The Last Compact
Sermon
Sermons on the First Readings
Series III, Cycle B
Object:
A man, seriously ill in the hospital, requested a visit from his pastor. "Pastor," he said, "if you pray for me and I recover, I will give $25,000 to the building fund." The pastor prayed and the patient recovered completely. The pastor tactfully tried to remind his parishioner about the promise. Stonewalled, the minister put it on the line, "Jim, you promised to give $25,000 to the building fund when you became well." "Did I?" answered the newly recovered man. "Well, that should give you some idea of how sick I was."
Broken contracts -- promises not kept -- it's part of the human experience. It's a part of the human story in the Bible.
Take a look at Father Abraham. God made a deal with him. The deal was signed with the blood of animals that were cut in two. (People now use printed paper contracts and ink.) The cut carcasses were then placed back together again and after the sun had set, and an eerie darkness had fallen over the place, "a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch" were passed between the pieces (Genesis 15:17).
The smoking pot and the flaming torch represented the presence of God and in this way Abraham entered into a personal covenant relationship with God. God promised Abraham that he and his descendents would possess a great land, become a great nation, and become a blessing to the peoples of the earth.
Abraham and his tribe, his flocks, and his tents moved south from Haran to Canaan. But Abraham had reason to believe that God had reneged on God's side of the contract. Abraham had no sons with his wife, Sarah. The proxy son by his Egyptian maid did not qualify as "descendent," but God showed good faith. God provided for a son from the elderly Sarah. Abraham had reason again to doubt God's intentions when God commanded the father to sacrifice the son. The command turned out to be a test of Abraham's trust in God and the deal was back on the road again. But Abraham's descendents ended up in hopeless slavery in Egypt. Now for sure, the contract with God had come to a dead end. No promised land. No great people. No blessing to anyone except the Egyptian tyrants who were, understandably, quite proud of their new tombs.
But wait -- the story is not over. After a lengthy pause, God sent Moses to save the day. Moses led his people out of Egypt. Moses led his people through the Red Sea and no one even got a foot wet. (Did you see the movie?) According to one account, God renewed his covenant with Israel in a ceremony at the foot of the mountain. The Ten Commandments, guidelines for living, sweetened the deal. Moses led his people to the east side of Jordan, poised for the entry into the promised land. Moses received a glimpse of the land promised to Abraham, passed the baton to Joshua, and died. Joshua "fit the battle of Jericho."
The history of the chosen people in the promised land is not a pretty sight. The people of Israel and Judah vacillate and backslide and stumble on the way to their destiny. The prophets come and go. The united kingdom under Saul, David, and Solomon flowers briefly. The kingdom divides into two. The kingdom in the north, Israel, is wiped out by the Assyrians. Enter the prophet Jeremiah stage right. Either before the fall of Judah in 586 BC, or perhaps during the fall or after the fall, Jeremiah brings up the matter of the contract with God. Before the imminent fall of Judah at the hands of the Babylonians, Jeremiah warned the people that they were like a clay pot. If clay pots are damaged and if they leak, they are destroyed. The people of Judah were a damaged clay pot and it would have to be smashed in order that a new people might be formed (Jeremiah 18:1-11).
Jeremiah was a visionary. Regular contracts can become null and void, but contracts with God? No way! Perhaps the contract could be saved. Perhaps the contract could be edited a bit. Jeremiah gets a glimpse of the rewritten contract. He noted, first of all, that the reworded contract would be written on the hearts of people. The new revised contract would not be carved in stone. It would be inscribed into human hearts. Tablets of stone exist outside human flesh and bone. The renewed contract would be part and parcel of people; not over against them and judging them but inside them, stitched and woven into their very bodies and souls. From the post-resurrection point of view, one would say that the meeting with God at the mountain of Sinai has been supplanted by the meeting with God at the hill of Golgotha, at the cross.
The fire and glory of the majestic God at the top of the mountain has become God the human suffering on an instrument of torture and slow, painful death. It's not a pretty picture, seeing God on the cross. A professor of church history once sat at dinner in Berkeley, California, with a professor of comparative religions. The world religion professor revealed that he was a Buddhist. The history teacher asked if his children would become Buddhists as well. "I don't know," said the Buddhist, "they are searching. My daughter went with a Christian friend to a church and was appalled by the sight of the suffering Jesus upon the sanctuary cross. 'How gross!' she said."
Perhaps that young girl could not relate to the suffering of a man hanging on a cross because she, herself, had yet to experience the suffering and pain that comes with the package we call "life."
The year 2007 was the 400th anniversary of the birth of the German composer, Paul Gerhardt. After completing his preparation for the Lutheran ministry, he was assigned to the parish of Mittenwalde, a small town near Berlin. There he comforted the populace, victims of the ravages of the Thirty Years' War. Gerhardt experienced in his lifetime the unholy violence of destruction and man's inhumanity to man. In his hymn, "O Sacred Head Now Wounded," he contemplates the violent passion of the Christ upon the cross. Gerhardt knows about the suffering of the man, Jesus, because he too has seen it all. (It is a minor miracle that he lived to be 69 years of age.) Therefore, he recognizes the abuse and scorn, the pale agony for what it is, because the violence of first-century Roman soldiers was repeated by plundering soldiers in his own century.
However, Gerhardt, though seemingly obsessed by the pain and suffering of life at times, saw beyond the event of the cross the splendor of the heavens beyond. Gerhardt praised "patience," as a gift from God that enables the traveler in the world to persevere in the face of earthly travail. Spiritual patience drives one to trust in the passion and death of Jesus. Like Gerhardt, C. S. Lewis experienced the pain, isolation, injustice, hunger, thirst, and exposure of WWII. The memories of the war haunted his dreams for years and he believed that death would be better than to have to endure another war. For him, the Christian could only experience real happiness when one realizes that "the crown is not permitted without the cross...."1
Secondly, Jeremiah proclaimed that the new contract would not be taught by neighbors to neighbors. What does that mean? It means that the element of judgment of the goody-goody two shoes upon the lower-life common "sinners" would be ruled out. One's relationship with God would be henceforth between the sinner and God. In the Protestant tradition, that means that the pastor or minister does not have the right to do the judging, but as a fellow "priest" in the "priesthood of all believers," he or she would only announce God's mercy upon the penitent sinner. In confession, the priest or the pastor does not bestow the forgiveness but only passes the forgiveness on from God. No longer can the kettle call the pot black. The new covenant announced the demise of the spiritually elite. In the scramble to find righteousness, it's always comforting to note that one is ahead of someone less righteous. In the era of the new covenant, all are equally fallen from God and all are equally restored to God through the work of Christ.
Thirdly, Jeremiah presses forward to his grand conclusion: "... [the Lord] ... will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more" (Jeremiah 31:34). Could the matter be stated anymore plainly?
There's an old story about a college swimming coach who tossed and turned in his bed on a hot summer's night. He arose and crossed the small campus to the swimming hall. He knew the building well and did not turn on the inside lights. He mounted the diving board and stretched his arms to each side. The moon shone brightly that night and cast his shadow upon the opposite wall. His shadow caught his attention; it reminded him of a cross. The sight gave him pause. He stepped back off the diving board and realized that there was no water in the pool. The custodian had drained the water out during the day in order to do some repairs. The coach later related to others the incident and said, "I was saved by the cross."
From the point of view of the Christian believer, Jeremiah announced a salvation that he may not have totally comprehended. God spoke through him about God's unbounded and unconditional forgiveness. If Jeremiah's vision gave hope to those in captivity in Babylon, how much more is the boundless hope that fills our hearts and lights the path of our journey to the kingdom beyond the dark cross of Golgotha? In hope we enter the final week before Passion Sunday, eager to see the light at the end of his "way of sorrows." Amen.
____________
1. C.S. Lewis, The Joyful Christian (New York: Touchstone, 1977), p. 214.
Broken contracts -- promises not kept -- it's part of the human experience. It's a part of the human story in the Bible.
Take a look at Father Abraham. God made a deal with him. The deal was signed with the blood of animals that were cut in two. (People now use printed paper contracts and ink.) The cut carcasses were then placed back together again and after the sun had set, and an eerie darkness had fallen over the place, "a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch" were passed between the pieces (Genesis 15:17).
The smoking pot and the flaming torch represented the presence of God and in this way Abraham entered into a personal covenant relationship with God. God promised Abraham that he and his descendents would possess a great land, become a great nation, and become a blessing to the peoples of the earth.
Abraham and his tribe, his flocks, and his tents moved south from Haran to Canaan. But Abraham had reason to believe that God had reneged on God's side of the contract. Abraham had no sons with his wife, Sarah. The proxy son by his Egyptian maid did not qualify as "descendent," but God showed good faith. God provided for a son from the elderly Sarah. Abraham had reason again to doubt God's intentions when God commanded the father to sacrifice the son. The command turned out to be a test of Abraham's trust in God and the deal was back on the road again. But Abraham's descendents ended up in hopeless slavery in Egypt. Now for sure, the contract with God had come to a dead end. No promised land. No great people. No blessing to anyone except the Egyptian tyrants who were, understandably, quite proud of their new tombs.
But wait -- the story is not over. After a lengthy pause, God sent Moses to save the day. Moses led his people out of Egypt. Moses led his people through the Red Sea and no one even got a foot wet. (Did you see the movie?) According to one account, God renewed his covenant with Israel in a ceremony at the foot of the mountain. The Ten Commandments, guidelines for living, sweetened the deal. Moses led his people to the east side of Jordan, poised for the entry into the promised land. Moses received a glimpse of the land promised to Abraham, passed the baton to Joshua, and died. Joshua "fit the battle of Jericho."
The history of the chosen people in the promised land is not a pretty sight. The people of Israel and Judah vacillate and backslide and stumble on the way to their destiny. The prophets come and go. The united kingdom under Saul, David, and Solomon flowers briefly. The kingdom divides into two. The kingdom in the north, Israel, is wiped out by the Assyrians. Enter the prophet Jeremiah stage right. Either before the fall of Judah in 586 BC, or perhaps during the fall or after the fall, Jeremiah brings up the matter of the contract with God. Before the imminent fall of Judah at the hands of the Babylonians, Jeremiah warned the people that they were like a clay pot. If clay pots are damaged and if they leak, they are destroyed. The people of Judah were a damaged clay pot and it would have to be smashed in order that a new people might be formed (Jeremiah 18:1-11).
Jeremiah was a visionary. Regular contracts can become null and void, but contracts with God? No way! Perhaps the contract could be saved. Perhaps the contract could be edited a bit. Jeremiah gets a glimpse of the rewritten contract. He noted, first of all, that the reworded contract would be written on the hearts of people. The new revised contract would not be carved in stone. It would be inscribed into human hearts. Tablets of stone exist outside human flesh and bone. The renewed contract would be part and parcel of people; not over against them and judging them but inside them, stitched and woven into their very bodies and souls. From the post-resurrection point of view, one would say that the meeting with God at the mountain of Sinai has been supplanted by the meeting with God at the hill of Golgotha, at the cross.
The fire and glory of the majestic God at the top of the mountain has become God the human suffering on an instrument of torture and slow, painful death. It's not a pretty picture, seeing God on the cross. A professor of church history once sat at dinner in Berkeley, California, with a professor of comparative religions. The world religion professor revealed that he was a Buddhist. The history teacher asked if his children would become Buddhists as well. "I don't know," said the Buddhist, "they are searching. My daughter went with a Christian friend to a church and was appalled by the sight of the suffering Jesus upon the sanctuary cross. 'How gross!' she said."
Perhaps that young girl could not relate to the suffering of a man hanging on a cross because she, herself, had yet to experience the suffering and pain that comes with the package we call "life."
The year 2007 was the 400th anniversary of the birth of the German composer, Paul Gerhardt. After completing his preparation for the Lutheran ministry, he was assigned to the parish of Mittenwalde, a small town near Berlin. There he comforted the populace, victims of the ravages of the Thirty Years' War. Gerhardt experienced in his lifetime the unholy violence of destruction and man's inhumanity to man. In his hymn, "O Sacred Head Now Wounded," he contemplates the violent passion of the Christ upon the cross. Gerhardt knows about the suffering of the man, Jesus, because he too has seen it all. (It is a minor miracle that he lived to be 69 years of age.) Therefore, he recognizes the abuse and scorn, the pale agony for what it is, because the violence of first-century Roman soldiers was repeated by plundering soldiers in his own century.
However, Gerhardt, though seemingly obsessed by the pain and suffering of life at times, saw beyond the event of the cross the splendor of the heavens beyond. Gerhardt praised "patience," as a gift from God that enables the traveler in the world to persevere in the face of earthly travail. Spiritual patience drives one to trust in the passion and death of Jesus. Like Gerhardt, C. S. Lewis experienced the pain, isolation, injustice, hunger, thirst, and exposure of WWII. The memories of the war haunted his dreams for years and he believed that death would be better than to have to endure another war. For him, the Christian could only experience real happiness when one realizes that "the crown is not permitted without the cross...."1
Secondly, Jeremiah proclaimed that the new contract would not be taught by neighbors to neighbors. What does that mean? It means that the element of judgment of the goody-goody two shoes upon the lower-life common "sinners" would be ruled out. One's relationship with God would be henceforth between the sinner and God. In the Protestant tradition, that means that the pastor or minister does not have the right to do the judging, but as a fellow "priest" in the "priesthood of all believers," he or she would only announce God's mercy upon the penitent sinner. In confession, the priest or the pastor does not bestow the forgiveness but only passes the forgiveness on from God. No longer can the kettle call the pot black. The new covenant announced the demise of the spiritually elite. In the scramble to find righteousness, it's always comforting to note that one is ahead of someone less righteous. In the era of the new covenant, all are equally fallen from God and all are equally restored to God through the work of Christ.
Thirdly, Jeremiah presses forward to his grand conclusion: "... [the Lord] ... will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more" (Jeremiah 31:34). Could the matter be stated anymore plainly?
There's an old story about a college swimming coach who tossed and turned in his bed on a hot summer's night. He arose and crossed the small campus to the swimming hall. He knew the building well and did not turn on the inside lights. He mounted the diving board and stretched his arms to each side. The moon shone brightly that night and cast his shadow upon the opposite wall. His shadow caught his attention; it reminded him of a cross. The sight gave him pause. He stepped back off the diving board and realized that there was no water in the pool. The custodian had drained the water out during the day in order to do some repairs. The coach later related to others the incident and said, "I was saved by the cross."
From the point of view of the Christian believer, Jeremiah announced a salvation that he may not have totally comprehended. God spoke through him about God's unbounded and unconditional forgiveness. If Jeremiah's vision gave hope to those in captivity in Babylon, how much more is the boundless hope that fills our hearts and lights the path of our journey to the kingdom beyond the dark cross of Golgotha? In hope we enter the final week before Passion Sunday, eager to see the light at the end of his "way of sorrows." Amen.
____________
1. C.S. Lewis, The Joyful Christian (New York: Touchstone, 1977), p. 214.
