bully province, called Babylon. After snapping the backbone of Assyrian forces at Carchemish, and wrestling the capital city of Nineveh to the ground, Babylon immediately took over Palestine, the newer name for the old region of Canaan.
Judah was experiencing a rapid turnover of kings, many of whom were puppets of Babylon. Already the country was expected to pay yearly tributes or security bribes to Babylon, and since 606 BC had been forced to turn over some of its promising young men for propaganda retraining in the capital of the superpower, in anticipation that they would return to rule Judah as regents of Babylon.
For such reasons Egypt began to loom large in many minds as the only possible ally strong enough to withstand Babylon's domination of the region. Even though Israel's identity had been forged through a divine exit strategy from oppressive Egyptian mastery several centuries before, now a good number of voices were publicly suggesting that the remaining citizens of Jerusalem get out of town before a final Babylonian occupation, and find refuge in the safer haven of Egypt.
Into these times and circumstances Jeremiah was born. From his earliest thoughts he was aware of Yahweh's special call on his life (1:4-10). This knowledge only made his prophetic ministry gloomier, for it gave him no out in a game where the deck was stacked against him (chs. 12, 16). So he brooded through his life, deeply introspective. He fulfilled his role as gadfly to most of the kings who reigned during his adult years, even though it took eminent courage to do so. Although he lived an exemplary life, political officials constantly took offence at his theologically charged political commentaries, and regularly arrested him and treated him badly. Jeremiah was passionately moral, never allowing compromise as a suitable temporary alternative in the shady waters of international relations or the roiling quicksand of fading religious devotion. He remained pastorally sensitive, especially to the poor and oppressed in Jerusalem, weeping in anguish as families boiled sandals and old leather to find a few nutrients during Babylonian sieges, and when he saw mothers willing to cannibalize their dying babies to keep other children alive. Above all, Jeremiah found the grace to be unshakably hopeful, truly believing to the very end that though destruction would raze Jerusalem and the temple, Yahweh would keep covenant promises and one day soon restore the fortunes of this wayward partner in the divine missional enterprise.
This is seen profoundly in today's Old Testament lectionary passage where Jeremiah buys a field. Normally the events described would seem like an ordinary transaction, just another day at the real estate office. But Jeremiah and the salesperson are both holed up inside the walls of Jerusalem, and the battering rams of Babylon's armies are pounding the gates and walls to rubble. What is more, in the prolonged siege of Jerusalem the invading armies have killed and burned every living thing for miles, and made waste of whatever farmland there might have been in the region. Added to that is the sure promise of God, spoken through Jeremiah himself, that this time Babylon would be successful and the city, along with the temple, would be destroyed.
If there was ever a bad time to invest in real estate, this was it. The land itself was worthless, the currency inflated, the threat of destruction obvious and the future about as grim as any could be. Yet Jeremiah buys the field. Why? Because he knew that God would have his way, even beyond the threat of Babylon. He knew that in spite of the waywardness of the people, God's kingdom would rise again and thrust itself to the heavens until even the Babylonian vulture would nest in its branches.
So he bought a farm for the future. He staked a claim in God's grace and promises. He saw the weathervane point toward redemption, and raised his sail to that wind, even when all current predictions held no pull with the bookmakers. He had faith that when God spoke a commitment of redemption, you could take it to the bank.
1 Timothy 6:6-19
Paul's "Pastoral Epistles" (1 & 2 Timothy and Titus) are off the map of his travels as recorded in the book of Acts. They emerge from times after chapter 28, when Paul had been released from his first Roman imprisonment. It takes a bit of detective work and reconstructive analysis to find the background to this powerful testimony.
Because of Paul's promise to visit Philemon sometime during 59 AD, the flow of traffic around the Mediterranean, and the bits of travel reports Paul that makes to Timothy and Titus, it seems reasonable to assume that Paul traveled with Titus and Timothy (and others as well) from Rome to the island of Crete soon after Paul's release in 59 AD. There he installed Titus as pastor, and then continued his journey to the mainland of Asia Minor. By late 59 AD Paul was likely enjoying the warm hospitality of his friends Philemon and Onesimus, just outside of Colossae.
Around the turn of the year Paul probably headed down the Lycus and Maeander river valleys to Ephesus, his base of missionary operations six or seven years before. The congregation in Ephesus was large and growing, and Paul assisted in installing as pastor there his most promising protégé, Timothy. Perhaps sometime during the year 60 AD Paul traveled on to Macedonia (1 Timothy 1:3), probably wanting to spend some time with his friends and ministry supporters in Philippi.
From there, many have speculated, Paul traveled on to Spain. This was certainly his plan a few years earlier when he wrote to the church in Rome (Romans 15:24). Also, in 96 AD, Clement of Rome wrote about Paul's travels to the "farthest bounds of the West," a term used in the Roman Empire to designate Spain.
That kind of journey would have required at least a year or two. It was probably sometime during these early years of the '60s that Paul wrote his first letter to Timothy. It is a warm and encouraging letter, filled with the advice of a mentor, and the seasoned reflections of a man who has observed the strengths and weaknesses of congregational life.
In the first half, Paul addresses Timothy primarily as a pastor, urging him to watch out for false teachers (1 Timothy 1), establish appropriate practices in worship gatherings (1 Timothy 2), and appoint spiritually mature persons as leaders within the congregation (1 Timothy 3). Woven throughout these instructions are a number of personal notes: Paul rues his early persecution of the church (1 Timothy 1:12-13) and uses God's grace on his unworthy self as an illustration of the immeasurable quality of divine mercy (1 Timothy 1:14-17); Paul reminds Timothy of the prophecies that had once been spoken about him during a time of worship (1 Timothy 1:18) and how reflecting on this divine testimony can keep him from making some of the same mistakes that have fallen on other leaders (1 Timothy 1:19-20); and Paul expresses his intended travel plans to visit Timothy soon (1 Timothy 3:14).
The second half of Paul's letter is much more personal in its general contents. Paul gives wise counsel about how to deal with difficult members of the congregation, even though many consider Timothy too young to wield leadership authority (1Timothy 4). At the same time, Paul reminds Timothy to treat each person with respect and suggests strategies for nurturing healthy pastoral care and congregational life (1 Timothy 5). Finally, Paul warns Timothy about the insidious leeching character of wealth and uses this to express the need for Timothy to practice disciplines of restraint and moderation, and advising others to do so as well for the sake of their spiritual health (1 Timothy 6).
This last section is powerful and passionate. Paul pulls no punches as he describes the lure of lucre and the lust that rots both community and calling. Harry Emerson Fosdick once declared "nationalism" as the greatest threat to Christianity because it demanded religious allegiance that crowded out true commitments to God and others. Perhaps Fosdick's argument was rooted in this passage of Paul's letter to Timothy, where any heart can be turned, and most are in danger of doing so, when enticements of wealth are flashed. Beware!
Luke 16:19-31
There are many theological difficulties that present themselves with this story of Jesus. First, what do the angels carry to Abraham's "bosom" or "side" when Lazarus dies -- his soul; his personhood; his disembodied spirit? Second, do the angels also have a part in carrying away whatever is the noncorporeal dimension of the rich man; or are the demons involved in this transportation? Third, what is "Abraham's bosom," or "Abraham's side?" Why should Abraham have a place to gather dead people together? Is this a kind of limbo or purgatory, or is this paradise? Fourth, what is the "hell" or "Hades" in which the rich man finds himself? Is this his eternal destiny? Who is in charge here? Fifth, why is there direct communication between these differing realms of the dead? Why is it possible for the rich man to identify Lazarus so easily? How is it possible for Abraham to talk to those in hell? Sixth, if these are disembodied spirits, why does the rich man want a little cool water for his tongue? How can physical senses still play a part in a world of pure spirit? Seventh, is our eternal destiny entirely determined by our temporal actions? Does punishment or blessing after death result solely from our interaction with others on this side -- a kind of works-righteousness or poetic justice resulting only from our behaviors and without any grace or faith involved? Eighth, why is it assumed that only spirits from Abraham's side can reappear into human times and circumstances? Why could not the rich man go and scare his brothers into heaven? Ninth, what is it in "Moses and the Prophets" that can bring about eternal salvation?
Of course, probing any or all of these questions is a fascinating way of missing the point. Jesus is not describing cosmology. He is not giving a lecture on what happens to us after we die. Nor is he attempting to provide a concise atonement theory. In the middle of all of these chapters in which Luke piles together the mighty parables of Jesus, the focus is on how our religion takes root in our ethical and moral behaviors. If we look out only for ourselves, it is only ourselves about which we will be concerned, and in the end it will be a very small concern indeed. But if we look out for the interests of others around us, something of the great heart of God is revealed, and life itself takes on differing tones and hues.
Do you want to know what hell is like? Only take care of yourself, and you will find out. Do you want to experience something of heaven? Get your myopic vision repaired by the Great Optometrist, and you will see paradise in the making.
Some stories are not meant to be explained. It is in their telling that life itself is changed, simply because we see the world in a different way.
Application
There is an old Chinese parable that tells of a man who dreamed he was taken on a tour of eternity by a heavenly guide. The first stop on this Scrooge-like pilgrimage was at first very inviting. Long rows of tables stretched to all horizons, and these were laden with the choicest of foods: savory meats, colorful fruits and vegetables, aromatic casseroles, delectable drinks, decadent sauces and gravies, and ambrosiatic wines. Millions rushed to the tables, ready to feast.
They certainly needed to, for their faces were gaunt, their bellies extended in famine bloating, and their hairs tinged with the rust-color of nutrient deficiency. They crowds clamored for food, and yet none of them ate. The entire scene became a cacophony of nastiness and weeping.
"Why won't they eat?" the man asked his angelic guide.
"They can't," came the answer. "The rules require that they pick up the food only with their chopsticks."
Looking closer, the dreaming man saw the problem. All of the chopsticks available to the people at the tables were four feet long. It was impossible for them, in the middle of this bounty, to take a single bite. They were like Tantalus of the Greeks -- forever hungry and starving, with salvation unattainable even as it flowed about them. They were in hell.
After viewing this scene too long, the man who was dreaming begged to be taken away. The visage was too horrible to contemplate for long. So the winged creature led the man to another world.
Unfortunately it looked almost identical to the place they had so recently escaped. Once again, long tables of delicious delights sprayed out to infinity. And once again throngs flooded noisily into the immense hall, chattering as they took their places at the groaning boards. Again, all of the would-be eaters picked up chopsticks that were four feet long.
Cringing to see what would happen next, the man was taken aback. Instead of bitter wails, he heard only animated conversation and lip-smacking delight. Moreover, these people were obviously not starving. Their bodies were sleek, their hair combed and coifed, their cheeks healthy, and their eyes shining with energy and delight.
"Why are these folks so different from the others?" the man asked his guide. "Nothing seems different than what you showed me earlier."
"True in many respects," said the angel. "But notice how these people handle their chopsticks. None of them is fighting to do the impossible and feed her- or himself. Instead, they are all feeding one another."
Hmmm… thought the man. So this is what heaven is like!
Alternative Application
1 Timothy 6:6-19. Lev Tolstoy wrote a brilliant little story about the material desires that Paul warns Timothy about, and the faulty quests on which they too often lead us. Tolstoy told of a man who had found favor with the governing powers of his society in a Russia now historied and was allowed to select a parcel of ground as his own possession. The only limitation on this field's size was the requirement that the man be able to plow a furrow around the property in a single day.
Early one morning he set out, drawn by the lure of free land and excited about the small farm he would stake out and claim as his own. He didn't need much, of course -- just enough to make a simple living for himself and his family.
By mid-morning he had moved a great distance. Still, when he looked back, the area seemed terribly small. So, since the day was still young, he decided to angle out a bit more. After all, a larger farm would make him a wealthy man. In his mind scenes flashed of his children, robust because of the fine meals they would take off this land. He could see his wife gliding at the ball adorned in a Parisian gown. Men would sidle up to him and seek his opinions; women would giggle with delight as he tipped his hat to them. He was becoming a person of importance!
As noon approached the plowman grew impatient with his slow progress. The circle of land now seemed much too insignificant. He must have more; so once again he widened the sweep of his plow.
Throughout the afternoon he fantasized of kings and princes calling him to court, and the fever for more acres burned in his soul. He plowed with a passion, forgetting to watch the sun as it slipped in the western skies.
Too late he realized that he might not make it back to the starting stake by dusk. In panic he whipped his horse, pushing at the plow handles as the furrow began to zigzag madly. His heart pounded, his stomach churned and his muscles tightened in desperation. He must make it!
But his desire had overextended itself, and inches short of a complete circle he fell to the earth he so desperately coveted, dead of a heart attack. Ironically, wrote Tolstoy, the man was buried on all the land he really needed: a plot of ground three feet by six -- a farm for the dead.
Tolstoy's parable brings out the leeching quality of desire unchecked, and the poisonous effect it can have. This is precisely what Paul warned Timothy about. His words continue to hold power for us today in our consumerist and experiential world.
Preaching the Psalm
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 91:1-6, 14-16
Let's face it. There are times when everyone wants to simply hide away. There are moments when all the bravery, all the courage, and vision melt and all we want is to find some refuge where, if only for a minute, we can get away. It's true. Life can be a struggle. We feel sometimes as though we could use our own private fortress to protect us from an outrageous and unfair world. And in truth, where better might we hide than in the folds of God's redeeming love?
We could become survivalists and all move to some remote outpost and await the end of things as we thought we knew them. We might get in the car and simply drive far enough away that an hour could be spent in some café where no one knows our name. Or we could build a wall around our hearts and take refuge behind emotional turrets with all the drawbridges pulled up and carefully locked. But in the end, none of this kind of hiding really works, does it? At the end of the day, there is no place to hide except in God.
The truth of the matter is that this psalm poses a real life conundrum. It's true that God is our refuge and our hiding place. This notion is at the core of our faith. It is, however, debatable that trust in God will keep us safe, as we are led to understand when this psalm clearly tells us that those who love God will be "delivered," and those who "know God's name" will be "protected."
There's no way around it. This psalm plucks the strings of cognitive dissidence. Oscar Romero's trust in God did not protect him from assassin's bullets while he was serving the Eucharist. Martin Luther King Jr.'s trust in God did not deflect the bullets aimed at him. Almost everyone can point to a loved one whose faith was deep and whose fate was untimely death. What are we to say to this? Is the psalm untruthful? Is the idea that trusting in God will keep us safe just a load of religious poetry that would be better left to a more naïve time in our history? Or perhaps a deeper look might be helpful.
Could it be that it's not safety that God offers, so much as liberation from fear? Is it a possibility that our faith was never intended to protect us from physical harm so much as it was meant to accompany us through life's journey? Verses 5 and 6 of this psalm are particularly helpful in this regard. We are told in verse 5 that we will not fear the terror of the night, the arrows that fly by day, or the wasting destruction of the noonday. It seems that we cannot avoid the terror or the danger. What we can get rid of, however, is our fear. In trusting God, we need no longer be afraid.
So it's okay, then, to hide away in God. It's a good thing to retreat into the arms of the Holy. For when we emerge, we come back to the struggle without fear. And without fear, people can do amazing things.
Sometimes there are children who can remind us in remarkable ways as Dale Galloway related in his book Dream a New Dream (Tyndale, 1975). A friend's son was very shy, he said. Chad was usually by himself, and others took no effort to include him in their circles of friends. Every afternoon Chad's mother would see the children pile off the school bus in groups, laughing, playing, and joking around with each other. Chad, however, would always be the last down the steps, always alone. No one ever paid much attention to him.
One day in late January Chad came home and said, "You know what, Mom? Valentine's Day is coming and I want to make a valentine for everyone in my class!"
Chad's mother told Dale how terrible she felt. "Oh no!" she thought. "Chad is setting himself up for a fall now. He's going to make valentines for everyone else, but nobody will think of him. He'll come home all disappointed, and just pull back further into his shell."
But Chad insisted, so they got paper and crayons and glue. Chad made 31 valentine cards. It took him three weeks.
The day he took them to school his mother cried a lot. When he came off the bus alone as usual, bearing no valentine cards from others in his hands, she was ready for the worst.
Amazingly Chad's face was glowing. He marched through the door triumphant. "I didn't forget anybody!" he said. "I gave them all one of my hearts!"
That day Chad gained something more than just friends. He gained a sense of himself. He won a sense of dignity and worth. "I gave them all one of my hearts!" he said.
That's where today's passages all bring us. Jeremiah buys a field all others find worthless, because he trusts the economies of God. Paul warns Timothy about the screwy value systems that infiltrate church life, and even the pastor's heart. And Jesus puts it all on the line in a parable for which there are no misunderstandings.
Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15
Jeremiah lived almost a century after Isaiah. By his time, Assyria had long ago destroyed Judah's northern brother neighbor Israel (722 BC). Judah was itself only a tiny community now, limping along with diminishing resources, and constantly tossed around by the bigger nations of its world.
But things were changing rapidly on the international scene. Assyria was being beaten down in 612 BC by its eastern bully province, called Babylon. After snapping the backbone of Assyrian forces at Carchemish, and wrestling the capital city of Nineveh to the ground, Babylon immediately took over Palestine, the newer name for the old region of Canaan.
Judah was experiencing a rapid turnover of kings, many of whom were puppets of Babylon. Already the country was expected to pay yearly tributes or security bribes to Babylon, and since 606 BC had been forced to turn over some of its promising young men for propaganda retraining in the capital of the superpower, in anticipation that they would return to rule Judah as regents of Babylon.
For such reasons Egypt began to loom large in many minds as the only possible ally strong enough to withstand Babylon's domination of the region. Even though Israel's identity had been forged through a divine exit strategy from oppressive Egyptian mastery several centuries before, now a good number of voices were publicly suggesting that the remaining citizens of Jerusalem get out of town before a final Babylonian occupation, and find refuge in the safer haven of Egypt.
Into these times and circumstances Jeremiah was born. From his earliest thoughts he was aware of Yahweh's special call on his life (1:4-10). This knowledge only made his prophetic ministry gloomier, for it gave him no out in a game where the deck was stacked against him (chs. 12, 16). So he brooded through his life, deeply introspective. He fulfilled his role as gadfly to most of the kings who reigned during his adult years, even though it took eminent courage to do so. Although he lived an exemplary life, political officials constantly took offence at his theologically charged political commentaries, and regularly arrested him and treated him badly. Jeremiah was passionately moral, never allowing compromise as a suitable temporary alternative in the shady waters of international relations or the roiling quicksand of fading religious devotion. He remained pastorally sensitive, especially to the poor and oppressed in Jerusalem, weeping in anguish as families boiled sandals and old leather to find a few nutrients during Babylonian sieges, and when he saw mothers willing to cannibalize their dying babies to keep other children alive. Above all, Jeremiah found the grace to be unshakably hopeful, truly believing to the very end that though destruction would raze Jerusalem and the temple, Yahweh would keep covenant promises and one day soon restore the fortunes of this wayward partner in the divine missional enterprise.
This is seen profoundly in today's Old Testament lectionary passage where Jeremiah buys a field. Normally the events described would seem like an ordinary transaction, just another day at the real estate office. But Jeremiah and the salesperson are both holed up inside the walls of Jerusalem, and the battering rams of Babylon's armies are pounding the gates and walls to rubble. What is more, in the prolonged siege of Jerusalem the invading armies have killed and burned every living thing for miles, and made waste of whatever farmland there might have been in the region. Added to that is the sure promise of God, spoken through Jeremiah himself, that this time Babylon would be successful and the city, along with the temple, would be destroyed.
If there was ever a bad time to invest in real estate, this was it. The land itself was worthless, the currency inflated, the threat of destruction obvious and the future about as grim as any could be. Yet Jeremiah buys the field. Why? Because he knew that God would have his way, even beyond the threat of Babylon. He knew that in spite of the waywardness of the people, God's kingdom would rise again and thrust itself to the heavens until even the Babylonian vulture would nest in its branches.
So he bought a farm for the future. He staked a claim in God's grace and promises. He saw the weathervane point toward redemption, and raised his sail to that wind, even when all current predictions held no pull with the bookmakers. He had faith that when God spoke a commitment of redemption, you could take it to the bank.
1 Timothy 6:6-19
Paul's "Pastoral Epistles" (1 & 2 Timothy and Titus) are off the map of his travels as recorded in the book of Acts. They emerge from times after chapter 28, when Paul had been released from his first Roman imprisonment. It takes a bit of detective work and reconstructive analysis to find the background to this powerful testimony.
Because of Paul's promise to visit Philemon sometime during 59 AD, the flow of traffic around the Mediterranean, and the bits of travel reports Paul that makes to Timothy and Titus, it seems reasonable to assume that Paul traveled with Titus and Timothy (and others as well) from Rome to the island of Crete soon after Paul's release in 59 AD. There he installed Titus as pastor, and then continued his journey to the mainland of Asia Minor. By late 59 AD Paul was likely enjoying the warm hospitality of his friends Philemon and Onesimus, just outside of Colossae.
Around the turn of the year Paul probably headed down the Lycus and Maeander river valleys to Ephesus, his base of missionary operations six or seven years before. The congregation in Ephesus was large and growing, and Paul assisted in installing as pastor there his most promising protégé, Timothy. Perhaps sometime during the year 60 AD Paul traveled on to Macedonia (1 Timothy 1:3), probably wanting to spend some time with his friends and ministry supporters in Philippi.
From there, many have speculated, Paul traveled on to Spain. This was certainly his plan a few years earlier when he wrote to the church in Rome (Romans 15:24). Also, in 96 AD, Clement of Rome wrote about Paul's travels to the "farthest bounds of the West," a term used in the Roman Empire to designate Spain.
That kind of journey would have required at least a year or two. It was probably sometime during these early years of the '60s that Paul wrote his first letter to Timothy. It is a warm and encouraging letter, filled with the advice of a mentor, and the seasoned reflections of a man who has observed the strengths and weaknesses of congregational life.
In the first half, Paul addresses Timothy primarily as a pastor, urging him to watch out for false teachers (1 Timothy 1), establish appropriate practices in worship gatherings (1 Timothy 2), and appoint spiritually mature persons as leaders within the congregation (1 Timothy 3). Woven throughout these instructions are a number of personal notes: Paul rues his early persecution of the church (1 Timothy 1:12-13) and uses God's grace on his unworthy self as an illustration of the immeasurable quality of divine mercy (1 Timothy 1:14-17); Paul reminds Timothy of the prophecies that had once been spoken about him during a time of worship (1 Timothy 1:18) and how reflecting on this divine testimony can keep him from making some of the same mistakes that have fallen on other leaders (1 Timothy 1:19-20); and Paul expresses his intended travel plans to visit Timothy soon (1 Timothy 3:14).
The second half of Paul's letter is much more personal in its general contents. Paul gives wise counsel about how to deal with difficult members of the congregation, even though many consider Timothy too young to wield leadership authority (1Timothy 4). At the same time, Paul reminds Timothy to treat each person with respect and suggests strategies for nurturing healthy pastoral care and congregational life (1 Timothy 5). Finally, Paul warns Timothy about the insidious leeching character of wealth and uses this to express the need for Timothy to practice disciplines of restraint and moderation, and advising others to do so as well for the sake of their spiritual health (1 Timothy 6).
This last section is powerful and passionate. Paul pulls no punches as he describes the lure of lucre and the lust that rots both community and calling. Harry Emerson Fosdick once declared "nationalism" as the greatest threat to Christianity because it demanded religious allegiance that crowded out true commitments to God and others. Perhaps Fosdick's argument was rooted in this passage of Paul's letter to Timothy, where any heart can be turned, and most are in danger of doing so, when enticements of wealth are flashed. Beware!
Luke 16:19-31
There are many theological difficulties that present themselves with this story of Jesus. First, what do the angels carry to Abraham's "bosom" or "side" when Lazarus dies -- his soul; his personhood; his disembodied spirit? Second, do the angels also have a part in carrying away whatever is the noncorporeal dimension of the rich man; or are the demons involved in this transportation? Third, what is "Abraham's bosom," or "Abraham's side?" Why should Abraham have a place to gather dead people together? Is this a kind of limbo or purgatory, or is this paradise? Fourth, what is the "hell" or "Hades" in which the rich man finds himself? Is this his eternal destiny? Who is in charge here? Fifth, why is there direct communication between these differing realms of the dead? Why is it possible for the rich man to identify Lazarus so easily? How is it possible for Abraham to talk to those in hell? Sixth, if these are disembodied spirits, why does the rich man want a little cool water for his tongue? How can physical senses still play a part in a world of pure spirit? Seventh, is our eternal destiny entirely determined by our temporal actions? Does punishment or blessing after death result solely from our interaction with others on this side -- a kind of works-righteousness or poetic justice resulting only from our behaviors and without any grace or faith involved? Eighth, why is it assumed that only spirits from Abraham's side can reappear into human times and circumstances? Why could not the rich man go and scare his brothers into heaven? Ninth, what is it in "Moses and the Prophets" that can bring about eternal salvation?
Of course, probing any or all of these questions is a fascinating way of missing the point. Jesus is not describing cosmology. He is not giving a lecture on what happens to us after we die. Nor is he attempting to provide a concise atonement theory. In the middle of all of these chapters in which Luke piles together the mighty parables of Jesus, the focus is on how our religion takes root in our ethical and moral behaviors. If we look out only for ourselves, it is only ourselves about which we will be concerned, and in the end it will be a very small concern indeed. But if we look out for the interests of others around us, something of the great heart of God is revealed, and life itself takes on differing tones and hues.
Do you want to know what hell is like? Only take care of yourself, and you will find out. Do you want to experience something of heaven? Get your myopic vision repaired by the Great Optometrist, and you will see paradise in the making.
Some stories are not meant to be explained. It is in their telling that life itself is changed, simply because we see the world in a different way.
Application
There is an old Chinese parable that tells of a man who dreamed he was taken on a tour of eternity by a heavenly guide. The first stop on this Scrooge-like pilgrimage was at first very inviting. Long rows of tables stretched to all horizons, and these were laden with the choicest of foods: savory meats, colorful fruits and vegetables, aromatic casseroles, delectable drinks, decadent sauces and gravies, and ambrosiatic wines. Millions rushed to the tables, ready to feast.
They certainly needed to, for their faces were gaunt, their bellies extended in famine bloating, and their hairs tinged with the rust-color of nutrient deficiency. They crowds clamored for food, and yet none of them ate. The entire scene became a cacophony of nastiness and weeping.
"Why won't they eat?" the man asked his angelic guide.
"They can't," came the answer. "The rules require that they pick up the food only with their chopsticks."
Looking closer, the dreaming man saw the problem. All of the chopsticks available to the people at the tables were four feet long. It was impossible for them, in the middle of this bounty, to take a single bite. They were like Tantalus of the Greeks -- forever hungry and starving, with salvation unattainable even as it flowed about them. They were in hell.
After viewing this scene too long, the man who was dreaming begged to be taken away. The visage was too horrible to contemplate for long. So the winged creature led the man to another world.
Unfortunately it looked almost identical to the place they had so recently escaped. Once again, long tables of delicious delights sprayed out to infinity. And once again throngs flooded noisily into the immense hall, chattering as they took their places at the groaning boards. Again, all of the would-be eaters picked up chopsticks that were four feet long.
Cringing to see what would happen next, the man was taken aback. Instead of bitter wails, he heard only animated conversation and lip-smacking delight. Moreover, these people were obviously not starving. Their bodies were sleek, their hair combed and coifed, their cheeks healthy, and their eyes shining with energy and delight.
"Why are these folks so different from the others?" the man asked his guide. "Nothing seems different than what you showed me earlier."
"True in many respects," said the angel. "But notice how these people handle their chopsticks. None of them is fighting to do the impossible and feed her- or himself. Instead, they are all feeding one another."
Hmmm… thought the man. So this is what heaven is like!
Alternative Application
1 Timothy 6:6-19. Lev Tolstoy wrote a brilliant little story about the material desires that Paul warns Timothy about, and the faulty quests on which they too often lead us. Tolstoy told of a man who had found favor with the governing powers of his society in a Russia now historied and was allowed to select a parcel of ground as his own possession. The only limitation on this field's size was the requirement that the man be able to plow a furrow around the property in a single day.
Early one morning he set out, drawn by the lure of free land and excited about the small farm he would stake out and claim as his own. He didn't need much, of course -- just enough to make a simple living for himself and his family.
By mid-morning he had moved a great distance. Still, when he looked back, the area seemed terribly small. So, since the day was still young, he decided to angle out a bit more. After all, a larger farm would make him a wealthy man. In his mind scenes flashed of his children, robust because of the fine meals they would take off this land. He could see his wife gliding at the ball adorned in a Parisian gown. Men would sidle up to him and seek his opinions; women would giggle with delight as he tipped his hat to them. He was becoming a person of importance!
As noon approached the plowman grew impatient with his slow progress. The circle of land now seemed much too insignificant. He must have more; so once again he widened the sweep of his plow.
Throughout the afternoon he fantasized of kings and princes calling him to court, and the fever for more acres burned in his soul. He plowed with a passion, forgetting to watch the sun as it slipped in the western skies.
Too late he realized that he might not make it back to the starting stake by dusk. In panic he whipped his horse, pushing at the plow handles as the furrow began to zigzag madly. His heart pounded, his stomach churned and his muscles tightened in desperation. He must make it!
But his desire had overextended itself, and inches short of a complete circle he fell to the earth he so desperately coveted, dead of a heart attack. Ironically, wrote Tolstoy, the man was buried on all the land he really needed: a plot of ground three feet by six -- a farm for the dead.
Tolstoy's parable brings out the leeching quality of desire unchecked, and the poisonous effect it can have. This is precisely what Paul warned Timothy about. His words continue to hold power for us today in our consumerist and experiential world.
Preaching the Psalm
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 91:1-6, 14-16
Let's face it. There are times when everyone wants to simply hide away. There are moments when all the bravery, all the courage, and vision melt and all we want is to find some refuge where, if only for a minute, we can get away. It's true. Life can be a struggle. We feel sometimes as though we could use our own private fortress to protect us from an outrageous and unfair world. And in truth, where better might we hide than in the folds of God's redeeming love?
We could become survivalists and all move to some remote outpost and await the end of things as we thought we knew them. We might get in the car and simply drive far enough away that an hour could be spent in some café where no one knows our name. Or we could build a wall around our hearts and take refuge behind emotional turrets with all the drawbridges pulled up and carefully locked. But in the end, none of this kind of hiding really works, does it? At the end of the day, there is no place to hide except in God.
The truth of the matter is that this psalm poses a real life conundrum. It's true that God is our refuge and our hiding place. This notion is at the core of our faith. It is, however, debatable that trust in God will keep us safe, as we are led to understand when this psalm clearly tells us that those who love God will be "delivered," and those who "know God's name" will be "protected."
There's no way around it. This psalm plucks the strings of cognitive dissidence. Oscar Romero's trust in God did not protect him from assassin's bullets while he was serving the Eucharist. Martin Luther King Jr.'s trust in God did not deflect the bullets aimed at him. Almost everyone can point to a loved one whose faith was deep and whose fate was untimely death. What are we to say to this? Is the psalm untruthful? Is the idea that trusting in God will keep us safe just a load of religious poetry that would be better left to a more naïve time in our history? Or perhaps a deeper look might be helpful.
Could it be that it's not safety that God offers, so much as liberation from fear? Is it a possibility that our faith was never intended to protect us from physical harm so much as it was meant to accompany us through life's journey? Verses 5 and 6 of this psalm are particularly helpful in this regard. We are told in verse 5 that we will not fear the terror of the night, the arrows that fly by day, or the wasting destruction of the noonday. It seems that we cannot avoid the terror or the danger. What we can get rid of, however, is our fear. In trusting God, we need no longer be afraid.
So it's okay, then, to hide away in God. It's a good thing to retreat into the arms of the Holy. For when we emerge, we come back to the struggle without fear. And without fear, people can do amazing things.
