System requirements
Commentary
Before you buy a new piece of software, you check the side of the box where it lists the system requirements. What operating system is assumed? How fast a processor do I need? How much memory? Do I need a CD-ROM drive? Will the program require a certain quality of monitor, a certain card, or a joystick?
Before you buy a new piece of software, you check to see whether or not it will work on your system. Not to check would be foolishness, and to buy software that doesn't match your system would be pointless.
Following Christ also comes with its own kind of "system requirements." Jesus spoke several times and in several ways about what is required of a disciple. We have one of those passages before us this week in the excerpt from Luke. When we consider those teachings honestly, we have to admit that the requirements seem to exceed the capacity of our systems. Or, if not the capacity, it at least exceeds the past performance. Jesus' own disciples may have forgotten from time to time the nature of their obligation, and his reminder to them continues to challenge us.
At another level, Paul also gave Timothy a reminder of the system requirements of discipleship. It is a strong word of encouragement, and quite different in tone from the selected passage from Lamentations. Paul himself had successfully completed the life Christ called him to live (see 2 Timothy 4:6-7), and from that vantage point he coached young Timothy to that same victory of grace and faithfulness. The author of Lamentations, by contrast, wrote as one whose people had not been faithful. They had not lived according to the requirements, and the result was a terrible crash.
Most of the packaging on a piece of software is devoted to making the sale. In bold and colorful letters and images, all of the features, advantages, and capabilities of the program are listed. The system requirements, meanwhile, are printed small and black on the side.
Jesus himself did not make a splashy pitch for discipleship. It was the requirements and the cost that got the large print from Jesus. This week, the no-nonsense requirements get the large print from us, as well.
Lamentations 1:1-6
In the wake of the several September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, a few people publicly suggested that the attacks represented the judgment of God upon this nation. Many people regarded that as an offensive interpretation of events. For myself, I thought it was an uninformed interpretation, for what happened in New York City on that tragic day did not have the look of God's judgment. After all, at the end of the day, most of New York City was still standing.
The opening lines from the book of Lamentations paint a picture of a city and a country fresh in the wake of God's judgment. The picture is poignant and tragic, and the level of desolation portrayed is frankly unfamiliar to the citizens of this country.
From the several judgment prophets of the Old Testament, we are familiar with the detailed and threatening descriptions of what will become of Jerusalem or Samaria, of Israel or Judah, of Nineveh or Babylon. That is very much the nature of the judgment prophet's message: to offer a terrifying preview of what is to come on the other side of divine judgment.
In Lamentations, however, the description is no longer a preview. Rather, it is the present reality. God's judgment had passed through like a tornado, and now the author of this lament wanders through the rubble, weeping over all that is ruined and gone.
Walk through a desert or an untamed forest, and the absence of people and civilization is a lovely quality and a marvelous experience. Walk through the wreckages of a city, however -- a city that once bustled with life and activity -- and the absence of people and civilization there is haunting. Jerusalem and Judah must have had that "ghost town" look and feel, for all that was left were the ghosts, the thin and pale memories of what used to be.
Even in the context of a happy life, there is something terribly poignant about times and people that are gone. The house and neighborhood where cherished friends or loved ones used to live, school hallways and playgrounds where we spent so many days when we were young, the faded photographs of familiar faces that look so different now -- these are all tinged with grief for us, and that comes only with the ordinary passage of time. Imagine, though, if it was not just time that had passed in between, but tragedy. If that house and neighborhood were reduced to debris; if the old school was nothing but charred remains; if the once-happy photos were of people who had since been slaughtered or kidnapped -- the grief is almost unthinkable.
Lamentations recalls a time when Judah was filled with life and strength, with vitality and confidence. But that time is gone. And gone, too, are the people who once populated and gave life to the place. They are gone, either because they are dead, or because they were carted off into exile. All that remains, therefore, is grief and suffering.
What shall we make of these grim first verses of Lamentations on a sunny Sunday morning in the fall of 2004? The passage does not contain a ray of hope, and its only explicit reference to God is a terrifying one: "The Lord has made [Zion] suffer for the multitude of her transgressions." How do we take the poignant and painful lament from a ruined nation from over 2,500 years ago and make it speak to a comfortable American congregation in the middle of the football season?
We might take our cue from Jesus. He was once was presented with two stories of other peoples' ruin and misfortune. He took the stories and brought them close to home for his own audience with exceedingly practical and sober advice: "Unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did" (Luke 13:5).
2 Timothy 1:1-14
Given our theme of "system requirements," it is worth highlighting the "shoulds" and "should nots" of Paul's counsel to Timothy.
There are just two should nots, and they go to the same point. Paul affirms that "God did not give us a spirit of cowardice," and subsequently urges Timothy, "Do not be ashamed, then, of the testimony about our Lord." Cowardly and ashamed -- these are the things Timothy must not be.
Such vices may appear harmless in the Christian. They may operate under the guise of being timid, reserved, cautious, or even sensible. But such sensible caution is what drove the third servant to bury his talent in a hole, and his master was not pleased (Matthew 25:14-30).
In contrast to the cowering posture suggested by the two should nots, Paul urges Timothy to a list of strong things. Over against the cowardice that does not come from God, Paul commends these three strong gifts of God: power, love, and self-discipline. Then, rather than shrinking back in shame, Paul beckons to Timothy to step forward and "join with me."
The three gifts of God listed by Paul are significant terms. In the Greek, dunamis is the word we translate power. The word provides a compelling image for us, for it is related to our word "dynamite." Meanwhile, the Greek word Paul uses here for love is the familiar agape that is so marvelously explicated in 1 Corinthians 13. Finally, there is sophronismos, translated "self-discipline." William Barclay admits that it is "one of these great Greek untranslatable words," but offers this insight into it: "Sophronismos is that divinely given self-control which makes a man a great ruler of others because he is first of all the servant of Christ and the master of himself."
We are given more insight into what it means to be a servant of Christ in our Gospel Lesson. In the meantime, we add these three potent qualities -- power, love, and self-discipline -- to the "system requirements" of discipleship.
Finally, Paul concludes this section with two imperatives: "hold" and "guard." These are strong terms and picturesque. The would-be man or woman of God cannot afford to be either timid or casual. Rather, he or she must live with a firm and careful grip on the teaching and the treasure of the truth.
When someone appears to be faltering, we say that he is "losing his grip" or that he needs to "get a grip." So it is that, for the Christian to avoid faltering, he must get a firm grip on the truth of the gospel of Christ.
Luke 17:5-10
The apostles' request seems to be an utterly commendable one. They want more faith, and they come to Jesus to get it. It's hard to argue with either their desire or their method.
One wonders, though, how they expected Jesus to respond. Exactly what did they think he was going to do? Could he give them more faith miraculously, like giving sight to the blind? Could he give them more faith didactically, like giving knowledge to a student?
The apostles asked Jesus for increased faith, and he responded by suggesting that even the tiniest faith works great works. The illustration Jesus used is a spectacular one: commanding a tree to be uprooted from the ground and replanted in the sea. Leon Morris observes that the kind of tree Jesus cited was notorious for being firmly rooted, and so "Jesus is not suggesting that his followers occupy themselves with pointless things like transferring a tree into the sea. His concern is with difficulty. He is saying that nothing is impossible to faith."
The pages of scripture are replete with proofs of the principle that nothing is impossible to faith. Surely the disciples were familiar with the stories of Joshua commanding the sun to stand still; David facing Goliath; and Elijah's showdown with the priests and prophets of Baal. Their mistake, however, was apparently a misunderstanding of just where the power to do great things resides.
The disciples assumed that big faith was needed to accomplish big things, and so they wanted their faith increased. Jesus responded, however, that only a mustard-seed-size faith is required to do big things. The final issue is not the bigness of the faith, but rather the bigness of the One in whom our faith is placed.
On the one hand, Jesus' words are a great encouragement to us. Faith is able to do big and impossible things, but the faith itself is not a big and impossible thing. His image of what faith can do is a grand and uncommon picture -- a tree transplanted to the sea. His image of the faith itself, however, is an altogether little and common one -- a mustard seed.
On the other hand, Jesus' words imply a certain critique of the disciples. They say that they want more faith, but he indicates that they need only a little faith. What did he mean? That they had no faith at all?
Next comes the fascinating transition to what seems to be an entirely different topic. Actually, it doesn't even really qualify as a transition; it's just a sudden shift. Without warning, Jesus moved from talking about faith to talking about servitude. If conversation were a car ride, the disciples would have to be treated for whiplash injuries after the sudden and drastic turn Jesus made.
Of course, that kind of sudden turn is rather characteristic of Jesus. It is something of a pattern in his conversations with people. The Samaritan woman at the well was content to talk about theoretical things, but Jesus suddenly forced the conversation into personal territory (see John 4:7-20). The crowd was naturally concerned with the theological questions of why misfortune and tragedy had befallen the Galileans slaughtered by Pilate or the victims of Siloam's falling tower, but Jesus turned the emphasis to the people's personal need to repent (Luke 13:1-5).
It may be part of Jesus' tough and wise love that he regularly changes the subject from what we want to talk about to what we need to talk about. And while the disciples wanted to talk about big faith, perhaps they needed to talk about humble servitude.
It may be, of course, that the apostles' desire for more faith was not so completely well intentioned. Perhaps they had come to recognize in what Jesus did (e.g., Matthew 17:14-20) and what Jesus said (e.g., Mark 5:34) that faith was the key to miracles and great manifestations of power. Accordingly, they may have wanted faith like a teenager wants the keys to the car -- it was exciting, new, and full of possibilities. Perhaps, therefore, it was not the faith that they wanted, but the accompanying power, and that may have been touched with self-importance.
We know that the disciples struggled from time to time with issues of self-importance (see, for example, Luke 9:46-48). We also know from Simon the magician the intoxicating appeal of God-given miraculous power (Acts 8:5-24). It would not be surprising, therefore, for the disciples to crave more faith for somewhat selfish reasons.
One of the compelling characteristics of Jesus' ministry, however, is how selfless his manifestations of power were. He did not use his power or authority to meet his own needs (e.g., Luke 4:1-4) or to save himself (e.g., Matthew 26:51-53). Similarly, though people were clearly impressed by his miracles, he did not work any miracles to prove himself or to spread his reputation (see Matthew 12:38-39; Mark 8:11-12). On the contrary, he often sought to keep his miracles a secret (e.g., Mark 7:36; Luke 5:14; 8:56).
If it was a "self-serving self-importance" that motivated the disciples to ask for more faith, then it is quite natural that Jesus should make the transition that he does. Perhaps he knew that the real issue that the disciples needed to understand at that moment was neither miracles nor faith, but selfless servitude. He called upon their own experience with human servants to challenge them to servant-discipleship.
Servants and slaves were a familiar part of the cultural landscape for the first century Roman Empire. Jesus' disciples, therefore, were no doubt very familiar with the life of a servant or a slave. What Jesus said to them here about the lifestyle of a slave was not new or surprising -- it was a matter of fact.
The part that was perhaps new and surprising to them -- and almost certainly to us -- was the equating of the life of a slave with the life of a disciple. The followers of Jesus had already willingly made dramatic sacrifices (see, for example, Luke 18:28-30). But perhaps, in the glare of the spotlight that was on Jesus, the disciples lost sight of the cost of discipleship. Perhaps in the escalating swirl of excitement and speculation about Jesus, this miracle worker with surging momentum and growing support, the disciples needed to be reminded about this basic fact: The job of a slave is to serve his master. He does not live for attention or applause. He does not live for decorations and ticker tape parades. He lives to serve.
Miracles do not require big faith; just a big God. And, likewise, the disciple is not called to be big, significant, and important. Rather, the disciple has the privilege of serving the One who is big, significant, and important. The faith we have is in him, and the works we do are for him.
Application
Look at the system requirements for a piece of software and you'll see details of operating systems, processor speed, memory, and such. Look at the requirements for being a man or woman of God, and you discover a daunting list. The shoulds and should-nots of Paul's counsel to Timothy explored above are on the list. Near the very top is this: You have to be a servant.
Servants and slaves were commonplace in the New Testament world. You and I, by contrast, live and work in a world of employer and employees, not slaves and masters. We may be somewhat limited, therefore, in our ability to understand this truth of the Christian life.
Of course, the real obstacle to our appreciating and appropriating this truth of discipleship is the "uncrucified" self. Pride does not aspire to serve. Washing feet is not the ego's natural ambition. But an attitude of servitude -- "We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!" -- is one of the basic system requirements. Try to run the software of discipleship without servitude in place, and the program just won't work right.
The hard message of servant-Christianity is largely unheard in our culture, but it is essential in order for us to understand the relationship -- and the life -- into which we are invited. After all, we do call him "Lord."
An Alternative Application
2 Timothy 1:1-14. "From Strength to Strength Go On." Strength comes in many forms. On the one hand, there is the strength of the thing that cannot be stopped. On the other hand, there is the strength of the thing that cannot be moved.
Paul urged Timothy to have, and to exercise, both brands of strength. We take his admonition as our own.
On the one hand, we must have the strength that keeps us undeterred from following God's call. Paul encouraged Timothy to be unafraid and unashamed. We know how fear, timidity, embarrassment, and self-consciousness keep us from going full-speed forward in Christ's service. We aspire to that brand of strength that presses on, bold and unstoppable.
On the other hand, faithfulness to God also requires a strength that is immovable, unshakable. Paul challenged Timothy to "hold" and to "guard." The ball is easily knocked away from the player who carries it loosely and lightly. Likewise, if we hold casually what has been entrusted to us, some trial or some temptation will knock it away. We need the strength of a sure grip, fixed and tenacious.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 137
This Psalm's opening verses are among the most recognizable for understanding the experience of a worship community in exile. The evocative, "How can we sing the songs of Zion in a foreign land?" (v. 4) has become biblical shorthand for this experience. In a single poetic stroke the psalmist is able to convey not only the tragedy of social displacement, but also the agony of spiritual despair.
The psalmist's insight into this dilemma goes beyond mere context. Separation from the temple was certainly an issue. The songs don't ring as true, the prayers as meaningful, and the benedictions as helpful outside the proper setting for worship. But there is much more at risk.
The psalmist understands that the words themselves are important, that they carry meaning and are essential to maintaining identity. If members of the community of faith ever give up the particularity of their language, they will have no meaningful way to talk about their faith. Even more critical, if the community of faith adopts the language of the culture that holds it captive, it will not only lose its own faith, but will become participants by default in a new faith.
Christianity in America certainly faces these challenges. As we become more and more like our culture, we lose a distinctively biblical and Christian culture. These changes happen subtly and often without much fanfare. While in graduate school, I attended a multi-disciplinary seminar that included professors and students from several different schools of study. There were lawyers, doctors, scientists, classicists, historians, psychologists, and graduate religion students.
In the course of the seminar, a local church contacted me about becoming their pastor. Using the language of my tradition (Baptist) I mentioned to my peers that I was being considered for a "call." Many of them found this a strange way to talk about employment and began to have fun with it at my expense. It became a running joke for several days as different students in the seminar mimicked my provincial language. I caught myself later, and since, using the language of the secular market place to talk about being "hired" by a church.
The particularity of our language is essential to communicating to each other the theological meaning of what we do and who we are. To use the language of "call" instead of the more commonplace "hired," reminds us that in the clergy/church relationship, there is a presumption that God is involved in the process. While the church may use standard business practices to evaluate candidates, we still cling to the idea that somehow God works in the mix to bring together clergy and congregation.
There are other issues and challenges from culture that are even more insidious than the language of hiring. It makes a difference whether we meet in an "auditorium" or a "sanctuary." Which word best captures the biblical meaning of "pastor": CEO or educator or counselor or activist? Is it possible to meaningfully invoke images such as prophet or shepherd?
It's difficult to sing the songs of Zion in a foreign land, but necessary. "If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither" (v. 5). Jesus understood this very well when he reminded his followers that they were to be "in the world but not of the world." In the world we work and contribute to the peace of the city. But by not being of the world we speak and live a language of faith that creates our character and carries our hope.
Before you buy a new piece of software, you check to see whether or not it will work on your system. Not to check would be foolishness, and to buy software that doesn't match your system would be pointless.
Following Christ also comes with its own kind of "system requirements." Jesus spoke several times and in several ways about what is required of a disciple. We have one of those passages before us this week in the excerpt from Luke. When we consider those teachings honestly, we have to admit that the requirements seem to exceed the capacity of our systems. Or, if not the capacity, it at least exceeds the past performance. Jesus' own disciples may have forgotten from time to time the nature of their obligation, and his reminder to them continues to challenge us.
At another level, Paul also gave Timothy a reminder of the system requirements of discipleship. It is a strong word of encouragement, and quite different in tone from the selected passage from Lamentations. Paul himself had successfully completed the life Christ called him to live (see 2 Timothy 4:6-7), and from that vantage point he coached young Timothy to that same victory of grace and faithfulness. The author of Lamentations, by contrast, wrote as one whose people had not been faithful. They had not lived according to the requirements, and the result was a terrible crash.
Most of the packaging on a piece of software is devoted to making the sale. In bold and colorful letters and images, all of the features, advantages, and capabilities of the program are listed. The system requirements, meanwhile, are printed small and black on the side.
Jesus himself did not make a splashy pitch for discipleship. It was the requirements and the cost that got the large print from Jesus. This week, the no-nonsense requirements get the large print from us, as well.
Lamentations 1:1-6
In the wake of the several September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, a few people publicly suggested that the attacks represented the judgment of God upon this nation. Many people regarded that as an offensive interpretation of events. For myself, I thought it was an uninformed interpretation, for what happened in New York City on that tragic day did not have the look of God's judgment. After all, at the end of the day, most of New York City was still standing.
The opening lines from the book of Lamentations paint a picture of a city and a country fresh in the wake of God's judgment. The picture is poignant and tragic, and the level of desolation portrayed is frankly unfamiliar to the citizens of this country.
From the several judgment prophets of the Old Testament, we are familiar with the detailed and threatening descriptions of what will become of Jerusalem or Samaria, of Israel or Judah, of Nineveh or Babylon. That is very much the nature of the judgment prophet's message: to offer a terrifying preview of what is to come on the other side of divine judgment.
In Lamentations, however, the description is no longer a preview. Rather, it is the present reality. God's judgment had passed through like a tornado, and now the author of this lament wanders through the rubble, weeping over all that is ruined and gone.
Walk through a desert or an untamed forest, and the absence of people and civilization is a lovely quality and a marvelous experience. Walk through the wreckages of a city, however -- a city that once bustled with life and activity -- and the absence of people and civilization there is haunting. Jerusalem and Judah must have had that "ghost town" look and feel, for all that was left were the ghosts, the thin and pale memories of what used to be.
Even in the context of a happy life, there is something terribly poignant about times and people that are gone. The house and neighborhood where cherished friends or loved ones used to live, school hallways and playgrounds where we spent so many days when we were young, the faded photographs of familiar faces that look so different now -- these are all tinged with grief for us, and that comes only with the ordinary passage of time. Imagine, though, if it was not just time that had passed in between, but tragedy. If that house and neighborhood were reduced to debris; if the old school was nothing but charred remains; if the once-happy photos were of people who had since been slaughtered or kidnapped -- the grief is almost unthinkable.
Lamentations recalls a time when Judah was filled with life and strength, with vitality and confidence. But that time is gone. And gone, too, are the people who once populated and gave life to the place. They are gone, either because they are dead, or because they were carted off into exile. All that remains, therefore, is grief and suffering.
What shall we make of these grim first verses of Lamentations on a sunny Sunday morning in the fall of 2004? The passage does not contain a ray of hope, and its only explicit reference to God is a terrifying one: "The Lord has made [Zion] suffer for the multitude of her transgressions." How do we take the poignant and painful lament from a ruined nation from over 2,500 years ago and make it speak to a comfortable American congregation in the middle of the football season?
We might take our cue from Jesus. He was once was presented with two stories of other peoples' ruin and misfortune. He took the stories and brought them close to home for his own audience with exceedingly practical and sober advice: "Unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did" (Luke 13:5).
2 Timothy 1:1-14
Given our theme of "system requirements," it is worth highlighting the "shoulds" and "should nots" of Paul's counsel to Timothy.
There are just two should nots, and they go to the same point. Paul affirms that "God did not give us a spirit of cowardice," and subsequently urges Timothy, "Do not be ashamed, then, of the testimony about our Lord." Cowardly and ashamed -- these are the things Timothy must not be.
Such vices may appear harmless in the Christian. They may operate under the guise of being timid, reserved, cautious, or even sensible. But such sensible caution is what drove the third servant to bury his talent in a hole, and his master was not pleased (Matthew 25:14-30).
In contrast to the cowering posture suggested by the two should nots, Paul urges Timothy to a list of strong things. Over against the cowardice that does not come from God, Paul commends these three strong gifts of God: power, love, and self-discipline. Then, rather than shrinking back in shame, Paul beckons to Timothy to step forward and "join with me."
The three gifts of God listed by Paul are significant terms. In the Greek, dunamis is the word we translate power. The word provides a compelling image for us, for it is related to our word "dynamite." Meanwhile, the Greek word Paul uses here for love is the familiar agape that is so marvelously explicated in 1 Corinthians 13. Finally, there is sophronismos, translated "self-discipline." William Barclay admits that it is "one of these great Greek untranslatable words," but offers this insight into it: "Sophronismos is that divinely given self-control which makes a man a great ruler of others because he is first of all the servant of Christ and the master of himself."
We are given more insight into what it means to be a servant of Christ in our Gospel Lesson. In the meantime, we add these three potent qualities -- power, love, and self-discipline -- to the "system requirements" of discipleship.
Finally, Paul concludes this section with two imperatives: "hold" and "guard." These are strong terms and picturesque. The would-be man or woman of God cannot afford to be either timid or casual. Rather, he or she must live with a firm and careful grip on the teaching and the treasure of the truth.
When someone appears to be faltering, we say that he is "losing his grip" or that he needs to "get a grip." So it is that, for the Christian to avoid faltering, he must get a firm grip on the truth of the gospel of Christ.
Luke 17:5-10
The apostles' request seems to be an utterly commendable one. They want more faith, and they come to Jesus to get it. It's hard to argue with either their desire or their method.
One wonders, though, how they expected Jesus to respond. Exactly what did they think he was going to do? Could he give them more faith miraculously, like giving sight to the blind? Could he give them more faith didactically, like giving knowledge to a student?
The apostles asked Jesus for increased faith, and he responded by suggesting that even the tiniest faith works great works. The illustration Jesus used is a spectacular one: commanding a tree to be uprooted from the ground and replanted in the sea. Leon Morris observes that the kind of tree Jesus cited was notorious for being firmly rooted, and so "Jesus is not suggesting that his followers occupy themselves with pointless things like transferring a tree into the sea. His concern is with difficulty. He is saying that nothing is impossible to faith."
The pages of scripture are replete with proofs of the principle that nothing is impossible to faith. Surely the disciples were familiar with the stories of Joshua commanding the sun to stand still; David facing Goliath; and Elijah's showdown with the priests and prophets of Baal. Their mistake, however, was apparently a misunderstanding of just where the power to do great things resides.
The disciples assumed that big faith was needed to accomplish big things, and so they wanted their faith increased. Jesus responded, however, that only a mustard-seed-size faith is required to do big things. The final issue is not the bigness of the faith, but rather the bigness of the One in whom our faith is placed.
On the one hand, Jesus' words are a great encouragement to us. Faith is able to do big and impossible things, but the faith itself is not a big and impossible thing. His image of what faith can do is a grand and uncommon picture -- a tree transplanted to the sea. His image of the faith itself, however, is an altogether little and common one -- a mustard seed.
On the other hand, Jesus' words imply a certain critique of the disciples. They say that they want more faith, but he indicates that they need only a little faith. What did he mean? That they had no faith at all?
Next comes the fascinating transition to what seems to be an entirely different topic. Actually, it doesn't even really qualify as a transition; it's just a sudden shift. Without warning, Jesus moved from talking about faith to talking about servitude. If conversation were a car ride, the disciples would have to be treated for whiplash injuries after the sudden and drastic turn Jesus made.
Of course, that kind of sudden turn is rather characteristic of Jesus. It is something of a pattern in his conversations with people. The Samaritan woman at the well was content to talk about theoretical things, but Jesus suddenly forced the conversation into personal territory (see John 4:7-20). The crowd was naturally concerned with the theological questions of why misfortune and tragedy had befallen the Galileans slaughtered by Pilate or the victims of Siloam's falling tower, but Jesus turned the emphasis to the people's personal need to repent (Luke 13:1-5).
It may be part of Jesus' tough and wise love that he regularly changes the subject from what we want to talk about to what we need to talk about. And while the disciples wanted to talk about big faith, perhaps they needed to talk about humble servitude.
It may be, of course, that the apostles' desire for more faith was not so completely well intentioned. Perhaps they had come to recognize in what Jesus did (e.g., Matthew 17:14-20) and what Jesus said (e.g., Mark 5:34) that faith was the key to miracles and great manifestations of power. Accordingly, they may have wanted faith like a teenager wants the keys to the car -- it was exciting, new, and full of possibilities. Perhaps, therefore, it was not the faith that they wanted, but the accompanying power, and that may have been touched with self-importance.
We know that the disciples struggled from time to time with issues of self-importance (see, for example, Luke 9:46-48). We also know from Simon the magician the intoxicating appeal of God-given miraculous power (Acts 8:5-24). It would not be surprising, therefore, for the disciples to crave more faith for somewhat selfish reasons.
One of the compelling characteristics of Jesus' ministry, however, is how selfless his manifestations of power were. He did not use his power or authority to meet his own needs (e.g., Luke 4:1-4) or to save himself (e.g., Matthew 26:51-53). Similarly, though people were clearly impressed by his miracles, he did not work any miracles to prove himself or to spread his reputation (see Matthew 12:38-39; Mark 8:11-12). On the contrary, he often sought to keep his miracles a secret (e.g., Mark 7:36; Luke 5:14; 8:56).
If it was a "self-serving self-importance" that motivated the disciples to ask for more faith, then it is quite natural that Jesus should make the transition that he does. Perhaps he knew that the real issue that the disciples needed to understand at that moment was neither miracles nor faith, but selfless servitude. He called upon their own experience with human servants to challenge them to servant-discipleship.
Servants and slaves were a familiar part of the cultural landscape for the first century Roman Empire. Jesus' disciples, therefore, were no doubt very familiar with the life of a servant or a slave. What Jesus said to them here about the lifestyle of a slave was not new or surprising -- it was a matter of fact.
The part that was perhaps new and surprising to them -- and almost certainly to us -- was the equating of the life of a slave with the life of a disciple. The followers of Jesus had already willingly made dramatic sacrifices (see, for example, Luke 18:28-30). But perhaps, in the glare of the spotlight that was on Jesus, the disciples lost sight of the cost of discipleship. Perhaps in the escalating swirl of excitement and speculation about Jesus, this miracle worker with surging momentum and growing support, the disciples needed to be reminded about this basic fact: The job of a slave is to serve his master. He does not live for attention or applause. He does not live for decorations and ticker tape parades. He lives to serve.
Miracles do not require big faith; just a big God. And, likewise, the disciple is not called to be big, significant, and important. Rather, the disciple has the privilege of serving the One who is big, significant, and important. The faith we have is in him, and the works we do are for him.
Application
Look at the system requirements for a piece of software and you'll see details of operating systems, processor speed, memory, and such. Look at the requirements for being a man or woman of God, and you discover a daunting list. The shoulds and should-nots of Paul's counsel to Timothy explored above are on the list. Near the very top is this: You have to be a servant.
Servants and slaves were commonplace in the New Testament world. You and I, by contrast, live and work in a world of employer and employees, not slaves and masters. We may be somewhat limited, therefore, in our ability to understand this truth of the Christian life.
Of course, the real obstacle to our appreciating and appropriating this truth of discipleship is the "uncrucified" self. Pride does not aspire to serve. Washing feet is not the ego's natural ambition. But an attitude of servitude -- "We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!" -- is one of the basic system requirements. Try to run the software of discipleship without servitude in place, and the program just won't work right.
The hard message of servant-Christianity is largely unheard in our culture, but it is essential in order for us to understand the relationship -- and the life -- into which we are invited. After all, we do call him "Lord."
An Alternative Application
2 Timothy 1:1-14. "From Strength to Strength Go On." Strength comes in many forms. On the one hand, there is the strength of the thing that cannot be stopped. On the other hand, there is the strength of the thing that cannot be moved.
Paul urged Timothy to have, and to exercise, both brands of strength. We take his admonition as our own.
On the one hand, we must have the strength that keeps us undeterred from following God's call. Paul encouraged Timothy to be unafraid and unashamed. We know how fear, timidity, embarrassment, and self-consciousness keep us from going full-speed forward in Christ's service. We aspire to that brand of strength that presses on, bold and unstoppable.
On the other hand, faithfulness to God also requires a strength that is immovable, unshakable. Paul challenged Timothy to "hold" and to "guard." The ball is easily knocked away from the player who carries it loosely and lightly. Likewise, if we hold casually what has been entrusted to us, some trial or some temptation will knock it away. We need the strength of a sure grip, fixed and tenacious.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 137
This Psalm's opening verses are among the most recognizable for understanding the experience of a worship community in exile. The evocative, "How can we sing the songs of Zion in a foreign land?" (v. 4) has become biblical shorthand for this experience. In a single poetic stroke the psalmist is able to convey not only the tragedy of social displacement, but also the agony of spiritual despair.
The psalmist's insight into this dilemma goes beyond mere context. Separation from the temple was certainly an issue. The songs don't ring as true, the prayers as meaningful, and the benedictions as helpful outside the proper setting for worship. But there is much more at risk.
The psalmist understands that the words themselves are important, that they carry meaning and are essential to maintaining identity. If members of the community of faith ever give up the particularity of their language, they will have no meaningful way to talk about their faith. Even more critical, if the community of faith adopts the language of the culture that holds it captive, it will not only lose its own faith, but will become participants by default in a new faith.
Christianity in America certainly faces these challenges. As we become more and more like our culture, we lose a distinctively biblical and Christian culture. These changes happen subtly and often without much fanfare. While in graduate school, I attended a multi-disciplinary seminar that included professors and students from several different schools of study. There were lawyers, doctors, scientists, classicists, historians, psychologists, and graduate religion students.
In the course of the seminar, a local church contacted me about becoming their pastor. Using the language of my tradition (Baptist) I mentioned to my peers that I was being considered for a "call." Many of them found this a strange way to talk about employment and began to have fun with it at my expense. It became a running joke for several days as different students in the seminar mimicked my provincial language. I caught myself later, and since, using the language of the secular market place to talk about being "hired" by a church.
The particularity of our language is essential to communicating to each other the theological meaning of what we do and who we are. To use the language of "call" instead of the more commonplace "hired," reminds us that in the clergy/church relationship, there is a presumption that God is involved in the process. While the church may use standard business practices to evaluate candidates, we still cling to the idea that somehow God works in the mix to bring together clergy and congregation.
There are other issues and challenges from culture that are even more insidious than the language of hiring. It makes a difference whether we meet in an "auditorium" or a "sanctuary." Which word best captures the biblical meaning of "pastor": CEO or educator or counselor or activist? Is it possible to meaningfully invoke images such as prophet or shepherd?
It's difficult to sing the songs of Zion in a foreign land, but necessary. "If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither" (v. 5). Jesus understood this very well when he reminded his followers that they were to be "in the world but not of the world." In the world we work and contribute to the peace of the city. But by not being of the world we speak and live a language of faith that creates our character and carries our hope.
