Do not be afraid

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August 07, 2016

The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Who has authority over us in this life? The government certainly does—we pay taxes, obey laws and regulations. Our bosses. Our spouses; our parents; our children; our social networks. We can refuse to listen to these authorities, but we recognize that there will be consequences if we do. We know from lived experience that others have a claim on us, that we are accountable for our choices in a variety of ways, for good or for bad. The soldier hands over his life to his commander and his unit; the athlete gives her all to her coach and her team; the gang member hands over his life to the gang and its leader. And not only do these groups and networks have a claim on us, but we have a claim on them, too. If you are a citizen of the United States, you are obligated by certain laws and you also enjoy certain benefits. If you work in a given profession, then you abide by the ethics of that profession and claim its stature. You submit to the training and the code and you can say, "I am a lawyer; I am a doctor; I am the President." We all know that to break the rules of the group can mean a radical change in status—you can be disbarred, have your license revoked, be impeached, or defrocked. We learn this lesson early-- any middle schooler or high schooler knows that if you want to belong to a particular team or clique, you have to live within the social norms of that group, or you will quickly and certainly lose your place, and be shut out.

In fact, authority and belonging always go together. They are intertwined in complicated ways. We spend our entire lives negotiating the foundational questions of who we belong to and who has authority over us. Answering these questions is one of the primary tasks of human life.

As people of faith, we claim to belong to the God of Scripture. The Bible gives this holy, mutual belonging a special name: covenant. Belonging to God has consequences; belonging always does. There is no surprise there. What is surprising is that Scripture tells us that belonging to God has consequences not only for each one of us individually, but for the whole world and for all of eternity. This apocalyptic, end-time language we hear in today's reading—it asserts that what we do, what we choose, how we spend the currency of our lives—our money, our attention, our time—that these choices have profound consequences, consequences that reverberate well beyond our own lives, even into the age to come.

You have probably heard of the butterfly effect—a scientific theory derived from weather modeling. It shows that a butterfly flapping its wings in one part of the world will affect, through a long causal chain, the strength and location of a hurricane months later in another part of the world. Or perhaps you know something about economics. If you pick stocks or invest, you know that a small change in one part of the world over here, can lead to a significant change in stock price over there; For those of us who live in aging human bodies, we know from experience that a problem that surfaces in one part of the body often ends up as a symptom in a completely different part of us. Our lives are much more complex and interconnected than weather or stocks. Why are we inclined to think that our own individual choices and behaviors matter less to the world than the flapping of a butterfly's wings?

In Biblical times, the geography of the universe included two parallel worlds, heaven and earth. Heaven was God's residence; earth the place of humans. The Bible tells the story of how those two realms, those two realities—the divine and the human—intersected and interacted with one another. The Bible is the strange story of God sporadically showing up in our midst, looking for ways to connect with us, to get our attention—we hear about his messengers, the angels and the prophets; about his appearances on mountains and in deserts, in flame, dove, and cloud; Scripture traces his passing when he leaves miraculous events in his wake. The Bible is also the story of human beings, sometimes recognizing God's presence, sometimes not; sometimes responding to God's presence, sometimes not.

Picture, for a moment, God as a parent and humanity as a teenager. God keeps trying to initiate a conversation; humanity, meanwhile, has its earbuds in, and shows little willingness to turn away from the buzzing distractions of our various personal lives, and listen for a moment. God, perhaps in sheer frustration, shows up on Earth in human form and draws close, speaks directly to us, face to face, through a physical body and a human voice. When he does, he finds, just as he has found in every generation before, a small, ragtag bunch of people who look up and pay attention to his voice. After saying what he needs to say one more time, God heads back home, up to heaven. It's as if God has decided that it's time to pull back as a parent and make room for these adolescent human beings to finally grow up. Before he goes, God breathes the spirit of wisdom and truth into the ragtag bunch, hands them the keys to the kingdom, tells them that they are now God's hands and feet in the world; that what they do on earth will have effects in heaven; and God steps out of the way. Once more, God gives this small, motley group what God has offered humanity time and time again—freedom and authority. And, as always, that freedom and authority is inextricably linked with accountability and with belonging.

We are now that ragtag bunch tasked with carrying God's presence around the world. Each week we take in the body and blood of God; we claim that somehow God becomes part of us and that we become part of God. And then what? We human beings are often like a surly teenager complaining, "stop telling me what to do!" Our lives—our talents, our attention, our money, our energy— are a form of currency; they have value. We can use that currency to grow God's loving presence in the world, to "gain treasure in heaven," or not. And God, like a patient and loving parent, nods lovingly and assures us that, in the end, each of us must decide for ourselves. Each of us must decide how we will spend our time and our money, decide which community we will belong to, decide whose authority we will recognize. 

The world is erupting in violence and hatred all around us. Our families are divided. As individuals, we often feel disjointed and pulled in different directions. This strange apocalyptic, end-time language we hear today has a gift for us. Our Gospel today boldly claims that there is, in fact, a wholeness and an integrity to this world-- that life is not purposeless or random. The language of apocalyptic judgement, as frightening and foreign as it can sound to us, is a time-tested way of saying, loudly and clearly, that what each of us does in this life matters. Your actions are of profound value; weigh them carefully. Your choices can and do have effects much larger than you know. The meaning and value of your life does not wear out just because your body does.

Much of our lives is spent in what I would call "currency trading." As we grow older, move from place to place—we find that certain possessions, certain ideas that seemed important in one context lose their value in another. The apocalyptic language that confronts us in our Gospel today offers us a way out of this endless shifting. When we belong to God, our value, our mission in life, no longer depends on the brand we wear or the club or profession we belong to. Our worth does not depend on the changes and chances of human life. If you belong to God, if you claim the rights and privileges of the people of God, then your value is eternal; it will not wear out.

The word for "faith" in Hebrew, "emunah", does not mean belief in a creed or a fixed set of propositions. It means faithfulness, steadfastness, perseverance. Today's Gospel has a strong message for people of faith and faithfulness. Do not be afraid. Be dressed for action. Be ready and alert. Live each and every day as if you were God's presence in the world because-- if you belong to Christ-- that's exactly who you are.

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