Wilderness Wanderings

"Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you." (Luke 6:37-38)

What things do you feel judgemental about these days? What do you condemn? There are lots of possibilities these days: I think of the truck protests, health restrictions and mandates, the government, various positions, identifications, and responses in the land of human sexuality, etc.

It does not really matter which side of these matters any one of us might fall on—the question is about when and where we pass judgement. And I would imagine that most of us do: somewhere. Every statement and action public or private falls under intense scrutiny these days, and many of us are given to the same.

Not that this hasn't always been an issue, but it seems to me that social media has really accelerated our ability to feel righteous anger even as it has improved our capacity for making judgements and condemnations from the comfort of our armchair—this is how the algorithms drive our engagement. And while the digital world has probably also widened our portfolio of causes to give to, it would seem to have rather diminished our capacity for forgiveness somehow.

The point, I suppose, is that in light of Jesus' words—many of us are not nearly reticent enough to pass judgement or condemnation (perhaps because via social media we no longer face the people that we judge or condemn), nor are we perhaps as ready as we ought to be to forgive (perhaps again because we don't need to face down the people who have hurt us via social media—we just block them).

There are few consequences for stating a bold opinion about matters we likely have very little business wading into. Or so it seems. Jesus seems to suggest that the more judgement, condemnation, lack of forgiveness and gifts we put out into the world, the more judgemental, unforgiving, and scarcity-minded our world becomes which certainly comes back to us in due course. And so, Jesus calls us to something different through a variation of his "do unto others as you would have them do unto you" principle.

Who of us likes being judged? Then we also ought not be ones to pass judgement. Who of us likes being condemned? Then we also ought not be ones to condemn others. However, should we fail in some way, which of us would not like to be extended the grace of forgiveness and restoration? Then we also ought to be people quick to offer that forgiveness and restoration to others.

All of this speaks to a generosity of spirit: a giving that multiplies the gifts swirling around in the world such that we too find ourselves recipients of the very goodness we have sown. In doing this, we follow Jesus who himself sowed a profoundly imbalanced amount of grace and forgiveness into the world: forgiving even those who crucified him (forgiving the rest of us through that act too!); condemning not the woman caught in adultery; judging not before the appointed time, leaving wheat to grow alongside the weeds.

In any case, as tomorrow's text will remind us: most of us plank-eyed people aren't righteous enough to bear the weight of dealing gently with our neighbour's sin anyway. Jesus is the judge who will meet out justice when the time is right—and this is a work best left to him.

Giving and forgiving though? These things have been given to us to do. And we already know the end result: a new creation bursting with life where tables are spread and cups runneth over. Will this measure that will be measured to you by Jesus on that day inform how you measure out gifts and forgiveness to others today?

A Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings! The text is 1 Samuel 7:2-17 from the New International Version of the Bible. Dive In discussion questions are below for further reflection!

To see this sermon in the context of the worship service it comes from, find it here on YouTube. Or, head to our website to connect with the worshiping community of Immanuel CRC: immanuelministries.ca

DIVE IN!

This chapter is about a new Israel. The sermon highlights four aspects of this new Israel. Reflect on each one using these questions. What are they? How was each lived out in the text? In what ways can the church live out each today? How might the church grow deeper into Christ if we took these to heart? Is God calling you deeper into to Christ as you reflect on these?

But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful (Luke 6:35-36).

Let's start with this question: When is the last time you loved an enemy? Or shall we go even deeper: Have you ever loved an enemy?

When you decided to follow Jesus, did anyone explain to you that this would mean loving people who hurt you? I wonder if, when people are preparing to join a church, they are encouraged to count the cost? Is there an expectation that being part of the body of Christ includes doing good to those opposed to Christians?

Let's keep asking questions. That person at work who really annoys you, gets under your skin several times a week, what have you done to love that person? Have you even prayed for them? That social media friend of yours who has taken the opposite view on COVID mandates, how have you been treating this person?

Am I putting this too strongly? I don't think so. Jesus has just said, "If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them" (6:32). He calls his followers to a higher ethic. Love can be very easy. We fall into love and out of love in the blink of an eye. It is easy to love people who have loved us.

But Jesus did not define love like that. For him, love is not a feeling, it is a deliberate choice we make. Love is an action that brings good into the world, especially in situations in which good is not deserved. Jesus is calling us to deliberately love people who have not earned it. God's love calls us to respond to evil actions not with judgement but with mercy and goodness.

Jesus expects us to act with glorious and absurd generosity. What is the best thing you can do for the worst person? Do it. What people are you tempted to be nasty towards? Lavish generosity on them! God's kingdom has a fresh, springlike quality. New life bursts out energetically, like flowers growing through concrete, drawing attention with their colour and vigour.

Imagine living in a society where people believed in this God. Would there be violence? Revenge would be replaced with forgiveness. Divisions of class or caste would disappear. We would be more concerned with our neighbour's wellbeing than hanging onto our property and possessions. Imagine if we took Jesus seriously and lived like that. Life would be exuberant, different, astonishing. People would stare.

But you say, "I cannot love that way." Of course, you can't. It's humanly impossible. But we are Christians. Jesus has given us his Holy Spirit to overcome our human deficiencies. By the power of Christ in us, through the Spirit, we become able to love like Jesus.

We can be sure of this because God has loved us like that. While we were still his enemies, Jesus died for us. God's love towards us is extravagant, extraordinary, totally underserved. Love does not originate from us. We receive it first, then give it away. When we have trouble giving it, we need to go back to the beginning of our Christian life. We need to receive from God. We start by asking him to help us.

Jesus wants us to imitate him. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. The world may misunderstand us and shun us and laugh at us, but that does not allow us to be insensitive or to harbor misunderstanding towards them.

Its time for Christians to follow their Lord.

Looking at his disciples, he said:

"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, when they exclude you and insult you and reject your name as evil, because of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven. For that is how their ancestors treated the prophets.

But woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort. Woe to you who are well fed now, for you will go hungry. Woe to you who laugh now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when everyone speaks well of you, for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets. (Luke 6:20-26)

This is Luke's version of the Sermon on the Mount, usually referred to as the Sermon on the Plain because Luke sets the scene with Jesus standing on a level place. After withdrawing for prayer, Jesus has just named and called his twelve disciples and now he teaches them, along with a whole crowd of others from around the land.

In Matthew's version of the beatitudes: that's all they are, beatitudes. Blessings. But here in Luke we get both sides of the coin. Blessings and woes. And the woes get a little close to home.

This is an unavoidable theme in the gospel of Luke. "He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty" says Mary in her song, the Magnificat, at the beginning of the gospel (Luke 1:53). Jesus similarly declares in Luke 4 that his mission is to "proclaim good news to the poor" (Luke 4:18). And unlike Matthew's beatitudes where it is the "poor in spirit" who are blessed: Luke unavoidably refers to the materially, economically poor. The people who are actually, physically hungry from malnutrition. There is no spiritualizing Jesus' words. Which also means that we can't wriggle ourselves out of the woes on the rich either.

Who can deny that the majority of us have received our good material comforts from a disposable income most of the rest of the world would call wealth? Who can deny that three square meals a day equates to being well fed? Who can avoid the fact that before covid, and even during it for some, having the disposable time to binge watch the Olympics or participate in whatever other entertainment or gatherings with friends and family has led to a relatively easy life of laughter and joy?

Do we also have our sorrows and hardships? Of course we do, but nothing more than is common to the rest of humanity. What we have that is not common to the rest of humanity is peace, security, health care, and financial stability, even wealth.

So what are we to do with this teaching of Jesus then that seems to single us out for woes and future disaster? Are we left to just feel guilty for living where we do and having what we have? No, I don't think so.

Jesus' mission statement from chapter 4 draws on Isaiah 58. It seems to me that Luke has Isiah 58 in mind in chapter 5 and 6 of his gospel as well. We've heard Jesus talk about fasting, Sabbath, poverty and wealth, and tomorrow about a generous life. That's Isaiah 58 in a nutshell, where one of the central invitations is to "spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed."

It's not wrong to have wealth. But Jesus always invites us to remember that we who have it are only trustees of something that does not actually belong to us. Like Joseph overseeing the grain distribution in Egypt—wealth is entrusted to us by God so that we might distribute it to its intended recipients according to his direction. This, I think is Jesus' kingdom intent: that we spend ourselves and all that has been entrusted to us on behalf of those who are poor, hungry, and weeping from oppression.

Doing so freely and openly might lead to a lot of messy realities, especially if we were to offer our church property and assets freely to those in need--like those in need of shelter or food, for instance. Our church lawn and building might become dirty or damaged, an eyesore: a site of inconvenient realities that cause folks to speak badly of us. But, maybe that's part of what Jesus means when he says blessed are you when people hate and insult you because of the Son of Man.

Then Jesus said to them, "The Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath…I ask you, which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or to destroy it?" (Luke 6:5,9).

While I was growing up, determining which activities were not permitted on Sunday was of significant concern. I can still rattle off the list of forbidden pursuits. There was one complication: each family made their own list. This random application of Sabbath has contributed to Sundays becoming a free for all in our churches. What makes Sunday unique from the rest of the week is rarely discussed.

I find it fascinating that Luke moves from Jesus' announcement that his arrival is the dawning of a new era to stories about the Sabbath. Is Luke telling us that Sabbath keeping will look different in this new era? A new era meant new practices, including for the Sabbath.

He tells us what happened, "One Sabbath Jesus was going through the grainfields, and his disciples began to pick some heads of grain, rub them in their hands and eat the kernels" (1). The Pharisees accused them of violating the Sabbath because they reaped, threshed, winnowed, and prepared food. Four violations!

But Jesus will have none of this, he is Lord of the Sabbath, which is a sweet way of saying, "I get to make the rules." He is not abolishing the Old Testament law, but he is knocking over the scaffolding of additional rules added over the centuries.

Sabbath keeping had become a source of identity and pride for the Jews. It distinguished them from the surrounding nations. The better you kept the Sabbath rules the better you were at being Jewish. Judaism had become a religion of law keeping, heaping heavy burdens on people which did not bring them into the Kingdom of God (Luke 11:46; Matthew 23:13-15).

The kind of Sabbath the Pharisees promoted left people hungry and disabled. Jesus brings a different Sabbath. He frames it with the question, "which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or to destroy it?" Can Jesus be any clearer? Sabbath is about undoing the fall into sin. That is why in the Old Testament, the Sabbath laws are linked to creation and exodus. Sabbath is about liberty from evil.

But how do we connect Sabbath to our Christian lives? I think the Heidelberg Catechism is helpful. In its treatment of the Sabbath commandment, it says nothing about figuring out what is and is not permitted on Sundays. Rather, it calls us to engage actively in gospel ministry. We need specific time to allow the Spirit and Word to align our lives with the Kingdom of God. This Sunday engagement then leads to this result, "that every day of my life I rest from my evil ways, let the Lord work in me through his Spirit, and so begin already in this life the eternal Sabbath" (HC 103).

That puts in positive form the question that Jesus asked.

I think it is also helpful for all those who need to work on Sundays. We ought to develop the discipline of setting aside time during the week to focus on getting our lives shaped by the kingdom. It requires both discipline and the input of other people. We need to ask ourselves Jesus' question: am I doing good or evil, am I destroying life or saving it?

For many of us, Sunday is a day for doing whatever I want (for some its family, for some its checking things off our to do list, for some is nothing at all). I'm not sure this is any better for us spiritually than a concern for following the rules.

So how will you adjust your life so that you can 'rest from your evil ways, let the Lord work in you through his Spirit, and so begin already in this life the eternal Sabbath'?

They said to him, "John's disciples often fast and pray, and so do the disciples of the Pharisees, but yours go on eating and drinking." Jesus answered, "Can you make the friends of the bridegroom fast while he is with them? But the time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them; in those days they will fast." He told them this parable: "No one tears a piece out of a new garment to patch an old one. Otherwise, they will have torn the new garment, and the patch from the new will not match the old. And no one pours new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise, the new wine will burst the skins; the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, new wine must be poured into new wineskins. And no one after drinking old wine wants the new, for they say, 'The old is better.'" (Luke 5:33-39)

I have to think of this past Sunday's sermon when I read this text from Luke.

The coming of Jesus is another one of those watershed moments: another shifting of the ages in terms of how God deals with his people. In 1 Samuel it's the shift from the tribal, nomadic time of the Judges to the more established nationalistic time of the Kings. Here it is the shift from the Old Testament to the New, from Judaism to Christianity, from the Old Israel to the New Israel, from law to grace, from the time of prophets, priests, and kings to the time of Jesus who fulfilled them all.

New wine requires new wine skins and new cloth cannot be sown on old, because both of these new things are still, as preacher Fred Craddock says: "alive, changing, not fixed in form or size, and therefore… not to be treated as thought they were dead" and rigid. So it was with the new revelation of Jesus. Jesus represented a significant shift of the ages that would burst the old forms if those old forms attempted to contain him. Indeed, they could not. The new revelation of Jesus required new forms. No longer a Temple, but a living body of people called a church, for instance.

We often act as though this was the last shift point of the ages. The revelation of Jesus was the final chapter in God's work in the world, we think. But if God remains a living and active God, sovereign in all his ways: why should his work cease? By thinking of ourselves as Reformed Christians, we implicitly confirm that God does do new things that require new forms: like the creation of an entirely new branch of Christianity that calls itself Protestantism nearly 500 years ago.

But having tasted the old and familiar: who wants to drink the new? We resist new movements of the Holy Spirit. We pray to Jesus for stability, comfort, and peace: not for change. What God has given us has suited just fine up until now, why should it be different?

It is a hard thing to discern the times and to discern the sovereign movements of the Spirit of God. When are we supposed to reach for the good old vintages of wine, and when ought we be readying new wine skins?

It seems Jesus addresses that conundrum here too. John's disciples took the old forms: fasting and praying as was the tradition of many within the observant Jewish faith of that day. But Jesus' disciples took the new—feasting and drinking freely. Jesus doesn't answer the question between these two forms with any hard and fast rules, but rather suggests that there is a seasonality and a wise discernment needed here. A time to feast and a time to fast. A time for joy and a time for sorrow. A time for tradition and a time for innovation.

The question Jesus leaves with us then, is what time is it now? It's a question the church—Reformed-and-always-Reforming—must always wrestle with.

There's a story of a young woman whose heart sank reading this question on a college application form, "Are you a leader?" Being both honest and conscientious, she wrote, "No," and returned the application, expecting the worst. To her surprise, the college replied: "Dear Applicant: A study of the application forms reveals that this year our college will have 1,452 new leaders. We are accepting you because we feel it is imperative that they have at least one follower."

Many of us desire to be leaders, to be at the front of the crowd. Yet, to be a Christian implies never being at the head of the column, but rather to walk behind the master. As we walk, to grow, to learn.

Jesus' call to follow him is an invitation to let go. To let go of understandings, perceptions, and beliefs that he would have us do without. If we are to live and grow in Christ, there are things we must willingly give up–mind you, not just willing to loosen our grip on, but to drop.

Jesus' 'love your neighbour as yourself' ethic means that we must be willing to give up our hostility and apathy toward those who are different, understanding that they are not deficient and not inferior, but divinely and splendidly different. His flagrant forgiveness strategy means that we must be willing to give up our appetite for vengeance when we are wronged, remembering that even if our enemies do become our footstool (as David hoped), God gives us enough love not to step on them.

And perhaps, most fundamental, and fantastic of all, this closeness to God teases and taunts us to see the love of God as the heartbeat of live, the real meaning of life. Amazingly, to follow Christ is to give up the search for the "mystery" of life. Its meaning is found in Christ, and it is the love of God.

Follow me, Jesus calls, and lose the thirst for anything other than the love of God, which fills, fully and finally, your deepest longing. Lose egotism, anxiety, dread, and fear in favour of a living sense of the love of God. To follow Jesus is learning to be as vibrant, as content and as fulfilled as he was in the love of God.

Love can lift us above the petty jealousies, the dividing differences, the horrible hatreds that take the life right out of us, that deaden us while we are yet alive. Because of bitterness, anger, and hate, many die while they are still living. They are truly the walking dead. But love enlivens.

To follow Jesus means that we are willing to love the sinner. In ancient culture, to sit at the table communicated an acceptance. The religious leaders didn't approve of Jesus getting so close to sinners. They thought he ought to keep himself distant and pure. But Jesus was not afraid of them. He was willing to get up close and personal with them.

I think that many Christians follow the way of the religious leaders, rather than the way of Jesus.

Following Jesus does not imply that we have reached the destination. We follow so that we can get there. He also said, "Take up my yoke and learn from me" (Matthew 11:29). Jesus does not call those who have arrived. When I go to the doctor, I know several things: I am sick, I need help, and I cannot help myself. In other words, Jesus' call goes out to those who realize they need help. Ironically, they are the only ones who seem to hear his call.

He seeks sinners, keeping his eye out for them and reaching out to them is a priority for him. Yet, we Christians often avoid sinners. Rather than seek them out, we run from them, often filled with fear about what issues they might bring up or what types of situations we might find ourselves in.

Maybe, if we remember where we began, how much we have received, his invitation to us to follow, we would not be so afraid of those who haven't responded to the invitation.

An extended Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings! The text is 1 Samuel 6:1-7:2 from the New International Version of the Bible. Dive In discussion questions are below for further reflection!

To see this sermon in the context of the worship service it comes from, find it here on YouTube. Or, head to our website to connect with the worshiping community of Immanuel CRC: immanuelministries.ca

DIVE IN QUESTIONS

1. What are some of the signs of times that you see today that tell you that some significant shifts are under foot in the church and in society? Where do those shifts impact your life?

2. In what ways did Israel in the time of Samuel sit upon some major shifts of the ages?

3. What did the Philistines learn from the Ark of God and their "Exodus" experience?

4. What did the Israelites learn from the Ark of God and their various "wilderness" experiences from and with it?

5. What does it take to stand in the "presence of the Lord?" How are we consecrated keepers of his covenant today?

6. How might this understanding of yourself as a baptized follower of Jesus change the way you view and engage with the major shifts happening all around us these days?

The Pharisees and the teachers of the law began thinking to themselves, "Who is this fellow who speaks blasphemy? Who can forgive sins but God alone?" Jesus knew what they were thinking and asked, "Why are you thinking these things in your hearts? Which is easier: to say, 'Your sins are forgiven,' or to say, 'Get up and walk'? But I want you to know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins." So he said to the paralyzed man, "I tell you, get up, take your mat and go home." Immediately he stood up in front of them, took what he had been lying on and went home praising God. Everyone was amazed and gave praise to God. They were filled with awe and said, "We have seen remarkable things today." (Luke 5:21-26).

Boy, which is easier to say? With the medical technology we have to replace knees and reattach ligaments these days, it seems increasingly easy to say "get up and walk." And, with the stubborn determination we increasingly have to exact vengeance rather than restoration these days, it seems decidedly harder than it once was (if it ever was easy) to say "I forgive you."

It really depends on how you take Jesus' rhetorical question, I suppose. To think too hard about it is to miss the point all together, though. The point is not about which is harder: the point is that Jesus can do both. Why? He's God.

A lot of questions swirled about Jesus' authority to teach what he taught. In those earlier occurrences of folks making reference to Jesus' authority in chapter 4—Jesus never steps into the fray to defend himself. He just keeps doing what he does. But with the religious leaders in the room, now Jesus begins to address the question of authority directly. Not his authority to teach, mind you, but something much more central: his authority to forgive sins.

This act of healing was a sign to the man, the leaders, the friends, the crowd, everyone that Jesus had the authority of God to set humanity free and make them well and whole again—addressing not only the physical ailments that constitute the effects of sin on the created world and its creatures, but sin itself.

Sin is that deeper, relational ailment at the heart of all our ailments: whether the physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual. When the right relationships of the Created world to itself and its Creator was broken by an act of two human creatures that stepped beyond the boundaries set for them, it knocked the whole thing off kilter in a way that imbalanced the relational world of the cosmos for generations to come: like a loose bearing that permits a wobbled spin that eventually serves to misshape the whole apparatus and all its connected components.

Jesus' forgiveness of sin is equally far-reaching though. He does not only replace the initial loose bearings in the act of forgiveness, but he begins to restore the whole works. Everything knocked out of whack by the counter-formation of sin is brought under Jesus' authoritative power to heal and make well.

And so Jesus forgives. Firstly, he forgives: he deals with the initial problem, not just the symptoms. But having done so, Jesus addresses the symptoms too. He sets us free in every conceivable way that we might be bound—in heart, mind, soul, or strength. There is nothing in all our creational, creaturely experience that does not fall under Jesus' powerful word of healing. So: what thing—hard or easy—might Jesus be healing within you today?

Four men arrive carrying a paralysed friend on a mat. But they arrive too late; the crowds are thick around the door with no way to squeeze through. One of them has a bright idea: "The roof! We can get to Jesus through the roof!" They haul their friend up onto the flat roof, remove the outer tiles, and then dig through the saplings and plaster underneath.

In the crowded room below, hearing noises above him, Jesus pauses his sermon only to be showered by bits of mud and brush. A hole opens and a mat descends. Four anxious faces appear in the hole above as the crowd pushes back to make room for the mat.

The paralytic wants to be healed. And Jesus can make it happen. But they've just interrupted his teaching and covered him with dust! Will he be angry? Will Jesus send him away? What claim does he have on this rabbi anyway? He doesn't deserve anything from him!"

The crowd is silent - waiting to see what will happen next. Sunlight streams down from the hole in the roof, particles of dust dancing in air. The room is filled with a haze and tension.

Jesus sees their faith. Not in an Apostle's Creed sense, knowledge based. But in the sense that they were willing to over come all obstacles. A faith that says, Jesus can heal, and we need to get our friend to him. That is what faith does, it brings us near Jesus.

And then Jesus does the most bizarre thing. He says to the man: "Your sins are forgiven."

The mood of the room changes again. This is not what the paralysed man or friends had hoped for. He'd come to be healed - not forgiven. Not that forgiveness isn't a good thing, it's just this wasn't why he'd come.

The religious leaders are not thinking about the sick man and his disappointment. Nor why Jesus didn't heal this poor broken body. These are theologians - they're thinking... theology. And they have their theology right: only God can forgive sins.

And that is exactly Jesus' point. He has come bringing the kingdom of God. Jesus' mission is to make this world whole. Sin and sickness are both part of the brokenness of this world and He has come to fix both. Sin is the deeper problem. Jesus chooses this setting, this audience, to make this announcement: He had come to bring forgiveness to humanity. If we are going to follow Jesus, we need to hear these words.

This is the only time in all the gospels that a sick person is told their sins are forgiven. Jesus is not saying that the sickness is directly tied to a specific sin. There are many good things that we want from Jesus that he wants to give. But none of those good things will bring wholeness to us without God's forgiveness.

Yesterday, Pastor Anthony reflected on our authentic humanity and self which is found in our relationship with God the Father. As our faith draws us near, God speaks these words of freedom, "Your sins are forgiven." We need to be right in ourselves, and right with our neighbours. But above all we need to be right with God. With whatever more obvious 'paralysis' we may come to Jesus, this is the real deep need which his eye perceives and to which his word of power is addressed. And when he speaks, it is dealt with finally, for ever, 'Your sins are forgiven you.'