Essentials
Sermon
Sermons on the First Readings
Series II, Cycle C
Object:
D. L. Miller of Mount Morris, Illinois, was a world traveler among a people who didn't travel much. He was a Dunker, one of the Plain People, who lived in the late nineteenth century. He wore a dark coat and dark pants and a long beard without a mustache. When others bought cars, the Dunkers kept their horses and buggies. If you were a believer, then you dressed like everyone else in your church, and acted like everyone in your church, and made a point of never standing out. His people made a point of keeping themselves separate and unstained from the world -- and that meant no missionaries.
The rest of the Christian world was getting caught up with missionary zeal but the Dunkers were a little cautious. What if their young people went out on missions and came back different? Maybe the women wouldn't want to wear plain clothes and prayer veils. Maybe the young men would want to wear bow ties and bowlers. Better to stay at home and preach the gospel in comfortable surroundings.
But D. L. Miller took it into his head to go on a trip around the world. Not only that, he brought a new-fangled camera with him. He traveled to the Holy Land, and to Egypt, and to the seven cities of Revelation. He went to Africa and India and China.
When he got back, he traveled from one Dunker church to another, showing his glass slides with another new-fangled invention -- the magic lantern. This primitive slide projection machine made the rest of the world come alive. Suddenly those people in other countries became real, as he showed their faces and told stories about them. They saw real suffering and anguish, a need for teachers, doctors, nurses, evangelists -- caring for people of all stripes. They saw a need, a hunger for the gospel. The young people grew excited. A few bearded elders cautioned the rest, but soon Dunker youths were traveling to India, Africa, and China, baptizing people in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
And they realized that people in these hot climates were not going to wear prayer coverings and Dunker beards and dark clothing. It made sense. The plain garb didn't matter. Horses and buggies didn't matter. Instead, like others in the mission fields, the missionaries preached a simple gospel.
It was the same for other missionaries of other faiths, they discovered. Back home in the states, their priests and ministers might argue about points of theology, about the means and method of baptism and communion, about songs and hymns and choruses and chants, but in the mission fields it was all about the essentials. It was all about Jesus!
What do we believe? What do we confess? Are we angry and against things that do not matter? Or are we talking about nothing but Jesus and the mission of Jesus?
This Isaiah passage is written to a people who may have forgotten about what is essential. They need someone to show them the heart of the faith. They need a teacher to make suffering real to them, so they will put aside all distractions and focus on what is needed now.
This passage is known as the third of the great servant songs in scripture. The speaker is quite aware there is suffering. Using the title and name of God, he says, "The Lord God has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word ..." (Isaiah 50:4). This commission comes from God. It is God's work that this ancient missionary must accomplish.
These words speak to Isaiah's time, but they also point to the mission and ministry of Jesus. Indeed Jesus says: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28). We are so weary, we bear such burdens, we are in such pain, but we ignore the teacher, the one who comes to show us the way.
It is not a way around pain, or without pain, but through pain. We see clearly the images of the trial and torture of Jesus in the words of Isaiah: "I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; I did not hide my face from insult and spitting" (Isaiah 50:6).
But these are not words of defeat. Isaiah says, "He who vindicates me is near ..." (Isaiah 50:8). This is the same thing Jesus proclaims from the cross. We are familiar with his words of despair: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?"What most of us don't seem to know is that these are the opening words of Psalm 22. In Jesus' day one had only to quote the first verse of a psalm for all to call to mind the rest of it as well. The psalm catalogs the many horrors endured by God's servant, but also contains the promise of vindication and restoration, of being heard by God in agony, of being delivered!
Jesus speaks from pain to us in pain. We are emptied but are filled once more by God. It is the Lord God who hears us, rescues us, redeems us.
No one seeks pain. No one wants pain, but our culture treats pain like an outrage, like an affront, as if God and society have let us down. Our lives can never be pain free. We should work for the elimination of pain in the lives of the living and the dying, but on this, Passion Sunday, we must also recognize pain as an invitation -- to minister and to serve. Missionaries were quick to recognize the pain across the ocean and to answer it, focusing on the essentials of the gospel and ignoring all the distractions of denomination and sect.
In addition to the invitation that comes from the pain of others, we must see in our own pain the brokenness that allows God to shine through, and for others to minister to us as well.
Isaiah's servant issues a challenge to us. He also provides meaning to what would otherwise be meaningless. Jesus accepted the significance of these words, and his actions are what make this coming Friday good and not just painful, harsh, and cruel. Obedience leads to righteousness and victory.
When Paul wrote to the Christians in Philippi he used language that would have shocked some of his fellow believers. He borrowed the language of the pagan altars when he spoke, in chapter 2, of Jesus being poured out like an offering, and he then made it clear that in the emptying came the elevation. Jesus, equal with God, took on the form of a slave, washing the feet of his disciples, and enduring the execution reserved for slaves. That is why every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord.
From the beginning, Christians have recognized what the death and resurrection of Jesus really means. In his obedience, he was highly exalted. It was in Isaiah's passage. It happened in real life, after a real trial and a real execution.
Our own obedience will exalt us, but it will also expose us to ridicule and even danger.
On this Sunday we call to mind that the people hailed Jesus, confessed him as Savior, when he entered into Jerusalem. They called him a prophet, the son of David, the one who comes in the name of the Lord. The one before whom every knee should bow. With what enthusiasm do they greet him? How nervous Pilate and the Roman troops must have been. Pilate was in the Fortress Antonia, right next to the temple, watching and wondering, what does this mean? Is this another peasant rebel ready to lead people to their doom? Why do they greet him in a manner befitting royalty? And this man acts royal, accepting their acclamations. Yet, there is something different about him, this carpenter king....
There's irony aplenty here because we know everything they're saying and thinking is true and then some. But it's not what they think. Jesus is even more than they imagine. He's not just their king. He's Lord of the universe, creator of all that is seen and unseen. Yet he has made himself accessible. He can be touched -- and killed.
We who know the story remember that the crowd quickly turned, calling for his death -- watching, mocking, reviling him.
If we had been there, what would we have done? Are we fairweather Christians? Are we Christians only when it's easy, and not when it involves pain or danger?
When our faith makes us too comfortable, when it seems as if all of society is in agreement with us, when it gets too easy, we should be wary. If we stand up for the homeless or dispossessed, if we take the side of the oppressed, against the wealthy and powerful, we should expect resistance from the world.
Sister Helen Prejean, who works for victims' rights and also against the death penalty, noted in her book, Dead Man Walking, that if you "... get involved with poor people ... controversy follows you like a hungry dog" and went on to note ironically, "If you work for social change, you're political, but if you acquiesce and go along with the status quo, you're above politics" (p. 111).
So expect it. Because Peter spoke like a Galilean, he was accused of being one of the followers of Jesus. If we speak in the language of love for God's poor people, they will accuse us as well. We can deny it like Peter, or we can stand by the cross, like the women of the gospels. We can confess Jesus when it's hard to do so, or wait for the time when at the name of Jesus every knee will bow.
We can't always be popular and be a Christian. There are times when we can fit into American society well enough, but there are times when we are more than Americans. We are Christians first. There will not be a separate door into heaven for different nationalities, any more than there will be separate doors for racial or ethnic categories.
Paul asks us to "let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 2:5), and Isaiah encourages us to remember that "it is the Lord God who helps me" (Isaiah 50:9) when others bring accusations. Let us put on our game faces and stand up for Jesus.
Is this possible? Can we do such a thing? We can. We do. We have. Isaiah said: "The Lord God helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame ..." (Isaiah 50:7). Time and again Christian disciples, faced with the choice of standing by Jesus or standing for the world, have set their faces like flint and have not been put to shame.
On a February day in the year 156, Polycarp, the overseer of the church in Smyrna, was arrested on the charge of practicing the Christian faith. In his youth he had known the Apostle John and others who had known the Lord in the flesh. In the Martyrdom of Polycarp we read:
Therefore he was brought forward to the Proconsul, who asked him if he were Polycarp. When he said he was one and the same, he tried to dissuade him, saying, "Remember your age ... Swear allegiance (to Caesar) and I'll release you." Polycarp answered, "I have been his slave 86 years and he has never treated me unjustly. How is it possible I should blaspheme my king who saved me?" -- Martyrdom of Polycarp (9:2-3)
He was burned at the stake and did not die until he was pierced through the heart with a dagger. His example encouraged other Christians to endure, even unto death.
This is, after all, the Christian week. Experience it all. Push your comfort level. Jesus is headed on a collision course with established religious and political authorities. Are you? Ahead of us lies the empty tomb and the resurrection, but to get there we must meditate on the Last Supper, which is part of Maundy Thursday. We must stand by the cross on Good Friday. We must experience the long, dark melancholy of Holy Saturday. Then and only then can we legitimately stand with all the disciples who have suffered for the sake of the gospel and proclaim, "He is risen! He is risen, indeed!" Amen.
The rest of the Christian world was getting caught up with missionary zeal but the Dunkers were a little cautious. What if their young people went out on missions and came back different? Maybe the women wouldn't want to wear plain clothes and prayer veils. Maybe the young men would want to wear bow ties and bowlers. Better to stay at home and preach the gospel in comfortable surroundings.
But D. L. Miller took it into his head to go on a trip around the world. Not only that, he brought a new-fangled camera with him. He traveled to the Holy Land, and to Egypt, and to the seven cities of Revelation. He went to Africa and India and China.
When he got back, he traveled from one Dunker church to another, showing his glass slides with another new-fangled invention -- the magic lantern. This primitive slide projection machine made the rest of the world come alive. Suddenly those people in other countries became real, as he showed their faces and told stories about them. They saw real suffering and anguish, a need for teachers, doctors, nurses, evangelists -- caring for people of all stripes. They saw a need, a hunger for the gospel. The young people grew excited. A few bearded elders cautioned the rest, but soon Dunker youths were traveling to India, Africa, and China, baptizing people in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
And they realized that people in these hot climates were not going to wear prayer coverings and Dunker beards and dark clothing. It made sense. The plain garb didn't matter. Horses and buggies didn't matter. Instead, like others in the mission fields, the missionaries preached a simple gospel.
It was the same for other missionaries of other faiths, they discovered. Back home in the states, their priests and ministers might argue about points of theology, about the means and method of baptism and communion, about songs and hymns and choruses and chants, but in the mission fields it was all about the essentials. It was all about Jesus!
What do we believe? What do we confess? Are we angry and against things that do not matter? Or are we talking about nothing but Jesus and the mission of Jesus?
This Isaiah passage is written to a people who may have forgotten about what is essential. They need someone to show them the heart of the faith. They need a teacher to make suffering real to them, so they will put aside all distractions and focus on what is needed now.
This passage is known as the third of the great servant songs in scripture. The speaker is quite aware there is suffering. Using the title and name of God, he says, "The Lord God has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word ..." (Isaiah 50:4). This commission comes from God. It is God's work that this ancient missionary must accomplish.
These words speak to Isaiah's time, but they also point to the mission and ministry of Jesus. Indeed Jesus says: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28). We are so weary, we bear such burdens, we are in such pain, but we ignore the teacher, the one who comes to show us the way.
It is not a way around pain, or without pain, but through pain. We see clearly the images of the trial and torture of Jesus in the words of Isaiah: "I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; I did not hide my face from insult and spitting" (Isaiah 50:6).
But these are not words of defeat. Isaiah says, "He who vindicates me is near ..." (Isaiah 50:8). This is the same thing Jesus proclaims from the cross. We are familiar with his words of despair: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?"What most of us don't seem to know is that these are the opening words of Psalm 22. In Jesus' day one had only to quote the first verse of a psalm for all to call to mind the rest of it as well. The psalm catalogs the many horrors endured by God's servant, but also contains the promise of vindication and restoration, of being heard by God in agony, of being delivered!
Jesus speaks from pain to us in pain. We are emptied but are filled once more by God. It is the Lord God who hears us, rescues us, redeems us.
No one seeks pain. No one wants pain, but our culture treats pain like an outrage, like an affront, as if God and society have let us down. Our lives can never be pain free. We should work for the elimination of pain in the lives of the living and the dying, but on this, Passion Sunday, we must also recognize pain as an invitation -- to minister and to serve. Missionaries were quick to recognize the pain across the ocean and to answer it, focusing on the essentials of the gospel and ignoring all the distractions of denomination and sect.
In addition to the invitation that comes from the pain of others, we must see in our own pain the brokenness that allows God to shine through, and for others to minister to us as well.
Isaiah's servant issues a challenge to us. He also provides meaning to what would otherwise be meaningless. Jesus accepted the significance of these words, and his actions are what make this coming Friday good and not just painful, harsh, and cruel. Obedience leads to righteousness and victory.
When Paul wrote to the Christians in Philippi he used language that would have shocked some of his fellow believers. He borrowed the language of the pagan altars when he spoke, in chapter 2, of Jesus being poured out like an offering, and he then made it clear that in the emptying came the elevation. Jesus, equal with God, took on the form of a slave, washing the feet of his disciples, and enduring the execution reserved for slaves. That is why every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord.
From the beginning, Christians have recognized what the death and resurrection of Jesus really means. In his obedience, he was highly exalted. It was in Isaiah's passage. It happened in real life, after a real trial and a real execution.
Our own obedience will exalt us, but it will also expose us to ridicule and even danger.
On this Sunday we call to mind that the people hailed Jesus, confessed him as Savior, when he entered into Jerusalem. They called him a prophet, the son of David, the one who comes in the name of the Lord. The one before whom every knee should bow. With what enthusiasm do they greet him? How nervous Pilate and the Roman troops must have been. Pilate was in the Fortress Antonia, right next to the temple, watching and wondering, what does this mean? Is this another peasant rebel ready to lead people to their doom? Why do they greet him in a manner befitting royalty? And this man acts royal, accepting their acclamations. Yet, there is something different about him, this carpenter king....
There's irony aplenty here because we know everything they're saying and thinking is true and then some. But it's not what they think. Jesus is even more than they imagine. He's not just their king. He's Lord of the universe, creator of all that is seen and unseen. Yet he has made himself accessible. He can be touched -- and killed.
We who know the story remember that the crowd quickly turned, calling for his death -- watching, mocking, reviling him.
If we had been there, what would we have done? Are we fairweather Christians? Are we Christians only when it's easy, and not when it involves pain or danger?
When our faith makes us too comfortable, when it seems as if all of society is in agreement with us, when it gets too easy, we should be wary. If we stand up for the homeless or dispossessed, if we take the side of the oppressed, against the wealthy and powerful, we should expect resistance from the world.
Sister Helen Prejean, who works for victims' rights and also against the death penalty, noted in her book, Dead Man Walking, that if you "... get involved with poor people ... controversy follows you like a hungry dog" and went on to note ironically, "If you work for social change, you're political, but if you acquiesce and go along with the status quo, you're above politics" (p. 111).
So expect it. Because Peter spoke like a Galilean, he was accused of being one of the followers of Jesus. If we speak in the language of love for God's poor people, they will accuse us as well. We can deny it like Peter, or we can stand by the cross, like the women of the gospels. We can confess Jesus when it's hard to do so, or wait for the time when at the name of Jesus every knee will bow.
We can't always be popular and be a Christian. There are times when we can fit into American society well enough, but there are times when we are more than Americans. We are Christians first. There will not be a separate door into heaven for different nationalities, any more than there will be separate doors for racial or ethnic categories.
Paul asks us to "let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 2:5), and Isaiah encourages us to remember that "it is the Lord God who helps me" (Isaiah 50:9) when others bring accusations. Let us put on our game faces and stand up for Jesus.
Is this possible? Can we do such a thing? We can. We do. We have. Isaiah said: "The Lord God helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame ..." (Isaiah 50:7). Time and again Christian disciples, faced with the choice of standing by Jesus or standing for the world, have set their faces like flint and have not been put to shame.
On a February day in the year 156, Polycarp, the overseer of the church in Smyrna, was arrested on the charge of practicing the Christian faith. In his youth he had known the Apostle John and others who had known the Lord in the flesh. In the Martyrdom of Polycarp we read:
Therefore he was brought forward to the Proconsul, who asked him if he were Polycarp. When he said he was one and the same, he tried to dissuade him, saying, "Remember your age ... Swear allegiance (to Caesar) and I'll release you." Polycarp answered, "I have been his slave 86 years and he has never treated me unjustly. How is it possible I should blaspheme my king who saved me?" -- Martyrdom of Polycarp (9:2-3)
He was burned at the stake and did not die until he was pierced through the heart with a dagger. His example encouraged other Christians to endure, even unto death.
This is, after all, the Christian week. Experience it all. Push your comfort level. Jesus is headed on a collision course with established religious and political authorities. Are you? Ahead of us lies the empty tomb and the resurrection, but to get there we must meditate on the Last Supper, which is part of Maundy Thursday. We must stand by the cross on Good Friday. We must experience the long, dark melancholy of Holy Saturday. Then and only then can we legitimately stand with all the disciples who have suffered for the sake of the gospel and proclaim, "He is risen! He is risen, indeed!" Amen.
