Something old, something new
Commentary
Object:
Human beings have an interesting relationship to old and new. We feel nostalgic about the old and hesitate to let it go, but we get very excited about the new and are eager to have it.
The child doesn't want to give up the old toy, doll, or blanket that is tattered by so much day-in-and-day-out love, yet she is eager to get the newest toy being advertised on TV or displayed in the store windows. Traditionally, the bride has with her "something old and something new" on her wedding day. Each New Year we sing the age-old counsel, "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, the other gold."
Meanwhile, even in the midst of all the excitement that accompanies some "new" thing, I am reminded of the sober judgment of Ecclesiastes: "What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun" (Ecclesiastes 1:9). I cannot follow that ancient author to every conclusion he reaches, but he has a case to make about there being nothing new under the sun.
A segment of the population lined up outside the doors every time a new installment of the Harry Potter series came out. Yet it wasn't really something new; it was just the latest version of something old. Indeed, that was its appeal -- that it was the latest version of something already familiar. Was the first installment so heralded as the seventh? Likewise, with each "new" version of Microsoft Windows, each "new" model produced by Boeing, and each "new" invention by Dyson.
In truth, very few things can be called new. Honestly, we human beings are better customers for the more common phenomenon -- that is, the latest version of something old -- because it suits our divided allegiance to old things and new things.
In our three lections for this week, we bear witness to the God who makes all things new (Revelation 21:5). And we discover the particular beauty found in the truth that his "new" is a perfected version of something "old."
Acts 11:1-18
Chapter 11 follows chapter 10. That may seem too obvious to bother mentioning, but it is an important detail in this instance. Peter is reporting to the church in Jerusalem what he has just seen, experienced, and learned. The experiences that he recounts are reported to us in detail in chapter 10.
To understand the context of this passage, we must begin by recognizing that Jerusalem was the headquarters of the early church. That's where the apostles were (Acts 8:1), that's where decisions were made (Acts 15:1-2), and that's where authority resided (e.g., Acts 8:14-15; 11:22; 12:25; 15:2). It is to this uniquely important church that Peter returns to give his report.
The issue at hand was the phenomenon of Gentile Christians. That doesn't sound like much of a phenomenon to us, of course, since nearly everyone in most of our congregations is non-Jewish. But to the church of Acts 11 -- perhaps only a decade removed from the ascension of Jesus -- the Gentile Christian was still a brand-new phenomenon. Frankly, the church was uncertain what to do about it.
It requires a real exercise of the imagination to climb back into the throes of a conundrum once it was been resolved. That is the task for our congregations this Sunday in considering this passage: trying to understand all the fuss in the early church surrounding Gentile believers.
That fuss is expressed here in one sentence: "So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him, saying, 'Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?' " But the fuss persisted beyond this episode, causing trouble in Antioch (Acts 15:1-2), famously in Galatia (e.g., Galatians 5:7-12), and perhaps also in Philippi (Philippians 3:2-3).
The battle had several fronts: theological, cultural, historical, and ethnic. And who can see or say with clarity where doctrine leaves off and prejudice begins, where tradition is mistaken for truth, or where our way has become synonymous with God's way? Suffice it to say that, for the most earnest and unadulterated antagonists in this ongoing debate within the early church, there was a genuine, theological concern: namely, if the Jewish law is the expression of God's guidance and the revelation of his will for holy living, then are not Christians obliged to obey it?
For as long as the Christian believers were all Jewish, there was not much to debate. Indeed, the issue of the law's relevance to the Christian might not have been adequately explored. What about these Gentile converts -- men and women who had not grown up observing the law of Moses? Shouldn't they be instructed in that law and initiated in their observance of it by circumcision of the males?
Peter's response to the entire issue -- both here and at the Jerusalem Council in Acts 15 -- is simply that of a bystander who has witnessed God's activity. He does not reason from his head or conjure up his own theological policies. Rather, he simply reports what he saw God do.
First, there was the vision from God on the rooftop, with its obtuse message and dawning meaning. Second, there was the coincidence of the visitors from Cornelius' house, sent by an angel. Then, most dramatically, there was the sending of the Holy Spirit upon the Gentiles, even before they were baptized (let along circumcised).
Peter's conclusion? "What was I that I could hinder God?" It was a most sensible verdict. People through the ages could have spared themselves a great deal of grief if they had adopted the same attitude.
Though the theological issues surrounding Christian Gentiles continued to trouble the church and dog Paul's ministry, for this moment, at least, there was happy resolution. After hearing Peter's full report, the critics were silenced. And, in the end, "They praised God, saying, 'Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.' " Jonah, we recall, was not so pleased by the Ninevites' salvation (Jonah 4:1-3). These Jewish Christians in Jerusalem deserve some credit, therefore, for their joyful response to God's work among a different group of people.
Revelation 21:1-6
Ask the average churchgoer what the book of Revelation is about; he or she will likely respond, "It's about the end of time." A perusal of this ultimate chapter from Revelation, however, prompts us to think again. Is this book about the end, or is it about the beginning?
Right at the start of the passage, John reports the sight of a "new heaven" and of a "new earth." Shortly after, he witnesses the delivery of the "new Jerusalem." And then, toward the end of the passage, John hears the Lord declare, "See, I am making all things new." The book is about endings, to be sure, and we will observe that part of the truth in a moment. For our starting place, however, we should proclaim to our people that Revelation is a starting place, not just an ending place.
The new beginnings reported in Revelation do not just reveal God's plan; they also reveal his character. For the very fact that he plans a universal fresh start is a testimony to his mercy and his grace.
Meanwhile, our selected lection also makes clear that the new beginnings require the ending of old things. "The first things have passed away," John reports, and we do well to list those things that are itemized in our passage. "The first heaven and the first earth" are among the things that pass away. Likewise, the sea, "the first things," every tear, death, mourning, crying, and pain all "will be no more."
Here, too, we meet with the mercy and grace of God. By ourselves, you and I cannot put an end to such things as tears, death, mourning, and pain. The Lord knows we have devised a great many techniques -- some of them quite counterproductive -- to try to steer ourselves clear of such unpleasantness. For as much as we say that we hate death and pain, human beings seems to create more of it, not less.
The people of God could not have taken down Jericho's walls (Joshua 6), scared off the Assyrians (2 Kings 19), or rolled away the stone (Mark 16:1-4) by themselves, but all these were eliminated by God. So, too, feeble humanity cannot rid itself or the world of sin's terrible ripples, but God can. And God will. He will bring all these horrors to an end, even as he launches a perfect new beginning.
The real beauty of that new beginning, meanwhile, is not found in that which has passed away or that which has been made new. Rather, the profound excellence of what is promised and envisioned in this passage is the immediate presence of God. "See, the home of God is among mortals," the voice declares. It is an astonishing headline. The same God whose Son "lived among us" (John 1:14) in the temporary mission of the incarnation now "will dwell with them" as a permanent arrangement. "They will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them." Once again, this promise is proof of the amazing grace of God.
Ask the congregation the question again: "What is the book of Revelation about?" They say it's about the end. Yes, it is. But it is also about a beginning. Through it all, it is manifestly about God's grace.
John 13:31-35
Our gospel lection is brief, but features three distinct themes. First, Jesus speaks about glory and being glorified. Second, he talks about leaving. Third, he teaches about loving. We will consider all three themes.
We are surprised by the tense of Jesus' verbs when he talks about glory. "Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him," he declares. Take it out of context and ask the average person, "When do you suppose Jesus made this statement?" I imagine that most folks would guess Easter. Perhaps a few might think of his baptism or the Transfiguration. But this is an improbable scene: Judas has just left the room to betray Jesus, and "now the Son of Man has been glorified"?
New Testament scholar R.V.G. Tasker sees no contradiction here. "The passion of the Son of Man," Tasker argues, "is the most splendid expression that the world can ever see of God's love for humankind." Consequently, inasmuch as the unhindered departure of Judas marks the beginning of that passion, Tasker sees this moment as one of glory for both the Father and the Son.
The second prominent theme in this passage is the expressed prospect of Jesus leaving. "I am with you only a little longer," Jesus affectionately tells his companions. Given the context, we are inclined to think that Jesus refers to his death. In just a few hours, after all, he would be arrested, and by that same time the next day, he would be dead and buried. The sadness that he anticipates in them regarding his departure makes us think of the death he is about to suffer and the confused grief they are about to experience.
A broader examination of the material, however, suggests a different picture. Jesus makes multiple other references to "going" during this Last Supper discourse in John (13:3; 14:4-6, 12, 28; 16:5-10, 28), but they do not add up to a picture of his death and burial. On the contrary, the overwhelming sense of these "going" sayings is that Jesus is going to his Father. We typically associate that more with his ascension than his death, but this is consistent with the broader tone of the fourth gospel. John's is the most serene and victorious portrayal of Jesus' death, and so at the Last Supper Jesus appears to be looking past his passion to his exaltation. Such a mindset is captured by the writer of Hebrews when he says of Jesus that "for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God" (Hebrews 12:2).
The third theme is the new commandment (from which, incidentally, Maundy Thursday gets its distinctive name). At first blush, the commandment may not seem new at all, for the commandment to love appears both earlier in Jesus' ministry (Matthew 22:34-40) and earlier in scripture (Leviticus 19:18). Where, then, is the newness? It must either be in the intramural emphasis (i.e., "one another" rather than "your neighbor") or in the standard for love ("as I have loved you" rather than "as you love yourself").
Within the context, the intramural element should not be discounted. Surely the messages of the Last Supper discourse are primarily "in house," and the behavior of the believers toward one another is an element of these teachings (13:14-15; 15:12, 17 cf.). The primary newness of this commandment, however, is not who shares this love but rather who models this love. "As I have loved you" -- this is the operative element in this love command. To love you as I love myself is a tall order, to be sure, but to love you as Jesus has love me is of an entirely different magnitude. We will explore that magnitude a bit more below.
Application
In our consideration of each of the passages assigned to this week, we observed the theme of newness.
The scene from Revelation dripped with newness. The new heaven, new earth, and new Jerusalem are all explicitly identified. Beyond them, there is the broad promise that God is making all things new.
The brief passage from John's gospel, meanwhile, features the "new commandment" that Jesus gave to his disciples. It doesn't occupy a lot of space, but it occupies an important place in our remembrance of the occasion and in our understanding of Christian living.
Finally, the episode from the book of Acts does not make explicit reference to something "new," yet something new is at the very heart of the story. Indeed, there is only a controversy to be resolved because of that something new. Peter has followed God's lead in doing a new thing: Welcoming uncircumcised Gentiles into the body of Christ, and seemingly changing all the old definitions about what is unclean, who is acceptable, and what God requires.
As we look more carefully at this prevailing theme of newness, we discover a happy pattern: namely, that God is, in each case, simply offering a perfected version of something old. Or, as we are accustomed to hearing in our advertising, "new and improved."
The principle is most explicit in Revelation. What specific things are identified as new? Heaven, earth, and Jerusalem. These are all things that already exist. They have already been part of God's plan and God's work in the past. Now, however, he is issuing new (and perfect) versions of each.
Likewise, the commandment to love is not altogether new. As we noted above, it goes back in Jesus' own teaching, and it goes all the way back to the Old Testament law. Yet this love is a new version of the old model. And this love -- the way he has loved us -- is the perfect version.
Then there is the episode from Acts. In truth, the old principles remain in place: namely, that God has a covenant people, among and through whom he intends to do his work. But now that people is broadened. Indeed, it has become all-inclusive, which is his perfect picture (Genesis 12:3; Isaiah 2:2; Jeremiah 3:17). So the church is revealed as the new version of the covenant people of God.
We love that which is old. We love that which is new. Here is a great testimony to God's love and redeeming grace: that he takes what is old and makes it new. Including us (2 Corinthians 5:17).
Alternative Application
John 13:31-35. "A Lesson in Love." Is there a subject that has inspired more novels and movies, more poems and songs, than love? Is there a part of life that brings more joy or causes more grief than love? Is there a greater factor of our emotional health, our sense of well-being, and our personal fulfillment than love?
In the day-to-day routine, we may not give love the prominence it deserves. When we're seeing life clearly, though, we recognize that love -- and our love relationships -- ranks higher than anything else in our lives.
That human experience should resonate very naturally, therefore, with the gospel emphasis on love. Love is presented as the greatest commandment for human beings (Matthew 22:34-40) and the quintessential attribute of God (1 John 4:8). Here, in this climactic set of teachings from Jesus, we discover that love is our new commandment (v. 34) and our distinctive hallmark (v. 35).
The irony with human beings is that, while love is so essential and so fundamental, we are not necessarily very good at it. So much defective love, vacillating love, conditional love, and counterfeit love is foisted upon people in their human relationships, and then we perpetuate our dysfunctions from one generation to the next. We need the author of love -- indeed, the one who is love -- to come and tutor us in this universal basic.
Near the culmination of his lifelong lesson, the tutor gives his final assignment to his students. "It's time for you to love one another," he says, "and now you know how to do it. For you should do it just the way that I have loved you."
It is worth our meditation, individually and collectively, to consider just how he has loved us. Then let us turn around and apply that to our fellowship and our families, to our neighbors and coworkers. For when we love like him, it will be apparent to all that we are his.
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 148
This psalm of praise is a beautiful expression of devotion and honor. It stretches from the personal to the global and back again as the mighty deeds of the holy are extolled. It has been set to music and enacted in liturgical dance. The praises have rung out from children's choirs in New Jersey to tribal dances in Zimbabwe. These are powerful words indeed.
In singing and praising this psalm, however, and interesting question arises. Do we praise God because God needs praise? This is God, after all. The Creator of the universe: The one who has ordered the planets and set the stars in place. This is the God who has created each person and numbered the hairs on our heads. Are we to believe that this omnipotent God demands praise from us? Are we to understand that God needs our praise like some toddler requires the praise of parents so that he or she can grow up with a confident sense of self? What are we talking about here? Where does praise come from, anyway?
Most of us offer praise when we're impressed. We pat our child on the head and say, "nice job," when he takes out the garbage without spilling any on the way. We praise friends who succeed at various tasks, and we seek to shake the hands performing artists who have wowed us with their mastery of the instrument.
Does this mean that we're impressed with God? If our praise of God emerges because we think God has done a nice job, we've missed the mark. If we say, "Nice work, God. I really like those Redwood trees," and move on to the next thing that impresses us we have done more than miss the mark. We have tried to supplant God by passing judgment on God's handiwork. It's like we wander down the aisle in a department store pointing at the merchandise. "I like this, and that, and that. But I don't like this." What happens when we suddenly aren't impressed by God? What do we do when the bus full of kids slides off the road on a stormy night? Does our praise give way to criticism? Do we shake our head and remove our affirmation and support? If this is the case, we have missed the boat entirely.
Praise is not approval, it is surrender.
We dance and sing and shout our praises because we have given ourselves over completely to God and receive God as our master. Praise of this magnitude steps away from judgment and patronizing nods of the head. This praise gives everything up so that the whole being can be lost in the act of praise. Stomp the feet, shout as loud as you can! Shake your head and pick your guitars and drums and anything you can find! It's time to surrender everything to God in praise.
This is the attitude expressed in this psalm, and it moves us to the question of what kind of praise do we offer in church each Sunday? Is it the patronizing nod of approval? Or is it a divine act of surrender?
The child doesn't want to give up the old toy, doll, or blanket that is tattered by so much day-in-and-day-out love, yet she is eager to get the newest toy being advertised on TV or displayed in the store windows. Traditionally, the bride has with her "something old and something new" on her wedding day. Each New Year we sing the age-old counsel, "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, the other gold."
Meanwhile, even in the midst of all the excitement that accompanies some "new" thing, I am reminded of the sober judgment of Ecclesiastes: "What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun" (Ecclesiastes 1:9). I cannot follow that ancient author to every conclusion he reaches, but he has a case to make about there being nothing new under the sun.
A segment of the population lined up outside the doors every time a new installment of the Harry Potter series came out. Yet it wasn't really something new; it was just the latest version of something old. Indeed, that was its appeal -- that it was the latest version of something already familiar. Was the first installment so heralded as the seventh? Likewise, with each "new" version of Microsoft Windows, each "new" model produced by Boeing, and each "new" invention by Dyson.
In truth, very few things can be called new. Honestly, we human beings are better customers for the more common phenomenon -- that is, the latest version of something old -- because it suits our divided allegiance to old things and new things.
In our three lections for this week, we bear witness to the God who makes all things new (Revelation 21:5). And we discover the particular beauty found in the truth that his "new" is a perfected version of something "old."
Acts 11:1-18
Chapter 11 follows chapter 10. That may seem too obvious to bother mentioning, but it is an important detail in this instance. Peter is reporting to the church in Jerusalem what he has just seen, experienced, and learned. The experiences that he recounts are reported to us in detail in chapter 10.
To understand the context of this passage, we must begin by recognizing that Jerusalem was the headquarters of the early church. That's where the apostles were (Acts 8:1), that's where decisions were made (Acts 15:1-2), and that's where authority resided (e.g., Acts 8:14-15; 11:22; 12:25; 15:2). It is to this uniquely important church that Peter returns to give his report.
The issue at hand was the phenomenon of Gentile Christians. That doesn't sound like much of a phenomenon to us, of course, since nearly everyone in most of our congregations is non-Jewish. But to the church of Acts 11 -- perhaps only a decade removed from the ascension of Jesus -- the Gentile Christian was still a brand-new phenomenon. Frankly, the church was uncertain what to do about it.
It requires a real exercise of the imagination to climb back into the throes of a conundrum once it was been resolved. That is the task for our congregations this Sunday in considering this passage: trying to understand all the fuss in the early church surrounding Gentile believers.
That fuss is expressed here in one sentence: "So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him, saying, 'Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?' " But the fuss persisted beyond this episode, causing trouble in Antioch (Acts 15:1-2), famously in Galatia (e.g., Galatians 5:7-12), and perhaps also in Philippi (Philippians 3:2-3).
The battle had several fronts: theological, cultural, historical, and ethnic. And who can see or say with clarity where doctrine leaves off and prejudice begins, where tradition is mistaken for truth, or where our way has become synonymous with God's way? Suffice it to say that, for the most earnest and unadulterated antagonists in this ongoing debate within the early church, there was a genuine, theological concern: namely, if the Jewish law is the expression of God's guidance and the revelation of his will for holy living, then are not Christians obliged to obey it?
For as long as the Christian believers were all Jewish, there was not much to debate. Indeed, the issue of the law's relevance to the Christian might not have been adequately explored. What about these Gentile converts -- men and women who had not grown up observing the law of Moses? Shouldn't they be instructed in that law and initiated in their observance of it by circumcision of the males?
Peter's response to the entire issue -- both here and at the Jerusalem Council in Acts 15 -- is simply that of a bystander who has witnessed God's activity. He does not reason from his head or conjure up his own theological policies. Rather, he simply reports what he saw God do.
First, there was the vision from God on the rooftop, with its obtuse message and dawning meaning. Second, there was the coincidence of the visitors from Cornelius' house, sent by an angel. Then, most dramatically, there was the sending of the Holy Spirit upon the Gentiles, even before they were baptized (let along circumcised).
Peter's conclusion? "What was I that I could hinder God?" It was a most sensible verdict. People through the ages could have spared themselves a great deal of grief if they had adopted the same attitude.
Though the theological issues surrounding Christian Gentiles continued to trouble the church and dog Paul's ministry, for this moment, at least, there was happy resolution. After hearing Peter's full report, the critics were silenced. And, in the end, "They praised God, saying, 'Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.' " Jonah, we recall, was not so pleased by the Ninevites' salvation (Jonah 4:1-3). These Jewish Christians in Jerusalem deserve some credit, therefore, for their joyful response to God's work among a different group of people.
Revelation 21:1-6
Ask the average churchgoer what the book of Revelation is about; he or she will likely respond, "It's about the end of time." A perusal of this ultimate chapter from Revelation, however, prompts us to think again. Is this book about the end, or is it about the beginning?
Right at the start of the passage, John reports the sight of a "new heaven" and of a "new earth." Shortly after, he witnesses the delivery of the "new Jerusalem." And then, toward the end of the passage, John hears the Lord declare, "See, I am making all things new." The book is about endings, to be sure, and we will observe that part of the truth in a moment. For our starting place, however, we should proclaim to our people that Revelation is a starting place, not just an ending place.
The new beginnings reported in Revelation do not just reveal God's plan; they also reveal his character. For the very fact that he plans a universal fresh start is a testimony to his mercy and his grace.
Meanwhile, our selected lection also makes clear that the new beginnings require the ending of old things. "The first things have passed away," John reports, and we do well to list those things that are itemized in our passage. "The first heaven and the first earth" are among the things that pass away. Likewise, the sea, "the first things," every tear, death, mourning, crying, and pain all "will be no more."
Here, too, we meet with the mercy and grace of God. By ourselves, you and I cannot put an end to such things as tears, death, mourning, and pain. The Lord knows we have devised a great many techniques -- some of them quite counterproductive -- to try to steer ourselves clear of such unpleasantness. For as much as we say that we hate death and pain, human beings seems to create more of it, not less.
The people of God could not have taken down Jericho's walls (Joshua 6), scared off the Assyrians (2 Kings 19), or rolled away the stone (Mark 16:1-4) by themselves, but all these were eliminated by God. So, too, feeble humanity cannot rid itself or the world of sin's terrible ripples, but God can. And God will. He will bring all these horrors to an end, even as he launches a perfect new beginning.
The real beauty of that new beginning, meanwhile, is not found in that which has passed away or that which has been made new. Rather, the profound excellence of what is promised and envisioned in this passage is the immediate presence of God. "See, the home of God is among mortals," the voice declares. It is an astonishing headline. The same God whose Son "lived among us" (John 1:14) in the temporary mission of the incarnation now "will dwell with them" as a permanent arrangement. "They will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them." Once again, this promise is proof of the amazing grace of God.
Ask the congregation the question again: "What is the book of Revelation about?" They say it's about the end. Yes, it is. But it is also about a beginning. Through it all, it is manifestly about God's grace.
John 13:31-35
Our gospel lection is brief, but features three distinct themes. First, Jesus speaks about glory and being glorified. Second, he talks about leaving. Third, he teaches about loving. We will consider all three themes.
We are surprised by the tense of Jesus' verbs when he talks about glory. "Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him," he declares. Take it out of context and ask the average person, "When do you suppose Jesus made this statement?" I imagine that most folks would guess Easter. Perhaps a few might think of his baptism or the Transfiguration. But this is an improbable scene: Judas has just left the room to betray Jesus, and "now the Son of Man has been glorified"?
New Testament scholar R.V.G. Tasker sees no contradiction here. "The passion of the Son of Man," Tasker argues, "is the most splendid expression that the world can ever see of God's love for humankind." Consequently, inasmuch as the unhindered departure of Judas marks the beginning of that passion, Tasker sees this moment as one of glory for both the Father and the Son.
The second prominent theme in this passage is the expressed prospect of Jesus leaving. "I am with you only a little longer," Jesus affectionately tells his companions. Given the context, we are inclined to think that Jesus refers to his death. In just a few hours, after all, he would be arrested, and by that same time the next day, he would be dead and buried. The sadness that he anticipates in them regarding his departure makes us think of the death he is about to suffer and the confused grief they are about to experience.
A broader examination of the material, however, suggests a different picture. Jesus makes multiple other references to "going" during this Last Supper discourse in John (13:3; 14:4-6, 12, 28; 16:5-10, 28), but they do not add up to a picture of his death and burial. On the contrary, the overwhelming sense of these "going" sayings is that Jesus is going to his Father. We typically associate that more with his ascension than his death, but this is consistent with the broader tone of the fourth gospel. John's is the most serene and victorious portrayal of Jesus' death, and so at the Last Supper Jesus appears to be looking past his passion to his exaltation. Such a mindset is captured by the writer of Hebrews when he says of Jesus that "for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God" (Hebrews 12:2).
The third theme is the new commandment (from which, incidentally, Maundy Thursday gets its distinctive name). At first blush, the commandment may not seem new at all, for the commandment to love appears both earlier in Jesus' ministry (Matthew 22:34-40) and earlier in scripture (Leviticus 19:18). Where, then, is the newness? It must either be in the intramural emphasis (i.e., "one another" rather than "your neighbor") or in the standard for love ("as I have loved you" rather than "as you love yourself").
Within the context, the intramural element should not be discounted. Surely the messages of the Last Supper discourse are primarily "in house," and the behavior of the believers toward one another is an element of these teachings (13:14-15; 15:12, 17 cf.). The primary newness of this commandment, however, is not who shares this love but rather who models this love. "As I have loved you" -- this is the operative element in this love command. To love you as I love myself is a tall order, to be sure, but to love you as Jesus has love me is of an entirely different magnitude. We will explore that magnitude a bit more below.
Application
In our consideration of each of the passages assigned to this week, we observed the theme of newness.
The scene from Revelation dripped with newness. The new heaven, new earth, and new Jerusalem are all explicitly identified. Beyond them, there is the broad promise that God is making all things new.
The brief passage from John's gospel, meanwhile, features the "new commandment" that Jesus gave to his disciples. It doesn't occupy a lot of space, but it occupies an important place in our remembrance of the occasion and in our understanding of Christian living.
Finally, the episode from the book of Acts does not make explicit reference to something "new," yet something new is at the very heart of the story. Indeed, there is only a controversy to be resolved because of that something new. Peter has followed God's lead in doing a new thing: Welcoming uncircumcised Gentiles into the body of Christ, and seemingly changing all the old definitions about what is unclean, who is acceptable, and what God requires.
As we look more carefully at this prevailing theme of newness, we discover a happy pattern: namely, that God is, in each case, simply offering a perfected version of something old. Or, as we are accustomed to hearing in our advertising, "new and improved."
The principle is most explicit in Revelation. What specific things are identified as new? Heaven, earth, and Jerusalem. These are all things that already exist. They have already been part of God's plan and God's work in the past. Now, however, he is issuing new (and perfect) versions of each.
Likewise, the commandment to love is not altogether new. As we noted above, it goes back in Jesus' own teaching, and it goes all the way back to the Old Testament law. Yet this love is a new version of the old model. And this love -- the way he has loved us -- is the perfect version.
Then there is the episode from Acts. In truth, the old principles remain in place: namely, that God has a covenant people, among and through whom he intends to do his work. But now that people is broadened. Indeed, it has become all-inclusive, which is his perfect picture (Genesis 12:3; Isaiah 2:2; Jeremiah 3:17). So the church is revealed as the new version of the covenant people of God.
We love that which is old. We love that which is new. Here is a great testimony to God's love and redeeming grace: that he takes what is old and makes it new. Including us (2 Corinthians 5:17).
Alternative Application
John 13:31-35. "A Lesson in Love." Is there a subject that has inspired more novels and movies, more poems and songs, than love? Is there a part of life that brings more joy or causes more grief than love? Is there a greater factor of our emotional health, our sense of well-being, and our personal fulfillment than love?
In the day-to-day routine, we may not give love the prominence it deserves. When we're seeing life clearly, though, we recognize that love -- and our love relationships -- ranks higher than anything else in our lives.
That human experience should resonate very naturally, therefore, with the gospel emphasis on love. Love is presented as the greatest commandment for human beings (Matthew 22:34-40) and the quintessential attribute of God (1 John 4:8). Here, in this climactic set of teachings from Jesus, we discover that love is our new commandment (v. 34) and our distinctive hallmark (v. 35).
The irony with human beings is that, while love is so essential and so fundamental, we are not necessarily very good at it. So much defective love, vacillating love, conditional love, and counterfeit love is foisted upon people in their human relationships, and then we perpetuate our dysfunctions from one generation to the next. We need the author of love -- indeed, the one who is love -- to come and tutor us in this universal basic.
Near the culmination of his lifelong lesson, the tutor gives his final assignment to his students. "It's time for you to love one another," he says, "and now you know how to do it. For you should do it just the way that I have loved you."
It is worth our meditation, individually and collectively, to consider just how he has loved us. Then let us turn around and apply that to our fellowship and our families, to our neighbors and coworkers. For when we love like him, it will be apparent to all that we are his.
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 148
This psalm of praise is a beautiful expression of devotion and honor. It stretches from the personal to the global and back again as the mighty deeds of the holy are extolled. It has been set to music and enacted in liturgical dance. The praises have rung out from children's choirs in New Jersey to tribal dances in Zimbabwe. These are powerful words indeed.
In singing and praising this psalm, however, and interesting question arises. Do we praise God because God needs praise? This is God, after all. The Creator of the universe: The one who has ordered the planets and set the stars in place. This is the God who has created each person and numbered the hairs on our heads. Are we to believe that this omnipotent God demands praise from us? Are we to understand that God needs our praise like some toddler requires the praise of parents so that he or she can grow up with a confident sense of self? What are we talking about here? Where does praise come from, anyway?
Most of us offer praise when we're impressed. We pat our child on the head and say, "nice job," when he takes out the garbage without spilling any on the way. We praise friends who succeed at various tasks, and we seek to shake the hands performing artists who have wowed us with their mastery of the instrument.
Does this mean that we're impressed with God? If our praise of God emerges because we think God has done a nice job, we've missed the mark. If we say, "Nice work, God. I really like those Redwood trees," and move on to the next thing that impresses us we have done more than miss the mark. We have tried to supplant God by passing judgment on God's handiwork. It's like we wander down the aisle in a department store pointing at the merchandise. "I like this, and that, and that. But I don't like this." What happens when we suddenly aren't impressed by God? What do we do when the bus full of kids slides off the road on a stormy night? Does our praise give way to criticism? Do we shake our head and remove our affirmation and support? If this is the case, we have missed the boat entirely.
Praise is not approval, it is surrender.
We dance and sing and shout our praises because we have given ourselves over completely to God and receive God as our master. Praise of this magnitude steps away from judgment and patronizing nods of the head. This praise gives everything up so that the whole being can be lost in the act of praise. Stomp the feet, shout as loud as you can! Shake your head and pick your guitars and drums and anything you can find! It's time to surrender everything to God in praise.
This is the attitude expressed in this psalm, and it moves us to the question of what kind of praise do we offer in church each Sunday? Is it the patronizing nod of approval? Or is it a divine act of surrender?
