Wilderness Wanderings

By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as a wise builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should build with care. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. If anyone builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, their work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each person's work. If what has been built survives, the builder will receive a reward. If it is burned up, the builder will suffer loss but yet will be saved—even though only as one escaping through the flames. (1 Corinthians 3:10-15)

Today, we're talking about deconstruction. The term has been around in a popular form for a while, but over the last five years, and especially since COVID, it's really taken off.

Most people or most of us, when we use the term aren't using it like the academics. That is, to refer to the post-modern philosophical work of Jacques Derrida that sought to get behind the context and structure of texts, language, and the assumptions of the Western world.

I think more people are latching onto the term in a popular sense, to describe a journey of questioning their assumptions and beliefs in questions like this: How does one know what's true? How do we know if there is a God? What about race, power, privilege, gender, and sexuality? How can we trust institutions, including the church, that repeatedly let us down because of things like broken promises, their defence of injustice and inequality, and these ever-present scandals of abuse?

There are a lot of doubts that arise these days stemming from just these sorts of questions. And, perhaps that's why I've been hearing this term "deconstruction" around a lot more in the last few months from pretty much anyone and everyone under the age of 40.

It can feel like this is a new phenomena in the church and the Christian faith. It can feel like people are tearing down the foundations of everything that holds up their faith, world, and notions of the truth. And that's a scary, isolating feeling.

But, I don't think this notion of deconstructing one's faith is necessarily a new idea. Christians have been doing it since the beginning. In the past it's been called by names like "doubt," or perhaps even better, "the dark night of the soul." A time when everything in our faith seems to get stripped, or burned away, as Paul says it in 1 Corinthians. It can feel like even we ourselves might get swept away in the inferno as the walls of our beliefs and institutions collapse.

But there's a promise hidden in this passage, and it's been echoed by long centuries of Christian experience in those dark nights of the soul. And it's this: that even if everything in our faith and world was constructed with shoddy forms, heretical beliefs, and abusive leaders and influencers. Even so, at the end of the deconstruction or burning away of everything we once knew and held dear: we will find that if our faith was built on the foundation of Jesus Christ, it will remain and we with it, even if it is just as one escaping through the flames.

This, I think, is what it means to cling to the cross of Christ through the dark night of one's soul. When everything else dies away, burns up, or is taken from us we discover ourselves right there with Christ on the cross crying out: "why have you forsaken me?" But on that cross facing the death of everything we know: we are not alone. Jesus is right there, saving us.

And upon that solid foundation, the only solid foundation, we can seek to rebuild again. Deconstruction is not the end of the journey. The Christian faith is generative: it always ends in new Creation. New Construction. Life.

One last note: if you know someone that's struggling through a journey of deconstructing their faith, pass this on to them. I've breezed through a really hard journey in a couple minutes in this podcast, which is obviously not how it goes in real life. It can be an agonizing season that spans years of one's life. But I also believe that this is what pastors and the Christian community are for: to journey with one another through just these dark valleys in embodied community so that the questions of our darkness find their way into the healing light of the day. Don't leave someone to the social media algorithms' solutions: walk with them. And if this podcast has described your own journey at all: I'd be happy to talk and ask the hard questions with you too. Reach out. Let me know.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God" (Phil. 4:6).

Some spiritual work needs to be done to get over the first phrase this text, "Don't be anxious about anything." It may take a lot of spiritual work.

It is helpful to note that Paul is locked in prison and the Philippians are facing stiff persecution. Neither author nor recipients are in pleasant circumstances. Yet Paul gives the instruction not to worry.

One person defined worry as "the futile, frustrating, debilitating attempt to bear the burdens of life and especially of the future, ourselves, alone." That gets to the heart of it, doesn't it?

The key behind Paul's command is the faith that God is in control. It is the reminder we need. Many of us are duped into believing that when things go bad, God has abandoned us. Paul doesn't believe that at all. He has no illusions that faith in Jesus will result in an easy life.

There is a larger perspective at work here. The universe is not here to make us happy. Rather, God is bringing all things towards an end in which His purposes are accomplished and in which He will be glorified.

This does not mean that when we have difficult things, we should ignore them or imagine that God doesn't care. Rather, Paul says, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. God does care. He holds us in His arms. He is not indifferent to our pain.

The point is that we don't walk into the future alone. We enter tomorrow in the shadow of God Himself, following the "Good Shepherd." This truth diminishes our worry and replaces it with thanksgiving.

This is not easy. And the point is not that we should get rid of our worry before we pray. Rather, we need to pray our worry. In prayer, we draw close to God, our redeemer and friend, our sovereign Lord. Prayer lists are a good thing, but they are not the main thing about prayer.

In God's presence our anxiety is replaced with an inner peace, and we are drawn out of the confines of our small worlds and into the workings of God's Kingdom. In prayer, we stop lamenting about the crumbling of our little kingdom and become eager to see God's great kingdom of shalom.

We cannot contrive the discipline of thanksgiving. Spending time with God gives him opportunity to adjust our lives. Our anxiety is replaced with thanksgiving for His goodness.

An extended Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings! Today we welcome guest, Renita Reed-Thomson. The text is Genesis 1:26-31, 2:15 from the New International Version of the Bible.

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

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast. (Ephesians 2:8-9)

So: what does it mean to be saved? I mean, we say it all the time, but what does it mean? If we're going to be thankful for our salvation in Christ, this seems like an important question.

So what does it mean to be saved? Well: our first inclination in answering this question usually involves a pretty heady answer. We'll offer some doctrine on the theory of the atonement, attempting to dot all the right "i's" and cross all the right "t's" to ensure that our answer comes down clearly as "truth." So we'll say Jesus died for our sins; paid the penalty for our sins for us, took the wrath of God upon himself—something like that.

But these answers are more about the mechanics of how God saved us. How God got us from being sinful people to saved people. And it must be noted that the church has spoke in terms of "theories" of the atonement, because while we know and believe that it happened—that Jesus died for us—we remain somewhat unsure of what all exactly did happen to make us right and well with God when Jesus died, was buried, rose, and ascended. So, we have theories: different pictures that the Bible offers to help us understand it, but not necessarily a clear winner that topples all the rest.

Ok, but that aside: even having laid down a good, faithful, and truthful answer about the doctrine of salvation—we still would not have really answered the question posed at the beginning, "what does it mean to be saved?"

Because a question like that is actually quite a bit more subjective. It's a question about where God's salvation in Christ meets us: real human people with real human problems and real particular struggles and sins.

After having been born and raised as a Christian all my life, it was finally in seminary that I discovered the answer to this question in my life—and not because of the education I was getting in theology.

I had spent much time through my younger years trying to "save myself" from the threat of divorce that had broken apart a number of marriages in my family. So I attempted to force dating relationships to work that really didn't work, and burned myself out in the process. I realized in reflection that what I had really been seeking, was salvation. Not from some abstract concept of Sin: but from a very particular historical manifestation of Sin in my family history that I feared would swallow me up too—divorce. And I had been seeking this salvation by my own works. I was single-handedly attempting to redeem my own sin-broken family history.

But here's the thing: I'm not the saviour. And that work is just too big for me. It burned me out. But then I remembered: I already have a Savior who saves and redeems from all our Sin and sin-broken realities, including broken-families like mine. All at once, the Word was made flesh and moved into my life. All of a sudden it clicked, and I knew what Salvation meant to me. A huge weight was lifted and joy and thanksgiving spilled right out of me.

So, if you're going to be thankful for your salvation in Christ, this is an important question: what does it mean in your life to be saved by Jesus?

"…you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ" (1 Peter 2:5).

We continue with the theme of Thanksgiving. The Heidelberg Catechism can be helpful in this reflection. The question which sets the stage for the whole catechism is, "How can we live in the comfort of the gospel?" There are three things: "first, how great my sin and misery are; second, how I am set free from all my sins and misery; third, how I am to thank God for such deliverance" (Q/A 2). The rest of the catechism fleshes these three out.

Thus, a key component of the Christian life is thanksgiving. Not thanksgiving for food, work, health, or family but for our salvation. Does that ring true of our lives?

Is it possible that many of us Christians take our salvation for granted? As a church, we get involved in many good things, but do we forget that redemption is at the heart of it all? Are we not here only because God has chosen to redeem us?

So, the question comes, "How are we to thank God for such deliverance"? In part of its answer, the Catechism picks up the image of a priest. In the Old Testament, the priests took the offerings the Israelites brought to God and burnt them on the alter. But Jesus, the final priest, offered himself. The cross was his alter. In imitation of Jesus, we no longer bring things to God, we bring ourselves. Of course, some of our stuff may tag along with us. But the emphasis is on us, not our stuff.

Later, we get an explanation of how this happens. When the question is asked, "Why must Christians do good?", the answer comes, "We do good because Christ by his Spirit is also renewing us to be like himself, so that in all our living we may show that we are thankful to God for all he has done for us..." (A86).

In my opinion, this is one of the best lines in the HC. Did you notice the sequence? We do good not by trying harder, nor by memorizing the ten commandments or even the Catechism. We do good because "Christ by His Spirit is renewing us to be like himself."

Wow! This is a wonderful summary of the Christian life: Christ by His Spirit is renewing me to be like Himself. Or as our text says, 'we, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ." Someone else, that is God, is doing the building. Isn't that great? That is what the Christian life is all about.

So how do we give thanks? How do we offer ourselves as living sacrifices? By getting in step with the Spirit. We do that by reading the Scriptures and praying, thereby submitting ourselves to Christ's work in us; we do it by intentionally gathering with God's people to worship Him; we do it by offering our stuff, including our money, to God for his use.

The Bible says, "Humble yourself before Him and he will lift you up." Humility is the way to open ourselves to the Spirit's work. Humility will lead us to thanksgiving. Thanksgiving cannot be fabricated for one weekend. It's either a core ingredient of our lives or it's not.

And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. (Colossians 3:17)

Why is the Christian life a life of Thanksgiving? Because it's not a life based on our circumstances, abilities, personal identity, or resources. It's a life lived because of, for, and in the name of Jesus.

We may live in plenty or in want, in sickness or in health, in joy or in sorrow, in good times or in bad. But what shapes our situations most significantly is not our health, wealth, or the things that happen to us. No, it's Jesus Christ. In life or in death, plenty or want, sickness, health, or wherever else we may be: we belong to him. And so our lives are lived because of, for, and in His name.

We may be at the top of our class or profession, an amazing athlete, an attractive or fashionable person aware of the effect we have on others. Or, perhaps we've never set records in any of those areas, finding ourselves insecure before the mirror, demeaned and outperformed by supervisors and others, cycling through jobs, or whatever. Even still: the most significant achievement in our lives isn't any of our own or the lack of them: Jesus and his accomplishments in life, death, resurrection and ascension still supersede anything on our report card, resume, or Instagram feed. More importantly, his accomplishments belong to all of us equally. No one gets higher or lower marks: we stand on level ground before God in Christ. Because our lives aren't lived for pursuing or maximizing our abilities for their own sake: our abilities and lives are lived because of, for, and in submission to the name of the Lord Jesus.

We may mark our identity by any number of things. The way we might finish the sentence "I am _________" gives a sense of how many different identity markers we may hold on to. I am successful. I am a failure. I am an artist. I'm no good at math. I'm a teacher. I'm a part of things. I'm an empty-nester. I'm a musician. I'm not smart. I'm a student. I'm a tradesperson. I'm often left out. I'm retired. I'm a daughter. A father. A grandmother. A widower. A grieving person. We mark our identity by our role in a family. Our stage of life. Our sexual orientation or gender identification. Our job. Our status. Our hobbies. Our insecurities. All sorts of things. But the most important and foundational answer to the question "who are you" is this: I am a Christian who lives because of, for, and in the name of Jesus Christ. This identity is a gift, and if allowed to, it begins to shape all the others too!

So, whatever you do, however you talk to yourself or others, whatever good or sour relationships you have, whatever your situation, and however positively, negatively, or instrumentally you identify yourself: remember—you belong firstly to Jesus Christ and so all of your life is lived to, for, because of and in the name of Jesus Christ. It is a gift to be received, not a standard to be lived up to. And when it is received as a gift, this identity in Christ begins—I think—to produce freedom, joy, and thanks in our hearts to God and in all the rest of our lives too. So, go forward joyfully in all things today, in the name of Jesus.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise; give thanks to him and praise his name. For the Lord is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations.

Some of you were not expecting me on Wilderness Wanderings since I'm on vacation. Unfortunately, for me (and maybe you) I neglected to recruit someone to fill in for me. So, last week, I put together several devotions around the theme of Thanksgiving.

Deuteronomy was getting to be rather heavy (as some you have mentioned to us; thanks for the feed back). This seemed like a good opportunity to provide something different.

The Bible is quite insistent that God's people live a life of thanksgiving. Our text is one of a collection of Psalms scholars have dubbed, "Psalms of Thanksgiving". Here is a little exercise for you: "identify three other psalms of thanksgiving".

The New Testament continues this tradition. Paul instructs us, "And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him" (Col. 3:17) and "Sing and make music in your hearts to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ" (Eph. 5:19-20) and again, "Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus" (1 Thess. 5:16-18).

In the gospels, Jesus heals 10 lepers, but only one comes back to thank him. Luke ends his account of the story with, "He threw himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan. Jesus asked, "'Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?'" (19:16-18).

These passages have sometimes been used to suggest that Christians must always be happy. Thankfully (pun intended) the Bible presents a more realistic portrayal of life in this world. None of the Biblical characters, not even Jesus Himself, are described in this manner. As a preacher, I have been tempted to make God's people feel guilty for not being thankful enough. But I don't think that is the thrust of this passages.

Rather, they seem to be stating the obvious: the expectation that Christians will be thankful. But this thanksgiving is rooted in something different than the Thanksgiving celebrations on the second Monday of October. This national holiday was designed to give people time to celebrate the harvest of food, which almost everyone had a deep stake in years ago. If the harvest was thin, food was scarce.

Even though we ought to give God thanks for our daily bread, there is a deeper thanksgiving theme in the Bible. Its what is summarized with these words, "I belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ" (Heidelberg Catechism, A#1). And because we belong to Jesus, we also belong to our heavenly Father. Moreover, we belong because "God is good, his love endures forever"

In all circumstances, both good and bad, we belong to God; we are in His hands. This is the profound reality in which all Christians live and breathe. This is our permanent thanksgiving. We also recognize that all material things are a gift from our Father and so whether they are many or few, we give thanks for each one.

Our Thanksgiving 2021 edition of Wilderness Wanderings! The text is Psalm 65 from the New International Version of the Bible.

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

An extended Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings! The text is Revelation 8-9 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 you've got time: feed your apocalyptic imagination by reading the following passages! ---Exodus 7:1-7 - Plagues and Pharaoh's hard heart. Read Exodus 4:21-12:42 for more. ---Exodus 19:9-25 - Lightning, Thunder, and Trumpets mark God's presence. ----Joshua 6:1-21 - 7 Priests with 7 Trumpets: deliverance into the Promised Land. ---Psalm 141:1-2 - Prayers as Incense. ---Joel 1-2 - Locust Army. ---Matthew 6:9-13 - Thy Kingdom Come. ---Matthew 27:45-54 - Jesus' Death (see also his resurrection in Matthew 28:1-10!) ---1 Thess. 4:13-18 - The Last Trumpet. Can you think of other passages or Biblical images that feed John's imagination (or yours!) as he writes Revelation 8-9 or as you hear it read?

2. Now over to you: what's weighing you down these days? Things you're worried about? Things that are hard? Things you see around you in your family, among friends, or out in society or the world?

3. What hardships did John and his congregations in modern-day Turkey face?

4. What sorts of things do we (and probably John's congregations too) do in worship? What does the book of Revelation teach you about what happens in those faithful, but seemingly mundane acts of worship (like prayer!)?

5. In worship, and so also through the hard stuff of our lives, we participate in the great stories of God's salvation and redemption in Jesus. God hears our prayers. So while we might still have to face hard stuff here and now: the end is sure. God is with us. Even to the end of the age. Amen. Come, Lord Jesus, come.

And they sang a new song, saying:

"You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased for God persons from every tribe and language and people and nation. You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God, and they will reign on the earth."

This is the familiar song of the faith: saved and forgiven through the blood of Jesus. But perhaps the other pictures of blood in the book of Revelation are less familiar to us, even though they match in lock step the concerns of Deuteronomy we heard about yesterday.

Some of us trip over the fact that Jesus had to die and shed his blood for us to be forgiven and free and for the kingdom of God to come. Why this gruesome image and action? Perhaps we've just lived in the privilege of peace for so long so as to forget the depths of human sin and evil that still plague so much of the world.

I was reminded in a conversation with a pastor of a non-white congregation once, that for those who have long suffered persecution, racism, and flagrant injustice even into lynchings and death: justice demands something more radical than an apology. In places where the church has been persecuted through generations, in places where entire populations have been subjected to dictators and other forms of tyrannical regimes, in places where the death of the innocent is commonplace: in these places, the cry for justice means more than a few cheery words.

If the Gospel is to truly be good news in the lives of these who have been brutalized, abused, persecuted, and killed: then some harsh and bloody realities of human sin and mortality need facing down. It is in this context that the cries of Revelation, Chapter 6 make sense. John says:

"I saw under the alter the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. They called out in a loud voice, 'How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?'"

As noted yesterday: the blood of the innocent still speaks, even when we privileged people seek to avoid hearing it. God does hear it though: that's the comforting word that the book of Revelation still brings to those oppressed today.

But it's not the only good word found in Revelation: the Lamb who was slain also speaks. The blood of the innocent Christ conquered sin, evil, and death, putting it to death in his death. This good word spoken by the blood of Christ finally means justice and freedom for the oppressed. But it also means justice and freedom for the oppressors: the kings of the earth are judged and their deeds cut down by the sharp word of Christ—but these same kings come, forgiven, bringing their splendor into the New Jerusalem as an offering to the one who sits on the throne.

The blood of Christ and the Lamb Slain are not pretty pictures, but they are evidence that God has taken the situation of all humanity seriously, and deals with it fully and finally, bringing both justice and peace. So the song: "with your blood you purchased for God persons from every…" station and diversity of humanity. Oppressed and oppressors alike. Amen. Worthy is Christ.