Fellowship Reformed Church of Holland

December 25, 2016
Nate Schipper
Luke 2:8-20

December 18, 2016; 4th Sunday in Advent
Brian R. Keepers
Luke 1:19-56

There’s a scene in the movie adaptation of Suzanne Collins’s best-selling novel The Hunger Games that, while it isn’t in the book, is so memorable. The Hunger Games is part of a trilogy that paints a dystopian future where North America is now divided into twelve districts and under the tyranny of a dictator named President Snow.

Snow uses fear to keep the districts in line, and one way he does this is by putting on an annual Hunger Games—a barbaric contest where two tributes—a boy and a girl—are selected by lottery to represent their district. It is a fight to the death, and only one tribute can stand victorious by the end.

Here’s the scene: President Snow is sitting with his chief Games-maker—the one charged with designing the Hunger Games each year—and he says to the Game-maker, “Do you know why the games must have a winner?”

 The answer: hope.

If there is a winner, then it gives the tributes a sliver of hope that the odds will be in their favor and they may win the Hunger Games and escape their life of servitude. “Hope,” Snow explains, “is the only thing more powerful than fear.” But for that very reason, it is as perilous to a dictator as it is useful. “A little hope,” Snow says, “is effective; a lot of hope is dangerous.”[1]

A little hope is effective; a lot of hope is dangerous.

As human beings, we need hope. Not only is hope “effective”; it is necessary for survival. Survivors of Nazi death camps talked about how the key to their survival was not getting enough food or avoiding being killed; it was refusing to lose hope. Once a person lost hope of getting out of the death camps, they lost their will to live. “You can live longer without bread and water than you can live without hope,” wrote Victor Frankl.

Yes, a little hope is essential. President Snow got that right. But he got the next part right too. A lot of hope is dangerous. Especially to those in power who seek to maintain the status quo. Too much hope is a recipe for revolution.

By the 1st century, the Israelites, God’s people, were on the verge of losing hope. Many of them already had. They, too, were living under oppression and servitude. They were struggling beneath the shadow of the Roman Empire, still waiting for the day when the Messiah would come and overthrow their oppressors and make Israel great again. In dark times, there were those who still had a little hope. Enough to survive but not enough to be dangerous. Until…

An angel appears to an ordinary peasant girl. A virgin named Mary, who was engaged to Joseph from the small town of Nazareth. The angel says to Mary: “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.”

Luke tells us that Mary was “much perplexed” by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this must be. I love it. It’s not just the angel’s appearance that startles her; even more so, it’s his words…what he says!

“What? Did you just call me—a peasant girl, a nobody—favored one? Did I hear you right? The Lord, Yaweh, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob… is with me?

This greeting must not only have puzzled Mary but even scared her. How could it not? So the angel replies, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.”

The angel goes on and announces what this will mean: she will be pregnant with a child. Not just any child…the God of the Universe, the Savior of the Word, the Messiah will grow in her womb. And he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; of his kingdom there will be no end.

A little hope is effective; a lot of hope is dangerous.

Last Sunday Pastor Lindsay helped us see the key difference between two words: “should” and “shall.” The Bible never uses the word “should,” she said. But it does use the word “shall” and we’re called to live into “the shall.”

Let me highlight another key verb this morning—one that plays right into the shall. And that’s the word “will.” Did you notice how many times this word shows up in the angel’s announcement?

The angel says to Mary, “The Lord is with you.” Present tense. God is with you right now. And God has plans, God has a future, God is about to do something new and beautiful and impossible and revolutionary and hopeful. Listen to it:

-          You will conceive in your womb and bear a son
-          You will name him Jesus
-          He will be great
-          He will be called the Son of the Most High
-          The LORD God will give him the throne of his ancestor David
-          He will reign over the house of Jacob forever
-          And of his kingdom there will be no end
-          The Holy Spirit will come upon you
-          And the power of the Holy Spirit will overshadow you
-          Therefore the child to be born will be holy
-          He will be called Son of God

What do you notice? It’s all future tense! It’s all a PROMISE of what will happen, of what God has yet to do.

Mary asks a good question, “How can this be?” It’s a practical question. She’s a virgin, never been with a man. How can she possibly get pregnant? But I think beneath the surface it’s a deeper question: “How can it be that me—an ordinary, peasant girl—could be called by God and pulled into his extraordinary purposes like this? Who am I to be the mother of the Savior?”

And then the lynch pin; the promise that sums up it all, the same promise God made to Abraham and Sarah beneath the star lit sky: “For nothing will be impossible with God.”

Here we have God’s promise, what God says he will do, God pointing to a future that is different than what currently is, beyond our capacity to even imagine.

So how do you live between the promise and the fulfillment? How do you embrace the “will be” amid the “what is?” This is where hope comes in.

Faith is trusting God in the present. Hope is faith’s older sibling. Hope is trusting God with the future. Hope is trusting that the “will be” will really come to be. The “will be” will eventually become “what is now so.”

But how do we lean into hope? Not just a little, but lots of it? God knows, we need lots of hope right now. Our world needs lots of hope right now.

Look again at Mary. Look at what she does. Amazing. Then Mary said, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

Have there ever been more beautiful words, a more courageous response, in all of Scripture?

Mary chooses hope by practicing surrender. And it is in this posture of surrender that a little hope grows into a lot of hope. She may not fully understand. She may not even fully believe. But she surrenders. She opens her mind, her heart, her hands, her life…and she says, “I let go and surrender myself to you. Let it be as you have promised.”

The late Henri Nouwen tells a story about a conversation he had with the famous Flying Rodleighs— German trapeze artists—who became some of his close friends. One day he was sitting with Rodleigh, the leader of the troupe, talking about the art of trapeze. “As a flyer [that’s the one who let’s go of the trapeze bar and does the spectacular stunts), I must have complete trust in my catcher,” he explained. “The public might think that I am the great star of the trapeze, but the real star is Joe, my catcher. He has to be there for me with split-second precision and grab me out of the air as I come to him in the long jump.”

“How does it work?” Nouwen asked.

“The secret,” said Rodleigh, “is that the flyer does nothing and the catcher does everything. When I fly to Joe, I have simply to stretch out my arms and hands and wait for him to catch me and pull me safely over the apron behind the catchbar.” Then he said this: “The worst thing the flyer can do is to try to catch the catcher. I’m not supposed to catch Joe. It’s Joe’s task to catch me. If I grabbed Joe’s wrists, I might break them, or he might break mine, and that would be the end for both of us. A flyer must fly, and a catcher must catch, and the flyer must trust, with outstretched arms, that his catcher will be there for him.”

This, my friends, is hope. Letting go… of shame from the past, fear in the present, anxiety about the future…and surrendering with outstretched arms to the One who promises to catch us. The One who promises to bring about his purposes for our lives, his purposes for the world. The One who holds the future in his hands, and calls us to trust that these are good hands. The “will be” shall be. And all shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of things shall be made well (Julian of Norwich).

Hope grows from a little to a lot in the flying—the courageous act of letting go and stretching out towards a God who promises to catch us and do the impossible. And Mary let go and stretched out her hands, and she said, “Here I am; your servant; let it be with me according to your Word.”

Yes, as President Snow said, the only thing more powerful than fear is hope. And God has not given us a spirit of fear. In the baby born in Bethlehem, the true King who has ushered in God’s kingdom, a kingdom that will come in its completion…we have been given a spirit of hope. Not just a little hope. But lots of it. So much hope, in fact, that there’s enough for the whole world.

And make no mistake: that much hope is a dangerous thing. Especially to all who would strive to stay on top, push others down, keep the world as it is. This much hope is recipe for revolution.

Mary will sing about it. As hope would grow in her womb, it would burst out in a song of hope for the world:

 “My soul magnifies the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior/ for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant…/for the Mighty One has done great things for me and holy is his name/ …He has shown strength with his arm;/ he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts / He has brought down the powerful from their thrones / and lifted up the lowly / he has filled the hungry with good things, / and sent the rich away empty./ He has helped his servant Israel, / in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, / to Abraham and to his descendents forever.”

On this fourth Sunday in Advent, as we turn our hearts towards Christmas, let us find the courage to hope—to let go of our fears and misgivings—and stretch out our hands in trust of the One who is waiting to catch us. The One who promises a bright future, a different world. Let us be a people of hope; and through our witness, point a dark and broken world to a Savior who has come and is coming to set the world right and make all things new!

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

[1] Taken from David Lose’s book Preaching at a Crossroads (Fortress Press, 2013), p.64.

December 11, 2016
Lindsay Small
Isaiah 61

Early Friday morning, our daughter Madeline came into our room in a bit of a panic…”Mom! It’s student council today and we’re supposed to be there by 7:30.”

This was not new information to us…Kyle and I had made the plan the night before to get both our kids to the meeting at 7:30. And I thought I had set my alarm…but as I looked at my clock through bleary, un-contacted eyes…it said 7:15.

How did this happen? How did I not set my alarm? And why do I feel SOOO groggy? I lay there as all of this sunk in and then rolled myself out of bed. Madeline was in her room, lights blazing, searching for her student council shirt. Our son Micah was still last asleep…a rarity for someone who is usually up in the 6:00 hour.

As Madeline continued getting ready, and as I prepared to wake Micah and Kyle…something still didn’t feel right. It was too dark outside…I was too tired.

I went back to our room and this time, looked at the clock with glasses on.

It wasn’t 7:15. It was 1:15…am.

I got Madeline back to bed and lay back down in our bed…and tried to convince myself adrenaline was a sleep aid.

As I lay there, I thought about the four-part miniseries I had just put myself through…

All told…this middle of the night episode was no more than 10 minutes…but in that 10 minutes…the roller coaster of drama I had spoken to myself was enough to earn me as Oscar.

-I should have set my alarm!

-I should be more prepared!

-I should be more attuned to details!

and ultimately…

-I should be a better mom!

This is not an original episode…I’ve been starring in this rerun for years.

And perhaps you have to…I think we all have recurring scenes like this with familiar lines.

-Lines that we speak to ourselves sometimes without even realizing it…lines so ingrained in us that these silent monologues play continually in our minds…

I should be this…

I should do this…

I should, I should, I should…

Some of us even utter the even more tragic…

I should have…Placing ‘should’ like a mantle over past situations we can do nothing about…

This morning, I think its time to throw these scripts away, to cancel the miniseries and all its drama…

No more.

The shoulds in my life are getting way too much airtime. And perhaps you feel the same way…

Perhaps you don’t say the word…but when you think about what motivates you and dictates what you do…and what you think of yourself…the SHOULDs are never far away.

But this script of shoulds…has been written by us, not God.

And so this morning is an invitation to pick up a new script…and new lines…

This morning, they come in the form of a prophesy. A promise. A future of hope and joy.

Listen to these words as they come to us from Isaiah 61.

The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
 because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
 to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
 and release to the prisoners;
2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor,
 and the day of vengeance of our God;
 to comfort all who mourn;
3 to provide for those who mourn in Zion—
 to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
 the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
 the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.
4 They shall build up the ancient ruins,
 they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
 the devastations of many generations.

This passage has been preached and preached many times. It is so preached that I even preached it in my last sermon. But it is worthy of over-preaching…partly because it has the unique quality of being past, present, and future.

It is written for present circumstances in Israel, while at the same time harkening back to the past promise of Jubilee, and looking to the future when we know Jesus will read this portion of the scroll in the synagogue.

It spans time and space, economic class and circumstance, good news and bad news.

But notice, there’s not a ‘should’ in sight.

Instead, it is meant to be an encouragement. A breath of hope in the midst of despair. A vision of the future that draws us out of the dreary present…

——

Isaiah utters these words in the post-exilic period. Here’s a three sentence summary of what that means:

-The Israelites were given the promised land.

-In 605 BC, the Babylonians invade Israel…this begins a 19 year period of turmoil in Israel…with three waves of massive deportation of Israelites to Babylon, culminating in 586 with the Babylonians destroying Jerusalem and the temple. (ok, that was a run on sentence)

-47 years later, Babylon falls and Cyrus the Second allows the Jews to return…

And it is after this return that this prophesy is given…

They are back home! This is what they’ve been waiting for! They had been dreaming of returning to their homeland for years!

Once we get back to Israel…

-things will return to normal.

-life will be good again.

But, the problem is…things weren’t as great as they thought they would be…

Because this land that they longed for did not match their memory.

its a little bit like returning home after you’ve been to college…things just aren’t the same. And the treadmill got moved into your bedroom…ok, its a bit of stretch but hopefully you get the point.

Jerusalem was in shambles. It had been destroyed…it was not the beacon of a city it had once been. And their rebuilding efforts did not match the blueprints.

It was a simple, devastating case of reality not matching dreams…

A super smart OT scholar says, “The mourning in Isaiah 61 rises out of frustration and humiliation over the failure to rebuild the city and the temple to match its former glory. The reality of life in Jerusalem was nothing like the expectations for a restored Jerusalem and a righteous community as proclaimed by the prophets and as envisioned by the returnees.”

It is likely that none of the those who returned had even seen the original Temple…but the stories and description of it had grown and grown.

They had seen features of it on HGTV throwback episodes and had dreamed about its square footage and open-concept design.

Now that they’ve returned…the reality of the ramshackled temple has sunk in.

It was a little more DIY than Property Brothers…

The beauty of the temple destroyed, the infrastructure of the city in shambles, and the economy starting over from scratch…

This was not a part of the their dreams…this was not how it should have been…

‘We should be happy”
‘We should be content”
“We should be better.”

But we’re not.

God sees their shoulds. He sees their despair. He sees that their hopelessness.

And so he tells Isaiah to give them a new script…

Poverty is rampant, and Isaiah says
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
 to bind up the brokenhearted,

The people are depressed, and Isaiah says
he has sent me to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,

The city is in shambles, and Isaiah says…
They shall build up ancient ruins,
They shall repair the ruined cities.

Notice how God’s script is different…

In the first seven verses of this prophesy there is one word repeated seven times…the simple verb “shall.”

Shall, “Should’s” kinder cousin.

Shall instead of Should…I had never thought about the difference between the two.

But I am more and more convinced that these words, though closely related on the grammatical family tree…point us in two different directions.

Should points us towards guilt, and belittling, and shame.

Shall points us towards hope, promise, and determination.

The people who had returned from exile were carrying the weight of should…We should build up the ruins…we should do this…

But here it is again…

“They SHALL build up ancient ruins, They SHALL repair the ruined cities…”

Do you hear the difference?

Should implies duty and obligation.

Shall implies determination and invitation.

Listen to these two sentences:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind. And you shall love your neighbor as yourself.

You should love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind. And you should love your neighbor as yourself.

Do you feel the difference?

Sadly, I believe as Christians we are known more for our shoulds than our shalls. Our Good News has become Okay News and Agreeable news, our motivation for service is faintly disguised obligation.

Nope. This is not our call.

When we take a script of shall, instead of should…our posture changes.

Instead of the weight of should on our shoulders (a word, by the way, where first six letters, spell should), we are offered in verse 3, the mantle of praise that comes with shall.

To proclaim GOOD NEWS to the captive…to join in God’s work of justice and righteousness…NOT BECAUSE WE SHOULD…but because we shall…

Once adorned with this mantle, Isaiah continues the prophesy with more ‘shalls’…
6 but you shall be called priests of the Lord,
 you shall be named ministers of our God;
you shall enjoy the wealth of the nations,
 and in their riches you shall glory.
7 Because their[a] shame was double,
 and dishonor was proclaimed as their lot,
therefore they shall possess a double portion;
 everlasting joy shall be theirs.
8 For I the Lord love justice,
 I hate robbery and wrongdoing;[b]
I will faithfully give them their recompense,
 and I will make an everlasting covenant with them.

The people had not returned alone.

The same God that had led them to the Promised Land the first time was right there.

The same God that had directed Solomon to build the temple was right there.

The same God that had been with them in exile was right here.

Their circumstances were dire, but they had been here before…and God promised to be with them.

And he promises again and again…to make an everlasting Covenant with all of them…and all of us…

Not a promise of nostalgia…not looking back to a temple that should have been…

But looking forward to a Savior who shall be.

A Savior who shall take all our sins away…

What then, shall we do?

Living into the eternal covenant with God means taking on the humble mantle of service.

Not because we should, but because we shall.

We are invited to be God’s hands and feet in a world…to proclaim Good News!

To be known by our love, our service, our grace, our embrace.

Not because we should…but because we shall.

This morning, I invite you to take the card ___________________.

Let go of the script of should's in your life…no more reruns.

How then, shall we live?

December 11, 2016
Lindsay Small
Isaiah 61

Early Friday morning, our daughter Madeline came into our room in a bit of a panic…”Mom! It’s student council today and we’re supposed to be there by 7:30.”

This was not new information to us…Kyle and I had made the plan the night before to get both our kids to the meeting at 7:30. And I thought I had set my alarm…but as I looked at my clock through bleary, un-contacted eyes…it said 7:15.

How did this happen? How did I not set my alarm? And why do I feel SOOO groggy? I lay there as all of this sunk in and then rolled myself out of bed. Madeline was in her room, lights blazing, searching for her student council shirt. Our son Micah was still last asleep…a rarity for someone who is usually up in the 6:00 hour.

As Madeline continued getting ready, and as I prepared to wake Micah and Kyle…something still didn’t feel right. It was too dark outside…I was too tired.

I went back to our room and this time, looked at the clock with glasses on.

It wasn’t 7:15. It was 1:15…am.

I got Madeline back to bed and lay back down in our bed…and tried to convince myself adrenaline was a sleep aid.

As I lay there, I thought about the four-part miniseries I had just put myself through…

All told…this middle of the night episode was no more than 10 minutes…but in that 10 minutes…the roller coaster of drama I had spoken to myself was enough to earn me as Oscar.

-I should have set my alarm!

-I should be more prepared!

-I should be more attuned to details!

and ultimately…

-I should be a better mom!

This is not an original episode…I’ve been starring in this rerun for years.

And perhaps you have to…I think we all have recurring scenes like this with familiar lines.

-Lines that we speak to ourselves sometimes without even realizing it…lines so ingrained in us that these silent monologues play continually in our minds…

I should be this…

I should do this…

I should, I should, I should…

Some of us even utter the even more tragic…

I should have…Placing ‘should’ like a mantle over past situations we can do nothing about…

This morning, I think its time to throw these scripts away, to cancel the miniseries and all its drama…

No more.

The shoulds in my life are getting way too much airtime. And perhaps you feel the same way…

Perhaps you don’t say the word…but when you think about what motivates you and dictates what you do…and what you think of yourself…the SHOULDs are never far away.

But this script of shoulds…has been written by us, not God.

And so this morning is an invitation to pick up a new script…and new lines…

This morning, they come in the form of a prophesy. A promise. A future of hope and joy.

Listen to these words as they come to us from Isaiah 61.

The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
 because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
 to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
 and release to the prisoners;
2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor,
 and the day of vengeance of our God;
 to comfort all who mourn;
3 to provide for those who mourn in Zion—
 to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
 the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
 the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.
4 They shall build up the ancient ruins,
 they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
 the devastations of many generations.

This passage has been preached and preached many times. It is so preached that I even preached it in my last sermon. But it is worthy of over-preaching…partly because it has the unique quality of being past, present, and future.

It is written for present circumstances in Israel, while at the same time harkening back to the past promise of Jubilee, and looking to the future when we know Jesus will read this portion of the scroll in the synagogue.

It spans time and space, economic class and circumstance, good news and bad news.

But notice, there’s not a ‘should’ in sight.

Instead, it is meant to be an encouragement. A breath of hope in the midst of despair. A vision of the future that draws us out of the dreary present…

——

Isaiah utters these words in the post-exilic period. Here’s a three sentence summary of what that means:

-The Israelites were given the promised land.

-In 605 BC, the Babylonians invade Israel…this begins a 19 year period of turmoil in Israel…with three waves of massive deportation of Israelites to Babylon, culminating in 586 with the Babylonians destroying Jerusalem and the temple. (ok, that was a run on sentence)

-47 years later, Babylon falls and Cyrus the Second allows the Jews to return…

And it is after this return that this prophesy is given…

They are back home! This is what they’ve been waiting for! They had been dreaming of returning to their homeland for years!

Once we get back to Israel…

-things will return to normal.

-life will be good again.

But, the problem is…things weren’t as great as they thought they would be…

Because this land that they longed for did not match their memory.

its a little bit like returning home after you’ve been to college…things just aren’t the same. And the treadmill got moved into your bedroom…ok, its a bit of stretch but hopefully you get the point.

Jerusalem was in shambles. It had been destroyed…it was not the beacon of a city it had once been. And their rebuilding efforts did not match the blueprints.

It was a simple, devastating case of reality not matching dreams…

A super smart OT scholar says, “The mourning in Isaiah 61 rises out of frustration and humiliation over the failure to rebuild the city and the temple to match its former glory. The reality of life in Jerusalem was nothing like the expectations for a restored Jerusalem and a righteous community as proclaimed by the prophets and as envisioned by the returnees.”

It is likely that none of the those who returned had even seen the original Temple…but the stories and description of it had grown and grown.

They had seen features of it on HGTV throwback episodes and had dreamed about its square footage and open-concept design.

Now that they’ve returned…the reality of the ramshackled temple has sunk in.

It was a little more DIY than Property Brothers…

The beauty of the temple destroyed, the infrastructure of the city in shambles, and the economy starting over from scratch…

This was not a part of the their dreams…this was not how it should have been…

‘We should be happy”
‘We should be content”
“We should be better.”

But we’re not.

God sees their shoulds. He sees their despair. He sees that their hopelessness.

And so he tells Isaiah to give them a new script…

Poverty is rampant, and Isaiah says
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
 to bind up the brokenhearted,

The people are depressed, and Isaiah says
he has sent me to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,

The city is in shambles, and Isaiah says…
They shall build up ancient ruins,
They shall repair the ruined cities.

Notice how God’s script is different…

In the first seven verses of this prophesy there is one word repeated seven times…the simple verb “shall.”

Shall, “Should’s” kinder cousin.

Shall instead of Should…I had never thought about the difference between the two.

But I am more and more convinced that these words, though closely related on the grammatical family tree…point us in two different directions.

Should points us towards guilt, and belittling, and shame.

Shall points us towards hope, promise, and determination.

The people who had returned from exile were carrying the weight of should…We should build up the ruins…we should do this…

But here it is again…

“They SHALL build up ancient ruins, They SHALL repair the ruined cities…”

Do you hear the difference?

Should implies duty and obligation.

Shall implies determination and invitation.

Listen to these two sentences:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind. And you shall love your neighbor as yourself.

You should love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind. And you should love your neighbor as yourself.

Do you feel the difference?

Sadly, I believe as Christians we are known more for our shoulds than our shalls. Our Good News has become Okay News and Agreeable news, our motivation for service is faintly disguised obligation.

Nope. This is not our call.

When we take a script of shall, instead of should…our posture changes.

Instead of the weight of should on our shoulders (a word, by the way, where first six letters, spell should), we are offered in verse 3, the mantle of praise that comes with shall.

To proclaim GOOD NEWS to the captive…to join in God’s work of justice and righteousness…NOT BECAUSE WE SHOULD…but because we shall…

Once adorned with this mantle, Isaiah continues the prophesy with more ‘shalls’…
6 but you shall be called priests of the Lord,
 you shall be named ministers of our God;
you shall enjoy the wealth of the nations,
 and in their riches you shall glory.
7 Because their[a] shame was double,
 and dishonor was proclaimed as their lot,
therefore they shall possess a double portion;
 everlasting joy shall be theirs.
8 For I the Lord love justice,
 I hate robbery and wrongdoing;[b]
I will faithfully give them their recompense,
 and I will make an everlasting covenant with them.

The people had not returned alone.

The same God that had led them to the Promised Land the first time was right there.

The same God that had directed Solomon to build the temple was right there.

The same God that had been with them in exile was right here.

Their circumstances were dire, but they had been here before…and God promised to be with them.

And he promises again and again…to make an everlasting Covenant with all of them…and all of us…

Not a promise of nostalgia…not looking back to a temple that should have been…

But looking forward to a Savior who shall be.

A Savior who shall take all our sins away…

What then, shall we do?

Living into the eternal covenant with God means taking on the humble mantle of service.

Not because we should, but because we shall.

We are invited to be God’s hands and feet in a world…to proclaim Good News!

To be known by our love, our service, our grace, our embrace.

Not because we should…but because we shall.

This morning, I invite you to take the card ___________________.

Let go of the script of should's in your life…no more reruns.

How then, shall we live?

December 4, 2016; 2nd Sunday in Advent
Brian R. Keepers
Joel 2:12-13, 28-29

Called to Grow: Rend Your Hearts

I don’t know what compelled me to do it or where the idea even came from. Who can possibly understand the mysteries of a five-year-old’s brain? This is especially true when my five-year-old-brain met up with Brent Olson’s five-year-old brain, my best friend from childhood. The two of us together was usually a sure recipe for trouble.

Here’s how it happened. My mother was talking on the phone with someone about a neighborhood garage-sale. Brent and I snuck into the kitchen and went straight for the lower cupboard. I grabbed a can of unopened Crisco. A few minutes later we were downstairs in the basement, lathering my father’s brand new lazy boy recliner with Crisco to the tune of five-year-old giggles.

We covered the entire chair--fabric not leather--with Crisco. Every. Single. Inch. My mother heard the giggles from upstairs. Soon the sound of her footsteps thundering down the stairs cut our giggles short and sent Brent and I in a state a panic.

So what did we do? What we all do when we’re in trouble. It’s what Adam and Eve did in the Garden of Eden. We ran and hid.

My mother saw the chair covered in Crisco, and, with all her motherly fury, hollered out, “Boys, Come here! Now!” We knew we were done for. This was it. We crawled out from behind the couch and came cowering into my mother’s presence, her face beat red and our heads slumped in shame.

Like I said, I don’t know what compelled us to do it. Our behavior is often not very rational, our impulses are strong. How did St. Paul say it in Romans? I do the things I don’t want to do and know I shouldn’t do; and I don’t do the things I know I should. Welcome to the human condition. This is true not just for 5-year-old boys; it’s true for all of us.

We’ve all Criscoed the lazy boy chair. We’re all guilty of acting in ways that impact others, that make a mess of things and ruin what is good. When the London Times asked a number of writers for essays on “What’s Wrong with the World?”, the great G.K. Chesterton sent in the reply shortest and most to the point:

Dear Sirs:
I am.
Sincerely Yours,
G.K. Chesterton

There’s so much that’s wrong with the world—so much darkness and brokenness and pain. And our tendency is to point fingers and cast blame. As hard as it may be to admit, Chesterton is right: part of what’s wrong with the world is us—you and me. In the words of the Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy, “the line of good and evil runs through every human heart.”

Here’s the thing: before we can get to the bright lights of Christmas, we have to face the darkness—the darkness in our world and the darkness within our own hearts. Before the Gospel can be good news, it is first bad news.

The prophet Joel, then, begins with the bad news: like the Israelites, we have all strayed from God. God is truth, yet we live by deceit. God is light, yet we seem, in countless ways, to prefer darkness to the light. That’s what’s going on in the book of Joel. God’s people are in exile, and they are experiencing a time of wilderness—a famine in the land; but even more so, a spiritual famine in their hearts. They are all guilty of putting Crisco on the lazy boy chair. Because God is a holy and just God, they are deserving of punishment.

Through Joel, God calls the Israelites to come out of their hiding and return to him. This is a call to genuine repentance—to come home to God. We talked last Sunday about how Advent is a season of preparation and waiting; but it is not a passive kind of waiting. It is an active waiting, and we learned from Daniel that the primary way we actively wait for Christmas is getting down on our knees and assuming a posture of prayer.

Today, in this second Sunday of Advent, we hear the prophet Joel call us to a certain kind of prayer: confession. This is the first step of repentance, of returning to God. It begins with getting honest. Honest with ourselves, honest with God, honest with each other. We ask God to shine his light of truth into the darkest corners of our hearts, to show us what we can’t see, to help us face the truth about ourselves no matter how hard that may be.

As we face the truth about our own sin and brokenness, we allow God to stir up feelings of remorse and sorrow—feelings of lament for the ways we have turned away from God and hurt others. We get present to the way our sin has impacted God, others, ourselves. And we bring that remorse and sorrow into God’s presence: “Return to me with all your heart,” God says through Joel: “with fasting, with weeping, and with morning; rend your hearts and not your clothing.”

Rend your hearts. I’m struck by that line especially. Don’t just go through the religious motions of repentance, but it needs to happen in this deep place of the heart. And God invites us then to bring our rended hearts—our hearts that are torn in so many pieces—to bring all of our heart to him. The invitation here is not just for us to bring the dark, sinful parts of our hearts to God—but all the other parts too. The sad parts. The scared parts. The angry parts. The depressed parts. The lonely parts. “Bring it all to me,” says God. “Come into my presence. And offer your hearts, shattered in a million different pieces, to Me.”

And here is where Joel delivers the good news. When we dare to come out of hiding and come back to God, honestly confessing our sin and rending our hearts, what we encounter is not shame and punishment. Instead, we discover God’s grace and mercy. Listen to this: “Return to the LORD your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.”

This is how we can return to God in the first place, it is what makes repentance possible. Because God is gracious and merciful, abounding in steadfast love, and he offers us forgiveness.

But there’s a second essential part to repentance. It goes further than feeling remorse for our sins and honestly confessing them before God. True repentance is a call to change, to be transformed from the inside out. We need a new heart! As my good friend Chuck DeGroat puts it, this requires nothing less than heart surgery. I’d push it further: we need a heart transplant!

And this, too, is the good news God speak through the prophet Joel. Not only is there a way back to God; not only are we invited to rend our hearts and bring them, all broken and tattered, into God’s presence. But God takes these rendered hearts and heals them; God gives us a new heart, a clean heart, a heart that is transformed and made whole. God transplants in us Christ’s very heart! And it’s this new heart that then makes it possible for us to change our ways, to live differently.

How is this possible? Because of the Holy Spirit poured out upon us. “Then afterward I will pour out my spirit on all flesh, your sons and your daughters shall prophesy; your old men shall dream dreams and your young men shall see visions. Even on male and female slaves, in those days, will I pour out my spirit.”

With the coming of Christ, God has poured out his spirit on all flesh—and that Spirit enable us to turn back to God and, in Christ, gives us new hearts of flesh. This is exactly what another prophet, Ezekiel, prophesied: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh” (Ez. 36:26).

In Christ by the Spirit, God gives us new hearts of flesh that are set free from sin and able to follow after God and obey God’s will. The proof, then, of a new heart, of genuine repentance, is outward fruit. “Repentance is an inward matter,” said John Calvin, “which has it seat in the heart and soul, but afterwards yields its fruit in a changed life.”

This is why John the Baptist (and how can we have Advent without bumping into this wild, fiery desert preacher), when he came preaching and baptizing, called people to bear fruits worthy of repentance. In other words, to show by your outward actions that you have had a genuine change of mind and heart! Actions that lead to obedience to God and compassion, generosity and justice towards our neighbors.

Here’s something key: When we return to God, when we come home to God, God always turns us outward toward others. To rend our hearts before God is to have our hearts transformed and filled with compassion for others—especially those on the margins and in need. This is genuine repentance.

I’ll never forget the day I came in from playing outside, went downstairs, and saw what had happened to my dad’s lazy boy chair that Brent and I had ruined. I couldn’t believe my five-year-old eyes! It was just like new. The Crisco was gone—like it had never happened. My mother had tried to scrub the Crisco out, but to no avail. So she took it into the furniture store, and they removed the old fabric and restored the chair with brand new fabric.

And so it is with our sin. We can scrub all we want, try to clean it up and fix it by our own efforts. But only God can take what is ruined and make it new. We can’t fix our hearts, we can’t fix the world, it needs a restoration job—a Redeemer. This is the good news of Advent and Christmas: God in Christ by the Spirit can take our torn, sinful hearts, our broken and dark world, and make it new again. Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me.

It’s in this Table, this Feast of God’s Mercy and Grace, that we draw near to God with our whole hearts, and our hearts are transformed to love God and others in the power of Jesus name.

So as we come to this table, let us take a moment to get honest with God, to examine our hearts, to ask God to shed his light in us so that, with hearts healed and made whole, God might shine his light through us. Lord, come light our hearts; and through us, come light the world.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

December 4, 2016; 2nd Sunday in Advent
Brian R. Keepers
Joel 2:12-13, 28-29

Called to Grow: Rend Your Hearts

I don’t know what compelled me to do it or where the idea even came from. Who can possibly understand the mysteries of a five-year-old’s brain? This is especially true when my five-year-old-brain met up with Brent Olson’s five-year-old brain, my best friend from childhood. The two of us together was usually a sure recipe for trouble.

Here’s how it happened. My mother was talking on the phone with someone about a neighborhood garage-sale. Brent and I snuck into the kitchen and went straight for the lower cupboard. I grabbed a can of unopened Crisco. A few minutes later we were downstairs in the basement, lathering my father’s brand new lazy boy recliner with Crisco to the tune of five-year-old giggles.

We covered the entire chair--fabric not leather--with Crisco. Every. Single. Inch. My mother heard the giggles from upstairs. Soon the sound of her footsteps thundering down the stairs cut our giggles short and sent Brent and I in a state a panic.

So what did we do? What we all do when we’re in trouble. It’s what Adam and Eve did in the Garden of Eden. We ran and hid.

My mother saw the chair covered in Crisco, and, with all her motherly fury, hollered out, “Boys, Come here! Now!” We knew we were done for. This was it. We crawled out from behind the couch and came cowering into my mother’s presence, her face beat red and our heads slumped in shame.

Like I said, I don’t know what compelled us to do it. Our behavior is often not very rational, our impulses are strong. How did St. Paul say it in Romans? I do the things I don’t want to do and know I shouldn’t do; and I don’t do the things I know I should. Welcome to the human condition. This is true not just for 5-year-old boys; it’s true for all of us.

We’ve all Criscoed the lazy boy chair. We’re all guilty of acting in ways that impact others, that make a mess of things and ruin what is good. When the London Times asked a number of writers for essays on “What’s Wrong with the World?”, the great G.K. Chesterton sent in the reply shortest and most to the point:

Dear Sirs:
I am.
Sincerely Yours,
G.K. Chesterton

There’s so much that’s wrong with the world—so much darkness and brokenness and pain. And our tendency is to point fingers and cast blame. As hard as it may be to admit, Chesterton is right: part of what’s wrong with the world is us—you and me. In the words of the Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy, “the line of good and evil runs through every human heart.”

Here’s the thing: before we can get to the bright lights of Christmas, we have to face the darkness—the darkness in our world and the darkness within our own hearts. Before the Gospel can be good news, it is first bad news.

The prophet Joel, then, begins with the bad news: like the Israelites, we have all strayed from God. God is truth, yet we live by deceit. God is light, yet we seem, in countless ways, to prefer darkness to the light. That’s what’s going on in the book of Joel. God’s people are in exile, and they are experiencing a time of wilderness—a famine in the land; but even more so, a spiritual famine in their hearts. They are all guilty of putting Crisco on the lazy boy chair. Because God is a holy and just God, they are deserving of punishment.

Through Joel, God calls the Israelites to come out of their hiding and return to him. This is a call to genuine repentance—to come home to God. We talked last Sunday about how Advent is a season of preparation and waiting; but it is not a passive kind of waiting. It is an active waiting, and we learned from Daniel that the primary way we actively wait for Christmas is getting down on our knees and assuming a posture of prayer.

Today, in this second Sunday of Advent, we hear the prophet Joel call us to a certain kind of prayer: confession. This is the first step of repentance, of returning to God. It begins with getting honest. Honest with ourselves, honest with God, honest with each other. We ask God to shine his light of truth into the darkest corners of our hearts, to show us what we can’t see, to help us face the truth about ourselves no matter how hard that may be.

As we face the truth about our own sin and brokenness, we allow God to stir up feelings of remorse and sorrow—feelings of lament for the ways we have turned away from God and hurt others. We get present to the way our sin has impacted God, others, ourselves. And we bring that remorse and sorrow into God’s presence: “Return to me with all your heart,” God says through Joel: “with fasting, with weeping, and with morning; rend your hearts and not your clothing.”

Rend your hearts. I’m struck by that line especially. Don’t just go through the religious motions of repentance, but it needs to happen in this deep place of the heart. And God invites us then to bring our rended hearts—our hearts that are torn in so many pieces—to bring all of our heart to him. The invitation here is not just for us to bring the dark, sinful parts of our hearts to God—but all the other parts too. The sad parts. The scared parts. The angry parts. The depressed parts. The lonely parts. “Bring it all to me,” says God. “Come into my presence. And offer your hearts, shattered in a million different pieces, to Me.”

And here is where Joel delivers the good news. When we dare to come out of hiding and come back to God, honestly confessing our sin and rending our hearts, what we encounter is not shame and punishment. Instead, we discover God’s grace and mercy. Listen to this: “Return to the LORD your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.”

This is how we can return to God in the first place, it is what makes repentance possible. Because God is gracious and merciful, abounding in steadfast love, and he offers us forgiveness.

But there’s a second essential part to repentance. It goes further than feeling remorse for our sins and honestly confessing them before God. True repentance is a call to change, to be transformed from the inside out. We need a new heart! As my good friend Chuck DeGroat puts it, this requires nothing less than heart surgery. I’d push it further: we need a heart transplant!

And this, too, is the good news God speak through the prophet Joel. Not only is there a way back to God; not only are we invited to rend our hearts and bring them, all broken and tattered, into God’s presence. But God takes these rendered hearts and heals them; God gives us a new heart, a clean heart, a heart that is transformed and made whole. God transplants in us Christ’s very heart! And it’s this new heart that then makes it possible for us to change our ways, to live differently.

How is this possible? Because of the Holy Spirit poured out upon us. “Then afterward I will pour out my spirit on all flesh, your sons and your daughters shall prophesy; your old men shall dream dreams and your young men shall see visions. Even on male and female slaves, in those days, will I pour out my spirit.”

With the coming of Christ, God has poured out his spirit on all flesh—and that Spirit enable us to turn back to God and, in Christ, gives us new hearts of flesh. This is exactly what another prophet, Ezekiel, prophesied: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh” (Ez. 36:26).

In Christ by the Spirit, God gives us new hearts of flesh that are set free from sin and able to follow after God and obey God’s will. The proof, then, of a new heart, of genuine repentance, is outward fruit. “Repentance is an inward matter,” said John Calvin, “which has it seat in the heart and soul, but afterwards yields its fruit in a changed life.”

This is why John the Baptist (and how can we have Advent without bumping into this wild, fiery desert preacher), when he came preaching and baptizing, called people to bear fruits worthy of repentance. In other words, to show by your outward actions that you have had a genuine change of mind and heart! Actions that lead to obedience to God and compassion, generosity and justice towards our neighbors.

Here’s something key: When we return to God, when we come home to God, God always turns us outward toward others. To rend our hearts before God is to have our hearts transformed and filled with compassion for others—especially those on the margins and in need. This is genuine repentance.

I’ll never forget the day I came in from playing outside, went downstairs, and saw what had happened to my dad’s lazy boy chair that Brent and I had ruined. I couldn’t believe my five-year-old eyes! It was just like new. The Crisco was gone—like it had never happened. My mother had tried to scrub the Crisco out, but to no avail. So she took it into the furniture store, and they removed the old fabric and restored the chair with brand new fabric.

And so it is with our sin. We can scrub all we want, try to clean it up and fix it by our own efforts. But only God can take what is ruined and make it new. We can’t fix our hearts, we can’t fix the world, it needs a restoration job—a Redeemer. This is the good news of Advent and Christmas: God in Christ by the Spirit can take our torn, sinful hearts, our broken and dark world, and make it new again. Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me.

It’s in this Table, this Feast of God’s Mercy and Grace, that we draw near to God with our whole hearts, and our hearts are transformed to love God and others in the power of Jesus name.

So as we come to this table, let us take a moment to get honest with God, to examine our hearts, to ask God to shed his light in us so that, with hearts healed and made whole, God might shine his light through us. Lord, come light our hearts; and through us, come light the world.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

November 27, 2016; 1st Sunday in Advent
Brian R. Keepers
Daniel 6:1-28

Called to Grow: Waiting in the Lions’ Den

Today we begin the season of Advent. Advent means “coming” or “arrival” and it is the season in the church year when we anticipate the coming or arrival of the Messiah, the true king and his kingdom. Advent is a time of anticipation and waiting.

Now there is a double sense to our waiting as Christians. On the one hand, we are waiting for Christmas, for the celebration of that day 2000 years ago when angels lit up the sky and shepherds went rushing to see the Savior of the world cradled in a manger in Bethlehem.

On the other hand, we are waiting for more than just the celebration of Christ’s birth. We are also waiting for the day when Christ our King will return to judge the living and the dead and set all things right.

 So we find ourselves waiting “in between the times,” between Christ’s first coming and his second coming; waiting for a kingdom that is already here but not yet in its completion. To borrow those words from Jen Hatmaker that the Dykemas shared earlier: we find ourselves “in the messy middle part when the end is not yet in sight…”

Listen to this story from the book that we love—a story about someone who also had to wait, someone who had to live in the messy middle and choose to trust God amid an uncertain future.

Read Scripture

Waiting is so hard, isn’t it? It’s got to be one of the hardest things in the world. Especially when you are waiting for an uncertain future and things are out of your control. It can be lonely, scary, even depressing…when you aren’t sure how things are going to turn out.

How will the test results come back? What will the downsize mean for my job? Will I get accepted into the university I want? Is the chemo treatment working? Will the counseling save my marriage? What will happen when a new President is inaugurated in January?

Waiting is especially hard, I think, when you find yourself waiting on God. Will God show up and do something? How long will it take? And if God does show up, does God have the power to really change things—to change our lives, our situation, our world?

Daniel knew what it was like to wait on God. Daniel knew what it was like to be in the messy middle, uncertain as to how things would turn out. Daniel, who excelled in King Darius’ court and distinguished himself above all the other presidents and satraps in the Persian kingdom. Daniel, who was the victim of jealousy and conspiracy. Daniel who stayed faithful to God even when it was hard, who continued to pray to his God even after the king’s edict.

Daniel is thrown into the lions’ den where he must wait for God to show up...or not. This is the key question in the story: Is Daniel’s God truly alive? Is Daniel’s God truly powerful? Can God save Daniel from the lions’ den?

Maybe you find yourself wondering the same thing today. You’re in the lions’ den, so to speak. Perhaps it is because of circumstances beyond your control—an illness, a loss, a situation. Perhaps it’s because of your own decisions—like King Darius you’ve got yourself in a bind because of choices you’ve made. Either way, you find yourself feeling powerless. And the only possibility for change, for rescue, for things to be different is if God shows up and does something about it.

Yes, waiting is so hard.

Is there anything we can do while we wait? That’s a good question for Advent, isn’t it? While it’s true that we are called to wait during this season of Advent, as we live in the messy middle, our waiting is not passive. We don’t just sit on our hands and do nothing. No, the kind of waiting we’re called to as disciples of Jesus, the kind of waiting we see in Daniel, is a very active kind of waiting.

What kind of activity? Not sitting on our hands but getting down on our knees. This is what Daniel does as he waits: he prays. While he is waiting in the lions’ den, Daniel gets on his knees and prays to God.

Actually, we see Daniel praying even before this moment of crisis in the lions’ den—it is prayer that got him in trouble in the first place. The jealous satraps and presidents convinced King Darius to outlaw prayer to any other God but himself. But in a bold act of civil disobedience, Daniel still kneels down to his God. Three times a day, in front of an open window facing Jerusalem, Daniel kneels to pray.

It’s funny how we often think of prayer as a last resort—something we do when we’ve run out of options and we’re at the end of our rope. But that’s not what we see in Daniel. Prayer is Daniel’s first resort, his primary practice as a follower of God who is living in exile. We see this in Jesus too. Prayer is Jesus’ central practice--his way of staying centered in his Father’s will and focused on his mission. And Jesus commands his disciples to pray. In fact, he gives them a prayer to mark them as those who belong to him—the Lord’s Prayer.

Prayer is the central posture we assume in our waiting—as we wait for things to be different in our lives and also as we wait for God’s kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven.

Daniel shows us that prayer is an act of trust. Knowing that his allegiance to God would get him in trouble and likely result in his execution, Daniel expresses his trust in God through prayer. But prayer is not just an expression of trust; prayer is also a spiritual practice that creates deeper trust. Prayer is the way we learn to trust God, rely on him, surrender more fully to God’s will. Prayer is our “Yes” to God and God’s kingdom, even when we are anxious and afraid. “Not what I want, but what you want,” Jesus prayed in the Garden. “Your kingdom come, Your will be done,” we exclaim every time we utter the Lord’s Prayer.

But that’s not all it is. Daniel also shows us that prayer is an act of resistance. And we must not miss this in Daniel’s story. Make no mistake—the Book of Daniel is like dynamite. It is a book about resistance, hopeful defiance in the face of empire, injustice and evil. It’s why the book of Daniel, and especially this story of the lions’ den, was a favorite text that thundered out from African American pulpits during the Civil Rights Movement.

When Daniel bowed his knees to pray, it wasn’t just his “Yes!” to God and God’s kingdom. It was his bold and courageous “No!” to anyone and anything that opposed God’s kingdom. It was his way of acknowledging that his heart belonged to God and God alone. Here’s how the Swiss theologian Karl Barth puts it: “The law of prayer is the law of action,” and when we dare to pray “Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done” we “revolt and fight against” a world that is not yet the way it is supposed to be.

It was a late Friday night, and he slumped home after another long strategy session with other civil rights leaders. He found Coretta in bed, asleep. He paced about, his nerves still on edge. Things were heating up. And then the phone rang. A sneering voice on the other end said, “Leave Montgomery immediately if you have no wish to die.” He hung up the phone, walked to his kitchen, and with trembling hands, put on a pot of coffee and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. This was the prelude to what would be Martin Luther King’s most profound spiritual experience. He describes it in his book, Stride Towards Freedom:

“I was ready to give up. With my cup of coffee sitting untouched before me, I tried to think of a way to move out of the picture without appearing a coward. In this state of exhaustion, when my courage had all but gone, I decided to take my problem to God. With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud.

The words I spoke to God that midnight are still vivid in my memory. ‘I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But now I am afraid. The people are looking to me for leadership, and if I stand before them without strength and courage, they too will falter. I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.’

At that moment, I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced God before. It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying, ‘Stand up for justice, stand up for truth; and God will be at your side forever.” Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainty disappeared. I was ready to face anything.”

Some eleven years later, King spoke to an audience about that prayer in the kitchen. It was the darkest hour of his life—his moment in the lions’ den you could say, but it also became the most transformative moment where he heard the voice of Jesus saying to him, “Fight on. I promise I’ll never leave you, I’ll never leave you alone.”

A couple Sundays ago, Pastor Lindsay preached a powerful sermon about our call, as the church, to “stand up” and bear witness to another world, a better world. The way to stand up begins with kneeling down.

That’s just it, isn’t it? When prayer is an act of trust—our “Yes!” to God and God’s kingdom—and an act of resistance—our “No!” to a world that’s not the way it’s supposed to be—it ultimately makes prayer an act of faithful witness.

When Daniel kneeled to pray, both in his house and in the lions’ den, Daniel was bearing witness to the living God amidst the power of another empire. And what is so remarkable about this is that the one who is changed (or so it seems) is King Darius himself. After God rescues Daniel, King Darius then makes a new edict to all peoples and nations of every language throughout the world, which takes the form of a song of praise:

I make a decree, that in all my royal dominion people should tremble and fear before the God of Daniel: for he is the living God, enduring forever. His kingdom shall never be destroyed, and his dominion has no end. He delivers and rescues, he works signs and wonders in heaven and on earth; for he has saved Daniel from the power of the lions.

For he has saved Daniel from the power of the lions! God, the living God, does what King Darius in all of his power and authority could not do.

We, too, bear witness to another King and kingdom—One who has come and is coming, whose kingdom shall never be destroyed and whose dominion will have no end. One who was also falsely accused, persecuted, and thrown into the lions’ den in the shape of a Roman Cross. One who was also locked up in a tomb with a large stone and the stamp of a royal seal.

But the God who has the power to shut the mouths of lions is the same God who has muzzled the jaws of sin and death! The God who has the power to push back the stone to the lions’ den is the same God who rolled away the stone from the tomb on the third day! The God who has the power to raise Daniel from the pit and set his feet on solid ground is the same God who raised Jesus from the dead and set him at the Father’s right hand, crowned him sovereign King of all creation and declared him Savior of every nation!

Jesus, God saves! The King has come! The King is here! The King shall come again!

So whatever you face today—whatever your lions’ den may be—let’s actively wait and get down on our knees and join our voices with the faithful saints throughout history who cry out, “For Yours is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory Forever and Ever! Maranatha! Come Lord Jesus!” Amen.

November 27, 2016; 1st Sunday in Advent
Brian R. Keepers
Daniel 6:1-28

Called to Grow: Waiting in the Lions’ Den

Today we begin the season of Advent. Advent means “coming” or “arrival” and it is the season in the church year when we anticipate the coming or arrival of the Messiah, the true king and his kingdom. Advent is a time of anticipation and waiting.

Now there is a double sense to our waiting as Christians. On the one hand, we are waiting for Christmas, for the celebration of that day 2000 years ago when angels lit up the sky and shepherds went rushing to see the Savior of the world cradled in a manger in Bethlehem.

On the other hand, we are waiting for more than just the celebration of Christ’s birth. We are also waiting for the day when Christ our King will return to judge the living and the dead and set all things right.

 So we find ourselves waiting “in between the times,” between Christ’s first coming and his second coming; waiting for a kingdom that is already here but not yet in its completion. To borrow those words from Jen Hatmaker that the Dykemas shared earlier: we find ourselves “in the messy middle part when the end is not yet in sight…”

Listen to this story from the book that we love—a story about someone who also had to wait, someone who had to live in the messy middle and choose to trust God amid an uncertain future.

Read Scripture

Waiting is so hard, isn’t it? It’s got to be one of the hardest things in the world. Especially when you are waiting for an uncertain future and things are out of your control. It can be lonely, scary, even depressing…when you aren’t sure how things are going to turn out.

How will the test results come back? What will the downsize mean for my job? Will I get accepted into the university I want? Is the chemo treatment working? Will the counseling save my marriage? What will happen when a new President is inaugurated in January?

Waiting is especially hard, I think, when you find yourself waiting on God. Will God show up and do something? How long will it take? And if God does show up, does God have the power to really change things—to change our lives, our situation, our world?

Daniel knew what it was like to wait on God. Daniel knew what it was like to be in the messy middle, uncertain as to how things would turn out. Daniel, who excelled in King Darius’ court and distinguished himself above all the other presidents and satraps in the Persian kingdom. Daniel, who was the victim of jealousy and conspiracy. Daniel who stayed faithful to God even when it was hard, who continued to pray to his God even after the king’s edict.

Daniel is thrown into the lions’ den where he must wait for God to show up...or not. This is the key question in the story: Is Daniel’s God truly alive? Is Daniel’s God truly powerful? Can God save Daniel from the lions’ den?

Maybe you find yourself wondering the same thing today. You’re in the lions’ den, so to speak. Perhaps it is because of circumstances beyond your control—an illness, a loss, a situation. Perhaps it’s because of your own decisions—like King Darius you’ve got yourself in a bind because of choices you’ve made. Either way, you find yourself feeling powerless. And the only possibility for change, for rescue, for things to be different is if God shows up and does something about it.

Yes, waiting is so hard.

Is there anything we can do while we wait? That’s a good question for Advent, isn’t it? While it’s true that we are called to wait during this season of Advent, as we live in the messy middle, our waiting is not passive. We don’t just sit on our hands and do nothing. No, the kind of waiting we’re called to as disciples of Jesus, the kind of waiting we see in Daniel, is a very active kind of waiting.

What kind of activity? Not sitting on our hands but getting down on our knees. This is what Daniel does as he waits: he prays. While he is waiting in the lions’ den, Daniel gets on his knees and prays to God.

Actually, we see Daniel praying even before this moment of crisis in the lions’ den—it is prayer that got him in trouble in the first place. The jealous satraps and presidents convinced King Darius to outlaw prayer to any other God but himself. But in a bold act of civil disobedience, Daniel still kneels down to his God. Three times a day, in front of an open window facing Jerusalem, Daniel kneels to pray.

It’s funny how we often think of prayer as a last resort—something we do when we’ve run out of options and we’re at the end of our rope. But that’s not what we see in Daniel. Prayer is Daniel’s first resort, his primary practice as a follower of God who is living in exile. We see this in Jesus too. Prayer is Jesus’ central practice--his way of staying centered in his Father’s will and focused on his mission. And Jesus commands his disciples to pray. In fact, he gives them a prayer to mark them as those who belong to him—the Lord’s Prayer.

Prayer is the central posture we assume in our waiting—as we wait for things to be different in our lives and also as we wait for God’s kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven.

Daniel shows us that prayer is an act of trust. Knowing that his allegiance to God would get him in trouble and likely result in his execution, Daniel expresses his trust in God through prayer. But prayer is not just an expression of trust; prayer is also a spiritual practice that creates deeper trust. Prayer is the way we learn to trust God, rely on him, surrender more fully to God’s will. Prayer is our “Yes” to God and God’s kingdom, even when we are anxious and afraid. “Not what I want, but what you want,” Jesus prayed in the Garden. “Your kingdom come, Your will be done,” we exclaim every time we utter the Lord’s Prayer.

But that’s not all it is. Daniel also shows us that prayer is an act of resistance. And we must not miss this in Daniel’s story. Make no mistake—the Book of Daniel is like dynamite. It is a book about resistance, hopeful defiance in the face of empire, injustice and evil. It’s why the book of Daniel, and especially this story of the lions’ den, was a favorite text that thundered out from African American pulpits during the Civil Rights Movement.

When Daniel bowed his knees to pray, it wasn’t just his “Yes!” to God and God’s kingdom. It was his bold and courageous “No!” to anyone and anything that opposed God’s kingdom. It was his way of acknowledging that his heart belonged to God and God alone. Here’s how the Swiss theologian Karl Barth puts it: “The law of prayer is the law of action,” and when we dare to pray “Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done” we “revolt and fight against” a world that is not yet the way it is supposed to be.

It was a late Friday night, and he slumped home after another long strategy session with other civil rights leaders. He found Coretta in bed, asleep. He paced about, his nerves still on edge. Things were heating up. And then the phone rang. A sneering voice on the other end said, “Leave Montgomery immediately if you have no wish to die.” He hung up the phone, walked to his kitchen, and with trembling hands, put on a pot of coffee and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. This was the prelude to what would be Martin Luther King’s most profound spiritual experience. He describes it in his book, Stride Towards Freedom:

“I was ready to give up. With my cup of coffee sitting untouched before me, I tried to think of a way to move out of the picture without appearing a coward. In this state of exhaustion, when my courage had all but gone, I decided to take my problem to God. With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud.

The words I spoke to God that midnight are still vivid in my memory. ‘I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But now I am afraid. The people are looking to me for leadership, and if I stand before them without strength and courage, they too will falter. I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.’

At that moment, I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced God before. It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying, ‘Stand up for justice, stand up for truth; and God will be at your side forever.” Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainty disappeared. I was ready to face anything.”

Some eleven years later, King spoke to an audience about that prayer in the kitchen. It was the darkest hour of his life—his moment in the lions’ den you could say, but it also became the most transformative moment where he heard the voice of Jesus saying to him, “Fight on. I promise I’ll never leave you, I’ll never leave you alone.”

A couple Sundays ago, Pastor Lindsay preached a powerful sermon about our call, as the church, to “stand up” and bear witness to another world, a better world. The way to stand up begins with kneeling down.

That’s just it, isn’t it? When prayer is an act of trust—our “Yes!” to God and God’s kingdom—and an act of resistance—our “No!” to a world that’s not the way it’s supposed to be—it ultimately makes prayer an act of faithful witness.

When Daniel kneeled to pray, both in his house and in the lions’ den, Daniel was bearing witness to the living God amidst the power of another empire. And what is so remarkable about this is that the one who is changed (or so it seems) is King Darius himself. After God rescues Daniel, King Darius then makes a new edict to all peoples and nations of every language throughout the world, which takes the form of a song of praise:

I make a decree, that in all my royal dominion people should tremble and fear before the God of Daniel: for he is the living God, enduring forever. His kingdom shall never be destroyed, and his dominion has no end. He delivers and rescues, he works signs and wonders in heaven and on earth; for he has saved Daniel from the power of the lions.

For he has saved Daniel from the power of the lions! God, the living God, does what King Darius in all of his power and authority could not do.

We, too, bear witness to another King and kingdom—One who has come and is coming, whose kingdom shall never be destroyed and whose dominion will have no end. One who was also falsely accused, persecuted, and thrown into the lions’ den in the shape of a Roman Cross. One who was also locked up in a tomb with a large stone and the stamp of a royal seal.

But the God who has the power to shut the mouths of lions is the same God who has muzzled the jaws of sin and death! The God who has the power to push back the stone to the lions’ den is the same God who rolled away the stone from the tomb on the third day! The God who has the power to raise Daniel from the pit and set his feet on solid ground is the same God who raised Jesus from the dead and set him at the Father’s right hand, crowned him sovereign King of all creation and declared him Savior of every nation!

Jesus, God saves! The King has come! The King is here! The King shall come again!

So whatever you face today—whatever your lions’ den may be—let’s actively wait and get down on our knees and join our voices with the faithful saints throughout history who cry out, “For Yours is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory Forever and Ever! Maranatha! Come Lord Jesus!” Amen.

November 20, 2016
Fellowship Reformed Church
Julie Myers
Text: Jeremiah 36:1-8, 21-23, 27-28

November 20, 2016
Fellowship Reformed Church
Julie Myers
Text: Jeremiah 36:1-8, 21-23, 27-28