Wilderness Wanderings

An extended Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings! The text is 1 Kings 16:29-17:24 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. If things are good in life, is it always a sign of God's blessing of life? What about when things aren't so good?

2. What was good in Israel during the days of Ahab and Omri? What wasn't?

3. What's good in our society today? What isn't? What are the costs, values, temptations, and alternate gods that vie for first place in our life and society?

4. In what ways did God reveal himself to be a God of life to Elijah and the widow at Zarephath?

5. In what way might you live the life that God, in Christ, has given and continues to give to you? How might you pray for and embody his kingdom values through your week?

Zechariah asked the angel, "How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years." The angel said to him, "I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their appointed time." (Luke 1:18-20).

There is something marvellous about how Luke tells this story. Clearly, these are extremely significant events. God sends out his angels to ensure that we understand just how crucial these things are. Yet, it also clear that, despite the lack of human cooperation, God is enjoying himself. It is good for our faith to know this.

Preachers tend to be hard on doubters like Zechariah and Thomas. But the truth is, many, if not most, of us Christians have found ourselves in a spiritual place like Zechariah's. Let's consider his life for a moment. He and Elizabeth are introduced as righteous, observing the Lord's commands and decrees blamelessly.

Let's not be cynical about this description but read it in light of Psalm 42, "My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. Where can I go and meet with God?" (2). Through the long years of their lives, they had desired to be faithful to God. As a priest, Zechariah would have counselled many in the ways of righteousness and encouraged the faith of many doubters.

Often, this couple would have prayed that God fulfill that essential creational and covenantal blessing of human fruitfulness. One can imagine, as so often happens in our own lives, these prayers, once fervent, had become listless. Prayers, once uttered in expectant faith, were now shrouded in doubt. Zechariah means "the Lord remembers", Elizabeth, "my God is an absolutely faithful God." But, as month after month went by with always the same disappointment, it was difficult to remember.

Sure, Sarai was ancient when she had conceived. But in those days, God was in the habit of dropping in for afternoon tea. And now, well, no one had heard from him in about 400 years. Things are different.

Isn't that how we end up in doubt as well? What have you prayed for month after month, year after year? Some of you for a child. Others for the return of one. Or for a job that is meaningful? Financial security? Peace in your home? At first, we thirst for God. But as his silence stretches through the years, our faith, like an elastic, either stretches till it breaks or becomes old and brittle with no stretch at all. We doubt. And our ears cannot hear God. We certainly do not expect anything from him anymore.

We understand Zechariah. And this is where God gets cheeky. When the old priest says, "I am an old man", the angel replies, "I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God. My "I" trumps your "I" old man. And then (I paraphrase), "You appear to need some time to 'remember that God is faithful'. Your voice will be silent, so you can hear God's."

Sure, there is rebuke in what Gabriel says. But also humour and irony, and the gospel. Despite Zechariah's doubt, God's plan will carry on. Be silent and think on it. Just be quiet for awhile and watch God work.

As Advent begins, Gabriel speaks, challenging the cynicism and despair under our mask of piety with the bold assertion that no matter how dry and barren our world (or our soul) may feel today, salvation is in the works.

Zechariah was old and full of doubts, yet God used him. This priest no longer expected a blessing from God, let alone salvation for Israel. With a twinkle in his eye, the Lord says, 'Watch me!' To those of us who struggle with doubt, Gabriel says, God will have his way ... and it will be good and full of joy.

When Zechariah saw him, he was startled and was gripped with fear. But the angel said to him: "Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to call him John. He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He is never to take wine or other fermented drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit even before he is born. He will bring back many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous—to make ready a people prepared for the Lord." (Luke 1:12-17)

An ordinary day at the temple worship service. Folks are going through the motions of talking to God, like they usually do. Usually: nothing much happens. No one really expects anything to happen. Or if they do, they expect it to come slowly through small and subtle shifts.

Over long years of ordinary faithfulness: how many prayers had been prayed here at this Temple? Over those same long, ordinary years of faithfulness, how many prayers had Zechariah prayed? Even without many high expectations or mountaintop experiences of answered prayer: they all kept praying anyway. Kept talking with God. Kept asking, seeking, and knocking. Prayers, like incense, continued to rise to heaven.

They asked for small, ordinary personal things like daily bread, a good day at work, the words to say the next time they met their neighbour. They asked for hard, intimate things like healing, reconciliation within their divided families, for children who had walked away from the faith, or for new life to come out of barrenness and death. Sometimes they asked for the really big things too: for God to save their people, their country, their land. Their prayers, like incense, continued to rise to heaven.

Usually: nothing much happens aside from the slow, small, and patient work of God. But on this rare day, something big really did. The angel appeared next to the alter of incense, that embodiment of the prayers of God's people, assured this frightened old man who suddenly stood in the presence of glory that he was ok, and then spoke incredible words. "Your prayer has been heard," the angel said.

The small personal prayers had been heard for joy and delight to enter into their small and ordinary days. The hard prayers had been heard for life being birthed out of barrenness, and for reconciliation in families, and for wayward children to come home to God. Even the really big prayers of turning the nation back to it's Lord and God had been heard.

God would answer all these prayers in the gift of John, whose name means "gift" or "grace of God". A small baby to be born into Zechariah and Elizabeth's small and homely family. A small dose of healing and redemption to be injected into the hardened and hopeless hearts of Israel. It would not be complete healing or redemption. But, the many prayers of God's people and even particularly of old Zechariah, had been heard. The grace of God was coming, and with it, rejoicing.

It doesn't always seem like our prayers are heard, but every now and then the thin veneer separating earth and heaven is pealed back and we remember that in big ways or small, through slow means or sudden: the grace of God is still at work.

So, as Pastor Michael encouraged yesterday, so I encourage you again today: as you go about the ordinary events of the day—accompany them with prayer. Let those prayers rise like incense. And keep your eyes expectantly peeled, because God's gifts of grace still pop up in unexpected places bringing joy and delight today.

Once when Zechariah's division was on duty and he was serving as priest before God, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to go into the temple of the Lord and burn incense. And when the time for the burning of incense came, all the assembled worshipers were praying outside. Then an angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right side of the altar of incense (Luke 1:8-11).

There had been many ordinary priestly days for Zechariah. Twice each year he travelled to the temple to fulfill his duties as a priest before God, a week each time. How many years had it been? How many trips had he made? He had lost count. Every day was ordinary.

In those days, Israel had priests a plenty. So many in fact, that some never got to do that one thing all those ordinary priests wanted to do. Three times each day, the Israelites gathered in the temple courts to pray. The first and third were accompanied with the morning and afternoon incense-offering. A priest would be chosen by lot for each occasion; you could only be chosen once. There were so many priests that some never got chosen. Some died, never having poured the incense on the altar fire.

On this day, which began with ordinary priestly duties, Zechariah was chosen to pour the incense on the altar. Finally, after all these years, God had chosen him. This was the most important moment in his life. The other priests helped him prepare the spice and bring it into the holy place. Then, once the others had retreated leaving him alone and the temple president had given the single, Zechariah poured the incense.

Outside, the praying people waited. When they saw the white smoke from the incense rising up to God, they bowed down, spread out their hands in silent prayer and for three holy minutes there was silence in the centre of this bustling city. And the people waited. They waited for the chosen priest to come out and bless them for the night. They waited. They got restless…he wasn't coming, something was a miss.

If only they had known. For Zechariah, the ordinary was no longer. God had come. This old priest tarried long because inside the temple an angel stood between the altar and the candlesticks.

This is how the story of Christ's birth begins. In the days when Herod, the godless, was king, Israel's God shows up. He briefly interrupted the very ordinary events of Jewish life. While the people were doing what they did every day, twice a day, God's angel appears. God still had need of old Zechariah. It is time for salvation, and God needs Zechariah.

While our visits from God may not be as dramatic as Zechariah's, they are just as personal. The act of our piety may have become empty rituals. We may be filled with cynicism and despair not at all convinced that God cares. Luke boldly asserts no matter how dry and barren our world (or our soul) may feel today, salvation is in the works.

Yesterday, Pastor Anthony spoke of death coming into our lives in many forms. Today's text offers us the hope of the gospel. There was nothing unusual about that day when God showed up. Zechariah, the other priests, and the whole crowd gathered outside were doing very ordinary things when the angel appeared. This text invites us to open our eyes, to look up, to expect God to come with the words of life.

Today (or tomorrow) as you go about the ordinary events of the day, accompany them with prayer. Let them rise like the white smoke from the altar of incense. And live with expectation. God is still in the business of showing up. He is still working out his salvation. Watch for it.

In the time of Herod king of Judea there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly division of Abijah; his wife Elizabeth was also a descendant of Aaron. Both of them were righteous in the sight of God, observing all the Lord's commands and decrees blamelessly. But they were childless because Elizabeth was not able to conceive, and they were both very old. (Luke 1:5-7)

One of the most significant threads of Old Testament Israel gets picked up here by Luke in the opening verses of his Gospel. It is an early and important indication of why Jesus came. And, perhaps surprisingly: it isn't about sin. It's about death.

When we think of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, we think: salvation from sin. But the Gospel is bigger and richer than that. Throughout the Old Testament, and especially through the early books, the major threat is not sin, but death.

The Creational blessing and command given by God to humanity in Genesis 1 is "Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it." This Creational, life-generating fruitfulness humanity has been entrusted with is immediately placed under threat, however.

Adam and Eve are not to eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil because if they do, they will die, and indeed death becomes their punishment. Through them, death becomes a threat to the command and design of Creation: not only for human life, but for plant and animal life as well. The ground is cursed. Animals die to make skins for the man and woman.

Death remains a threat throughout the Old Testament account. God promises Abraham that he will make him fruitful and multiply his descendants until they become a great nation. It's a promise of Creation's intent, fulfilled. But this time God himself takes the reigns as he offers his promise to Abraham. But Sarah is barren, and both of them are very old. Death looms over the narrative as an ever-present threat.

The same goes for Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and Rachel, Joseph, the Israelites under the threat of Pharoah, and Israel again under the threat of the wilderness. Constantly again and again death hangs over the stories of the Old Testament, reminding us again and again that if it were not for the grace of God intervening in promise, redemption, and life: death would surely be our end.

There's another thread here too, though. In some of the wisdom books of the Old Testament, like Proverbs, there is a cut and dried ethic: if you're righteous, you'll be blessed. If you're wicked, you'll be cursed. But it's not always so cut and dried (as other wisdom books, like Job and Ecclesiastes, recognize). What about the Zechariahs and Elizabeths of the world? They were both upright and righteous people: so why had they not been blessed? Why were they not fruitful?

Our story is set right smack in the middle of these Old Testament troubles: death looms over righteous people who did everything right. They long for the life and blessing from the Lord they were Created to have and to bring. It's not a question of sin: they are blameless. It's about death. Death has come for them anyway: stealing away their fertility and their youth.

I can think of so many of our own stories that death looms over in just this way, undeserved. Miscarriages, infertility, separations, illness, accidents, addictions, and death itself as loved ones are taken from us. Before we can rejoice, first Luke invites us to sit in the ash heap with the Old Testament people of God and cry out with them: How long, O Lord? How long?

Many have undertaken to draw up an account of the things that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed down to us by those who from the first were eyewitnesses and servants of the word. With this in mind, since I myself have carefully investigated everything from the beginning, I too decided to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may know the certainty of the things you have been taught (Luke 1:1-4).

It is Advent: the season when we Christians look back at Jesus first coming to increase our longing for Christ's return. Here at Wilderness Wonderings, we have chosen to spend this season in Luke's account of Jesus birth. If you want to read ahead, we will finish just prior to his circumcision.

So today, we get to enjoy Luke's introduction. At first glance, you may not have found these words worthy of a devotional. Let me attempt to change your mind.

Even though we have only circumstantial evidence (and not much at that), let us assume that Luke wrote this gospel. Like him, I have done my research. This introduction mimics those written by people who had a track record of offering reliable information. Luke had taken the time to read manuscripts already written about Jesus and to listen to and interview those who had spent significant time with him.

It was time for such an account because many of the eyewitnesses were dying. The events of Jesus ministry were receding into history. Also, Jerusalem had been destroyed by the Romans. With its destruction, the Jewish nation was no more. Further, despite Judaism's demise, persecution against Christians, and Jesus not returning as expected, the church was flourishing, having begun as a Jewish thing, she was comprised increasingly of Gentiles.

All of this needed an explanation, a story. There were questions that needed answering. And Luke meant to provide them. He writes to Theophilus. Again, we do not know who this is. The name means: friend of God. Common consensus is that he was not a Jew; he was of Gentile birth, but he was a God-fearer (think of Simon who carried Jesus' cross and the Ethiopian whom Philip baptized).

So, we have a convert to Judaism who became a follower of Jesus. Then he saw Israel destroyed. Jesus had said he was coming back, but he wasn't back. Theophilus has a right to be a bit confused and concerned that he has been hoodwinked. But if it is all true, then how is he to live in this mess? To reassure folks asking such questions, Luke writes.

Just as a horror film will have eerie music in the background to identify the nature of the scene, so this preface tells us what kind of story we are reading—an authentic portrait of Jesus. Luke constructs a grand doorway into his gospel. He invites us to come in and make ourselves at home. Here we will find security, a solid basis for lasting faith. This is our Jesus, this is our story, and it is not over yet.

And in answer to the question, how shall we live in this story, how does being part of this story shape our lives, Luke answers, "with joy." The angels that appear in the story tell us that Jesus came to bring joy, and Mary sings, 'my spirit rejoices'.

So, we invite you to make yourself at home in Luke 1:1-2:20, so that our hearts may be rekindled with the joy of the Lord.

An Advent Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings! The text is Exodus 1 and 3:7-8a 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 evidence is there of God's presence and blessing in this opening chapter of Exodus?

2. What is the difference between God's way of life and Pharaoh's way of death?

3. What forms of oppression do you see today? What ways of death do you experience?

4. What do you glean from the example of the named Hebrew midwives about following in God's ways of life?

5. In what way might you live in the "fear of the Lord" in your life this week? In what ways might you turn your longings into prayer? In what ways might you trust God despite what your eyes can see?

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord, high and exalted, seated on a throne; and the train of his robe filled the temple. … Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" And I said, "Here am I. Send me!" He said, "Go…" (Isaiah 6:1, 8, 9a)

This is another text that has been rattling around in my head over the past few months. I think because I get the strong sense that the Sovereign Lord is on the move in our world today, despite the fact that it feels like all else may be crumbling.

That was precisely the context of Isaiah's call to ministry. King Uzziah (also called Azariah in 2 Kings 14:21), had reigned in Jerusalem for 52 years at the time of his death. He was the only King that many people had ever known, much like Queen Elizabeth is for many of us in the commonwealth today. And as her death will be the symbolic, yet definitive end of an era, so King Uzziah's death would have been in Judah.

During Uzziah's reign over Judah, the Kingdom of Assyria began to rise in power in the East even as political unrest plagued the Northern Kingdom of Israel. The cold winds of change had begun to blow through the kingdoms of the world, even though Uzziah's presence kept a sense of stability in the land. Not long after Uzziah's death, Assyria would strike: conquering and exiling the Kingdom of Israel.

So it was at this shift of the epoch when all the old institutions began to crumble and give way that Isaiah sees his vision. But the vision he sees is not necessarily what the astute philosopher or political scientist of the day would have seen.

In the year that King Uzziah died, Isaiah does not see civilization crumbling around him: he sees the Lord. High and exalted, still seated on his throne: the temple scarcely large enough to hold his royal presence and garments.

Lowly Isaiah steps into the presence of the true King of all the Earth, gripped with fear and suddenly aware of his impurity and sheer ineptitude. But with fire from the alter he was cleansed and made ready to stand in the King's presence.

Then boomed forth the voice of the Lord: "Whom shall I send?" "Here am I. Send me!" replied Isaiah. "Go…" came the response.

In these days of much weariness and swirling anxieties when it feels like the world we once knew might be giving way: these words come to each one of us to remind us: the Lord Almighty is still on the throne--and we are firstly citizens of His Kingdom, not of Canada or any other country. Though the mountains fall into the heart of the sea: our God remains our refuge and strength.

And our Triune God still calls out to his people, saying: "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" Will you respond today? Will you go on this royal mission as an ambassador of Christ? Will you go out as sheep among wolves—shrewd as snakes and gentle as doves to minister to your nation, neighbours, co-workers, and friends in His name?

Advent begins this Sunday. As we journey through this season longing for the return of our King: I pray you too will catch an Isaiah vision of Jesus on His throne and that you too will hear the Spirit-breathed call to go in His name.

Remember the days of old; consider the generations long past (Deuteronomy 32:7).

This will be my last devotion on Deuteronomy. There are a few chapters left, but next Monday, here on Wilderness Wanderings, we will begin an Advent series called, "Rejoice! the Lord has Come!" So, let's finish with Moses' farewell song to Israel, focussing on verse 7.

Highschool history class may not be every one's cup of tea. Yet, history has much to teach us about life in the present. It is important for God's people to know their history.

Four times in Deuteronomy Moses tells Israel to remember that once they were slaves (5:15; 16:12; 24:18; 24:22). Like many of us, they had selective memories and Moses knew it would be easy to forget where they came from. Israel was probably tempted to forget their shameful past. It was easier to turn their heads and ignore who they were. But remembering would teach Israel who they were.

Equally important, God's people needed to know their history to know their God. Deuteronomy 5:15 says, "And you shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out of there by a mighty hand and by an outstretched arm."

Of course, telling this story makes for a great history lesson; Moses, the shepherd confronts Pharoah of Egypt; there are plagues; a nighttime escape, Israel caught between the roaring army and the roaring water. Hardly boring stuff. And of course, some one is going to ask, "how did they manage?" And then the storyteller gets to talk about Israel's God, strong and mighty.

So, what are some of the lessons Israel was meant to learn?

First, they had no power of their own to free themselves from Egypt. They were caught in Egypt like a rat in a trap. Egypt was attempting to destroy Israel. And Israel was helpless to do anything about is.

Second, she was rescued. God had rescued her. God was great, strong, and mighty. Without God, Israel would be nothing, still enslaved in Egypt or already destroyed. God had heard her call for help and rescued her.

Like Moses, Jesus calls us to know our history. That is why he commanded us to celebrate the Lord's Supper. By establishing this meal on the night of the Passover, Jesus caused Israel's deliverance from Egypt to colour our understanding of our own deliverance from sin and evil. The parallels are quite clear in Colossians 2, "When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins…And having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross" (cf. 13-15).

Why do we need to remember this? First, like Israel, we need to know our God and knowing him to continue worshipping him and him alone. The whole point of Deuteronomy is the fear that Israel will find other gods to worship. As we approach Advent, this is something to consider: which God of Advent will we worship? I think there are several choices.

Second, like Israel, we need to remember who we are. We are people who were helpless to redeem ourselves, but God has redeemed us. Like Israel, we are must never treat people like Egypt treated Israel. We must treat others like God treats us!

"I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves." (Matthew 10:16)

I'm not quite sure why, but this phrase from Jesus has been rattling around in my head often these past few weeks. He spoke it to his disciples who he was sending out on mission.

As we ponder how to enter into our everyday world as those who don't just work, study, volunteer, or live in it, but who actually minister in the name of Jesus to it—these words of Jesus remain potent.

Firstly, we are sent. We don't go following Jesus in our daily lives because we necessarily want to go about our daily chores in his name. We go because Jesus Himself has sent us. "I am sending you," he says. And so we go with the label of "Christian" stamped across our foreheads whether we want it there or not. People just discover in due course that we're Christians. Somehow they always find out. And then we remember: despite our attempts to conceal it, we cannot get away from this identity. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. It is who we are. And in fact, it is exactly what Jesus has sent us to be and do in our daily lives: that is, to live our lives as open witnesses to him. "I am sending you," he says.

How is he sending us? As sheep. We don't go out into the world in wolf-like worldly ways: with violence, force, coercion or control. We don't arm-twist anyone into the Kingdom. Nor do we try to force or cajole the society around us into giving us our way on things. No. Our Lord is the lamb, and we follow him in this by humbling ourselves in a way befitting of sheep. We go about our Jesus business in Jesus' way: quietly, gently, trustingly, and also perhaps somewhat stubbornly.

Because we are also called here to be shrewd as snakes. Not to be poisonous like snakes and not to go out strangling or biting like snakes: but to be wise, cunning, and intelligent like snakes. Shrewd.

But we are called to that snake-shrewdness in a way that remains innocent and pure, like a white dove. Smart, without overstepping boundaries. Wise, without puffing ourselves up. Sharp-eyed in a way that remains at the same time good-hearted, loving, and encouraging. We are called to use the tools of the Kingdom with sharp-witted clarity and prudence, but to never use anything beyond those tools whether in real life or online. Violence, abuse, control, slander, put-downs, coarse talk, gossip, fraud, lies—even the white kind—are all out of bounds. Our snake-shrewd wisdom begins in the fear of the sinless Lord. The only means available to us to achieve shrewd kingdom ends are innocent kingdom means. So that we might be like doves.

This mission Jesus sends us on invites us deeper and deeper into the heart of things. On the one hand to know with shrewd clarity how deep the misery of our world is, what liability we hold for it, and what privilege and power we wield to address it. On the other hand, to let Jesus purify our heart and motivations even as we surrender our every action to him so that we might be found innocent in all things, as he was.

Now maybe those are lofty words, but I think they impact every one of our lives. The emails I write, the conversations I have, the way I act in the grocery store, what I post online, and the way I carry out my work all falls under the scope of Jesus' command and commission. Every one of you is a priest presiding over the parish of your everyday world. Go to that work like Jesus' kind of sheep: shrewd as snakes, innocent as doves.