Falling toward redemption

“The relationship begins”
Genesis 2:4b-7, 15-17; 3:1-8; Matthew 6:9-13


Watch the video:


...or listen to audio:


...or download a printer-friendly PDF file [click here]

...or read it online here: 

We’re delighted to begin a year

working our way through the biblical narrative,

in a sweeping arc from beginning to end.

And we’re delighted to do so

with other congregations in Harrisonburg and the surrounding area,

of various denominations,

and 100s more around the world,

who follow the Narrative Lectionary.

We begin the narrative today with a story everybody knows—

the creation and fall of humanity.

A lot of people are a little fuzzy on the details,

but most people know something about a snake that

tricked Adam and Eve into eating an apple,

which ruined everything for everybody,

although we’re not quite sure why.

The text doesn’t actually contain the words snake or apple,

but that’s beside the point.

We know this story,

and it’s gotten into our everyday vocabulary.

We use the phrase “forbidden fruit”

for just about anything we should keep our hands off of.

And the little bump that sticks out in our neck,

we all know as the “Adam’s apple,”

I guess because when Adam got caught by God,

he must have choked, and it got lodged partway down.

That’s also not in the text.

Everybody knows the Adam and Eve story,

but we don’t spend a lot of time thinking or talking about it.

I think it’s one of the most important stories in scripture—

I don’t even want to rank it.

Because along with some other Bible stories,

this one is essential for faith.

We should know it in a deeper way than we do.

And here’s a clue.

It has nothing to do with biological human origins.

So forget any argument you’ve ever heard about that.

This is about who we believe we are,

in relationship to who we believe God is.

This is where the story of our relationship to God begins.

And the relationship did not get off to such a great start.

God created us humans to be collaborators in creation.

Turns out we were more interested in being competitors.

See, the role of collaborating with God in creation—

or in the words of our text,

“to live in the Garden and work it and take care of it”—

that role of steward or keeper or caretaker

is a limiting role.

We are limited by the owners’ values and priorities and intentions.

We are limited by the owner’s definition of good and evil.

We don’t create our own morality.

We don’t get to invent our own reason for existence.

Those were all given to us by our Creator.

But due to God’s generous gift of freewill,

we are also not puppets.

We have the capacity to think for ourselves,

and choose for ourselves.

And when given the choice,

we tend toward wanting to take over God’s role

of judge,

of being the arbiter of good and evil,

of bending the world toward our desires.

And as soon as we take on the mantle of judge,

we notice our nakedness.

That’s what this wonderfully symbolic part of the story is all about.

It’s not about how human beings invented the first fig-leaf suit.

It’s about how we came to be ashamed of vulnerability.

Once we embrace the universal human temptation

to judge others and ourselves,

then we can’t tolerate our own nakedness anymore.

We realize we have something to hide.

Our own vulnerability is exposed.

Adam and Eve had no reason to hide from God

before they ate the fruit.

They walked with God in the garden in the cool of the day,

Naked and unafraid.

But once the fruit of judgment was tasted,

they learned to fear.

Intimacy with God now felt like a risk.

God became a threat.

So they hid.

That story gets lived over and over again in our daily lives,

to this day.

We human beings have learned the hard way

that vulnerability and baring our souls with others,

doesn’t always end well.

Because of the evil that resides in us all,

there is a temptation to take advantage of another’s weakness,

and use it for selfish purposes.

We have all been on the receiving end

of someone taking advantage of us, when our guard was down.

And we have all, at one time or another,

used that same power over another,

to our advantage.

So we have learned, correctly,

that it is safer to wear lots of armor.

Fig leaves make life easier.

And in our Narrative Lectionary this year,

we will see this story repeated over and over and over

on nearly every page of our Bible.

God’s people did not trust God with their nakedness,

with their vulnerability.

They weren’t comfortable being overly dependent.

They got self-protective, self-oriented, and self-determined.

Instead of basking in God’s love and provisions,

they instead struggled to control and manage,

and usurp God’s rightful place in the order of things.

Abraham passed off his wife as his sister for economic gain.

Jacob cruelly scammed his older brother out of his inheritance.

Jacob’s sons sold off their privileged younger brother into slavery.

And newly-freed Hebrew slaves

tried to turn back to the food security they had in Egypt,

instead of depending on God for daily manna in the desert.

The nation of Israel rejected the rule of God,

and asked for a human king like the other nations,

. . . and the stories go on and on.

And still today,

we keep falling for this ancient and perennial temptation.

For control over unpredictability.

For full-body armor over nakedness.

The temptation always comes in the form of

some variation on the words of the serpent—

“You . . . can . . . be . . . like . . . God.”

In the Lord’s Prayer, our Gospel text this morning,

Jesus wisely taught his disciples to

acknowledge the rightful rule of God,

and to conclude this model prayer with,

“And lead us not into temptation, 

but deliver us from the Evil One.”

_____________________

So did Adam and Eve die after eating the forbidden fruit?

The punishment was, in fact, a sort of death.

What died was a life of sustained and relaxed intimacy with God.

They were banished from Eden.

In the verses that follow today’s reading,

they were sent out of the garden through the eastern gate,

and cherubim took up flaming swords to guard the gate,

and keep them out forever.

“East of Eden”—is not just the title of a John Steinbeck novel.

It’s a metaphor for life in a wounded world.

We are still in the wilderness east of Eden,

needing to fend for ourselves,

tilling the land by the sweat of our brows,

having to continually fight against our enemies to survive,

thorns and thistles,

poisonous creatures and . . . deadly viruses.

If ever our lives were “East of Eden,” now would be that time.

Where is God East of Eden?

When we were in the garden,

God came to us, and walked and talked with us.

Are we destined to wander alone forever in this wilderness?

That is the big, vexing, existential question that

humanity has wrestled with

ever since the cherubim took up their swords at the garden gate.

The whole story of God’s people,

throughout the Old and New Testaments,

and throughout the history of the church,

is a story of seeking God where God is often hard to find.

Sometimes we remember why,

and we embrace the wilderness long enough

to look to God in deep trust,

ready to risk and obey, for the next step.

But other times we stubbornly cling to this deception,

that we can do this alone, on our own strength and wisdom.

We are still tempted to usurp God’s place in the equation,

and we still fall for it. We still bite the apple.

But this ongoing rebellion is only one part

of this big biblical narrative.

The other part is what God does—

continually reaching toward God’s people,

even when they fail to reach toward God.

In our survey of the biblical story,

there will be many more offers of redemption and forgiveness.

And many more falls.

And many more reconciliations.

God does not, and will not, give up on us.

We fall.

And we will keep falling.

But the end of this biblical arc is pointing toward redemption.

We are falling toward redemption.

Not because of our efforts, but because of God’s.

We need not despair. Ever.

God is still with us.

Even east of Eden.

I invite us into a response of confession,

since we know the sin of Adam and Eve is also our sin.

Let us, together, bring our confession to God.

You may follow along, and read along with us on the bold print.

one Creator God, you made us and all things for beauty and harmony.

        You put your trust in us as partners 

        to carry out your good purposes in the world.

        Yet, we have often squandered that trust, 

        and turned away from our calling,

        and have sought to replace or usurp 

        your role as sovereign in this world.

        We have hidden from you in shame.

all We repent of our sinful rebellion.

        Forgive us for trusting you less than you trust us.

        Hold fast to us in your everlasting love.

[silence]

one Our God remains with us in patience, love, and mercy.

        Our God generously extends forgiveness, 

        restores the relationship,

        and invites us to continue the journey.

        Thanks be to God!

—Phil Kniss, September 13, 2020

[To leave a comment, click on "comments" link below]

Big rocks and bedrock

“No debt but love”
Romans 13:8-10


Watch the video:


...or listen to audio:


...or download a printer-friendly PDF file [click here]

...or read it online here: 

Speaking of “big rocks”—

this metaphor we’ve been playing with in this re-wilding series—

where “big rocks” are those core essentials

we have to put in the container first,

because we can’t squeeze them in later,

after we’ve filled it up with little stuff . . .

speaking of big rocks, love is not just a big rock—it’s bedrock.

We call ourselves a “people of God.”

And scripture tells us, over and over, “God is love.”

So we could hardly call ourselves a church,

if we are not known by our love.

As Paul told us, in Romans 13,

“Owe no one anything, except to love.”

I think it’s safe to say there isn’t a church anywhere

who would say they aren’t acting out of love.

It’s also safe to say when non-church people

are asked what they think about churches,

their top answer is not that churches are so loving.

In fact, social research has proven that.

But the ironic thing about saying “love” is the bedrock,

is that the meaning of love is so squishy.

When I say, “I love coffee.  I love my wife.

I loved Ralph and Lucinda’s Barnyard Boogie

in the variety show last night,”

I am saying three very different things.

. . . I also loved Tristan’s hats.

This week I saw the word love in a sentence that really struck me,

“Food made with love can connect us all.”

Now, there you go. Truth!

Made me think of my grandmother’s kitchen,

and a bountiful church potluck,

where food is a tangible expression of our love for others,

and brings us closer together.

But the reason that sentence stuck out to me,

was that I read it in large bold print on a KFC flyer

in our mailbox on Wednesday.

Really? . . . “Food made with love can connect us all.”

Now I love southern fried chicken now and then.

But to find out . . . that the cooks at KFC love me,

and want to feel closer to me . . . Who knew?

An industrialized fast-food multi-national corporation

does it all for love.

Love can mean so much, it can mean very little.

But since love is bedrock for the church,

we need to use it, but use it well.

_____________________

Theologically, love is not squishy at all.

It’s specific.

It’s demanding.

And it’s hard. Hard as a rock.

Our rock-solid starting point as a church,

is that we are bound in a covenant relationship.

We are in covenant with the God of the universe, who IS love,

who embodied love in Jesus Christ.

And we are bound into a covenant community of love,

a covenant that will outlast any emotion.

There is nothing casual or squishy about a covenant

that commits you to the total well-being of another.

Anyone who enters into a covenant to love,

enters it with great resolve and great trepidation.

We assume love will be hard work.

We assume we will change in the process.

We assume the covenant will survive

past disappointment, pain and resistance.

That’s true in a church covenant,

it’s true in a covenant between individuals.

And it’s certainly true in the covenant

which God had the guts to make with us.

God’s persistent covenant to love us is the main story of scripture.

We human partners in the covenant fail—miserably, and often.

But God keeps faith, keeps covenant,

keeps reaching to close the gap.

I think this covenant must bring God a lot of pain.

You will soon be hearing about a new narrative lectionary

we are launching next Sunday,

that will follow this story-thread through all of scripture,

God’s persistent and tireless effort to draw us into covenant.

Biblical scholar Scot McKnight talks about three moves

in any covenant of love,

the move to be WITH,

the move to be FOR,

and the move TOWARD.

WITH is all about presence.

God promises, and wants, to be with us, Emmanuel,

to share our world and our reality.

FOR is about advocacy.

God stands up for us, defends us, shows solidarity,

forms an alliance with us.

TOWARD is about direction toward transformation.

God does not intend us to be static,

but to grow in God’s likeness,

to be continually transformed, and transforming.

We could page through our Bible right now,

and I could point out story after story,

where God, in love, was doing one of those three things.

We will get to many of those stories in our Narrative Lectionary.

But it is also a model of how we, as human beings,

love one another.

In the church, we love other members of the body,

by being WITH, FOR, and TOWARD each other.

And the church shows its love for its neighbors,

and for the world, in the same way,

by being WITH, FOR, and TOWARD them.

But here’s the thing.

The order matters.

First, it’s WITH. Then it’s FOR. Then it’s TOWARD.

A musical piece, like a concerto,

has movements that are written to be played in a certain order.

You can play them out of order,

but the music will stop making sense,

it will lose its power,

and lose its connection with the heart of the composer.

Only after I am willing to be WITH someone,

will I have credibility when I act FOR them,

and claim to be their advocate.

And only after the potent combination

of being radically WITH and FOR someone,

can they experience my love as true.

Then, when I do offer DIRECTION, as the Spirit may lead,

they can receive it as an act of genuine love,

even when I challenge them.

We see this played out every day in our broader culture.

Take racial injustice for example.

So many white people jump at the chance

to be FOR their neighbors who are people of color.

They gladly raise their voices, and hoist their signs.

Then they retreat back into their safe white world

and wait for the next noble cause to come along.

Their lack of desire to truly be with their neighbors,

to be immersed in their reality,

to share in a world where their own lives are at stake,

can make the advocacy sound a bit hollow.

And even worse,

are those who come out with simplistic solutions

and easy-to-take prescriptions.

All you have to do, dear people of color,

is be more like this or that (in other words, more like us),

and all will be well.

Those words won’t get heard,

because they aren’t worthy of being listened to.

There’s no free lunch here.

Pay the price of being WITH . . . for a long time.

Then make the sacrifices required

to move into a position of solidarity,

of taking the same hits they are taking . . . long-term.

Then . . . we might have some level of believability,

if we have a challenge to offer.

Same thing is true in family life.

You who are parents, or have had parents,

know this to be true.

A parent cannot shape the moral direction of their child,

without first having established a relationship of love and trust,

by being WITH and FOR their child.

So isn’t is obvious? It should be.

Same principle applies in the church.

But the temptation, always,

is to jump straight to giving direction, and call it love . . .

without establishing WITH-ness or FOR-ness.

Direction, without prior, long-term presence and advocacy,

will not be experienced as love, but as coercion, as violence.

Think the church has ever missed it on that one?

We’d be naïve if we didn’t admit that we’ve missed it,

time and again.

This is hard stuff!

To love with presence, advocacy, and direction.

All three are hard!

Sometimes, to be WITH someone, we have to go a great distance.

The choice to go the distance can be costly.

It’s even harder to be FOR the other,

especially when that other is weird, troublesome, or offensive.

Anyone have relatives or neighbors or Facebook friends these days

who fall in that category?

Kinda hard to love and support and stand up for them as persons,

when we don’t agree, and maybe don’t even understand.

But WITH and FOR are both a piece of cake,

in comparison with the hard work

of calling others TOWARD transformation,

in a way that has integrity and can be heard.

This way of showing love is not for the faint of heart.

It should be entered only with fear and trembling

and a huge dose of humility,

and in a spirit of mutuality.

Our call is not to fix the other.

We are called to love each other into Christlikeness.

We are called to seek the hard path

of obedience and transformation . . . together.

Our own need for transformation

can never take a back seat, even temporarily.

In the church we say we’re “speaking the truth in love.”

Just thinking.

If we have to specifically point out that we are speaking in love,

then maybe we aren’t.

Maybe we should hold our tongue, when giving counsel to others,

if they don’t already know, in the depths of their being,

that we are for them, that we got their back.

There are people who need a particular kind of guidance.

We might even know what that guidance is.

But if we aren’t in a position to give it,

maybe we should wait for someone to come along who is.

Not saying we never speak words that are likely to be resisted,

or never step in when there’s an emergency.

But in general,

let’s not speak where we don’t already have relational depth,

where the other one already knows and feels

that we are WITH them and FOR them.

As we keep working at Re-Wilding the Church,

let’s be clear about this—

whatever new or revised forms of church might emerge,

they must reflect God’s way of loving,

they must resemble God’s die-hard commitment

to be WITH us,

to be FOR us,

and call us TOWARD transformation.

Otherwise, it will not be worth our time and effort.

_____________________

As I pointed out, we often err in our attempts to love.

In light of that, there is no better confession I know

than the general confession in the Book of Common Prayer.

I recite this one on a regular basis,

and I invite you to recite it with me now.

You’ll find it in your printed order of worship.

one Most merciful God, 

we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed,

by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.

all We have not loved you with our whole heart;

we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.

We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.

For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us;

that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways,

to the glory of your Name. Amen.

Now a song of great comfort—“Savior Jesus, enfold me.”

—Phil Kniss, September 6, 2020

[To leave a comment, click on "comments" link below]