Читать книгу 95 Prostheses - Frank G. Honeycutt - Страница 11

“For he is like a refiner’s fire and like fuller’s soap” (Mal 3:2).

There was a man in one of my former parishes (let’s call him Stephen) who was not particularly well-liked. And it’s possible I’m even being generous here. Stephen was a grumpy and ornery older man (harmless in most ways, but ornery) and most people just steered clear of him. He enjoyed calling into question my pastoral credentials and made a habit of staring at unruly children. I worried a bit about Stephen; asked others about his background (attempting to discover something from his past that made him behave so badly) and tried to reach out to him. No luck.

People in the church had a habit of saying, “Oh, that’s just Stephen. Don’t worry. He’s always been that way.” But I did worry a bit. And, after a point, that very common statement about Stephen left me wondering. What does it reveal about another human being when we say, “Oh, that’s just the way she’s always been,” as if some people are simply incapable of change?

But more broadly, what does such thinking reveal about our true beliefs about God? Are even God’s hands tied with some people when it comes to change?

I was thinking of Stephen when I learned of a popular headline that appeared in The New York Daily News just after the shooting in San Bernardino in December of 2015. The headline read: “GOD ISN’T FIXING THIS.” The headline was a reaction to those in our country who say we should pray more if we want less national gun violence.

Please don’t think I’m equating Stephen with the deranged couple in California. There are various degrees of orneriness in the world. I get that. But the catchy headline made me wonder: What does God fix? And what are we really saying when we say even God’s hands are tied with some people who seem incapable of change? Whether they’re an ornery parishioner, or a criminal on death row, or people with religious convictions gone haywire?

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There was a time in my early pastoral life that I believed people failed to read the Bible with any consistent regularity because we were all such busy people—just not enough time in the day. Running hither and yon, we never got around to the Word of God because of the frantic pace of our culture. Some important things had to go and the Bible became one of them because, well, we are a busy bunch with vital things to do. I’m not being cynical here. I really believed that once upon a time.

However, I do not believe it anymore. To put it more precisely, I don’t believe that’s the primary reason we fail to read the book. Here’s what I’ve come to believe deep in my pastoral heart. Many people, even active, churchgoing Christians, do not read the Bible with any regularity because we’re afraid of what we might find there.

A huge chunk of the Bible means to change us. Transform us more and more into the likeness of Jesus. Convert us, to use a word that isn’t found in many Lutheran circles. And frankly, Jesus is a loser. Or, to put it another way: he wins by losing. He will not play the dominance game because he knows of a much higher power than any wielded on earth. It’s a very odd story with a cross at the center.

If we’re honest there are a lot of stories out there that captivate our imaginations. The story of how to make a lot of money. The story of how to live forever with my amazing and beautiful bod. The story of how to “kick ass” and not take this anymore.

These competing stories (compelling stories to be sure) are why many do not read the Bible with any regularity. Because what we read there compared to how we choose to live our lives is often just too much to bear or think about. In short, the Bible invites us to see life from God’s perspective rather than our own narrow lens. And frankly, this is a lot of hard work. It’s exhausting work, if you want to know the truth.

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The book of Malachi is the last in the Old Testament. Not much is known about the book’s namesake. In Hebrew, Malachi means “My messenger.” He preached about 450 years before the birth of Jesus and was mostly interested in faithful worship practices. Malachi was hard on priests (like me) and people who went through the motions of temple liturgical customs.

But Malachi was mostly interested in helping people get an accurate understanding of the Lord God. God, according to Malachi, was no cuddly teddy bear in the sky. God was loving and forgiving, yes, according to this prophet. But God was also jealous and incredulous and shocked by human behavior. God, in short, got ticked from time to time. Malachi’s job (as divine messenger) was to let Israel know these things.

He says: “This God that you delight in, this God about whom you sing dazzling hymns of praise, he’s coming all right. Oh yes. But who can endure that coming? You? Me? God is nobody’s Santa Claus,” Malachi seemed to say (3:1–2). “God has an agenda to change us. To purify us all with fire and cleanse this place with soap.” It’s not a message many wanted to hear back then. Fire and soap. I daresay not many want to hear it now, which leads back to my premise about our Bible reading habits.

But Malachi’s message, though rather harsh and direct, is just about the best news any of us could ever hear. For it reveals a God who loves us enough not to leave us as we are. “Just as I Am” we come to God, claims the old hymn. But God will not leave us that way. Is that good news or bad? Depends. I like to think it can be very good news.

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God’s word came to John the Baptist in the wilderness (Luke 3:1–2). Interestingly, this word did not come to the other seven men (count them) who are named in Luke. All seven were privileged and powerful and very well-known; leaders of the known world at that time, guys who made the headlines. Luke takes time to list them, name their powerful positions. But the word of God bypassed them all. Curious.

What does this mean for us? What does it mean concerning how God changes people? I do know that I am fairly skilled at keeping God at arm’s length. Heck, just keep the TV on all the time. That’s a start at keeping God away.

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I have a pastor friend8 whose church once worked with a family that really needed help. The father in that family was an alcoholic and abusive. The family (including the father) came to worship for several Sundays, several months, after the church assisted them with food and clothing. And then they stopped coming and moved to another town and the congregation lost track of them.

One day my friend was out on the church lawn. It was spring and a man walked up and spoke. He’d changed so much that the pastor didn’t even recognize him. “Good grief,” said the pastor. “You’ve really changed. What in the world happened?”

The man paused a second. He said, “I really want to thank you for what your church did for my family, pastor. We really needed help at that time and you helped us. But it was when we started attending another church that I really started to change. They told me God was coming. And that God can change lives. They really shook me up and made me think hard about how I was hurting people. I guess your church gave me the equivalent of aspirin, and that was good. But what I really needed was a massive dose of spiritual chemotherapy.”

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In Advent, Christians make a renewed commitment to meet God in the wilderness of our choosing. Find a quiet place. Return there regularly. Allow this life-changing word, the holy gift of Holy Scripture, to penetrate your routine; your expectations of this season.

God is like fire. He comes to purify. God is like fuller’s soap. He comes to cleanse us all. God is coming. He will not leave us alone.

It’s one of the ways God fixes things, in God’s good time.

For further reflection:

1. Do you know anyone like Stephen? How might a congregation caringly confront the behavior of people like him?

2. Why did God’s word seem to bypass those seven powerful men mentioned in Luke and find a voice with John out in the middle of nowhere?

8. The story comes from Will Willimon, retold here as I remember it.