Fellowship Reformed Church of Holland

Preaching: Brian Keepers
Text: Hosea 11:1-11

When El Shaddai, God Almighty, first called me to be his messenger and spoke to me, it was not what I expected.

“Go, take for yourself a wife who is a prostitute and have children with her, “ El Shaddai said.  “For the land commits great harlotry by forsaking the LORD.” (2:1-2)

I knew immediately of whom the Lord spoke.  Gomer, daughter of Diblahim.  A woman with a reputation soiled by scandal.  A woman who welcomed many men into her bedchamber, who offered her sexual services down at the pagan temple during the fertility rituals.   

Gomer, the harlot.

“Go, “said the Lord, “and take that one—yes, her—to be your wife.”

So I did what the Lord commanded me.  I was perplexed by it.  But I went.  I went down to the temple and I found Gomer and I betrothed myself to her.

My friends and relatives were dead set against it.  “Have you gone mad, my son?” my father fumed.  “Can’t you see that this will ruin your name, will bring shame to our whole family?”  “She is filth,” my mother insisted, “trash, a woman unclean.  She is not the wife for my son!”   “We cannot bless this union.” They said.   “We will not bless it.”  

Still, I did it.  In obedience to God, I took Gomer as my wife and we went into my tent.  There was no wedding celebration, no feast, no music and dancing.  Only the two of us holding each other in the stillness of the dark.

The truth is, I loved her.  I gave her my heart.  There was so much more to her than what others saw.  Isn’t this usually the case?  They saw only a harlot, a woman with roving eyes who preyed on the lusts of men’s hearts; but I saw a human being who desired to be loved, to be known fully.  A human being, like us all, who was lost and scared and had figured out what she needed to do to survive in the world.  In her eyes I saw sadness and loneliness and deep longing.

Yes, I loved her.  She became my treasure, my joy.  I will never forget the birth of our first son, Jezreel.  The long, painful labor.  She squeezed my hand, such strength in her grip, and pushed with all her might.  She was so brave.  When I placed our baby boy in her arms, I combed back her matted hair with my fingers and leaned down and kissed her sweaty brow.  “He’s beautiful,” I whispered.  “I love you, my wife.” She looked into my eyes and smiled, “I love you, too, my husband.”

She bore me two more children.  A daughter, whom the Lord said, Call her name Lo-ruhamah, which means “Not-Pitied” because I will no longer have pity on the house of Israel to forgive them. (1:8)

Then another son was born.  And the Lord said, Call his name Lo-ammi, which means, “Not My People” because Israel is no longer my people.  (1:9)

Strange names you say.  But names that reflected El Shaddai’s judgment on his people who had broken covenant with him and went chasing after other gods.  It was a dark time in Israel.  All was not well.

Quietly we raised these children together.  Though it was a dark time in the land, these were good years for Gomer and me.  But rumors rippled through the community that my wife had not been faithful.  “They say the last two children are not even his but from other men,” people whispered.  I was met with pitiful stares when I walked the cobbled streets of the market and went to the Holy Temple to pray.  It pained my heart to say it, but I knew they were right.  I had always known.   

And then one day Gomer, my Beloved, gathered her things and left.

She went back to her old life.  Back to the streets.  Back to the pagan temple.  Back to giving herself to other lovers.

And my heart broke.   Agony overcame me.  The pain of it was too much to bear.  Have you ever been betrayed by someone you loved more than life itself?  Then you know what I mean.   You understand.

A jealousy burned within me.  Not a jealously fueled by insecurity and possessiveness, mind you, but one born of love.  How could she betray me?  How could she dishonor me?  After all I had given her!  How could she trade in a life of fidelity and love for a prison of reckless harlotry that, in the end, would only be her ruin?          

I cried out to the Lord in my loss and grief. 

El Shaddai heard me and again he spoke to me. 

Hosea, now you have been given a glimpse into my own heart. You have felt an ounce of the anguish I feel for my people.  Israel, My Beloved, My Treasure, has turned away from me and run off with other lovers.  Israel, my adopted Son, has turned against me and left his Father’s house.

Hosea, go and deliver this message to my people.  Say to them:

When you were a child, I loved you.  And I called you out of Egypt.  But the more I called you, the more you went away from me.  You burned sacrifices to Baal.  You burned incense to idols.

Yet it was I who taught you how to walk.  When you grew tired, I carried you in my arms.  I healed your weariness.  I led you with cords of compassion.  With bands of love I drew you through the wilderness to myself.  Where you chafed with your burdens, I eased you.  When you were hungry, I bent down to feed you.

What shall I do now, O my people—now that you refuse to turn back to me?

I will send you back to Egypt!

I will let Assyria rule over you!

I will send a sword to break the bars of your gates and to rage in your cities!

I will ignite war inside your fortresses, and war will devour you!

Oh, Israel!

Oh, my Child, My Beloved!

How can I give you up?  How can I hand you over to destruction?  My heart recoils within me.  My compassion grows warm and tender. 

No, I will not execute my fierce anger.  I will not destroy Israel, for I am God and not a mortal.  I am the Holy One in your midst.  I will not come to destroy.  I will seek you, and I will bring you home. (11:1-11)

Then El Shaddai said to me: 

Hosea, My prophet, listen to Me.  Go again and love the woman who has become an adulterer with other men.  Love her, Hosea, even as I the Lord love the people of Israel, though they have turned to other gods. (3:1-3)[1]

And so again I went.  Though she had broken my heart, betrayed my trust, dishonored my name.  Because the Lord commanded me, I went.

And it dawned on me what the Lord was doing.  By calling me to love Gomer, a woman unfaithful.  To love our children, two who were fathered by other men, children who spurned my love.  El Shaddai had not only given me a message to speak to his people.  I was the message—my life was the message-- a visible sign of God’s agony and tender compassion for his people to see.

I went and found Gomer, my Beloved, and I bought her back for fifteen shekels of silver and a measure of barley.  I said to her, “You must live faithfully to me.  You cannot belong to other men any more.  And I will be faithful to you.”

So I brought her home and I loved her.  Will she be faithful to me?  Will she stay?  I do not know.  Only time will tell.  But I will risk loving her again and pledge my faithfulness to her, no matter what.

And the Lord changed the names of our children.  Don’t call your daughter Not Pitied, said the Lord.  Call her, “She Has Obtained Pity.”  And call your son, “My People.”

Listen to what I shall do for my people, said the Lord.  Listen to what I shall do for Israel…

But now I will allure her.  I will lead her again into the wilderness as at the beginning and speak tenderly to her.  And even in the desert will I give her vineyards.  No other love can do this thing.  Baal cannot do this.  So she shall answer me again as in the days of her youth.

She shall call me her husband.

O Israel!  I will betroth you to me in righteousness and justice, in steadfast love and in mercy.

For I have pity on Not Pitied!

And I say to Not My People, no!  You are my people![2]

Please answer me.  Return to me.  Today.  Turn from your sin.  Leave your false gods behind.  Come home. 

Come home to the God who made you and redeems you.  Return to the God who loves you passionately, unconditionally, eternally… and is pleased to call you His own.  (2:14-24)

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

[1] Adapted from Walter Wangerin’s translation of the text (The Book of God, Zonvervan, 1996, p.321).

[2] Adapted again from Walter Wangerin’s translation.  Ibid, p.322.

Preaching: Janelle Koolhaas
Text: Isaiah 5:1-7; 11:1-5

Preaching: Brian Keepers
Text: Psalm 13

(No sermon manuscript this week.)

Preaching: Marijke Strong
Text: 1 Kings 18:20-39

INTRODUCTION: ISRAEL’S MEMORY LOSS, ELIJAH’S PURPOSE

Come near. Let me tell you a story. I think you know it: in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth and made humankind in God’s image. The design of human beings was to glorify God with flourishing lives and to reflect God’s likeness to the world. The people of God – the Israelites – knew that story too. It was their story, after all. They also knew about having wandered from the goodness of Eden, about being promised children that would outnumber the stars, about encountering the absurdity of grace (is anything too wonderful for the Lord?), about wrestling with angels face to face, being built into the nation of God, being forced into slavery, rescued from Egypt, declared God’s treasured possession and given the Law of freedom as a way to live in gratitude and witness for the grace they had received.

They knew about being brought through the desert to the promised land. They knew about settling down, about bringing foreigners like Ruth into the covenant community, about moving into a new town – Jerusalem – as they grew up into their identity as children of God, which meant lengthening their stride and widening their embrace. They knew about building a temple, the place where God would hear their prayers and put his name on them as his holy people. They knew (they really did know at one time) that all of this – all of their past, present and future, the whole story – was about worshiping God and reflecting God’s likeness on earth. That was their purpose. Their design. For the glory of God and the sake of the world. 

And yet, maybe it is the human condition to forget. What does the old hymn say? “Prone to wander, Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love.” That’s why the prophets have been so important throughout the history of God’s people. The role of a prophet is, in many ways, to recall us. To remind us of our past, present and future: who we came from, how we are designed to live, and what kind of people we are called to become. They bring us back to the truth.

Now Elijah was a prophet in the truest sense: when the people of Israel wandered from God, he called their attention to the truth and he did it with a flair for drama. That’s where we pick up the story today – with Elijah. So let’s set the stage. The Israelites had been divided into two kingdoms: Israel in the North and Judah in the South. And they had gone through a long line of evil kings who led poorly and enticed them into dark practices. At the place where we come in, King Ahab had taken the throne of Israel and he and his wife Jezebel did more evil in the sight of God than any of the rulers before them. One of the worst things they did was to invite the people of God to worship Baal.

To their credit, the Israelites didn’t embrace Baal with their whole hearts. Sometimes they turned to Baal, sometimes to Yahweh, sometimes to some of the other local gods. They were torn. And it was at this moment in the story that Elijah stepped in like bolt from the blue, confronted Ahab’s evil leadership and did something startling. He called for drought. It was like a time out. Elijah said to Ahab’s face: “As the Lordthe God of Israel lives, before whom I stand, there shall be neither dew nor rain these years, except by my word.” And then he went to hide in a ravine. Listen to what happened next….

DRAMATIC READING: SELECTIONS OF 1 KINGS 18

NARRATOR (MARIJKE) 1 After many days the word of the Lord came to Elijah, in the third year of the drought, saying, “Go, present yourself to Ahab; I will send rain on the earth.” 2 So Elijah went to present himself to Ahab. The famine was severe in Samaria. 17 When Ahab saw Elijah, Ahab said to him, “Is it you, you troubler of Israel?”

ELIJAH (JANELLE): 18 He answered, “I have not troubled Israel; but you have, and your father’s house, because you have forsaken the commandments of the Lord and followed the Baals. 19 Now therefore have all Israel assemble for me at Mount Carmel, with the four hundred fifty prophets of Baal and the four hundred prophets of Asherah, who eat at Jezebel’s table.”

NARRATOR (MARIJKE) 20 So Ahab sent to all the Israelites, and assembled the prophets at Mount Carmel.

ELIJAH (JANELLE): 21 Elijah then came near to all the people, and said, “How long will you go limping with two different opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him.”

PEOPLE (BRIAN/JORDAN): The people did not answer him a word.

ELIJAH (JANELLE): 22 Then Elijah said to the people, “I, even I only, am left a prophet of the Lord; but Baal’s prophets number four hundred fifty. 23 Let two bulls be given to us; let them choose one bull for themselves, cut it in pieces, and lay it on the wood, but put no fire to it; I will prepare the other bull and lay it on the wood, but put no fire to it. 24 Then you call on the name of your god and I will call on the name of the Lord; the god who answers by fire is indeed God.”

PEOPLE (BRIAN/JORDAN): All the people answered, “Well spoken!”

ELIJAH (JANELLE): 25 Then Elijah said to the prophets of Baal, “Choose for yourselves one bull and prepare it first, for you are many; then call on the name of your god, but put no fire to it.”

NARRATOR (MARIJKE) 26 So they took the bull that was given them, prepared it, and called on the name of Baal from morning until noon, crying, “O Baal, answer us!” But there was no voice, and no answer. They limped about the altar that they had made.

ELIJAH (JANELLE): 27 At noon Elijah mocked them, saying, “Cry aloud! Surely he is a god; either he is meditating, or he has wandered away, or he is on a journey, or perhaps he is asleep and must be awakened.”

NARRATOR (MARIJKE) 28 Then they cried aloud and, as was their custom, they cut themselves with swords and lances until the blood gushed out over them. 29 As midday passed, they raved on until the time of the offering of the oblation, but there was no voice, no answer, and no response. 30 Then Elijah said to all the people…

ELIJAH (JANELLE): “Come closer to me!”

NARRATOR (MARIJKE) …and all the people came closer to him. First he repaired the altar of the Lord that had been thrown down; 31 Elijah took twelve stones, according to the number of the tribes of the sons of Jacob, to whom the word of the Lord came, saying, “Israel shall be your name”; 32 with the stones he built an altar in the name of the Lord. Then he made a trench around the altar, large enough to contain two measures of seed. 33 Next he put the wood in order, cut the bull in pieces, and laid it on the wood. He said, “Fill four jars with water and pour it on the burnt offering and on the wood.”

PEOPLE (BRIAN/JORDAN): [They did it]

NARRATOR (MARIJKE) 34 Then he said, “Do it a second time”;

PEOPLE (BRIAN/JORDAN): and they did it a second time.

NARRATOR (MARIJKE) Again he said, “Do it a third time”;

PEOPLE (BRIAN/JORDAN): and they did it a third time,

NARRATOR (MARIJKE) 35 so that the water ran all around the altar, and filled the trench also with water. 36 At the time of the offering of the oblation, the prophet Elijah came near and said…

ELIJAH (JANELLE): “O Lord, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, let it be known this day that you are God in Israel, that I am your servant, and that I have done all these things at your bidding. 37 Answer me, O Lord, answer me, so that this people may know that you, O Lord, are God, and that you have turned their hearts back.”

NARRATOR (MARIJKE) 38 Then the fire of the Lord fell and consumed the burnt offering, the wood, the stones, and the dust, and even licked up the water that was in the trench.

PEOPLE (BRIAN/JORDAN): 39 When all the people saw it, they fell on their faces and said, “The Lord indeed is God; the Lord indeed is God.”

ELIJAH (JANELLE): 40 Elijah said to them, “Seize the prophets of Baal; do not let one of them escape.”

NARRATOR (MARIJKE) Then they seized them; and Elijah brought them down to the Wadi Kishon, and killed them there. Elijah said to Ahab…

ELIJAH (JANELLE): “Go up eat and drink; for there is the sound of rushing rain.” …45 In a little while the heavens grew black with clouds and wind; there was a heavy rain. Ahab rode off and went to Jezreel. 46 But the hand of the Lord was on Elijah; he girded up his loins and ran in front of Ahab to the entrance of Jezreel.

ACT 1: EXPOSURE (What we are currently worshiping)

This is the Word of the Lord. This is the story in which we find our story. It’s dramatic, isn’t it? The action on that mountaintop unfolds like a three-act play. Act One: Exposure. Elijah began by exposing the people’s allegiance to a false god and the impact it was having on them.

He called them out, saying, “How long will you go limping with two different opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him.” It’s embarrassing, you know, to be called out for waffling. “Prone to wander, Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love.” Really, it was in their genes. Remember how David brought the ark of the covenant into Jerusalem so that worshiping Yahweh would be central to the life of the people? And then David lusted after another man’s wife and killed her husband. Remember Solomon who was called upon to build a temple, a house for God’s name, and who grew up to lengthen his stride and widen his embrace… but who also lost his focus and wavered between money, sex and power for the rest of his life! If this is how their leaders behaved, it is no wonder the people of God developed a divided heart. Elijah confronted that condition head-on. It’s like he says, wake up! Notice who you’re serving and what it’s doing to you!

The prophets of Baal helped him illustrate his point. They went first in the contest at the altar: choosing the best bull, cutting it in pieces, laying on the wood, and calling on the name of their god to bring fire. Now Baal was a storm-god. They said he controlled the elements. He was powerful as lightning, present as rain. But Baal was also a cruel god: capricious, requiring child sacrifice, temple prostitution, self-harm. He governed the people with the fear of violence and scarcity. So after having prepared the bull, the prophets of Baal erupted into the kind of behavior you might expect such a god to require: calling on Baal from morning to noon, limping crazily around the altar, shrieking out, cutting themselves, raving in fearful desperation. You can see, actually, how the character of Baal is exposed by their behavior.  And in the end, after all that, he didn’t come through. Nothing happened.

ACT 2: REVELATION (The God who invites our worship)

Eventually Elijah had had enough. He moved the drama from Act 1 (Exposure), to Act 2 (Revelation). It was time for the character of Yahweh to be made known. And how different he is from Baal. You notice that earlier Elijah “came near” to all the people. Now he invited them to come near to him. God is close. Elijah repaired the altar with twelve stones representing the tribes of Israel. God is in our history, our origins. Elijah poured water all over the sacrifice. God is a God of the impossible. Elijah begins by praying, “O Lord, God of Abraham, Isaac and Israel.” You might know that the formula for this prayer is usually Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the ancestors. Here Elijah inserted Israel; purposefully changing it to remind the Israelites that they themselves belong to God. He is a God of the people. Elijah concludes the prayer simply. It is short and personal (compared to the hours of raving that the prophets of Baal had done). God answers. Then the fire of the Lord fell on the altar and consumed everything, including the stones! God is powerful. It was so sudden and shocking that the people fell to their faces and made a confession of faith. Their hearts had been changed. And that is perhaps the most important point of all. God is concerned with the human heart.

There would be another who would come down to rescue the people – all people – because of God’s concern for the human heart. He confronted idols too. I don’t mean carved idols (that word is probably too easy for us to trip up on). I mean the things we turn to for life that are not life. That’s what had happened with Baal. It wasn’t so much about setting up his statue in the center of the life of the people – it was what setting up his statue in the center of the life of the people implied. Martin Luther said, “that to which you look for life is your God.” The problem was that the people had looked to Baal for life, and he was lifeless.

Let’s be honest. We know something about that. Our culture is full of other “gods” that promise to give us life and which not only cannot give it but which take it instead.  These are any of the things we look to for affection or value, identity, importance or meaning in place of the true, abundant life that has been offered us through Christ. And let’s not be afraid to take it a step further. Because you know what impact these “gods” have. The prophets of Baal took on the character of Baal. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The gods we worship write their names on our faces,” and “What we are worshiping we are becoming.”

ACT 3: RENEWAL (How worshiping God shapes our becoming)

But good news. The end of the drama is yet to come. Elijah led the people from Act 1 (Exposure), to Act 2 (Revelation), to Act 3: Renewal. God came down at Elijah’s altar in a fiery display of power that revived the people’s hearts. They must have felt their heads lifting, their hearts widening, their lungs filling with fresh air. And THEN, the Lord told Elijah to call for rain. It is important to note that the drought was never intended as a punishment for sin but to mirror the spiritual drought of the people. To catch their attention and show them the condition of their parched hearts. It is also important to note, that God never instructed Elijah to kill the priests of Baal. And actually, there is a rabbinic story that God was angry at Elijah for taking matters into his own hands with that. Which just goes to show that God uses flawed people all the time (thank goodness).

What happened next was nothing short of glorious. While the land was still dry and there was not a cloud in the sky, Elijah spoke of what was to come. He said to Ahab, “Go up, eat and drink; for there is a sound of rushing rain.” And. It. Poured. What must this have been like for those who had lived in drought for so long? Ps 126 gives us a picture: “When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then it was said among the nations, ‘The Lord has done great things for them.’ The Lord has done great things for us, and we rejoiced. Restore our fortunes, O Lord, like the watercourses in the Negeb.” And that is exactly what happened.

CONCLUSION: WHAT WE ARE WORSHIPING WE ARE BECOMING

You know there would be another who came down to rescue the people – all people – because of God’s concern for the human heart. To restore their fortunes like water courses in the Negeb. This is the one who told the woman at the well: “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”

The Baals are gods of slavery and fear, of darkness and scarcity. Our God is a God of salvation, of flourishing, hope, of light. The is the One to whom we turn for life. If the Lord is God, follow him! And, as Emerson said, what we are worshiping we are becoming. Therefore, Paul says: “let us let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith….”  And “…whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” 

As we wake up, throw off our false gods and turn to the Lord – as we live as we were designed in the beginning to live, worshiping with our full selves the one who gave us life – we are being made into a people who reflect God’s flourishing, hope and life in the world. 

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

Preaching: Brian Keepers
Text: 1 Kings 2:10-12; 8:14-30

Introduction

The house was difficult to find.  I stepped off the bus and followed the winding street as it led back into a wooded area.  And there it was tucked among blossoming flower gardens and carefully manicured shrubs.  A quaint, brick cottage home.  I knew it was the right house because there was a blue plaque by the front door that read:

 C.S. Lewis
1898-1963
Scholar and Author lived here
1930-1963 

Michael, the man I had talked with on the phone, greeted me.  He was an American doing a Ph.D. at Oxford on the life and writings of Lewis.  Michael gave me a tour of the house, stopping in each room to point things out and talk about Lewis.  My favorite room was the study.  It was exactly as I had imagined it.  Walls crawling with books.  A desk perched by the window with Lewis’ round spectacles and his pipe and ashtray—where he sat and did his writing.  Next to the desk--Lewis’favorite reading chair, where he spent hours devouring books and puffing away on his pipe.

Of course C.S. Lewis had long since died and this home was now a tourist site.  Still, even though Lewis was absent, there was an eerie sense of his presence.  It was like I could feel his presence in that place, through the furniture and artifacts and books scattered around.  Since he is one of the people who has most influenced my own faith, it was a kind of holy moment to be standing in the place where C.S. Lewis once lived and worked.

Have you ever had an experience like that?  Have you ever visited a place where someone famous once lived, and you had that eerie sense of their presence even in their absence? 

This is something like what God’s people, the nation of Israel, experienced in reference to the Temple in Jerusalem.  The Temple was the “house of God,” so to speak.  It was the place where God’s presence dwelled here on earth in a special way, a physical symbol of how God was with his people.

When God delivered his people from Egyptian slavery, he instructed them to build a tabernacle as a symbol of his presence with them.  The tabernacle was a portable sanctuary, the place where they stored the Ark of the Covenant.  It was a constant reminder of God’s covenant relationship with them—that he was their God and they were his people.

When God’s people arrived in the Promise Land and King David eventually captured Jerusalem and made it the center of his kingdom, the first thing David does is have the Ark of the Covenant brought to Jerusalem.  Instead of a portable tent, David wants to build a permanent “house for God”—a Temple.  This would honor God and remind Israel (and all the surrounding nations) that God is the sovereign King of the whole world, all the nations.

God affirms David’s intent, but tells David that God has not chosen him to be the one to do this.  It would be David’s son, Solomon, who would be charged with this task.  Solomon, who asked God not for riches or fame but for one thing:  wisdom to discern right from wrong and govern God’s people with understanding.    God grants Solomon wisdom and also blesses him with wealth and power.  And Solomon uses this wealth and power to build a beautiful Temple “for God’s name.”

In the part of the story we heard from 1 Kings chapter 8, the Temple has been completed and Solomon is leading God’s people in a ceremony of dedication.   Solomon makes a speech in the assembly of the worshipping community, and then he leads them in prayer.

God Puts His Name on the Temple

One of the most striking things about Solomon’s speech and prayer is how many times this curious phrase “building a house for God’s name” shows up.  It is mentioned at least seven times in these verses (and as the prayer goes on, it comes up a total of 14 times!).  “My father David had it in mind to build a house for the name of the LORD, the God of Israel.  But the LORD said to my father, David, ‘You did well to consider building a house for my name; nevertheless you shall not build the house, but your son shall build the house for my name.’  And God himself talks about how, in reference to the Temple, “my name shall be there.”

What does it mean that God’s name shall be on the Temple?  Think about what it means when a name is put on a house or building today.  Let’s go back to my opening story about C.S. Lewis’s home.  I knew it was his house because his name was on it—literally marked with a plaque.  To put a name on a house indicates who lived there or who lives there now.  It also indicates that this place, this home, belongs to that person; it is their property.  Well this is exactly what God is saying (through Solomon) about God’s name being upon the Temple.  It indicates that God lives there—this is God’s residence.  And this home belongs to God.  

Now let’s just be clear.  Solomon and the Israelites didn’t believe that God was confined to the Temple.  Solomon himself says, “But will God indeed dwell on the earth?  Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!”(8:27).    No, the Scriptures are clear that God is sovereign and that the heavens and the earth are God’s Temple, God’s sanctuary.  It’s not just the Temple in Jerusalem that belongs to God, but the whole world belongs to God.  However, the Temple provided a physical place, a holy place, for God’s people to encounter God in a special way. 

The Temple was the place that God revealed himself to his people and his eyes and ears were open to their prayers.  That’s also what it means when God says, “My name shall be there.”  In the ancient world, when a deity gave his/her name, they were inviting people to call out to them in prayer and they would answer.  And so Israel is instructed to “pray toward” the temple because God would hear and answer their prayers.  The Temple became known as “a house of prayer.”

But let’s take all of this one step further.  Think about a building that has the name of a major donor on it (like the “Jack Miller Music Hall” on Hope College’s campus).  What does that mean?  It means that through this person’s generosity, the construction of that building was made possible.  It is a way of honoring that person, of showing them respect and gratitude.

And this, too, is what it means that God’s name was put on the Temple.  Even though Solomon led the construction of the Temple, and Solomon was the wisest and wealthiest king in the history of Israel, Solomon does not get the credit for the Temple.  Even Solomon had to acknowledge that the purpose of the Temple was to give God honor—to revere and worship God.  And that it was really God who made it possible for the Temple to be built. 

Even more, it is God whose steadfast love and mercy made it possible for Israel to be in covenant relationship with God—which is what the Temple symbolized.   It was God who rescued his people from Egypt and brought them to the Promise Land and established David’s dynasty.  But here’s something remarkable about Solomon’s prayer.  God puts his name on the Temple not just so he will be glorified among Israel but so Gentiles, too, will be drawn to the Temple and might come to know God’s name!  There is a strong missional thrust to the whole purpose of the Temple. 

God Puts His Name on Jesus

But if we follow the storyline of the Bible, there is a problem.  Eventually the Temple will be destroyed.  It will be destroyed because God’s kings (including Solomon) fall into sin and God’s people break covenant with God and live selfish, unjust lives.  They will be carted off into exile.  Eventually, they’d return to Jerusalem and rebuild the Temple (although it would not be near as glamorous as Solomon’s Temple).  But when Jesus arrives on scene, he says something that is puzzling and gets him in trouble.  He says that the Temple will be destroyed again (and it would in AD 70), but then it will be built up again in three days (John 2).

What?  The Temple would be destroyed and rebuilt in three days?  How can that be?  What is he talking about?  Well Jesus goes on to say that he is God’s Temple—God’s Temple in the flesh—and he was referring to his own death and resurrection.

If the heart of the biblical storyline is that God is determined to be with his people and restore the entire creation to his design, then it’s going to take more than constructing a Temple of bricks and mortar.  It’s going to take more than the Law and the sacrificial system.  It would take more than the leadership of an earthly king as wise and wealthy as Solomon.  This is only possible if God himself enters into the mess of humanity, and draws his people back to himself through his own sacrificial love.

So God puts his name on a man from Nazareth named Jesus.  God takes up residence in the person of Jesus!  John’s famous prologue declares this beautiful mystery: “And the Word became flesh and tabernacled  among us…and we have seen his glory!” (Jn. 1:14).  And it is through Jesus death on the cross that we are cleansed of our sin and forgiven—the veil is torn, and we are ushered into the holy of holies through a new and living way (Hebrews 10).  God puts his name on Jesus, dwells with us in Christ, and all who call upon his name are forgiven, healed, restored, set free.    “Therefore God highly exalted him, “ St. Paul declares in Philippians 2:9, “and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

God puts His Name Upon Us

But God goes further.  Jesus is the beginning of God’s living Temple—the cornerstone that the builders rejected.  And when we put our faith in him, he dwells in us by the Spirit and we now become living stones—God is building us up into his living Temple.  Paul put it this way in Ephesians 2:19-22:

“So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone.  In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together in a spiritual house.”

1 Peter picks up on this same theme: “Like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ…But you are chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you might proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness and into his marvelous light.” (1 Peter 2:5,9).

Isn’t this remarkable?! God who put his name on the Temple, then decisively puts his name on Jesus, now through Jesus puts his name on us!  God takes up residence in us, and sends us into the world to bear witness to his life and light.  To make his name known among others—“so that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you…” (1 Kings 8:43).

God is Building Us Up into A Missional People

This is such a fitting story for us today as we celebrate the one-year anniversary of our capital campaign and continue to move forward with a building project.  David wanted to build a house for God.  But God says something striking. God says, “David, I’m going to build a house for you.  Even as your son will build a house with my name on it, through that building and through your obedience to my law, I’m really going to be the one doing the building—building you into a holy people who will bear may name upon your hearts and who will make my name famous in all the earth.”

I believe this is a season of preparation for us as a church, as we wait and watch our new building being constructed.  This is a season in which God desires to be building us up into a spiritual house, with Jesus Christ as the cornerstone.  A people who are being conformed more and more to the image of Jesus, and who are being drawn more deeply into God’s mission of compassion and justice in the world.  A people whom God has put his name on and who are learning to live all of life as those who belong to Christ.

Perhaps the most important way that we can enter into this season of preparation is to be a people of prayer.  Praying not only for ourselves and the building project; even more, praying for our neighborhoods, workplaces, schools, community, nation and world.  This is what it means to be both a spiritual house and a priestly people—we pray with and for the world in the power of Jesus name.  So I’m asking you to join me in this in a very intentional way over the next 9 months.  Let these green wristbands be a reminder of this important work to which we’ve been called.  I’m going to ask you, once again, to set your alarms for 3:20pm each day and commit to praying for at least one minute —for God’s will to be done in and through us and for God’s name to be known in our community, nation and world.

Why 3:20?  In reference to Ephesians 3:20—that important Scripture passage that we’ve dwelt in over the past year.  Let me close with it this morning, only I’m going to read the passage in its entirety because it really does capture the heart of all that we’ve talked today:

For this reason I bow my knees before my Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name.  I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love.  I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses all knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we ask or imagine, to him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever.  Amen.

End with singing “Lord Prepare Me to Be a Sanctuary” (acapella)

Preaching: Brian Keepers
Text: 2 Samuel 5:1-5; 6:1-5

It was an ominous place.  Dark and foreboding.  Like that old abandoned house in your town growing up--do you remember it?  The one that everyone swore was haunted so it was best to just stay clear of it?  Well, this was Jerusalem.  A small, spooky fortress city that travelers avoided. 

To the east and the south, the city was naturally protected by deep and dangerous ravines.  But anyone who tried to enter the city from the west and north were stopped in their tracks by the terrible sight of two huge, demonic figures guarding the wall.

One was limping and looked like an evil parody of Jacob who had been lamed in his all-night wrestling match with the angel (Gen. 32:31).  The other was an equally evil parody of blind Isaac, who in his sightless old age had been deceived by his wife and son (Gen. 27:1).  They were awful-looking.  Distorted faces.  Creepy bodies.  Enough to give anyone the willies.

The legend was that anytime someone dared to approach Jerusalem’s city walls, the two figures would come alive!  They would slowly begin to move and loud moans and shrieks would sound from deep within.  It was an evil place.  The “demons of Jerusalem” were the favorite subject for scary stories around the campfire and parents used them to scare their children into obedience.  

The irony of it all is that the name “Jerusalem” literally means “City of Peace.”  And in fact the people that lived within those city walls did live quite peaceably.  They were called the Jebusites, and their terrifying demons managed to keep everyone away for centuries.  Nobody bothered the Jebusites in the same way that nobody bothers a black widow or a hornet’s nest. 

Nobody that is until David decided to make it his capital city.  It was the perfect location for his headquarters.  David had just been made king over Israel as well as Judah, the two divided Israelite kingdoms. 

Why did David choose this evil and foreboding place to be his base?  This location was perfect because it sat on the spine of land that connected the two kingdoms.  It would be strategic for uniting them under his rule.  Not only that, but David had been let in on a little secret.  Those two huge demons guarding the north and the west walls—they weren’t really demons at all.  They were mechanical statues—ancient robots you could say-- hooked up to a clever piece of hydraulic engineering. 

Here’s how it worked: someone had only to move a lever and the force of water from the spring, piped into place through an ingenious system of plumbing, would set the evil lame Jacob and the evil blind Isaac in jerky motion while moaning and screaming noises were contrived by Jebusite guards behind the wall.  It was an ancient version of the trick played by the little man behind the curtain of the Wizard of Oz.  Nothing but a big fraud. 

David boldly commanded the capture of the Jebusite stronghold of Jerusalem.  His instructions were simple.  First smash the water pipe; that would disengage the demonic figures from their water source.  Then tear the Jacob and Isaac figures to bits, “the lame and the blind” (2 Sam. 5:8), and throw the pieces over the wall.  And that’s what they did.  Then they entered the city through a secret entrance and rather easily seized it from the Jebusites, whose bark was much bigger than their bite just as David had suspected.  From that day on it would be known as David’s City—a city that even to this day is the nucleus of religious faith.

This is the story that was circulating among Jewish scholars in the Middle Ages.  Is this story true?  Hard to say.  Most modern biblical scholars say it’s unlikely (they suggest that the phrase “the lame and the blind” refers to how well protected the city was that even the handicapped could defend it).[1]  Still, it’s a good story! And I think the playful imagination of these medieval Rabbis hit on something that is at the heart of the story.  This is a critical moment in the life of David and the life of God’s people. 

Do you remember David’s humble beginnings?  He was an ordinary shepherd boy, the family runt of a local farmer in Bethlehem named Jesse.  The LORD sent his prophet Samuel to Bethlehem with the assignment to anoint the new prince of Israel, the one who would replace Saul as ruler of God’s people.  To everyone’s surprise, God’s choice for future king was the least expected candidate—David, a nobody.  At this point God’s Spirit came upon David. 

But that was twenty years ago.  And now, after a whole sludge of battles and years of living life as a refugee out in the wilderness, God’s promise comes to fruition.  David is publicly inaugurated as King of Israel.  He has grown into his identity as God’s anointed.  In wrapping up this story on the capture of Jerusalem by David, the writer of 2 Samuel offers this wonderful phrase: “And David became greater and greater, for the LORD, the God of hosts, was with him” (5:10).

Another way to translate this Hebrew phrase is that David proceeded from that moment with “a longer stride and a wider embrace.”[2]  I like that.  A longer stride and a wider embrace.  It’s a phrase that indicates David’s maturity.  As opposed to merely changing, David grew in faith and in courage.  David’s story is really a story of growth.

Life is full of changes, for better and for worse.  As much as we’d love to freeze time and make it stand still at moments, the reality is that life keeps going.  It’s brings changes whether we are ready or not.

Change can diminish us.  It can leave us angry, scared, cynical, bitter.  In other words, it can make us less than we are.  So many people don’t know how to deal with change so they live in the past.  

But change can also be a catalyst for growth.  It can stimulate developing, deepening, lengthening, enlarging—our lives becoming more, not less.  And this is what the narrator calls attention to in David at this moment. 

All of the change he underwent in his life between that day he was anointed by Samuel 20 years ago till now didn’t so much change him as much as grow him.  He lengthened his stride; he widened his embrace.  He grew up into his identity and vocation as God’s anointed one. 

Let’s talk about both of these things—a longer stride and a wider embrace.  David lengthened his stride.  What does it mean that David lengthened his stride?  He did the unexpected when he took Jerusalem.  Remember the story I shared at the beginning?  Jerusalem was avoided territory—a den of superstition and ghost stories.  Nobody saw Jerusalem as a strategic site for the royal city.  But David did.  And he lengthened his stride by taking a giant and risky step into Jerusalem and cleaned out the abominations, turning it into a holy place.          

Robert Kennedy famously said, “Some people see things as they are and ask ‘Why?’  I dream things that never were and ask ‘Why not?’”  David was somebody who dreamed things that never were and asked “Why not?”  David looked at Jerusalem and saw not what it presently was but what it could potentially be.  Others saw a dark, demonic city.  David saw a holy city on a hill that would be a light to all the nations.  This kind of seeing is a sign of maturity.  It’s about perspective.  It’s being able to look at situations, places, people, even ourselves and see the potential for holiness.  So many of us fail to see the big picture because we can’t get beyond what we immediately see before us.  A sign of growth is the ability to see things in a way we have never seen them before—from God’s perspective rather than our own.

Along with this, lengthening our stride is about acting on that vision.  We take steps, even if they may feel like giant steps, to trust God and act in ways to help make that potential a reality.  More and more, David put his confidence in God, and steps that maybe started out as small, clumsy baby steps eventually grew into a smoother, bolder, longer stride.

Lengthening our stride, put most simply, is about growing in our love for God and our trust in him.  It is about taking risks, getting outside our zones of comfort, being bold and courageous in our faith.  Many years ago I saw the artist Michael Card in concert, and he said something that has stuck with me.  He said something to the effect that at every concert, he takes the risk (against the natural disposition of his heart) to attempt something that he knows if God doesn’t show up, he’ll fail.  This is what it means to lengthen our stride.  It is to take steps of faith that put ourselves out on the line so much that if God doesn’t show up and empower us, there’s no possible way we’ll succeed. 

I think lengthening our stride also means that we must confront some of the darkness and ugliness in ourselves rather than just side-stepping around it.  David didn’t dance around the two demons at the city gate; he confronted them—called their bluff, dealt with them.  He cleared the city of idolatry.

In a sense we can say that we all have our demons or our idols that we must confront.  The figures that stand at the gates of our hearts and try to intimidate and prevent entrance.  But if we are going to grow, then we must have the courage to take a good look at ourselves and confront the demons.  Name them.  And in the name of the LORD, we call their bluff and deal with them. 

Second, David widened his embrace.  If lengthening our stride has to do with growing in our love for God, widening our embrace has to do with growing in our love for others.  David widened his embrace by including more and more people under his rule and his love.  He gathered all of God’s people, not just those who were on his side or who had helped him out during the difficult years.  David’s maturity translated into generosity—into reaching out to bring peace between the northern and the southern sides.

When we grow, the circle of people we include in our life broadens.  We see people as God sees them—created in his image and therefore possessing intrinsic value.  We embrace them for their potential in Christ; we don’t scorn or judge them for what we feel they are not.  True Christian growth does not lead to irritability or impatience or exclusion but to generosity, graciousness and hospitality.  We seek peace; we don’t stir up hostility. 

When we grow we lengthen our stride and widen our embrace.  We venture into new territory and include more people in our lives.  We serve more and we love more.  And although change can be a catalyst for growth, it is not the same thing as growth.  Our bodies change, our interests may change, our activities may change, as a church our programs and staff and facilities may change.  But just because we experience change, this does not automatically mean that we will experience growth.  Growth is something we must be intentional about.  It’s about becoming more of who we are in Christ, not less.  David, the shepherd boy of Bethlehem, becomes the shepherd king of Israel. 

How are you handling the changes in your life?  Are you becoming more or less?  Let God help you lengthen your stride and widen your embrace.  Christian discipleship is about growing into the full likeness of Jesus—becoming like him in all we desire, think, say and do.  No matter how much our stride lengthens and how much our embrace widens, none of us ever fully arrive on this side of the grave.  We are always called to keep growing.  Just like God anointed David to be a king, so we have been anointed as subjects of Jesus, the eternal King.  We have been marked at our baptism as disciples, followers of Christ, children of God.  But we spend the rest of our lives growing into this marvelous and grace-filled identity.

I love the way the Message paraphrases these words of Jesus in Matthew 5:48:

In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up.  You’re kingdom subjects.  Now live like it.  Live out your God-created identity.  Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you.

Or in other words…lengthen your stride and widen your embrace!

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

[1] This playful interpretation of 2 Samuel 5 is taken from Eugene Peterson, Leap Over a Wall, pp. 131-4.

[2] Ibid, p. 135.

Preaching: Megan Hodgin
Text: Ruth 1:1-17

Where you go, I will go.

This is probably not the passage I would have chosen to preach on my last Sunday as one of your pastors, but this is God’s story, so I think it’s best to enjoy the irony. We are few weeks in to the unfolding narrative of the Bible. We began in Genesis with the Creation of the heavens, the earth and all that is in them. Then, after the fall of humanity, we witnessed the absurd grace of God as a covenant was established with Abraham and Sarah through the birth of their son, Isaac. [Remember that covenant piece...we’ll be coming back to that later!] After God committed himself to his people, we met Jacob, whose encounter with a faceless messenger of the Lord leaves him blessed and limping toward a life of greater faithfulness. Unfortunately, his descendants - the Israelites - are eventually enslaved by the Egyptians and we heard as the voice of God commissioned Moses from the burning bush and sent him to confront Pharaoh. Then, last week, we received the commandments that God gave his people in order to show them how to live after they were freed from slavery.

So, today, we meet Ruth, Naomi and Orpah.

Where you go, I will go. At first, this sounds like a strange word for today. I think there is a gift here, though. This is God’s story and it is our story, after all. We are in it. And even though today is my last day as one of your pastors, I truly believe that wherever I go you will go with me. And wherever you go, I will go with you. Let me explain what I mean…

The story of these three women is one of the most dynamic descriptions of faithful, committed relationships in the Old Testament. Even though these women come from different places and different tribes, they demonstrate a love for each other reflects God’s love for His people.

After the loss of her husband and her sons, Naomi is a grieving widow and childless mother whose own life is now out risk. In a time and a place where all power and all property belonged to the men, Naomi is suddenly homeless and without protection. Hearing of God’s provision in Bethlehem, she chooses to return and it is natural that Orpah and Ruth would join her as the customs would dictate that their loyalty belongs to their husband’s family. Naomi’s insistence that they return to their homes and their mothers is a gesture of grace. She knows the journey they are about to take is not safe for women to do alone, so she tries to protect them from the risk.

When Orpah chooses to return, it is not necessarily a betrayal. It could also be seen as a grateful response to Naomi’s grace and, even an effort to lesson Naomi’s burden by relieving her of at least one mouth to feed and one less stranger to introduce and defend when she reaches her homeland.

Ruth’s response is, of course, the most well-known of the three as a bold act of faith. In fact, Rabbis have taught Ruth’s story as an example for converting non-believers to faith in the God of Israel and her promises are often read as part of marriage ceremonies:

Where you go, I will go;

   where you lodge, I will lodge;

your people shall be my people,

   and your God my God.

At this point in the larger narrative of God’s story, I think that one of the greatest gifts of the book of Ruth is that it confirms that we are part of the story.

If Ruth, a Moabite widow with the odds against her, can be part of God’s family, so can we. We did not literally cross the Red Sea with the Israelites or hear the voice of Moses when the commandments were proclaimed for the first time, but those stories belong to us because we belong to God.

That is one of the most important things I want you to hear today. You belong to God. And so do I. That’s why these past nine years of life and ministry have been such a gift, and that’s why today can be a gift, as well. Because God has established a covenant with us, first through Abraham and Sarah and then through people like Ruth, and ultimately through Jesus God has extended that covenant to all who would believe. He promises to be our God and to make us his people. So even though I am preparing to leave, which is difficult and even painful, we can still rejoice together because we know that God is authoring this story. And Paul reminds us, “We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose,” (Rom. 8:38).

You belong to God. Whether you are from Bethlehem or Moab - or Holland or St. Joseph, MO -  or if you find yourself in an unknown place on the road in between the two, God is calling you to himself, just as he called Ruth. When we embrace that invitation, when we accept that grace, we are welcomed into a family - the body of Christ.

Which brings us to the second thing that I think is important to say today: because we belong to God, we also belong to each other. I believe that it is only because Ruth committed herself to God that she could also, then, be faithful to her mother-in-law. The courage to proclaim, “Where you go I will go,” was not Ruth’s alone. It was a sign of God’s work in her life.

Because of Jesus’ death and resurrection, we too have been adopted into this family. Paul explains that we have become one body - though there are many of us and each has different gifts. “...we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another,” (Rom. 12:5).

That means that, even though our stories are now taking different paths, it is still true that everywhere I go, you go with me Fellowship Church. And vice versa - in a mysterious way, everywhere you go, I will go with you, as well. In Christ, our stories have been woven together and that cannot be undone.

I can only accept the call to this new role because of what God has taught me through you. It was in this very room, in the middle of my second or third sermon as one of your seminary interns, that I finally discovered what you had been telling me for two years - I am called to be a pastor.

• privilege of witnessing marriages, deaths, new babies and baptisms

• I will not sing “Build Your Kingdom Here” without thinking of FRC and, when the time is right and it doesn’t pushy, I fully intend to recommend Jordan’s songs to every worshiping community I may be part of in the future.

• Wherever I go, I will seek collaboration and authentic community with my colleagues because the staff has taught me fruitful it is to share life and work in that way.

• I will never take for granted the privilege of this mysterious, beautiful, challenging thing called the pastoral life because I have had the privilege to serve alongside two of the most gifted and faithful pastors I have ever met.

• And, I imagine, there will be a long list of other things that just happen unconsciously because I have been impacted by the time we have shared together.

We belong to one another, in Christ, and you will always be part of my story.

This love we share for one another is rooted in that deep, covenant-keeping love of God. Which means it is meaningful, it is beautiful, it can stand the test of time...and it is for more than just us.

Because we belong to God and because we belong to one another, together we belong to God’s mission in the world.

The love we have - the love that binds all believers - is to be shared with the world!

We know that the world is not as it should be. That was the case for Naomi and Ruth and Orpah and it is still true for us. We lose loved ones much too young and much too suddenly. School shootings, racially motivated violence, women and children enslaved, civil wars tearing countries apart and leaving refugees with nowhere to go...these are average headlines and that is only the beginning. To live with hope and love in the midst of this reality is to choose a better story.

Ruth and Naomi’s commitment to one another is counter cultural. Later in the story, when they reach Bethlehem, they turn heads when they enter the city gates as the people wonder what would possess them to travel without a man and what would cause either of them to take on the responsibility of staying connected to the other - a young foreigner caring for an elderly widow and vice versa. In the final chapter, the people are shocked at the ending of the story when God blesses these unlikely women through Ruth’s marriage to Boaz and then with the birth of a son.

The kind of love that Naomi and Ruth share for each other - a love that begins in God - changes the world. Sometimes it happens in dramatic and profound ways, like the birth of a baby boy who would continue the lineage that would one day lead to another baby. The child who would be born in a manger in Bethlehem and would give his life on a cross in order to redeem the world. Sometimes, sharing the love of God produces such indescribable events.

In other cases, love changes the world over time through slow and faithful persistence in the midst of the ordinary, daily details. This is what keeps Ruth getting out of bed every morning to go and glean among the wheat fields in order to feed her mother-in-law and herself. This is the kind of love that keeps you going back to the grocery store, week after week, to feed your own families and to collect items that are feeding children in our local elementary schools. This is the kind of love that is shared one hour at a time in libraries and computer labs, as Kids Hope mentors share life with their students. This is the kind of love that helps parents coach their children through their anxieties and so that they might see themselves as God sees them, rather than being lost in the stories the world would tell them about who they are.

This is the kind of love you have shown me. I pray that can now share it with others and that you will continue to love all those that God brings into your fellowship. Not just because it feels good. Not just because it seems like the right thing to do. But because God wants to use you to change the world - one act of faith, one gesture of love at a time.

Preaching: Brian Keepers
Text: Deuteronomy 5:1-21; 6:4-9

            In his book Sacred Thirst, Craig Barnes tells the story about how when he was a child, one day his father brought home a twelve-year-old boy named Roger.  Roger’s parents had both died in a drug overdose.  Craig’s father was the family’s pastor, and when it became clear that there was no one else to care for the boy, Craig’s parents decided to take him in and raise him as one of their own sons.  From the day he walked in the door, Roger was part of the family. 

            Now it was a beautiful act of grace on the part of Craig’s parents to adopt Roger, but it also created a lot of work for them.  You can imagine that growing up in the home of heroin addicts was far different from what Roger discovered in this new stable and healthy home.  With his birth parents constantly stoned, Roger had spent the first twelve years of his life consumed by fear, and he became completely self-absorbed as a way of survival.  Often he wondered if there would be enough food for him to eat, and he learned to fend for himself. 

But now, in his new home, Roger had to learn about sharing and using good manners and doing family chores.  Over and over, Roger’s adoptive parents would have to say to him, “No, Roger, that’s not how we act here.  You don’t have to fight or scream or hurt others to get what you want.  We expect you to act differently here.”

            Now Roger had been embraced as a full-fledged member of the Barnes’s family.  He had been given a new story as one of their beloved sons.  But it was going to take some time and effort for him to learn how to live into this new story and leave his old story behind.  It was going to take time and effort for him to learn how to act like a member of the Barnes’ family.  And it was only because Roger was loved unconditionally by his new family that he would be able to make the necessary changes. 

            The same thing was true for the Israelites as they made their journey out of slavery in Egypt and into a new life of freedom.  Through the leadership of Moses, God had rescued them and given them a new story.  They were no longer slaves; they were God’s covenant people—his “treasured possession,” “a priestly kingdom and a holy nation.”  They had been adopted into God’s family, just like Roger had been adopted into a new family.

            But also like Roger, the Israelites would need to learn how to live into this new story—how to live like members of this new family.  They would need to learn to think and talk and act like God’s treasured possession, a priestly kingdom and holy nation.  And this is why God gives them the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai.  So they could learn to live like the beloved children of God that they already are. 

There are two places in the Old Testament where the Ten Commandments show up—Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5.  This signals just how important they are to God’s Story and our story.  Too often we misunderstand what is happening here with the giving of the law, and we misunderstand how God works in the Old Testament.  We see the Ten Commandments as a list of rules that God’s people needed to follow in order to be saved.   But it is crucial to notice that before God issues any command, there is a declaration: “I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery….”

            This declaration of who God is and what he has done turns that notion that Israel is saved by their good works on its head.  We must not miss the order of how the Exodus story unfolds!  First, God rescues his people from slavery as an act of grace; then God leads them to Sinai and gives them the law.  Grace always comes first!  The Israelites are called to keep the commandments not in order to be saved but because they already have been saved!  Here’s another way to say it: obedience to God is always a response of gratitude to God’s grace!

            Not only does grace precede the giving of the law, but the giving of the law itself is an expression of grace.  Think about it.  True freedom comes not from jettisoning all rules and living however you want (that’s just another form of slavery); true freedom comes with becoming who we’re intended to be—living fully into God’s design. 

Go back to the story of Roger.  It was a gift of grace for his adoptive parents to give him rules and show him a new way of acting in the family.  Is this not true for all parents—you demonstrate your love and care to your children by showing them the way, being clear about expectations, teaching them to live in a way that will help them flourish?  The point is never the rules or boundaries themselves, but the way those rules and boundaries lead to healthy relationships and enable us to thrive according to God’s design.

            On one occasion, the great Jewish author Chaim Potok was asked about his call to be a writer.  He explained how his mother tried many times to persuade him to be a brain surgeon instead.  “Son, you’ll make a lot of money,” she’d say. “And you’ll keep people from dying.” But Chaim didn’t want to be a brain surgeon.  “Mama, I don’t want to keep people from dying!” he’d say to her.  “I want to show them how to live!”  “That’s why I am a writer,” he said.  “Because I want to show people how to live.”

  Well this is exactly God’s purpose in giving the Ten Commandments!  God has written them in stone with his own finger not just to keep his people from sinning but to show them how to live!  To live in right relationship with God; to live in right relationship with each other.  Eventually, the Ten Commandments, along with the first five books of the OT, would be called “the Torah,” a Hebrew word that literally means “the hand pointing the way.”  The law is God’s divine hand pointing the way, showing his children how to live into God’s Story—how to live as a people who belong to God!

The whole law gets summarized in the Shema, the central confession of Israel’s faith: Hear, O Israel: The LORD is our God, the LORD alone.  You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.  Keep these words I am commanding you today in your heart.

It wasn’t enough to just externally follow God’s commands.  God wanted these commands written on their hearts.  Which is to say that God didn’t just want to get Israel into his Story; he wanted to get his Story into them—deep into their hearts.  And a life of loving God with their whole self, expressed in radical obedience, was the way to getting the Story into them and keeping it in their hearts.  It was also the way to get it into the hearts of their children.

            Getting God’s Story into their hearts wasn’t just for their sake.  This is so important to understand.   Israel is called to get God’s Story into their hearts and obey the commandments for the sake of the world—so that the whole world may know that the Lord is God!  Through their faithful obedience, the Israelites were showing the world how to live into God’s Story—how to live according to God’s design! 

`           This was their missional witness to the pagan cultures around them!   By worshiping God alone and letting their allegiance to God ripple into every nook and cranny of their lives, they were a display people showing the rest of the nations what it looks like when God’s kingdom comes on earth as it is in heaven.  Their obedience to God pointed back to Eden—what God intended form the beginning—and forward to the end of the age when Christ will return—what God intends to do to restore all creation.  By living in such a way that God was at the absolute center of their lives, they were a light to the nations, a contrast society, drawing others into worship of the one true God.

            But what does all of this mean for us today?  Now that Christ has come, what role does God’s law play in our lives as Christians?

            Yes, there are differences between us and the children of Israel; but the main thrust is the same!  We, too, are called to obey God’s law not in order to be saved but in gratitude to God because we have been saved by grace through faith!  Jesus was very clear—he did not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it.  When Jesus was asked, “Which of the commandments is the greatest?” he answered with the Shema:  Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and all your strength.  And along with it, love your neighbor as yourself.  All the law and the prophets hang on these two commandments.

            Of course we can only obey God’s commands because Christ dwells in us through the Spirit.  It is because Jesus, the new Moses, is our mediator and he has perfectly obeyed God’s law for us.  Jesus has paid the price for our disobedience in his sacrifice on the cross and his victory over the grave.  Now, we share in his life, and it is his power at work in us that enables us to obey God’s commands!   It is his power at work in us that transforms us from the inside out and help us grow into this new identity as God’s adopted daughters and sons!  It is his power at work within us that ultimately gets us into God’s Story and gets God’s Story into us!

            It was a terrible day when the telegram arrived to the Barnes’ home.  The telegram announcing that Roger, now a grown man, had been killed in an act of heroism in Vietnam.  Craig reflects on the memory of seeing his mother break down and cry at the kitchen table, the telegram clutched in her trembling hand.  He writes, “I remember my mother’s tears most of all.  She wept because of profound grief, to be sure, but also because she was so proud of him.  He had given his life to save others.  How could he have learned to do this but through the sacrificial love of my parents?”

            Craig goes on to make this connection between Roger and us, as those who’ve been adopted as God’s children in Christ through the Holy Spirit:  “Where can we learn to give our lives to something other than the self-absorbed effort of trying to quench our own parched souls?  Only in the home of the heavenly Father, who sacrificed his son because he loves us and who brings us home through the ministry of the Holy Spirit….It is not about us.  It is about what the triune God has done, is doing, and will continue to do.  By the Holy Spirit, we are lifted up to participate in the Son’s own relationship with his Father.  All we do is receive.  And that changes everything. ” (p.85-86)

            Yes, it is only as we receive the grace of God who rescues us in Christ, gives us a new identity as his treasured people, and empowers us with his Spirit that we can truly change from the inside out and become who we truly are!  It is only as we receive God’s grace in Jesus that we can keep this Story in our hearts, live it out in our daily lives, and share it with the whole world.

            “You are the light of the world,” says Jesus.  “A city on a hill cannot be hid….In the same way, let your light shine before others, so they might see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5:14,16)

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

Preaching: JP Sundararajan
Text: Exodus 1:8-14; 3:1-15

Preaching: Brian Keepers
Text: Genesis 32:22-30

Part One: Getting Caught Up in the Story

The Bible is God’s Story, and it is our story.  We find ourselves in God’s Story. 

We heard the beginning of God’s Story a couple weeks ago, when God created the heavens and the earth.  We heard about how, through Adam and Eve’s rebellion in the Garden, sin enters the story and makes a mess of things.  “Paradise is lost,” to quote the famous poet John Milton.  The world is not the way it’s supposed to be.

But God stays in the story.  God does not give up on his creation and leave the world to its own devices.   God is on a mission to rescue the world and restore all things to God’s design.  How will God do this?   God calls Abraham and Sarah, a nomadic couple, and makes a promise to them.  Their offspring will be as numerous as the stars in the sky, and through this family all the families of the earth will be blessed.  Abraham and Sarah will be the parents of a great nation who will serve as a light to all the nations.

We heard this part of the story last week.  Sarah was barren, but eventually God fulfills his promise to this couple.  When it finally happens, Sarah laughs out loud (and so does Abraham) because they are so old in age.  Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?

And so Isaac is born, whose name means “laughter.”   He is the carrier of God’s blessing, and he grows up and marries Rebekah.  Like her mother-in-law, Rebekah also turns out to be barren.  But unlike her mother-in-law, God answers Rebekah’s prayer to conceive while she is still young.  And also unlike her mother-in-law, there is not one child growing in her womb but two: twin boys.

The first comes out red and hairy, so they named him Esau (which means “hairy”).  The second tumbles out gripping his brother’s heal, so they name him Jacob (which means “heal grabber”).  When the boys grow up, they are as different as night and day.  Esau is simple minded and a skillful hunter.  But Jacob is clever and resourceful, and he much prefers staying home and helping with domestic chores to his brother’s hunting expeditions.  Isaac loved Esau, but Rebekah loved Jacob.

One day Jacob dupes his simple minded brother into selling his birthright for nothing more than a bowl of lentil soup.  But that isn’t the worst of it.  When it comes time for Isaac, now old and blind, to give his blessing to the eldest son, Jacob gets some coaching from his mother and deceives his father.  He puts goat skin on his arms and tricks his father into thinking he is Esau.  So Isaac passes on the blessing to Jacob instead of Esau.  And this is really the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Esau is spitting’ mad, and can you blame him?  More than anything he wants to get his big hands around Jacob’s scrawny neck and snap it like a twig.  So Jacob flees for his life.  He runs off to the land of his Uncle Laban.  He gets married to Rachel and Leah (that’s another story!), and has lots of children.  Jacob does really well for himself. 

But after twenty years of living as a fugitive, Jacob decides it’s time to come home.  He’s coming home a rich man—with a large family, servants, and enough livestock to sponsor his own county fair. But he’s also coming home a fearful man.  Fearful because he’s caught word that his brother Esau is marching to meet him with an army of four hundred men. 

When they arrive to the Jabbok River, Jacob sends his family and servants ahead of him and he remains behind to keep the darkness company for what might be the last night of his life. Come tomorrow, Esau may strike him dead on the spot.  Well, in a very real sense, it would be the last night of Jacob’s life.  But not because of Esau.  Someone else would get to Jacob first. Listen to this story from the book of Genesis chapter 32, beginning at verse 22. 

Read Scripture.

Part Two: the Blessing and the Limp

The Hebrews were master storytellers.  And like any good storyteller, they don’t tell too much.  We don’t get all the specific details.  Instead, we are invited to enter the story, to fill in the gaps ourselves.  We’re invited to wonder what it was like for Jacob to wrestle so intimately with God--a wrestling match that lasted all through the night. 

This morning I want to help you use your imagination and enter the story by sharing with you one of my favorite contemporary storytellers—a writer who has a knack for filling in the gaps.  His name is Frederick Buechner.  And what I am about to share with you comes from his book titled Son of Laughter.  What happened that night by the river?  If Jacob were here to speak for himself, perhaps he would tell the story something like this. 

Our bodies were slippery with mud.  We were panting like beasts.  We could not see each other.  We spoke no words.  I did not know why we were fighting.  It was like fighting in a dream.

He outweighed me, he out-wrestled me, but he did not overpower me.  He did not overpower me until the moment came to overpower me.  When the moment came, I knew that he could have made it come whenever he wanted.  I knew that all through the night he had been waiting for that moment.  He had his knee under my hip.  The rest of his weight was on top of my hip.  Then the moment came, and he gave a fierce downward thrust.  I felt a fierce pain.

It was less a pain I felt than a pain I saw.  I saw it as light.  I saw the pain as a dazzling bird-shape of light.  The pain’s beak impaled me with light.  It blinded me with the light of its wings.  I knew I was crippled and done for.  I could do nothing but cling now.  I clung for dear life.  I clung for dear death.  My arms trussed him.  My legs locked him.  For the first time he spoke.

“Let me go,” He said, “for the day is breaking.”

The words were more breath than sound.  They scalded my neck where his mouth was touching.

I would not let him go for fear that the day would take him as the dark had given him.  It was my life I clung to.  My enemy was my life.  My life was my enemy.

“Bless me,” I said.  “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”  Even if his blessing meant death, I wanted it more than life.

He said, “Who are you?”

There was mud in my eyes, my ears and nostrils, my hair.  My name tasted of mud when I spoke it.

“Jacob,” I said.  “My name is Jacob.”

“It is Jacob no longer,” he said.  “Now you are Israel.  You have wrestled with God and with men.  You have prevailed.  That is the meaning of the name Israel.”

I was no longer Jacob.   I was no longer myself.  Israel was who I was.  The stranger had said it.  I tried to say it the way he had said it: Yees-rah-ail.  I tried to say the new name I was to the new self I was.  I could not see him.  I could see only the curve of his shoulders above me.  I saw the first glimmer of dawn on his shoulders like a wound.

I said, “What is your name?”  I could only whisper it.

“Why do you ask my name?”

We were both of us whispering.  He did not wait for my answer.  He blessed me as I had asked him.  I do not remember the words of his blessing or even if there were words.  I remember the blessing of his arms holding me and the blessing of his arms letting me go.  I remember as blessing the black shape of him against the rose-colored sky.

I remember as blessing the one glimpse I had of his face.  It was more terrible than the face of dark, or of pain, or of terror.  It was the face of light.  No words can tell of it.  Silence cannot tell of it.  Sometimes I cannot believe that I saw it and lived but only that I dreamed I saw it.  Sometimes I believe I saw it and that I only dream I live.

The sun’s rim was just starting to show over the top of the gorge by the time I finally crossed the Jabbok.  Bands of gold fanned across the sky.  I staggered through the rocky shallows, one hip dipping deep with each new step and my head bobbing.  It is the way I have walked ever since.

From that day to this I have moved through the world like a cripple with the new name the Face of light gave me that night by the river when he gave me his blessing and crippled me.                            

When he gave me his blessing… and crippled me.

A blessing…and a limp.   In these nine verses we are given a picture of God that is very different than most of us are used to.  A picture that sounds almost scary.  What are we to make of a picture of God who comes at Jacob like an adversary in the middle of the night? 

Jacob liked having God’s presence and blessing on his terms.  So long as God fit into his agenda, took care of him in the ways he wanted to be taken care of, then he would claim this God as his own.  And we too tend to be more attracted to a God who is like a genie in a lamp--a God who magically grants us wishes at our command rather than a God who is the Ruler of the Universe. A God we can bargain with and manipulate.  A God we can control by rubbing the lamp when we need something, only to send him back into the lamp when he’s served our purpose. 

But the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is no genie in a lamp.  And that’s a good thing.  This is a God who has made a covenant with us and is set on having a relationship with us.  But it will be on God’s terms, not ours.  This is a God who has a plan and a purpose for our lives and for the world that is far greater than our personal agendas. 

I want to suggest that this is really a story about grace.  “Grace?” you might ask, “How is this a story about grace?  Granted, it is not the grace that we tend to envision—that sweet amazing grace that nudges us along “softly and tenderly.”  We like that kind of grace.  It’s unobtrusive and it’s not too demanding.  It’s the kind of grace that makes us feel safe and comfortable. 

But the grace that grabbed a hold of Jacob is a fierce, rough and tumbling kind of grace.  It’s a grace that pursues us and wrestles us to the ground, locking us in its wounding hold.  What am I talking about here?  I’m talking about grace that comes disguised in the form of unwelcome intrusions in our life—disruptions, struggles and disappointments.  Things that blind side us and knock us flat on our back, fighting for our life. This is a grace that hurts--a grace that leaves us limping.  But it also leaves us blessed.  Changed.  And that makes it amazing grace nonetheless.

More often than not, this is the kind of grace it takes for God to lay a hold of our lives and to shape us and mold us according to his purpose.  This is the kind of grace it takes for God to free us from the illusion that we are in control—that we ever were really in control.   Elizabeth Achtemeier, a Biblical scholar and preacher, says it like this:

“God engages us in battle in Jesus Christ because he wants to make us new men and women, just as he fought with Jacob to make him a new and different man.  …God wrested with Jacob to give him that blessing and to lock him into his purpose.  So, too, God in Christ wrestles with us to rule over our lives, to pull us into the good purpose that he is working out on this earth.  It is not always a pleasant experience.  God can grab us and fight us and jerk us all the way round, to walk a new path that we had not dreamed of taking…it costs us something to have him hammer away at us until we reflect his will.

I think Achtemeier is right.  Being molded and shaped by God’s hands is not always a pleasant experience.  Often it is painful and it is costly.  It costs us our very lives.  Jesus said “Whoever wants to find life must lose it—let it go--for my sake.”  The heart of the gospel is a call to take up our cross and follow Jesus.  And when you’re carrying a cross, you will walk in a way that his different from the world.  You will walk with a limp.  A glorious limp.   

I’m not suggesting that God is behind every experience of struggle in our lives.  That would be to oversimplify things and it trivializes the real pain of those suffering.  And sometimes the struggle is a result of our own bad choices.  What I am suggesting is that God is in every experience of struggle.  God is present with us, his arms holding us; even when we can’t see him or feel his presence.  We can limp away with the assurance that by God’s grace, even this experience—as dark as it may seem at the time—can be used for God’s glory and his good purposes. 

And so here is the wonderful irony of Jacob’s story: Jacob, whose name means “heel-grabber,” is grasped by the grace of a God who had something in store for him that was far more than he could have ever bargained for.  When Jacob finally crossed the Jabbok that next morning, on his way to face his brother Esau, he was a changed man with a new name and a new limp to prove it.  He was now Israel, “he who strives with God and with humans and prevails.”  But this prevailing isn’t the type of prevailing the world thinks of.  This is a prevailing that comes only in defeat, only in letting go of ourselves—our own plans, agendas, illusions—and clinging to God.  It is a prevailing that comes only by way of surrender.

As we wrestle with a God whose presence in our midst is much too close for comfort, let us cling to God for dear life and for dear death.  And let us cry out these beautiful words of surrender, spoken first by the prophet Isaiah:  

Take my life, O Lord!  We are the clay, you are the potter; and we are but the work of your hand! (Is. 64:8).

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