The Vision of the Cross
The Vision of the Cross
Second Sunday in Lent, Year B
Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16; Romans 4:13-25;
Mark 8:31-38
St. Paul’s Free Methodist Church
March 4, 2012
In most any Business Management
textbook that you might pick up these days, you will encounter quite a bit of
ink spilled early on in the first few chapters on developing a strategy for
your corporation or institution. And, at
the heart of that discussion will be the importance of eliciting vision and
mission statements that will serve to focus the various constituents on the
“task at hand.” All of this, of course,
is a fairly recent invention housed in the emergence of Strategic Management as
a business discipline in the middle of the 20th century. Before that, people had to rely on tradition
and intuition to figure these things out.
So, this morning I want to suggest that this is exactly what we can see
at work in the long arc of the Gospel message contained within today’s
scripture texts—the launching of a divine vision that challenges all of the
assumptions we might bring about what it means to be “successful” in life.
That vision begins with the calling
of the patriarch, Abram. Had Abram
wanted to become successful, he probably would have remained at home in Ur of
the Chaldees where he could have consolidated his property, invested in the
Sumerian stock market, and lived rather handsomely. But, at what even we would consider to be an
advanced age, God calls him to leave behind his wealth and security in order to
hit the road for a destination of which he was not even aware. Had the old man been hung up on the
traditional criteria for success, he might well have balked at the idea and
would never have found his way into the pages of holy writ. But Abraham had never read Peter Drucker and
I doubt he even had a “life verse” by which to evaluate such critical
decisions. He simply gathered up his
loins, his wife, his nephew, and possessions and, at the age of 75, he chose to
follow Jehovah God.
So, by the time we get to today’s
text, some five chapters later, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge and
Abram is expecting something of a pay-off.
Now he is 99—a decrepit age for even the ancients. Remember that this is a pre-Viagra era,
something which the apostle Paul makes all too clear in his commentary in
Romans 4:19 when he describes the patriarch’s body as “already as good as
dead.” John Calvin makes of the old man
a poster child for Cialis when he concludes in his commentary that, “when
Abraham, who before had been like a dry, withered tree, was revived by the
heavenly blessing, he not only had the power to beget Isaac, but having been
restored to the age of virility, was afterward able to produce other
offspring.”
This newly-established virility,
though, is but the concrete outcome of what is made most clear by the change of
name. No longer is he to be known simply
as Abram, but God is to breathe his heavenly breath into him (“Abraham”), just
like the guttural breath required to say RUACH, the Hebrew word for God’s
spirit. And with the addition of this
breath, his name will now mean literally, “father of multitudes”. And, in like manner, Sarai, too, will have
God’s breath enter her (“Sarah”) and she will take on a new destiny, as well,
as mother of kings. Now, in the ancient
world, what we have here is clearly being communicated in covenantal
language. That is, this is a promise
being made by a superior to one who is showing him allegiance. Such covenants were quite common and usually
involved some kind of ritual in which the participants might cut themselves,
say on the wrist or forearm, mix their blood together and swear eternal
allegiance. In fact, the Hebrew verb for
“making covenant” literally means “to cut,” and so it is that the newly-named
Abraham is instructed to “cut a covenant” by engaging in the ancient rite of
circumcision.
Now, I know that Pastor Bob was
quite creative last week and brought all kinds of visual aids into the pulpit
to assist him in communicating the message but you’ll have to forgive me if I
choose not to do so this week. Suffice
it to say that I didn’t really think I could pull it off without broaching what
most would consider to be entirely inappropriate territory. The key elements are what are of most
interest to us: the faith necessary to receive and believe that, at the
vigorous age of 99, one should begin building a baby crib—just as soon as the
task of circumcising all of the males in the entire household had been taken
care of.
It is this kind of audacious
risk-taking that stands behind Jesus’ own statement about what is required to
sign on to the New Covenant. Again,
context is all-important to today’s text.
For, immediately preceding our scripture lesson we find the powerful
words of confession pronounced by Peter, himself, of Jesus—“You are the
Messiah.” Here, at last, is a man of
vision, a man of fortitude, who can be counted on to take risks. Like Jake in the infamous “Blues Brothers”
movie, Peter has a vision that Jesus is getting the band back together and he
is going to work a miracle. After all,
he had just healed a man of blindness (even if it had taken him two tries to
get it right!). So, when Jesus dared to
speak of anything less than a Joel Osteen bright sunshiny existence, Peter knew
in his heart-of-hearts that his Galilean overseer and aspiring Messiah had not
taken the appropriate time to master his personal vision statement and he did
what every management consultant is trained to do: he began to rebuke the CEO
for misunderstanding his mission.
If you look carefully at the
parallels to this particular story in the other gospels, you can’t help but be
struck by the harsh dynamic featured only here in Mark’s gospel. In fact, it is only this Evangelist who portrays
both the disciple and Jesus “rebuking” one another. As Bill Lane writes in his commentary,
“Peter’s reaction shows that it was impossible to miss what Jesus intended to
say, even though the divine necessity for his suffering appeared
inconceivable…The rebuke indicates that Jesus’ declaration was radically new
and that the disciples were totally unprepared to receive it: a rejected
Messiah was incompatible with Jewish convictions and hopes,” (The Gospel of Mark, 303-304). As my mentor, Frank Thompson, would probably
have said, “The disciples, and Peter in particular, were completely poleaxed by
Jesus’ statement that the will of God led directly to the way of the cross.”
In Mark’s gospel, the cross always
looms large. Jesus’ way is portrayed as
painful and his disciples as ignorant, incredulous, and sometimes just plain
stupid. For Mark, suffering and
sacrifice lie at the heart of the gospel.
Some may choose to ignore it; others to misunderstand it; and others to
say it simply isn’t so. But reading Mark
forces the Christian community to come to terms with the horrors that we
oftentimes attempt to erase from the Passion story.
No one in recent history has
captured this Lenten message quite so powerfully as did Dietrich Bonhoeffer in
his book, The Cost of Discipleship. I will never forget the shock of opening the
book for the first time and reading, “Jesus bids us come and die.” It is such a counter-cultural message that
not only is it shocking to our system, but many of us simply wilt before the
challenge. We have been raised to
believe that if we will only say the Sinner’s Prayer and ask Jesus to come into
our hearts that all of life, both now and for eternity, will come up
roses. But, as Russell D. Moore wrote
recently in Christianity Today, “For
too long, we’ve called unbelievers to ‘invite Jesus into your life.’ (But) Jesus doesn’t want to be in your
life. Your life’s a wreck. Jesus calls you into his life,” (“A
Purpose-Driven Cosmos”). As Bonhoeffer
reiterates, “Cheap grace is the deadly enemy of the church.” What the gospel demands is costly grace.
Parker
Palmer reminded several of us of this just a few weeks ago in St. Louis. Towards the end of his remarks, he recounted
the experience of going on pilgrimage to retrace the steps of the Civil Rights
demonstrators on their long walk towards Selma, Alabama. Congressman John Lewis, now a respected
elected official from Georgia, was a young man on that march and provided
commentary for the pilgrims as they made their way across country on a
bus. One of the stories he told was of
being badly beaten in a bus station and left to die by three southern
assailants all carrying baseball bats.
The most surprising part of the
story was when he recounted that one of those same men, now in his later years
came to visit him in his office in Washington, D. C. There, still bearing the scars on his
forehead of that ugly night beating in Alabama, the honorable John J. Lewis heard
the man’s confession of the wrong he had done so long ago and listened to his
request for forgiveness for what he had done.
And, alongside of him the former assilant had brought his son as a
witness with the hopes that his generation could begin to rectify some of the
harm done so long ago. Lewis, reflecting
on that experience with Palmer and his fellow travelers said simply, “People
can change.”
For Peter, change would require not
only this brusque confrontation with the Master but the harsh reality of that
week of Passion that culminated with his denial of Jesus on three separate
occasions. But, like Abram before him
(now become Abraham), Cephas would emerge from the experience with a new name,
Peter, and a new calling and vocation--proving as Congressman Lewis suggests
that all of us have the power to change and to rise above ourselves and our own
petty sins.
The challenge of the Lenten season
is for us to begin to see the world differently. Like Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz,” Jesus’
invitation to follow him in the downward way beckons us to no longer see the
world in the familiar bleak black and white dust-ridden landscape with which we
are familiar, but to open our eyes to a new and different Kingdom which is
painted in brilliant colors. The problem
is not with the challenge of the Gospel, but with our own human limitation
framed by the presuppositions of the world in which we live. Like the patriarch, we simply cannot imagine
being restored to virility at an advanced age and like Simon Peter, we have no
worldview which can account for a crucified Messiah.
So,
this morning we are invited to allow Jesus to reset our limited Vision
statement. The very nature of the Gospel
challenges many of our presuppositions and we are, by nature, prone to revise
the starkness of the cross in light of our own constricted experience. To what, though, is God calling you this
morning? Have you set aside possibilities
because you think that you are too old, too young, too uneducated, too tied
down to join in the pilgrimage made by those who count themselves in as a part
of the Community of the Cross? Is there
a relationship which is so ruptured that you can no longer imagine
reconciliation? If John Lewis’ attacker
can change, is there hope for us during this season of Lent?
Hear
these words of the Psalmist once again: “All the ends of the earth shall
remember and turn to the Lord; and all the families of the nations shall
worship before him. For dominion belongs
to the Lord, and he rules over the nations.
To him, indeed, shall all who sleep in the earth bow down; before him
shall bow all who go down to the dust, and I shall live for him,”
(22:28-29). May God grant to us the
vision, the will, and the fortitude to make these words our own. Amen.
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