IIIa. The message of Eutychus

 At our first talk Eutychus had been somewhat subdued, knowing that I was going to bring up Paul’s sermon. You know, the one he slept through.

It was a different Eutychus that met me for this interview. He carried a brighter demeanor. With only slight encouragement he filled me in on his life after his fall. Basically he described the details of that night--the Apostle Paul  speaking the Word of God, his dozing off under the influence of a few beers, and then waking from death to the celebration of the Lord’s Supper. With the spectacle of his dying and the chiding that awaited him at home, he did some Spirit-guided reflection.
 
Putting the pieces together he saw this pattern: the terminal position of a lifestyle designed for pleasure – his death; the vibrant truth of the Word of  God—Paul’s preaching; and the life that God offers—the sacrament of God’s reconciling love in Christ. With evangelical zeal he gave the message for living in these times…
 
To make sure I followed him, he reminded me of Deuteronomy 8. There God disclosed what he was doing with the Hebrew people in the wilderness.  He brought hardships to them; he had caused them to hunger, all with a purpose.  That purpose was to teach them not to live by bread alone but by everything that the Lord says. 
 
That is the message.  There are two ways to proceed, each with its view on these times. Are our ears tuned to what God says, or are our hands searching for more bread? Does God have a role in our world, or are we on our own? The differences are momentous. One way accepts God as the cornerstone, the other proceeds with the absence of God. 
 
The differences show up in the way they comprehend four current issues. These are: social justice, the pursuit of happiness, the goal of progress, and the protection of freedom. These values belong to conservatives and liberals alike, but unless their foundations have God as their cornerstone, they wither in a wasteland. 
 
The most central points of God as cornerstone are these: 
God as our creator;
the reality of our sinful nature;
the responsibility to God and society;
the kingdom at the end of time; 
and the purpose of life found as children of God.
 
With these in mind we look at the four current issues. 
The Prayer Book properly frames freedom, “in whose service is perfect freedom.” This means we accept the restraints of self-serving pursuits for the greater good of serving the needs of others. 
We pursue social justice as fairness for all and the removal of all that perverts justice. 
The culmination of progress is the Kingdom of God. We do not shirk efforts to improve life, but we realize the limits of sin and wait for the fairness, recompense, and justice that God will bring at the end of time.
The pursuit of happiness comes with putting the needs of others before ourselves and knowing the undeserved kindness of God for us sinners.
 
For worldview with bread at its center, human autonomy holds the prominent position:
we are in charge of our destiny; 
we define our moral boundaries; 
we construct our purpose and happiness;
we build society as it ought to be; 
we want freedom that removes all restraints to the way we want life. 
 
As appealing as all that may sound, the end results paralyze what is noble and dehumanize our dignity. For analysis I turn to our Russian consultants, borrowing freely from Solzhenitsyn and his speech at Harvard in 1978 and Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov. And Benjamin Franklin, who wrote in 1779, “Tyranny is so generally established in the rest of the world that the prospect of an asylum in America for those who love liberty gives general joy, and makes our cause esteemed as the hope of mankind.” The liberty that was then enshrined in young America does not come when our highest aspirations are reduced to more bread.
 
Freedom.  This pursuit has a resemblance to freedom, but it quickly becomes its very loss. Dostoevsky asks if bread can purchase freedom. Ivan, one of the brothers, tells his dream of the Grand Inquisitor meeting the Lord Jesus Christ. In the bleak but truthful observation the Grand Inquisitor tells the Lord, “They themselves have brought us their freedom and laid it at our feet.”  People hungered for bread. If commercialism is what satisfies, then freedom is nullified.
Happiness. What appears to be the consummation of happiness becomes the enslavement to what Solzhenitsyn calls “the morally inferior definition of happiness.” More bread offers a more appealing path than the moral bondage of Christian sacrifice and mercy. With sin redefined and pleasure promised, who couldn't find happiness? 
Social justice. In the vacuum of a transcendent moral order the power of this concept exposes practices of partiality and cruelty. The same Ivan who told the dream of the Grand Inquisitor also astutely observed that "Without God, everything is permissible." Is that not the quintessential temptation—to avoid the consequences of restraints and to construct life as we want it? 
Progress. Those who paint the future define who we are and where we are headed. It is imperfect man, never free of pride and vanity, who places himself as arbiter of the paths of power. Those roads inevitably lead to despiritualized humanism.
 
Eutychus has the notoriety of dozing off during Paul's preaching. He landed well, though, and has a mature and profound message for these times. Through his insights we have taken this cursory look behind divergent worldviews. 

Next week’s interview will bring in Damaris (Acts 17:32-34). She stood on Mars Hill and looked over at the statue of Athena in the Acropolis. Then she heard Paul talking about the suffering Savior. She will expand on her choice and share wisdom about the test of the plague and the hope of the promise.

Tad

III. Damaris and the Day of Judgment

 We foWe follow Damaris in this message. This lady was singled out in Acts 17 as one of Paul’s converts fromWe follow Damaris in this message. This lady was singled out in Acts 17 as one of Paul’s converts from his discussions with the Greek philosophers on Mars Hill, just beside the Acropolis. She will help us with the question if we can see God in the pandemic. I will offer a partial answer to that, and, no, I have no clue as to where the other parts of the answer may be.

 
Let me put out a series of diagnostic questions that will help. Is it fair of God to do this? Is this awful disease provoked by what he sees? Does he care about our lives enough to intervene? And importantly, is there hope for us if we respond rightly? 
 
I will float these in three scenarios: the election this week, Damaris and Athena, and Jesus as our judge.
 
The election was a day of judgment, was it not? We chose between two candidates and what each offered. Their platforms spelled out further promises. But let’s be honest.  Even if everything on those platforms is beautifully carried out, we will still have rot among us—rot easily identified because of its recurring presence.
 
Here are three places where we have rot piled up:  
First, the reservations of American Indians. We knew things are often deplorable there, but we learned more during the pandemic. Many American Indians barely have enough water for cooking and crops. For them that eliminates handwashing as preventative action against the virus. 
The White suburban community in Richmond, Virginia where I live is not a hot spot by any measure. Not many miles away south of Richmond on Jefferson Davis Highway (Yes, that is the name of that highway, at least for now.) the population is largely Latino and lives in trailer parks and low income housing. These people work in the service world— maids, janitors, nursing aids. If they don’t show up, they don’t have money for rent or food. They often lack protective clothing and are in close quarters with others. Jeff Davis Highway is the hottest spot in Richmond.
While this is going on, in our colleges with high profile sports the money spent on the players is eye-popping. Even before a home game many teams stay in nearby hotels. For high profile teams, the bills average $45,000 for the one night. One university with grandiose aspirations for a successful football team thought it necessary to build a new facility for the players. The cost? Over $54,000,000.
 
Something is wrong with these three pictures. The first two lack any whiff of justice. The last should embarrass the sport and academic world. Does God see this rot? Can he smell the stench?
 
Let’s move to Mars Hill. The stately statue of Athena was in full view for Damaris as she listened to Paul’s teaching (Acts 17:22-34). Raised in Athens and knowing the role of the gods in her life, she resigned herself to living under the influence of gods who squabble, whose influence was whimsical, and who had better things to do than to respond to the cries for justice. What about the God Paul spoke of? Does he not hear the cries? Is not the God who made heaven and earth saddened by his world and his people?
 
The answer is in the affirmative. This Jesus God appointed as judge of the world.  He is the one Damaris learned from Paul.  He was one of us, and he lived in the mess and the rot of the world. He suffered and died, and then was raised from the dead. To be sure, Jesus would  be incensed by the circumstances of the American Indians and the Latinos. He would recognize the foorball facilities for what they are-- obscene “pleasure domes” for the guys who are the cash cows for their institutions. 
 
Behind each of these lie more of the same--a long line of malefactors and promotors, an endless list of oppression and abuse. The question we are asking is if God cares, if he is involved. If he does not, we might as well opt for Athena and her cohorts. No, Jesus condemns with severe judgment, with horror and sorrow.
 
 Though we can see plague, we also see mercy. Always God remembers his covenant with his people. That is why Habakkuk prays, “In your wrath, remember mercy” (3:2). 
 
Time to bring forward my consultant, the Rev. Helmut Thielicke. He pastored a congregation in Stuttgart, Germany, during the war years. His bold repudiation of Hitler and Nazism resulted in prohibition from leaving the city. During those days he preached a series of sermons entitled,  Our Heavenly Father. More than once the congregation had to move from place to place as the churches where he led services were destroyed by Allied bombing. 
 
In these sermons he addressed the very question I raise in this message. What was God’s role? Where was he during the bombing? Where could the people find comfort in the deaths that came daily? 
 
His answer lay in the source of the rot, rot generated by humankind. Not by God. The idolatry and sinfulness of Nazism pushed upon the German people brought the horrors, not the whimsical ire of God. 
 
Thielicke knew this, but he also knew that the judgment of God held the mercy of God. The Judge, after all, was a man who also suffered. His suffering sanctifies our suffering, finding it the very path to what Paul calls character, faith, patience, and hope (Romans 5:3-5).
 
Hear what Thielicke told his congregation:

     We could describe every conceivable terror from the nights when          the screaming bombs fall to loneliness of war widows, from homelessness of thousands to the hopeless frustration of the soldier torn away from job or education. They are all evil which are not in the Father’s plan of creation, but they are transformed when the pass through the Father’s hands and the mask of fate suddenly becomes  the Father’s face.
 

A partial answer, I realize. One that sees in God the one who made us; who suffered as one of us; who judges our idolatry and oppression; who wants us to go back to him; and who then extends mercy that restores us.  his discussions with the Greek philosophers on Mars Hill, just beside the Acropolis. She will help us with the question if we can see God in the pandemic. I will offer a partial answer to that, and, no, I have no clue as to where the other parts of the answer may be.

 
Let me put out a series of diagnostic questions that will help. Is it fair of God to do this? Is this awful disease provoked by what he sees? Does he care about our lives enough to intervene? And importantly, is there hope for us if we respond rightly? 
 
I will float these in three scenarios: the election this week, Damaris and Athena, and Jesus as our judge.
 
The election was a day of judgment, was it not? We chose between two candidates and what each offered. Their platforms spelled out further promises. But let’s be honest.  Even if everything on those platforms is beautifully carried out, we will still have rot among us—rot easily identified because of its recurring presence.
 
Here are three places where we have rot piled up:  
First, the reservations of American Indians. We knew things are often deplorable there, but we learned more during the pandemic. Many American Indians barely have enough water for cooking and crops. For them that eliminates handwashing as preventative action against the virus. 
The White suburban community in Richmond, Virginia where I live is not a hot spot by any measure. Not many miles away south of Richmond on Jefferson Davis Highway (Yes, that is the name of that highway, at least for now.) the population is largely Latino and lives in trailer parks and low income housing. These people work in the service world— maids, janitors, nursing aids. If they don’t show up, they don’t have money for rent or food. They often lack protective clothing and are in close quarters with others. Jeff Davis Highway is the hottest spot in Richmond.
While this is going on, in our colleges with high profile sports the money spent on the players is eye-popping. Even before a home game many teams stay in nearby hotels. For high profile teams, the bills average $45,000 for the one night. One university with grandiose aspirations for a successful football team thought it necessary to build a new facility for the players. The cost? Over $54,000,000.
 
Something is wrong with these three pictures. The first two lack any whiff of justice. The last should embarrass the sport and academic world. Does God see this rot? Can he smell the stench?
 
Let’s move to Mars Hill. The stately statue of Athena was in full view for Damaris as she listened to Paul’s teaching (Acts 17:22-34). Raised in Athens and knowing the role of the gods in her life, she resigned herself to living under the influence of gods who squabble, whose influence was whimsical, and who had better things to do than to respond to the cries for justice. What about the God Paul spoke of? Does he not hear the cries? Is not the God who made heaven and earth saddened by his world and his people?
 
The answer is in the affirmative. This Jesus God appointed as judge of the world.  He is the one Damaris learned from Paul.  He was one of us, and he lived in the mess and the rot of the world. He suffered and died, and then was raised from the dead. To be sure, Jesus would  be incensed by the circumstances of the American Indians and the Latinos. He would recognize the foorball facilities for what they are-- obscene “pleasure domes” for the guys who are the cash cows for their institutions. 
 
Behind each of these lie more of the same--a long line of malefactors and promotors, an endless list of oppression and abuse. The question we are asking is if God cares, if he is involved. If he does not, we might as well opt for Athena and her cohorts. No, Jesus condemns with severe judgment, with horror and sorrow.
 
 Though we can see plague, we also see mercy. Always God remembers his covenant with his people. That is why Habakkuk prays, “In your wrath, remember mercy” (3:2). 
 
Time to bring forward my consultant, the Rev. Helmut Thielicke. He pastored a congregation in Stuttgart, Germany, during the war years. His bold repudiation of Hitler and Nazism resulted in prohibition from leaving the city. During those days he preached a series of sermons entitled,  Our Heavenly Father. More than once the congregation had to move from place to place as the churches where he led services were destroyed by Allied bombing. 
 
In these sermons he addressed the very question I raise in this message. What was God’s role? Where was he during the bombing? Where could the people find comfort in the deaths that came daily? 
 
His answer lay in the source of the rot, rot generated by humankind. Not by God. The idolatry and sinfulness of Nazism pushed upon the German people brought the horrors, not the whimsical ire of God. 
 
Thielicke knew this, but he also knew that the judgment of God held the mercy of God. The Judge, after all, was a man who also suffered. His suffering sanctifies our suffering, finding it the very path to what Paul calls character, faith, patience, and hope (Romans 5:3-5).
 
Hear what Thielicke told his congregation:

     We could describe every conceivable terror from the nights when          the screaming bombs fall to loneliness of war widows, from homelessness of thousands to the hopeless frustration of the soldier torn away from job or education. They are all evil which are not in the Father’s plan of creation, but they are transformed when the pass through the Father’s hands and the mask of fate suddenly becomes  the Father’s face.
 

A partial answer, I realize. One that sees in God the one who made us; who suffered as one of us; who judges our idolatry and oppression; who wants us to go back to him; and who then extends mercy that restores us. llow Damaris in this message. This lady was singled out in Acts 17 as one of Paul’s converts from his discussions with the Greek philosophers on Mars Hill, just beside the Acropolis. She will help us with the question if we can see God in the pandemic. I will offer a partial answer to that, and, no, I have no clue as to where the other parts of the answer may be.

 
Let me put out a series of diagnostic questions that will help. Is it fair of God to do this? Is this awful disease provoked by what he sees? Does he care about our lives enough to intervene? And importantly, is there hope for us if we respond rightly? 
 
I will float these in three scenarios: the election this week, Damaris and Athena, and Jesus as our judge.
 
The election was a day of judgment, was it not? We chose between two candidates and what each offered. Their platforms spelled out further promises. But let’s be honest.  Even if everything on those platforms is beautifully carried out, we will still have rot among us—rot easily identified because of its recurring presence.
 
Here are three places where we have rot piled up:  
First, the reservations of American Indians. We knew things are often deplorable there, but we learned more during the pandemic. Many American Indians barely have enough water for cooking and crops. For them that eliminates handwashing as preventative action against the virus. 
The White suburban community in Richmond, Virginia where I live is not a hot spot by any measure. Not many miles away south of Richmond on Jefferson Davis Highway (Yes, that is the name of that highway, at least for now.) the population is largely Latino and lives in trailer parks and low income housing. These people work in the service world— maids, janitors, nursing aids. If they don’t show up, they don’t have money for rent or food. They often lack protective clothing and are in close quarters with others. Jeff Davis Highway is the hottest spot in Richmond.
While this is going on, in our colleges with high profile sports the money spent on the players is eye-popping. Even before a home game many teams stay in nearby hotels. For high profile teams, the bills average $45,000 for the one night. One university with grandiose aspirations for a successful football team thought it necessary to build a new facility for the players. The cost? Over $54,000,000.
 
Something is wrong with these three pictures. The first two lack any whiff of justice. The last should embarrass the sport and academic world. Does God see this rot? Can he smell the stench?
 
Let’s move to Mars Hill. The stately statue of Athena was in full view for Damaris as she listened to Paul’s teaching (Acts 17:22-34). Raised in Athens and knowing the role of the gods in her life, she resigned herself to living under the influence of gods who squabble, whose influence was whimsical, and who had better things to do than to respond to the cries for justice. What about the God Paul spoke of? Does he not hear the cries? Is not the God who made heaven and earth saddened by his world and his people?
 
The answer is in the affirmative. This Jesus God appointed as judge of the world.  He is the one Damaris learned from Paul.  He was one of us, and he lived in the mess and the rot of the world. He suffered and died, and then was raised from the dead. To be sure, Jesus would  be incensed by the circumstances of the American Indians and the Latinos. He would recognize the foorball facilities for what they are-- obscene “pleasure domes” for the guys who are the cash cows for their institutions. 
 
Behind each of these lie more of the same--a long line of malefactors and promotors, an endless list of oppression and abuse. The question we are asking is if God cares, if he is involved. If he does not, we might as well opt for Athena and her cohorts. No, Jesus condemns with severe judgment, with horror and sorrow.
 
 Though we can see plague, we also see mercy. Always God remembers his covenant with his people. That is why Habakkuk prays, “In your wrath, remember mercy” (3:2). 
 
Time to bring forward my consultant, the Rev. Helmut Thielicke. He pastored a congregation in Stuttgart, Germany, during the war years. His bold repudiation of Hitler and Nazism resulted in prohibition from leaving the city. During those days he preached a series of sermons entitled,  Our Heavenly Father. More than once the congregation had to move from place to place as the churches where he led services were destroyed by Allied bombing. 
 
In these sermons he addressed the very question I raise in this message. What was God’s role? Where was he during the bombing? Where could the people find comfort in the deaths that came daily? 
 
His answer lay in the source of the rot, rot generated by humankind. Not by God. The idolatry and sinfulness of Nazism pushed upon the German people brought the horrors, not the whimsical ire of God. 
 
Thielicke knew this, but he also knew that the judgment of God held the mercy of God. The Judge, after all, was a man who also suffered. His suffering sanctifies our suffering, finding it the very path to what Paul calls character, faith, patience, and hope (Romans 5:3-5).
 
Hear what Thielicke told his congregation:

     We could describe every conceivable terror from the nights when          the screaming bombs fall to loneliness of war widows, from homelessness of thousands to the hopeless frustration of the soldier torn away from job or education. They are all evil which are not in the Father’s plan of creation, but they are transformed when the pass through the Father’s hands and the mask of fate suddenly becomes  the Father’s face.
 
A partial answer, I realize. One that sees in God the one who made us; who suffered as one of us; who judges our idolatry and oppression; who wants us to go back to him; and who then extends mercy that restores us. 

II. Eternity and the Coronavirus

 Let me begin with a parallelism: Eternity is to the coronavirus as stars are to daylight. We do not see the stars during the daylight hours. We miss the immensity of the universe and our part in it; yet the stars are there, invisible to the naked eye.

Similarly, eternity is present in the midst of the coronavirus, but it remains out of our sight. Hence we miss all it brings in these calamitous days. We fathom the dangers and the diseases of these times apart from the reality of eternity. 

Paul knew some people who had a preview of eternity. He mentioned in Corinthians the 500 people who saw the Lord Jesus Christ after his resurrection. Some were living at the time he wrote. What Jesus said isn’t as important as his leaving eternity and briefly appearing before 500 mortals. In Jesus we see beyond our time and space into his.

I want to insert the reality of eternity into the coronavirus.  Its presence replaces many places of darkness. I will explore four places seen in the light of eternity.  As is my custom I will rely on one of my consultants. This one again is the Rev. Helmut Thielicke, pastor of a congregation in Stuttgart, Germany, during its bombing in 1944.

1. First fear. The coronavirus brings multiple fears—of the virus itself, of protection, of contracting it, and finally of death. The virus is small, it lurks in hidden places, it seeks out randomly, and it kills. And it generates fear.

What we need is assurance, assurance in triple dose: assurance of the future, of our own health, and of whatever lies beyond death. All that we find in Jesus. As the Lord and maker of creation, he holds the future in his hands. As the one who brings unlimited living water, he gives peace. As the one who was resurrected from his own tomb, he brings hope beyond death. One of his recurring statements is, “Have no fear.” He is the great contradiction to the rule of fear. 

In a sermon on Christ’s kingdom Thielicke told how he found that in the depths of human experience. “When standing over a crater that had had a direct hit, killing more than 50 persons, a woman came up to speak to me. She said, ‘My husband was in that crater. His place was right under the hole and all that was left was his cup. But we were there when you preached last in the cathedral, and my husband believed what you said. And here, standing before that pit, I want to thank you for preparing him for eternity.’”

2. Sorrow. I realize this makes for a strange mixture—God’s sorrows in the midst of a pandemic that has his fingerprints. Nevertheless, they do mix. “There is no place where earth’s sorrows are more felt than up in heaven.” There is lamentation in heaven just as in families grieving over the results of COVID-19. The tears of Jesus at the grave of his friend Lazarus give us a lens for his sadness at the deaths of all his friends around the world. 

Again from Thielicke:

    Could human eyes endure the sight of this vast sum of distress and gloom, of mutilated bodies and mortal dread? Could human ears bear the cries of misery that rise to heaven every day? Because he hears it in love, it wounds and hurts him. His heart is pierced by every knife that is drawn, every bullet shot, every evil word that is spoken. The Savior is literally riddled with the sufferings of the world.

3. Evil. Habukkuk is the place where we hear God’s answer to evil. Brandishing fist in anger, the prophet asks God to show his justice. God has tolerated evil in his world, and Habakkuk wants to know if God will ever act against the evil and their wickedness . God gives two answers, definitively and robustly. First: “The just shall live by faith” (2:4). That is, not by sight, not soon, not by seeing justice in this world. But it will come. At the Day of the Lord.  And the second: “The Lord is in his holy temple” (2:20).  Not absent, not disinterested, not unobservant. He sees, he knows, he is angry, and his is keeping a list. The perpetrators of evil will meet the holy God. 

4. Preparing for life in heaven. Paul expresses his longing for heaven: “When I consider whether to remain and work or to die, I much prefer to die, for then I would be with Christ” (Phil. 1:23). 

I will only offer two suggestions for preparing for eternity with Christ—contrition and praise.

For the first, we look at Paul’s self-description, “I am the chief of sinners.”  Paul’s eager anticipation for heaven was founded nowhere else—that Christ’s death bought him forgiveness for his sin, even for his persecution of the church. He, the chief of sinners, received the means of grace and the hope to live forever in the presence of Christ and his Father. 

Our eagerness for heaven, our preparation for eternity with Christ, is measured by where we place ourselves under the chief of sinners. The deeper our contrition for our sin, the nearer our rank to Paul.  The dearer our love for our Savior, the greater our desire to worship him in his glorious majesty.

The second is praise. Praise in this life is our orientation life in eternity.

Again from Thielicke:

    To praise God means to see things from the perspective of their end. One day a man told me why he had such calm composure and could inspire that in others. In the most frightful moments of an air raid he stopped praying and continued only to praise God. Looking beyond that mortal terror he saw the vast expanse of eternity. Those anguished seconds were nothing more than a swiftly passing moment in the perspective of the end of things.

The coronavirus leans into our lives with ferocious strength. The reality of eternity gives us the resources of God to stand.  

V. Demas - the lukewarm follower

 Poor Demas, a man covered with the shroud of the one who lost his faith.  

 

His short story goes like this: The first time Paul was imprisoned, Demas stayed with him. But Paul had a second imprisonment. That was when Nero, the Emperor, led a zealous persecution of followers of Jesus. Demas knew that Paul’s arrest guaranteed his own execution. What followed comes from these words from Paul:

 

“For Demas,  in love with this present world has deserted me and gone to Thessalonica” (2 Timothy 4:14).

 

There is some question about how far Demas fell. It could be that he only abandoned Paul, avoiding persecution. Rather than open identification as a Christian in a hostile environment, he fled.

 

Or it could have been a total loss of faith, doubts that encircled and defeated his once strong faith. No good answers came, and his faith left. 

 

When we consider falling away from Christ today, we can think of it as a virus. The virus takes two shapes, paralleling the two possibilities of Demas’ fall.  The first possibility is to avoid identification as Christian. Today the stigma of being a follower of Jesus is becoming more severe. Temptations to avoid public identity are never far away. They arise in conversation with friends, with family, with neighbors, with the myriad of people who scorn the things of God. More and more, a clear Christian witness today often brings open scorn and heavy consequences.  

 

The other strand of virus stems from Paul’s phrase that he was in love with the world. More and more what the world admires is at odds with the abundant life Jesus offers. And we hear the message of the world, complete with rewards and reinforcements, far more clearly and more often than we hear the call to take the narrow way. 

 

In either case, what ensues is a looking back to discover a faith that is no longer there.  

 

Keeping with the metaphor of virus, we do have vaccinations. One simple but essential one is Christian community—gaining encouragement from being with other Christians. Finding Christian community has taken different forms in the times of pandemic, but we have new options. We can attend worship in an international setting like Canterbury Cathedral. A more personal setting keeps us with our small groups. In these we find intimacy and growth. And the most obvious source of community is to stay tuned to the worship and gatherings of our own congregation. 

 

The warning from Demas’ story takes us to a far weightier theatre than our own personal walk. We live in times of multiple plagues with new and dark forces roiling the landscape. And so “we look unto the hills, from where does our help come?” We know the answer: “Our help comes from the Lord.” Only his mercy and blessing will take us out of the chaos. OK, but how does that come. He tells us:

 

If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and 

seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land. (2^nd Chronicles 7:14)

 

This is what lifts followers of Christ out of the perspective of personal faith. We are  instruments of the healing of the land. God looks at “my people called by my name” and names his expectations. 

 

He lays out several conditions for his healing. I will only explore “turning from places of wickedness” and will look at three in particular--corporate, social, and personal. 

 

The first evil concerns the people of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. They are bereft of vaccinations for COVID-19 and will not see any in the near future. And the people of Bangladesh, Bolivia, Uzbekistan, and many other nations. The reason is simple. The United States and the European Union have bought up as many vials as possible for the citizens of these countries. The rationale seems to be, “Are we not the exceptional people?” The exceptional Uzbeks and others will get their vaccines but they will have to wait and wait and wait.  

 

The second evil, the social one, is the rift that has contaminated civil discourse.  We make little effort to listen to those of different views, much less show respect for them. It is a toxic and damaging contamination.

 

Simon the Zealot and Matthew set our example. Simon was a revolutionary, wanting to overthrow the Roman government. Matthew was a tax collector, semi-employed by the Roman authorities. No doubt they got into it, but their higher allegiance to the Lord made room for respect and friendship. 

 

The third wickedness is pornography. From the statistics that I see, it is likely that some readers of this may be addicted; probably some leaders in our congregations; certainly members in our pews. The statistics horrify:

 

Three of the top ten web sites that are the most viewed are hard porn, often with graphic material of teen-agers, young teen-agers.

            45 million people are regular users of pornography. 10% of users are women.

35% of all downloads are of graphic pornographic material. That is more downloads than Netflix.

             

Like Nicolas Kristof wrote about these and other facts, “Folks, this is disgusting.” 

 

Pornography is a silent but deadly virus. It is an invisible scourge, venomous and toxic. It leaves no visible scars but tears apart marriages and deadens souls. There is help for this addiction, hard won but firm. The Holy Spirit’s light goes deep, and the healing can be a painful journey, but the scourge can be vanquished.

 

 

Demas has many followers today. They don’t care much for God, and it seems that goes both ways. The promise for today’s plagues lies with the church.  God holds out the promise of his blessing and his mercy-- by the holy living of those who are willing to be called by Christ’s name.

 

VI. The Church and Secular Influence

 Manaen needs an introduction. After all, he is mentioned only once, as a leader in the church in Antioch. For our purposes the significant detail attached to this Christian man is that he was a friend of Herod Antipas, the brutal ruler of Galilee. 

 

With that in mind,  we can move into an exploration the relation church to secular powers. 

 

The friendship of Manaen and Herod raise questions. How did a devout follower of Jesus Christ maintain integrity of faith in the company of a ruthless ruler? How long did he stay on Herod’s staff after his conversion? Assuming he kept his firm allegiance to Christ, he faced twin temptations: first, not speaking up to Herod about evil policies, and second, giving approval when Herod’s actions clearly opposed Christ’s teaching.

 

Those same twins are alive and well when we consider the church and secular power today. Certainly, we welcome opportunities to bring Christian influence on directions of state, but with the whiff of influence comes the craving for more. 

 

The pursuit of greater influence brings the same twins Manaen faced: 1) Does  the church stifle its criticism to keep its privileged place? 2) Must the church baptize unbiblical moral trends widely accepted in the culture? If stifling and baptizing come with the position of power, the church has lost its saltiness. 

 

Our Lord reminds us that his kingdom is not of this world. Christians are first and foremost citizens of God’s kingdom. 

 

Let me describe four roles of how the church should exercise her influence in society.  

 

1. The role of correction. This is founded on Christian anthropology, meaning how we understand ourselves as made in the image of God. 

 

Our culture has de-spiritualized what it  means to be human. That removes our identity as bearing the image of God and his purposes for us in society.  Value has become a measure of how many toys we hold when we die, and moral ethics vary according to the loudest voices. 

 

When my wife and I were living in a rural area of our state, we saw Christian anthropology lived well. Until the mid-1950s the Black population had been forced out of white schools. Their school  was founded by a Jewish businessman, Julius Rosenwald, and a Black educator, Booker T. Washington. 

 

The Black population got an education, but one that went far deeper than the classroom. 

 

They excelled in forbearance. In the face of what we now call systemic racism, they reacted not in kind.  In deprivation they showed patience; in hostility, forgiveness; in rejection, perseverance. It flourished in their friendships, their families, and most importantly towards the people who pushed them down. Their joy through it all still surfaces. Their magnanimous forbearance has contributed a lasting and valued legacy flowing into the entire community. 

 

Christian anthropology also defines who we are, the source of the life, and the eternal value of each person. This too is jeopardized today. Not long ago the governor of my state praised legislation that secured the rights of abortion, declaring that “dangers to women had been removed.” I did not hear him say anything about the dangers for the unborn infants who faced abortion. They are denigrated in today’s scale of human worth.

 

2. The role of courage. It takes courage to speak the truth today. We read about the tyranny of the majority in public places like universities, but it can be just as pernicious among those we frequent--friends, families, neighbors, and work associates. 

 

The antidote is to speak up. There are all kinds of culture wars, many we can neglect, but the voices that would stigmatize and demonize Christian truth must not go unchallenged. Say your piece, and do it with as much humility as persistence.

 

The courage of one expands to others. One who speaks and stands and objects will face down bullies. The courage of one can expose the false structures,  the untruths, and the malice of many. The courage that requires is emboldened by the voices of other Christians.

 

3.The role of charity. We do not throw stones. I am, after all, a greater sinner than any I know. The currency we need is humility, to love my neighbor as myself. 

 

Our role is not to judge but to love, to respect, listen, and understand. To paraphrase Jesus, what good is it if I make sure the other person knows I am right, when I lose the opportunity to show him the love of the Messiah?

 

Many of the challenges we face are rooted in people’s fear, in wounds of rejection and abuse. There is a balm for them, but it is not found outside of the healing balm of Jesus Christ. The occasions for charity can be transformed into the ministry of the Great Physician if they recognize humility and love in our presence. 

 

4. The role of messenger. Our message tells how the human spirit is elevated. It points to where we find dignity and fulfillment. It confirms the coming judgment of the King on the oppressors of evil. 

 

But more, it is about the Creator as our Father, his forgiveness and mercy; about his Son Jesus Christ who himself is the true image of every man and woman, and who took our sin upon him on the cross; and about the Holy Spirit who will wipe away every tear and fill every heart with inextinguishable love. Our message is about the only kingdom founded upon righteousness and that lasts forever. 

 

Grant, O Lord, that the course of this world may be so peaceably governed by your good providence, that your church may joyfully serve you in confidence and serenity, through Jesus Christ our Lord.