What's In a Name?

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Exodus 3:1-14; John 8:48-59

February 22, 2015 • Portage First UMC

How many of you know what your name means? [Take a few responses.] I’ve shared before that my name is taken from the name of the Greek god of wine, Dionysius—which is odd because neither of my parents drink. But my name fit into the family—we were “the four “D’s”—Dick, Donna, Dennis and Doug. And a lot of names are chosen that way, for the way they sound. How else do you explain names like Blip, Kiwi, Cheese, Panda and Rocket? Those names all appear on Time Magazine’s “most unusual names” list. In addition, there have been children in the last five years named Phone, Freak, Butterbean, Elbow and, believe it or not, Poopy. Three children in 2010 were named Poopy! I don’t even know how to respond to that or what those children will face when they begin school (http://newsfeed.time.com/2013/12/09/oh-have-you-met-my-kids-panda-phone-and-cheese-the-weirdest-baby-names-of-2013/). Shakespeare would have said it doesn’t matter. In fact, in Romeo and Juliet, Juliet asks the question, “What’s in a name?” And she answers her own question: “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” In other words, according to Shakespeare, the name doesn’t really matter. Who cares if the child is called Poopy or Phone or Panda?

And yet, names, whether we intend them to or not, often tell us something about a person, or about their family or heritage. Knowing someone’s name gives you, at the very least, a little information about them. When we were expecting Christopher, we were pretty tight-lipped about the names we had picked out. One of our youth at the time gave us a 3x5 notecard full of names she thought would work just well; I think I still have that card somewhere. But we wanted names that not only we liked but that meant something. Somewhere along the way, we decided to pick a name from the Old Testament and one from the New Testament. Doing that is not some sort of magic act, but for us, we wanted the names to define our kids. And while “Christopher” is not found in the Bible, it means “Christ-bearer,” so it’s sort of there. His middle name, David, comes from King David. And Rachel Elizabeth is named after one of Jacob’s wives in the Old Testament and the mother of John the Baptist in the New. Rachel means “little lamb” or “lamb of God.”

In the Scriptures, names mean a great deal. In fact, names were given to children in the hopes that they would grow into them, that they would become who their name proclaimed them to be. Knowing a name helped you to know about that person. And so it’s a bit amazing that we get all the way through the book of Genesis and into the first chapters of Exodus before anyone asks God what his name is. In fact, it’s not until a crisis comes, a crisis of epic proportions, that anyone seems to even wonder what God’s name is. And when he is asked, God gives a cryptic answer. He says his name is “I Am.”

Over the next several weeks, as we go through this Lenten season, we’re going to be looking at several statements of Jesus that begin with the words, “I Am.” Throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus makes seven proclamations using that phrase. “I am the bread of life.” “I am the light of the world.” “I am the good shepherd.” “I am the vine.” “I am the way, the truth and the life.” “I am the gate.” And “I am the resurrection and the life.” We’re going to look at each one of these, what they meant then and what they can mean to us today, and that will bring us all the way to Easter. But before we can look at the specifics of each statement, I want to step back and consider why Jesus using those two words—I am—caused such a stir and created such hatred among the religious leaders of his day. And that history, that background, goes all the way back to the desert, the Sinai desert, and an encounter Moses had with a burning bush.

We looked in detail at the story of Moses last fall, so very quickly let me remind you of how Moses got to where he is in Exodus 3. You may remember that, due to attempted governmental population control, Moses ended up being raised in the royal palace. He was an adopted son of the Pharaoh, until he got into some trouble. He killed a man, and everyone knew he was guilty, so he ran and spent forty years in the desert, tending sheep. He spent his middle adult years chasing sheep, finding water and getting to know the desolate area that was and is Sinai. Because of how far he would have to wander to find grass and water, there were likely many days Moses slept out in the open with his sheep. He wouldn’t have been home every night for dinner, to be sure (Goldingay, Exodus & Leviticus for Everyone, pg. 15). And then, one day, one ordinary working day, he notices a bush that is on fire but is not consumed. A lot of folks spend a lot of time debating how that could happen, but that’s not the focus this morning (cf. Goldingay 15). The point is that it was something that caught Moses’ attention, and I wonder how many times in the next forty years he wished he had just walked on by. I wonder if he kicked himself for not saying, “That’s strange. The bush is on fire. But I’ve got stuff to do.” No, instead, he goes over to look at it and he hears God’s voice calling him to go and rescue God’s people in Egypt. You see, God’s people are also Moses’ people, and they are in slavery. “Go,” God says, “I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt” (3:10).

Immediately, Moses begins objecting. First of all, he questions his own ability. “Who am I,” he says, “that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” (3:11). I’m nobody, God. I’m just a lowly shepherd. Now, God could have reminded him of his credentials. He was raised in the Pharaoh’s court. He knows the way the palace works. He knows the government and he is known by those who are in power. Moses knows all that; God doesn’t need to remind him of that. His fake humility at this point does not impress God. And, in essence, God tells him that he’s right. He is nobody. Because God doesn’t talk Moses up; instead God reminds Moses that he will be with Moses. In other words, “You’re right, Moses. You’re not strong enough to do this on your own. But I will be with you, and with me, you can do anything.”

Now, that should have been enough assurance for Moses, wouldn’t you think? I mean, the creator of the universe, one who can make a bush burn without being burned up, has just told you, “I’m on your side. I will be with you.” But that’s not enough for Moses. He is still coming up with excuses for not going, but since God has now promised to be with him, he’d like to know who it is he’s placing his trust in. “What is your name?” he asks God (3:13). Now, why does he ask that question? As I said earlier, it’s never been an issue before this. Adam and Eve, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph and countless others got along just fine without knowing God’s name. Why does Moses need to know? As I’ve said, a name tells you something about the other person, but this is God. This is the creator. Moses already knows a lot about him, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. It’s possible that some of Moses’ Egyptian upbringing is showing through here. It was very important to the Egyptians to know the names of their gods, because then, if they knew the name, they could have a measure of control over their gods. More than that, names in Egyptian culture were believed to have magical powers. So if you knew someone’s name, you could, in effect, possess some of their authority and power (Fuquay, The God We Can Know, pg. 15). Moses wants that, no doubt. He is a fugitive. I don’t know if there was a statute of limitations on his crime, but he’s been on the run from Egyptian justice for forty years now. And it’s likely he’s still remembered for that crime. God wants him to go into the palace and show his face and demand the release of Pharaoh’s work force? For Moses in that moment, it’s not enough that God has promised to be with him. He wants some of God’s power, some sort of extra strength so that he will be protected in this dangerous mission. “What is your name?” he asks. I want to make sure you’re with me, and I can do that by knowing who you are.

But here’s the thing: God wants to be known. He’s not trying to hide from Moses or from us. He called to Moses, and he wants Moses (and us) to know him. He is, as this sermon series reminds us, the God we can know. He’s not avoiding us. He’s not playing games with us. He wants us to know him. And, I believe, God knows the best way for Moses to get to know him is to go on mission with him, to answer the call. But Moses is stalling, and so God condescends and answers the question—though not with an answer that is easy to understand. In fact, scholars and Bible teachers have been debating God’s answer for thousands of years. When Moses asks for God’s name, God says, “I am.” The Hebrew word is Yahweh, or sometimes you’ll see it written as “Jehovah,” which is really a Germanized version of the Hebrew word. Yahweh—I am. And Moses is left scratching his head. What does that name mean? And what does it mean for his life, and ours?

“Yahweh” has been translated a variety of ways; your Bibles may give alternate translations in the footnotes because, honestly, we’re not sure how to translate it. It’s close to the Hebrew verb for “to be,” which is why it’s most often translated as “I am.” It can also be translated as “I am who I am,” which sort of makes me think of Popeye, or “I am the one who causes to be,” the one who made everything, the one without whom you wouldn’t be alive. “He is.” Every other god is named by human beings. All the Greek gods, all the Roman gods (which were pretty much the same only with different names), all the Canaanite and Egyptian gods had been labeled by their followers, by their worshippers. But this God is not like that. This God names and defines himself as the ever-present one. He is. “I am” (cf. Oswalt, “Exodus,” Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, Vol. 1, pg. 303; Fuquay 16; Goldingay 20).

And because he is, there are two important things to hear in God’s response, God’s name. The fancy words for these two things—the words I spent a lot of money in seminary to learn—are “transcendence” and “immanence.” Aren’t you impressed? Money well spent! Transcendence means God is absolutely other than we are. God is different. God is not just a big human being. He is not, as the song once said, “just a slob like one of us.” He is the one from whom all creation comes, and that’s one reason it always amuses me when we, as human beings, decide that we know as well or better than God. We think we know how things ought to work, how it all ought to play out. A few weeks ago, our furnace went out at the parsonage. I woke up one morning and noticed it was rather cold in the house, so I went down to the furnace room, and in my vast furnace knowledge I stood there and looked at it. And do you know what I determined, after intense studying of the device? It wasn’t working anymore. It was broken. I have no training and no expertise in furnace repair, but I am smart enough to call someone who knows how to build and rebuild them. I could try to get in there and fix it myself, but I know better. I would end up with a mess. And when the repairman came out to look at it, he started telling me, in furnace man lingo, what was wrong with it. I’m sure the look on my face was just one of confusion, because even though it made sense to him, it didn’t to me. My only question was, “Can you fix it?” I didn’t tell him how to fix it; I trusted him to do it the way it ought to be done. When we act like God ought to do things our way or explain himself to us, we’re showing the height of arrogance. God is not like us. God is other than us and, in the words of Isaiah (55:9), his understanding is far above ours. We can’t understand what he is up to all the time. He is the creator; we are not. He knows how it works; we do not. He is. He is other than us.

And yet, at the same time he is immanent. That means he is close, nearby, as near as your very breath. This God who is so different than us is not off somewhere else, distant, removed from your life here. He is not Aristotle’s “Unmoved Mover.” He is “I Am.” He is personally involved with us. We can talk to him. We can know him. He invites us to walk with him. And he has broken into history (cf. Oswalt 311-312). Christians believe that the most prominent way we experienced this God is when he chose to become flesh and blood in the person of Jesus. The God who created the universe gave up glory to be born in a stable, to walk among us, to show us how to live, and ultimately, to give his life on a cross for the salvation of the world. Again, people want to know how that could be. Explain it to me in detail. But we can’t. It’s only as we come to know him in a personal way that it makes any measure of sense, and even then, after years of walking with him, many people still can’t explain it all. We just know because he is with us. He is.

And Jesus claimed that title. Aside from the “I Am” claims that we’re going to look at over the next few weeks, Jesus came right out and claimed God’s name for himself. It was in the middle of yet another dispute with the religious leaders, this one centered on Jesus’ identity. The religious leaders knew that Jesus had gained quite a following, and as every candidate for public office knows, the best way to discredit someone and disperse their following is to attack their character, who they are. And so, after a lengthy discussion in John 8, the religious leaders finally come right out and attack Jesus personally. “Aren’t we right in saying that you are a Samaritan and demon-possessed?” (8:48). Now, they knew he wasn’t ethnically a Samaritan; he was from Galilee, north of Samaria. But saying that in the first century was like saying, “You’re a heretic. You believe the wrong things. You’re from the wrong side of the tracks” (cf. Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 113; Wright, John for Everyone, Part One, pgs. 129-130). Jesus doesn’t even respond to that accusation. Instead, he focuses on the charge of demon possession. And there’s this back and forth between him and the religious leaders, as they name everything they disagree with as demon possession. But it’s when Jesus claims to know Abraham, the father of the Jewish nation, that they really get upset. “You are not yet fifty years old,” they say, “and you have seen Abraham!” (8:57). In other words, Abraham’s been dead a long time. You haven’t seen him. You don’t know him. And that’s when Jesus chooses to launch the final argument: “Before Abraham was born, I am!” (8:58). Not “I was.” Not “I could have been.” “I am.” Jesus is directly claiming to be God at that moment; he’s taking God’s name for himself. Before Abraham was, I am. In other words, not only is he God, but his word precedes Abraham. He is of more importance than Abraham. No wonder they do what the Old Testament tells them to do when someone blasphemes. They pick up stones with the intent to kill him (cf. Leviticus 24:16; Card 115). At that moment, Jesus has drawn a line in the proverbial sand. He is “I Am.” Either the people will accept him as such and enjoy his presence forever. Or they will reject him and find little peace. He is. Just as he was for Moses, he is for us today.

I am eternally grateful that God is “I Am,” and even more than that, that he is “I Am” for me. He is present in my life. I’ve been reading Adam Hamilton’s book Christianity and World Religions, and one of the things I’ve realized again is that a primary difference between Christian faith and other major world religions is God’s presence, God’s availability. The Christian faith is not about following a list of rules in order to please God or get God’s approval, though there is a way of life that God calls us to. But the rules are not the point. The Christian faith is not about rituals and enlightenment and setting ourselves up for something we will never attain, though there are rituals that we do. But the rituals are not the point. The Christian faith reminds us that, because of Jesus and in Jesus, God is present. He is with us. He is “I Am,” not “I will be” and not “I was.” “I am.” Right now. Right here. With us. And I am thankful for that.

It’s caused me to remember several times in my own life when God was very much “I Am” to me. My Grandma Irick had been a huge part of my life and my faith development. Grandma taught Sunday School for so many years, and then she had her first stroke and began to struggle with her health. It was hard for us to understand; Grandma had always been so energetic. And she had always been so faithful to Jesus, so when the stroke changed her, and she began to say things she never would have said and do things she wouldn’t have done, my brother and I didn’t really know how to react. But I’ll never forget when the school nurse came to Geometry class to call me to the office. Normally, I would have welcomed anything to get out of Mr. Reed’s class, but I knew in my gut what had happened. Grandma had died, and Mrs. Mosson took me to the office to call home. The most vivid image I have of the next few days is standing on the hillside at the Geetingsville Cemetery. In my mind, it’s cloudy and windy but I don’t know if that’s how it really was or not. I just remember standing there and losing it. A friend took me in his arms and I cried and prayed and asked God, in my own broken language, to be “I Am.” God was present that day, in the midst of a terrible loss for a young man. He was “I Am.”

Several years later, when I was a seminary student, I began to have the first symptoms related to my heart issue. Actually, I had been experiencing shortness of breath for several days, but like a good man, I kept it to myself. It would pass, I told myself. Until one evening, walking around Wilmore, I mentioned to Cathy that I was short of breath, and I got the usual, “How long has this been going on?” The next day, we were headed back to Indiana to see my cardiologist. He put me in the hospital for monitoring and to try some new medicine. At that point, I really didn’t know what was going to happen, and that evening, when Cathy left to go stay with my parents for the night, God and I spent some time together. I was scared. I’d never been in the hospital overnight before. So much of the night, I was praying and God showed up in that hospital room, giving me a peace I don’t think I had ever experienced before. He was “I Am” in that hospital room. He was “I Am” to our family, too, when Rachel had her major surgery five years ago. As we entrusted our daughter to the hands of a skilled surgeon, God was “I Am” to us. Many of you have had to do that, too—learn to trust that your child will be okay, that he or she is in God’s hands, and that God is present in the midst of the difficulty. God is “I Am.” He is present with us when we call on his name.

I’ve also relied on God being “I Am” in the midst of difficult times in ministry. I’m not trying to complain, because I know all of us face difficult times and challenges and struggles in the work we do. Whether you work at home or in an office, there comes a time—or maybe many times—when you wonder if this is really it. Is this what you should be doing? And I’ve wrestled with that on several occasions. There are times it would be easier to find a job that doesn’t have Sunday work hours, that doesn’t have late night meetings, that doesn’t have to deal with people who have cancer, or people who take their own lives, or struggling marriages or just the politics in churches in general. Again, my struggles are not yours, but every job has things like that. And those things wear you out. I’ve had many times where I’ve asked God if there isn't something else he’d rather have me do. I mean, I answered a call to ministry when I was in college. Maybe that call has expired. Maybe it’s time to move on. And, honestly, there are times when I can’t always sense God’s presence, and yet when I slow down, when I get quiet, when I choose to spend time with God, he is always right there. He is “I Am.” He calls me again. He doesn’t say, “Just rely on that call to ministry you experienced twenty-seven years ago.” He says, “I Am.” I will be with you, and more than that, I am with you. Right here. Right now.

He wants to be with you. As we enter this Lenten season, we’re going to discover many different facets to Jesus’ ministry and personality. We’re going to learn a lot about how he wants to draw near to us. And we’re going to see in what way our lives can be changed by his presence. But, this morning, I invite you to spend this week resting in the assurance that he is with you. He is “I Am.” If we ask of God, “What’s in a name?” we get the answer back, “God’s name promises us his very presence.” And that’s enough for us to be able to take one more step, keep going one more day. As long as he is with us, we can push forward into anything.

There is a story told of a young family shattered by the sudden death of the mother. After the funeral, the young husband came home with his two boys, and silently they got ready for an early bedtime. He had no strength left to do anything else. He tucked the boys into bed and then tried to find sleep himself. Just as he was close to drifting off, he heard the youngest boy begin to cry, then to say those heart-breaking words, “I want mommy.” After waiting for a few moments, the father got up, went into his son’s room, picked him up and brought him back to bed with him. There, in the darkness, these two tried to find rest. Again, just as he was about to drift off, the father felt two tiny hands reaching out toward him. “Daddy,” the boy said, “is your face toward me?” The father assured his son that it was, and the boy’s hands touched his face to confirm that fact. Then he said, “Okay, if your face is toward me, I think I can sleep.” And pretty soon, the father heard the gentle breathing that meant rest had come.

God told Moses, “My name is ‘I Am.’ I am for you. I am with you. I am turned toward you.” And ultimately in Jesus, God turned his face toward us. He is with us. He is present—not just some distant time in a distant land, but right here, right now. He is “I Am,” and no matter what you’re going through, he has promised to be with you, to the very end of the age (Matthew 28:20). Because he is with us, we can go to him in prayer, knowing that he is here and he hears our cries. Let’s pray.

When the Cloud Clears

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Mark 9:2-9

February 15, 2015 • Portage First UMC

Do you remember the first time you looked into a microscope? I’m told science teachers never get tired of watching students’ reactions the first time they do that. That moment when what once looked like a speck of dirt or a smear of goo on a glass slide all of a sudden becomes something entirely different when viewed through the microscope. What looked dull before suddenly becomes full of patterns, textures and life. The same is true when you look at the sky through a telescope. Those specks of light that most of us don’t pay much attention to become the fiery balls of light that they really are when you look closer, when the distance vanishes (cf. Wright, Mark for Everyone, pgs. 113-114). A whole new world emerges.

Something similar happened when our children were born. For months, we had imagined what they would look like and what they would be like. Way back then—you know, nearly twenty years ago—the ultrasounds were not nearly as clear as they are now, so you had to trust that the image they were pointing to on the screen really was a baby waiting to be born. And in that moment, when each of them emerged into this waiting world, life changed. We could see them clearly, we no longer had to guess what they would look like, and each time life was suddenly, gloriously different.

All of that mix of emotion is what I imagine happened inside three ordinary men who, after a walk up a mountain, got a glimpse of world much bigger and different than they had ever imagined. This morning, as we wrap up this short series on “Worship Matters,” we’re going with Peter, James and John to witness what is commonly known as the “transfiguration” of Jesus. And, in the midst of this story, we will find our true focus for worship, as well as an idea of why we do what we do when it comes to worship.

Six days before this, as Mark tells it, Jesus and the disciples had been in Caesarea Philippi, a place in the far north of Israel that, in those days, was the center of pagan worship. Today, there are many ruins there of various temples, including a huge cave that was once called “the gates of hell.” Caesarea Philippi was sort of a religious shopping mall, with one temple crammed in next to another. You could pick and choose which god to worship that day depending on what you needed. It was to that place, the place where every god was available, Jesus took his disciples and asked them who they believed him to be. Perhaps you remember the story. They first give him a variety of opinions, public opinion polls, and then he asks them directly: “Who do you say I am?” Peter is the only one brave enough to answer; he says, “You are the Messiah.” That was a loaded answer, because a lot of people had lots of ideas about who and what the Messiah was to be. Most believed he would be a military commander who would set up an earthly kingdom; for Peter to use the title “Messiah” in describing Jesus was a radical idea. You see, Jesus wasn’t doing the sort of things most people expected a Messiah to do. And, as if to drive that point home, Jesus next begins to tell them he will have to suffer and die. Peter, who just confessed his faith in Jesus, can’t handle that, so he tells Jesus, “Uh, no, you’ve got it wrong. That’s not what a Messiah does.” And Jesus tells him he doesn’t have the right lens. He’s not seeing clearly. He doesn’t understand what Jesus is up to after all (Mark 8:27-38).

So, six days later—I wonder if they talked about this at all during those six days? We’re not told, but six days later, they come to a mountain, and Jesus asks most of the disciples to stay behind while he, Peter, James and John go up to the top. Now, it does tend to be the case in Mark’s Gospel that, the greater the revelation or the bigger the truth that Jesus is going to share, the smaller the group who witness it (Garland, NIV Application Commentary: Mark, pg. 341-342). And these three disciples, whom some call the “inner circle” of the disciples, are the ones who are most often with Jesus when he’s about to reveal something big. Did they realize that? Were they “on tiptoe with anticipation” as they head up the mountain? That doesn’t seem to be the case, because when “it” happens, they seem completely unprepared.

Jesus takes these three up “a high mountain,” and when they get to the top, he is “transfigured.” The word there is “metamorphoo,” the basis of our word “metamorphosis” (cf. Card, Mark: The Gospel of Passion, pg. 115) He is changed; basically, as some have described it, Jesus’ true essence leaks out. These disciples get a glimpse of who he really is, and his clothes become dazzling white, “whiter than anyone in the world could bleach them” (9:2). Whenever I read that verse, I remember my first trip to the Holy Land, and how I was telling my Disciple class at the time I was concerned about having enough clothes. One of the members of that class suggested I could just take my suitcase up to the top of the Mount of Transfiguration, and then my clothes would be all cleaned up for me. Holy dry-cleaning! (I did not try that.) Not only do his clothes turn white, but Jesus has two visitors who are speaking with him, and somehow they know that these two are Moses and Elijah. Two men who represent the whole of the Old Testament: law and prophet. In Luke’s Gospel (9:31), we learn that they are speaking about what Jesus is about to do in Jerusalem, but here in Mark, we get no hint of the conversation. Instead, we get Peter’s reaction to the whole scene. “Rabbi,” he says, “it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters…” (9:5).

Now, Mark points out what a ridiculous thing this was for Peter to say. But why is it ridiculous? Why does Peter say what he does? There are a lot of possibilities. There has been much made of the fact that he wants to build “booths,” which were small, temporary shelters made out of leafy branches and used during the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles. These shelters were meant to remind the people of the temporary shelters their ancestors used when they escaped from slavery in Egypt (cf. Leviticus 23:39-43). Perhaps Peter is trying to tie this event into one of their big religious festivals. It’s also possible Peter sees the first glimpse of Jesus as a real Messiah here on the mountain, and he wants to set up the Messianic headquarters here on the mountain. The shelters would just be temporary until a bigger complex could be built. Or is he, perhaps, remembering another story, one where God tells Moses that no one can see God’s glory and live (cf. Exodus 33:20)? Is he remembering how Moses had to wear a veil after he had been in God’s presence in order to protect the people (Exodus 34:33-35)? Perhaps Peter is wanting to protect himself and his fellow disciples, though you have to wonder what good a small shelter built from leafy branches would be against the almighty power of God (cf. Garland 345).

Or, there’s another possibility. Perhaps Peter would just like to stay on the mountain. Maybe he just wants this moment, this holy and awesome moment, to never end. You probably know how Peter felt. Do you remember an event or a moment that you wished would never end? I remember a particular vacation several years ago that was so relaxing and restful that I wished it would never end. Or there have been moments when we’ve been with friends or family and things are just so good you wished it would never end. We’ve been to a few concerts where the music was so good that it was over long before we wanted it to be. But have you ever been to a worship service that you wished would never end? Most of the time, aren’t we checking our watches to see when it will be over? Or, for a lot of us, if there’s no bulletin so that we know what’s coming next, we get a bit anxious because we like to be able to “check off” the pieces and anticipate when it might be all over. I’ve heard it said we celebrate when the baseball game goes into extra innings but complain when worship runs over by ten minutes. Why is that? Why can’t we be more like Peter in this story? Because what he’s experiencing, despite his awkwardness, is a time of worship. And perhaps our difficulty in connecting with Peter’s experience is the focus that we have. We’re focused on getting through a service. But Peter’s focus was different. Mark tells us about it in the next couple of verses. Just as Peter gets done expressing his desire to start a building committee, a cloud envelops all of them. They hear a voice that instructs them to listen to Jesus, and then before they can blink their eyes, the cloud is gone and so are Moses and Elijah. In an instant, the only person standing before them is Jesus. Only Jesus. Their focus is clarified. Jesus is the object, the purpose and the point of their worship.

As he is or at least should be for us. The goal of worship is to draw near to Jesus. Worship is not about what “I get out of it” or getting goosebumps or enjoying the music or even liking the sermon. Now, I hope all of those things happen and that they happen on a regular basis (especially enjoying the sermon!). But those things will not have any lasting impact on our lives. The only one who has a lasting impact is Jesus. He who was transfigured is the only one who can transfigure us, who can transform us into his very own image. And so, everything we do in worship ought to help us either see or listen to Jesus more clearly, if we, like the disciples, are paying attention when the cloud clears.

So let’s spend just a few moments thinking about what we do in worship. We don’t go to the top of a mountain and we haven’t been invited to witness the living Lord transfigured like these three disciples were. And we don’t have a clear idea of what worship looked like for those disciples or the ones who came after them in the early church, except that, like this experience on the mountain, it focused on Jesus. But over the centuries, certain elements of worship have emerged, no matter what style you’re talking about, that are meant to work together to help us do what the voice from the cloud said to do: to listen to Jesus. The most obvious element of worship, no matter what sort of service you’re talking about, is music. Everyone tends to have an opinion about music, and whatever music they like is obviously the best. C. S. Lewis, the great twentieth century defender of the faith, said he hated the music of the church when he first became a Christian. He considered the hymns to be “fifth-rate poems set to sixth-rate music.” Today there are those who criticize what is called modern worship music as simply a string of religious-sounding words set to poor melodies. The more times change, the more they stay the same. But music has a way of touching the heart on a deeper level than the spoken words do. In our own tradition, John and Charles Wesley shared the gospel together. John did so through preaching, and Charles did so through music. Today, many more of Charles’ songs are remembered than John’s sermons. We take great care in each of our services here to match the music and the words to the theme of the day. Our hope in each of our worship times is that the music helps you to better see Jesus, to perhaps hear from him in a way the rest of the time you cannot. I remember many years ago, after a worship service which I was leading, someone came up to me and asked about my reaction to the offertory, the music played during the receiving of the offering. They said I had been slow to get up and continue the service after the song, and I agreed. The music had touched me in such a way that I wanted to linger there. I wanted to stay on the mountain. Music will do that for us; it can help us see Jesus. Even C. S. Lewis eventually realized that. After a time of reflection, he saw the merit of the music. He put it this way: “I realized that the hymns (which were just sixth-rate music) were, nevertheless, being sung with devotion and benefit by an old saint in elastic-side boots in the opposite pew, and then you realize that you aren’t fit to clean those boots. It gets you out of your solitary conceit.”

So does the time of offering. Now, I know—that’s most people’s least favorite time of the service. Over the years of ministry, I’ve had people tell me it’s an interruption to the time of worship, or that it’s a tax, or that we shouldn’t do that at all. Lots of people have lots of opinions about the offering! But, in reality, it’s none of those things. For one thing, the offering is a chance for us to share in the mission Jesus has given us. Together, we can do so much more than any of us can do apart. It’s an opportunity for us to also declare that money does not have a hold on us, that we are willing to give of what we have to God through the church and trust that God will direct its use in ways we couldn’t imagine. And, yes, the church has bills to be paid. Several years ago, someone called me on the phone and sort of chewed me out about why we took an offering and made pledges. Couldn’t we just give of our time and that be it? And I responded that I think we all should give of our time, but there are areas of life where that simply won’t work. NIPSCO, for instance, doesn’t take our time as payment for the lights and heat and air conditioning that we all enjoy and want. So we give to support the work and the ministry of the church. We give so that we have pastors and staff people who will guide and lead the ministry that happens here. But most of all, we give as an act of worship, a recognition that Jesus is Lord over all, including our checkbooks.

For Protestants, the Scripture and the sermon have, over the last many centuries, become the center piece of the worship service. And Scripture should be primary. As our our United Methodist Discipline puts it: “Scripture is the primary source and criterion for Christian doctrine” (2012, loc. 2368, Kindle version). Scripture is primary in whatever we do, in the decisions we make, in the way we live our lives. It is the written word of God which reveals the living Word of God, Jesus Christ. When I, as a pastor, stand here to proclaim the good news, the point is not to tell you something you can’t learn on your own. We have an untold amount of ways and means to study the Scriptures today, literally at our fingertips. My primary purpose in the sermon is to help shape us all as we journey together, to give vision and direction and purpose to our life together as Christians and followers of Jesus. I don’t preach as someone who knows more than anyone else; I preach because that’s my calling and I try to do it as a fellow traveler on this journey, to help us all understand God’s call on our lives. But if the Scripture and the sermon don’t help us all see Jesus more clearly, help clear away the cloud so that we see only Jesus, then I have not answered my calling fully, because that's always my prayer: that we will see Jesus.

There are two other practices in worship that we don’t do every week, but that are significant acts of worship. Those are, of course, baptism and communion. We call these acts “sacraments,” which is a fancy way of saying they are tangible acts we do that represents something going on inside of us. They are symbols, and there is nothing magical about either act. They are, however, both acts of worship that Jesus told us to do and that he, himself, participated in. You may remember that, when Jesus came to John the Baptizer and asked to be baptized, John protested. John was, after all, baptizing as a symbol of people’s repentance for their sins. Jesus was the sinless one—so why did he need or want baptism? Jesus told John it was to “fulfill all righteousness” (Matthew 3:15). It was his way of identifying with us. It was his way of setting an example for us. It was the sign that his ministry was about to begin. And so, we continue to offer baptism as a sign of beginnings, as a symbol of God’s welcome of us into his family. In the United Methodist tradition, we differ from some other traditions in that we offer baptism to infants and children as well as adults. It’s not a requirement that infants be baptized, nor does it mean that they are going to hell if they aren’t baptized. Again, it’s a sign of God’s welcome, a reminder that God welcomes us even before we’re aware of his love for us. He loved us before we can respond. Paul says that circumcision was to the Jew what baptism is to the Christian, and in the book of Acts, Peter says that the promises of God are available to children and adults alike. So we offer this sign of welcome to the youngest of persons. Baptism does not save a person; it is a symbol, a sign, one that must be completed by our own response of faith when we see Jesus. But in worship, baptism should help us see more clearly the grace and the love and the mercy of Jesus.

The same is true for communion. Communion is something we do typically every month here, though today we will be celebrating for the last time until Maundy Thursday. For many years now we have observed the season of Lent as a “fast,” not taking part in communion until we join Jesus at the table of the Last Supper. When I was growing up, we were lucky to have communion maybe four times a year, and it was always just “tacked on” at the end of the service, so we stayed longer while people’s roasts burned at home. I think that’s why communion Sunday became a low attendance Sunday in my home church. But over the last twenty years or so, communion has become more and more important to the church as we’ve realized how we remember Jesus in the bread and the cup, how we remember his sacrifice for our sake, and how he is present in a powerful way through this act. It’s not just a ritual we do. It’s an act of worship.

Communion goes by a lot of different names, each of which add an element to our understanding. When we call it “communion,” we’re emphasizing spending time with Jesus, communing with him. Some traditions call it the “eucharist,” which is a Greek word meaning “thanksgiving.” We give thanks for all that Jesus has done for us. And some folks refer to this act as “The Lord’s Supper,” reminding us that we join Jesus and the disciples around that table, that when he tells them one of them will betray him, it just might be us. “Is it I, Lord?” we ask, along with them. No matter what you call it, the bread and the cup are meant to point us to Jesus, to draw us near to him because true worship ought to help us see Jesus. If we “get anything” out of worship, it ought to be a clearer vision of who Jesus is, and who he can be (and wants to be) in our lives.

So when the cloud cleared, the disciples saw Jesus only. After that moment, without, apparently, saying a word, they head back down the mountain. At the bottom is a scene of chaos waiting for them, but as they are headed there, Jesus gives them a strict order: they were not to tell anyone what they have seen until Jesus had risen from the dead (9:9). There are little instructions like this all through the Gospel of Mark, and while some scholars think Jesus is trying to keep who he is a secret, the real reason, I believe, he wants them to keep quiet is because he knows people will misunderstand. Like I said earlier, he’s not the kind of Messiah most of the people think he ought to be. So he doesn’t want them to tell anyone about this experience until they can tell the whole story, until they can help others see clearly and fully who Jesus is. Now, let me be clear on this point: that prohibition is no longer in place. This verse of Scripture does not apply any longer, because he is risen. He said they only had to keep quiet until the resurrection. We can tell anyone we want to about what Jesus has done and who he is to us. Worship ought to inspire us to go out and tell what we have seen and experienced—and, more importantly, to tell about the one whom we have come to know. Sometimes we act and live like this prohibition is still in place—which explains why half of all United Methodists never share their faith with anyone—but this order has been rescinded. It was taken away the moment Jesus walked out of that tomb. So if worship matters in your life, allow it to propel you to tell others who you have seen, how Jesus has become present in your life and what difference he makes. Love God, love others, and then offer Jesus. In that spirit and with that determination, let’s come to the table of the Lord this morning…and worship.

Worthy

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Revelation 4:9-11; John 4:19-24

February 8, 2015 • Portage First UMC

It is a strange feeling to have so many people saying goodbye when I’ve still got five months to serve this congregation. There are a lot of emotions running through our family right now, but the bottom line is this: we are here until the end of June and will continue to serve to the best of our ability and to do what we can to set your new pastoral family up for success. We’re thankful for your love, support and encouragement after the news was shared last week, and we look forward to finishing strong through the next five months.

One of the many things I hope to and plan to convey to your new senior pastor is this church’s commitment to passionate worship. No matter what the style, passionate worship is a hallmark of Portage First. And that’s as it should be. Worship, after all, is the most central Christian activity; you could even make an argument that it’s the most central human activity, because we all worship something or someone. As Bob Dylan poetically put it, you gotta serve somebody. Worship is what we were made for (Wright, Revelation for Everyone, pg. 48). But sometimes we get in a habit of worship, where worship becomes something we do without thinking about it much. That’s why we’re taking a few weeks before we head into Lent to talk and think about worship matters. Because worship does matter. It is, as one author has said, the only thing we know for certain that we do on earth that we will also do in heaven. So worship matters. In a sense, what we do here prepares our hearts and lives for life there. Last week, Pastor Deb reminded us that worship is not just for Sunday morning, that worship is a lifestyle. But worship also needs an object. What or who is it we worship? Who is worthy of our worship? That’s the question we intend to tackle this morning. But first, let’s consider what worship might look like in a fast-paced word.

VIDEO: “An Act of Worship”

So…what is worship? Who is it we worship? Two thousand years ago, Jesus sat by a well in Samaria as a woman tried to ask him similar questions. We looked at this story a few weeks ago as we considered the idea of brokenness in relationships, but this morning I want to just briefly revisit this woman’s story, just a small part of it, because she tries to get Jesus into a religious argument about worship. We don’t have time to go into her full story this morning; you can go online and find the sermon from a few weeks ago if you want to hear more about her. But suffice it to say, Jesus is asking her questions that are getting too personal, too close, so she tries to change the subject and talk about religious matters. Worship, in particular. To be even more specific, she’s concerned about worship space. She’s a Samaritan, an enemy of the Jews, and her people worshipped on Mount Gerazim. Gerazim is still considered sacred by the Samaritans, and is, in fact, still their primary place of worship today. It’s the highest peak in the West Bank, and is considered by the Samaritans to be the place God chose for the building of the Temple. In other words, they believe the Jews got it wrong when they built the Temple on Mount Moriah, in Jerusalem. So she asks Jesus, “Which mountain? Which is the right and proper place of worship? If you’re a religious, holy man, you ought to at least be able to answer that question.”

Jesus turns her question on its ear. He’s not so much interested in the place of worship as he is in the heart of worship. It’s not about the place. It’s not about the building, the mountain or the decorations. It’s all about the heart. We’re the ones who get so wrapped up in the tangibles, but Jesus wants this woman, and us, to focus more on who and what we are worshipping than on where. When we do that, the place isn’t as important. When I first was a pastor in the Annual Conference, we spent a lot of time at the Conference meetings arguing about a particular piece of property that was owned by the Conference but wasn’t being used anymore. People would come every year and give impassioned speeches about how much that piece of property meant to them, how they had experienced God there, and every year (for many years) we would vote to “table” the discussion. It wasn’t until that had happened year after year, and we got a new Bishop, that the decision was finally made to sell the property to a group who could continue to use it for ministry. All those years the property languished because we, as an Annual Conference, were more tied to the place than we were to the God whom many had met there.

Contrast that with a story that comes out of Rwanda, where one pastor was visiting several years ago, meeting with a group when he heard lots of commotion coming from a next door warehouse-type building. Then the music started. When his meeting was over, he said he couldn’t resist going to see what it was all about. Entering the building, he found people packed into this large room, singing and dancing and praising God as if this were the last worship service on earth. And it wasn’t Sunday. It was just another ordinary day. When he asked his guide what was going on, the guide simply said, “Oh, they do this every day at lunch” (Bell, Drops Like Stars, pg. 99). These were people who had been through such tremendous suffering as a nation, who had very little, and who didn’t even, it seemed, have what we would consider a “decent place to worship,” and yet it didn’t matter. Jesus says what matters is the heart and the focus of our worship, not the place.

So, with that in mind, I want us to turn our attention for the remainder of our time this morning to the last book of the Bible, that book that causes controversy and consternation, a book also, by the way, written by the John who just told us the story of the woman at the well. And I can’t help but wonder if that story, and Jesus’ instruction about worship, might have been in his mind as he has the great privilege of witnessing worship in heaven. In Revelation 4 and 5, which we read just a small part of this morning, John gets a chance to see the smallest sliver of what happens all the time in front of the throne of God. This is worship as it’s meant to be, but we have to remember that much of the book of Revelation is written in imagery and metaphor. John’s not trying to hide its meaning from us so much as he’s trying to describe what is indescribable. He’s trying to use words to tell us about something that defies description. That’s important to remember as we stand with John before the throne of God, that this book was meant to be taken seriously but not always literally.

So John has found himself “in the Spirit” and standing before a throne that is surrounded by all sorts of bizarre creatures. These creatures, John says, have a purpose, only one purpose: they declare God’s holiness. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty,” they sing—and those are words that probably ought to sound at least a little familiar, though you may not realize that beloved hymn came from Revelation. And then, John says, as those creatures sing, there are these twenty-four beings, called “elders,” who “bow down” before the throne and “lay their crowns before the throne” (4:10). They sing, too: “You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being” (4:11). That’s a whole lot going on in just a few short verses, and the way John tells it, this is happening all the time, over and over and over again. So the question here is this: what really is happening here? And what does it mean?

Falling down before someone is an act of submission, of recognizing that the one you bow before is in authority over you. These elders throwing down their crowns in front of the throne is an image from ancient times. When kings would conquer another land, part of the ritual of surrender was for the one-time king or leader of the conquered land to bow down before the conquering king and lay down their crown or symbol of authority. Sometimes the Romans had a “portable” emperor they carried with them—an image of the current emperor which monarchs could bow before immediately and be spared the long, difficult journey back to Rome (Barclay, The Revelation of John, Volume 1, pgs. 163-164). Either way, it was an act of submission, and the same imagery is evident here. Those who come before the throne do so in submission, recognizing that God is the king and they—or we—are not. But who are these elders? Later on in the book (21:9-14), we are told of two twelves: one group of twelve representing the tribes of Israel and the other group of twelve representing the twelve apostles. In other words, twenty-four is a number that represents the complete people of God: Israel and the Church. This image here is of all those who have chosen to worship God obediently and who are willingly bowing down before him daily, submitting to his authority in their lives. So the question becomes: are we part of that number? Are we represented in the twenty-four? Hold onto that question; we’ll come back to that in a few moments.

But first I want us to look at the song they sing: “You are worthy!” Sometimes I try to imagine the music that goes along with the songs in Revelation, and at this point I hear a triumphant song, a melody that somehow indicates all that God means to them. As Pastor Deb shared last week, worship means “to give worth to,” which is literally what they are singing here. “Worthy.” The original word refers to giving weight to something, or ascribing value to something. We hear that when we go shopping for things. “The price says one thing, but it’s really only worth…” To call something “worthy” means it carries weight in our life, it is valuable to us, it has a claim on our hearts. To these singing elders, the one seated on the throne has worth. He is worthy.

“You are worthy,” they sing, “to receive glory and honor and power” (4:11). Again, those are words we use a lot, or we sing a lot, but what do they really mean? What are we saying and what are these elders saying when they “give” these things to the one on the throne? “Glory” is the word “doxa,” which we might recognize as forming our word “doxology.” It’s a word of praise, a word of recognition for something you have done. It’s when someone tells you that you did a good job, or that what you have done means something to them. They are, in essence, giving you “glory.” But, ultimately, all glory only belongs to God. Whatever we have done we are only able to do because God has given us life and health and breath. Isaiah, centuries before Jesus, put it this way: “All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags” (64:6). That’s not to say that what we do is unimportant; the focus, though, should be on who deserves the credit, the glory. As Pastor Scotty Smith once put it, “We will not preen around heaven like proud Boy Scouts with sashes full of merit badges. God will get full glory for everything that He was pleased to accomplish through His people” (Smith & Card, Unveiled Hope, pg. 70). The elders give God credit, glory.

And they give him honor. This word also has roots in economics, but also has the sense of something “respected.” The elders not only credit God with what he has done, but they also show respect. They announce what God’s value is to them, what God means to them. It’s an interesting image, because still today, the primary way we show what we value or what we “honor” is through our economics. They say that if you want to know what is valuable to someone, look at their checkbook—or, today, we might say to look at their Visa or Mastercard statement. Is there any honor for God in the way we allocate our resources? Or would it become obvious that, despite coming here on Sunday morning and saying we are a part of this church and that Jesus is our savior—would it become obvious that something else or maybe several something elses have more honor in our lives? And it’s not just about economics. It’s also about time. How do we spend our time? Is there room for Jesus on our calendar? Several years ago, I had gone with a youth group on a whitewater rafting trip to West Virginia, and after our adventure on the river, we gathered in one of the cabins to have our evening devotions. As we started, I noticed that one of the adult youth leaders wasn’t present, so I went looking for him. Now, I don’t really recall saying this, but he swears I did, and honestly, it sounds like something I would say! According to him, he says he told me he was tired and didn’t want to do devotions that evening, to which I (allegedly) responded, “Well, I’m sure glad Jesus didn’t say that he was too tired to go to the cross.” And then I left. Pretty soon, he showed up at devotions. What is the most important thing in your life? And how do you show honor? The elders give God glory and honor.

And then, finally, they give him power. The word there is “dunamis,” which, as I’ve shared before, is the root of our word “dynamite.” It’s explosive power, and so this phrase has always confused me. How can we give God power, since he is the all-powerful God? What little power do we have to offer to this one who created the world? But I don’t think the elders are saying that here. As I studied it more, I realized that the way it’s worded, they are actually giving God power in their lives. When we “give” God power, we’re recognizing that he has a claim on our lives, and that we are his servants who have, ultimately, no power. God is sovereign over all. God is the king in my life. That’s what these elders are singing, and they are celebrating now something that will be fully true at the end of time, that Christ will be sovereign over all, and that, whether we recognize it or not, he already is. As Abraham Kuyper once said, “There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry, ‘Mine'!” The elders, therefore, give God glory, honor and power.

And that brings us back to the question I asked you to hold onto a few moments ago. Are we among the twenty-four who cast our crowns in front of the throne? Or, put it in a more up-to-date way: what matters the most to you? If I said you would have to give up everything but one thing, what would that “one thing” be that you would hold onto? A lot of us right then probably thought of material things or perhaps people. But I didn’t limit it to any certain category. If you had to give up everything except for one thing, what would that one thing be? That is your god. That is what is most important to you, and if it’s anything other than the one who is on the throne, then it’s not a god worthy of worship.

In the Bible, we often hear preachers and prophets talking about idolatry, and when we hear that word, we think of the little statues, the idols, that people sometimes bowed down before, worshipped, treasured. And while most of us, probably, don’t bow down before little statues, that doesn’t mean idolatry is dead. We’ve just found other things, even things somewhat more intangible, to worship. We still have lots and lots of gods in our culture. There are the “big three,” or what author Richard Foster calls the challenges to living a disciplined life: money, sex and power. Those are gods today and have been gods to many, many people throughout history (cf. Wright 50). Money almost always tops the list because it’s a great source of anxiety and stress. We never to seem to have enough, and today we can’t seem to hold on to what we have. I know a man who flat out told me money was the most important thing in his life. He wanted more and more so that, he said, he could provide for his family, all the while his family was begging for him to be home more, be around more. He was missing important things while he worshipped his god. When we become so focused on getting and spending and keeping and saving and hoarding, money has become a god. It becomes the focus of why we do what we do. For this man, it wasn’t about providing. It was about getting. We may not bow down before those little green bills, but we do allow them to have greater importance in our lives than they are worth.

The second of the “top three” gods is sex. It sells, we’re told, and so it’s a major factor in advertising today. There was a lot of discussion last Sunday over the superbowl ads and which ones were more popular: the family-friendly ones or the ones that exploited women and used sex to sell? But even more than that, when sex becomes a way of defining ourselves and who we are, as it seems to be increasingly in our culture and in our entertainment, then this gift God gave to husbands and wives becomes the purpose of life, the thing worthy of worship. We begin to worship the creature rather than the creator. And power—don’t we idolize powerful people? Every morning, when I turn on the so-called “news,” I hear about who is dating who and what has happened in the life of this singer or that actor, and I want to shout at the television, “I don’t care.” But, as a culture, we obviously do care, because those with power, those with fame, those with prestige are worthy, we think. Celebrity power is the new god.

And then there are other things we worship today. A couple of weeks ago I talked about addictions, and the ways alcohol, drugs and so on can take over our lives. There are other addictions that call for our attention as well, that can become gods. Food, for one—and not just over-eating, but even dieting can become a god as we pursue that perfect body image. Neither eating nor dieting is bad in itself, but when either consumes our lives, we are dangerously close to worshipping those things. And even religion can become a god. The Pharisees in Jesus’ day weren’t wrong in their theology. Jesus doesn’t argue with them when it comes to their doctrine or their beliefs. But he had a huge problem with them in the way they carried those beliefs out. He even says, at one point, “You must be careful to do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach” (Matthew 23:3). For the Pharisees in Jesus’ time, holiness and obeying all the rules had become their god. They were more concerned that people follow their rules than they were that people come to know the heavenly Father. Righteousness—or their definition of it—was their god. And there are Pharisees still around today, who want everyone to obey their rules whether those rules and understandings are rooted in Scripture or not. Some of the Pharisees stand in pulpits, and some do not. Jesus wanted the Pharisees to point people to the true God, not to their human-made rulebook.

The question is this: what is your god? Or, more to the point, what will you allow to be god in your life? You see, the scene with the elders before the throne is a scene of submission. It’s about them allowing God to be God in their lives. According to most polls, the majority of people in America believe in God, but far fewer actually allow that belief to make a difference in their lives. Far fewer actually cast their crowns down on the ground in front of the throne. Far fewer know God to be worthy. It’s not enough to say we believe; the Bible says even the demons believe, but they don’t give up their crowns (James 2:19). Instead, they shudder. The elders, however, are those who yield control of their lives to God. They allow God to be God on his terms, not theirs (cf. Mulholland, “Revelation,” Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, Vol. 18, pg. 462). So let me ask again: are we among the twenty-four? Who (or what) is your God?

I came across an article last weekend about British actor and comedian Stephen Fry. Fry has been an outspoken atheist and critic of the church in general, having said he would rather believe in the ancient Greek gods than in the God of the Bible. He’s also said he does see some positive aspect to faith and at times wishes he could believe as deeply as he knows others do. With that in mind, he appeared last week on a British television program called The Meaning of Life. As the title suggests, it’s a talk show that is dedicated to questions around life, religion and what happens after death. Fry was asked what he would say to God if it turns out that it’s all true. How would he respond? And Fry said he would tell God, in part, this: “How dare you? How dare you create a world to which there is such misery that is not our fault. It’s not right, it’s utterly, utterly evil. Why should I respect a capricious, mean-minded, stupid God who creates a world that is so full of injustice and pain. That’s what I would say” (http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/stephen-fry-explains-what-he-would-say-if-he-was-confronted-by-god-10015360.html). Now, I’ll put the whole clip on our Facebook page so you can hear it if you want, but Stephen Fry has decided one thing, primarily. His intellectual understandings are higher than God’s. He is his own god, much more important than the God who created the universe. We’ve dealt with some of the issues Fry raises just recently in our “Broken” sermon series, but the question that comes down to us, from Fry and many others today, is this: in the face of a world that is broken and doesn’t work like it, who caused that? Is that God’s fault or ours? God loves us enough to give us freedom to choose, and yes, God could stop all the evil in the world, but that wouldn’t be freedom. So the question we each have to decide is this: is God worthy of our worship? Stephen Fry says no. What do you say?

There’s one more piece to this vision in Revelation 4-5 that I want us to see, one that Stephen Fry and those like him seem to miss or choose to ignore. In chapter five, John sees beyond the initial worship to something that is happening near the throne. The one seated there has a scroll, and it’s sealed up with seven seals. This scroll represents God’s purpose throughout all time, all history, but it seems as if there is no one who can open it, no one who can reveal what God has planned. An angel cries out, “Who is worthy [there’s that word again] to break the seals and open the scroll?” (5:2). And John begins to weep because it seems like there is no one on earth or in heaven who can do it. God’s purposes will remain unknown! And then one of the twenty-four elders turns to John and says, “Do not weep! See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah…has triumphed. He is able to open the scroll and its seven seals” (5:5). And John turns to see this great Lion and but he sees a Lamb that has been slain. The Lamb, we are told, is worthy to open the scroll. The Lamb can reveal God’s plan to humanity because he has been slain and by his death purchased humanity for God (5:9-10). The Lamb is Jesus. He is the Lamb slain for our salvation. He is the one who loved us so much that he gave his life so that we could live. And, more than that, he is God incarnate, God in the flesh, God become human. God gave himself over to death so that we could have life. That’s why he is worthy, because he has already shown us the definition of the deepest love: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). And that, Revelation says, is why he is worthy.

And so, in baptism we cast our crowns before him and promise to follow him. In communion, we remember his love for us as demonstrated on the cross. And in life every day, we live in such a way that he is in control and not us. We cast our crowns before him. We live a life of God-centered worship because he is worthy. Let’s pray.