The Unshakable Foundation
Sermon
Sermons on the Second Readings
Series II, Cycle B
On Top Sail Island, North Carolina, stands the ruins of a dream in a shell of a house. Before the hurricane, both the house and owner had proudly stood on the oceanfront daring the challenges of wind and wave. Six years before, John (not his real name) had left his wife of eleven years in search of something he could not define -- something that would make his life complete and happy. He wanted adventure and fun; he wanted big-boy-toys. He wanted a beautiful home and a beautiful wife, and he was willing to live beyond his means to get it. He wanted his youth and strength and female attention, so he worked out at the gym, had his teeth professionally polished, and he ran daily in the best running shoes available. He married the woman who peaked his fancy and together they financed their $300,000 dream home on the ocean, with payments neither of them could afford.
And then came Hurricane Andrew. The house was ripped apart, and many of the big toys were ruined. The bills came due, and within five years the marriage crumbled along with the dream. The bank reclaimed the property, and the last of the big toys were sold at a yard sale in Ohio.
Today John is forty years old, "But I look like I'm 25," he brags to his sister. He has determined to change his lot in life through a self-guided course of self-help books. He rarely sees his children (from the first marriage) or visits his family; but he is once again living beyond his means with a younger woman and destined for another marriage. The house on the beach is the property of yet another couple searching for their dream.
John's story plays like a modern tragic romance -- two people seeking to find their dream in each other and in the things they yearn to acquire, and losing it all in the contest with fate. Flannery O'Connell could hardly write it better. But John's story is true-life -- perhaps not unfamiliar to you or someone you know. The house and the man are real, and they stand as a reminder to those of us who would build our lives and dreams on the shifting sands of what we can possess, or what we can make of ourselves.
John's story is not unique, nor is it new. Trade the hurricane winds of North Carolina for the sand storms of the Middle Eastern desert and you might well be telling the story of the ancient Hebrews. Exchange the mortgage payment for empirical taxes and we might easily be speaking of the early Christian converts. Whether the plague be the devouring locust consuming the year's grain harvest, or a catastrophic illness consuming our life's savings -- our fear and dread is the same, as is our overwhelming desire to fend it off.
In their age or in ours, life's journey is fraught with perils that threaten to wipe us out -- physically, emotionally, and spiritually, and above all else we want to survive and thrive. Almost from the beginning of our human quest we have sought the help of the divine to ensure that survival. Nearly every human culture offers tribute and prayers to the deities with hopes of gaining aid and favor of the forces that lie beyond our control. Some of us, like John, seek to hedge ourselves from life's uncertainties with a wall of material possessions. We brace ourselves against disease and death with a facade of youth and strength. Others embrace a shield of religious ritual and moral codes as the path to health, wealth, and eternal bliss.
But whether we seek salvation and safety through moral conduct, by ritual observance, by appeasing the local ruling powers, or by trusting in our own inner strength and wits, the result is always the same -- disaster. Human strength eventually declines, human social structures fail, and human philosophies offer us no sympathy or forgiveness in desperate times. Eventually the waves of chaos get mightier than our ability to withstand, and the sands upon which we have built our dreams crumble and wash away.
What, or who, can protect us from the perils that threaten at every turn? That is the very question the early Christians faced in the community to which Hebrews is addressed. Like the Hebrew community of earlier times, the faith trek had become rugged, and many were weary and tempted to quit. Harassed and sometimes persecuted they saw the world as "stacked against them." They needed to know with certainty that God's favor was with them. Like so many of us, they wanted relief. They wanted control. Find a way to appease and manipulate those cosmic forces and they would find their home on "Easy Street."
The society of their day offered two appealing possibilities: the moral rectitude and sacrificial observances of the Mosaic Law advocated in their Jewish tradition, and the repetitive rites and rituals practiced in the pagan cults of their neighbors.
The sacrificial system practiced by the Hebrew community in the tabernacle at Sinai, and later at the Jerusalem temple was, at its best, a way of giving the sojourners access to their mysterious God amidst the journey. But as the scriptures warn, encountering this God directly must be approached with awe, reverence, and a great deal of fear and trembling. With full recognition that a holy and righteous God could not travel long or far with sinful, rebellious humans without somebody getting killed (as in the fiery serpents of Numbers 21), the tabernacle was a kind of "mobile home" by which this holy God could travel with the chosen people, instead of merely awaiting them in the promised land or on the heights of Mount Sinai.
The rituals of sacrificial offerings conducted by the appointed priests in this tabernacle, and later in the Jerusalem temple, became a means by which the people could acknowledge the great distance between themselves and this holy God, and yet it also provided the means by which their sins could be covered and that distance overcome. The priests played a pivotal role in bridging that chasm. Primarily, this was accomplished through the performance of ritual sacrifices, it was initially their responsibility to represent the people before God through the rituals proscribed in the law. Only they had the God-given authority to approach God with offerings. Only they were given permission to enact the sacred ceremonies and pronounce God's forgiveness and favor on the people. No others dared approach.
In addition to representing the people before God, the priest was also charged with interpreting God to the people through the periodic public reading of the law to the assembled people. Early on, it was the priest who was called upon to seek out God's guidance when crucial decisions had to be made. (Later, of course, the prophets assumed this function.) All these responsibilities of mediating human concerns with the divine presence were most completely embodied in the office of the high priest. His clothing and sacred equipment were distinct from the others. Appointed for life, he alone had authority to enter the holy of holies once each year, offering animal sacrifices to atone for the sins of the nation.
To our modern "enlightened" minds, rituals of grain offerings and animal sacrifices are dismissed as archaic and superstitious. Yet, if we tell the truth about ourselves, we have our own ways of seeking to alleviate our sufferings and control our own destinies and gain access to the mysteries of the universe. Organized religion is unnecessary we are told, even detrimental. The path to a "heaven" of inner peace and enlightenment is within our own power. Being a "morally good" person is good enough, we are told. Education is the path to salvation, so we seek out the hidden knowledge to success and happiness through a library of self-help books or flashy seminars in posh resorts. We buy lottery tickets with hopes of striking it rich. We consult the so-called experts. We buy videos and listen to audiocassettes from nearly any charismatic person who will promise to make us wealthier, sexier, or more popular at work. We sacrifice our family ties on behalf of the job and labor long hours to please the company, so that we can have health and pension benefits once we've worked ourselves sick and tired. All of this is in hopes of attaining a place and time on Easy Street when we need no longer labor, or suffer, or struggle with our human relationships or mortal circumstances.
Eventually, we discover it is all in vain. The people in whom we have trusted succumb to the same mortal limitations that threaten us. The material possessions we have obtained crumble away. Old age eats away at our youth and strength, and our financial investments drain away through taxes, inflation, and catastrophic illness. In the end, there is no Easy Street. There is nothing and no one to sustain us in a lasting way -- except God.
And that is the very point the preacher of Hebrews is hammering home: It is Christ, and Christ alone who can deliver us from sin and death. Christ's priesthood is superior to both the Jerusalem temple cult and the local pagan philosophies. His power to save is superior because it is the promised plan of God to save us, and not our human attempt to save ourselves. Christ's priesthood -- his authority to bring us into God's presence -- is built not on the shifting sands of human effort, but rather on the unshakable foundation of God's own oath, "You (Christ) are a priest forever after the order of Melchizedek" (Hebrews 7:19). Human agents will fail, and philosophical truths have no personal commitment, but Jesus Christ can save forever. Unlike the mortal humans in whom we place our trust, Christ will never be diminished by mortal frailties and limitations. Unlike the eternal truths and philosophies of the pagan culture, Christ's love for us is relational -- "a very present help in times of trouble."
In the end, the goal of our striving here on earth is not to finance and build our dream home on Easy Street; it is far better to build Easy Street as we go with the daily help and guidance of our risen Lord. Rather than striving to reach a place and time when life is perfect, let's strive to perfect the place and time where we find ourselves by letting Christ perfect us daily in holy love. By accepting our human limitations and giving up all pretense of having control of our destiny, we receive the perfection that cannot be earned or finagled. Our home on Easy Street is already ours as a gift! The payment was made on Calvary, our title is clear and the deed is signed in the blood of Christ. All that is left for us is to enter in.
And then came Hurricane Andrew. The house was ripped apart, and many of the big toys were ruined. The bills came due, and within five years the marriage crumbled along with the dream. The bank reclaimed the property, and the last of the big toys were sold at a yard sale in Ohio.
Today John is forty years old, "But I look like I'm 25," he brags to his sister. He has determined to change his lot in life through a self-guided course of self-help books. He rarely sees his children (from the first marriage) or visits his family; but he is once again living beyond his means with a younger woman and destined for another marriage. The house on the beach is the property of yet another couple searching for their dream.
John's story plays like a modern tragic romance -- two people seeking to find their dream in each other and in the things they yearn to acquire, and losing it all in the contest with fate. Flannery O'Connell could hardly write it better. But John's story is true-life -- perhaps not unfamiliar to you or someone you know. The house and the man are real, and they stand as a reminder to those of us who would build our lives and dreams on the shifting sands of what we can possess, or what we can make of ourselves.
John's story is not unique, nor is it new. Trade the hurricane winds of North Carolina for the sand storms of the Middle Eastern desert and you might well be telling the story of the ancient Hebrews. Exchange the mortgage payment for empirical taxes and we might easily be speaking of the early Christian converts. Whether the plague be the devouring locust consuming the year's grain harvest, or a catastrophic illness consuming our life's savings -- our fear and dread is the same, as is our overwhelming desire to fend it off.
In their age or in ours, life's journey is fraught with perils that threaten to wipe us out -- physically, emotionally, and spiritually, and above all else we want to survive and thrive. Almost from the beginning of our human quest we have sought the help of the divine to ensure that survival. Nearly every human culture offers tribute and prayers to the deities with hopes of gaining aid and favor of the forces that lie beyond our control. Some of us, like John, seek to hedge ourselves from life's uncertainties with a wall of material possessions. We brace ourselves against disease and death with a facade of youth and strength. Others embrace a shield of religious ritual and moral codes as the path to health, wealth, and eternal bliss.
But whether we seek salvation and safety through moral conduct, by ritual observance, by appeasing the local ruling powers, or by trusting in our own inner strength and wits, the result is always the same -- disaster. Human strength eventually declines, human social structures fail, and human philosophies offer us no sympathy or forgiveness in desperate times. Eventually the waves of chaos get mightier than our ability to withstand, and the sands upon which we have built our dreams crumble and wash away.
What, or who, can protect us from the perils that threaten at every turn? That is the very question the early Christians faced in the community to which Hebrews is addressed. Like the Hebrew community of earlier times, the faith trek had become rugged, and many were weary and tempted to quit. Harassed and sometimes persecuted they saw the world as "stacked against them." They needed to know with certainty that God's favor was with them. Like so many of us, they wanted relief. They wanted control. Find a way to appease and manipulate those cosmic forces and they would find their home on "Easy Street."
The society of their day offered two appealing possibilities: the moral rectitude and sacrificial observances of the Mosaic Law advocated in their Jewish tradition, and the repetitive rites and rituals practiced in the pagan cults of their neighbors.
The sacrificial system practiced by the Hebrew community in the tabernacle at Sinai, and later at the Jerusalem temple was, at its best, a way of giving the sojourners access to their mysterious God amidst the journey. But as the scriptures warn, encountering this God directly must be approached with awe, reverence, and a great deal of fear and trembling. With full recognition that a holy and righteous God could not travel long or far with sinful, rebellious humans without somebody getting killed (as in the fiery serpents of Numbers 21), the tabernacle was a kind of "mobile home" by which this holy God could travel with the chosen people, instead of merely awaiting them in the promised land or on the heights of Mount Sinai.
The rituals of sacrificial offerings conducted by the appointed priests in this tabernacle, and later in the Jerusalem temple, became a means by which the people could acknowledge the great distance between themselves and this holy God, and yet it also provided the means by which their sins could be covered and that distance overcome. The priests played a pivotal role in bridging that chasm. Primarily, this was accomplished through the performance of ritual sacrifices, it was initially their responsibility to represent the people before God through the rituals proscribed in the law. Only they had the God-given authority to approach God with offerings. Only they were given permission to enact the sacred ceremonies and pronounce God's forgiveness and favor on the people. No others dared approach.
In addition to representing the people before God, the priest was also charged with interpreting God to the people through the periodic public reading of the law to the assembled people. Early on, it was the priest who was called upon to seek out God's guidance when crucial decisions had to be made. (Later, of course, the prophets assumed this function.) All these responsibilities of mediating human concerns with the divine presence were most completely embodied in the office of the high priest. His clothing and sacred equipment were distinct from the others. Appointed for life, he alone had authority to enter the holy of holies once each year, offering animal sacrifices to atone for the sins of the nation.
To our modern "enlightened" minds, rituals of grain offerings and animal sacrifices are dismissed as archaic and superstitious. Yet, if we tell the truth about ourselves, we have our own ways of seeking to alleviate our sufferings and control our own destinies and gain access to the mysteries of the universe. Organized religion is unnecessary we are told, even detrimental. The path to a "heaven" of inner peace and enlightenment is within our own power. Being a "morally good" person is good enough, we are told. Education is the path to salvation, so we seek out the hidden knowledge to success and happiness through a library of self-help books or flashy seminars in posh resorts. We buy lottery tickets with hopes of striking it rich. We consult the so-called experts. We buy videos and listen to audiocassettes from nearly any charismatic person who will promise to make us wealthier, sexier, or more popular at work. We sacrifice our family ties on behalf of the job and labor long hours to please the company, so that we can have health and pension benefits once we've worked ourselves sick and tired. All of this is in hopes of attaining a place and time on Easy Street when we need no longer labor, or suffer, or struggle with our human relationships or mortal circumstances.
Eventually, we discover it is all in vain. The people in whom we have trusted succumb to the same mortal limitations that threaten us. The material possessions we have obtained crumble away. Old age eats away at our youth and strength, and our financial investments drain away through taxes, inflation, and catastrophic illness. In the end, there is no Easy Street. There is nothing and no one to sustain us in a lasting way -- except God.
And that is the very point the preacher of Hebrews is hammering home: It is Christ, and Christ alone who can deliver us from sin and death. Christ's priesthood is superior to both the Jerusalem temple cult and the local pagan philosophies. His power to save is superior because it is the promised plan of God to save us, and not our human attempt to save ourselves. Christ's priesthood -- his authority to bring us into God's presence -- is built not on the shifting sands of human effort, but rather on the unshakable foundation of God's own oath, "You (Christ) are a priest forever after the order of Melchizedek" (Hebrews 7:19). Human agents will fail, and philosophical truths have no personal commitment, but Jesus Christ can save forever. Unlike the mortal humans in whom we place our trust, Christ will never be diminished by mortal frailties and limitations. Unlike the eternal truths and philosophies of the pagan culture, Christ's love for us is relational -- "a very present help in times of trouble."
In the end, the goal of our striving here on earth is not to finance and build our dream home on Easy Street; it is far better to build Easy Street as we go with the daily help and guidance of our risen Lord. Rather than striving to reach a place and time when life is perfect, let's strive to perfect the place and time where we find ourselves by letting Christ perfect us daily in holy love. By accepting our human limitations and giving up all pretense of having control of our destiny, we receive the perfection that cannot be earned or finagled. Our home on Easy Street is already ours as a gift! The payment was made on Calvary, our title is clear and the deed is signed in the blood of Christ. All that is left for us is to enter in.
