First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: John 15:12-17
4/1/2001
Since this will soon get a little heavy, perhaps we should begin a little light….like with a guy named David who, much to his surprise, received a parrot for his 40th birthday. The parrot, himself, was fully grown, with a bad attitude and a worse vocabulary. Every other word was an expletive. Those that weren’t expletives were, to say the least, rude. David tried to change the bird’s attitude by saying polite words, playing soft music and doing anything he could think of to set a good example. Nothing worked. So he yelled at the bird and the bird yelled back. Then he shook the bird, but the bird just got more angry and profane.
Finally, in a moment of desperation, David put the parrot in the freezer. For a few moments he heard the bird squawk, kick and scream. Then there was quiet….nary a sound for 30 seconds. Fearful that he might have hurt the bird, he quickly opened the freezer door. Whereupon the parrot stepped out onto David’s extended arm and said: “I believe I may have offended you with my rude actions and language. I will endeavor at once to correct my behavior. I am truly sorry and beg your forgiveness.”
Astonished by the bird’s change of attitude, David was about to ask what accounted for the change, when the parrot continued: “Might I be so bold as to ask what the chicken did?”
The parrot’s assumption was clear, namely, that the chicken must have done something…. indeed, that somewhere in our far-distant or very-near past, we all must have done something…. that nobody gets fried or frozen for no reason….and that whatever “big chill” we feel, including the chill of the universe, can be traced (at least, in part) to problems of our own making.
To be sure, there was a time (in my youthful naivete) when I equated personal perfection with divine protection, thinking to myself: “If I am a very good little boy and say my prayers nightly, and brush my teeth daily, God will never let life double cross me.” But it didn’t take many years to learn that even the innocent can suffer, and that goodness….while being a most fruitful way to live….would offer me no immunity.
So maybe the chicken did do something wrong and paid the price. But maybe the chicken did absolutely nothing wrong, yet paid the price anyway.
One Friday afternoon, Jesus died (hanging from a crude Roman version of a yardarm). And the guy hanging next to him said: “He doesn’t deserve to be here. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” But for as many times as I read the gospels, nobody ever steps up and says: “Oh my gosh, we’ve made a terrible mistake. Let’s get him down while there’s an ounce of breath in him and a smidgen of decency in us.”
No, I keep waiting for someone to say that. But no one ever does. So he keeps on dying….year after bloody year. And neither David, the parrot, or Billy Ritter knows why. Oh, we theologians go to work and dust off all the old theories.
· The Romans wanted him dead because, alive, he was a stick of unlit dynamite to a fragile peace, in an all-but-ungovernable province.
· The Jews wanted him dead because, when they gave him their litmus test for an authentic messiah, the results kept coming up pink instead of blue.
· God wanted him dead because somebody, somehow, needed to pay something for all those horrible things the rest of us did….and continue to do….out there in the “far country,” where we have continuously covered ourselves in pig manure.
As workable explanations of why such a good man died, there are themes and variations that can be played on all of the above. And depending on the day (or the assigned text), I can preach any one of them….or poke holes in any one of them. Which is my gut-level-honest way of saying: “Take with a grain of salt anybody who reduces the crucifixion (and the incredible mystery that surrounds it) to a sweet, simple slogan.”
Ernest Campbell suggests (correctly, I think) that the underlying miracle of the gospel is that God remains kindly disposed toward us when we have given Him every reason not to….to the point that nothing (including death, Paul says) shall be able to separate us from God’s love.
By whatever theory of atonement you want to offer….and if you are interested, I can document five….the death of Jesus is part of God’s work in reconciling the world unto himself. And since you and I have not yet been able to reconcile our own families….our own relatively-miniscule and (at least) marginally-compatible families….you can see the incredible job God has on his hands. So cut him some slack, already.
“Greater love has no man than this,” said Jesus, “than to lay down his life for his friends.” Which he uttered during his final, farewell dinner. Meaning that, at that hour, Jesus felt that his dying was somehow going to increase the reconciling….was somehow going to bring people closer to God….closer to him….closer to each other….than had he said:
· “It’s turning ugly, friends, let’s get ourselves out of here.”
(or)
· “It’s turning ugly, friends, let’s set up a war room here.”
No, insofar as he could see the cross before him, he went voluntarily. What’s more, he implied that we should consider doing so also. Which I find to be the harder part. Not receiving his death, but replicating it.
Are ye able, said the Master, to be crucified with me?
Yea, the sturdy dreamers answer, to the death we follow Thee.
Earl Marlett wrote it. We just sang it. Most of us love it. Few of us do it. And even though Jesus asked it….of James and John, you will remember….the question remains: “Does he still desire it?”
As I told you a few years ago, there was a day in my life when “dying for Jesus” had a rather nice ring to it. I was young….idealistic….unencumbered….unmarried. I had no responsibilities, members or mortgages. “Give your life to Jesus,” was the way the preacher put it then. Which sounded so easy that night by the campfire. The lake was calm. The embers were glowing. The candles were bobbing on the water. The stars were brilliant in the skies. Neither the songs nor the scene could have been more perfect. You could be in love with Jesus and in love with the girl standing next to you, without knowing either one.
“My life for Jesus?” Of course. Where shall I give it up? Over there on the hill? Fine! As a martyr for the faith? Fine! Bow my knee to the emperor….kiss the ring of a pagan goddess….renounce my Savior to save my own skin? Never! Only Jesus. Anywhere with Jesus. Anything for Jesus. A firing squad? If need be! Ready….aim….fire. Smoke clears. Body slumps. Strong men cringe. Widows weep in the afternoon. People come to read the monument erected on the site. Many pause for pictures. “Stand over there by the plaque, Jimmy, so I can take your picture on the spot where Billy Ritter died for Jesus.”
Except it never happened that way. It seldom does. “Drink the cup with Jesus?” Why not? I started out thinking I could drink it all. From the brim to the dregs. To the very last drop. But nobody ever asked me to drink it all at once. Instead, I’ve been sipping on that cup for 36 years. It’s called “committee meetings.” It’s called “raising the budget.” It’s called “year end reports for the Bishop.” It’s called “what are we going to do about the church kitchen?” It’s called “church members who would rather give less and staff members who would rather earn more.”
But that’s all right. Because there are people who die for Jesus all the time that I want no part of. Those include the folks who follow preachers who are as crazy as they are devoted. So after listening to fiery sermons, they play with snakes….drink poison….or set suicidal fires. First they kill their children. Then they kill themselves. Who knows why they believe the “madness” that has been preached to them as “gospel?” But they do. And, in so dying, they take comfort in believing themselves to be “true martyrs for the faith.” They are dying for Jesus. But I want no part of them.
Others, even in this day, strap on battle gear and storm some village. Or maybe they fill a bottle with gasoline and lob it in the general direction of a passing bus. They know they are engaging in risky behavior. But even if they die, they believe they will have advanced some particular slice of Christianity, often against an opposing slice of Christianity (as in Northern Ireland). I suppose they are dying for Jesus, too. But I want no part of them, either.
On the other hand, I admire people who love both life and the Lord of life, and who (in response to a calling or a need) place themselves in physical jeopardy for their convictions or their comrades. Who am I talking about? I am talking about soldiers on the line…..police on the street….missionaries in the field….preachers in the city….people who, by dint of occupation and location, cannot escape the realization that one day they might go to work and not come home. For their work asks of them more than anyone should have the right to ask of them….unless the one doing the asking is Jesus.
I admire those people. I would like to think I am numbered with those people. Or that I could be, should the hour present itself. But one never really knows, does one….until the hour presents itself.
We are, biologically speaking, self-preservationists. It’s bred into us. But, from time to time, we are something more. For I believe that we carry the Imago Dei (the image of God) in us. Which means that I believe that the “something” which is more sacrificial than self-preservation….the “something” that is capable of laying down one’s life for one’s friends….well, that’s bred into us, too. Can I prove it scientifically? No. Have I seen it pastorally? Many times over.
I know it happens parentally. Over the years, I have seen a number of children suffer. And virtually every time a child suffers, I have heard a parent say: “If only this could be happening to me instead of my child.” I have also seen a fair number of children die. And virtually every time a child dies, I have heard a parent (grandparent….godparent….sometimes even an unrelated adult) say: “If only it could have been me.”
What’s more, I have seen people risk their lives….pushing or pulling someone out of harm’s way…. saving them from trains, cars, falling girders or raging waters. And I have heard tell of people who fell on grenades, explosives and pipe bombs that were not so much thrown at them, but managed to land on a piece of terrain near them.
Did they plan to do that?
I doubt it.
Did they think about it at the time?
Probably not.
Would I do it?
I’d like to believe myself capable.
Do I know that for sure?
No….and neither do you.
I think such actions may come easier to Christians than other people. Because our faith tells us that while death is the “real deal,” death is not the “big deal” (as in the sense of the “impossible-to-overcome deal”). From time to time, I find myself thinking about those people who almost died, but didn’t….yet who came sufficiently close so as to experience some of the things which allegedly followed dying. You’ve heard about them. I am talking about the out-of-body visualizations….the narrow tunnel….the rapid movement through the narrow tunnel….the emergence before a Being of Light….the rapid-fire life review….those sorts of things. But the thing I keep coming back to is that the people telling these stories look and act, from that point forward, as if death really is no big deal, and that they can go further with Jesus….bearing more for Jesus….facing more on behalf of Jesus….because, even should it end for them as it ended for Jesus, but it wouldn’t be that big a deal. I mean, if you have already been permitted a peek on the other side of the mountain, you know it’s going to be all right.
That being said, I don’t think Jesus is looking for people with a death wish to sign up for death squads. So what might “bearing the cross” really mean to a passionate lover of life? Does it mean we all paint targets on our chests, proclaiming to the world:
Hit me! Hurt me!
Spitefully persecute and abuse me!
Don’t be ridiculous. Jesus told his friends that, in addition to being innocent as doves, they ought also be wise as serpents. Jesus encourages us to be alert and astute….calculating and careful…. street smart and savvy. “But do not close your heart,” he added….“even once, if you can help it.” That’s the key. Cross bearing is not letting the guard-you-keep-up get in the way of the heart-you-keep-open. In short, cross bearing is being vulnerable to everybody that God carries on his heart. It is standing up for principles that get broken and people that get broken. Perhaps it is even “wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve”….which is an anatomical reconstruction sometimes associated with liberals, but is (in reality) normative physiology for all Christians.
There is a movement in our country today….long overdue, some say….that talks about the need to set boundaries.
· Boundaries concerning interpersonal behaviors, as in: “You can touch me there, but you can’t touch me here.”
· Boundaries concerning interpersonal expectations, as in: “You can ask this of me, but you cannot ask that of me.”
Clergy are counseled to set boundaries for their parishioners, lest their parishioners get too close. We get all kinds of wonderful counsel on that score.
Plan your work. Then work your plan. Tell them what you can do. Tell them what you can’t do. Sundays, yes. Wednesdays, no. Three o’clock in the afternoon, yes. Three o’clock in the morning, no.
It’s called “professionalization.” Which is always good. Seldom bad. Which I understand. And try to practice. Just like I tried to practice the rule about not letting too many people interrupt my pre-arranged agenda for the day. Until I realized that most of my ministry was taking place in the interruptions.
Drawing appropriate boundaries. Maintaining appropriate distances. Setting appropriate limits. You have to do it. Otherwise, life will eat you up….work will eat you up….churches will eat you up….friends and family will eat you up. Even Jesus was not immune from such counsel.
Come apart, Jesus. Withdraw and separate, Jesus. Disconnect and detach, Jesus. Get away from Jesus, all you little kids….all you bloody women….all you hungry men. Can’t you see that Jesus is tired?
Boundaries! They are time-saving….schedule-saving….health-saving….sanity-saving. Most people consider them critical to a therapeutic way of living. But one thing they are not. They are not the way of the cross.
* * * * *
I trust you noticed that a new law went into effect the other day. If you are driving on a multi-lane highway and you happen upon a police officer ticketing (or assisting) someone on the shoulder, you must vacate the right-hand lane. I am told this grows out of the fact that a number of police officers have been killed by passing motorists. And while it will certainly cause some monumental tie-ups on I-75 next summer, if it saves anybody’s life, it will probably be a good thing. I understand the principle.
Give trouble a wide berth.
Keep passersby passing by.
It makes good sense on the highway. But only on the highway.
* * * * *
“Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? Behold and see if there be any sorrow, like unto his sorrow.”
Note: For those seriously interested in pursuing the issue of “Atonement theology,” the classic text still discussed is entitled Christus Victor by Gustav Aulen. But almost any survey of Christian doctrine discusses the differences between Christ the victor, Christ the ransom, Christ the sacrificial lamb, and Christ the heroic exampleFor a short discussion, see Paul Laughlin’sRemedial Christianity: What Every Believer Should Know About the Faith.
As concerns other background reading that was exceedingly helpful, let me express my gratitude to Ernest Campbell and a marvelous essay entitled “What a Friend We Have in Yahweh” and to Richard John Neuhaus and his recently-released Death on a Friday Afternoon.
