Against the Stream

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

1 Peter 1:13-16; Leviticus 18:1-5

August 3, 2014 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO: Cliff & Theo Cooking (Cosby Show)

That show is thirty years old and it still makes me laugh. And I’m not sure if there really was a point in that scene or not, but perhaps it’s to remind us that when you’re in the kitchen, when you’re making something, technique is important. What you do and how you do it matters. How you shape a meal makes a difference as to whether it will be edible or not. A couple of weeks ago, during our “Weird Animals” Vacation Bible School, one of the closing skits had Mr. Kirk talking about mixing up a cake, but rather than using flour, eggs, sugar and such—the correct ingredients—he used salsa, Kool-Aid and a Kit-Kat. Needless to say, no one was interested in trying the cake he was making! (You can watch the video on our Facebook page, by the way.) What I found terribly funny were the comments by the kids. Some of them were very concerned that he really didn’t know what he was doing, and some of them wanted to tell him he had to follow the recipe. Which was, of course, the point! When we’re making something, whether that’s something we eat or something we build or even something we plan, it’s important to follow the recipe, the instructions, and especially to make sure you get the right ingredients together. Otherwise, you might end up with a disaster! No one ate Mr. Kirk’s cake that night—not even Mr. Kirk!

After eighty-eight years of living, British pastor John Stott sat down for the last time to think about what he had learned after a lifetime of walking with Jesus. Specifically, he wanted to figure out what the ingredients were for learning to faithfully follow Jesus. What he came up with were eight ingredients we need if we’re going to be able to live faithfully in this “brave new world” called the twenty-first century. In fact, he says such ingredients, when mixed into our lives, will cause us to be “radical” Christians—not “radical in the sense of “crazy.” In fact, the word “radical” actually means to return to the root, to the beginning, to the essentials (Stott, The Radical Disciple, pg. 15). One of the parables Jesus told was about seeds that were scattered on all kinds of soil, and for the seed that landed on rocky soil and did not grow, Jesus said the problem was that the seed had no root. It wasn’t radical (Luke 8:13). We need roots. We need to be radical in today’s world. So for the next four weeks, we’re going to take Stott’s list of ingredients and consider two of them each week, then we’ll mix them together in our Christian kitchen here, and see what we come up with.

So, let’s see here…the recipe says the first ingredient is “noncomformity.” Noncomformity…that’s a strange word, and not one people use a lot today. Today, we’re encouraged to “just get along,” because our world is defined by pluralism. I was in seminary twenty-five years ago when I first heard that word, because I grew up in a little community where, at least as far as we knew, everyone pretty much thought and acted and voted the same. Oh, sure, every once in a while there was someone who was a little different, but they either got in line or didn’t last long around our school and our town. In seminary, my philosophy professor had us buy and read his book entitled “The Problem of Pluralism,” and it was then I learned of the mindset that says every viewpoint is equally valid, every thought is worth equal respect. And the “problem,” of course, is that pluralism can’t sustain itself. Two opposing viewpoints can’t both be valid, can’t both be true, can they? If I say the carpet is blue and you believe it’s yellow, we can’t both be right, but pluralism says we are both right, and I shouldn’t try to convince you that I’m right. Even though the carpet is blue.

We also live in a world that values materialism. That’s not just about acquiring things, though that tends to be end result, because if this world, the material world, is all you value, then why not just buy more and more and more stuff? Eat, drink, be merry and buy things—because tomorrow you might die, so grab all the gusto you can. That’s the motto of our world, isn’t it? Then there’s relativism—the idea that there are no absolutes especially when it comes to morality. If it feels good, do it. It’s relativism that allows parents to research and carry out a plan of letting their child die in a hot car, or for politicians to sell their vote to the highest bidder no matter what they believe or even what’s right. And finally there’s narcissism, a word which comes from the Greek god Narcissus who fell in love with his own image. We are a culture obsessed with how we look and how we appear, far and above what kind of people we are becoming. It’s all about “me” and “my happiness.” So the words “for better or worse” go out the door if “you” can’t make “me” happy. There are probably other “isms” we could add to the list, but those four give a good sketch of the selfish and self-centered world we live in (Stott 19-25). It’s easy to become just like that world. If we want to conform, fit in and “go with the flow,” we have to subscribe to these “isms.” And many, many people do. But God’s people have always been called to be different.

From the very beginning, that was true. In the Old Testament, we find the story of God’s people caught in slavery in Egypt, and God called a man named Moses, a Hebrew raised among the royalty in Egypt, to rescue them from slavery, to bring them to a promised land. It was a trip that should have taken a few weeks but ended up taking forty years. And why did it take forty years? Because it took that long for God to shape those “stubborn and rebellious” people into his people. Getting the Hebrews out of Egypt was the easy part; getting Egypt out of the Hebrews was the nearly impossible part. So when you read that story, you encounter a lot of passages where God is instructing the people on how they are to live. One such passage is in Leviticus 18, where God specifically tells them they are not to conform to the world around them: “You must not do as they do in Egypt, where you used to live, and you must not do as they do in the land of Canaan, where I am bringing you. Do not follow their practices. You must obey my laws and be careful to follow my decrees. I am the Lord your God. Keep my decrees and laws, for the person who obeys them will live by them. I am the Lord” (18:3-5). In many ways, there in the desert, the Hebrews were people caught in the middle. Literally, they were between Egypt, the land they had left, and Canaan, the land they were going to (Osborne, “1 Peter,” Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, Vol. 18, pg. 162). And they had a choice to make: what kind of people were they going to be? Or, maybe more to the point, whose people were they going to be?

The word used most often in the Bible to describe God’s desire for his people is “holy.” That’s a word, honestly, we don’t hear much anymore, even in the church. And yet, the call throughout the story of the Exodus and on into the New Testament is for God’s people to be holy. In fact, we heard that call in Peter’s letter this morning: “As obedient children, do not conform to the evil desires you had when you lived in ignorance. But just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do; for it is written: ‘Be holy, because I am holy’” (1:14-16). The word “holy” simply means “set apart” or, more basically, “different.” In the Bible, the Temple is said to be “holy” because it’s different from any other building. The Sabbath, the day of rest, is declared “holy” because it’s supposed to be different from any other day. And the Christian is “holy” because he or she is called to be different than other people (cf. Barclay, The Letters of James and Peter, pg. 188; Wright, The Early Christian Letters for Everyone, pg. 54). We’re not called to just blend in to the world around us; in fact, did you hear Peter say, “do not conform”? Paul said much the same thing in his letter to the Romans: “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will” (Romans 12:2). I love the way Eugene Peterson translated that verse in The Message: “Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking” (pg. 2054). Our call as Christians is to nonconformity. In a world that has lost its way, we point to the Way.

So to the world that says every viewpoint is valid, we dare to say Jesus is the unique Son of God, the one who is the way, truth and life (cf. John 14:6). To a world that says “the one with the most toys wins,” we develop a life of simplicity, generosity and contentment, a life Paul described as “being content with whatever we have” (cf. Philippians 4:11). To a world that says morality is relative, that you can live however you want, we choose to live in obedience to God’s standards. After all, if you want to live in a kingdom, you have to live like the king. Who is your king? How does he want you to live? And to a world that is stuck on itself, where “me” is king, we live out agape love, a self-sacrificing love that loves others as an act of loving God. Nonconformity sets us against our culture, and we may find ourselves swimming against the stream that seems overwhelming. But I like the way Malcolm Muggeridge put it: “Only dead fish swim with the current.” Our call is to swim upstream, and to call others to follow us. The first ingredient we want to pour into our recipe for a Christian is nonconformity.

But that ingredient must be coupled with our second one, which is balance. We might describe balance this way: “Remember who you are.” Or “remember whose you are.” Peter has called us to that remembrance, and he said we should “set our hope” not on this world, not on the things we own, not even on our own worth and value. “Set your hope on the grace to be brought to you when Jesus Christ is revealed at his coming” (1:13). Think about who Peter was writing these words to. At the beginning of this chapter, he says he’s writing to “God’s elect, exiles scattered throughout the provinces” (1:1). Exiles—people without a home. They had once had a home, but because of religious persecution or economic situations, they had been scattered and were far from home. Whatever hope they had, whatever wealth they may have accumulated, whatever friends they might have had, or family, or security—all of that is gone. As we’ve been hearing about the conflict in Israel these past couple of weeks, my mind constantly goes back to the people I’ve met there on various trips, and I wonder if they are okay, or if they have become exiles of sorts. Even if the ones I know are okay, you know there are exiles who have lost homes and loved ones in the fighting that seems to have no just end to it. We often hear about “refugees” around the world which is just another word for “exile.” Wars and ethnic conflicts and economic situations often uproot whole groups of people. We have been pretty fortunate in this country—but there are many in our nation who are not. We just do a better job of hiding those who have been uprooted. We call them “homeless” rather than “exiles,” but the truth remains that on any given night, over 600,000 people are homeless, and 35% of those live in “situations unsuited for human habitation.” The single largest contributing factor to homelessness in our country is not the loss of a job; it is domestic violence. They are exiles—people who have lost home, who have lost hope.

And there are spiritual exiles as well, people who have been rejected, who have been shunned for their belief in Christ. Just recently in the news there was the story of the woman who was arrested in Sudan because she was a Christian. She was condemned to death because of her faith and only rescued because of an international outcry. And while that experience is not likely to happen to any of us, there are times when we feel left out, hopeless, exiled because of our faith. It may be as simple as being made fun of for your faith or as serious as being passed over or even losing a job because of that same faith. Exiles. And to us, Peter says, “Remember who you are; remember whose you are. Set your hope on Jesus, not on the things of this world.”

The term “balance” comes into play to describe the way we stand against the stream, the way we live out our faith. Nonconformity does not give us permission to be obnoxious about our faith. Holiness does not give us the right to be “holier-than-thou.” If we’re exiles because of rude religious behavior, then we probably deserve to be exiles. Balance calls us to remember who we are and to give a faithful witness to the Jesus in whom we hope. Later on in his letter, Peter says to the exiles, “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect” (3:15). That’s balance. That’s standing out without being obnoxious. I’ve shared several times in my Disciple classes about Brother Jed. Every spring, Brother Jed would come to campus at Ball State, and he would take his place at the main intersection on campus and yell at people. He would tell young women they were going to hell because their skirts were too short. He would yell at young men that they worshipped the devil because their hair was too long. No one could quite measure up to whatever idea of holiness Brother Jed had. Sometimes people would try to debate him, to get him to see the error of his ways, but the unfortunate thing was they would often end up yelling at him just like he was yelling at them! “Do this,” Peter says, “with gentleness and respect.” Or what about those who protest at abortion clinics, then throw bombs or threaten the life of the doctors who work there? It sounds like the ones who claim to be Christian have forgotten who they are. They have gotten out of balance. And, of course, we know of the antics of Westboro Baptist Church, who protest military funerals and even protested the Indy 500 this year. They hold up signs that claim to present the truth as they understand it, but they do it in a downgrading and ugly way. Something is out of balance. I prefer to think of Jesus, kneeling on the ground, scribbling with his finger in the dirt, surrounded by religious leaders and kneeling by a naked woman caught in the act of adultery. “Whoever is without sin,” Jesus said, “cast the first stone.” And when they all left—the oldest first!—he asked the woman, “Where are your accusers? Has no one condemned you?” When she said that no one had, Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go and leave your life of sin” (cf. John 8:1-11). That’s a life in balance, moving against the stream.

This past week, I read the autobiography of Brennan Manning, a man who is most known for his book The Ragamuffin Gospel. Manning was once a Catholic priest, who had a profound and deep encounter with Jesus while kneeling at the foot of the cross, an experience so powerful he says he literally lost track of three hours while he was kneeling there. But Manning struggled all of his life with the demon of alcoholism. There were times when it consumed his life, when it threatened his ministry, and, after leaving the active priesthood to get married, when it even tore apart his marriage. And yet, in the midst of that struggle, Manning encountered the grace and love of God in a way that he could not deny. He became known for saying, “God loves you unconditionally, as you are and not as you should be, because nobody is as they should be.” Throughout his life, he sought to point people to the cross, the only hope of healing for this world, and he sought to live in a way that swam against the stream of the world: the way of love. Like us, he did not always succeed, but his hope was always in Jesus and not in his own work. He sought a life of balance, even when everything seemed to be out of balance.

Manning, and others like him, know that ‘being a Christian is not just about believing or thinking but about doing. Until our behavior reflects God’s own character, we are not fully Christian” (Osborne 162). Our calling is to strive for a life in balance (remembering whose we are) coupled with a life of nonconformity (holiness). And what a great place we have to begin, a place where those ingredients mix together so well: the communion table. You know, we call it “holy” communion not because the bread and the juice are somehow mystical or changed or because they dropped down out of heaven. We call it “holy” communion because this thing we do is different. We call it “holy” communion because of what it does to us. It sets us apart from the world. It sends us swimming upstream. I mean, this is a strange thing we do here. Try going over to Meijer and putting up a table in the aisle where you offer bread and grape juice to people passing by. They would, of course, mistake you for a sampling table until you tell them, “This is the body of Christ…this is the blood of Christ.” Say what? It’s a strange, awkward and counter-cultural thing we do here at this table. Or, let me put it another way: it’s weird. There’s no where else in the world that you do this thing. To simply come to the table is an act of nonconformity. But it’s also true that in this bread and in this cup we find a reminder of who we are. This act brings balance to our lives.

When I was a freshman at Ball State, I spent the first several weeks visiting local churches, trying to find a place to worship regularly while away from home. And in every church I visited during those first few weeks it was communion Sunday. Every week, no matter where I chose to attend, I was served the bread and the juice—or the wine, in one case, which was quite a surprise to this life-long Methodist boy! And after several weeks of this, I remember sort of laughing to myself and saying, “Are you trying to tell me something, God?” And yes, God was trying to tell me something: “Remember who you are. On this campus, your first time really away from home, you are not called to be just like everyone else. This bread and this cup reminds you who you are and whose you are.” I think it took me some time to realize that, but now every time we approach the communion table, I remember. I remember who I am: I am a follower of Jesus, called to a life of nonconformity and a life of balance. As you come to the table this morning, may this be a place where those ingredients are mixed together in your life as you begin to swim against the stream.

Let’s prepare our hearts for this strange celebration we call “holy” communion.