Is there a doctor in the house?
Commentary
Object:
In the hymn "Grace Greater Than Our Sin," Julia Harriette Johnston expressed our circumstance in song: "Dark is the stain that we cannot hide." And then, burdened by that seemingly helpless condition, she asked the desperate question: "What can avail to wash it away?"
As pastors, we know what it is to sit with someone who is in a desperate situation. A diagnosis with no treatment or cure. An enormous need with no sufficient resource to meet it. A broken relationship without the will or capacity to fix it.
In Johnston's familiar hymn, however, there is no lingering in despair. There is no grand pause, waiting anxiously for some solution to appear. Not at all. For no sooner is the question asked than the answer is given. "Look, there is flowing a crimson tide," she declares, "brighter than snow you may be today."
Between our Old Testament and New Testament texts this week, however, there is a grand pause. Between the time of Jeremiah's tortured testimony and the victorious proclamation of Paul there is a period of some 600 years.
The risk, of course, is that when you know the answer, you may not give full consideration to the question. When you know the end of the story, you may shortchange the plot. So our endeavor this week is to give due attention to the desperate situation raised in Jeremiah's day so that we might truly savor the solution provided in Paul's.
Jeremiah 8:18--9:1
Jeremiah's reputation is as "the weeping prophet," and this week's selection from his book lends credence to that nickname. This is a profound and deeply felt lament. And in order for our people to understand that lament, they will need to understand Jeremiah's circumstance.
This prophet lived and ministered during the final days of the southern kingdom of Judah. He and his fellow Jews lived under the shadow of the Babylonians, and his unhappy assignment was to proclaim to his people and their leaders the inevitability of Babylon's victory.
He had several things working against him. First, the miraculous deliverance of Jerusalem from the Assyrians during the time of King Hezekiah had led to a kind of "Zion is invincible" theology. Second, there were other (false) prophets in the land who proclaimed a cheerier message, which was of course more welcome and popular. Third, the coming judgment was because of the people's intractable sinfulness, which they predictably were unwilling to admit or abandon. Fourth, his message sounded both theologically heretical and politically treasonous, for he portrayed Jerusalem's enemy as an instrument of God and therefore encouraged surrender.
As a result of all this, Jeremiah was in an inconsolably desperate circumstance. His own people and nation were tragically separated from God, were passionately opposed to the prophet and his message, and faced the gruesome prospect of military annihilation.
Against that backdrop, then, we hear Jeremiah cry out, "My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick." Later, "For the hurt of my poor people I am hurt, I mourn, and dismay has taken hold of me." Indeed!
Jeremiah's heart for his people is evident in his identification of them as "my poor people." Their recalcitrance has not hardened his heart toward them, which is an admirable achievement for one who bears God's message.
The prophet's heart is so broken over his people, in fact, that he wishes he were capable of crying more. Such is the hopeless state of affairs in Jeremiah's Judah. What's left to wish for? That the Babylonians would turn back? That the people would repent? That God would grant another improbable -- and undeserved -- victory? No, all that's left to wish for now is that the prophet might be physically able to weep day and night, to exercise continuous lament over his doomed people.
Meanwhile, we see a measure of that people's confusion. They ask, "Is the Lord not in Zion?" So blind are they to their own sin that they are genuinely surprised by what is happening to them. They wonder that God is not present to save them.
Jeremiah does some wondering, too. "Is there no balm in Gilead?" he asks. "Is there no physician there?"
Gilead was across the Jordan from Jerusalem and Judah. The region was evidently known for its herbs and spices that were used for medicinal purposes. For Jeremiah to look there for a balm, therefore, was for him to cite the best-known pharmacy in the neighborhood.
We live in a fortunate age, when a call to 911 can summon emergency help in a matter of minutes. Still, when a medical emergency occurs in some public setting, the first cry is, "Is there a doctor in the house?"
But Jeremiah doesn't live in Gilead. He isn't asking for there to be a doctor in the house; he's simply asking for there to be a doctor in the hospital! "Is there no physician there," he asks despairingly. Are there no experts at Mayo Clinic? Is there no medicine at Walter Reed? Are there no doctors at St. Jude's? Jeremiah's plaintive question suggests the terrible image of a hospital that is boarded up, an Emergency Room that is vacant, an ambulance with no driver and no gas. It is the anguished cry of a man who sees no hope anywhere.
As such, Jeremiah's question is a poignant parallel to his people's question. Just as doctors and medicine were presumed to be in Gilead, so the Lord was assumed to be in Zion. Yet where was he? And those painful questions -- Where is God? Where is hope? Where can we turn? -- may be questions that will resonate deeply with someone in your congregation today.
1 Timothy 2:1-7
At any given moment, I suppose that a significant percentage of our people are unhappy with the government. Some may begin with a prejudice against the current mayor, governor, president, or some such simply because he or she is from the other party, the other side. Then, regardless of party affiliations, there are the specific concerns of the citizenry that make them more or less pleased with what is coming out of City Hall, the state legislature, or the White House.
For all of the grumbling that Americans may do from time to time about their own government, however, at least it is their own government. That is to say, we are governed by our own fellow citizens, and we had our vote, and we'll have a chance to vote again.
For the people of Paul's day, however, there was no such sense of ownership. On the contrary, the sense of ownership likely flowed in the other direction: namely, that the government owned the people, rather than the people owning the government.
Paul, Timothy, and the people in their congregations were all subjects of the Roman Empire. They were conquered peoples. Their homelands were occupied territories. And the taxes they paid went to subsidize their own occupation. For all of the benefits that the Roman Empire brought to the Mediterranean world, local freedom and self-government were not among them.
It is against that backdrop, then, that we must read Paul's encouragement to make intercession "for kings and all who are in high position." Our natural reflex is to pray for those we love. They are the ones who appear at the top of our heart's prayer list each day. Indeed, they may fully comprise it! But Jesus certainly encouraged a list longer than just loved ones (Matthew 5:44), and so does the apostle Paul here.
Paul's expressed desire for leading "a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity" is a fascinating insight into his psyche. When we read his biography in Acts, we would not guess that he aspired to "a quiet and peaceable life," for both before and after his conversion he was continually at the center of activity and controversy. The fact that he regards peace and quiet so highly, therefore, means that his activism was not born out of some personal need. Rather, he must have been genuinely motivated by zeal in order to cut across the grain of his own personal instinct and desire.
In telling us what is "acceptable in the sight of God," Paul is inspired to tell us more about that God. And the first order of business is his identity as "our Savior" -- the one "who desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth." That understanding of God's will must have been central to the life Paul lived and the calling he served following his conversion on the road to Damascus. Meanwhile, we will give further consideration to this truth about God below.
The affirmation that God desires for "everyone to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth" naturally leads Paul to make a statement about Jesus. We cannot speak about God's salvation without speaking about Jesus. And the world cannot come to a knowledge of the truth apart from the one who is the truth (John 14:6).
Paul's Christological statement here is brief but substantial. Following on the assertion that there is one God -- a point of orthodoxy for Jews, of course, but something of a countercultural claim out in the Gentile world -- Paul insists that there is also only "one mediator between God and humankind." In contrast to the confusion of the pagan world -- capricious gods, ubiquitous spirits, and a frightening system of roll-the-dice appeasements -- Paul offers a liberating truth. There is just one God, and he has provided for a means of salvation and reconciliation. And that means is not complex and unreliable, but incarnate and gracious -- Christ Jesus, "who gave himself a ransom for all."
Finally, that statement of gospel truth inspires Paul to affirm his own calling to that gospel. The message he has mentioned in brief is the very message he has been appointed to proclaim.
In the end, therefore, we see a very fluid stream of thought, moving quickly from one major theme to another. It begins as an instruction to the believers in Timothy's congregation. That leads to an expression of God's will, which in turn leads to a consideration of God's plan. That invites consideration of the person and work of Christ, which in turn leads us to Paul's own calling and ministry. It moves far and fast, but it does move logically.
Luke 16:1-13
Invite your people to get out paper and pencil before the scripture lessons are read, and ask them to list the first five parables of Jesus that come to mind. Chances are that the longer stories (e.g., the Good Samaritan) and the sentimental favorites (e.g., the Prodigal Son) will dominate the lists. On the other hand, not one list is likely to include this parable from Luke 16. Indeed, a fair number of folks might not recognize it as a parable of Jesus, at all. It is too unsavory to be a sentimental favorite. And it's too unsettling to be preached on frequently.
We are accustomed to Jesus presenting us with admirable protagonists -- the prudent man who built his house on the rock, the good and faithful stewards, the wise virgins, the good Samaritan, the importunate widow, and so on. And even in those cases where the central character is not so commendable (e.g., the rich fool), we are able to take his bad example as a cautionary tale.
In this instance, however, we meet a distasteful central character, and then he is held up for us as a kind of a role model.
Now the fact is that if we saw this plot played out in a television show or a movie, we would more willingly accept the dubious star of the show. Remember how America loved J.R. Ewing! Surprisingly, though, we are less tolerant of ambiguity in Bible characters than we are in television characters.
The star of this show is a manager -- a steward, a highly valued and trusted servant, who was given responsibility for his wealthy master's resources, properties, and investments. This particular manager, however, was not living up to his master's trust. Instead, "this man was squandering his (master's) property." We are not given details about the squandering, just as Jesus does not indulge a voyeuristic interest in the prodigal son's "dissolute living" (Luke 15:13). It is perhaps a fair assumption, however, that this shrewdly dishonest manager was attending more to his own interests than his master's.
As the day of reckoning approaches, however, the manager is understandably frightened, yet he is not "scared straight." The prospect of punishment does not prompt him to confess and repent, to beg for mercy, or to make restitution. Instead, he cleverly finds a dishonest way to mitigate the consequences of his earlier dishonesty. Again, we observe that his behavior is entirely animated by self-interest. The low star by which he navigates is always and only what will work out most favorably for him.
The manager conspires with other men of dubious character to further defraud his master. The motivation is not spiteful or vengeful, however; it is purely so that "people may welcome me into their homes."
All of these machinations would simply make for an amusing story, of course, if the dishonest man met with the expected comeuppance at the end. After all, we remember the terrible fate of that one pitiable manager who simply returned his master's money to him (Matthew 25:24-30). What, then, shall become of this servant who genuinely and repeatedly cheated his master?
Jesus says, "His master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly."
In our paradigm, honesty is a virtue, as I imagine it was for Jesus' original audience, as well. But in their world, shrewdness was also reckoned as a certain sort of virtue. It may have been welcomed as a form of wisdom -- an ancient version of "street smarts." And so the master congratulated the shrewd servant the same way that a basketball player might pat the back of the opponent who blocked his shot. He's not pleased about it, but he's impressed by it.
Still we wonder: What does this dishonest manager have to do with us? Of what virtue, condition, or circumstance shall we reckon him the patron saint?
Our "condition" is that we are in the world, and the world is a fallen place.
Perhaps it would be best if the highways were never icy, but given that they sometimes are, you want a driver who is competent for those challenging conditions. It would be best if there were no criminals in your city, but since there are, you want a properly equipped and trained police force.
Likewise, it would be nice if this world and its inhabitants were all sweetness and light. Given the reality that this world is a rough-and-tumble place, however, the Lord wants followers who are capable to do his work here.
Application
The true atheist has this advantage over all the rest of us: He does not know the tortured cry, "Where is God?"
I would not trade places with him, mind you. Better to have a head that aches than not to have a head at all. Yet we meet in the people of Jeremiah's day that most painful and poignant of faith crises: the person perplexed by God's absence.
Jeremiah's ministry was especially centered in Jerusalem. Jerusalem was the site of the Lord's temple. And that temple, as the people understood it, was the dwelling place of their God. It was that divine presence that raised Jerusalem's status above every other city. Just as an airplane becomes "Air Force One" when the President of the United States steps on board it, so Jerusalem becomes Zion because of the Lord's presence there.
Yet in the generation of Jeremiah, the people cried aloud, "Is the Lord not in Zion?" It was the question of ultimate disorientation and abandonment. As we noted above, for the Lord not to be found in Zion was as unthinkable as for there to be no medicine or doctor in Gilead.
But there is a doctor in the house! The Lord has not abandoned his people, for he is "our Savior, who desires everyone to be saved." This was the confident and reassuring good news that Paul proclaimed. What was all question marks in Jeremiah's day has become all exclamation points in Paul's. And so we need never guess about our God or fear that he is at some distance. For we have access to him through the "one mediator," Jesus Christ. As in Johnston's hymn, no sooner do we ask the question than we are assured that we have the answer.
Alternative Application
1 Timothy 2:1-7. "What's a Person to Do?" From the beginning to end of scripture, we see this principle at work: that what God is and does should influence what we are and do.
We see the principle in the law's command to be holy (Leviticus 11:44) and in Jesus' command to be perfect (5:48). We see the principle illustrated in Jesus' parable of the unforgiving servant (Matthew 18:23-35). And the same principle is also implicit in the commendation of the church at Ephesus for hating what Jesus hates (Revelation 2:6).
What we are and what we do should be a response to what God is and what he does. And so it was, as we observed above, that what the apostle Paul devoted himself to doing was an extension of what God has devoted himself to doing. Paul says that God is "our Savior." And that identity of God is a function of his will: Namely, that he "desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth."
What kind of husband would I be if I were completely indifferent to the things that were most important to my wife? What kind of employee would I be if I were blasé about the goals and priorities of my employer? And what kind of Christian will I be if I walk through life preoccupied with my own agenda, unconcerned about God's will and purpose in this world?
God's will is that all would be saved. Given the principle that what God is and does is meant to influence what we are and do, we are left with a question. If our God is a Savior, who wants the whole world to be saved, what is it that you and I are meant to be and to do?
Preaching the Psalm
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 79:1-9
When is it exactly that people are driven to ask for forgiveness? It's an interesting question to consider, and one that this psalm asks. Here we have an Israel that is stricken, laid low by enemies and in some small way by its own arrogance and turning away from God. For the writer of this Psalm, the plea for forgiveness comes from the smoking wreckage they have made of their nation. In a real sense, forgiveness comes here as a kind of last result. The sentiment goes something like this. "We've tried to manage things on our own. We tried to run things and rule the world, but look at the mess we have made. Maybe we should consider asking God to forgive us and to restore our fortunes?"
When is it that we ourselves are led to seek forgiveness? For some, empathy runs deep, and forgiveness is sought almost before the harm is done. For others, the very jolt of our misdeed leads us to draw back and seek forgiveness in the wake of our actions. Still others, like Israel in this psalm, must experience the horrors their actions have created. The diversity response is seemingly endless! Sometimes, awash in arrogance and self-delusion, people don't ask for forgiveness at all. Other circumstances find people locked in their own victimhood, refusing to see the impact of their own actions in the situation in which they find themselves.
So it is that the question comes. Where is the template for all this? What is the standard? Are we to wander about in a cloud of unknowing?
In Hebrew tradition, it is God who forgives. In Christian tradition the franchise on forgiveness is expanded. Jesus reminds us, "If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven… if you retain the sins of any they are retained…." (John 20:23). For us, God's forgiveness has come to us all in what happened on the cross.
For Christians, the forgiveness question is answered in two parts. First, we need to turn, or repent, and receive the forgiveness made possible for us on the cross. Second, we need to share God's largesse and forgive others.
If one could forgive a dance metaphor, it's rather like the two-step of Christian faith. Receive forgiveness and forgive others. If someone could hum a few bars, perhaps we could all dance together.
As pastors, we know what it is to sit with someone who is in a desperate situation. A diagnosis with no treatment or cure. An enormous need with no sufficient resource to meet it. A broken relationship without the will or capacity to fix it.
In Johnston's familiar hymn, however, there is no lingering in despair. There is no grand pause, waiting anxiously for some solution to appear. Not at all. For no sooner is the question asked than the answer is given. "Look, there is flowing a crimson tide," she declares, "brighter than snow you may be today."
Between our Old Testament and New Testament texts this week, however, there is a grand pause. Between the time of Jeremiah's tortured testimony and the victorious proclamation of Paul there is a period of some 600 years.
The risk, of course, is that when you know the answer, you may not give full consideration to the question. When you know the end of the story, you may shortchange the plot. So our endeavor this week is to give due attention to the desperate situation raised in Jeremiah's day so that we might truly savor the solution provided in Paul's.
Jeremiah 8:18--9:1
Jeremiah's reputation is as "the weeping prophet," and this week's selection from his book lends credence to that nickname. This is a profound and deeply felt lament. And in order for our people to understand that lament, they will need to understand Jeremiah's circumstance.
This prophet lived and ministered during the final days of the southern kingdom of Judah. He and his fellow Jews lived under the shadow of the Babylonians, and his unhappy assignment was to proclaim to his people and their leaders the inevitability of Babylon's victory.
He had several things working against him. First, the miraculous deliverance of Jerusalem from the Assyrians during the time of King Hezekiah had led to a kind of "Zion is invincible" theology. Second, there were other (false) prophets in the land who proclaimed a cheerier message, which was of course more welcome and popular. Third, the coming judgment was because of the people's intractable sinfulness, which they predictably were unwilling to admit or abandon. Fourth, his message sounded both theologically heretical and politically treasonous, for he portrayed Jerusalem's enemy as an instrument of God and therefore encouraged surrender.
As a result of all this, Jeremiah was in an inconsolably desperate circumstance. His own people and nation were tragically separated from God, were passionately opposed to the prophet and his message, and faced the gruesome prospect of military annihilation.
Against that backdrop, then, we hear Jeremiah cry out, "My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick." Later, "For the hurt of my poor people I am hurt, I mourn, and dismay has taken hold of me." Indeed!
Jeremiah's heart for his people is evident in his identification of them as "my poor people." Their recalcitrance has not hardened his heart toward them, which is an admirable achievement for one who bears God's message.
The prophet's heart is so broken over his people, in fact, that he wishes he were capable of crying more. Such is the hopeless state of affairs in Jeremiah's Judah. What's left to wish for? That the Babylonians would turn back? That the people would repent? That God would grant another improbable -- and undeserved -- victory? No, all that's left to wish for now is that the prophet might be physically able to weep day and night, to exercise continuous lament over his doomed people.
Meanwhile, we see a measure of that people's confusion. They ask, "Is the Lord not in Zion?" So blind are they to their own sin that they are genuinely surprised by what is happening to them. They wonder that God is not present to save them.
Jeremiah does some wondering, too. "Is there no balm in Gilead?" he asks. "Is there no physician there?"
Gilead was across the Jordan from Jerusalem and Judah. The region was evidently known for its herbs and spices that were used for medicinal purposes. For Jeremiah to look there for a balm, therefore, was for him to cite the best-known pharmacy in the neighborhood.
We live in a fortunate age, when a call to 911 can summon emergency help in a matter of minutes. Still, when a medical emergency occurs in some public setting, the first cry is, "Is there a doctor in the house?"
But Jeremiah doesn't live in Gilead. He isn't asking for there to be a doctor in the house; he's simply asking for there to be a doctor in the hospital! "Is there no physician there," he asks despairingly. Are there no experts at Mayo Clinic? Is there no medicine at Walter Reed? Are there no doctors at St. Jude's? Jeremiah's plaintive question suggests the terrible image of a hospital that is boarded up, an Emergency Room that is vacant, an ambulance with no driver and no gas. It is the anguished cry of a man who sees no hope anywhere.
As such, Jeremiah's question is a poignant parallel to his people's question. Just as doctors and medicine were presumed to be in Gilead, so the Lord was assumed to be in Zion. Yet where was he? And those painful questions -- Where is God? Where is hope? Where can we turn? -- may be questions that will resonate deeply with someone in your congregation today.
1 Timothy 2:1-7
At any given moment, I suppose that a significant percentage of our people are unhappy with the government. Some may begin with a prejudice against the current mayor, governor, president, or some such simply because he or she is from the other party, the other side. Then, regardless of party affiliations, there are the specific concerns of the citizenry that make them more or less pleased with what is coming out of City Hall, the state legislature, or the White House.
For all of the grumbling that Americans may do from time to time about their own government, however, at least it is their own government. That is to say, we are governed by our own fellow citizens, and we had our vote, and we'll have a chance to vote again.
For the people of Paul's day, however, there was no such sense of ownership. On the contrary, the sense of ownership likely flowed in the other direction: namely, that the government owned the people, rather than the people owning the government.
Paul, Timothy, and the people in their congregations were all subjects of the Roman Empire. They were conquered peoples. Their homelands were occupied territories. And the taxes they paid went to subsidize their own occupation. For all of the benefits that the Roman Empire brought to the Mediterranean world, local freedom and self-government were not among them.
It is against that backdrop, then, that we must read Paul's encouragement to make intercession "for kings and all who are in high position." Our natural reflex is to pray for those we love. They are the ones who appear at the top of our heart's prayer list each day. Indeed, they may fully comprise it! But Jesus certainly encouraged a list longer than just loved ones (Matthew 5:44), and so does the apostle Paul here.
Paul's expressed desire for leading "a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity" is a fascinating insight into his psyche. When we read his biography in Acts, we would not guess that he aspired to "a quiet and peaceable life," for both before and after his conversion he was continually at the center of activity and controversy. The fact that he regards peace and quiet so highly, therefore, means that his activism was not born out of some personal need. Rather, he must have been genuinely motivated by zeal in order to cut across the grain of his own personal instinct and desire.
In telling us what is "acceptable in the sight of God," Paul is inspired to tell us more about that God. And the first order of business is his identity as "our Savior" -- the one "who desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth." That understanding of God's will must have been central to the life Paul lived and the calling he served following his conversion on the road to Damascus. Meanwhile, we will give further consideration to this truth about God below.
The affirmation that God desires for "everyone to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth" naturally leads Paul to make a statement about Jesus. We cannot speak about God's salvation without speaking about Jesus. And the world cannot come to a knowledge of the truth apart from the one who is the truth (John 14:6).
Paul's Christological statement here is brief but substantial. Following on the assertion that there is one God -- a point of orthodoxy for Jews, of course, but something of a countercultural claim out in the Gentile world -- Paul insists that there is also only "one mediator between God and humankind." In contrast to the confusion of the pagan world -- capricious gods, ubiquitous spirits, and a frightening system of roll-the-dice appeasements -- Paul offers a liberating truth. There is just one God, and he has provided for a means of salvation and reconciliation. And that means is not complex and unreliable, but incarnate and gracious -- Christ Jesus, "who gave himself a ransom for all."
Finally, that statement of gospel truth inspires Paul to affirm his own calling to that gospel. The message he has mentioned in brief is the very message he has been appointed to proclaim.
In the end, therefore, we see a very fluid stream of thought, moving quickly from one major theme to another. It begins as an instruction to the believers in Timothy's congregation. That leads to an expression of God's will, which in turn leads to a consideration of God's plan. That invites consideration of the person and work of Christ, which in turn leads us to Paul's own calling and ministry. It moves far and fast, but it does move logically.
Luke 16:1-13
Invite your people to get out paper and pencil before the scripture lessons are read, and ask them to list the first five parables of Jesus that come to mind. Chances are that the longer stories (e.g., the Good Samaritan) and the sentimental favorites (e.g., the Prodigal Son) will dominate the lists. On the other hand, not one list is likely to include this parable from Luke 16. Indeed, a fair number of folks might not recognize it as a parable of Jesus, at all. It is too unsavory to be a sentimental favorite. And it's too unsettling to be preached on frequently.
We are accustomed to Jesus presenting us with admirable protagonists -- the prudent man who built his house on the rock, the good and faithful stewards, the wise virgins, the good Samaritan, the importunate widow, and so on. And even in those cases where the central character is not so commendable (e.g., the rich fool), we are able to take his bad example as a cautionary tale.
In this instance, however, we meet a distasteful central character, and then he is held up for us as a kind of a role model.
Now the fact is that if we saw this plot played out in a television show or a movie, we would more willingly accept the dubious star of the show. Remember how America loved J.R. Ewing! Surprisingly, though, we are less tolerant of ambiguity in Bible characters than we are in television characters.
The star of this show is a manager -- a steward, a highly valued and trusted servant, who was given responsibility for his wealthy master's resources, properties, and investments. This particular manager, however, was not living up to his master's trust. Instead, "this man was squandering his (master's) property." We are not given details about the squandering, just as Jesus does not indulge a voyeuristic interest in the prodigal son's "dissolute living" (Luke 15:13). It is perhaps a fair assumption, however, that this shrewdly dishonest manager was attending more to his own interests than his master's.
As the day of reckoning approaches, however, the manager is understandably frightened, yet he is not "scared straight." The prospect of punishment does not prompt him to confess and repent, to beg for mercy, or to make restitution. Instead, he cleverly finds a dishonest way to mitigate the consequences of his earlier dishonesty. Again, we observe that his behavior is entirely animated by self-interest. The low star by which he navigates is always and only what will work out most favorably for him.
The manager conspires with other men of dubious character to further defraud his master. The motivation is not spiteful or vengeful, however; it is purely so that "people may welcome me into their homes."
All of these machinations would simply make for an amusing story, of course, if the dishonest man met with the expected comeuppance at the end. After all, we remember the terrible fate of that one pitiable manager who simply returned his master's money to him (Matthew 25:24-30). What, then, shall become of this servant who genuinely and repeatedly cheated his master?
Jesus says, "His master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly."
In our paradigm, honesty is a virtue, as I imagine it was for Jesus' original audience, as well. But in their world, shrewdness was also reckoned as a certain sort of virtue. It may have been welcomed as a form of wisdom -- an ancient version of "street smarts." And so the master congratulated the shrewd servant the same way that a basketball player might pat the back of the opponent who blocked his shot. He's not pleased about it, but he's impressed by it.
Still we wonder: What does this dishonest manager have to do with us? Of what virtue, condition, or circumstance shall we reckon him the patron saint?
Our "condition" is that we are in the world, and the world is a fallen place.
Perhaps it would be best if the highways were never icy, but given that they sometimes are, you want a driver who is competent for those challenging conditions. It would be best if there were no criminals in your city, but since there are, you want a properly equipped and trained police force.
Likewise, it would be nice if this world and its inhabitants were all sweetness and light. Given the reality that this world is a rough-and-tumble place, however, the Lord wants followers who are capable to do his work here.
Application
The true atheist has this advantage over all the rest of us: He does not know the tortured cry, "Where is God?"
I would not trade places with him, mind you. Better to have a head that aches than not to have a head at all. Yet we meet in the people of Jeremiah's day that most painful and poignant of faith crises: the person perplexed by God's absence.
Jeremiah's ministry was especially centered in Jerusalem. Jerusalem was the site of the Lord's temple. And that temple, as the people understood it, was the dwelling place of their God. It was that divine presence that raised Jerusalem's status above every other city. Just as an airplane becomes "Air Force One" when the President of the United States steps on board it, so Jerusalem becomes Zion because of the Lord's presence there.
Yet in the generation of Jeremiah, the people cried aloud, "Is the Lord not in Zion?" It was the question of ultimate disorientation and abandonment. As we noted above, for the Lord not to be found in Zion was as unthinkable as for there to be no medicine or doctor in Gilead.
But there is a doctor in the house! The Lord has not abandoned his people, for he is "our Savior, who desires everyone to be saved." This was the confident and reassuring good news that Paul proclaimed. What was all question marks in Jeremiah's day has become all exclamation points in Paul's. And so we need never guess about our God or fear that he is at some distance. For we have access to him through the "one mediator," Jesus Christ. As in Johnston's hymn, no sooner do we ask the question than we are assured that we have the answer.
Alternative Application
1 Timothy 2:1-7. "What's a Person to Do?" From the beginning to end of scripture, we see this principle at work: that what God is and does should influence what we are and do.
We see the principle in the law's command to be holy (Leviticus 11:44) and in Jesus' command to be perfect (5:48). We see the principle illustrated in Jesus' parable of the unforgiving servant (Matthew 18:23-35). And the same principle is also implicit in the commendation of the church at Ephesus for hating what Jesus hates (Revelation 2:6).
What we are and what we do should be a response to what God is and what he does. And so it was, as we observed above, that what the apostle Paul devoted himself to doing was an extension of what God has devoted himself to doing. Paul says that God is "our Savior." And that identity of God is a function of his will: Namely, that he "desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth."
What kind of husband would I be if I were completely indifferent to the things that were most important to my wife? What kind of employee would I be if I were blasé about the goals and priorities of my employer? And what kind of Christian will I be if I walk through life preoccupied with my own agenda, unconcerned about God's will and purpose in this world?
God's will is that all would be saved. Given the principle that what God is and does is meant to influence what we are and do, we are left with a question. If our God is a Savior, who wants the whole world to be saved, what is it that you and I are meant to be and to do?
Preaching the Psalm
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 79:1-9
When is it exactly that people are driven to ask for forgiveness? It's an interesting question to consider, and one that this psalm asks. Here we have an Israel that is stricken, laid low by enemies and in some small way by its own arrogance and turning away from God. For the writer of this Psalm, the plea for forgiveness comes from the smoking wreckage they have made of their nation. In a real sense, forgiveness comes here as a kind of last result. The sentiment goes something like this. "We've tried to manage things on our own. We tried to run things and rule the world, but look at the mess we have made. Maybe we should consider asking God to forgive us and to restore our fortunes?"
When is it that we ourselves are led to seek forgiveness? For some, empathy runs deep, and forgiveness is sought almost before the harm is done. For others, the very jolt of our misdeed leads us to draw back and seek forgiveness in the wake of our actions. Still others, like Israel in this psalm, must experience the horrors their actions have created. The diversity response is seemingly endless! Sometimes, awash in arrogance and self-delusion, people don't ask for forgiveness at all. Other circumstances find people locked in their own victimhood, refusing to see the impact of their own actions in the situation in which they find themselves.
So it is that the question comes. Where is the template for all this? What is the standard? Are we to wander about in a cloud of unknowing?
In Hebrew tradition, it is God who forgives. In Christian tradition the franchise on forgiveness is expanded. Jesus reminds us, "If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven… if you retain the sins of any they are retained…." (John 20:23). For us, God's forgiveness has come to us all in what happened on the cross.
For Christians, the forgiveness question is answered in two parts. First, we need to turn, or repent, and receive the forgiveness made possible for us on the cross. Second, we need to share God's largesse and forgive others.
If one could forgive a dance metaphor, it's rather like the two-step of Christian faith. Receive forgiveness and forgive others. If someone could hum a few bars, perhaps we could all dance together.
