The Most Powerful Position

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

1 Corinthians 4:1-5; Luke 12:42-46

October 27, 2013 • Portage First UMC

My Uncle Carl could fix anything. If something was broken, my Dad and I would push, pull or wheel it down to Uncle Carl’s garage, tell him what wasn’t working, and leave it with him. In a few days, he’d come down the street, and whatever we had left with him would be fixed. Now, Uncle Carl had some natural “fix-it” abilities, but he also had a great garage. His garage was a wonderland that, as a kid, I always wanted to explore. Two stories—well, really, a ground level and a mezzanine (though I doubt Uncle Carl ever used the word “mezzanine”), and it was crammed full of junk. You see, Uncle Carl would go to auctions all over the area, and he’d buy that last box of stuff no one else wanted, the mystery box, the one that had bits and pieces of this and that. And he would bring it home, clean it up, and file all the stuff away, because some day, my Dad and I would likely come down the road with something that needed fixing and the part he would need just might be in that box somewhere. Uncle Carl’s garage was packed full of resources—not junk, resources—and whenever someone asked him, he was more than willing to give of what he had in order to help. When Uncle Carl died, we not only lost our master repairman—we also lost access to all the treasures in his garage!

Everyone needs an Uncle Carl in their life, someone you can turn to to help fix things when life gets broken. Uncle Carl never wanted anything for the work he did. Actually, it was a joy for him because he loved tinkering around in his garage. And we weren’t the only ones who brought broken things to him; he was the master repairman of Sedalia because he was simply able and willing to use what he had in order to help someone else. He did what he could to help others—often my family—along the way. We could all use an Uncle Carl in our lives.

Unfortunately, the Uncle Carls often get overlooked because, as we discussed a few weeks ago, those we look up to, those we talk about, those we—dare we say—idolize are the powerful, the important, the significant. We want the attention of the boss, or the CEO, or the Bishop. We admire power and influence. We aspire to rise to such heights. Soon after I became a pastor, I remember people asking me if I ever wanted to be a District Superintendent, or if I wanted to be a Bishop. (The answer, by the way, is “no.”) We’re told from early on to “aim for the top,” to aspire to be the one who makes the decisions, who has the influence, who has the power. But the way of power way is not the way of Jesus. When Jesus talks about those who follow him, the most common image is not of the rich and powerful, but of one who serves, who gives of what he has for the sake of others. In fact, in the New Testament, there is no word used more frequently to describe a believer in Jesus then “slave.”

Paul knew that. Paul taught that, and he sought to live that out as much as possible. You may remember from our discussion a couple of weeks ago that Paul had a difficult relationship with the Corinthian church. Scholars think he may have written as many as four letters to them, only two of which are preserved in the Bible. One of the letters that seems to have been lost is what is called the “severe letter,” written after a very painful visit (2 Corinthians 2:1-4) and even though our passage this morning happens chronologically before that, it does give us a sense of the love and the struggle Paul had with the Corinthians. Yes, Paul loved these people. He had started this church in the important city of Corinth some twenty years after Jesus’ resurrection (cf. Green, To Corinth With Love, pg. 9, 11), but when he left, problems quickly developed. Struggle. There was gross immorality, for one thing, and there were also these teachers who came in and sought to discredit Paul. He calls them “super-apostles” (2 Corinthians 11:5), and these were folks who claimed to have special knowledge or experience or credentials that put them ahead of Paul, made them spiritually superior to Paul. Such knowledge supposedly made them more important or more powerful than Paul. It was a struggle, but it was a struggle with love. Paul loved them so much he wasn’t willing to just give up on them.

The Corinthians seemed to have constantly struggled over leadership, whose teaching they should follow. Some followed Paul. Some followed Apollos, another lesser-known preacher. Some followed Peter. And some arrogantly said, “We just follow Jesus” (1:10-17), not in a good way, but in an attempt to claim spiritual superiority. (That same struggle still exists in the church today, by the way!) And so Paul finds it important to point them back to the actual example of Jesus. After all, Paul says, I didn’t die for you. “I appeal to you, brothers and sisters,” he writes, “in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another in what you say and that there be no divisions among you” (1:10). I wonder how much his heart would break if he were to see the state of the Christian faith today, shattered into thousands of pieces (or denominations) that only rarely agree with each other or get along. Perhaps some of the reason we’re ignored in the world at large is because we can’t even get along with each other.

So, then, in this letter, Paul uses four words to describe himself and those with him: servants, fellow workers, assistants, and stewards. Let’s look at each of these, but realize that Paul doesn’t mean to have clear boundaries between each one. They’re all really different facets of the same job description, different sides of the same story. It’s not really four different categories. So in 3:5, Paul asks, “What, after all, is Apollos? And what is Paul? Only servants, through whom you came to believe.” Some Bibles translate that as “ministers,” but the word he uses actually means “errand boy,” someone that those in power give very little thought to until they need something from them. It’s hard to think of Paul as an “errand boy,” but that’s part of the image he had for himself. He was simply a servant assigned by God, sent by God to do a task: to preach the good news. That’s not meant to downgrade the task or the one who does the task. It’s important; it’s vital. In fact, the image he uses is of planting a seed. He planted, he says, and Apollos watered, but neither one of them could make the seed grow. Only God could do that. They have done they task assigned to them; they have fulfilled their purpose. But ultimately, the results are up to God because he’s the one they serve—not the church, not even the Corinthians. They serve God.

That leads to the second image he uses in 3:9: “We are co-workers in God’s service.” Fellow workers. Ones who work alongside each other to accomplish a greater task. “Co-workers” implies an equality. One task is not greater than another. Just think about that in terms of the church today. People come here and maybe see me up front or the choir/worship team/praise team leading the music, and sometimes I hear, “Well, I could never do that. I can’t get up in front of people. I can’t do the important things.” But, you know what? If there weren’t people greeting, people making the coffee, people running the sound and video, people cleaning up after every service, or any other number of countless tasks that happen each and every week—what we do here on Sunday morning would simply not be possible. We are co-workers together for the sake of Jesus, our Master and Lord. We are servants and fellow laborers. Every task is important; every task is necessary. There are no “super-apostles,” Paul says.

Then, in chapter four, which we read the first part of this morning, Paul gives two more words, two additional images. “This, then, is how you ought to regard us: as servants of Christ” (4:1). Even though it reads the same in the English, it’s a different word in the Greek from what he said in chapter 3. It could be translated as “assistants.” We are “assistants” of Christ. The original word referred to a physician’s assistant, or to one who helps the priest—an assistant in the Temple in Jerusalem. It also was used to describe a rower on a large boat, as if Jesus is giving the direction and we are the ones who help steer the boat to the place it needs to go (cf. Barclay, The Letters to the Corinthians, pg. 36). This is someone’s “right hand person,” the one who is ready to do whatever is asked and who has obtained the trust of the head, of the master—again, in this case, Jesus. Paul is not lifting himself up above others. We are all Christ’s assistants. Those who are committed to following him are his assistants that he trusts to call upon at any moment to help him in the world.

And, as Christ’s assistants, Paul says he is and we are “entrusted with the mysteries God has revealed” (4:1). The better translation there would be: we are “stewards” of what God has revealed (cf. Bailey, Paul Through Mediterranean Eyes, pg. 142). The word Paul uses originally referred to a household manager, one who was responsible for the whole household. This person controlled the staff, issued the supplies, did all the administration, and enjoyed a great amount of independence, probably more than other slaves in the household. But he was still a slave. The reason he had so much independence is because of one trait that had to be present for someone to become a steward in a first century household: faithfulness. Biblical languages have no word for “honesty.” Honesty was a Roman concept, introduced into a culture that was ripe with political corruption. What the ancient Hebrews and early Christians valued above everything else was faithfulness. Was the servant faithful to serve the master? Is the Christian faithful to serve Jesus? Notice Paul doesn’t talk about success, either. We talk a lot about it; Paul doesn’t. The Bible doesn’t. The Bible talks about faithfulness. In fact, in Luke 12, Jesus equates wisdom with faithfulness as he describes the “faithful and wise steward.” He says the one who is faithful to the master will receive a reward when the master returns, and he contrasts that with a servant who gives up on believing that the master will ever return, who begins to beat the other servants, abusing his power. That servant will also receive the consequences of his actions, and those consequences aren’t good. It’s faithfulness that is most needed to be a steward of what God has given us.

Paul’s clear call to us is toward faithfulness, toward being good stewards, good managers of what God has given us. But there’s one other thing I want us to hear from Paul before we think about the implications of what he tells us in this chapter, and that’s who gets to judge. There are a lot of ways we are judged in our world. Sometimes we are judged by others, even our fellow workers, or at least those in the world around us. Paul was quite blunt to the Corinthians. He knew some had been passing judgment on his ministry, on his ability to be a good steward, and so he says, “I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court” (4:3). Now, that’s not saying we should ignore all criticism that comes our way, or any honest evaluation. But we know whom we can trust with that sort of activity and who we can’t. We know who will give us life-giving correction and who won’t (cf. Groeschel, Soul Detox, pg. 32). We need to listen to honest evaluation, because there is most likely some truth in that which will help. None of us are above that. But, Paul says, that’s not the ultimate standard by which he lives his life. He isn’t living to make every Corinthian happy. He isn’t even living to fulfill all of their desires and wishes. He is Christ’s steward.

Another source of judgment comes from within. We judge ourselves. In Paul’s day, one of the basic Greek ethical guidelines was to “know yourself” (Barclay 37). But Paul also knows we can judge ourselves much too harshly. Centuries before Paul, the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah wrote, “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?” (17:9). It’s also true, however, that no one on earth knows better than we do whether or not we have been faithful. And yet, as Pastor Craig Groeschel puts it, “We have an unlimited capacity to deceive ourselves” (27). There are times we need to engage in what Groeschel calls “ruthless self-examination.” That’s different than judgment, and so Paul says, “I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent” (4:3-4).

No, Paul says, there is only one judgment that matters. There is only one who knows the true extent of our faithfulness, and that is because he is the master. He is the one we serve. He is the one who has given us the commands, and so only he can fully judge that faithfulness. “It is the Lord who judges me,” Paul says (4:4), and if I am faithful to him, that’s all that really matters. If I am a good steward of the tasks and the message and the gospel he has given me, then I expect to hear one day, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (cf. Matthew 25:21, 23). “At that time,” he says, “each will receive their praise from God” (4:5). So, taking all of that together, the call for the follower of Jesus is to be a servant, a co-worker, an assistant, and a faithful steward. In other words, from the Bible’s viewpoint, from the Christian faith’s viewpoint, the most powerful position in the world is not the wealthy: Donald Trump or Bill Gates. The most powerful position in the world is not the politically powerful: the president or the members of Congress or even the CEO of your company. The most powerful position in the world is not the one who trades the stocks, not the one who has the most toys, not the one who drives the fastest car or sings that hit song. The most powerful position in the world is the good and faithful steward, the one who is willing to serve at God’s command, the one who uses what they have for the sake of God’s kingdom.

I said earlier we all need an Uncle Carl in our lives, but in reality, we all need to be Uncle Carl—not in terms of fixing things, necessarily, but in terms of being willing to use whatever we have for the sake of our master and for those in need. You all did that just a couple of weeks ago, on our Faith in Action Sunday. 162 of you came that day, ready to work and serve, and as a result of just a couple of hours of work, here’s what you did. You sang to many nursing home residents and visited with them, bringing joy into what is often a joyless and sometimes depressing place. You made 60 scarves that will be distributed through our school system to keep kids warm this winter—and, from the weather we’ve had this past week, I think those were made just in the nick of time! You wrote and sent over a hundred cards to remind people that they are being prayed for and that they are loved in Jesus’ name. You donated 5,220 pounds of food to the Portage Township Food Pantry, and many of you spent time sorting that food, packing it up, loading it in your cars and driving it over to the pantry, where you also carried it in. How many families will eat in the next few weeks because of your generosity and your time?

There’s more. Some of you worked on dresses made out of pillowcases for children in Guatemala and Haiti, children for whom a dress like that may be the nicest thing they will ever own. Some of you really got dirty and replaced a door on a mobile home in the community, allowing for a single mother with disabilities to enjoy a much warmer winter and to be able to cut down on heating costs. Several others of you went and tore the shingles off a roof to prepare it for replacement. Some of the rest of you prayed for our country, for our community, and for families who are grieving. You walked and you prayed. And some others prepared a luncheon that fed those who went out to work—and I know I was hungry when I got back, so thank you! But, now, just think about that. Together, just a little over half of our usual worshipping congregation spent just a couple of hours and look how much was accomplished in the name of Jesus in that short time! Think what could happen if we dedicate ourselves to being full-time faithful stewards of the all that God has given us. What might happen in our community and in our world? What might happen if we open our hands and allow God to use what is there for the sake of his kingdom and for the glory of his name?

For the next three weeks, that’s the question we’re going to be asking. The Bible talks about three main resources we have that we can employ in the service of Jesus Christ and his kingdom: our time, our talents (or gifts) and our treasure. So, for the next three weeks, we’re going to be asking a simple question: what’s in your hand? And we’re asking it that way because of our tendency to grasp onto those things that we think we own. We grab onto our time, our talents, our treasure, and we hold tight. Sometimes we do to God what I would often do to the kids when they were younger. I would put a piece of candy in my hand, clench both hands into fists, and then ask the kids to guess which hand the candy was in. If they could guess the hand, they would get the candy. Now, of course, they were going to get it anyway, but we treat God like that. Here’s what I have, God. If you can guess which hand it’s in, you can have it. The problem with that is two-fold. One, we tend to switch hands and try to keep what we have hidden from God. But beyond that, when our hands our clenched—either in reality or metaphorically—we can’t receive anything. Whatever blessing God might want to give us, we can’t receive because we’re so clenched up, holding so tight onto what we already have. And very often, because we won’t let go, we miss God’s very best for us.

Five-year-old Jenny saw a pearl necklace at a dime store one day and asked her mom to buy it for her. Her mom told her she could do some extra chores and earn the money to buy it if she wanted. It didn’t cost that much, because the pearls were fake. But Jenny wanted it and so when she got home, she broke open her piggy bank, did some lawn work and saved her birthday money until finally she could buy the necklace. And when she got it, she was very proud of it. She wore it everywhere, even to bed at night.

Every night, Jenny’s dad would read a story to her, and then one night, after the story, he asked Jenny, “Do you love me?” “Yes, Daddy, you know I love you,” she said. “Then give me your pearls,” her dad said. Jenny teared up a bit. “No, Daddy, not my pearls. You can have my favorite stuffed horse, the one with the pink tail, but not my pearls. Anything but that.” Her dad leaned over and kissed her forehead. “That’s okay, honey. Sleep well, I love you.” About a week later, Jenny’s dad repeated the same request after story time. And again, Jenny held back. “No, Daddy, not my pearls. How about my baby doll, you know the one that I got for my birthday. You can even have the blanket that goes with her.” Daddy smiled. “That’s okay, honey, you sleep well. I love you.” A few nights later, when Jenny’s dad came into her room to read a story, Jenny was sitting cross-legged on her bed, with tears in her eyes. “What is it, Jenny?” her dad asked. “What’s wrong?” Without saying anything, Jenny held up her pearls. “You can have my pearls, Daddy.” Now it was Dad’s turn to tear up, as he took the fake pearls from her with one hand, and with the other hand, he pulled out of his pocket a blue velvet box. Inside the box was a genuine pearl necklace, something he had picked out just for Jenny several weeks before. He had the real pearls all the time. He was just waiting for her to give up her fake pearls in order to have the real thing.

How often do we pass up the good things God wants to give us—the really real things—because we’re so busy holding onto what we already have? Remember, you can’t receive anything if your hands remain clenched. Time, talents, and treasure—God has given us only a limited amount of each, so the question really is: what’s in your hand, and how will you use it for God’s sake? Remember, Paul reminds us that we are not owners. We are stewards. Everything we have came from God; it doesn’t belong to us in the first place. We think it does. We think we have earned it, earned everything we have and we should be able to use it the way we want to. But what would we have been able to earn had God not given us life, had God not given us talents and abilities? That’s why, just a few verses down from what we read this morning, Paul says, “What did you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you did not?” (4:7).

Now, I realize underneath all of this is the Biblical viewpoint that there are only two choices. You can describe them as believer or nonbeliever, follower of self or follower of Jesus, the way of the super-apostles or the way of the servant, clenched hands or open hands. But here’s Paul’s point: if you want to follow Jesus fully, not just in name only, you have to live the way he showed us to live. Jesus knelt at the feet of those he loved and washed their dirty, stinking feet. He served, and he told us to do likewise (John 13:15). If he is our master, then he owns our stuff—he owns us. What we have is not our own. So the question we’re going to wrestle with in the next few weeks is this: what do we have that God can use? In what ways can our time, talents, and treasure be used in service to Christ rather than simply in service to ourselves?

As we enter into this time, I know I need to learn to unclench my hands, and the way we do that is through worship, praise, and specifically, through thanksgiving—not the holiday, necessarily, but the practice of giving thanks to God for everything. Some of us probably do at least a quick prayer before our meals to give thanks, but how much of our time with God, our prayer time, involves saying “thank you” for all that we have been given? If you’re like me, not much, though our founder, John Wesley, believed that true prayer is thanksgiving, that you can’t separate giving thanks from what he called true prayer. I tend to rush into the things I want to ask for. So this month, I’m going to unclench my hands by giving thanks. My plan is to use Facebook to do this, to post something different every day that I am thankful for through the month of November. You might choose to do the same, or you could keep a list and share it with a friend or a family member. I read this week about a woman who kept a notebook by her bed and every night, before she went to sleep, she would write down five things that happened that day that were “either fun or delicious or uplifting or entertaining.” She said that, as she made that the last thing she did each day, she began to see every day as a gift rather than as a curse (Smith, Hidden in Christ, pg. 161-162). So whatever other way you can think of, find a way to demonstrate thankfulness, because as we begin to give thanks on a regular basis, we will find our hearts changed and our hands begin to unclench, because we’ll be reminded how much we have that God has given us. Now, again, I don’t know about you, but I need a place to start, and so this morning, we’re going to give you a card on the way out that has a printed prayer I want to encourage you to use for the next month to begin your prayer time. It’s an adapted version of John Wesley’s thanksgiving prayer, so I invite you to allow this prayer to direct and challenge and encourage your own practice of thankfulness, of becoming more and more a steward of God’s good gifts. Because the most powerful position is kneeling before God as we serve out of gratitude.

Wesley's Thanksgiving Prayer (adapted)

Eternal and merciful Father, I give you humble thanks for all the blessings which you have given me because of your mercy and your love. They are poured down around me, and I don’t even realize it. Increase my thankfulness, I pray. Amen.

Perfect Weakness

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

2 Corinthians 12:1-10; John 19:28-30

October 6, 2013 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

Well, it happened as we were told it might. Tuesday morning, we all woke up to find out that the government had shut down. To be honest, I couldn’t tell that much of a difference! But the news from overnight was that Democrats and Republicans had failed to come to a compromise on a new budget, were continuing to argue over several issues, and therefore, the government did not have funding to operate. Now, what that meant is that many federal workers were suddenly without a job—not Congress or the President, mind you. They will still get paid. But people who work at the Washington Zoo, for instance, were sent home. NASA was mostly closed, as were many research projects and Congressional perks like the barber shop, dining room and shoe shine. Even our own Portage Lakefront was closed because it’s owned by the National Parks System. All of this is because there’s an ongoing power struggle, and despite the media’s attempt to blame one side or the other, most of us recognize that there is plenty of blame to go around on both sides. Neither side wants to compromise their position in any way, and so because each side wants to be seen as the side with power, we are left with a mess. Power does that. We have probably all heard the famous statement from Lord Acton, a British politician of the late 1800’s, who wrote to Bishop Michael Creighton, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”

Now, it’s easy to point fingers, especially this week, at the politicians and the business leaders and all those we think of as having “power.” But we all want power in one form or another. A child who throws a tantrum because he didn’t get his way wants power. An adult who bullies their way through a situation wants power. A spouse who demands that everything be done her way wants power. “We want to drive fast and get mad at cars blocking the lane. We want a promotion and don’t get it and begin hating on the person who did get it. We want to be married and get angry at God because we’re still single. And we especially want to beat out everybody else for the prizes in life” (Wilson, Empty Promises, pg. 68). C. S. Lewis put it this way: “What we call ambition usually means the wish to be more conspicuous or more successful than someone else” (qtd. in Wilson 68). Power is a sin of comparison, and it becomes an idol when we insist on having to be the absolute best every time. It’s not enough to have a good position at work; we have to have the best position. It’s not enough to be a good mom; we have to be super mom. It’s not enough to be a good pastor; we have to be the best pastor. It’s not enough to be on the road making progress toward our destination; we have to be out in front, and woe to the person who gets in front of us or cuts us off in traffic! After all, in every situation, we are more deserving than anyone else. And on it goes. Power tends to corrupt, and that’s why it’s one of the most seductive idols on the market today.

This morning, we’re wrapping up our series of sermons on “Empty Promises.” Over these last six weeks, we’ve been looking at the various idols that confront us every day: things like success and achievement, affirmation and approval, money, beauty and appearance. But there is probably no more potent or addictive idol than power, the desire to have control over others or over situations, the desire to be in charge. Lord Acton was right—power corrupts, for it promises us that we can be “god” ourselves. The idol of power was at the heart of the first sin in the Bible. Adam and Eve were in a perfect garden, and they were given one, only one, prohibition: don’t eat from the tree in the center of the garden. Then along comes the serpent, who tells them that if they eat from that tree, they will become like God, knowing good and evil. In other words, they would have power, maybe even power over God. It’s too tempting, too alluring to resist (Genesis 3:1-7). They eat—and the history of the human race from that moment on has been one of grasping for power and control.

The Apostle Paul certainly understood power, for he lived in a world where people spent a lot of time grasping and straining for power. The Roman Empire was in a period of flux when Paul lived, and everyone wanted to be on the emperor’s “friends” list. And that attitude carried over into the church, because after all, these folks were brand new to the whole idea of Christianity. Not that long ago, many if not most of them had been a huge part of this power-driven society. When they became Christians, like many of us, they just brought their old habits into the church. And so Paul writes this letter to the church in Corinth to address several issues, including that of power. Paul has had a difficult relationship with the Corinthian church, brought on at least in large part by some “false teachers” who had tried to discredit him. They said he was “timid” when he was preaching, that he was only “bold” when he was away (2 Corinthians 10:1). They said he was “unimpressive” when he preached, and that his speaking “amounted to nothing” (10:10). Then, it seems, they would boast about their own spiritual experiences, to prove that they and their teaching were superior to Paul. They were “super-apostles,” super spiritual, people whom God had especially blessed (11:5). They would say these things in such a way that “ordinary” Christians would be in awe of them, would look up to them in some way (Wright, Paul for Everyone: 2 Corinthians, pg. 131). It’s a power struggle, pure and simple. The super-apostles are determined to be in charge of the church, and they believe they have to discredit Paul to attain that.

So Paul writes to the Corinthians, but surprisingly he doesn’t insist on his own power. In fact, while he does remind them of his credentials, he says, “If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness” (11:30). And then, in chapter 12 which we read the first part of this morning, he reminds them there is nothing to be gained by boasting (12:1). In the church, as Christians, boasting does not get us anywhere, and to explain or demonstrate why, Paul tells a strange story. “I know a man in Christ,” he says, “who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven…And I know that this man…was caught up to paradise and heard inexpressible things, things that no one is permitted to tell. I will boast about a man like that, but I will not boast about myself” (12:2-5). Now, scholars pretty much agree across the board that this “man” Paul is talking about is, in fact, himself, and he’s recounting an experience he had fourteen years before but apparently has never told anyone about until now. In fact, this is the only time he ever talks about any sort of vision (Hafemann, NIV Application Commentary: 2 Corinthians, pg. 457). And he’s frustratingly sparse on details; in fact, he says he can’t really talk about it. Whether that means he’s been forbidden to talk about (as if God told him not to say anything [cf. Hafemann 460]) or he simply can’t find the words, we don’t know. Basically, he’s saying, “I’ve had spiritual experiences like these super-apostles claim to have had, but I haven’t talked about it, because such experiences are not the point of the Christian faith and they are not the source of my authority.” So what is the source of Paul’s authority, then? He says it in verse 5: “I will not boast about myself, except about my weaknesses.”

By “weaknesses,” Paul is referring to things he can’t do well, feebleness—not necessarily of body, though we’ll talk about that in a moment—but he’s referring to his own inability, in his own strength, to resist desires, idols, things that tempt him. He’s talking about boasting of the trouble his life has had. Why would he boast about that? Most of us much prefer boast about the successes, the good things we’ve done. You don’t take a resume in today’s world and fill it with your failures. You write down every success you can think of. Unless you’re looking for attention, you generally write most about your successes than your failures when you post on Facebook or Twitter. Why would Paul think he should boast about his weakness? That doesn’t make any sense to us today. And that’s just the point. It didn’t make sense in Paul’s day, either. But for Paul it was a conscious choice, learned in a lesson from God, to focus on his weakness, on those places where he couldn’t do it alone. And the way he learned that was through what he calls a “thorn” in his flesh.

“In order to keep me from becoming conceited,” Paul says, “I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me” (12:7). Now, there is a lot of discussion as to what this “thorn” is. The word itself indicates something that caused great pain, an almost savage pain, so we’re at least talking about physical suffering. And it seems, from the language he uses, to have been intermittent. In other words, it wasn’t all the time, but when it came, it was bad (Barclay, The Letters to the Corinthians, pg. 257). There have been a lot of suggestions about what this was, from epilepsy to a malarial fever that was frequently present along the coast of the Mediterranean in those days. Others suggest he might be referring to the ways he suffered at the hands of others, those who would persecute him, and still others say it might have been migraine headaches. But the most agreed-upon description of this “thorn” is severe problems with his eyes, most likely stemming from his encounter with Jesus on the Damascus Road (Acts 9:1-9) when he was struck blind by a bright light from heaven. Many suggest he never quite regained his vision. In fact, we know he dictated his letters and others actually wrote them down, and eye problems such as this could also include debilitating headaches (Barclay 258). But Paul doesn’t tell us explicitly what the “thorn” was, so anything is really a guess. Paul’s point is much larger. The “thorn” was given to him to keep him humble, to remind him that he was not sufficient on his own. Whatever he accomplished was only because God was working in him. In fact, he asked God three times to take this thorn away, but instead he received this word from God: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (12:9).

Power—the word in Greek is related to our word “dynamite,” so we’re talking very powerful, explosively powerful. And that kind of power, God’s power, is oddly seen when we are weak. When we can’t do it on our own. When we can’t make it on our own. That’s when God’s power is seen. That’s when we are most complete, perfect, when we realize we can only rely on God and nothing and no one else. My grace, God says, is enough. It’s enough for you. Paul goes on to put it quite bluntly: “When I am weak, then I am strong” (12:10).

Nearly fourteen years ago, I didn’t have a vision like Paul’s, but I did have an experience that taught me a lot about grace. Many of you know I was born with a heart defect, and when it was first diagnosed, my power mentality, control mentality, said to just fix it right then. I remember, at the ripe old age of 17, telling the doctor that. I think I would have gone into the hospital that day if they’d have let me. But the doctor patiently explained to me that my condition wasn’t problematic enough yet to repair. And so I was left with a truth I didn’t like: I couldn’t fix it. In fact, in the years to come, I did a lot to try to deny that I even had a problem. I was still strong. I was young. I could do anything—except I couldn’t. There were things I couldn’t do because of the issue with my heart. But I was raised to be self-sufficient, like most of us were, and so I tried. And I prayed. I prayed God would take it away, fix it supernaturally. But God didn’t. “My grace is sufficient for even you, Dennis.” Did I really believe that? It was hard to grab onto. And so we waited, for many years, until what technology could do was finally better than what I had, so that on January 12, 1999 (some dates you never forget), we went to Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis and I allowed a skilled surgeon to repair my heart. That was an act of grace. I could not fix myself. I did not have the power to overcome my weakness. Only someone outside of me could do that. The same is true with our worship of power. We want to boast of what we can do. God wants us to boast instead of what he can do, even if it shows off our own weakness.

Now, there are a couple of indicators that tell us if power might be an idol we are worshipping. The first is when we avoid failure at any cost. That indicates power has become our identity. Avoiding failure looks like this: how would you rate yourself on a scale of 1-10 with these statements?

• I feel the need to win every argument.
• I lose my temper when situations or conversations don’t go my way.

If power is an idol, we’ll do most anything we can to cover up our mistakes and our weakness so that no one can see or realize we might have failed. The other way we might approach this is that we always set ourselves up to succeed. We never enter a situation where we might fail, and so sometimes worshipping power even looks like holding back, not taking that new job because you might not be able to do it, not asking that person out because they might reject you. We tend to fear failure because when we fail, we perceive a loss of power and influence, and that’s a bad thing for the power worshipper. One of the things I always admired about Mother Teresa was her refusal to back down from what she believed, no matter who she was talking to. It didn’t matter if she was speaking to someone on the streets of Calcutta or the President of the United States, fear of power did not control her. There is a rather famous story of Mother Teresa speaking at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, D.C. and boldly speaking out on her beliefs about life, despite the fact that President Clinton, whose policies often disagreed with hers, was sitting at the same table. Power held no attraction for Mother Teresa, and therefore fear was not a factor. What is it in your life? What holds you back from maybe doing something God calls you to do because you’re afraid you’ll lose power?

The second “red flag” when it comes to worshipping power is when we refuse correction. Again, how would you rank yourself 1-10 on these statements?

• I get very upset when people don’t specifically do things the way I want them to be done.
• I have a hard time following the rules other people establish.
• I always know a better way.
•  When things go wrong, it’s always someone else’s fault.

In other words, refusing correction means we seek to live without accountability. Power is very closely related to pride. In fact, Proverbs 15:12 puts it this way: “Mockers resent correction, so they avoid the wise.” Now, nobody likes to be told they’re doing something wrong, but there are times when we need to hear an outside voice in our life—in our jobs, in our homes, even in our church. Our staff here loves the evaluation time each year! Okay, not really, and not because our Staff-Parish Committee is cruel. Nobody likes evaluation all that much, because that implies correction. We like to think we’re doing it all right, but if we’re unwilling to listen to others (even if they’re wrong), then power is most likely an idol in our lives.

There’s a story in the Old Testament about the time wise King Solomon dies and his son Rehoboam is put on the throne. People come to him asking for relief from the taxes and such that Solomon had put on them, and Rehoboam asks for some time to think it over. He consults the wise men, who advise him to make himself a “servant” to the people. Then he asks his young friends, who advise him to tell the people he will be even harsher on them, to just deal with it. Rehoboam goes with his friends’ advice, and the kingdom collapses (1 Kings 12:1-17). What if he had accepted correction, given up power and become a servant?

That’s the example we have of Paul, and ultimately of Jesus, the one Paul modeled his life after. How do we conquer the idol of power? By living in perfect weakness, as Paul described it and as Jesus lived it. In the Gospel lesson this morning, we have just one example of Jesus’ perfect weakness: he gave his life for the sake of the whole world. He who was God incarnate, who could have taken power and set up an earthly kingdom, who could have called, as the song says, 10,000 angels to defend him—he willingly gave his life. He gave up his spirit; it was not taken from him (19:30). Before that, just a night before, he had gathered his closest friends in an upper room for dinner, and before they ate, he washed their feet. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you” (John 13:12-15). I have set you an example—we’re to do like Jesus did. The cure for the power idol is engaging in servanthood. What would the world look like if people grasped that idea? What would it mean if people sought to serve one another rather than rule one another? What if public service really meant that again? And what if the church, Jesus’ people, took that example seriously, serving one another rather than always seeking to get our own way?

Last Sunday, some of you stepped up to do just that. Eleven of you responded “yes” to Jeff’s plea for folks to deliver pies, to reach out to newcomers and to seek to connect them with Christ and the church. That’s an act of servanthood that not only puts your own desires for a relaxing Sunday afternoon aside for a least a brief time, but it will make a huge difference in someone’s life. Well done! Next Sunday, we all have a chance to do that. Next Sunday is our second “Faith in Action” Sunday, and we’re going to seek to serve others in a wide variety of ways. We’re only going to have one service, at 10:00, and that will be brief. Then we’ll head out in and around the area to serve others. Pastor Deb has a complete list of projects at the Connection Center, and she would really like for you to sign up so we know how many to anticipate. As preparation for next Sunday, we’re also going to be collecting food items this week, to step out and stop hunger. You’ll get a bag or several when you leave this week, and you’re encouraged to ask your neighbors to contribute, to help. Don’t let this just be a “Portage First thing.” For some of us, that’s frightening, and some of you are probably already planning to stay home next week and planning to not collect food this week. I wonder why that is? You know your neighbors, or at least you recognize them, and as for next Sunday, there are projects for everyone’s skill level, and some of the projects don’t require you to go anywhere. They’ll be done right here. Is it because it’s new and different, not the “normal” way of doing church? Well, that’s sort of the goal! Or is it because you might not be in control of what happens? Are you planning to stay home because of a tendency to worship the power idol? If that is you, I hope you won’t. Even if you are afraid you’re going to end up doing something you’re not entirely comfortable doing, that’s okay. God’s grace is sufficient for you. Paul said it, and Christians through the centuries have proven it to be true. When we serve, when we seek to break the power of power over our lives, God’s grace will be there to catch us and then, through us, others will see his strength. And that’s what it’s all about.

Just after he washed the disciples’ feet, Jesus gathered at the table with them. Twelve men, one of whom would betray him that night in a grab for power, and yet Jesus shared the Passover meal with all of them. A meal that was, for the Jews, almost as old as time, and filled with deep meaning. A night that reminded them of a time when they were powerless, and yet God rescued them (cf. Exodus 12). But that night, Jesus changed the words, the meaning, the liturgy. He told them the bread and the wine from that night on would remind them of him, of what he was about to do in the ultimate act of servanthood. And he told them to do it often, to remember him, to remember the cross, to remember what he did to save them when they were powerless to save themselves (cf. Romans 5:6). So today, on this World Communion Sunday, we gather with brothers and sisters around the world to remember Jesus’ sacrifice, his love, his willingness to give up power so that he could serve. There are places in our world today where Christians gather in fear rather than in freedom. Some never know if the next sound outside might be the powers of this world coming to arrest them because what they are doing is illegal. And yet, they gather just the same and seek to live this servanthood life that Jesus set before us all. This morning, we remember them even as we gather here in safety.

You know, sometimes I get asked how we should approach the communion table. And there’s no set Biblical pattern or example. But, you know, when I offer you the body of our Lord Jesus Christ, some of you thank me, and I always want to respond, “I didn’t die for you. Thank Jesus for that.” And some of you want to grab it rather than receive it, even though the grace and the gift it represents is never something we can grab onto. It’s something given to us. So this morning, this World Communion Sunday, I’m going to invite you to come to the table in a particular way. Come with your hands open, ready to receive whatever God has for you. Come with your hands open, which in many places is a symbol of surrender. Come with your hands open, as a reminder that we are called to be servants, not rulers. Come with your hands open, remembering that God’s grace is sufficient for you, for when we are perfectly weak, then we are strong.

Under the Surface

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Psalm 139:13-14; 1 Samuel 16:1-13

September 29, 2013 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

Michelle was eight years old when she first began to believe she was fat. She was sitting between two friends at a school assembly and noticed that her legs were bigger than both of her friends’ legs. From that moment on, she kept hiding her legs, hoping no one would notice, and she struggled with her body image, constantly worried about what others thought of the way she looked. When she was a freshmen in college, she contracted mononucleosis, which killed her appetite and made her tired most of the time. During the six weeks she battled the disease, she barely ate anything. She knew she was losing weight, but she had no idea how much until she went to the doctor’s office, where the nurse gasped as she weighed Michelle. She had lost twenty pounds in six weeks. That gave Michelle an idea. If she could lose 3.5 pounds a week without working out, how much could she lose if she started working out again? So she did. She aimed toward “the perfect weight,” which she never really defined, except that it was something less than her current weight of 118 pounds. Six weeks after that doctor’s visit, she was down to 105 pounds.

And how did people react? Everyone complimented her. People at church would ask, “What’s your secret?” Girls would give her jealous stares when she passed them on the street, and guys started paying more attention to her than they ever had. She loved the attention, and yet at just over 100 pounds, she still felt fat. She started eating smaller meals, skipping some meals, and taking appetite suppressants and fat burning medicines. Then she began competing in beauty pageants, and despite people fussing over how thin she was, all she could see when she looked in the mirror was a chunky stomach. At this point, she was down to 89 pounds. She would go to church, hold the communion bread in her mouth and then sneak out to spit it out into the toilet. She put it this way: “I couldn’t even bring myself to sacrifice ten calories to remember the fact that [Jesus] suffered a horrible death and sacrificed himself so I could spend eternity with him.”

She began training for a marathon, and in the first part of April 2005, she went thirteen straight days without eating a single meal. During a run that was part of her training, her vision suddenly began to blur. She tripped and fell to the ground. All 84 pounds of her hit the pavement and it felt, she said, like every brittle bone in her body cracked all at once. She could no longer deny it, nor could she hide it from others. She had a problem. She was worshipping at the altar of beauty, the altar of appearance—an altar that, like the money we talked about last week, is set up in every corner of our culture today. Michelle knew couldn’t get out of that lifestyle without serious help from her friends, her family and God (cf. Wilson, Empty Promises, pgs. 133-136).

Unfortunately, Michelle’s story is not an unusual one. Four out of ten individuals in our country have either personally experienced an eating disorder or know someone who has. It’s estimated that ten million women face a daily struggle with an eating disorder, but what has typically been thought of as a woman’s issue is now a growing concern for men as well. Today, somewhere around one million men struggle with this issue—a number that is growing. The numbers are even higher for those in organized sports: 42% of female athletes demonstrate behaviors that are connected with eating disorders. They may not be there yet, but without intervention many if not most of them will develop a full-blown problem with food. Even if we’re not struggling with an eating disorder, many of us are still aiming at a better body image, a more perfect sense of self. That’s evidenced by the fact that on any given day, 25% of American men and 45% of American women report being on a diet. Even more staggering is the fact that 46% of 9-11 year olds report being “very often on a diet.” Now, some dieting is good. Most all of us get told by our doctors we could stand to lose a few pounds. It’s when we become focused on a particular body image, a way of appearing or a certain type of beauty, that we stray into the area of idolatry. It’s easy to find ourselves worshipping at the altar of beauty and appearance.

This morning, we’re continuing our series on “Empty Promises,” exploring those things that attempt to take God’s place in our lives. We call them “idols,” which for many of us probably bring up images in our minds of little carved statues. But today’s idols are much more subtle and yet more overt than those ancient statues would have been. For instance, so far, we’ve talked about things like achievement, affirmation and money as idols, and we’ve looked at the promises such things make to bring us fulfillment, attention, or meaning in our lives. But those things never can fulfill those promises. They can never quite live up to the supposed potential. Only God can, and yet for many of us, these things take the place of God in our lives. We might not say that they are more important, but we demonstrate it with our lives. We show what is important with the amount of time and resources we dedicate to them. The same is true of beauty or appearance. In today’s world, beauty has become a highly valued quality—or, we could even say, commodity, because beauty is used to market everything. Products are sold by young, beautiful and seemingly happy people. They are sold using a generous amount of sexuality, a quality which usually has nothing to do with the product being sold. Does that hair shampoo really make you sexy? Will buying that brand of fruit juice make you more desirable? That’s what the advertisers would have you believe. Children are made fun of at school if they don’t have the “right” brand names on their clothing. And political campaigns seek to polish a successful media image rather than to convince you of their stance on the issues (Birch, “The First and Second Books of Samuel,” New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. II, pg. 1100). Those who study such things point to the election of 1960 as the turning point, because that was the first “mass media election.” John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon both appeared on television, debating in that sort of forum for the first time. Kennedy was tanned and photogenic. Nixon looked pale and had a noticeable 5 o’clock shadow. Voters took more quickly to Kennedy because his campaign understood the power of the media and knew how to use it. That’s continued up to today, only now it’s less about debates and more about who shows up on late night talk shows and on Twitter. Image matters. Appearance is critical. Pick up any magazine, watch any commercial, visit almost any website and you’ll hear the same message: beauty is in. Our culture worships at its altar. And, we’re told, if you worship at it, too, people will love you. They will listen to you. They will admire and even desire you. It’s a tempting idol, which is why it has taken over so much of our culture.

But it’s nothing new. Even in ancient times, beauty or appearance was highly desirable. Granted, the appearance they looked for was not what we look for. In fact, in many ancient cultures, people who were overweight were considered the most beautiful, and do you know why? Because they were obviously wealthy and had leisure time to be able to eat and eat well! They didn’t have to work—so we even get a connection even in ancient times (and still today) between the idol of beauty and the idol of money. But, regardless of the particulars, appearance was important, especially when it came to choosing a leader, a king, so let’s look at a story from the Old Testament, from 1 Samuel, and see how this played out in the life of two men who would be king: Saul and David.

Saul was the first king of Israel, chosen after the people basically rejected God as their king because they wanted to be like everyone else (1 Samuel 8:4-9). And so, Saul was chosen, and from all accounts, he was exactly what people wanted in a king—or at least in the appearance of a king. He was “as handsome a young man as could be found anywhere in Israel, and he was a head taller than anyone else” (1 Samuel 9:2). He was impressive to look at, but he had serious character flaws which become apparent not long after he is chosen and anointed as king. In fact, after Saul blatantly disobeys God’s command after a battle, God rejects Saul as king and sets out to look for another candidate.

That’s where we come into the story today as we read from 1 Samuel 16. Samuel, the prophet, is upset. He’s discouraged because things have gone so badly with Saul, and the future looks rather bleak for the nation. But God tells Samuel to stop brooding and go anoint a new king. “I am sending you to Jesse of Bethlehem,” God says. “I have chosen one of his sons to be king” (16:1). Now, wouldn’t it have been easier if God had just told Samuel straight out which son he had chosen? Jesse has eight sons. Couldn’t God had given Samuel some sort of clue? Apparently not, as this whole exercise is presented as a matter of “seeing.” Where our translations read “chosen,” God literally says, “I have seen for myself a king.” I’ve picked him out. I’ve noticed him. So it becomes a matter of trust for Samuel, and a chance for him to see people the way God sees them (Birch 1097).

Samuel, however, is nervous. He knows if he goes to anoint a new king while the old king is still alive, he could lose his life. It would be treason to do such a thing (Birch 1098)! So God tells him to tell everyone he’s come to make a sacrifice. Now, some accuse God of lying here, but actually wherever the prophet went, sacrifices were usually offered. So Samuel is not told to lie so much as withhold the whole truth. Only tell part of it until you get there. So he goes to Bethlehem (a town, by the way, of little importance in those days, a nothing town), and when he arrives, the people are afraid. The arrival of a prophet is usually bad news (Goldingay, 1 & 2 Samuel for Everyone, pg. 79)! “Do you come in peace?” they ask (16:4), and Samuel assures them that he does. Then he invites the people to come with him to Jesse’s house, and there he finds seven sons. The oldest is named Eliab, and he is tall and strong and good looking. Samuel notices him right away and thinks he must be the one God has chosen. Obviously, he’s the oldest, and he has the “look” of a king. Samuel “saw” Eliab, the text says, but he didn’t really “see” him. God responds immediately with a rebuke: “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart” (16:7). Samuel gets a quick lesson in seeing the world the way God sees it. He was “looking” but not “seeing” (Birch 1098). Outward appearance matters little. What matters is the state and the “appearance” of the heart.

This same sort of event happens with all seven of the sons who are there. Apparently, it takes that many times for Samuel to be able to both hear the voice of God and to be able to see people the way God sees them. But when the seven have passed and there is still no king, Samuel begins to wonder. “Are these all the sons you have?” (16:11). You can almost hear the reluctance in Jesse’s voice, almost as if he’s saying, “These are the only ones that count.” Well, he says, there’s one more son. He’s not much. In fact, since he’s the youngest, he’s out tending the sheep. He’ll never be more than a shepherd boy, so I didn’t bother calling him in. This boy is the youngest in a family that didn’t have much of a reputation anyway. His great-grandmother was a Moabite, a foreigner, named Ruth. His great-grandfather, Boaz, had an ancestor, Tamar, who was famously almost executed for adultery. This family is not the stuff of royalty, and being the youngest of the family, this boy basically had no hope. He wouldn’t ever be much more than a shepherd (cf. Birch 1100). But Samuel is determined, so he asks for them to send for the youngest. Go get him. We won’t sit down until he gets back here. Now, shepherds could sometimes be quite a distance away from home. I wonder what they talked about in the time it took for someone to go get the boy. “So, how’s the weather been?” “Well, you know, dry and dusty.” Long silence. “So, not much rain?” “Nope.” I mean, imagine the uncomfortable silence, the wondering, on this day that had started with anticipation and excitement and has turned to a long period of waiting while “the boy” comes in.

Eventually, he arrives, and God says, “This is the one. Anoint him” (16:12). Now, the author does tell us that this boy was “glowing with health” and was handsome as well. But that’s not why God chooses him. He’s the last person most people would have chosen, and while his kingship will reveal that he has character flaws at least as great as Saul’s, this boy has a different heart. It’s the heart that matters. God looks on the heart, we are told. The heart has to do with the will and the character of a person, and David’s heart was unwaveringly focused on God (Birch 1099; Goldingay 79). David is the man after God’s own heart, and as future events will show, even when he messes up and when he sins, he turns immediately back to God. He doesn’t try to justify himself; he simply repents. That’s his heart, and that’s what makes the difference. It’s what’s under the surface—it’s David’s heart—that makes him the object of God’s attention and eventually will turn him into the greatest king Israel ever knew.

What made the difference between the hearts of David and his brothers? Could it have anything to do with all the time he spent by himself out in the wilderness with the sheep? There, he had learned to rely on God’s protection, provision and approval above everything else. It seems he used the time in the wilderness, in the quiet and desolation of the desert, to develop his spiritual life. His heart beat with God’s heart, and that made him, imperfect though he may have been, the perfect king for Israel. Not his appearance. Not his stature. Not even his great gifts in administration. It was his heart that made the difference. If only we would learn to put that sort of stock into people’s hearts today. If only we would seek to see people the way God sees them. If only we would invest the sort of energy into our spiritual lives that we do into being noticed, into worshipping at the altar of appearance. Rather than listening to the still, small voice of the Spirit of God, many of us continue to listen to two primary lies our culture tells us. First, “being beautiful will get me what I want” (Wilson 129). In the short term, that promise is true. In the short term. We’ve all seen instances where appearance mattered, where it made a difference in who got the job or the attention. We even obediently tune into the various awards shows on television and watch as the beautiful people parade around in ridiculously expensive clothes and hosts comment on how they look. But that lie is only true in the short term. Beauty fades. Appearance changes. Diet and exercise and hair coloring and plastic surgery can only delay the inevitable for a time. If only for purely physical reasons, the idol of appearance lets everyone down in the end.

Believing this lie can even be destructive. Just think about the story we began with this morning, the story of Michelle. Her pursuit of a certain look (undefined, but a sense that she’d know it when she arrived at it) nearly killed her, as it has so many people, so many “beautiful” people. Or what about the story that was in the news not that long ago about the mother from San Francisco who injected her eight-year-old daughter with Botox to minimize her “wrinkles”? The girl was competing in beauty pageants—at eight years old—and when people were upset, the mother’s response was that “everyone’s doing it” (Wilson 136). We increasingly live in a world where people will do most anything and sacrifice even their children in order to appear a certain way, to get what they want. All that matters is what’s on the surface.

And that leads us to a second lie, one that probably more of us believe, whether we admit it or not: how I look is who I am. We learn this early on in life. I’ve shared the story before about a friend of mine who used to sing in a youth choir, and when she would sing, she would just smile from ear to ear. One day, after they sang, she asked her father, who is not a cruel man, how they did, and he said, “You know, you shouldn’t smile so much up there. You need to focus more on your singing.” And you know what? She stopped smiling—not only in choir. That single comment impacted her more, I’m sure, than her father intended. She heard that she wasn’t valuable because of the way she looked in that moment. Pastor Pete Wilson tells about John, a successful businessman, who one night at dinner with his grown daughters and their families was sharing about the weight he had recently lost by counting calories when suddenly his oldest daughter broke down in tears. Once he got her calmed down, he asked what was wrong. “Dad,” she said, “one day when I was twelve years old, you told me that I was looking a little chubby. Your remark has haunted me for the past twenty-two years. Hardly a day has gone by, and certainly never a week, that I don’t think about those words you spoke to me. I know you weren’t trying to hurt me, but it’s had a huge negative impact on my life” (Wilson 137). I’ve heard from many others who have heard a comment from a parent or a person in authority every day in their life. “You look good that way,” or, more often, “You need to...lose weight...not wear that...do this or that…” And those comments stick. Remember what I said a couple of weeks about affirmation and approval? We hang onto negative comments much more easily than we do positive ones. And children especially do that, to the point that it’s easy to believe how we look is who we are.

So we post pictures on Facebook or we show photos in our wallets. And what are the comments we get? “You’re beautiful.” “They’re so cute.” “They’ve gotten so big.” We focus on the appearance, and we neglect matters of the heart. But God is focused on the heart, on what kind of person we’re becoming, what character is developing within us. And God, who created us, loves us just because we are. The psalmist praised God for that fact: “You [God] created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well” (Psalm 139:13-14). If God’s works are wonderful, and we are God’s work, then we are wonderful. It’s that simple. Doesn’t matter what we look like. Neil Anderson says, “Most people spend a lifetime trying to become what they already are.”  Here’s the reality: you are already loved. You are already accepted. You are already valued. You are already lovely. Your outward appearance will not heal your inner brokenness. Who you are is not how you look. You can’t control what others think about you with your outward appearance, no matter what you do. The call to us, instead, is to develop character that reflects the image of Christ to our world. What’s under the surface is what will last and what ultimately matters.

Children and grandchildren especially need to hear that they are loved—not only by you, but by God as well. They need to know they are valuable in God’s sight, just because they are. And they need to know that they are worth more than just their appearance. There’s a marvelous scene in the film Mr. Holland’s Opus that shows what that can look like. Mr. Holland, a music teacher, has a son who is deaf, and he is initially angry that he can’t share his love of music with his son. While his wife learns sign language, Mr. Holland himself resists, which causes struggle and stress in the family. As his story progresses, though, Mr. Holland comes to a realization of what’s really important. Let’s watch.

VIDEO: Mr. Holland’s Opus: “Beautiful Boy”

The solution to the idol of appearance is to open our hearts and allow God to wash over us with his love. We have to embrace that truth with more than just our heads. God wants to transform our hearts. There are few things more beautiful than a person who is fully following Jesus, someone who accepts himself or herself as a person created and loved by God. That’s a person of true beauty.

There is a marvelous children’s story many of you know that really sums up the message this morning. It’s the story of a velveteen rabbit that was a gift on Christmas morning to a little boy. In fact, the rabbit was the best gift in the stocking that morning. But in the days that followed, he wasn’t always played with. There were so many presents, so many new toys, and the other toys in the nursery sometimes bragged about the attention they received. They made the rabbit feel insignificant and commonplace and ugly.

But also in the nursery was a Skin Horse, who had lived there longer than any other toy. And one day, the Rabbit turned to the Skin Horse for advice. Here’s how the story goes from there: “What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?” “Real isn't how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit. “Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.” “Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?” “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

“The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (16:7). Let’s pray.

Bottomless Pit

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Genesis 29:16-30; John 4:19-30

September 15, 2013 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

It’s the same thing every morning in our house. The alarm goes off, I get up to get the kids off to school, then I lay back down for a few moments before I have to really get moving. And that, for some reason, is the cue for Hershey, our dog, to jump on the bed and demand to be petted. And Hershey is not passive, waiting for you to realize you have a responsibility here. No, Hershey is needy. She’s insistent. She will take her cold, wet nose, put it under my hand, and push up so that my hand ends up on her head, just in the right position to pet her. I tell her she’s the most needy dog I’ve ever had. She’s always wanting attention, always wanting to be noticed, always needing to be affirmed. And about the time I tell her that, I realize she’s not that different from many of us. We, too, like to have affirmation and approval. We like to have our work and even our very presence noticed. There’s nothing wrong with affirmation or approval by themselves. We deserve to be noticed for a job well done. An “atta boy” or “atta girl” at the right time can boost both morale and productivity. But there are times, situations and people for whom affirmation and approval become more than just a nice thing to have. They become a need, and we become like that pet that always wants to be stroked, always wants to be acknowledged. If we’re not careful, the need for approval can become an idol in our lives.

This morning, we’re continuing our series called “Empty Promises,” looking at the idols that make promises to us, promises to bring us fulfillment or “the good life” or whatever it is we might want. Idols are those things that pretend to provide what only God can provide. In the Old Testament, the idols the people wrestled with were little statues, false gods. And idols today are still false gods, but they don’t look so much like little statues anymore. Instead, idols are anything we put ahead of God in our lives, anything we wholeheartedly pursue with our energy, our passion and our resources. As Pastor Deb shared last week, sometimes they look like success and achievement. And other times, our idols look like things that promise to bring us affirmation and approval.

If anyone knew about the pursuit of affirmation and approval, it’s Jacob in the Old Testament book of Genesis. His name means “heel holder” or “supplanter.” He got that name because he was born holding onto his twin brother’s heel. Their mother, Rebekah, had a difficult pregnancy, because even in the womb, it seemed these two were fighting each other (Genesis 25). And when they were born, Jacob came out second, but he kept trying to be the first-born. In fact, when they were older, Jacob tricked his brother out of both his birthright and his blessing (Genesis 25, 27). That might not sound like a lot to you and me, but it was basically stealing his brother’s inheritance, using trickery to try to get ahead. Being second was never satisfactory to Jacob. Today, he would be one of those people who would step on anyone he had to in order to get ahead in business. He’d do whatever it takes. Being “second” was not good enough; he wanted the affirmation and approval that came in that culture with being first. He was his mother’s favorite, but he wanted approval from his father as well, even if he had to resort to deceit to get it.

So, the time comes, as it seems to always come to those who live to deceive, when Jacob pushes things too far and his brother Esau vows to kill him once their father is dead (Genesis 27:41). So Rebekah, the mother, helps Jacob escape and sends him to live at her brother Laban’s house, far away. Once he arrives in Laban’s territory, Jacob meets a lovely young woman named Rachel and he falls in love with her almost immediately. She “had a lovely figure and was beautiful,” and she’s Laban’s daughter. Jacob sees the hand of God working here; we always seem to see God’s hand working when there’s something we really, really want. And Jacob wants Rachel, so he agrees to work for Laban for seven years in order to marry her. Now, this sounds like he is buying his wife, but it was well understood in that culture that there were always economic implications to marriage. (There still are!) Substantial gifts were expected to be exchanged at the time of a marriage, and since Jacob has nothing to give, he enters into what was known as “bride service,” working for her family for a specified amount of time (Goldingay, Genesis for Everyone, Part Two, pg. 93). Even so, with that tradition in place, scholars agree that this is an unusually high price for a bride. Some sources indicate it may be as much as four times higher than the normal expectation (Wilson, Empty Promises, pg. 53; Ross, “Genesis,” Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, Vol. 1, pg. 174). And yet, to Jacob, it went by so quickly—it seemed just like a few days—because he loved Rachel so much. Or he loved the idea of Rachel. Maybe, if he had the beautiful wife, the successful career, all the stuff, the best camel to ride on, maybe then he would find the affirmation and approval he had sought for so long. So he worked the seven years, and then it came time for the marriage.

On Day 1 of year 8, Jacob goes to Laban, and he’s fairly blunt about what he wants: “Give me my wife. My time is completed, and I want to make love to her” (29:21). How does a father respond to that sort of demand? What Jacob doesn’t know, or doesn’t acknowledge, is that his deceitful tendencies are genetic. His uncle Laban has those tendencies, too. So Laban hosts the wedding, which in those days amounted to a week-long feast, and at some point, the brides are switched. Jacob takes his bride into the wedding tent, and when morning comes, it isn’t Rachel sharing his bed, but Leah. Leah the homely one. Leah the one with weak eyes. Leah the unloved. Leah the older. In the morning, it wasn’t Rachel but Leah. And Jacob has a fit. He confronts his uncle, who tells him that it’s their tradition that the older sister is married first. Hmmm, let’s see, who else tried to take the place of an older sibling? Jacob the deceiver has met his match in his uncle Laban (Ross 174). So he grudgingly finishes the wedding week with Leah, then marries Rachel and celebrates her wedding week. Jacob marries two women within seven days and then works fourteen years for the two of them (Ross 174).

And yet, if you read the rest of Jacob’s story, he’s still always pursuing something that is just out of reach. Jacob is always trying to prove himself, perhaps trying to outlive and outlast his name, “The Deceiver.” And that attitude, that mindset, invades his whole family. Genesis 30 tells the story of what I call “The Baby War.” Leah can have children, Rachel can’t, and then Rachel can and then Jacob has babies with their maidservants—everyone is trying to win his approval and affection. Leah even buys him one night to try to have another child. And Jacob, well, he’s always trying to outdo Laban. He’s cunning and tricky and sly and he grows his flocks to try to better than or at least to gain approval from his father-in-law. Later in the story, he is about to meet the brother who once threatened to kill him and he send gifts ahead, to prove how rich he is, or to buy Esau’s favor. Jacob is never satisfied. He’s always looking for approval and affirmation. He’s always worshipping at that idol, and it seems that every morning, no matter who is laying next to him, metaphorically it’s “always Leah and never Rachel.” He never seems to quite get what he always has longed for.

That’s because seeking affirmation and approval is a bottomless pit. No matter how much you get, you always want and need more. I know. This is an idol I struggle with, and I bet I’m not alone in this room this morning. And I’m not like some people who fault their parents. Mine were always encouraging and affirming. Maybe it’s part of being a firstborn, or being raised in this achievement-driven society like Pastor Deb talked about last week. But somewhere along the way I became an affirmation junkie. And when you are addicted to approval, you hear things differently. You can hear one hundred compliments along with one unkind criticism, and you know what keeps you up at night? The one unkind comment. I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me. I’m telling you I know what it’s like to worship at this idol. I know what it’s like to be Jacob. Seeking constant approval is a bottomless pit; you never quite get to where you want to be. Instead, worshipping the idol of approval leads to three other things.

First of all, when we worship at the altar of approval, we end up with a life of mediocrity. When we seek constant approval, we end up following the crowd rather than following Jesus. It’s hard to make a difference when you’re constantly worrying about what other people might say, or who you might upset, or what might be misperceived. The crowd will always demand conformity. The crowd will always push back against someone who dares to go in a different direction until that one is made to fall back in line, to live a mediocre life. Remember, unkind criticism is the worst thing an approval addict can receive. “If you depend on other people approving and supporting everything you say or do, you will end up doing and saying nothing” (Wilson 57). Instead of following the crowd, Jesus calls us to follow him into all sorts of situations where we can love God, love others and offer him to the world around us. Just think about his situation in our Gospel lesson from John 4 this morning. Jesus is sitting at a well in Samaria, talking to a woman. The disciples have gone off to find food, but Jesus stayed behind. John says Jesus was “tired” from the journey, so he’s resting when this woman comes up to draw water. We’ve looked at this story before, so perhaps you remember Jesus is breaking all sorts of taboos just by being there. He shouldn’t be speaking with a woman, and even more than that, he shouldn’t be seen with a Samaritan. Add to that is the fact that this woman is five-times divorced and is living with a man who doesn’t love her enough to marry her. This woman has more than three strikes against her. Every cultural rule said Jesus, a teacher, a holy man, should have nothing to do with her. In fact, John says when the disciples come back from getting food in town, they are “surprised” he is speaking with her. The word there can also mean “admired.” There’s a mixture of shock and also admiration, that Jesus was willing to cross lines, to go against the crowd, to speak to this woman. In fact, it’s my contention when John says Jesus “had” to go through Samaria (4:4), that this woman was the reason. He came to reach her. Jesus rejected a life of mediocrity and instead lived a life of faith-filled risk because he didn’t chain himself to what the crowd thought.

The second thing approval addicts face is exhaustion. It’s tiring to have to seek everyone’s approval all the time. It will consume your life; ask any politician as they constantly have to make decisions based not necessarily on what is best for the people but on what will get them re-elected. It’s easy to pick on politicians, but most of us do the same thing. What do I need to do in order to keep everyone happy—whether that is in my family, my job, or even in my church? Thom Rainer, a Southern Baptist who writes wise analyses for the church, posted a blog a little while back about asking the leadership council of his church, twelve men, how he as a pastor should be spending his time. What should be his priorities? The results came back as follows: each week, they expected him to spend 14 hours in prayer at the church, 18 hours in sermon preparation, 10 hours in evangelism, 10 more hours in counseling, 15 hours at the hospitals and in homes visiting, 18 hours doing administration, 5 hours with community involvement, 5 hours in church meetings (and let me tell you, that’s a low estimate!), 4 hours leading worship, and 10 hours doing “other.” I don’t know if you did the math, but that’s 114 hours a week. 19 hours a day, six days a week, just to meet the minimum expectations of one group of people. That exhausts me just reading it. Your boss may have similar expectations, maybe not as clearly spelled out, maybe more unstated, but similar nonetheless. When we’re constantly seeking the approval of everyone, we will wear ourselves out.

John Wesley did. In the early years of his ministry, when he came as a missionary to the colony of Georgia, Wesley exhausted himself trying to gain the approval of the colonists, and yet he failed time and again. In fact, in one of the conversations he records, a man came to him and said this: “I like nothing that you do. Indeed, there is neither man nor woman in the town who abides a word you say, and so you may preach long enough, but nobody will come to hear you.” That’s a great encouragement, huh? Things haven’t changed much, because I’ve known pastors in my time who have literally worked themselves to death, and do you know what we do in that case? We applaud them. In one case I remember a few years ago, it was said it was so wonderful that he gave everything he had for the church. But what more could he have given if he had taken care of himself? How many more people could have been reached for Jesus? I’m talking about pastors because that’s the world I know. But I also know this same idea is present in other areas of life. Exhaustion reigns when we seek the bottomless pit of approval. In just a few weeks, we’re going to be launching Congregational Care Ministry. You can find out more about it, if you missed our Town Hall Meetings, at the Connection Center, but the idea is this: Pastor Deb and I cannot adequately care for everyone in this church. That’s a simple reality, and we have to risk approval deficit to be able to say that. But if we invest in you, then together we can care better for everyone around us. So everyone who is interested is invited to the training on Friday and Saturday, October 4-5, and then once you’ve been through that, we’ll talk about what role you might serve in. The idea is we serve together to avoid the exhaustion that comes when individually we are worshipping at the altar of approval.

Third, approval addiction opens us up for rejection—repeatedly. When we seek approval and affirmation, we’ve essentially handed control of our heart and lives to others. And you know what? Others will fail us. Not always because they intend to, but because we’re all human. Unmet expectations, words spoken thoughtlessly, disappointment, rejection, betrayal—all of these things can become the center of our life if we live only for approval. Others will fail us because, like us, they are sinners. We all trip and fall. We all make mistakes. Not one of us in this room is perfect. So when our self-image or even our faith is dependent on someone else, on another human being, we are bound for heartbreak.

Come back with me to the well in Samaria, where Jesus is speaking with this woman who undoubtedly had approval issues. She’s gone from man to man looking for acceptance and love, and every time, she’s been rejected. We don’t know why; we don’t know the circumstances. But she’s given up on finding affirmation and instead has settled for a safe place to live. If you were to look into her eyes, I imagine you would see someone who is essentially dead inside. Jesus points out she’s been looking for approval in the wrong places. She’s tied her worth to someone else, to a man, to a community that even rejected her. Most scholars say she was probably coming alone to the well at noon because she wasn’t welcome when the other women came to draw water. She expected to be alone here. And when Jesus gets too personal, she keeps deflecting the conversation. She keeps trying to talk about religious topics, and Jesus lovingly keeps bringing the conversation right back to her. It’s not about religion, he essentially tells her. It’s not about location. It’s not about ritual. It’s about a relationship. It’s about being accepted by God for who you are. In Jesus, she begins to see a glimpse of a God who just might love her for her. In fact, she leaves her water jar behind, runs back into the city which had rejected her, and tells them about Jesus. “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?” (4:29). She led “many Samaritans” out to see Jesus, and they came to believe in him as the savior just like she did. He even stayed with them for two days (4:39-42)—unheard of for a Jewish rabbi to stay with enemy Samaritans for any length of time! And yet, because of that conversation, this woman and many others learned to find affirmation and approval only from God, and to stop depending on others for what only God can give.

Do you constantly worry about what others might think of you? Do you not do certain things because you think someone might not approve? Do you replay criticisms over and over again in your head, long after the situation has passed? Do you believe you have to have someone in your life—a significant other—in order to be valuable and happy? Do you get anxious when you think that other person, that significant person, might be upset with you (Wilson 55)? Those are some questions that can tell us whether or not approval is an idol in our lives. What do honest answers to those questions tell you about you? Are you fighting your way to the bottom of a bottomless pit?

I’ve already admitted to you I’m an affirmation junkie. We all grow up in a culture that divides people, early on, between achievers and non-achievers, and we approve of the achievers and we frown upon those we determine have not risen to the level they should. Culture approves of and applauds those we deem to be a success. And so the desire for approval kicks in pretty early—at least it seems to have for me. I don’t ever remember not wanting to be the best, and so I sought to excel in whatever I did. And excellence is a good goal, but not if it means you want others to fail so that you can succeed. I would never have admitted that out loud, but that’s really what it came down to. I learned there’s a fine line between doing your best and having to be the best. Many of us are taught we have to be the best. And that mindset overflows into our relationship with God. We get the idea that we have to do certain things to make God happy and we don’t do other things so that he will continue to approve of us. I remember hearing a lot of sermons about what we should and shouldn’t do, but something I don’t remember hearing a lot about early in my life was grace. I may have been in seminary before I really began to understand what that word means. I had heard it, but I don’t know that I had ever understood it. Grace, to me, is getting what I don’t deserve. Grace means I am loved, affirmed and accepted by God, even if I don’t perform perfectly every single time. Grace is a gift. Grace is beautiful. Grace is life-giving.

Even coming out of seminary, I still pretty much had a head knowledge of what grace is. My heart still struggled to accept it. But in the last twenty years, I have learned to experience and receive grace in many different ways. In the first church I served, I thought I knew everything. I had a Master’s Degree, for heaven’s sake! And, you know, you come out of seminary with an overinflated ego. Any church is going to be lucky to have you! Of course, I was appointed to be a youth pastor, and the only department that I had taken no classes from in seminary was youth ministry. But that didn’t stop me. I forged ahead, and I made mistakes. I made lots of mistakes. The first year at Senior High Camp was incredibly hard (did I mention I had never been to camp, either? My first experience of senior high camp was as a pastor). And I look back on the sermons I preached in that church—Lord, have mercy. Talk about grace! And yet that congregation loved me, and encouraged me, and helped me become a better pastor. Grace.

Then we had Christopher. And four and a half years later, Rachel. And I learned grace all over again. Because we made and continue to make mistakes. I still think babies ought to come with owner’s manuals! And yet these two babies, now grown young people, loved me just because I am their father. We have our moments, and I still don’t get everything right. I figure by the time you’re old enough to somewhat get parenting right, your kids are out on their own. I’ve heard that grandchildren are the reward you get! But grace—it’s all grace. Love without strings. Acceptance just because you are. Grace.

But I will tell you that the person who has supremely shown me grace is my beautiful wife, Cathy. In just over twenty-four years of marriage, she has shown me grace upon grace and has continually encouraged me even when it’s been so very difficult. As every married couple knows, there are good times and bad. There are days of ease and days of struggle, and no one ever promised it would be easy. We get the idea that it should be, but it’s not. In many ways, Cathy and I are very different people, and for both of us, there are days when it would just be easier to quit. But you don’t. You keep on working on it, you work at making it work. There are times I know I’m difficult to live with, but every time, each and every time, I experience grace from Cathy. She is honestly one of the most authentically Christian people I know. I’m a better person because she’s in my life. That’s grace. And it’s hard to accept, because I want affirmation, approval. I want to think I do everything right, and when I don’t, it’s easy to beat up on myself. I worship the idol of approval, but grace is so much better. Grace is something we don’t earn. Grace is a gift. And Cathy constantly reminds me to settle back and let grace wash over me. The answer to worshipping of the idol of approval is to embrace grace.

Let me tell you how that works on a much bigger scale. God created you. God loved you before you before. And God is not sitting in heaven constantly pointing his finger down at you, making a list of everything you have done wrong. Oh, to be sure, there are things we do that are not what God wants. The Bible calls that sin. The Bible calls that idolatry, worshipping something other than God. But rather than pointing fingers, God made a way for us to be set free from all those things that get in the way of having a relationship with him. His son, Jesus, came to give his life so that we could be forgiven. I don’t have time or ability to explain to you exactly how all that works. I just know that it does. I know that when I gave my life to Jesus in fifth grade, he forgave me of all my sins, and he continues to do so. When others disapprove, when others hand out condemnation, Jesus offers grace. Jesus offers forgiveness. Jesus offers us what we don’t deserve but what we still get anyway. We are loved and accepted and welcomed into Jesus’ family. That doesn’t mean we don’t have to change. I’ve said it many times before: Jesus loves you enough to take you the way you are, and he loves you too much to leave you that way. That’s grace, and it’s the solution to the bottomless pit of approval addiction.

I wonder if Jacob ever learned that. We don’t get much of a sense that he ever really got away from his craving for approval and affirmation. In the end, he treats his sons with the same sort of favoritism that caused his own struggles. But I hope, somewhere along the way, Jacob got a glimpse of grace, of what it means to really let God love you. Even if he didn’t, you can. You can be free from the addiction to affirmation. All it takes is a simple prayer and a willingness to embrace grace. So, let’s pray.