Children of God

Matthew 4:1-11

First Sunday of Lent:  March 9, 2014

“If you are the Son of God,” the tempter says.  If you are the son of God, then why don’t you turn these stones into bread, leap from the highest point of the temple, rule over all the nations?  If you are the Son of God.

“Son of God” was a title that had been used in various ways:  King David and all the Davidic kings were each called “Son of God.”  “Sons of God” could also designate angelic beings – members of the divine counsel.  And, probably most importantly, in Jesus’ day, the title Son of God was given to the Roman Emperor. 

And in this passage, I think Matthew is laying out a battle over what it means to be the Son of God.  And here the battle gets played out dramatically between these two characters: Satan and Jesus.  Satan offers one idea of what it means, and Jesus – three times – rejects it. 

And think about what Satan is offering…aren’t they the things given to kings and emperors…to the Son of God?

Jesus has been fasting for 40 days, and Satan comes along and basically says, “You’re hungry…use your power as the Son of God to turn these stones into bread.”  Or put more succinctly, “Eat.  You have the power to eat, so eat.” 

That’s the thing:  Kings are always satisfied first…they are fed first, they are given shelter first.  No matter what is happening with people in their kingdom, the king never goes hungry.  People may be starving to death, but the King never goes hungry.  So come on, Jesus, if you’re the Son of God, eat for goodness sake.  The Son of God doesn’t go hungry.

Then, the tempter invites Jesus to jump off the pinnacle of the tower on the temple to prove he will be attended by angels who will protect him…protect his life.  He’s the Son of God, so no one is going to let him die. 

And of course the people who surround kings and emperors are all obligated to attend to them – to protect them…their lives…at all costs.  So come on Jesus, if you’re the Son of God, let everyone wait on you and care for you.

Finally, the tempter invites Jesus to rule over the people – with complete power – to do whatever he wants with them.  And of course that’s the whole point, right.  You are the Son of God so be the Son of God…the king, the ruler.

Son of God was a term of extraordinary power, and if you claimed it for yourself it was because you had the power necessary to be at the pinnacle of the world.  And when you are, when you are the Son of God, the ruler of all, you are given all sorts of things:  enough of everything to be fully satisfied , safety from all who would harm you, and incredible power over the people who live in your realm.

And we can understand this.  We have our versions of these rulers today:  Those who have power in our world rarely have to worry about the necessities of life – no matter what’s going on with other people.  And that’s how it should be, right?  You’ve done your part, made your fortune, you should get the reward in return – you should get to eat all you want.

And if you work your way to the top, you have people who work for you; you pay them whatever you want  - no matter how much or how little – and they are to be loyal to you…protect your interests. 

If you play by the rules, pull yourself up by your bootstraps, you can work your way up the ladder – and with each rung you are given power over those under you.  The more you have, the more you can control things: people, politics, the environment.

In other words, being powerful comes with all kinds of goodies – all kinds of rewards and protections.  It’s an exchange – you have power, you get all of this in return. 

But that’s Satan’s version.  Jesus rejects it whole stock.  “Eat your fill,:” Satan says.  “No,” Jesus says, “if you are the Son of God, you give up any guarantee that you will be always satisfied.  You certainly give up any notion that you should be satisfied before anyone else.”

“You’re the Son of God,” Satan says, “the angels will attend to your every need.”  “No,” Jesus says, “if you are the Son of God, you give up any claim on having a blessed life where people – or God for that matter – are required to care for you.”

“You’re the Son of God,” Satan says, “ so rule the people like the Davidic kings of old.  It’s all yours – right there for the taking.”  “No,” Jesus says, “if you are the Son of God, you give up power over others…completely. 

Look at all that Jesus gives up.  And he doesn’t do this just to annoy Satan.  He does it to redefine for everyone what a Son of God is like.  What it means to be God’s Son here on earth.  

And so here we are:  we choose to be Children of God – as Christians we become, as Paul writes, adopted into the family of God.  And what do we do with this? 

Well, too often we think things are set up like Satan would have it: 

If I’m a good Christian, my life will be blessed – God will supply my every want.

If I’m a good Christian, I will go to heaven and never die.

If I’m a good Christian, I can handle power…I will use it for good.

But if we are children of God, and live that out as Jesus models, we actually give all that up…all those guarantees, privileges and rewards.

If I behave like a child of God, I don’t expect to get goodies from God in return.  I will not necessarily be fed first…I feed others.   I don’t expect my life to be easy going and carefree. 

If I behave like a child of God, I don’t expect people to serve me, or honor me, or protect me…in other words, if I am a child of God, I must give up my privilege.

Finally, if I behave like a child of God, I don’t expect to get to control things, rule over others, no matter how good my intentions.

Giving up security, privilege, and power:  That’s what it means to be a child of God.  Sounds fun, right?

I think we do fall into the trap of believing that if we are behaving as a child of God – if we are doing something “good,” we get to have some control.  We think it’s okay to have privilege and power because we’re Christians and we use it for good, right?

We all know the dangers that arise when we give to others from our place of privilege.  When we give to others from our place of security, privilege, and power.  Yet we good Christians do this all the time.  We give, we care for, we welcome people – all of which is good – but do we do it with all the attending goodies that Satan offers, or as children of God like Jesus imagines?

Too often, I think, we fall into Satan’s trap.  We help and are generous, but only when all of our needs – and all of our wants – are met first.  We help and are generous, but are not at all willing to shed our privilege, make ourselves insecure, to do it.  And we help and are generous, but believe that gives us control and power over others.    

This last one is most insidious, I think because we’re not really aware of it.  I see it all the time, in myself and in systems of care, and I see what happens as a result.  I believe that if I’m giving my hard earned money, or my precious time, or my acceptance to someone, I should be in control of outcomes. I should get a say about that person’s life.  And if they don’t do what I expect, I can withhold these things.

To see this, think about it from another perspective.  Mostly, if I follow the law, I get a pass on people trying to change my behavior – even if it’s bad or hurting people.  And even if someone calls me out on something – even if someone pressures me – I can, if I choose, ignore them, because I don’t need anything from them; I'm pretty much self sufficient.  Yet we set up lists of expectations for behavior in order for people to get what we have.

This means we help people, “who help themselves.”  This means we don’t give money if they are just going to spend it on cigarettes.  This means we welcome people, but only if they behave as we do.  This means we attach strings to our care.  We require a worthy story before we respond.  We screen people to make sure they have the possibility of moving out of poverty – who won’t squander the help.  This means we assume the people worthy of our care are those who can go to school, get a job, and eventually be productive members of our society. 

The result, of course, is that there are entire groups of people we think it’s okay to despise; to look down upon; to judge; to excise from our lives.  And that, of course, makes people feel despised, looked down upon, and judged, which is not, last time I checked, a healthy recipe for flourishing as a human being.

Most of us have power – power that comes from privilege.  Just as Jesus had power…the power that comes with being the Son of God – a pretty privileged place at that time.  Somehow, Jesus shed that privilege, shed that power, took a different place in the system.  In essence, Jesus decided to become just a child of God like all those around him.  No better, no worse.

It’s fair to ask “why?”.  It’s fair to ask, “was he right in doing so?”  It’s fair to ask “did this make him effective?”  Could he not have had a much bigger impact if he had taken all that power and used it for good? 

Well, I think Jesus thought that truly caring for others and having power are mutually exclusive things.  Efficacy did not seem to be his goal.  Maybe that’s frustrating, maybe it’s irresponsible, but he didn’t do what everyone expected him to do as the Son of God:  Take over the throne and save all of Israel from the tyranny of Rome. 

So, what do we do?  We are children of God.

Well, I don’t exactly know how to give up my privilege.  Privilege is evil that way –it just comes with the territory of, for me, being white, middle class, neuro-typical, American.  And I don’t always know how to give up my power:  I have resources that others need, so I have the power to give them or not. 

I think one small, though at times incredibly difficult, thing we can do is to give up our assumptions about what we get in return for being generous.  I think we can give up the need to control how others act – give up our expectations of others that we feel we deserve to have. 

I say this as someone who hasn’t figured this out yet.  I don’t want to downplay the complexities involved in all this.  What is the line between not using my power over others and letting others hurt me, or take advantage of me…or others?  What about enabling people?  I struggle with these questions almost every day – certainly every week.  I have a meeting this very afternoon where this question will be front and center.  And I most likely fail at this pretty much every day or every week.

But, at the very least, it seems to me power over others, which sometimes we can’t avoid having, is to be handled extremely carefully and with great humility.  And probably we should err on the side of seeing someone as a human being that doesn’t deserve our attempts to control them. 

“If you are the Son of God…” Satan says to Jesus.  “If you are children of God,” we hear from the tempters of society.  “It’s okay to be secure, privileged, and powerful.”  Jesus says, “Actually, it means you give all that up.”  Amen.

Do Not Be Afraid

Matthew 17:1-9

Transfiguration Sunday:  March 2, 2014

I think we can all agree that Peter, James and John got in on something pretty extraordinary that day on the mountain.  It’s a little harder to agree on exactly what it was.  Transfiguration.  Moses and Elijah, long dead, sitting with Jesus and chatting away.  The voice of God thundering from the sky.  It’s all a little bit far fetched.

Due to distance of both time and context, we’re not likely to relate to this scene very well.  We sort of wonder if it’s true.  We live post Enlightenment.  We know it’s really not possible for Moses and Elijah to appear out of thin air.  We don’t see people all of a sudden shine, without special effects.  Why, we ask of passages like this one, did the author write about this?  Did they believe it really happened?  Are they just telling us a dream they had one night?

It’s hard to know how to relate to these fanciful stories, and I worry that’s a problem for us.   When the disciples experienced all this, they were brought to their knees in terror.  When we read this we feel confusion, maybe amusement, maybe boredom.  

Given this, we have a couple of options.  One is to spend time learning about the context in which Jesus and the authors of the gospels lived.  We can study history and Hebrew Bible theology. Then, using that information, we could try as best we can to put ourselves in their shoes so we might have a sense of what all this meant and why they responded the way they did.  That would be useful, but probably best left to a class that would last for weeks.

Instead, this week, I looked for something I could relate to.  I decided the way in to this passage and what it might mean for us was to start with something I understand.

And the thing I could understand was the fear.  I could relate to the fear of Peter, James, and John.  Pretty easily, in fact.

I don’t know exactly what the transfigured Jesus meant to them, or what they thought when they saw Moses and Elijah, but I do notice that this was not what frightened them.  In fact Peter was so enthralled that he wanted to put down roots and hang there for a while.  No, that isn’t what scared them.  What scared them were the words of God.

“This is my son, the beloved; with him, I am well pleased; listen to him!”

“Listen to him.”  Whether or not I can imagine being on that mountain with the disciples, I get why this simple command was so frightening.  Think about what’s been going on for the disciples. They have been following Jesus for quite some time now.  As we know from the last few Sundays, they heard the sermon on the mount – calling them to a way of life that is virtually impossible.  They had watched Jesus do incredible things.  They saw a growing movement to stop Jesus.  And right before this trip up the mountain Jesus told them that to follow him they had to deny themselves, take up their cross, lose their life.

Now, God, in all God’s glory, is asking them for complete obedience to this man they have been following; and that was terrifying.

That I get.  That I can understand. The disciples’ fear at hearing God’s unequivocal call into the life Jesus lays out – be perfect as God is perfect.  Deny yourself and take up your cross.  Lose your life.  That’s what Jesus has been telling them, and God says, “that’s right…listen to him.”

I read the bible; I think about what it all means for my life; I listen to the words of Jesus, the commands of God;  And then I look at how my life measures up.  It’s about right then that the fear starts bubbling up inside.

I can handle living a relatively “good” life.  Following the laws, being kind to others, loving my daughter, going to church.  I don’t do any of those things perfectly – parenting is a constant stream of humiliating errors – but good enough that I basically get a stamp of approval by our society.

Living a faithful life is a whole other story.  I’ve never seen an extraordinary vision on a mountain top, or heard God’s voice booming from the sky, but there are absolutely times I get slapped in the face – where something interrupts me and says, “you have another path to follow…right here, right now.”  And the quaking begins.

Sometimes it comes from a trusted friend.  Sometimes it’s a person who risks calling me to my higher self.  Sometimes it’s my conscience.  Sometimes it’s scripture.  Whatever it is, it stops me in my tracks as much as if God had spoken to me directly.  And when I accept the truth – the truth of what I’m called to do – I tremble in fear (or more specifically for me, my stomach starts to do somersaults.) Give everything to the poor.  Welcome the stranger.  Love and include the outcast.  Love your enemy.  These all go a bit beyond being a good citizen in our day. 

I love my daughter, which is good.  But then I hear the call to give beyond what’s safe.  When I think about giving more I’m terrified because it would make me less secure…it would make my daughter less secure. I give what I do because I know it’s right, but I don’t do so without fear. 

I follow most of the laws, but I’m terrified of Jesus’ command to love my enemy – to turn the other cheek.  I’m basically kind to others but I’m afraid to think about all of the suffering in the world that I ignore because I just don’t feel up to the task of true compassion.

I’m afraid because listening to Jesus almost always involves giving up control.  It often requires admitting I was wrong, or apologizing for something.  Sacrifice is a theme – being asked to give my time, my money, my privilege, my ego.

When I let the voice of God in – when I’m reminded of the life to which I’m called if I claim Jesus as my savior – fear is a response I can relate to.  I think about giving more…but fear stops me.  I think about going to help people in the poorest parts of our world, but fear stops me.  I think about reorganizing my life so I spend more time with strangers and outcasts and less time with people like me, but fear brings me up short.  I think about all the people who put their lives on the line for what they believe, and fear keeps me from even getting to the point of considering that for myself.

I get the fear. 

So I’m there with the disciples.  Kneeling down on the mountain, trembling in fear.  What happens next, given the power of my fear, sounds almost comical.  Jesus walks over, touches them and says, “get up…do not be afraid.”  Given the enormity of what they felt, of the implications of what just happened, I find it hard to believe that it was enough to just have Jesus say, “hey – don’t be afraid.”

I can’t help but wonder if those words are empty.  They aren’t really magical words for the disciples.  Just to give away the ending, they are still plenty afraid after this.  They get more and more afraid the closer Jesus gets to Jerusalem until finally they flee in fear.  It obviously wasn’t good enough for them to have Jesus tell them “do not be afraid.”  Why would it be good enough for me?

Well, the disciples didn’t flee right away.  They walked down the mountain with Jesus into the valley – in to the melee.  Maybe being gently touched on the shoulder and hearing comforting words from the one they were following was enough for the next step.  They would have preferred to stay on that mountain with Moses, Elijah and Jesus forever.  Build tents, fasten the whole thing down.  But after Jesus tells them to get up and to not be afraid, they go with him.

So, maybe I have enough faith to just take the next step.  Maybe those words, “do not be afraid,” settle into my heart enough – to make a phone call, to reach out to someone, to dare to speak my hopes to people who may not share my beliefs.  Maybe I can give just a little bit more.  Maybe I can expand my worldview without feeling like I have to fix everything at once.  Maybe I can courageously stand by my convictions in a small group of people even when it’s unpopular.

“Get up,” the voice says.  You can do it.”  Don’t be afraid.” 

I don’t always take the step – I don’t always overcome my fear.  But sometimes I do.  Sometimes I reach in and give a little more even when it scares me.  Sometimes I pipe up and offer the unpopular idea.  Sometimes I let in the suffering of people half way around the world.  Things don’t always go as planned – I might even fail.  And the frustrating truth is sometimes I am wrong about what God’s will was.  But almost always I’m glad I did it.  Trying to be faithful is itself a powerful thing.  And it is, in the end, all we can do.

The commandments of God can be scary.  It’s scary to really listen to Jesus and live what he teaches.  But in the end, I don’t think Jesus expected his words to cure the disciples’ fears about what was to come next.  I think he was speaking of something larger.  I think he was saying that though the path is hard, God’s will for our world is not to be feared. 

The world God intends – the world Jesus offered to the disciples as a possibility – that is not to be feared.  That is the hope.  That is God.  It’s God’s realm, it’s God’s intention, it’s the very essence of God.  And rather than cause fear, it can be the motivation to act even when we’re afraid.

“Listen to him,” God says.  But not just to make our lives hard – to make our lives reflect the intention of God – like Jesus did.  And that reflection is not to be feared.  It’s meant to sustain us as we live sometimes faithful lives.  So, get up, and do not be afraid.  Amen.