Passage: Ephesians 2:1-10
The movie Pretty Woman is a Cinderella story of sorts - one in which a call girl is first hired, then wooed, by a rich executive. At a pivotal point in the developing romance, the executive’s spurned best friend finds out about the new girlfriend’s history. He makes a pass at her, then tries to force himself upon her. When she fights him off he says, “How dare you? You’re nothing but a…” He uses what she was to denigrate what she is.
In Ephesians 2 the Apostle Paul makes reference to his beloved church’s past. This reference could be taken as a slight – using what they were to denigrate what they are. In fact, Paul’s purpose is just the opposite – using the shame of what they were to underscore the beauty and power of what they are.
“Before we met Jesus,” he says, “we were dead in our transgressions.” He continues, “We were all by nature objects of wrath.” This doesn’t sound like a very high estimation of the human condition. But it’s not a statement about the inherent value of every person. It’s a statement about the state of every person’s relationship with God. Every person, according to our Scriptures and our statements of faith, is born into the condition of being hopelessly separated from God. None of us has the capacity to make ourselves right with God. However, God has taken the initiative and offered right relationship to us. Through Jesus Christ we have both the privileged status of being children of God, and the newfound capacity to live differently. Paul urges his sisters and brothers to do this very thing – to abandon the compulsions and captivity of their pre-Christ life, and adopt a whole new way of living.
This is what we’re invited to do. Where we once instinctively did only that which hurt us, hurt others, and hurt God, we now have the capacity to choose otherwise. To choose to relate to God, to each other, and to God’s Creation the way we were always meant to.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Your New Self
Passage: Colossians 3:1-11
Lord’s Day 3 outlines our basic problem: we’re not who we were created to be. We’ve debased ourselves by our rebellion against God. We’ve starved ourselves of light and life as we’ve pulled away from God’s presence. We are corrupt to the point of being nearly unrecognizable versions of the beautiful image-bearers God designed.
But Lord’s Day 3 asserts that there is hope. We can be remade - “born again” - by God’s Spirit. In Colossians 3 Paul talks about life as a person remade by God. Turn away, says Paul, from habits that hurt you and the people around you. Seek your sustenance not in the spiritual junk food that has malnourished you to the point of death. Instead find your life in the source of all life. Leave behind your old self and try on something new.
Lord’s Day 3 outlines our basic problem: we’re not who we were created to be. We’ve debased ourselves by our rebellion against God. We’ve starved ourselves of light and life as we’ve pulled away from God’s presence. We are corrupt to the point of being nearly unrecognizable versions of the beautiful image-bearers God designed.
But Lord’s Day 3 asserts that there is hope. We can be remade - “born again” - by God’s Spirit. In Colossians 3 Paul talks about life as a person remade by God. Turn away, says Paul, from habits that hurt you and the people around you. Seek your sustenance not in the spiritual junk food that has malnourished you to the point of death. Instead find your life in the source of all life. Leave behind your old self and try on something new.
Blog Update
Please note that “Food for the Journey” now features resources to accompany our year-long study of the Heidelberg Catechism. If you visit the site you’ll see that the One Year Bible gadget has been replaced with links to the week’s Catechism reading and daily Bible readings to accompany it. Check it out!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
We Were Meant to Be...
Passage: Psalm 8
Last week I saw an ad for a new TV series about Spartacus. This isn’t the first media spectacle inspired by the life of the legendary gladiator. I doubt it will be the best. Of course it’s hard to compete with Kirk Douglas’ depiction of the slave who refuses to relinquish his humanity.
The reason this story is so compelling is not the bloody canvass on which it’s painted. It’s not about the ring and the fight to the death. It’s about the quest for freedom. If you know the story you know that Spartacus doesn’t escape Roman oppression. But there’s no doubt he shakes off that which his oppressors try to force upon him. Spartacus doesn’t die a gladiator; doesn’t die a killing machine. In his quest for freedom Spartacus wins his humanity. And he shows his fellows slaves what it is to be human.
Psalm 8 is a declaration of what it is to be human. Psalm 8 begins and ends with praise for God the Creator and Ruler of all things. But the Psalmist’s wonder at God’s handiwork turns to wonder at the privileged place God gave human beings in his created order. How is it, wonders the writer, that the God of the universe invited me to be his second-in-command? How is it that God gave me the capacity to love like he loves; to tend and care like he tends and cares; to be to Creation what God is to me?
We live in a world that persistently invites us to relinquish our humanity. We’re constantly tempted to overindulge our appetites and desires. We’re regularly enticed to meet our needs at the expense of someone else. We’re convinced that we have to compete with our fellow image-bearers for significance; for satisfaction; for survival. When we follow these impulses we chip away at the truly glorious thing we were created to be. A little lower than the heavenly beings. Crowned with glory and honor. It’s time for us to reclaim that crown.
Last week I saw an ad for a new TV series about Spartacus. This isn’t the first media spectacle inspired by the life of the legendary gladiator. I doubt it will be the best. Of course it’s hard to compete with Kirk Douglas’ depiction of the slave who refuses to relinquish his humanity.
The reason this story is so compelling is not the bloody canvass on which it’s painted. It’s not about the ring and the fight to the death. It’s about the quest for freedom. If you know the story you know that Spartacus doesn’t escape Roman oppression. But there’s no doubt he shakes off that which his oppressors try to force upon him. Spartacus doesn’t die a gladiator; doesn’t die a killing machine. In his quest for freedom Spartacus wins his humanity. And he shows his fellows slaves what it is to be human.
Psalm 8 is a declaration of what it is to be human. Psalm 8 begins and ends with praise for God the Creator and Ruler of all things. But the Psalmist’s wonder at God’s handiwork turns to wonder at the privileged place God gave human beings in his created order. How is it, wonders the writer, that the God of the universe invited me to be his second-in-command? How is it that God gave me the capacity to love like he loves; to tend and care like he tends and cares; to be to Creation what God is to me?
We live in a world that persistently invites us to relinquish our humanity. We’re constantly tempted to overindulge our appetites and desires. We’re regularly enticed to meet our needs at the expense of someone else. We’re convinced that we have to compete with our fellow image-bearers for significance; for satisfaction; for survival. When we follow these impulses we chip away at the truly glorious thing we were created to be. A little lower than the heavenly beings. Crowned with glory and honor. It’s time for us to reclaim that crown.
Monday, January 17, 2011
It Was Good
Passage: Genesis 1
So much time and energy has been spent debating the “truth” of Genesis 1 that in many respects we’ve lost sight of its truth. Fights about whether the days of Creation are literal 24 hour days; fights about the order in which plant and animal classes were created; fights about when and who and how the first humans came to be miss the point of our Creation story. Genesis 1 was written to establish these truths: our universe came into existence not by chance or through a random sequence of events, but as the handiwork of one all-powerful God; our world was brought together out of chaos as an ordered whole; our race was made in the image of God. And when it was made, it was good. Everything worked the way it was designed to work. Everything existed in harmony – humans and animals; plants and fungi and viruses and bacteria. Land and sea and sky and every element. It was good. We were good.
In order to understand our story we have to start here. Our Creation story reminds us that the way it is now isn’t the way it always was. War. Disease. Hunger. Abuse. Natural disaster. These are symptoms of the brokenness that was introduced after God created Heaven and Earth and called it good. We need to be reminded of the good that was so that we don’t settle for the bad that is. And we need to be told anew that this isn’t the way it’s always going to be. Our story began with the good that God created. And it ends with the new thing that God is doing. When we are frustrated and hurt and worn down we need to remember: it wasn’t meant to be this way. It won’t always be this way. It was good, and it will be good again.
So much time and energy has been spent debating the “truth” of Genesis 1 that in many respects we’ve lost sight of its truth. Fights about whether the days of Creation are literal 24 hour days; fights about the order in which plant and animal classes were created; fights about when and who and how the first humans came to be miss the point of our Creation story. Genesis 1 was written to establish these truths: our universe came into existence not by chance or through a random sequence of events, but as the handiwork of one all-powerful God; our world was brought together out of chaos as an ordered whole; our race was made in the image of God. And when it was made, it was good. Everything worked the way it was designed to work. Everything existed in harmony – humans and animals; plants and fungi and viruses and bacteria. Land and sea and sky and every element. It was good. We were good.
In order to understand our story we have to start here. Our Creation story reminds us that the way it is now isn’t the way it always was. War. Disease. Hunger. Abuse. Natural disaster. These are symptoms of the brokenness that was introduced after God created Heaven and Earth and called it good. We need to be reminded of the good that was so that we don’t settle for the bad that is. And we need to be told anew that this isn’t the way it’s always going to be. Our story began with the good that God created. And it ends with the new thing that God is doing. When we are frustrated and hurt and worn down we need to remember: it wasn’t meant to be this way. It won’t always be this way. It was good, and it will be good again.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Misery
Passage: Romans 7:7-25
In his letter to the Romans, the Apostle Paul addresses the terrible dilemma imposed by the Law of God. The Law, he says, provides a window into the very will of God. The Law makes clear what God expects of his people. Instead of this bringing relief and assurance, however, it only brings despair. Why? Because Paul simply can’t meet the demands of God’s Law sin. Because of this, says Paul, the only thing the Law does is reveal my misery – my sheer and utter separation from God. “What a wretched person I am,” laments the Apostle. “What I long to do I do not; the thing I don’t want to do I find myself doing. What can possibly save me?”
In setting the stage for the Gospel, the Heidelberg Catechism introduces an unavoidable proviso. According to its second question and answer, no person can qualify for the grace of God through Jesus Christ without first acknowledging his or her “misery” – his or her innate separation from God. How do we find out about this unenviable condition? According to Lord's Day 2, we are made aware of our misery by none other than the Law of God. This is the standard according to which we were meant to live. This is the measuring stick determining whether we are worthy to be called God’s friends. And this is the metric that reveals us, again and again, to be sorely lacking. If we care about it all – this business of being right with God – then we at some point cast our lot with Paul. We too ask the question: “Who will deliver me from this ‘body of death’; who can save me from my misery?” We just don’t have what it takes.
Just when it seems Paul has presented us with an insoluble problem, he sheds a glimmer of hope. “Thanks be to God,” he says, “through Jesus Christ our Lord!” What does he mean? Simply this: God has made another way. A loophole. A way to be made right with God even when you can’t live up to God’s standards. You can’t understand what good news this is until you’ve come to terms with the bad news – the bad news of your own misery.
In his letter to the Romans, the Apostle Paul addresses the terrible dilemma imposed by the Law of God. The Law, he says, provides a window into the very will of God. The Law makes clear what God expects of his people. Instead of this bringing relief and assurance, however, it only brings despair. Why? Because Paul simply can’t meet the demands of God’s Law sin. Because of this, says Paul, the only thing the Law does is reveal my misery – my sheer and utter separation from God. “What a wretched person I am,” laments the Apostle. “What I long to do I do not; the thing I don’t want to do I find myself doing. What can possibly save me?”
In setting the stage for the Gospel, the Heidelberg Catechism introduces an unavoidable proviso. According to its second question and answer, no person can qualify for the grace of God through Jesus Christ without first acknowledging his or her “misery” – his or her innate separation from God. How do we find out about this unenviable condition? According to Lord's Day 2, we are made aware of our misery by none other than the Law of God. This is the standard according to which we were meant to live. This is the measuring stick determining whether we are worthy to be called God’s friends. And this is the metric that reveals us, again and again, to be sorely lacking. If we care about it all – this business of being right with God – then we at some point cast our lot with Paul. We too ask the question: “Who will deliver me from this ‘body of death’; who can save me from my misery?” We just don’t have what it takes.
Just when it seems Paul has presented us with an insoluble problem, he sheds a glimmer of hope. “Thanks be to God,” he says, “through Jesus Christ our Lord!” What does he mean? Simply this: God has made another way. A loophole. A way to be made right with God even when you can’t live up to God’s standards. You can’t understand what good news this is until you’ve come to terms with the bad news – the bad news of your own misery.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Wholeheartedly Willing and Ready
"When I am near to die, my last thought will be for him…I am so grateful. I was lucky to live a full life. Without him, nothing of it would have happened." This is what Peter Heisig says about the man who saved his life.
During the Second World War, Peter Heisig was the first lieutenant of the German submarine U-877. On Dec. 27, 1944, U-877 was attacked by the Canadian warship HCMS St. Thomas. Fatally disabled, the U-boat bobbed to the surface. Its crew, all of whom survived the initial assault, prepared for the enemy vessel’s kill shot. It never came. As her crew loaded the guns, the St. Thomas' first lieutenant, Stanislas Dery, uttered the words, “Ne tirez pas!” – Don’t shoot. Instead of destroying the U-Boat and everyone on board, the St. Thomas approached, rescuing them instead.
Thus began a lifelong friendship between Dery and Heisig. In the years following the war they regularly crossed the Atlantic to visit each other. Every year for the rest of his life Heisig contacted Dery to thank him.
The first question and answer of the Heidelberg Catechism ends with this statement:
Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready to live for him.
What does it look like to be wholeheartedly willing and ready to live for someone? If I’m honest I admit that I’m seldom wholehearted about anything. My attention and affections are almost always divided. At work my attention is pulled from all but the most absorbing tasks by something as frivolous as Facebook or a movie review. At home the most valuable moments with my wife and children are diluted with thoughts of escape to a hobby or, of all things, work. When I get a moment to myself do I dive into the book I’ve been saving or the workout I’ve put off for two days? No. I read email. Sometimes it feels as though I’d always rather be doing something else. What would life look like if I was wholeheartedly committed? What would motivate me to live wholeheartedly?
This: to be faced with my imminent death, and then to be brought back from the brink. This would motivate me to live every remaining day wholeheartedly. And it would make me willing and ready to live wholeheartedly for the one who’d brought me back. This, claims the Catechism, is what Jesus does for every one of us. Snatches us from the brink of misery and death. Gives us the chance at new life. What do we do with this new life? We live for him. Not resignedly or dutifully. Wholeheartedly.
During the Second World War, Peter Heisig was the first lieutenant of the German submarine U-877. On Dec. 27, 1944, U-877 was attacked by the Canadian warship HCMS St. Thomas. Fatally disabled, the U-boat bobbed to the surface. Its crew, all of whom survived the initial assault, prepared for the enemy vessel’s kill shot. It never came. As her crew loaded the guns, the St. Thomas' first lieutenant, Stanislas Dery, uttered the words, “Ne tirez pas!” – Don’t shoot. Instead of destroying the U-Boat and everyone on board, the St. Thomas approached, rescuing them instead.
Thus began a lifelong friendship between Dery and Heisig. In the years following the war they regularly crossed the Atlantic to visit each other. Every year for the rest of his life Heisig contacted Dery to thank him.
The first question and answer of the Heidelberg Catechism ends with this statement:
Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready to live for him.
What does it look like to be wholeheartedly willing and ready to live for someone? If I’m honest I admit that I’m seldom wholehearted about anything. My attention and affections are almost always divided. At work my attention is pulled from all but the most absorbing tasks by something as frivolous as Facebook or a movie review. At home the most valuable moments with my wife and children are diluted with thoughts of escape to a hobby or, of all things, work. When I get a moment to myself do I dive into the book I’ve been saving or the workout I’ve put off for two days? No. I read email. Sometimes it feels as though I’d always rather be doing something else. What would life look like if I was wholeheartedly committed? What would motivate me to live wholeheartedly?
This: to be faced with my imminent death, and then to be brought back from the brink. This would motivate me to live every remaining day wholeheartedly. And it would make me willing and ready to live wholeheartedly for the one who’d brought me back. This, claims the Catechism, is what Jesus does for every one of us. Snatches us from the brink of misery and death. Gives us the chance at new life. What do we do with this new life? We live for him. Not resignedly or dutifully. Wholeheartedly.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Now What?
After having spent a year studying the Bible cover to cover, I hope to spend 2011 exploring “What we believe, and why.” Churches regularly, and rightly, jump to questions about what Christians and congregations should do. We repeatedly ask the question, “How should I act in this situation? How should I respond to this problem? What’s the right thing to do? What’s the wrong thing to do?” Not only do we apply these metrics to our own behavior, we level them against the world around us. If we’re honest we have to admit that we’re more willing to ask what other people should be doing and not doing than we are to ask it of ourselves. When you address life on such a piecemeal basis, you’re bound to get overwhelmed. You’re bound to get it wrong much of the time. And you’re certain to miss the point of the Christian faith. At its heart the Christian life is not a system of rules or a program for behavior modification. It’s a relationship.
When we focus on rules and rituals, we reduce what is at heart an eternal relationship with an infinite God. The focus of the Christian life is connecting with a God who is on one hand real and personal and on the other beyond the reach of our intellect and imagination. Because God is real our relationship with God is dynamic and responsive. God speaks and acts persistently, and we respond in new ways to each unique overture. Because God is infinite, our relationship with God is never complete. There isn’t a point at which we’ve “mastered” the Christian faith because it’s not a program. The deeper we plunge the more we discover. The moment we feel we’ve learned it all is the moment the relationship begins to stagnate.
The Heidelberg Catechism presents a framework for understanding who God is and who we are in relation to God. For 450 years the Catechism has served as a road map for biblical faith, summarizing what the Old and New Testaments teach about God, God’s people, and the practice of relating to God. The Catechism assumes that there is one true God who reveals himself to us in the Bible. The Catechism assumes that the epitome of God’s self-revelation is Jesus Christ, in whom God came to the earth as a human being. Finally, the Catechism assumes that the way to a relationship with the one true God is through a relationship with Jesus.
This year I hope you’ll join me as I explore the question, “What does it mean to be a Christian?” The answer to this question begins not with behavior but with belief. Your beliefs about yourself, your world, and your place therein will more profoundly impact your behavior than anything anyone tells you to do. Behavioral transformation is a byproduct of the belief transformation – the life transformation – into which Jesus Christ invites us.
When we focus on rules and rituals, we reduce what is at heart an eternal relationship with an infinite God. The focus of the Christian life is connecting with a God who is on one hand real and personal and on the other beyond the reach of our intellect and imagination. Because God is real our relationship with God is dynamic and responsive. God speaks and acts persistently, and we respond in new ways to each unique overture. Because God is infinite, our relationship with God is never complete. There isn’t a point at which we’ve “mastered” the Christian faith because it’s not a program. The deeper we plunge the more we discover. The moment we feel we’ve learned it all is the moment the relationship begins to stagnate.
The Heidelberg Catechism presents a framework for understanding who God is and who we are in relation to God. For 450 years the Catechism has served as a road map for biblical faith, summarizing what the Old and New Testaments teach about God, God’s people, and the practice of relating to God. The Catechism assumes that there is one true God who reveals himself to us in the Bible. The Catechism assumes that the epitome of God’s self-revelation is Jesus Christ, in whom God came to the earth as a human being. Finally, the Catechism assumes that the way to a relationship with the one true God is through a relationship with Jesus.
This year I hope you’ll join me as I explore the question, “What does it mean to be a Christian?” The answer to this question begins not with behavior but with belief. Your beliefs about yourself, your world, and your place therein will more profoundly impact your behavior than anything anyone tells you to do. Behavioral transformation is a byproduct of the belief transformation – the life transformation – into which Jesus Christ invites us.
Monday, January 3, 2011
The End or the Beginning?
First, an explanation and an apology. The following is my wrap-up to our church's year-long exploration of the Bible. It follows a two-week hiatus during which I was engaged in year-end festivities and services at church. And it's not an original post. It's actually the manuscript for my final sermon of 2010. So, apologies: first for letting the year end without regular posts; second, for the length of this one! Thanks to everyone who put in the effort to read through the entire Bible this year. And please stay tuned for what we have in store for 2011.
-Ben
Revelation 21:1-5a
1 Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. 2 I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. 3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4 He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
5 He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new
One of this winter’s blockbuster movies is Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – part one. The last adaptation of the last book in the outrageously popular Harry Potter series. Of course everyone is so sad to see the series come to an end that they’ve stretched the last book out into two movies. I’m sure I remember someone saying something once about killing a golden goose… Okay, I myself got caught up in all the hype over the Harry Potter books. And I will never forget reading the last installment. It was the summer of 2007. Melody and I were on vacation with my family. We’d read almost the entire book, and then found out my sister and brother-in-law were listening to it on CD. So, one sweltering afternoon when Isabelle was taking her nap we just sat in the living room and listened to that final chapter.
We listened with mixed emotions. Plot threads got tied up; characters died; good triumphed over evil. We were sad that it was all over, but satisfied that it was over at the same time. We could finally put Harry Potter down and get on with our lives.
There’s something about finishing the last chapter of a book or a series of books. Sometimes you throw the book down and say, “Great, I never have to read that again!” Sometimes you wish you could go back to the beginning and read it for the first time all over again.
Then there’s the Bible. This week a number of us will finish reading the Bible in its entirety. I know a few of us will heave a sigh of relief. I know a few of us will dive right back in and read it again. But of course the Bible isn’t like any other book. It doesn’t tell any other story. It tells God’s story. And it tells our story. So when we get to the end and say, “This is how it ends?”, we’re personally invested.
Revelation is how the Bible ends. But if you’ve ever read or are currently reading Revelation, you can’t help asking, “Is this how it’s really going to end for us? We can’t help asking because John’s account is so bizarre. Really. It’s full of stuff that’s pretty far removed from our reality. There are scrolls; angels; plagues; horsemen; a beast and a dragon; falling stars. And since Revelation was written readers have tried to figure out what it all means.
Without taking a lot of time – really, Revelation deserves a whole sermon series – here’s what I consider the most helpful way of understanding Revelation. As far as we know, Revelation was written by the Apostle John – one of Jesus’ disciples, author of the Gospel of John as well as the three letters of John. Revelation was most likely written at the very end of the first century. At this time the Christian church has become fairly well-established throughout the Roman world. And the church is under pressure. Some of the excitement of Christianity has worn off. Every day life for Christians is hard. Many who’d been led to believe that Jesus would come back soon are disillusioned – it’s starting to sink in that he may not be back as quickly as first thought.
And the current emperor – most likely Domitian – has instituted emperor worship as the state religion. This means that citizens will have to attend worship services; make gestures of devotion to statues and monuments; pay tribute at the shrine of the emperor before any kind of business transaction. It means anyone who gives their highest loyalty to someone other than the emperor will suffer the consequences.
John writes Revelation from a cell – he’s been imprisoned for his faith. He’s writing a letter that he hopes will get out to the churches. As the last living Apostle it’s John’s sacred duty to encourage Christians everywhere to keep the faith.
John writes a letter that reminds his church that they’re caught in a cosmic struggle between good and evil. John has to remind them that there is only one God. That there is only one ruler of all and it’s not the emperor. But how do you do that when the Empire is reading your mail? You write in code. You use symbols and metaphors – “a beast; a dragon; a lamb that looked like it had been slain.” For much of Revelation John is using code to explain to his church what’s happening in the world around them. The two main messages are this: Jesus Christ is Lord; and this time of trial will come to an end.
Of course the side of Revelation that captures our attention is the fact that the time leading up the end is an ordeal. John may have been describing bad stuff that was happening to him and his church. But we know full well that not everything John describes has happened yet. Jesus hasn’t come back. And if this time of great trouble – “The tribulation” as it’s popularly known – if this has to precede Jesus’ return, then we have questions. Times are tough enough now. Will they get worse? We don’t know. What we do know is that this will all end. It has to eventually. Even absolute unbelievers know that the world as we know it will end.
What none of us can imagine is what comes after that.
And we have mixed feelings about that.
There are certain things we don’t mind seeing the end of. On a personal level, we like it when final exams are over. We look forward to the end of a bad cold or the remission of a deadly disease. Sometimes the end of the day can’t come soon enough. On a broader scale we like the idea of the end of hunger; war; pollution; reality TV; partisan politics. There are experiences and events and phenomena that we want to end.
But then there are all kinds of good things that we wish would never end. Christmas. Vacations. One great day with your kids and your husband, or wife. Birthdays. Wedding days. Youth, vitality, friends and family and home runs and great concerts.
We have mixed feelings about endings because for every bad thing that ends there’s five good things that end, too. As our lives progress we often feel increasing urgency about the passage of time and the end of the best things in life.
I started watching the show Mad Men this fall. If you haven’t seen it, it’s a TV program set in a Madison Avenue advertising firm in the early ‘60’s. A number of the show’s main characters are driven, hard-living ad executives. One of these is Roger Sterling, an aging partner in the firm who has spent his professional career living it up. Partway through the first season, Roger has his first heart attack. The show’s main character, Don Draper, visits him in the hospital. Roger, usually very debonair, looks terrible. He thinks he’s going to die. He says to Draper, “You ever think about it?” Draper says, “What?”
“You know – your soul.”
Draper says, “Not really.” Roger says, “I wish I believed something. Jesus” - (funny the times people use profanity) - “God. I just wish I was going somewhere.” He captures this longing for the end not to be the end.
Deep down there’s a part of all of us that longs for this. For the end not to be the end. We don’t want to lose all the stuff we love about life in the process of saying good-bye to this world. As much as we long for Jesus to come back and put an end to the brokenness and injustice and suffering of our world, we don’t want to lose all the things we love about it, either.
Like it or not, the God of the Bible is a God who is always doing something new. Always pushing his people to take the next step in their journey. When God’s people get too comfortable, God spurs them on. When God’s people get tired, God always promises something new.
Revelation seems to be the end of the story. But this is just one chapter – one chapter in a much longer story.
The difficult circumstances that John describes – the so-called “Tribulation” – these aren’t anything worse than members of his church are experiencing even as they read the letter. And they aren’t any worse than what millions of people experience in our world every day. John is describing life in a broken world. He’s describing life during the most difficult chapter in the story of God and his people. John states without a doubt that this chapter will end.
But this isn’t the last chapter in the story. Not by far. In fact, it’s just the beginning. The next chapter will be infinitely better than the one John is writing. And infinitely better than the one we’re living right now.
Look at how Revelation ends. John says, “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away…” The Bible begins: “In the beginning God created Heaven and Earth.” In other words, the Bible starts and ends with Creation. It ends with a whole new beginning!
Our ideas about the afterlife have unfortunately been heavily influenced by cartoons and Philadelphia Cream Cheese commercials. We have visions of spending eternity sitting on clouds playing harps, maybe singing the occasional rendition of “Amazing Grace.” Kind of like being in a church choir forever. For some of us, that sounds like heaven. But not all of us.
This isn’t the picture the Bible gives us. Here we see God bringing his creative work full circle. Ending the brokenness that spoiled his good Creation. Beginning a new Creation that is everything the first one was meant to be. The picture is of us living forever and being able to do everything we were created to do: tending the earth and its creatures; making music and art; playing games; talking and learning and teaching; communing with each other and with God without the restraint of fear, insecurity, shame or prejudice. Spending forever doing and being all the best things humans were made to do and be.
The truth is we can’t imagine how good it’s going to be. Our only frame of reference is our life now. Our life is so limited by pain and loss and the sheer irrevocable passage of time. Every experience is fleeting. Every good thing comes to an end. We can’t imagine never again saying, “I’d give anything to go back to that time.” We can’t imagine never again saying, “I miss you; I miss that; I miss those days.” We can’t imagine what all will be part of life in the New Creation. But we can know for certain what won’t be part of it. Mourning; crying; pain; death. These, says John, are part of the old order of things that will pass away forever.
In Revelation 21 John uses the image of a wedding day. He describes Christ and his church being united once and for all like a bride and groom. The thing about a wedding day is that it’s just the beginning. You’re in trouble if you’ve given all your thought to the wedding day and none at all to every day thereafter. Sometimes it’s easy to do that – to get so preoccupied with the dress and the flowers and the cake and the food and the first dance that you forget that the day will come to an end and you’ll spend the rest of your life with that person. In the general scheme of things the wedding itself is of little consequence. What matters is everything that follows.
Everything between now and when Jesus comes back is the engagement. His return is the wedding day. It’s not the end. It’s the beginning. We are living for everything that follows. And everything that follows will never end. This is God’s promise.
My favorite books growing up were the Narnia series by CS Lewis. If you’ve read them you know that they’re seven novels about the adventures of a number of children who pass from our world into the parallel world of Narnia. Each of the books chronicles a different facet of an epic struggle between good and evil in that world. At the end of the final book, The Last Battle, all the main characters from all the previous books are pulled through time and space and reunited. They watch as the Narnia they know is destroyed. But then they’re taken to a new Narnia. The new one has many of the features of the old; but it’s somehow bigger, and more beautiful. Everything they loved yet so much more. And the book ends with this statement:
“All their life in this world and their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”
This is how you want your favorite story to end. To know that the characters you love just keep going. That the adventure never ends. But isn’t this also the way you wish your story would end? To know that the end was just the beginning?
The Bible’s our story. The story of our life with God. And this is how it ends. With a whole new beginning. The beginning of a new, amazing chapter that will go on forever.
-Ben
Revelation 21:1-5a
1 Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. 2 I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. 3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4 He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
5 He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new
One of this winter’s blockbuster movies is Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – part one. The last adaptation of the last book in the outrageously popular Harry Potter series. Of course everyone is so sad to see the series come to an end that they’ve stretched the last book out into two movies. I’m sure I remember someone saying something once about killing a golden goose… Okay, I myself got caught up in all the hype over the Harry Potter books. And I will never forget reading the last installment. It was the summer of 2007. Melody and I were on vacation with my family. We’d read almost the entire book, and then found out my sister and brother-in-law were listening to it on CD. So, one sweltering afternoon when Isabelle was taking her nap we just sat in the living room and listened to that final chapter.
We listened with mixed emotions. Plot threads got tied up; characters died; good triumphed over evil. We were sad that it was all over, but satisfied that it was over at the same time. We could finally put Harry Potter down and get on with our lives.
There’s something about finishing the last chapter of a book or a series of books. Sometimes you throw the book down and say, “Great, I never have to read that again!” Sometimes you wish you could go back to the beginning and read it for the first time all over again.
Then there’s the Bible. This week a number of us will finish reading the Bible in its entirety. I know a few of us will heave a sigh of relief. I know a few of us will dive right back in and read it again. But of course the Bible isn’t like any other book. It doesn’t tell any other story. It tells God’s story. And it tells our story. So when we get to the end and say, “This is how it ends?”, we’re personally invested.
Revelation is how the Bible ends. But if you’ve ever read or are currently reading Revelation, you can’t help asking, “Is this how it’s really going to end for us? We can’t help asking because John’s account is so bizarre. Really. It’s full of stuff that’s pretty far removed from our reality. There are scrolls; angels; plagues; horsemen; a beast and a dragon; falling stars. And since Revelation was written readers have tried to figure out what it all means.
Without taking a lot of time – really, Revelation deserves a whole sermon series – here’s what I consider the most helpful way of understanding Revelation. As far as we know, Revelation was written by the Apostle John – one of Jesus’ disciples, author of the Gospel of John as well as the three letters of John. Revelation was most likely written at the very end of the first century. At this time the Christian church has become fairly well-established throughout the Roman world. And the church is under pressure. Some of the excitement of Christianity has worn off. Every day life for Christians is hard. Many who’d been led to believe that Jesus would come back soon are disillusioned – it’s starting to sink in that he may not be back as quickly as first thought.
And the current emperor – most likely Domitian – has instituted emperor worship as the state religion. This means that citizens will have to attend worship services; make gestures of devotion to statues and monuments; pay tribute at the shrine of the emperor before any kind of business transaction. It means anyone who gives their highest loyalty to someone other than the emperor will suffer the consequences.
John writes Revelation from a cell – he’s been imprisoned for his faith. He’s writing a letter that he hopes will get out to the churches. As the last living Apostle it’s John’s sacred duty to encourage Christians everywhere to keep the faith.
John writes a letter that reminds his church that they’re caught in a cosmic struggle between good and evil. John has to remind them that there is only one God. That there is only one ruler of all and it’s not the emperor. But how do you do that when the Empire is reading your mail? You write in code. You use symbols and metaphors – “a beast; a dragon; a lamb that looked like it had been slain.” For much of Revelation John is using code to explain to his church what’s happening in the world around them. The two main messages are this: Jesus Christ is Lord; and this time of trial will come to an end.
Of course the side of Revelation that captures our attention is the fact that the time leading up the end is an ordeal. John may have been describing bad stuff that was happening to him and his church. But we know full well that not everything John describes has happened yet. Jesus hasn’t come back. And if this time of great trouble – “The tribulation” as it’s popularly known – if this has to precede Jesus’ return, then we have questions. Times are tough enough now. Will they get worse? We don’t know. What we do know is that this will all end. It has to eventually. Even absolute unbelievers know that the world as we know it will end.
What none of us can imagine is what comes after that.
And we have mixed feelings about that.
There are certain things we don’t mind seeing the end of. On a personal level, we like it when final exams are over. We look forward to the end of a bad cold or the remission of a deadly disease. Sometimes the end of the day can’t come soon enough. On a broader scale we like the idea of the end of hunger; war; pollution; reality TV; partisan politics. There are experiences and events and phenomena that we want to end.
But then there are all kinds of good things that we wish would never end. Christmas. Vacations. One great day with your kids and your husband, or wife. Birthdays. Wedding days. Youth, vitality, friends and family and home runs and great concerts.
We have mixed feelings about endings because for every bad thing that ends there’s five good things that end, too. As our lives progress we often feel increasing urgency about the passage of time and the end of the best things in life.
I started watching the show Mad Men this fall. If you haven’t seen it, it’s a TV program set in a Madison Avenue advertising firm in the early ‘60’s. A number of the show’s main characters are driven, hard-living ad executives. One of these is Roger Sterling, an aging partner in the firm who has spent his professional career living it up. Partway through the first season, Roger has his first heart attack. The show’s main character, Don Draper, visits him in the hospital. Roger, usually very debonair, looks terrible. He thinks he’s going to die. He says to Draper, “You ever think about it?” Draper says, “What?”
“You know – your soul.”
Draper says, “Not really.” Roger says, “I wish I believed something. Jesus” - (funny the times people use profanity) - “God. I just wish I was going somewhere.” He captures this longing for the end not to be the end.
Deep down there’s a part of all of us that longs for this. For the end not to be the end. We don’t want to lose all the stuff we love about life in the process of saying good-bye to this world. As much as we long for Jesus to come back and put an end to the brokenness and injustice and suffering of our world, we don’t want to lose all the things we love about it, either.
Like it or not, the God of the Bible is a God who is always doing something new. Always pushing his people to take the next step in their journey. When God’s people get too comfortable, God spurs them on. When God’s people get tired, God always promises something new.
Revelation seems to be the end of the story. But this is just one chapter – one chapter in a much longer story.
The difficult circumstances that John describes – the so-called “Tribulation” – these aren’t anything worse than members of his church are experiencing even as they read the letter. And they aren’t any worse than what millions of people experience in our world every day. John is describing life in a broken world. He’s describing life during the most difficult chapter in the story of God and his people. John states without a doubt that this chapter will end.
But this isn’t the last chapter in the story. Not by far. In fact, it’s just the beginning. The next chapter will be infinitely better than the one John is writing. And infinitely better than the one we’re living right now.
Look at how Revelation ends. John says, “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away…” The Bible begins: “In the beginning God created Heaven and Earth.” In other words, the Bible starts and ends with Creation. It ends with a whole new beginning!
Our ideas about the afterlife have unfortunately been heavily influenced by cartoons and Philadelphia Cream Cheese commercials. We have visions of spending eternity sitting on clouds playing harps, maybe singing the occasional rendition of “Amazing Grace.” Kind of like being in a church choir forever. For some of us, that sounds like heaven. But not all of us.
This isn’t the picture the Bible gives us. Here we see God bringing his creative work full circle. Ending the brokenness that spoiled his good Creation. Beginning a new Creation that is everything the first one was meant to be. The picture is of us living forever and being able to do everything we were created to do: tending the earth and its creatures; making music and art; playing games; talking and learning and teaching; communing with each other and with God without the restraint of fear, insecurity, shame or prejudice. Spending forever doing and being all the best things humans were made to do and be.
The truth is we can’t imagine how good it’s going to be. Our only frame of reference is our life now. Our life is so limited by pain and loss and the sheer irrevocable passage of time. Every experience is fleeting. Every good thing comes to an end. We can’t imagine never again saying, “I’d give anything to go back to that time.” We can’t imagine never again saying, “I miss you; I miss that; I miss those days.” We can’t imagine what all will be part of life in the New Creation. But we can know for certain what won’t be part of it. Mourning; crying; pain; death. These, says John, are part of the old order of things that will pass away forever.
In Revelation 21 John uses the image of a wedding day. He describes Christ and his church being united once and for all like a bride and groom. The thing about a wedding day is that it’s just the beginning. You’re in trouble if you’ve given all your thought to the wedding day and none at all to every day thereafter. Sometimes it’s easy to do that – to get so preoccupied with the dress and the flowers and the cake and the food and the first dance that you forget that the day will come to an end and you’ll spend the rest of your life with that person. In the general scheme of things the wedding itself is of little consequence. What matters is everything that follows.
Everything between now and when Jesus comes back is the engagement. His return is the wedding day. It’s not the end. It’s the beginning. We are living for everything that follows. And everything that follows will never end. This is God’s promise.
My favorite books growing up were the Narnia series by CS Lewis. If you’ve read them you know that they’re seven novels about the adventures of a number of children who pass from our world into the parallel world of Narnia. Each of the books chronicles a different facet of an epic struggle between good and evil in that world. At the end of the final book, The Last Battle, all the main characters from all the previous books are pulled through time and space and reunited. They watch as the Narnia they know is destroyed. But then they’re taken to a new Narnia. The new one has many of the features of the old; but it’s somehow bigger, and more beautiful. Everything they loved yet so much more. And the book ends with this statement:
“All their life in this world and their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”
This is how you want your favorite story to end. To know that the characters you love just keep going. That the adventure never ends. But isn’t this also the way you wish your story would end? To know that the end was just the beginning?
The Bible’s our story. The story of our life with God. And this is how it ends. With a whole new beginning. The beginning of a new, amazing chapter that will go on forever.
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