Where Is Love?
Sermon
Sermons on the Second Readings
Series II, Cycle B
Several years ago, a fellow named Lionel Bart wrote a hit song, "Where Is Love," for the Broadway musical Oliver. Based on the Charles Dickens classic, Oliver Twist, the musical tells the story of an orphaned child struggling to survive the cruelties of the streets of England amidst the Industrial Age. No one seems to care, except those trying to use him for profit. "Where is he, whom I close my eyes to see?" Oliver sings. "Will I ever know the sweet 'Hello,' that's meant for only me? Where is love?"
Few of us have ever faced the hardships of life as a street orphan, but we need not look far to see that the cruelties of Dickens' world still exist in our own. The young and the very old, the ill and the poor are still exploited and abused, forced to scrounge for daily sustenance. Orphaned or not, nearly all of us can identify with the spirit of Oliver's song -- yearning for love and acceptance, yearning to belong to one someone, and to community -- thirsting for God "as the deer pants for the water" (to use the psalmist's words).
We have, in fact, been created with the capacity for just such a thirst. As an infant instinctively knows to suckle its mother for life-giving milk, so, also, do human beings yearn to be near to the heart of another, and ultimately to be "near to the heart of God" (to quote another songwriter). Yet, as we look around us, and look within ourselves, we recognize that so many of us are still thirsting, and perhaps in our more desperate moments we ourselves have uttered the plea (although not so melodiously), "Where is love?" What is it that stands between us and the Creator's life-giving love that our spirits so desperately need?
For Oliver Twist and so many like him, the barrier is human ignorance and cruelty, along with the physical hardships of life that so often lie outside an individual's control. Little souls, and little souls in adult bodies, are told first by their families and then by the world that they are unwanted and unlovable, that they are ugly or stupid or bad. In turn they begin to act that way. They are told that they are inferior human beings because of the color of their skin, or their gender, or the gender of the people they choose to love. Instead of a "sweet hello" they anticipate only condemnation from the church, and from God.
For others, that barrier to God stands inside us rather than beyond us -- pride, arrogance, and the guilt of our own rebellious deeds. Although religious in outer form and ritual, we dare not approach God in honest prayer, because coming near to the heart of God means we are forced to recognize our own ungodliness -- our human weakness and fallibility. In our culture admitting our flaws and misdeeds makes for disaster at the hands of our competitors and political enemies.
So where is love, and how do we secure it for ourselves? Perhaps the church community first addressed by the preacher of Hebrews felt a bit like the orphaned Oliver Twist. They had earlier stood their ground amidst persecution and had faithfully supported fellow Christians who lost property and personal freedom. But they were growing weary, and the stakes were getting higher, and many were questioning whether the struggle was worth their continued efforts with no apparent end in sight. They were seeking a place of rest from the debating, the theological wrestling, and economic and physical suffering. And close at hand were those well-meaning teachers and philosophers offering easy answers and easy solutions.
Biblical scholars and historians have suggested that this easier alternate route to Easy Street was a kind of amalgamated heresy based on the pagan, gnostic (knowledge-based), and popular Jewish beliefs of their time and place. It might best be described as a kind of universalist "whatever works" religion like some of the New Age stuff floating around in today's religious neighborhood. As best these scholars can conjecture, this ancient New Age religion suggested that the path to the realm of God could be cleared of obstacles if one only possessed and practiced the secret knowledge and rituals that could appease those opposing cosmic forces that were causing the havoc.
The Old Testament story of the wandering Hebrews recalls how the earlier generation of pilgrims had struggled with this same quest to find a place "near to the heart of God." In the midst of their travels, the path to God's presence was laid out legally in the holiness code, as well as architecturally and symbolically in the tabernacle (and later the Jerusalem temple). Although the exact details and specifications have been lost in antiquity, enough remains in the Old Testament for a good artistic rendering.
In the days when Moses and the Hebrews traveled the desert the tabernacle served as a kind of divine "mobile home" in which the holy and transcendent God could travel with the chosen people, a "visual parable" to use Eugene Peterson's phrase, showing that "people just can't walk in on God." (That's his paraphrase of Hebrews 9:8, which the NRSV translates, "The way into the sanctuary was not yet opened.")
For a typical Israelite of Moses' generation to find God, he had only to enter the tabernacle, that architectural expression of the path to the divine presence. Any Hebrew feeling a need to reconnect with God would approach the tabernacle through its singular opening. No class separation here, all came to God through the same door. Immediately inside that opening the worshiper encountered the large altar where the animals were sacrificed to atone for sin. One could not gain access to the holy one of Israel without first confronting the reality of one's own sin and failures. Only after that could the other offerings be proffered or advice sought.
Physically, that was as close to God as the average Israelite dared to go. Beyond that -- the holy area -- was entirely the domain of the priests -- the intermediaries sanctioned by God and ritually cleansed for service in God's house, kind of like divine butlers, if you will. It was in that holy area that the priests engaged in an array of religious ceremony -- rites and rituals laid down to properly acknowledge God's "otherness." Among other things, this partitioned area contained the lampstand and a table with special bread to symbolize God's past favor and continuing presence with the people.
But even the designated priests went only so far. At the very center of the sanctuary was the holy of holies -- and central to that was the Ark of the Covenant with the tablets of the Ten Commandments given to Moses by God on Mount Sinai. At the center of that -- the cherub-guarded mercy seat, where God promised Moses would find divine audience. Only once each year was this inner sanctum to be entered, and then only by the high priest. He entered twice on that day -- first with a young bull to be sacrificed for the sins of the high priest and his family, and then again with a ram to be offered for the sins of the entire nation. If the high priest returned from the divine presence alive, the people saw evidence their sins were forgiven and God's favor was assured for yet another year.
All of this seems strange and archaic to our modern intellects. At best, it was a physical and symbolic representation of the spiritual quest, a tangible path to an encounter with divine mystery with appreciation for some deep spiritual truths about guilt and innocence and the need for reconciliation, not only with God but also with each other. To express it in our own liturgical tradition, "an outward and visible sign on an inward and spiritual grace."
But as the preacher of Hebrews points out, this path through the tabernacle is temporary at best. The fact that the activity is continual and the barriers remained indicates that nothing was ultimately resolved, particularly any lasting restoration of the human soul. People continued to fail and continued their need for reconciliation.
Later in Jewish history, a conquering Roman general would ride his horse into the inner sanctum of the holy of holies -- to announce that he found nothing. No god resided there. Just as centuries later a Russian cosmonaut would walk in outer space and triumphantly declare that he had been to the heavens and no god resided there, either. Did that come as any surprise to believers?
Where and how do moderns strive to find God, who is known to be aloof and mysterious? How do we seek to resolve the brokenness and alienation of our inner selves and to confront the breaches of our human relationships? Our suggested paths to healing often lie with doctors and psychologists. Some of our solutions are legal -- both civil and criminal; some are technological, and some military. But are these any more effective or permanent than the path to the holy of holies through the tabernacle? We build bigger jails, but the violence continues, develop more sophisticated weapons and broker more peace treaties, but one war erupts even before another is concluded. We develop a cure for one dreaded disease only to hear news of a new one. Are the paths we have forged toward peace and wholeness any more effective than the one leading through the temple?
Back to Oliver's question, "Where is he, whom I close my eyes to see? Will I ever know the sweet 'Hello' that's meant for only me?" The preacher insists that the path to God does not ultimately lie in any physical route, nor in any secret knowledge available on the worldwideweb. It does not lie in slaying one's enemies in the name of God, nor in denouncing others as eternally damned in order to solidify one's own creed. To find love, to encounter God, and receive assurance of divine forgiveness one must confront Jesus. It is Jesus Christ, and Christ alone, who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
Through his total submission to the human condition, with all its accompanying limitations and sufferings, Jesus offered to God the only sacrifice of lasting impact. Rather than offering the innocent blood of another in place of himself in atonement for sin (as in the Hebrew ritual), he chose to offer himself, his own innocent blood, in place of the guilty humanity. In his death upon the cross and in his Easter resurrection the preacher assures us that Jesus ascended beyond the physical realm and entered the real holy of holies -- the very presence of Almighty God.
On our spiritual journey, our quest to connect with what is truly real and ultimately meaningful, how do we seek the path that leads to the heart of God? The path to God has been cleared for us, not by rituals or incantations, and not by our continual efforts to impress God with our sacrifices and gifts and good behavior. Sacrificial offerings won't get us there, even in our official church envelopes. Succeeding at all our life's grand ambitions won't either. Neither will intense psychotherapy or a degree in theology. Continual religious activity and successful church growth statistics won't pave the way, either, and neither will your preacher. He or she is only a fellow pilgrim. None of this will pave the way to God, because through Christ, God has already paved the way for us, and so we do not despair:
There is a place of quiet rest, near to the heart of God.
A place where sin cannot molest, near to the heart of God.
O Jesus, blest Redeemer, sent from the heart of God --
Hold us, who wait before thee, near to the heart of God.
-- Cleland B. McAfee, 1903
"Near To The Heart Of God"
Few of us have ever faced the hardships of life as a street orphan, but we need not look far to see that the cruelties of Dickens' world still exist in our own. The young and the very old, the ill and the poor are still exploited and abused, forced to scrounge for daily sustenance. Orphaned or not, nearly all of us can identify with the spirit of Oliver's song -- yearning for love and acceptance, yearning to belong to one someone, and to community -- thirsting for God "as the deer pants for the water" (to use the psalmist's words).
We have, in fact, been created with the capacity for just such a thirst. As an infant instinctively knows to suckle its mother for life-giving milk, so, also, do human beings yearn to be near to the heart of another, and ultimately to be "near to the heart of God" (to quote another songwriter). Yet, as we look around us, and look within ourselves, we recognize that so many of us are still thirsting, and perhaps in our more desperate moments we ourselves have uttered the plea (although not so melodiously), "Where is love?" What is it that stands between us and the Creator's life-giving love that our spirits so desperately need?
For Oliver Twist and so many like him, the barrier is human ignorance and cruelty, along with the physical hardships of life that so often lie outside an individual's control. Little souls, and little souls in adult bodies, are told first by their families and then by the world that they are unwanted and unlovable, that they are ugly or stupid or bad. In turn they begin to act that way. They are told that they are inferior human beings because of the color of their skin, or their gender, or the gender of the people they choose to love. Instead of a "sweet hello" they anticipate only condemnation from the church, and from God.
For others, that barrier to God stands inside us rather than beyond us -- pride, arrogance, and the guilt of our own rebellious deeds. Although religious in outer form and ritual, we dare not approach God in honest prayer, because coming near to the heart of God means we are forced to recognize our own ungodliness -- our human weakness and fallibility. In our culture admitting our flaws and misdeeds makes for disaster at the hands of our competitors and political enemies.
So where is love, and how do we secure it for ourselves? Perhaps the church community first addressed by the preacher of Hebrews felt a bit like the orphaned Oliver Twist. They had earlier stood their ground amidst persecution and had faithfully supported fellow Christians who lost property and personal freedom. But they were growing weary, and the stakes were getting higher, and many were questioning whether the struggle was worth their continued efforts with no apparent end in sight. They were seeking a place of rest from the debating, the theological wrestling, and economic and physical suffering. And close at hand were those well-meaning teachers and philosophers offering easy answers and easy solutions.
Biblical scholars and historians have suggested that this easier alternate route to Easy Street was a kind of amalgamated heresy based on the pagan, gnostic (knowledge-based), and popular Jewish beliefs of their time and place. It might best be described as a kind of universalist "whatever works" religion like some of the New Age stuff floating around in today's religious neighborhood. As best these scholars can conjecture, this ancient New Age religion suggested that the path to the realm of God could be cleared of obstacles if one only possessed and practiced the secret knowledge and rituals that could appease those opposing cosmic forces that were causing the havoc.
The Old Testament story of the wandering Hebrews recalls how the earlier generation of pilgrims had struggled with this same quest to find a place "near to the heart of God." In the midst of their travels, the path to God's presence was laid out legally in the holiness code, as well as architecturally and symbolically in the tabernacle (and later the Jerusalem temple). Although the exact details and specifications have been lost in antiquity, enough remains in the Old Testament for a good artistic rendering.
In the days when Moses and the Hebrews traveled the desert the tabernacle served as a kind of divine "mobile home" in which the holy and transcendent God could travel with the chosen people, a "visual parable" to use Eugene Peterson's phrase, showing that "people just can't walk in on God." (That's his paraphrase of Hebrews 9:8, which the NRSV translates, "The way into the sanctuary was not yet opened.")
For a typical Israelite of Moses' generation to find God, he had only to enter the tabernacle, that architectural expression of the path to the divine presence. Any Hebrew feeling a need to reconnect with God would approach the tabernacle through its singular opening. No class separation here, all came to God through the same door. Immediately inside that opening the worshiper encountered the large altar where the animals were sacrificed to atone for sin. One could not gain access to the holy one of Israel without first confronting the reality of one's own sin and failures. Only after that could the other offerings be proffered or advice sought.
Physically, that was as close to God as the average Israelite dared to go. Beyond that -- the holy area -- was entirely the domain of the priests -- the intermediaries sanctioned by God and ritually cleansed for service in God's house, kind of like divine butlers, if you will. It was in that holy area that the priests engaged in an array of religious ceremony -- rites and rituals laid down to properly acknowledge God's "otherness." Among other things, this partitioned area contained the lampstand and a table with special bread to symbolize God's past favor and continuing presence with the people.
But even the designated priests went only so far. At the very center of the sanctuary was the holy of holies -- and central to that was the Ark of the Covenant with the tablets of the Ten Commandments given to Moses by God on Mount Sinai. At the center of that -- the cherub-guarded mercy seat, where God promised Moses would find divine audience. Only once each year was this inner sanctum to be entered, and then only by the high priest. He entered twice on that day -- first with a young bull to be sacrificed for the sins of the high priest and his family, and then again with a ram to be offered for the sins of the entire nation. If the high priest returned from the divine presence alive, the people saw evidence their sins were forgiven and God's favor was assured for yet another year.
All of this seems strange and archaic to our modern intellects. At best, it was a physical and symbolic representation of the spiritual quest, a tangible path to an encounter with divine mystery with appreciation for some deep spiritual truths about guilt and innocence and the need for reconciliation, not only with God but also with each other. To express it in our own liturgical tradition, "an outward and visible sign on an inward and spiritual grace."
But as the preacher of Hebrews points out, this path through the tabernacle is temporary at best. The fact that the activity is continual and the barriers remained indicates that nothing was ultimately resolved, particularly any lasting restoration of the human soul. People continued to fail and continued their need for reconciliation.
Later in Jewish history, a conquering Roman general would ride his horse into the inner sanctum of the holy of holies -- to announce that he found nothing. No god resided there. Just as centuries later a Russian cosmonaut would walk in outer space and triumphantly declare that he had been to the heavens and no god resided there, either. Did that come as any surprise to believers?
Where and how do moderns strive to find God, who is known to be aloof and mysterious? How do we seek to resolve the brokenness and alienation of our inner selves and to confront the breaches of our human relationships? Our suggested paths to healing often lie with doctors and psychologists. Some of our solutions are legal -- both civil and criminal; some are technological, and some military. But are these any more effective or permanent than the path to the holy of holies through the tabernacle? We build bigger jails, but the violence continues, develop more sophisticated weapons and broker more peace treaties, but one war erupts even before another is concluded. We develop a cure for one dreaded disease only to hear news of a new one. Are the paths we have forged toward peace and wholeness any more effective than the one leading through the temple?
Back to Oliver's question, "Where is he, whom I close my eyes to see? Will I ever know the sweet 'Hello' that's meant for only me?" The preacher insists that the path to God does not ultimately lie in any physical route, nor in any secret knowledge available on the worldwideweb. It does not lie in slaying one's enemies in the name of God, nor in denouncing others as eternally damned in order to solidify one's own creed. To find love, to encounter God, and receive assurance of divine forgiveness one must confront Jesus. It is Jesus Christ, and Christ alone, who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
Through his total submission to the human condition, with all its accompanying limitations and sufferings, Jesus offered to God the only sacrifice of lasting impact. Rather than offering the innocent blood of another in place of himself in atonement for sin (as in the Hebrew ritual), he chose to offer himself, his own innocent blood, in place of the guilty humanity. In his death upon the cross and in his Easter resurrection the preacher assures us that Jesus ascended beyond the physical realm and entered the real holy of holies -- the very presence of Almighty God.
On our spiritual journey, our quest to connect with what is truly real and ultimately meaningful, how do we seek the path that leads to the heart of God? The path to God has been cleared for us, not by rituals or incantations, and not by our continual efforts to impress God with our sacrifices and gifts and good behavior. Sacrificial offerings won't get us there, even in our official church envelopes. Succeeding at all our life's grand ambitions won't either. Neither will intense psychotherapy or a degree in theology. Continual religious activity and successful church growth statistics won't pave the way, either, and neither will your preacher. He or she is only a fellow pilgrim. None of this will pave the way to God, because through Christ, God has already paved the way for us, and so we do not despair:
There is a place of quiet rest, near to the heart of God.
A place where sin cannot molest, near to the heart of God.
O Jesus, blest Redeemer, sent from the heart of God --
Hold us, who wait before thee, near to the heart of God.
-- Cleland B. McAfee, 1903
"Near To The Heart Of God"
