Of simplicity and simpletons
Commentary
We have a prejudice in favor of things complex. Not that we necessarily desire complexity, but somehow we trust it more. We figure that complexity is the prevailing reality in our world, and so we feel obliged to be in touch with it. We would love to hear that this thing or that is really quite simple, but doctors, politicians, futurists, ethicists, economists -- and even some preachers -- keep discouraging us. It's actually quite complicated, we are told, and there is no simple answer.
In our world, complexity is exalted over simplicity. The person who offers a simple solution is the person who has not grasped the complexity of the problem. Complex organisms are more highly evolved than simple ones. "Go Fish" is simple; chess is complex.
In response, we continually fall into the trap -- both as individuals and as institutions -- of making things too complicated. No one wants to be the simpleton who falls for the simple solution.
Much of the teaching of scripture, however, is really quite simple. As such, it meets with disdain in the world. But that simplicity, we discover, is the wisdom of God.
Micah 6:1-8
As a rule, prophets appear in the land like white blood cells; their presence is not the problem, but it indicates a problem. This particular prophet, Micah, appeared on the scene in the ninth century, which was the age of the great judgment prophets (Isaiah and Micah in the south, Amos and Hosea in the north). Their presence indicates a problem, and the problem exists in the relationship between God and his people (both Israel and Judah).
From time to time, we take our relationship troubles to some outside arbiter. The husband and wife see a marriage counselor, or perhaps, they end up before a judge in family court. The dissatisfied player and his team enter binding arbitration. Two countries engaged in peace talks or negotiations invite an impartial third-party into the process to help. And so, here in the message of Micah, God takes his issues with his people to an outside observer. Who is available for such a post? The mountains and the foundations of the earth are invited to hear the case between God and his people.
The people had abandoned God, and so he begins making his case by asking what he had done wrong, how he had in any way mistreated them. In his own defense, God reminds the people what he had done for them in the past, and specifically rehearses for them some of the details from their salvation history -- events recorded particularly in Exodus and Numbers.
It's an interesting tactic for God to take. It is surely his prerogative to insist on his will and to recite his people's guilt. Instead, he condescends to reason with the people, even to beg them. Rather than firing a barrage of what the people have done wrong, God asks instead what he has done wrong. The answer, of course, is nothing, which makes it an effective device. But God's approach is more than a strategy; it is a symbol. It represents to his people the nature of his love for them and his primary desire to restore a right relationship with them.
As the text reads, God's case elicits a human response. It is not attributed to any particular human being, it is written in the first-person singular, and as such does not seem to represent the response of the nation as a whole. Perhaps Micah is suggesting what our right and reasonable response to God's word ought to be in this case. Micah proposes what the people should say much like the mother who coaches a "Thank you" out of her child by asking, "What do you say?"
The proposed human response is a poetic and heartfelt series of questions expressing the bewilderment of a penitent human being wondering what to do next. It is Isaiah's "woe is me" (6:5) in the presence of God's glory and holiness. It is the prodigal son in the moments before he formulates his plan to return home.
Then Micah adds a third voice -- presumably his own -- to the passage. If the first verses are God speaking, and the middle verses are spoken by some imagined representative of the people, then the final verses are the prophet's words. He refers to God in the third person and to human beings in the second person. He is the priest on the other side of the confessional booth, encouraging the lost soul in the way.
The final verse of this passage, of course, is arguably the most familiar part of the prophet Micah's book. Indeed, I expect we have folks in our churches who couldn't tell you or me a thing about Micah, but who could fill in the blanks if we said, "What does the Lord require of you but to...."
Micah's response about simple, godly living stands in deliberate contrast to an emphasis on ritual. It is reminiscent of passages from some of Micah's contemporaries (see Isaiah 1:10-17; 58:1-7; Amos 5:21-25), Samuel's terse correction of Saul (1 Samuel 15:22), and numerous teachings and sayings of Jesus that elevate living with integrity above superficial religiosity and acts of piety that are unaccompanied by real charity, compassion, and justice.
1 Corinthians 1:18-31
In The Poseidon Adventure, the 1972 disaster movie about a group of passengers trying to survive and escape a capsized luxury ocean liner, there is an eerie scene where two groups of would-be survivors cross paths. The one group -- the one that the audience follows through the movie and the one that ultimately survives -- is traveling a corridor going one way. The other, equally determined group, however, is pursuing a different route down a perpendicular corridor. In the end, we realize that this other group's chosen course was doomed.
The two groups briefly see one another in passing, and they make their appeals to each another. But no one from either group changes course. In each case, the one group's plan of escape seems like nonsense to the other group. It appears that the course chosen by the people who ultimately survived was "foolishness to those who are perishing." To those who took the right course, however, it was their salvation.
So it is that Paul, like us, encounters the world around him and discovers a strange antagonism to the gospel. It is good news and it is salvation, yet it is treated so often as irrelevant nonsense. "To us who are being saved," it is precious and life-changing, and so we are surprised and confused by the world's indifference or opposition to it, but Paul explains the disconnect here.
The Apostle Paul summarizes what different folks look for. The "Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom."
We surely see the Jews' demand for signs in the gospel accounts of Jesus' life and ministry. The crowds follow -- indeed, pursue -- Jesus the miracle-worker all over Galilee because of his signs (such as John 6:2). He often discourages those who have benefited from his miracles from telling about them, though no one seems to cooperate. The crowds are especially drawn to the possibilities they see when Jesus fed the 5,000 (John 6:14-15). Herod was spectator-curious to see some sign from Jesus (Luke 23:8). Jesus repeatedly chided the people of his day for demanding or needing a sign (such as Mark 8:11-12; John 6:2). And signs were important enough to the people that it became a problem for Jesus' opponents (John 11:47-48).
Since the spotlight of scripture is on the Jews rather than the Greeks, we do not see so much biblical evidence of their characteristic quest for wisdom (although Acts does make an almost scornful reference to their fondness for new ideas in 17:21). Even without the testimony of scripture, however, the ancient Greeks' love of wisdom -- our word "philosophy" comes from a compound Greek word meaning "lover of wisdom" -- is legendary.
Paul's world was divided into those two camps -- Jews and Greeks -- and each had its own thing for which it was looking. I wonder if our world is so easily and neatly divided. I wonder if we have people whose desires correspond to those cited by Paul when considering the Jews and the Greeks. And, I wonder if how we, in American Christianity, do evangelism and worship reflects our efforts to meet those different desires.
Is our Christian apologetics for the "Greeks"? Is our experiential worship for the "Jews"? Are we still, like Paul, taking the gospel to folks who either want to be persuaded or shown? Either folks who need to grasp it with their minds or folks who need to see it with their eyes?
Paul has sized up his audiences: He knows what each one is looking for. What does God provide in response to those audiences? Just this: the message of Christ crucified, which Paul admits is "foolishness to the Greeks" and "a stumbling block to the Jews."
In other places and many settings, Paul endeavors to prove Christ to both Jews and Gentiles. For the present, however, he is willing to concede that the message of the cross is an unwelcome misfit in both groups. Yet still, he insists, there is a higher order.
The cross may be foolishness, but it is God's foolishness, and that trumps even the best human wisdom. The cross may seem like weakness, but it is God's weakness, and that dwarfs all human strength. Perhaps, by way of analogy, Paul is saying, "That star in the night sky may look small and faint to you here on earth, but in reality it is bigger and brighter than anything you've ever seen!" So, too, with Christ and the cross. At a distance, from the perspective of this world, it seems foolish and weak. Once we come to know it up close and personal, however, it outshines all else.
Matthew 5:1-12
My recollection is that I saw the "Beatitudes" in churches a lot when I was a child. They were displayed in hallways, parlors, and Sunday school rooms. Perhaps the Ten Commandments were somewhat more common in the classrooms, but the "Beatitudes" appeared more frequently in the other, social parts of the church. I remember them being a favorite subject of needlepoint, and I recall them often being accompanied by some very peaceful portrait of Jesus teaching on a green hillside, perhaps with children near at hand.
Now that I read the "Beatitudes" as an adult, however, I think that they should be accompanied by a portrait that is upside down.
The music of a song ought to fit the lyrics. I wonder, therefore, what sort of tune we would choose to accompany the lyrics of the "Beatitudes." The pictures that I associate with the passage from my childhood suggest almost a lullaby, but I think the music ought to be much more disturbing. The recurring motif of "blessed" is surely a tranquil start to each movement, but it is so often followed by a kind of harsh discord: poor in spirit, hunger and thirst, persecution, reviling, and all kinds of evil. And, as the inharmonious elements crescendo, they are matched by a swell of bold and joyful chords, climaxing with a great "rejoice and be glad."
The "Beatitudes" have a deliberately upside-down quality to them, for Jesus is inviting a kind of kingdom re-think. From the categories of people who are commendable (the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers) to experiences that are downright undesirable (mourning, persecution, having evil spoken falsely against one), Jesus is encouraging a reevaluation of just who in this world is truly blessed, who is happy, who is fortunate, and so on.
That is a recurring challenge in Jesus' teaching, of course. The "first will be last" theme (such as Matthew 19:30; 20:16; Mark 9:35), the story of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31), and the repeated invitation to humility and servitude (Matthew 18:4; Mark 10:43; John 13:12-16) all encourage Jesus' followers to turn the world's paradigm upside down. The broader context for that paradigm shift is the kingdom of God.
The theme of God's kingdom is central to Jesus' teachings, and that kingdom exists both in the midst of, and in contrast to, this world. So much of what follows the "Beatitudes" in Jesus' ethical teachings contained in the "Sermon on the Mount" reflect the dramatic contrast between how this world works and how kingdom-living works. The "Beatitudes" serve as an introduction to that contrast, for they turn the assumptions of the present world upside down.
The passage we call the "Beatitudes" consists of nine "blessed are" statements. Six of the nine (poor in spirit, meek, hunger and thirst for righteousness, merciful, pure in heart, and peacemakers) relate to what qualities should characterize kingdom people. The other three (mourn, persecuted, and reviled plus) relate to the experiences of kingdom people in this world.
"Blessed" -- or, as some translations have it, "happy" -- seems like nonsense in several contexts. Happy are the poor in spirit? Happy are those who mourn? Happy are those who are persecuted? It seems strange that such twaddle should be widely displayed in church hallways, parlors, and classrooms. But what seems like nonsense to the world is the experience and testimony of the kingdom.
In his 1990 album, For the Sake of the Call, Christian singer and songwriter Steven Curtis Chapman marveled at the improbable and inexplicable joy of a Christian: "What kind of joy is this / That counts it a blessing to suffer / What kind of joy is this / That gives the prisoner his song / What kind of joy could stare death in the face / And see it as sweet victory / This is the joy of a soul that's forgiven and free."
So it is that there is a promised reward and an abiding joy for kingdom people. Some of the characteristics -- meek, pure in heart, peacemaker -- may not be the keys to getting ahead in this world, but they have a sure reward in the kingdom. And blessing is guaranteed in such unexpected places as mourning, persecution, and unfair, undeserved mistreatment.
Most of the statements -- the first eight -- are third-person references. When Jesus arrives at the final statement, however, he makes it personal: "Blessed are you...." It is both more personal and more elaborate. While all of the other statements are simple and brief, this final, personalized statement is much longer and more detailed. The trebled layering of images -- "revile you," "persecute you," "utter all kinds of evil against you" -- is reminiscent of the Hebrew poetry found in the Psalms. It also has the effect of making the statement emphatic.
The other personalization of the final beatitude is that Jesus introduces himself into the picture, too. Just as it is the first occurrence of "you," it is also the first occurrence of "my" in the "Beatitudes." The prior statement (v. 10) about being persecuted was "for righteousness' sake," but here (v. 11) it is persecution "on my account." So it is that our kingdom living is, ultimately, very personal business. It is not theoretical and detached. Rather, it is us for him and us with him.
Application
The final verse of the Micah passage is a monument to simplicity. In our despair over our own sinfulness, in the midst of being overwhelmed by all the requirements of the law, Micah distills godly living down to three simple statements: "to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God."
Six-hundred-and-some commandments I cannot remember. Layers and centuries of interpretation and application is more than I can digest. But these three, simple keys I can remember, I can understand, and I can repeat.
When it is all boiled down, we discover that it is really quite simple. Not easy, but simple. Not simplistic, but simple. And, it is the wisdom of God.
But the world does not understand and recognize the wisdom of God.
In our discussion of the "Beatitudes," we noted that perhaps they should be accompanied by a picture that is upside down, for that is how the "Beatitudes" -- and, for that matter, the kingdom -- seem in this world. In the end, however, we will discover that it was God's way that was right-side-up all along. It is this world that has lost its compass and doesn't know which way is up.
Paul, too, recognizes that this confused world scoffs at the wisdom of God. But that scoffing does not deny or refute it.
It has been said that, when it comes to great masterpieces, we do not judge the art; the art judges us. If I raise an eyebrow at Mozart or question the talent of Michelangelo, they are not diminished; rather, my taste and judgment are shown to be poor.
Likewise, the world's failure to grasp and embrace the wisdom and word of God is not a reflection on God. It is a reflection on the world.
"He has told you, O mortal, what is good" (Micah 6:8). It may seem simple. It may seem upside down. It may seem foolish and weak. But when we get it up close and personal, it is the biggest and brightest thing we've ever seen.
An Alternative Application
Micah 6:1-8. The Micah lection cuts to the heart of how we, as the people of God, ought to live. What is our motivation for doing what we do? What animates us? What are our guidelines, our governing principles?
In our fallen condition, we are motivated by selfish things -- the appetites of our bodies and the cravings of our egos. Remnant traces of the image in which we were originally created urge us higher, and we find that we are sometimes motivated by love, compassion, or justice. We are motivated to do some things for others even when there is no benefit to ourselves.
The passage from Micah, meanwhile, calls us to a still higher pair of motivations. Motivations that originate with God rather than with self. At the end of the passage, there is the issue of what God demands -- "What does the Lord require of you...?" (v. 8). And, perhaps somewhat obscured at the beginning of the passage, there is the lovely issue of what God deserves -- "What have I done to you? In what have I wearied you?" (v. 3).
Let me make these my sweet and simple guidelines. Let me be animated and motivated by these: What my holy God demands, and what my loving, saving God deserves.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 15
Psalm 15 is called the liturgy for admission to the temple. It is typical that the answer is in the form of an adjusted decalogue. The Ten Commandments are still valid, but they were added and altered here and there. For instance, verse 5 talks about the prohibition of interest. We should think of a charitable loan for the relief of those who, through no fault of their own, are down and out. This is not an injunction against a business loan of a later, commercial age. The psalms were written within the covenant community to members of that community. "Real" estate meant land and not money to them. The unfortunate are bound with others in the covenant community. They should learn to support themselves. The psalm is an injunction against taking advantage of the less fortunate. It is an injunction against the poor getting poorer and the rich getting richer.
The liturgical dialogue in Psalm 15 asks the question of our sojourning in the tent of God. Because of the shortness of the psalm, we are more than ever obliged to listen to each word. Sojourning is a reference to the fact that we ask God for his hospitality. God is the host in his house. What kind of a person shall his guest be? Then comes the specific priestly answer. If you look behind those answers, it is our kinship to God which defines our worthiness. We must be like Christ, our Lord, to be worthy of being his guests. The requirements of this version of the decalogue are not inclusive, but they are typical. They all ask for our complete participation. We are to be like God and are to be obliged to members of the covenant community.
We are secure in God. How do we arrive at this security? We do not seek to harm our neighbor. We refuse to praise the scoundrel. We love those who serve God. We will swear and tell the truth even if it hurts us. We are not in love with money, but we think more of persons and their fate. In summary, God's true worshiper will not show himself to be partial to a person who offers a bribe to betray the innocent. Such high standards are given as the standards of the covenant community; only people who perform are willing and able to worship in truth.
The significance of Psalm 15 is given by the theme: "How to become a guest in God's house." Our psalm in very few verses tells us how an adherent to the covenant community must behave. The standards are high, and in our proclamation we must tell our people that right actions and voicing the right words go together. We cannot worship without action, and it is action under God that counts.
In our world, complexity is exalted over simplicity. The person who offers a simple solution is the person who has not grasped the complexity of the problem. Complex organisms are more highly evolved than simple ones. "Go Fish" is simple; chess is complex.
In response, we continually fall into the trap -- both as individuals and as institutions -- of making things too complicated. No one wants to be the simpleton who falls for the simple solution.
Much of the teaching of scripture, however, is really quite simple. As such, it meets with disdain in the world. But that simplicity, we discover, is the wisdom of God.
Micah 6:1-8
As a rule, prophets appear in the land like white blood cells; their presence is not the problem, but it indicates a problem. This particular prophet, Micah, appeared on the scene in the ninth century, which was the age of the great judgment prophets (Isaiah and Micah in the south, Amos and Hosea in the north). Their presence indicates a problem, and the problem exists in the relationship between God and his people (both Israel and Judah).
From time to time, we take our relationship troubles to some outside arbiter. The husband and wife see a marriage counselor, or perhaps, they end up before a judge in family court. The dissatisfied player and his team enter binding arbitration. Two countries engaged in peace talks or negotiations invite an impartial third-party into the process to help. And so, here in the message of Micah, God takes his issues with his people to an outside observer. Who is available for such a post? The mountains and the foundations of the earth are invited to hear the case between God and his people.
The people had abandoned God, and so he begins making his case by asking what he had done wrong, how he had in any way mistreated them. In his own defense, God reminds the people what he had done for them in the past, and specifically rehearses for them some of the details from their salvation history -- events recorded particularly in Exodus and Numbers.
It's an interesting tactic for God to take. It is surely his prerogative to insist on his will and to recite his people's guilt. Instead, he condescends to reason with the people, even to beg them. Rather than firing a barrage of what the people have done wrong, God asks instead what he has done wrong. The answer, of course, is nothing, which makes it an effective device. But God's approach is more than a strategy; it is a symbol. It represents to his people the nature of his love for them and his primary desire to restore a right relationship with them.
As the text reads, God's case elicits a human response. It is not attributed to any particular human being, it is written in the first-person singular, and as such does not seem to represent the response of the nation as a whole. Perhaps Micah is suggesting what our right and reasonable response to God's word ought to be in this case. Micah proposes what the people should say much like the mother who coaches a "Thank you" out of her child by asking, "What do you say?"
The proposed human response is a poetic and heartfelt series of questions expressing the bewilderment of a penitent human being wondering what to do next. It is Isaiah's "woe is me" (6:5) in the presence of God's glory and holiness. It is the prodigal son in the moments before he formulates his plan to return home.
Then Micah adds a third voice -- presumably his own -- to the passage. If the first verses are God speaking, and the middle verses are spoken by some imagined representative of the people, then the final verses are the prophet's words. He refers to God in the third person and to human beings in the second person. He is the priest on the other side of the confessional booth, encouraging the lost soul in the way.
The final verse of this passage, of course, is arguably the most familiar part of the prophet Micah's book. Indeed, I expect we have folks in our churches who couldn't tell you or me a thing about Micah, but who could fill in the blanks if we said, "What does the Lord require of you but to...."
Micah's response about simple, godly living stands in deliberate contrast to an emphasis on ritual. It is reminiscent of passages from some of Micah's contemporaries (see Isaiah 1:10-17; 58:1-7; Amos 5:21-25), Samuel's terse correction of Saul (1 Samuel 15:22), and numerous teachings and sayings of Jesus that elevate living with integrity above superficial religiosity and acts of piety that are unaccompanied by real charity, compassion, and justice.
1 Corinthians 1:18-31
In The Poseidon Adventure, the 1972 disaster movie about a group of passengers trying to survive and escape a capsized luxury ocean liner, there is an eerie scene where two groups of would-be survivors cross paths. The one group -- the one that the audience follows through the movie and the one that ultimately survives -- is traveling a corridor going one way. The other, equally determined group, however, is pursuing a different route down a perpendicular corridor. In the end, we realize that this other group's chosen course was doomed.
The two groups briefly see one another in passing, and they make their appeals to each another. But no one from either group changes course. In each case, the one group's plan of escape seems like nonsense to the other group. It appears that the course chosen by the people who ultimately survived was "foolishness to those who are perishing." To those who took the right course, however, it was their salvation.
So it is that Paul, like us, encounters the world around him and discovers a strange antagonism to the gospel. It is good news and it is salvation, yet it is treated so often as irrelevant nonsense. "To us who are being saved," it is precious and life-changing, and so we are surprised and confused by the world's indifference or opposition to it, but Paul explains the disconnect here.
The Apostle Paul summarizes what different folks look for. The "Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom."
We surely see the Jews' demand for signs in the gospel accounts of Jesus' life and ministry. The crowds follow -- indeed, pursue -- Jesus the miracle-worker all over Galilee because of his signs (such as John 6:2). He often discourages those who have benefited from his miracles from telling about them, though no one seems to cooperate. The crowds are especially drawn to the possibilities they see when Jesus fed the 5,000 (John 6:14-15). Herod was spectator-curious to see some sign from Jesus (Luke 23:8). Jesus repeatedly chided the people of his day for demanding or needing a sign (such as Mark 8:11-12; John 6:2). And signs were important enough to the people that it became a problem for Jesus' opponents (John 11:47-48).
Since the spotlight of scripture is on the Jews rather than the Greeks, we do not see so much biblical evidence of their characteristic quest for wisdom (although Acts does make an almost scornful reference to their fondness for new ideas in 17:21). Even without the testimony of scripture, however, the ancient Greeks' love of wisdom -- our word "philosophy" comes from a compound Greek word meaning "lover of wisdom" -- is legendary.
Paul's world was divided into those two camps -- Jews and Greeks -- and each had its own thing for which it was looking. I wonder if our world is so easily and neatly divided. I wonder if we have people whose desires correspond to those cited by Paul when considering the Jews and the Greeks. And, I wonder if how we, in American Christianity, do evangelism and worship reflects our efforts to meet those different desires.
Is our Christian apologetics for the "Greeks"? Is our experiential worship for the "Jews"? Are we still, like Paul, taking the gospel to folks who either want to be persuaded or shown? Either folks who need to grasp it with their minds or folks who need to see it with their eyes?
Paul has sized up his audiences: He knows what each one is looking for. What does God provide in response to those audiences? Just this: the message of Christ crucified, which Paul admits is "foolishness to the Greeks" and "a stumbling block to the Jews."
In other places and many settings, Paul endeavors to prove Christ to both Jews and Gentiles. For the present, however, he is willing to concede that the message of the cross is an unwelcome misfit in both groups. Yet still, he insists, there is a higher order.
The cross may be foolishness, but it is God's foolishness, and that trumps even the best human wisdom. The cross may seem like weakness, but it is God's weakness, and that dwarfs all human strength. Perhaps, by way of analogy, Paul is saying, "That star in the night sky may look small and faint to you here on earth, but in reality it is bigger and brighter than anything you've ever seen!" So, too, with Christ and the cross. At a distance, from the perspective of this world, it seems foolish and weak. Once we come to know it up close and personal, however, it outshines all else.
Matthew 5:1-12
My recollection is that I saw the "Beatitudes" in churches a lot when I was a child. They were displayed in hallways, parlors, and Sunday school rooms. Perhaps the Ten Commandments were somewhat more common in the classrooms, but the "Beatitudes" appeared more frequently in the other, social parts of the church. I remember them being a favorite subject of needlepoint, and I recall them often being accompanied by some very peaceful portrait of Jesus teaching on a green hillside, perhaps with children near at hand.
Now that I read the "Beatitudes" as an adult, however, I think that they should be accompanied by a portrait that is upside down.
The music of a song ought to fit the lyrics. I wonder, therefore, what sort of tune we would choose to accompany the lyrics of the "Beatitudes." The pictures that I associate with the passage from my childhood suggest almost a lullaby, but I think the music ought to be much more disturbing. The recurring motif of "blessed" is surely a tranquil start to each movement, but it is so often followed by a kind of harsh discord: poor in spirit, hunger and thirst, persecution, reviling, and all kinds of evil. And, as the inharmonious elements crescendo, they are matched by a swell of bold and joyful chords, climaxing with a great "rejoice and be glad."
The "Beatitudes" have a deliberately upside-down quality to them, for Jesus is inviting a kind of kingdom re-think. From the categories of people who are commendable (the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers) to experiences that are downright undesirable (mourning, persecution, having evil spoken falsely against one), Jesus is encouraging a reevaluation of just who in this world is truly blessed, who is happy, who is fortunate, and so on.
That is a recurring challenge in Jesus' teaching, of course. The "first will be last" theme (such as Matthew 19:30; 20:16; Mark 9:35), the story of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31), and the repeated invitation to humility and servitude (Matthew 18:4; Mark 10:43; John 13:12-16) all encourage Jesus' followers to turn the world's paradigm upside down. The broader context for that paradigm shift is the kingdom of God.
The theme of God's kingdom is central to Jesus' teachings, and that kingdom exists both in the midst of, and in contrast to, this world. So much of what follows the "Beatitudes" in Jesus' ethical teachings contained in the "Sermon on the Mount" reflect the dramatic contrast between how this world works and how kingdom-living works. The "Beatitudes" serve as an introduction to that contrast, for they turn the assumptions of the present world upside down.
The passage we call the "Beatitudes" consists of nine "blessed are" statements. Six of the nine (poor in spirit, meek, hunger and thirst for righteousness, merciful, pure in heart, and peacemakers) relate to what qualities should characterize kingdom people. The other three (mourn, persecuted, and reviled plus) relate to the experiences of kingdom people in this world.
"Blessed" -- or, as some translations have it, "happy" -- seems like nonsense in several contexts. Happy are the poor in spirit? Happy are those who mourn? Happy are those who are persecuted? It seems strange that such twaddle should be widely displayed in church hallways, parlors, and classrooms. But what seems like nonsense to the world is the experience and testimony of the kingdom.
In his 1990 album, For the Sake of the Call, Christian singer and songwriter Steven Curtis Chapman marveled at the improbable and inexplicable joy of a Christian: "What kind of joy is this / That counts it a blessing to suffer / What kind of joy is this / That gives the prisoner his song / What kind of joy could stare death in the face / And see it as sweet victory / This is the joy of a soul that's forgiven and free."
So it is that there is a promised reward and an abiding joy for kingdom people. Some of the characteristics -- meek, pure in heart, peacemaker -- may not be the keys to getting ahead in this world, but they have a sure reward in the kingdom. And blessing is guaranteed in such unexpected places as mourning, persecution, and unfair, undeserved mistreatment.
Most of the statements -- the first eight -- are third-person references. When Jesus arrives at the final statement, however, he makes it personal: "Blessed are you...." It is both more personal and more elaborate. While all of the other statements are simple and brief, this final, personalized statement is much longer and more detailed. The trebled layering of images -- "revile you," "persecute you," "utter all kinds of evil against you" -- is reminiscent of the Hebrew poetry found in the Psalms. It also has the effect of making the statement emphatic.
The other personalization of the final beatitude is that Jesus introduces himself into the picture, too. Just as it is the first occurrence of "you," it is also the first occurrence of "my" in the "Beatitudes." The prior statement (v. 10) about being persecuted was "for righteousness' sake," but here (v. 11) it is persecution "on my account." So it is that our kingdom living is, ultimately, very personal business. It is not theoretical and detached. Rather, it is us for him and us with him.
Application
The final verse of the Micah passage is a monument to simplicity. In our despair over our own sinfulness, in the midst of being overwhelmed by all the requirements of the law, Micah distills godly living down to three simple statements: "to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God."
Six-hundred-and-some commandments I cannot remember. Layers and centuries of interpretation and application is more than I can digest. But these three, simple keys I can remember, I can understand, and I can repeat.
When it is all boiled down, we discover that it is really quite simple. Not easy, but simple. Not simplistic, but simple. And, it is the wisdom of God.
But the world does not understand and recognize the wisdom of God.
In our discussion of the "Beatitudes," we noted that perhaps they should be accompanied by a picture that is upside down, for that is how the "Beatitudes" -- and, for that matter, the kingdom -- seem in this world. In the end, however, we will discover that it was God's way that was right-side-up all along. It is this world that has lost its compass and doesn't know which way is up.
Paul, too, recognizes that this confused world scoffs at the wisdom of God. But that scoffing does not deny or refute it.
It has been said that, when it comes to great masterpieces, we do not judge the art; the art judges us. If I raise an eyebrow at Mozart or question the talent of Michelangelo, they are not diminished; rather, my taste and judgment are shown to be poor.
Likewise, the world's failure to grasp and embrace the wisdom and word of God is not a reflection on God. It is a reflection on the world.
"He has told you, O mortal, what is good" (Micah 6:8). It may seem simple. It may seem upside down. It may seem foolish and weak. But when we get it up close and personal, it is the biggest and brightest thing we've ever seen.
An Alternative Application
Micah 6:1-8. The Micah lection cuts to the heart of how we, as the people of God, ought to live. What is our motivation for doing what we do? What animates us? What are our guidelines, our governing principles?
In our fallen condition, we are motivated by selfish things -- the appetites of our bodies and the cravings of our egos. Remnant traces of the image in which we were originally created urge us higher, and we find that we are sometimes motivated by love, compassion, or justice. We are motivated to do some things for others even when there is no benefit to ourselves.
The passage from Micah, meanwhile, calls us to a still higher pair of motivations. Motivations that originate with God rather than with self. At the end of the passage, there is the issue of what God demands -- "What does the Lord require of you...?" (v. 8). And, perhaps somewhat obscured at the beginning of the passage, there is the lovely issue of what God deserves -- "What have I done to you? In what have I wearied you?" (v. 3).
Let me make these my sweet and simple guidelines. Let me be animated and motivated by these: What my holy God demands, and what my loving, saving God deserves.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 15
Psalm 15 is called the liturgy for admission to the temple. It is typical that the answer is in the form of an adjusted decalogue. The Ten Commandments are still valid, but they were added and altered here and there. For instance, verse 5 talks about the prohibition of interest. We should think of a charitable loan for the relief of those who, through no fault of their own, are down and out. This is not an injunction against a business loan of a later, commercial age. The psalms were written within the covenant community to members of that community. "Real" estate meant land and not money to them. The unfortunate are bound with others in the covenant community. They should learn to support themselves. The psalm is an injunction against taking advantage of the less fortunate. It is an injunction against the poor getting poorer and the rich getting richer.
The liturgical dialogue in Psalm 15 asks the question of our sojourning in the tent of God. Because of the shortness of the psalm, we are more than ever obliged to listen to each word. Sojourning is a reference to the fact that we ask God for his hospitality. God is the host in his house. What kind of a person shall his guest be? Then comes the specific priestly answer. If you look behind those answers, it is our kinship to God which defines our worthiness. We must be like Christ, our Lord, to be worthy of being his guests. The requirements of this version of the decalogue are not inclusive, but they are typical. They all ask for our complete participation. We are to be like God and are to be obliged to members of the covenant community.
We are secure in God. How do we arrive at this security? We do not seek to harm our neighbor. We refuse to praise the scoundrel. We love those who serve God. We will swear and tell the truth even if it hurts us. We are not in love with money, but we think more of persons and their fate. In summary, God's true worshiper will not show himself to be partial to a person who offers a bribe to betray the innocent. Such high standards are given as the standards of the covenant community; only people who perform are willing and able to worship in truth.
The significance of Psalm 15 is given by the theme: "How to become a guest in God's house." Our psalm in very few verses tells us how an adherent to the covenant community must behave. The standards are high, and in our proclamation we must tell our people that right actions and voicing the right words go together. We cannot worship without action, and it is action under God that counts.
