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Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Sermon, October 5, 2008, World Communion Sunday
“Below or Above” (World Communion Sunday)
Rick Olson, October 5, 2008
The parable of the tenants, which Frank read a few minutes ago, is pretty harsh. In its normal interpretation, it’s taken as a warning to the religious authorities of the day. The tenants represent religious authorities of the state of Israel, who are pictured as stewards of God’s good creation, represented by a vineyard. When the time for harvest came, the landowner God sends slaves to collect the produce, minus the cut the tenant-farmers get for their labor Israel. The slaves represent the prophets, and the Israelite religious authorities—who are the ones listening to Jesus preach the parables—the religious authorities are depicted killing the prophets God has sent to collect the harvest. They beat one, kill another, and stone a third. The God-slash-landowner sends some more slaves-slash-prophets, and the religious-authorities-slash-tenants kill those as well. Then God-slash-landowner sends his son, saying “They’ll respect my son,” and you only get one guess as to who the son might represent, and when the landowner sends his son, the tenant-slash-religious-authorities kill him too, which upsets the landowner, and when Jesus asks the religious authorities what the landowner does, the religious-authorities to whom he is speaking say: “He will put those wretches to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the harvest time.”
And you’d think it would be like “Oh! Snap!” Gotcha! But no: the chief priests and scribes don’t tumble immediately that he’s talking about them, not until he spells it out: “The kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom.” They finally figure out that Jesus is talking to them, according to Matthew, and so plot to kill him.
But look at how we’ve been talking about this parable: we’ve been calling the overlord both God and landowner, the chief priests and scribes both religious-authorities and tenants and etc. And this indicates that there are at least a couple of ways to read this story . . . and to see what they might be, consider: what if this parable were to be preached to real, live tenant farmers? How would they interpret the parable? And tenant farming being as widespread even today, you can bet that it happens a lot. How might an Apartheid-era sharecropper in South Africa hear this? Or a campesino in Latin America, or a migrant worker on the Great Plains? Who would they identify with and, more importantly, who would they identify God as? Remember: these folks know about being sharecroppers, they know about having to come up with the required amount for the landowners whether the harvest is plentiful or not.
And in fact, that’s the way a lot of them become tenants on their own land … it happened in Apartheid-era South Africa, as foreign came in and began charging the native landowners for goods and services, and in a good year, they could pay for their seed and implements but in a bad year—and there are a lot in South Africa—in a bad year, they couldn’t pay their bills, and so they’d put up their land for collateral, but there’d come along another bad year, and pretty soon they couldn’t make the nut on their loan and the lender owned the land . . . that happened in the American mid-West, and it’s why theirs so few independent family farmers left, they are tenants or workers on the land they once owned, and corporate farming is the rule . . .
And so any tenant farmers listening to Jesus would know about the rich land owner—who left the tenants in charge and went to another country, the classic absentee land-owner—they were the ones who drove their grand-fathers and great-grandfathers off their land, they were the people who made their ancestors tenants on their own land . . .
And so there are at least two ways to read any scripture passage: from the above and from below, from the vantage point of the landowner and from that of the tenants, the point of view of the haves and the have nots. And—hold your cards and letters, I’m not advocating tenants murdering their landlords or anything but you can surely see that depending on where you sat you might have more sympathy with one side or another in this parable. And Matthew—writing for a upper-class Jewish crowd—most naturally slanted this story so that we’d think of God as the landowner, so it was quite a shock when the religious leaders realized that far from being identified with the landowner, far from being identified with God, they’re just tenants in the story . . . but any tenant farmers in Matthew’s readership wouldn’t think of it that way, they’d know exactly who they were in the parable, and exactly what the absentee landowner was . . .
Everybody hears the scripture from their own social location, according to their own context. Each of the people here in this sanctuary does, but so do all who hear it around the world. And each culture that hears it draws different lessons from the scripture than another would. That’s the nature of hearing, the nature of stories, the nature of context. And that’s the nature of World Communion Sunday . . . it was illustrated beautifully by the poly-lingual reading of the Ten Commandments . . . each of those languages represents a different way of hearing the scripture . . . a Mexican camposino will not hear it the same as a Parisian dressmaker who won’t hear it the same as a Korean postman. A Nigerian bricklayer will draw different lessons from a Greek bookseller who will look at it differently from a baby-boomer in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
We all have different perspectives, different needs, different expectations, and yet . . . we are united in Christ. We are one in the spirit, as the song goes, and as we celebrate the Lord’s Supper in a few minutes we should remember this, and think about all our brothers and sisters around the globe who are doing the same. Amen.
Rick Olson, October 5, 2008
The parable of the tenants, which Frank read a few minutes ago, is pretty harsh. In its normal interpretation, it’s taken as a warning to the religious authorities of the day. The tenants represent religious authorities of the state of Israel, who are pictured as stewards of God’s good creation, represented by a vineyard. When the time for harvest came, the landowner God sends slaves to collect the produce, minus the cut the tenant-farmers get for their labor Israel. The slaves represent the prophets, and the Israelite religious authorities—who are the ones listening to Jesus preach the parables—the religious authorities are depicted killing the prophets God has sent to collect the harvest. They beat one, kill another, and stone a third. The God-slash-landowner sends some more slaves-slash-prophets, and the religious-authorities-slash-tenants kill those as well. Then God-slash-landowner sends his son, saying “They’ll respect my son,” and you only get one guess as to who the son might represent, and when the landowner sends his son, the tenant-slash-religious-authorities kill him too, which upsets the landowner, and when Jesus asks the religious authorities what the landowner does, the religious-authorities to whom he is speaking say: “He will put those wretches to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the harvest time.”
And you’d think it would be like “Oh! Snap!” Gotcha! But no: the chief priests and scribes don’t tumble immediately that he’s talking about them, not until he spells it out: “The kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom.” They finally figure out that Jesus is talking to them, according to Matthew, and so plot to kill him.
But look at how we’ve been talking about this parable: we’ve been calling the overlord both God and landowner, the chief priests and scribes both religious-authorities and tenants and etc. And this indicates that there are at least a couple of ways to read this story . . . and to see what they might be, consider: what if this parable were to be preached to real, live tenant farmers? How would they interpret the parable? And tenant farming being as widespread even today, you can bet that it happens a lot. How might an Apartheid-era sharecropper in South Africa hear this? Or a campesino in Latin America, or a migrant worker on the Great Plains? Who would they identify with and, more importantly, who would they identify God as? Remember: these folks know about being sharecroppers, they know about having to come up with the required amount for the landowners whether the harvest is plentiful or not.
And in fact, that’s the way a lot of them become tenants on their own land … it happened in Apartheid-era South Africa, as foreign came in and began charging the native landowners for goods and services, and in a good year, they could pay for their seed and implements but in a bad year—and there are a lot in South Africa—in a bad year, they couldn’t pay their bills, and so they’d put up their land for collateral, but there’d come along another bad year, and pretty soon they couldn’t make the nut on their loan and the lender owned the land . . . that happened in the American mid-West, and it’s why theirs so few independent family farmers left, they are tenants or workers on the land they once owned, and corporate farming is the rule . . .
And so any tenant farmers listening to Jesus would know about the rich land owner—who left the tenants in charge and went to another country, the classic absentee land-owner—they were the ones who drove their grand-fathers and great-grandfathers off their land, they were the people who made their ancestors tenants on their own land . . .
And so there are at least two ways to read any scripture passage: from the above and from below, from the vantage point of the landowner and from that of the tenants, the point of view of the haves and the have nots. And—hold your cards and letters, I’m not advocating tenants murdering their landlords or anything but you can surely see that depending on where you sat you might have more sympathy with one side or another in this parable. And Matthew—writing for a upper-class Jewish crowd—most naturally slanted this story so that we’d think of God as the landowner, so it was quite a shock when the religious leaders realized that far from being identified with the landowner, far from being identified with God, they’re just tenants in the story . . . but any tenant farmers in Matthew’s readership wouldn’t think of it that way, they’d know exactly who they were in the parable, and exactly what the absentee landowner was . . .
Everybody hears the scripture from their own social location, according to their own context. Each of the people here in this sanctuary does, but so do all who hear it around the world. And each culture that hears it draws different lessons from the scripture than another would. That’s the nature of hearing, the nature of stories, the nature of context. And that’s the nature of World Communion Sunday . . . it was illustrated beautifully by the poly-lingual reading of the Ten Commandments . . . each of those languages represents a different way of hearing the scripture . . . a Mexican camposino will not hear it the same as a Parisian dressmaker who won’t hear it the same as a Korean postman. A Nigerian bricklayer will draw different lessons from a Greek bookseller who will look at it differently from a baby-boomer in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
We all have different perspectives, different needs, different expectations, and yet . . . we are united in Christ. We are one in the spirit, as the song goes, and as we celebrate the Lord’s Supper in a few minutes we should remember this, and think about all our brothers and sisters around the globe who are doing the same. Amen.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Sermon, September 28, 2008, Philippians 2:1-13
"Fear and Trembling" (Philippians 2:1-13)
Rick Olson, September 28, 2008
I like the central core of this morning's passage so much that we often use it as an affirmation of faith: "Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited . . ." It's called the "Christ hymn" – using the term "hymn" loosely – because scholars think that it originally it was some kind of poetic faith recitation, some kind of creedal statement that perhaps got repeated by fledgling, first-century congregations . . . maybe the house-church preacher would get all wild and off-the-wall with some sermon or another, and he'd look out on the congregation and some of them are asleep but some of them have this skeptical look about them, or – worse – a look like they're gonna lynch him because of something he's just said that got to them where they lived, and after the sermon the preacher would stand there in the lamp-light and say "Now let's all stand and say what we believe by reading Theophilus' Christ hymn from the bulletin . . . We believe that Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God . . ." And it would have the effect that affirmations of faith have today, of diverting attention from a lousy sermon, true, but more importantly, grounding the fellowship of believers in some foundational truths, of reminding them of why they're huddled in a dimly-lit room in the first place, listening to the Word of God, struggling to discern it's meaning for their lives, or – perhaps especially true in our century – whether it has any meaning whatsoever.
And the Philippians Christ hymn encapsulates the core of Christian belief in beautifully poetic language – though he was in the form of God – other translations, perhaps more precisely, say "though he had the nature of God . . ." – he did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited . . . although he had – in some undefined sense – God's nature, God's form, Christ did not regard this equality – again in some undefined sense – something to be – as our translation has it, exploited, but others read grasped, with almost violent intent, think perhaps of a relative who grasps at an inheritance greedily for his own gain, or a robber who grabs at your purse, Christ did not consider this equality as something to be clutched at, taken advantage of, exploited . . . but emptied himself, poured out of himself the features of his God-hood, or perhaps emptied himself of himself, of his thoughts of himself, of his self-regard . . . a remarkable image, one so unique that the Greek word for it has entered the theological vocabulary – kenosis, self-emptying . . . Christ's love was a kenotic love, a self-emptying love, a love that gives up it's own self, its own claim to god-hood, its own claim to greatness . . .
And what was left after this self-emptying? The form of a slave, human likeness, human nature . . . three times there's a synonym for form, and each time it's a different word in Greek . . . this phrase is overloaded with likeness, over-burdened with form . . . form, likeness, appearance of a human being . . . we are pounded with it so that it's point is unmistakable . . . it's the incarnation we're talking about here, the taking on of humanity by the divine . . . and being found in this form/likeness/nature, Christ humbled himself, and became obedient, obedient to the point of death, the ultimate humiliation for a being whose nature is that of a God.
And we can see that the first half of the Christ hymn is a downward spiral, an earth-ward slide . . . from the nature of God, to the nature of humanity, from the form of creator to the form of creature . . . from pre-existent equality with his Abba – who is immortal, invincible, God-only-wise – to . . . worm-food, coffin bait, death . . . even a death so ignominious, so lowly, so bone-crushingly horrible, as a death on the cross.
And along the way, it's like his entire life and work are described . . . self-emptying . . . feeding the poor and homeless, accepting and embracing the outcast and marginal, refusing to use power and might to save even his own life, humbling himself in the ultimate manner, submitting to power inferior to his own, to die spiked onto a rough-hewn tree.
And now we come to a big transition-word . . . "there-fore" . . . therefore . . . meaning because of this, God also exalted him, raised him to the highest position, to the loftiest height and gave him the name that is above every name . . . remember that in the ancient word names have power, they are containers of reality, status . . . and the voice of God name-drops power and might and . . . exaltation, and the name is powerful enough that every knee should bend, in heaven and earth and under the earth . . . and that's all over, that's everywhere, all there is folks . . . so that every knee and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the Glory of God. And our hymn spins from the nadir of death on a cross, from the maggot-filled earth of crucifixion, to the heights of exaltation, of power and glory and might.
Thus the Christ hymn can be viewed as a curve, in mathematical parlance a parabola where the higher you get the more exalted you are, and it begins with equality to God on one side then plunges down as and it bottoms out in humility and death, and then God takes over and it swoops back up as Christ is exalted above everything under heaven and upon earth . . . and on one side of the curve it's Christ's doing, the self-emptying, the humbling of himself, and on the other it's God's actions, the exalting and glorification . . . and to us, here on the other side of the doctrine of the Trinity, there's a tension between our belief that Jesus and God are one and the same and the hymn's assumption that Christ . . . though pre-existent . . . was not himself God, but Paul was writing 350 years before the Trinity, and probably did not believe Christ and God were unity, but merely equal . . .
And speaking of Paul, whatever he thought of the person of Christ versus that of God, he embedded this creed, this hymn into his letter to the church at Philippi for a reason, in order to tell them – the congregation, that is – something, and if we look at his words that surround the hymn, we can perhaps figure out what it is. First, he tells this congregation, this group of Christians to be of the same mind . . . and here I'm emphasizing that he's telling it to a group, because it's vital to understand that he's not talking primarily to individuals, but to a group of them, to the church at Philippi . . . and he tells them to be of the same mind, and in the Greek it's literally to think the same thing. He's telling them to be unified in their thinking, have the same love, be in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing, he says, from selfish ambition but in humility – and here's that concept again! – in humility regard others as better than yourselves. And now he specifies that he's talking to individuals here, he says "let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others" and it's clear that one of the keys to the group being of one mind is individuals within it being humble, and looking to the interests of others, not themselves . . . and he makes the important link from the thinking or the mind of the group to that of Christ . . . "Let the same mind be in you" – again it's you plural, you the congregation – let the same mind be in you the congregation as in Christ . . . so they are to be of one mind, and the mind they are to be is that of Christ, the thought they're to have is the thought of Christ who though he was in the form of God . . .
And so, the Christ hymn is embedded in exhortation, in moral instruction about how to be Christ's community, Christ's body . . . the thought of this body, it's behavior, it's function is to be that of Christ. Makes sense, if you think about it . . . Paul's dominant image of the church is as the body of Christ on earth, and this is consistent with it . . . the thinking of Christ's body on earth certainly should be the same as it is in heaven . . . and just what that thinking should be is revealed in his life of self-emptying abnegation, his humbling – and in English humility comes from humus, Latin for soil – his earthiness in taking human form, obedient even to the point of death.
Humility is a quality promoted over and over again in the New Testament, but one that's often not exhibited by the church . . . the child-abuse problem in the Roman Catholic Church is a prime example . . . the Catholic hierarchy itself is hardly humble, it hardly embodies the mind of Christ, willing to empty itself of power in the service of all . . . instead, it did just the opposite . . . the hierarchy protected its own power, its own status by not admitting there was a systemic problem, by shuffling off offending members – that is, abusive priests – to where their crimes were not known, to where they inevitably re-offend – as such individuals are known to do. The Catholic Church protected it's own integrity rather than that of it's vulnerable members . . . and what would have happened if it had truly been of the same mind of Christ, who was obedient even unto his own death? How many lives would it have saved from ruination, from being mired in swamps of addiction and shame?
And lest we get big-headed thinking “you know those corrupt Catholics . . .” look at churches in our own denomination, going down the tubes because they are too arrogant to change. Because they look to their own interests, their own comfort – they hate that contemporary worship, or liturgy, it doesn’t feed them – instead of looking to the interests of others, to those who need to hear the Gospel. Paul exhorts congregations to have the same mind – to be unified – and that it be the mind of Christ, who did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but humbled himself, becoming obedient . . . likewise churches are not to regard their special status – their status as Christ's body – as something to be exploited, but they are to humble themselves, becoming obedient, even if it is to the death. Refusing to change to reach out to others is just the opposite, it's disobedience to the command that church communities proclaim the gospel to the ends of the earth.
Note once again that Paul is not primarily talking to individuals here, although he certainly is sophisticated enough to know how individual behaviors – i.e., "each of you" looking to your own interests – effect group behavior as a whole. Power-groups coalesce around individuals or programs in the church, they keep others out and prevent them from participating in a meaningful way . . . the excluded often just leave . . . the blame-game is played very well in churches, so well that people who get tired of being scape-goated—and that can include pastors—simply up and leave. And though all of these behaviors can trickle up to effect overall church behavior, they are not what Paul is addressing in this passage. After all, the mission of God doesn’t reside in individuals, but in the individual bodies of Christ called congregations.
But how do address this level, how do you modify the way a group like a church works? By finding new ways of working out problems, of analyzing, of doing the business of the church. And, I’m happy to say, that we are beginning to do this. The Seeker process, as I’m sure you are all aware, has been occupying the leadership of this congregation for almost two years. And in that time, we have learned a different way to behave as a congregation, a different way to analyze and approach our work as Christ’s body. And now that the formal part is over, the real work will begin, as we begin to teach everybody what we have learned, as we apply these methods at every level of the church.
As Paul put it in the closing lines of our passage, we are will be working out our own salvation with fear and trembling, with humility and joy . . . he's not talking about personal salvation here. He's talking about the preservation, the deliverance, the persistence of the church. . . he's talking about the salvation of the fellowship, of the congregation . . . work out your salvation, he says to the congregation at Philippi, with fear and trembling, with reverence and obedience and awe. In the past few years, your Session and the rest of the Seekers have been learning to do just that. And, as I just said but will say again, now the real work begins. Amen.
Rick Olson, September 28, 2008
I like the central core of this morning's passage so much that we often use it as an affirmation of faith: "Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited . . ." It's called the "Christ hymn" – using the term "hymn" loosely – because scholars think that it originally it was some kind of poetic faith recitation, some kind of creedal statement that perhaps got repeated by fledgling, first-century congregations . . . maybe the house-church preacher would get all wild and off-the-wall with some sermon or another, and he'd look out on the congregation and some of them are asleep but some of them have this skeptical look about them, or – worse – a look like they're gonna lynch him because of something he's just said that got to them where they lived, and after the sermon the preacher would stand there in the lamp-light and say "Now let's all stand and say what we believe by reading Theophilus' Christ hymn from the bulletin . . . We believe that Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God . . ." And it would have the effect that affirmations of faith have today, of diverting attention from a lousy sermon, true, but more importantly, grounding the fellowship of believers in some foundational truths, of reminding them of why they're huddled in a dimly-lit room in the first place, listening to the Word of God, struggling to discern it's meaning for their lives, or – perhaps especially true in our century – whether it has any meaning whatsoever.
And the Philippians Christ hymn encapsulates the core of Christian belief in beautifully poetic language – though he was in the form of God – other translations, perhaps more precisely, say "though he had the nature of God . . ." – he did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited . . . although he had – in some undefined sense – God's nature, God's form, Christ did not regard this equality – again in some undefined sense – something to be – as our translation has it, exploited, but others read grasped, with almost violent intent, think perhaps of a relative who grasps at an inheritance greedily for his own gain, or a robber who grabs at your purse, Christ did not consider this equality as something to be clutched at, taken advantage of, exploited . . . but emptied himself, poured out of himself the features of his God-hood, or perhaps emptied himself of himself, of his thoughts of himself, of his self-regard . . . a remarkable image, one so unique that the Greek word for it has entered the theological vocabulary – kenosis, self-emptying . . . Christ's love was a kenotic love, a self-emptying love, a love that gives up it's own self, its own claim to god-hood, its own claim to greatness . . .
And what was left after this self-emptying? The form of a slave, human likeness, human nature . . . three times there's a synonym for form, and each time it's a different word in Greek . . . this phrase is overloaded with likeness, over-burdened with form . . . form, likeness, appearance of a human being . . . we are pounded with it so that it's point is unmistakable . . . it's the incarnation we're talking about here, the taking on of humanity by the divine . . . and being found in this form/likeness/nature, Christ humbled himself, and became obedient, obedient to the point of death, the ultimate humiliation for a being whose nature is that of a God.
And we can see that the first half of the Christ hymn is a downward spiral, an earth-ward slide . . . from the nature of God, to the nature of humanity, from the form of creator to the form of creature . . . from pre-existent equality with his Abba – who is immortal, invincible, God-only-wise – to . . . worm-food, coffin bait, death . . . even a death so ignominious, so lowly, so bone-crushingly horrible, as a death on the cross.
And along the way, it's like his entire life and work are described . . . self-emptying . . . feeding the poor and homeless, accepting and embracing the outcast and marginal, refusing to use power and might to save even his own life, humbling himself in the ultimate manner, submitting to power inferior to his own, to die spiked onto a rough-hewn tree.
And now we come to a big transition-word . . . "there-fore" . . . therefore . . . meaning because of this, God also exalted him, raised him to the highest position, to the loftiest height and gave him the name that is above every name . . . remember that in the ancient word names have power, they are containers of reality, status . . . and the voice of God name-drops power and might and . . . exaltation, and the name is powerful enough that every knee should bend, in heaven and earth and under the earth . . . and that's all over, that's everywhere, all there is folks . . . so that every knee and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the Glory of God. And our hymn spins from the nadir of death on a cross, from the maggot-filled earth of crucifixion, to the heights of exaltation, of power and glory and might.
Thus the Christ hymn can be viewed as a curve, in mathematical parlance a parabola where the higher you get the more exalted you are, and it begins with equality to God on one side then plunges down as and it bottoms out in humility and death, and then God takes over and it swoops back up as Christ is exalted above everything under heaven and upon earth . . . and on one side of the curve it's Christ's doing, the self-emptying, the humbling of himself, and on the other it's God's actions, the exalting and glorification . . . and to us, here on the other side of the doctrine of the Trinity, there's a tension between our belief that Jesus and God are one and the same and the hymn's assumption that Christ . . . though pre-existent . . . was not himself God, but Paul was writing 350 years before the Trinity, and probably did not believe Christ and God were unity, but merely equal . . .
And speaking of Paul, whatever he thought of the person of Christ versus that of God, he embedded this creed, this hymn into his letter to the church at Philippi for a reason, in order to tell them – the congregation, that is – something, and if we look at his words that surround the hymn, we can perhaps figure out what it is. First, he tells this congregation, this group of Christians to be of the same mind . . . and here I'm emphasizing that he's telling it to a group, because it's vital to understand that he's not talking primarily to individuals, but to a group of them, to the church at Philippi . . . and he tells them to be of the same mind, and in the Greek it's literally to think the same thing. He's telling them to be unified in their thinking, have the same love, be in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing, he says, from selfish ambition but in humility – and here's that concept again! – in humility regard others as better than yourselves. And now he specifies that he's talking to individuals here, he says "let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others" and it's clear that one of the keys to the group being of one mind is individuals within it being humble, and looking to the interests of others, not themselves . . . and he makes the important link from the thinking or the mind of the group to that of Christ . . . "Let the same mind be in you" – again it's you plural, you the congregation – let the same mind be in you the congregation as in Christ . . . so they are to be of one mind, and the mind they are to be is that of Christ, the thought they're to have is the thought of Christ who though he was in the form of God . . .
And so, the Christ hymn is embedded in exhortation, in moral instruction about how to be Christ's community, Christ's body . . . the thought of this body, it's behavior, it's function is to be that of Christ. Makes sense, if you think about it . . . Paul's dominant image of the church is as the body of Christ on earth, and this is consistent with it . . . the thinking of Christ's body on earth certainly should be the same as it is in heaven . . . and just what that thinking should be is revealed in his life of self-emptying abnegation, his humbling – and in English humility comes from humus, Latin for soil – his earthiness in taking human form, obedient even to the point of death.
Humility is a quality promoted over and over again in the New Testament, but one that's often not exhibited by the church . . . the child-abuse problem in the Roman Catholic Church is a prime example . . . the Catholic hierarchy itself is hardly humble, it hardly embodies the mind of Christ, willing to empty itself of power in the service of all . . . instead, it did just the opposite . . . the hierarchy protected its own power, its own status by not admitting there was a systemic problem, by shuffling off offending members – that is, abusive priests – to where their crimes were not known, to where they inevitably re-offend – as such individuals are known to do. The Catholic Church protected it's own integrity rather than that of it's vulnerable members . . . and what would have happened if it had truly been of the same mind of Christ, who was obedient even unto his own death? How many lives would it have saved from ruination, from being mired in swamps of addiction and shame?
And lest we get big-headed thinking “you know those corrupt Catholics . . .” look at churches in our own denomination, going down the tubes because they are too arrogant to change. Because they look to their own interests, their own comfort – they hate that contemporary worship, or liturgy, it doesn’t feed them – instead of looking to the interests of others, to those who need to hear the Gospel. Paul exhorts congregations to have the same mind – to be unified – and that it be the mind of Christ, who did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but humbled himself, becoming obedient . . . likewise churches are not to regard their special status – their status as Christ's body – as something to be exploited, but they are to humble themselves, becoming obedient, even if it is to the death. Refusing to change to reach out to others is just the opposite, it's disobedience to the command that church communities proclaim the gospel to the ends of the earth.
Note once again that Paul is not primarily talking to individuals here, although he certainly is sophisticated enough to know how individual behaviors – i.e., "each of you" looking to your own interests – effect group behavior as a whole. Power-groups coalesce around individuals or programs in the church, they keep others out and prevent them from participating in a meaningful way . . . the excluded often just leave . . . the blame-game is played very well in churches, so well that people who get tired of being scape-goated—and that can include pastors—simply up and leave. And though all of these behaviors can trickle up to effect overall church behavior, they are not what Paul is addressing in this passage. After all, the mission of God doesn’t reside in individuals, but in the individual bodies of Christ called congregations.
But how do address this level, how do you modify the way a group like a church works? By finding new ways of working out problems, of analyzing, of doing the business of the church. And, I’m happy to say, that we are beginning to do this. The Seeker process, as I’m sure you are all aware, has been occupying the leadership of this congregation for almost two years. And in that time, we have learned a different way to behave as a congregation, a different way to analyze and approach our work as Christ’s body. And now that the formal part is over, the real work will begin, as we begin to teach everybody what we have learned, as we apply these methods at every level of the church.
As Paul put it in the closing lines of our passage, we are will be working out our own salvation with fear and trembling, with humility and joy . . . he's not talking about personal salvation here. He's talking about the preservation, the deliverance, the persistence of the church. . . he's talking about the salvation of the fellowship, of the congregation . . . work out your salvation, he says to the congregation at Philippi, with fear and trembling, with reverence and obedience and awe. In the past few years, your Session and the rest of the Seekers have been learning to do just that. And, as I just said but will say again, now the real work begins. Amen.
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