The Battle Of The Wisdoms
Sermon
Sermons On The Second Readings
For Sundays In Advent, Christmas, And Epiphany
In the 1960s a favorite weekend night of entertainment for many was to attend events titled "The Battle of the Bands." One entered an auditorium packed to the gills with other raucous teenagers. One by one, equally loud and excited teenage bands would be paraded across the stage to display their wares. This meant that each band had an opportunity to play and sing three or four songs to the accompaniment of the screaming crowd. The cacophony of sound would permeate a three-block area. The band judged by the "panel of experts" to be the best of the dozen or so that performed would be given a trophy and cash award. This band could proclaim itself the winner in that city's "Battle of the Bands" contest. Such proved to be an advertising advantage when the band sought to earn a few dollars through securing a gig in another town.
Quite often the teenagers in the audience differed vehemently with the decision of the judges. No sooner would the "winner" in the Battle of the Bands contest be announced than all manner of "boos," "hisses," and beverage cups would start flying toward the stage. Audiences would dislike the fact that the "Battle of the Bands" would degenerate from, in their eyes, true competition to the personal preferences of the judges.
In most worldviews, life itself is just another instance of personal preference, rather than a meaningful judgment about the actual merit of things. Some see the world as just being what it is. It contains things and experiences that some people do not prefer and other people do. This type of thinking has nothing to say about the way things ought to be.
According to its proponents, from philosophers William James to Richard Rorty, modern pragmatism insists that there are no absolute standards against which to measure choices of "right" and "wrong" or even "better" or "worse."1 There are only our responses to these choices based on our perceptions of what is best, eventuating in only a difference to us in ways that we can measure and appreciate.
The book of James attempts to refute the claims of personal preference. The author distinguishes between two types of wisdom: that which is "from above" and that which does not come down "from above." Here is a clarion call for a battle between two wisdoms, Godly and human. James seeks to stress the importance of some guidelines for proper conduct which make a person "wise." At the same time he disavows certain conduct that sabotages true wisdom and undermines human living. James ticks off a veritable catalog of objective qualifications for the wise person in a litany of do's and don'ts. The author is not standing with a smile on his face and stating that "good" and "evil" are matters of individual tastes. To the contrary, he is walking across the stage of Holy Scripture, grabbing a code of conduct, raising its hand high in the air and screaming, "This is the winner in the Battle of the Wisdoms and this is the loser."
James' ancient rhetoric meets our modern mind and often we are tempted to boo, hiss, and throw whatever is within our grasp at someone who would dare try to squeeze us with a "do-and-don't" list.
Elizabeth Achtemeier has noted, "Above all else these days we Christians want to be loving. We want to forgive. We want to accept people as they are."2 Indeed, she posits, we have come to the point in our society where we will forgive almost any wrong and accept almost any lifestyle in the name of Christian love. Forgetting Christ's purposes, we, in similar fashion, expect to be forgiven and accepted no matter how we live.
According to James, not all wisdom is true wisdom come from above, and we do ourselves and those around us no great favor when we pretend that it is. James recognizes the battle of the wisdoms. While we humans do have responsibility and genuine options concerning the character of our lives, James does not minimize our difficulties. There must be no waffling back and forth. Spiritual death is a genuine possibility. Our cravings for the material things of the world can take over our lives and win the battle over our love for the God to whom we have promised our devotion. James suggests that submission to God produces more than good behavior. It produces true wisdom.
For both Jews and Christians in the time of James, the concept of wisdom was a central theme. Wisdom was an important part of the Christian life. Consequently, certain passages of scripture describe wisdom as if "she" were a living person or an extension of God.3
James focuses on the constant companionship of God, or wisdom, to help all of us in our efforts to avoid the dreadful attrition rate that besets Christians. Early Christians knew their wisdom literature tradition quite well. From the Old Testament (Proverbs, Job, and Ecclesiastes) and the Apocrypha, to the circulated letters of Paul, wisdom as a gift of God's spirit was held before them. In like manner, they were familiar with the teachings of Aristotle. The initial readers of James' words were familiar with the law of logic called the Law of the Excluded Middle. Aristotle had invented it and students of logic had memorized it for centuries before James took up his pen. It said, "A cannot be both A and B at the same time." The early Christians knew that something could not be right and wrong at the same time. The do's and don'ts list and the battle between two wisdoms, heavenly and earthly, was not something James had to convert his readers into believing. That was not his purpose. The early Christians already were well versed (some, perhaps, better) in what he was stating. Why repeat the obvious? The danger of attrition lay before the Church. These Christians were settled into their world. The institutional church was way down the road from its initial contact with the faith espoused by the saints. It needed a reminder of its code of ethics.
Here, then, is the value of the passage for you and me. Attrition is our danger as well. Not long ago a pastor took his teenage son to visit some universities that were out of their resident state. One of those institutions was Clemson University. Since the teenager was good in math, they were given an appointment with the Associate Dean of the School of Engineering.
After a period of question and answer exchange between the Dean and the student, the parent finally asked a question. "What is the largest major in this university?"
With perfect candor, the Dean replied, "In the fall we have the highest number of majors -- engineering. In the spring, business undecided has the highest number of majors."
He explained that new, eager, and bright students enter the School of Engineering in the fall with commitment, excitement, and promise. Their initial academic work goes well. Then, in the spring term, they are required to take a certain physics course. It is a back-breaker. Only the strong survive. Attrition begins to occur as more and more start to transfer away from engineering. The rubber hits the road, so to speak, and by the end of that term, when freshmen are no longer freshmen, the engineering major is no longer the largest on campus.
Unlike Paul who was writing to fall semester freshmen churches, James was writing to Christians who were no longer freshmen in the faith. His letter was a general or "catholic" epistle for us all.
Eugene Peterson has written a book for us that James would enjoy. It is called A Long Obedience in the Same Direction. The book speaks honestly about the Christian journey. Millions of people all over the world begin it. But as soon as discipleship gets arduous or prayers are not answered the way we wish for them to be, people start to drop out. The attrition rate is dreadful. Few of us have enthusiasm for what Peterson calls "the patient acquisition of Christian virtue."4 The Christian journey, which starts like a sprint, winds up as a lonely, silent marathon. What starts out so beautifully is never finished. So it is with wisdom. We can start beautifully but often it's the middle of the race that breaks us. We transfer from heavenly wisdom to earthly wisdom. We often die with our greatest wisdom, that which comes from above, still within us, unused, unspent, unrecognized. Yet the world looks at us and calls us "wise in the ways of the world," "a great preacher," "a shrewd businesswoman," or "a beloved philanthropist."
James wants us to avoid such endings. He wants us to be declared the winner in the Battle of the Wisdoms, by the only judge whose decision ultimately matters.
____________
1. See the examination of pragmatism given in John G. Stackhouse, Jr., Can God Be Trusted? Faith and the Challenge of Evil (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 25.
2. Elizabeth Achtemeier, Preaching As Theology and Art (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1984), p. 28.
3. Earl S. Johnson, Jr., James, Peter, John, and Jude: Basic Bible Commentary (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1988), p. 35. At this point a warning is in order for the preacher. As Marion Soards, Thomas Dozeman, and Kendall McCabe have pointed out in Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary: Year B, After Pentecost 2, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1993), the picture James paints is not meant to be a scare tactic. The preacher can "lapse into mere moralism or pious drivel" (p. 53).
Indeed, every ethical maxim of Christianity was expressed by the philosopher Seneca, called "the noble pagan" by many. Seneca once said that religion was regarded by the common people as true, by the philosophers as false, and by the rulers as useful. Such, I fear, could be the case with excessive moralizing in a sermon on this text. Harold Warlick
4. As quoted by Dr. Thomas K. Tewell in "Running the Last Lap," a sermon preached Sunday, June 28, 1998, The Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, New York, New York.
Quite often the teenagers in the audience differed vehemently with the decision of the judges. No sooner would the "winner" in the Battle of the Bands contest be announced than all manner of "boos," "hisses," and beverage cups would start flying toward the stage. Audiences would dislike the fact that the "Battle of the Bands" would degenerate from, in their eyes, true competition to the personal preferences of the judges.
In most worldviews, life itself is just another instance of personal preference, rather than a meaningful judgment about the actual merit of things. Some see the world as just being what it is. It contains things and experiences that some people do not prefer and other people do. This type of thinking has nothing to say about the way things ought to be.
According to its proponents, from philosophers William James to Richard Rorty, modern pragmatism insists that there are no absolute standards against which to measure choices of "right" and "wrong" or even "better" or "worse."1 There are only our responses to these choices based on our perceptions of what is best, eventuating in only a difference to us in ways that we can measure and appreciate.
The book of James attempts to refute the claims of personal preference. The author distinguishes between two types of wisdom: that which is "from above" and that which does not come down "from above." Here is a clarion call for a battle between two wisdoms, Godly and human. James seeks to stress the importance of some guidelines for proper conduct which make a person "wise." At the same time he disavows certain conduct that sabotages true wisdom and undermines human living. James ticks off a veritable catalog of objective qualifications for the wise person in a litany of do's and don'ts. The author is not standing with a smile on his face and stating that "good" and "evil" are matters of individual tastes. To the contrary, he is walking across the stage of Holy Scripture, grabbing a code of conduct, raising its hand high in the air and screaming, "This is the winner in the Battle of the Wisdoms and this is the loser."
James' ancient rhetoric meets our modern mind and often we are tempted to boo, hiss, and throw whatever is within our grasp at someone who would dare try to squeeze us with a "do-and-don't" list.
Elizabeth Achtemeier has noted, "Above all else these days we Christians want to be loving. We want to forgive. We want to accept people as they are."2 Indeed, she posits, we have come to the point in our society where we will forgive almost any wrong and accept almost any lifestyle in the name of Christian love. Forgetting Christ's purposes, we, in similar fashion, expect to be forgiven and accepted no matter how we live.
According to James, not all wisdom is true wisdom come from above, and we do ourselves and those around us no great favor when we pretend that it is. James recognizes the battle of the wisdoms. While we humans do have responsibility and genuine options concerning the character of our lives, James does not minimize our difficulties. There must be no waffling back and forth. Spiritual death is a genuine possibility. Our cravings for the material things of the world can take over our lives and win the battle over our love for the God to whom we have promised our devotion. James suggests that submission to God produces more than good behavior. It produces true wisdom.
For both Jews and Christians in the time of James, the concept of wisdom was a central theme. Wisdom was an important part of the Christian life. Consequently, certain passages of scripture describe wisdom as if "she" were a living person or an extension of God.3
James focuses on the constant companionship of God, or wisdom, to help all of us in our efforts to avoid the dreadful attrition rate that besets Christians. Early Christians knew their wisdom literature tradition quite well. From the Old Testament (Proverbs, Job, and Ecclesiastes) and the Apocrypha, to the circulated letters of Paul, wisdom as a gift of God's spirit was held before them. In like manner, they were familiar with the teachings of Aristotle. The initial readers of James' words were familiar with the law of logic called the Law of the Excluded Middle. Aristotle had invented it and students of logic had memorized it for centuries before James took up his pen. It said, "A cannot be both A and B at the same time." The early Christians knew that something could not be right and wrong at the same time. The do's and don'ts list and the battle between two wisdoms, heavenly and earthly, was not something James had to convert his readers into believing. That was not his purpose. The early Christians already were well versed (some, perhaps, better) in what he was stating. Why repeat the obvious? The danger of attrition lay before the Church. These Christians were settled into their world. The institutional church was way down the road from its initial contact with the faith espoused by the saints. It needed a reminder of its code of ethics.
Here, then, is the value of the passage for you and me. Attrition is our danger as well. Not long ago a pastor took his teenage son to visit some universities that were out of their resident state. One of those institutions was Clemson University. Since the teenager was good in math, they were given an appointment with the Associate Dean of the School of Engineering.
After a period of question and answer exchange between the Dean and the student, the parent finally asked a question. "What is the largest major in this university?"
With perfect candor, the Dean replied, "In the fall we have the highest number of majors -- engineering. In the spring, business undecided has the highest number of majors."
He explained that new, eager, and bright students enter the School of Engineering in the fall with commitment, excitement, and promise. Their initial academic work goes well. Then, in the spring term, they are required to take a certain physics course. It is a back-breaker. Only the strong survive. Attrition begins to occur as more and more start to transfer away from engineering. The rubber hits the road, so to speak, and by the end of that term, when freshmen are no longer freshmen, the engineering major is no longer the largest on campus.
Unlike Paul who was writing to fall semester freshmen churches, James was writing to Christians who were no longer freshmen in the faith. His letter was a general or "catholic" epistle for us all.
Eugene Peterson has written a book for us that James would enjoy. It is called A Long Obedience in the Same Direction. The book speaks honestly about the Christian journey. Millions of people all over the world begin it. But as soon as discipleship gets arduous or prayers are not answered the way we wish for them to be, people start to drop out. The attrition rate is dreadful. Few of us have enthusiasm for what Peterson calls "the patient acquisition of Christian virtue."4 The Christian journey, which starts like a sprint, winds up as a lonely, silent marathon. What starts out so beautifully is never finished. So it is with wisdom. We can start beautifully but often it's the middle of the race that breaks us. We transfer from heavenly wisdom to earthly wisdom. We often die with our greatest wisdom, that which comes from above, still within us, unused, unspent, unrecognized. Yet the world looks at us and calls us "wise in the ways of the world," "a great preacher," "a shrewd businesswoman," or "a beloved philanthropist."
James wants us to avoid such endings. He wants us to be declared the winner in the Battle of the Wisdoms, by the only judge whose decision ultimately matters.
____________
1. See the examination of pragmatism given in John G. Stackhouse, Jr., Can God Be Trusted? Faith and the Challenge of Evil (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 25.
2. Elizabeth Achtemeier, Preaching As Theology and Art (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1984), p. 28.
3. Earl S. Johnson, Jr., James, Peter, John, and Jude: Basic Bible Commentary (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1988), p. 35. At this point a warning is in order for the preacher. As Marion Soards, Thomas Dozeman, and Kendall McCabe have pointed out in Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary: Year B, After Pentecost 2, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1993), the picture James paints is not meant to be a scare tactic. The preacher can "lapse into mere moralism or pious drivel" (p. 53).
Indeed, every ethical maxim of Christianity was expressed by the philosopher Seneca, called "the noble pagan" by many. Seneca once said that religion was regarded by the common people as true, by the philosophers as false, and by the rulers as useful. Such, I fear, could be the case with excessive moralizing in a sermon on this text. Harold Warlick
4. As quoted by Dr. Thomas K. Tewell in "Running the Last Lap," a sermon preached Sunday, June 28, 1998, The Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, New York, New York.
