Don't Push the River

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Psalm 92; Ephesians 2:1-10; Mark 10:17-31

September 24/25, 2011 • Portage First UMC

He was a man of means, a man who lived a comfortable lifestyle in a culture of poverty. He was someone many, many people looked up to, simply because he was living the life they all wished they could. When he wanted to take a vacation, he took a vacation. When he wanted to work, he worked. When he wanted to purchase something at the market, he got whatever he wanted. Some of his money had undoubtedly been inherited, but much of it he had worked for, though the whispers around town called that into question. You just didn’t see too many rich young men in those days, and you didn’t find too many who were considered “rulers” (cf. Luke 18:18; Matthew 19:22). And yet, for all his success, for all his achievements, for all his wealth and power, this man had a hole in his soul. There was something missing, something unsatisfactory about his life. And he had tried everything to fill that hole. He had followed every rule, donated to every cause, went to every worship service. Nothing worked. So when he heard about this new teacher, this Jesus from Nazareth, who had come to his town, he made sure to be in the same place Jesus was going to be. When he saw Jesus approaching, he made sure he was the first in line. He fell down on his knees, always careful to show proper respect to religious leaders, and he asked the question that was tearing up his heart: “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” (10:17).

Now, we assume he’s asking, “How do I get into heaven?” And we’re ready with a five-step plan for how he can do that. But his question is much deeper than that. Jews in the first century understood that time was divided into two parts: now and then. This age and the age to come, and in the age to come, God was going to be the ruler of a renewed world, a world made over the way God intended it from the beginning. That was what the prophets in the Old Testament had talked about. “The Day of the Lord.” The time when God would make all things right. The time when justice would roll down like a river (cf. Amos 5:24). The time when the Lord would come to his Temple (cf. Malachi 3:1). As Christians, we understand those promises to refer to the time when Jesus returns. That is the “The Day of the Lord,” the day when God makes everything right (Wright, Mark for Everyone, pg. 135). So this rich young ruler wants to know how he can survive that transition from this age to the age to come. He wants to know what he can do to ensure he’ll end up on God’s side in the end. “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

Isn’t his question ours as well? What must I do…? Particularly in our culture, we have the idea that somehow we can earn or work our way into God’s kingdom, that we can be good enough or work hard enough so that God, in the end, will have to let us in. They certainly believed that in the first century. Had you asked the Pharisees or any other group in that time this question, you would have gotten two responses. First, they would have given you their interpretation of the Jewish law, all the things in the Old Testament you were to do so you would be marked as one of the people of God. And second, they would have invited you to join their group, because a sure way to know you’re “in” is to be part of the “in” group (Wright 135-136). So Jesus gives the man the expected answer first. “You know the commandments,” Jesus says. Of course the man did. Every good Jew knew the ten commandments, though Jesus doesn’t go over all of them. He sort of gives a “highlight reel:” “You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, you shall not defraud, honor your father and mother” (10:19). And you can almost see the man mentally checking those things off. This is a man who has gone to great lengths to follow the law. He’s done all the external things he was expected to do—or rather, he’s not done what he shouldn’t do. Since he was a boy, since he went through bar mitzvah, he has lived by God’s commandments (Wessel, “Mark,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 8, pg. 715). And yet, there’s still that hole in his soul. There is still an emptiness and a sense that there’s something else he should be doing.

“One thing you lack,” Jesus says. “Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me” (10:21). Now, this could be heard as a harsh or judgmental statement, which is why Mark is careful to tell us the tone with which Jesus said this. He didn’t condemn. He didn’t judge. Mark says Jesus loved this rich young ruler. The word there is “agape,” which we talked about a few weeks ago. It’s love with no strings attached, the kind of love that God has for us, which would make sense because Jesus is the Son of God. So he looks at this man not with condemnation, not with judgment, not with sorrow or pity, but with unconditional love. No matter what the man does or says at this point, Jesus loves him. He wants more for this man, but he loves him just as he is, at this very moment. By the way, he loves you the same way.

In the end, this is not a story about riches and wealth. It’s a story about a man who had something in his life he could not give up, something he was not willing to change. Mark tells us the man went away sad [the kind of sadness that’s associated with grief] because what Jesus was asking him to do was too hard. Keeping the commandments—that was easy. Giving up something that stood between him and God—that was hard, impossible in his estimation. You see, this command Jesus gives the rich young ruler is not a universal command. Jesus isn’t telling all of his followers for all time that this is what they have to do. He doesn’t give anyone else this command in the Gospels. The broader, more general calling behind this specific command might be more like this: “Get rid of whatever it is that stands between you and a strong relationship with God.” For this rich young ruler, it was his wealth; that’s what he depended on more than God. For you, for me, it might be wealth, or it just might be something else entirely. In all of this, God wants to shape us into the people he dreamed for us to be from the moment he thought us up, and sometimes that means removing things we hold too tightly. Jesus wants this rich young ruler to become the person God desires him to be. That’s also what he wants for you and me because he loves us.

This evening/morning, we’re beginning a new series called “The Me I Want To Be,” and the underlying assumption is that, like the rich young ruler, we want to be people who are living the way God wants us to live. And more than that, I’m assuming we’re here because we want to be people who are becoming who God longs for us to be. And that person is you. God doesn’t call you to be someone else. He calls you to be the best “you” you can be. Author John Ortberg says, “God did not create you to be anybody else. He pre-wired your temperament. He determined your natural gifts and talents. He made you to feel certain passions and desires. He planned your body and mind. Your uniqueness is God-designed” (The Me I Want To Be, pg. 15). The psalmist describes a person who is “righteous,” in other words one who is becoming the person God designed them to be, as “flourishing” like a palm tree (92:12), and when you consider that the land the psalmist wrote in is largely a desert, that’s quite a statement. In other words, the psalmist says that just like a tree that can flourish and be green in the midst of a land that has very little water, a person who is righteous, who is seeking to grow in their relationship with God, can do the same. Even though the world seems desert-like, we can flourish. We can be the people God designed us to be. There is a me I want to be, and that’s the me God wants me to be. I don’t want to be someone else. I want to be who God called Dennis to be. “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Seek to remove all obstacles and become the person God made you to be.

Henri Nouwen was a Catholic priest and author who died just about five years ago now. In the later part of his life, Nouwen, who had spoken at Harvard and Yale and Notre Dame, turned his back in a lot of ways on that sort of life to care for physically and mentally challenged residents at a place called L’Arche. One young man named Trevor especially became close to Nouwen, and one time when Trevor was sent to a hospital for evaluation, Henri arranged to visit. Well, naturally, the hospital was excited to have such a famous person coming to their campus so they arranged a beautiful luncheon in the Golden Room. When Nouwen arrived, he looked for Trevor, but Trevor was not there. “Where’s Trevor?” he asked, and he was told that patients are not allowed in the Golden Room. More than that, patients and staff were not allowed to eat together. Nouwen said, “But the whole reason I came was to see Trevor. If he can’t attend the lunch, neither will I.” Miraculously, Trevor was allowed to attend the lunch.

So there sat Trevor, next to his friend Henri, oblivious to all of the people who wanted to talk to the famous author. Trevor was just happy to see his friend. Most people ignored Trevor, so no one noticed when he rose to his feet and cried out, “A toast! I will now offer a toast.” Suddenly, the room grew quiet, and very tense. Every eye was on Trevor, wondering what he would say or do. With a smile, Trevor began to sing, “If you’re happy and you know it, raise your glass. If you’re happy and you know it, raise your glass. If you’re happy and you know it, if you’re happy and you know it, if you’re happy and you know it, raise your glass.” Trevor beamed, and people were uncomfortable until slowly, quietly at first, some of them began to sing. Eventually, everyone joined in and you couldn’t tell the PhD’s from the ADDs in that room. “For a few moments, a room full of people moved toward the best version of themselves because a wounded healer named Henri Nouwen lived among the challenged, and because a challenged man named Trevor was living out the best version of himself” (Ortberg 22-23). For a moment, those people were who God intended them to be. The thing that got in their way—their pride—dropped away, just for a moment. You see, the problem we all face, like the rich young ruler and like the people in the Golden Room, is that in order to become the me I want to be, we have to let go of the many different me’s we already are.

The first one is “the me I pretend to be” (Ortberg 24), the me we become when we want to impress someone. This is the me that drops names of people we’re rubbed shoulders with, preferably important or famous people. This is the me that pretends we’ve read that book when it comes up in conversation so we can be “in the know.” James Bryan Smith tells of being at a dinner party where he was introduced as a professor at the local college. One man started talking about a course he was teaching on literature. “I think Hawthorne was the most brilliant writer of his generation, by far. Don’t you think so?” Smith said, “Well, he was quite good,” though he had never read a single sentence written by Nathaniel Hawthorne. The conversation went on from there, as the literature professor tried to discuss Hawthorne, and Smith found himself trapped more and more by the moment because he was unwilling to admit he had never read any of Hawthorne. He simply wanted to appear intelligent to this man he barely knew (The Good and Beautiful Life, pgs. 103-104). We pretend to be someone other than we are to make a good impression, or to convince others (or maybe even ourselves) that we are important. And it’s exhausting, trying to be someone other than we are, which is why first dates and job interviews wear us out. It’s also hard to remember, sometimes, who we pretend to be with what people. The me I pretend to be.

Next, there’s “the me I think I should be” (Ortberg 25). We compare ourselves to someone else and inevitably we come up short. When I was first in ministry, I had the idea that I had to be good at everything. And so I tried to do counseling. And I tried to understand the finance reports. And I tried to be at absolutely every event the church had. And you know what I found out? No matter how hard I tried, I am a terrible counselor. That’s why I married a counselor, so I wouldn’t have to do it. I’m good for a conversation, but in the long run, God has not given me the gifts to be able to do long-term counseling. I have pastor friends who are excellent at it, and I wish I was. But I’m not. And no matter how hard I try, the finance reports still don’t make sense to me. I can balance my checkbook, but don’t ask me anything beyond that. God didn’t wire me that way. And when Christopher was born, I realized I didn’t have time to be at everything. And yet there are still times I compare myself to others. Do you know pastors are terrible about that? And so are we all. What’s the expected response when someone asks you how you are? “Fine,” right? We think we should be fine, and so we pretend we’re “fine” even when our world is falling apart. Who do you compare yourself to? Where do you feel like you always come up short against? That’s the me you think you should be.

Then there’s “the me other people want me to be” (Ortberg 26). Often we feel like everyone wants us to change. Our boss wants us to be more productive, our credit card company wants us to be in more debt, the networks want us to watch more television, your spouse wants you to be home more, your dentist wants you to visit more often…the list could on and on. Sometimes it feels like we’re always fulfilling everyone else’s agenda, trying to be the person they want us to be, and we feel like we can’t possibly disappoint anyone. We become slaves to everyone else when we seek to be the me other people want me to be.

Or how about “the me I’m afraid God wants” (Ortberg 27)? A study by the Barna Group found that, in most people’s perception, spiritual maturity is found by those who learn how to follow all the rules of the Bible. Isn’t that what the rich young ruler believed? We still do. We equate spiritual growth with rule-following, because we assume that’s what God wants. No wonder spiritual growth seems so hard, and no wonder we seem to avoid pursuing things that will help us grow. If it’s all about the rules, spiritual growth becomes an obligation rather than something we really want to do. Are external behaviors the only way we can measure our spiritual growth? Are we doomed to feel like we’ll never measure up to God’s standards?

There’s one more: “the me that fails to be” (Ortberg 28). Henry David Thoreau once said his greatest fear was not dying, but that when he came to die, he would discover he had not lived. The me that fails to be describes the person who stops living, who gives up, who feels an inner deadness and has little or no desire to move ahead in life. This is not necessarily depression, though that may be part of it. The spiritual fathers described it as acedia—weariness of soul. Maybe you’ve been beaten down by life one too many times and you’ve just given up. Maybe the dreams you had in childhood have been crushed and you can’t find the energy to dream new dreams. It’s the person who has been reduced to just getting through each day, and feels like there’s little or no purpose in what they do—the me that fails to be.

I can tell you a few things about all these false “me’s”. One thing is that there are people in this congregation this evening/morning who can relate to one or more of them. I bet you saw yourself in here somewhere. I can tell you I’ve been each of them at various times in my own life. Some of us know right now where we are in that list. I can also tell you that none of them, none of those situations, is where God would have us be. And I can say that with confidence because each of these “me’s” represents a brokenness, a situation in life that is less than whole, and brokenness is not what God wants for us. Paul uses a word in his letter to the Ephesians that we all need to hear today. In Ephesians 2:10, Paul writes this: “We are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” “Handiwork.” Other translations say, “workmanship” (KJV), “poetry” (Voice), “accomplishment” (CEB), or “masterpiece” (NLT). That last one is probably the best translation. The word is “poiema,” and it has the sense of something made by hand, crafted uniquely and individually (cf. Wood, “Ephesians,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 11, pg. 36). Last year, when we were in Oberammergau, Germany, for the passion play, we were told on the way to the village how to distinguish the authentic handcrafted artwork the villagers made out of local wood from the mass-produced stuff that was imported just to make a quick buck. There was a special mark the villagers used to indicate that each piece had been made by hand, and of course to also explain why it cost more than the mass-produced pieces. Handcrafting takes time and energy and effort, but it results in a unique masterpiece every time. That’s the way Paul describes you and me. We are God’s masterpiece. God is working individually with us, shaping us, molding us, cutting away the parts that don’t belong there, and helping us become who he meant for us to be from the very beginning. You are God’s masterpiece. You are not who someone else thinks you should be. You are not your failures. You are not your brokenness. You are a masterpiece, still in process, but a masterpiece, one of a kind, nonetheless.

Another masterpiece we got to see last summer has Michelangelo’s “David,” and the story is told that Michelangelo was asked when he was working on this huge piece of marble how he was going to create David out of this block of stone. “That’s easy,” he replied. “All I have to do is chip away everything that is not David.” In creating a masterpiece, the shaping sometimes means things have to be chipped away, broken off, to create the better thing that is hidden inside. God works that way, too, using all sorts of life situations, easy and hard, good and bad, to shape us—if we will let him, if we will open ourselves to his work in our lives.

So how do we do that? Well, let me change metaphors here for a moment because there’s a beautiful picture at the end of the book of Revelation of the water of life flowing down from God’s throne, bringing life to everything it touches (cf. Revelation 22:1-2). And when I read that, I think of the way a river works. Many years ago, when I was younger and stupider, I would take youth groups on whitewater rafting trips. I can’t swim. I sink, not swim. And yet, I willingly got in a raft and shot down class IV and V rapids in West Virginia. Once I knew I could survive it, it was a lot of fun! We learned a lot of life lessons on that river, and one of them was this: you can’t push the river. It will flow the way and at the speed which it wants to flow. All you can do is get in the river and let it take you where it wants to go. Yes, you can steer and you can direct your boat, but you can’t push the river. You can’t determine where the river goes. And so when I picture the water of life flowing from God’s throne like a river, I remind myself of the same thing. I can’t push the Spirit of God where I want him to go. I can’t dictate to God what experiences I want to have shape me. All I can do is get in the flow of the river and let God take me where I need to go. Franciscan priest Richard Rohr puts it this way: “Faith does not need to push the river because faith is able to trust that there is a river. The river is flowing. We are in it” (qtd. in Ortberg 72). I can’t push the river. And neither can you. No matter how much money you have or don’t have, no matter how much power or prestige you think you have, no matter what your standing in the community, you can’t push the river. All you can do is get in the flow and let God use the river to make you who he wants you to be.

There are a lot of times in the Bible where I wish Paul Harvey would come along and tell us “the rest of the story.” This story of the rich young ruler is one of those times, because Mark’s account ends with some painful words: “He went away sad, because he had great wealth” (10:22). Don’t you wish we had a scene later in the Gospel where this man comes back to Jesus and says, “Okay, Jesus, I’ve given away everything I have. I’m ready now to be your follower. I want to become the person you want me to be.” Unfortunately, we don’t have any scene like that—except, perhaps in our own lives. As we begin this series, I’m wondering which “me” you most relate with at this time in your life? The me I pretend to be? The me I think I should be? The me other people want me to be? The me I’m afraid God wants? Or the me that fails to be? Which “me” is you right now in your life? Before we’re ready to dive deeper into the river, before we’re ready to allow God to shape and mold us into the me I want to be, we have to be honest about where we are right now. So this week is a time for self-examination. Where are you and what is it that stands in the way of you letting God use you, of becoming the me you want to be? What is your “great wealth,” to use the image from the Gospel story? What is it you can’t imagine letting go of? This week, I want you to spend some time thinking and praying about that, and then talk with one trusted friend about what you discover. And the reason I’m asking you to do that is so that we can begin to be honest, to be our true selves in front of at least one other person. That begins to make us more the me we want to be. So what gets in the way of you becoming who God longs for you to be? And are you ready to give that up for the better life God has for you? Let’s pray.

All The More Grace

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

James 4:1-10; Philippians 4:1-9

September 10/11, 2011 • Portage First UMC

It is this generation’s “where were you when” moment. September 11, 2001. In response to a question on our church’s Facebook page this week, several of you shared your memories of where you were that day and many of the stories contained remarkably similar reactions. Shock, disbelief, offices vacated, fear of Chicago being hit, wanting to know more and more, not being able to turn off the TV. I remember being in my car, headed toward a pastor’s prayer meeting when I heard about the first plane hitting the World Trade Center, and like a lot of you, at first I thought it was tragic pilot error. I had no idea something bigger was brewing. As the pastors were meeting, a lady in the church interrupted us to say another plane had hit the other tower, and soon we heard about the Pentagon and the plane that went down in Pennsylvania. Our hearts were heavy. Our thoughts and conversation turned toward the next Sunday. It was Tuesday, but we knew instinctively that coming Sunday, we needed to be able to speak hope into a world suddenly turned upside down. I remember going home after the meeting and beginning to work on my sermon. The television was on the entire time as I listened to the stories and watched the videos over and over and over again. I remember staying up late that night, and even when I did finally turn off the television to go to bed, I felt like I was abandoning all those people who were, we thought, trapped in the rubble of the World Trade Center.

I remember gathering for prayer on the courthouse square in Rensselaer that night. I remember gathering in our sanctuary the next night for more prayer. I remember going to pick Christopher up at kindergarten and just wanting to hold onto him. I remember trying to explain to him why the buildings burned. And most of all, I remember the surge of conflicting feelings that washed over me. Who had done this? Why had they done it? What would come next? Would we survive? How should we respond? Answers to some of those questions came in the days and weeks that followed. A response was formed as well, one that continues to go on even ten years later. And yet, we have to ask ourselves if the world is really a safer place today than it was then? Have all of our attempts to make ourselves secure resulted in actual security? When you look around, it seems like the world is more divided than ever. Religion vs. religion, husbands vs. wives, church against church, this person against that person. Certainly, these sorts of things didn’t start with 9/11, but it seems that since that day, we’ve become ever more aware of just how divided the world is, even how divided our own world is. Perhaps 9/11 just woke us up.

Of course, I don’t know that we really should be all that surprised. Jesus once told his followers that he came to divide the world between those who believe and those who do not (cf. Matthew 10:35). But the dividing lines today aren’t just drawn between followers of Jesus and others. Oftentimes, as we talked about last week, even those who follow Jesus have a hard time getting along. It wasn’t any different in the first century. In the church that centered around Jerusalem, there was a leader named James who was, in fact, the half-brother of Jesus (Acts 12:17). But he didn’t always believe in Jesus. I’d imagine it’s a hard thing to believe that your brother, who you used to share a room with, is the long-awaited Messiah or Savior. In fact, at one point, James agrees with his mother and brothers that Jesus is “out of his mind” (Mark 3:21). Like brothers do, they were bound to have argued and fought amongst themselves, and I can’t help but wonder if he didn’t remember those childhood arguments when he writes to the church, because it sounds like he’s addressing children in this chapter. James writes, “Where do you think all these appalling wars and quarrels come from? Do you think they just happen? Think again. They come about because you want your own way, and fight for it deep inside yourselves (4:1-2, The Message Bible, pg. 2206). In other words, he tells them. “You’re acting like children. It’s time to grow up.”

You’ve undoubtedly watched children play together. They’re in a room filled with toys, but they all seem to zero in on one particular toy. It is the toy that MUST be played with, and soon the race is on. One child grabs it and another demands the first one hand it over. “I got it first! It’s my toy!” And soon the weeping and wailing begins. A huge fit is not far behind. “I want to play with it!” So we try to reason and we calmly ask, “Can’t you share the toy?” No! “How about if you play with it for a while and then take turns?” No! “It’s mine and I’m going to keep it!” And the crying gets louder until you’ve had enough and you finally take the toy away so no one can play with it. We want what the other person has. That’s what James says. Wars and quarreling come from wanting our own way and not caring who gets hurt as we try to get it. At a very basic level, that’s the root of every conflict, from the interpersonal level to the international level, from the argument between friends to the horrific events of days like 9/11. We want what we want, and attitudes of pride and envy propel us to do whatever it takes until we get it. This is not something new. It was envy that caused Cain to kill Abel. The very first siblings in the very first family on earth were victims of this kind of strife (Genesis 4:5). It was envy that caused the nation of Israel to reject God and demand a human king so they could be like other nations (1 Samuel 8:6-7). One of the early church fathers described our condition this way: “When a man has bought a large enough field and sees that his neighbor’s is larger still, he wants to increase his own so as to make his house greater” (Bray, ACCS: Vol. XI, pg. 45). We want more, we want what we want, and we’re not going to be content until we have exactly what we want, right now, even if we have to take it from someone else. That happens in many places: families, workplaces, between nations, and in churches.

So we take small disputes and disagreements and make large arguments out of them, sometimes even to the point of breaking relationships. James saw that happening in his church, and so he asked the believers there, “What causes fights and quarrels among you?” (4:1). The words he uses to describe what’s happening in his church were normally used to describe national warfare, which means that whatever antagonism is going on in the church is not something hidden or beneath the surface. It’s beginning to affect the life of the whole church, the community of faith. He goes on to answer his own question, saying that the root of all of this is the “desires” of the people involved. The word for “desire” is the root word of our English “hedonism,” which describes a life completely devoted to nothing but pleasure, a life that seeks “good feelings” over everything else (Burdick, “James,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 12, pg. 192). James says the church was out of focus. They had forgotten who they were. They had forgotten their purpose as the church. They had forgotten the basics.

No matter how old we are or how good we get at whatever we do, we have to remember the basics in any area of life. Remember back in 1998 when Mark McGwire broke the record for the most home runs hit in a single season? He held that record until 2001, when Barry Bonds claimed the title with 73 home runs. Prior to McGwire, the record had been held by Roger Maris, who had hit 61 home runs during the 1961 season; that record wasn’t officially acknowledged, by the way, until thirty years later. Before that, the original record holder had been Babe Ruth, who had hit 60 home runs during the 1927 baseball season (Britannica 2003). But McGwire went on to hit 70 home runs during that 1998 season. However, the most important one, the 62nd, the one that broke Maris’ record, almost didn’t count. McGwire got so excited about the hit he forgot to touch first base. His first base coach literally had to grab him and remind him to touch the base as he went by. Had he not done that, of course, McGwire would have been called “out” and the home run would not have counted because he neglected the basics (Coyner, Prairie Wisdom, pgs. 85-86). It’s easy to do. It’s easy to lose focus, to forget what is important.

James tells his congregation, “You’ve forgotten the basics. It’s not this world that’s most important. It’s falling in love with God that’s most important. And when you remember that, these disputes and arguments will seem so less important, because they come from your desire to be first, to have everything, to be noticed.” So how do they get back in touch with the basics? James says there are three things God’s people must do when they are faced with these kinds of clashes. In verse 7, he says, “Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” And then in verse 10, he says, “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.” Let’s take a look at these three things, and see how they can lead us down the road toward healing and forgiveness.

First, James says, “submit yourselves to God.” The word James uses is a military word. It means to put yourself in right ranking, to arrange the troops under the command of a leader. Submitting ourselves to God means voluntarily giving in to God’s leadership, while still assuming responsibility for our part in the mission. Think about those who are serving our country in places like Iraq and Afghanistan—and in many other dangerous places around the world today, much of which is a result of what happened ten years ago today. Whatever you might think about those places and those wars, think about what would happen if the chain of command wasn’t precise. What would happen if every soldier simply did whatever they wanted to do? What if a private said, “Yes, I know the General said to do this, but I’d rather do something else, something that draws attention to me.” The unit would fall apart, and the mission’s goals would never be accomplished. In any setting, whether it’s the military or a corporation or a sports team or a church committee, there has to be an understanding of each person’s role in order for anything to be accomplished. If everyone’s trying to be in charge, nothing gets done. James says in the spiritual life, we have to understand our place in relationship to God. We are under God’s authority. God is in charge. The symbol the church has for that is baptism. In the words we say during every baptism, there is the underlying assumption that we are placing ourselves under the authority of Jesus Christ, that we are God’s child and no longer our own, we are submitting ourselves to God. In our Methodist tradition, there is a prayer along those lines we usually use around New Year’s, a prayer that says, “I am no longer my own, but thine. Put me to what thou wilt…” Do we really understand that every one of us is under God’s command? And do we realize that means every one of us is equal to everyone else in God’s eyes? If so, why do we fight for position so much? Why do we worry so much whether or not we get our way in every issue? James says God is in charge. We can trust him to work through us and others to accomplish the mission. “Submit yourselves to God,” James writes. Understand your position in relationship to God.

As we do that, James says, we will be able to “resist the devil” (4:7). Sometimes we hear people say, “the devil made me do it.” We really should do away with that phrase. The devil doesn’t make us do anything, any more than God makes us do anything. We are responsible. God gives us choice, free will. There are many situations in our lives where we have the choice to give grace or give greater grief. A while back, I found myself at a crossroads in an argument with a particular person. We had gone back and forth and gotten nowhere, and I could come up with a hundred reasons why I was right and how I could prove that to the other person. But every time I thought about one of those approaches, it didn’t feel right. I couldn’t see a good end. I couldn’t see a place where I could extend grace to the other person if all I was concerned about was proving I was right. I finally found the wisdom to just not say anything, to let things run their course. Sometimes the devil’s temptations aren’t big and flashy. Sometimes it’s more subtle, more pride-filled, more me-focused. Sometimes it’s just the desire to beat the other person down, to prove our “right-ness.” “Resist the devil,” James says. Resist those impulses that will not bring grace to the situation. The temptation is always to remove grace rather than give it. That’s what we’re called to resist.

The word “resist” means to be able to withstand an attack, to oppose an enemy, to not allow the devil to have his way. A spiritual director of an earlier generation wrote, “We must be not be surprised that we are tempted. We are placed here to be proved by temptations. Everything is temptation to us. Crosses irritate our pride and prosperity flatters it; our life is a continual warfare, but Jesus Christ combats with us. We must let temptations, like a tempest, beat upon our heads, and still move on” (qtd. in Dunnam, The Workbook on Lessons from the Saints, pg. 139). James said our fights and quarrels begin when we give into the temptation to place our desires ahead of someone else’s, especially if we’ve not taken time to align our desires with God’s desires. When we have all found our proper place under God, we will be able to resist the devil together, to stand against the powers of evil that threaten to undo us. In fact, James says, when we do that, the devil will flee from us.

Submit to God; resist the devil. Then James gives a series of instructions that culminate in verse 10. Coming near to God, purifying your hearts and all the rest are really summed up in the command to “humble yourselves before the Lord” (4:10). This is different than submitting ourselves. Submission means we place ourselves under God’s authority so we can stand against the evil of the world. When we humble ourselves, we stop looking for the attention of others. We realize that it’s not about us, it’s about God, or as the psalmist put it, “Not to us, Lord, not to us, but to your name be the glory, because of your love and faithfulness” (Psalm 115:1). Humbling ourselves means we give the credit and glory back to God, not seeking glory for ourselves, for God is the one who has really done anything that’s worth doing. Paul puts it this way: “Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment” (Romans 12:3). This will take much prayer; James knew that. According to church tradition, James was known as “Old Camel Knees” because of thick calluses that had built up on his knees from many years of determined prayer (Peterson, The Message Bible, pg. 2201). To humble ourselves, we pray. Remember what Paul told the Philippians: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7). Prayer undergirds everything we do in resolving conflict. We instinctively know that; that’s why people so quickly turned to prayer ten years ago. But it’s hard, because when we pray, we are submitting ourselves to God: “Hallowed be thy name.” When we pray, we’re resisting the devil: “Deliver us from evil.” And when we pray, we’re humbling ourselves before God: “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.”

Prayer is not a natural thing; if someone tells you it’s easy, they’re probably not doing it right! It’s hard to focus, hard to shut everything else out in order to connect with God. We learn prayer not by reading books about it, or taking a class about it, but by doing it. We learn by watching others, asking them to pray with and for us. That’s the sort of thing Paul saw in his young friend Timothy, and he reminded him of it in one of his letters: “I am reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also” (2 Timothy 1:5). Come to God in prayer as you learned from those who have gone before you. The goal is to have a heart that prays continuously (cf. 1 Thessalonians 5:17), because that kind of heart that seeks God’s glory and not our own.

Humble yourself before the Lord, James says, because then we begin to sort out which desires are ours and which desires are God’s. God’s desires are worth going all out for; our desires often are not. The whole point of prayer is to align our will with God’s will. So when a church is a praying church, and when a Christian is a praying Christian, when the will of each person is being conformed and shaped to God’s will, when we’re together seeking God’s glory rather than our own, then these fights and quarrels fall away. They’ll no longer seem so important because we’ll be focusing on what really matters. Paul told the Philippians: “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things” (Philippians 4:8).

As those other things are left behind, we’ll find our hearts begin to be molded into what they need to be so that we can pursue forgiveness toward the other person. There have been times in my life when I believe I can’t forgive that other person for what they said about me or did to me. The reality isn’t that I can’t, but that I don’t want to. When I submit myself to God, when I resist the devil and humble myself before God, I begin to realize that I shouldn’t be one who is forgiven, either. I’ve done some awful things. And yet the Bible says that those who trust in and begin to follow Jesus find everything they have ever done wrong is, in fact, forgiven. How can I withhold from someone else the same thing God has given me? The most helpful responses after 9/11 ten years ago were not the calls for revenge or the angry words that were hurled by Christians and non-Christians alike. The most helpful responses were those who offered words of grace, word of hope for peace and reconciliation. And while we’re most likely still working on forgiveness, and will be for some time, the hope and prayer is that God’s people will somehow respond in a way that always gives more grace.

To those who give themselves first and foremost to God’s calling and mission, who set aside their pride and envy and selfishness, James says that’s what God gives: “more grace” (4:6). Can you imagine getting more grace than you know what to do with? Can you envision a church, or a world where pride in God’s work takes precedence over pride in our own work? That’s the effect of grace given and grace received, of forgiveness given and forgiveness received. God calls us to lay aside our own agendas so we can show and share grace with others. So who needs grace from you? Who do you need grace from? Maybe this evening/morning, you’re thinking that you’ve tried everything and nothing seems to work. Then we still extend grace, because that’s exactly what Jesus does. To those who nailed him to the cross, he offered grace and the hope of forgiveness—even for those who did him the most harm. In what ways do you need to pray this coming week for those who have hurt you, for those whom you are arguing with, for those you disagree with? Can you continue to pray for blessings for those persons, even if you never find complete reconciliation? Do you want to be a healing presence in your community, in your home, in your church, in your world? Submit yourself to God, resist the devil, humble yourself before God, and James says God will lift you up by giving you all the more grace…grace we can then give to others.

Grace, grace, God’s grace, grace that will pardon and cleanse within!

Grace, grace, God’s grace, grace that is greater than all our sin!