Phil Kniss: Beautiful fear

April 27, 2008
Easter 6: 1 Peter 3:13-22; John 14:15-21

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The book of First Peter is an old letter,
written to a church almost 2,000 years ago.
The circumstances facing that church
don’t even remotely resemble
the circumstances at Park View in 2008.
The issues that troubled and divided them are non-existent today.
The horrific persecution they faced every day,
we have never experienced,
and most of us have never seen.
They spoke a different language and lived in a different culture.
Their social customs, rituals and traditions,
to us, would have been utterly strange and foreign.

So, we might well ask,
how does a letter written to that church,
have anything relevant to say to us here today?

The church being addressed in this letter
was under heavy persecution.
And it wasn’t the “no-praying-in-public-school” variety,
or the “no-Ten-Commandments-in-the-courthouse” variety.
I’m sorry, but that’s not even close to persecution.
It was the “stoning-and-burning-and-
throwing-Christians-to-the-lions-for-entertainment”
kind of persecution.

We don’t know the precise date, and readership,
and situation that prompted this letter.
But based on what the letter contains,
we know the Christians who read it were under great duress.
We also know, from other historical accounts,
the persecution suffered by early Christians was often
public and gruesome and torturous.

So what does 1 Peter have to say
to American Christians living in the 21st century?
More than might imagine.

Take a look in your Bible, 1 Peter chapter 3.
The writer asks the church (v. 13),
“who will harm you if you are eager to do what is good?”
He goes on to say in the following verses,
that they will be blessed if they suffer for doing what is right.
That they shouldn’t be afraid, or intimidated,
but should speak up in their own defense,
and do it with gentleness and reverence.
That they should keep their conscience clear.
And find their hope in Christ,
who also suffered for the sake of righteousness.
That’s the basic message.

But there is one particular instruction
that jumped off the page when I read it.
V. 14: “Do not fear what they fear.”
“They,” of course, are those doing the persecuting.
Their opponents. Their enemies.
It seems a bit odd, doesn’t it, that Peter did not say,
“Don’t be afraid of your enemies.”
He said, rather, “Don’t be afraid of what they’re afraid of.”

When I think about oppressors who inflict suffering on others,
I wouldn’t think to describe them as being “afraid” or “fearful.”
Fierce and frightening, maybe. But afraid?
But when I started thinking about it, I thought, “well, of course.”
What drives powerful people and powerful institutions
to abuse their power,
and wield it as a weapon against others?
It’s fear.
Fear causes us humans to do heinous things to each other.
So the word to the church is this:
Do not let the fear that grips your oppressors
get a strangle hold on you, too.
Do not fear what they fear!

It’s not hard to imagine what fears might have caused
those in power to persecute the Christians.

The Great Roman Empire maintained order in society
by perpetuating the belief that Caesar was Divine.
The term “Son of God” was a popular title for kings and emperors.
Caesar Augustus was openly referred to as “Savior.”
Everyone called the imperial rulers “Lord.”
And throughout the empire,
a local community would organize and gather
in a group called an “ekklesia.”
These gatherings appointed “elders” to lead them.

Maybe you know that ekklesia
is the word used throughout the New Testament for “church.”

So how do you think the Empire would view
a rapidly growing movement,
who called their gatherings “ekklesias,” and appointed “elders,”
who refused to worship Caesar, and instead,
worshiped the charismatic founder of their movement,
who earlier was sentenced to death and crucified
for claiming to be a King,
and who they still referred to as “Son of God...Savior...and Lord,”
titles reserved for Caesar.

It’s not hard to imagine the fears the Empire might have
about a fast-growing group like that.
They weren’t literally afraid that these unarmed Christians
were about to overthrow the Empire.
The emperor’s huge armies would crush them.
The throne could never be grabbed by likes of these Jesus people.
But the peace and well-being of the Empire depended upon
the people as a whole accepting its supreme authority.
They could not afford to allow
fanatical and popular groups to go running around
calling themselves “ekklesias”
and calling their leader Lord and Savior.

What if the uneducated and ignorant masses
started believing that stuff?
To maintain control and security and peace,
the Empire had to have complete loyalty,
total allegiance.
The whole imperial military and security system was
designed to address that one underlying fear—
the fear of losing power,
of not being in control.

The Christian confession that Jesus is Lord,
if we take seriously all that it means,
is obviously a threat.
By definition, claiming that Jesus is Lord,
undermines and compromises the authority
of any other person or group or entity or institution or idea,
that tries to exercise god-like power over us,
that thrives on our unquestioning loyalty.

It is a potential threat—no, it is a threat—to any empire,
be it first-century Rome,
or 21st-century America.
Claiming that Jesus is Lord, and none other,
it is a threat to economic systems,
that depend on amassing wealth and capital.
It is a threat to military regimes the world over.

And it is precisely why the powers that be in Colombia
attack and intimidate organizations there
working for peace and justice,
and why in June of last year they broke into the offices
of Mennonite Church of Colombia’s peace and justice ministry,
and stole two particular computers that had information
documenting their peace and justice work,
and a database with names, addresses and personal information
on churches and individuals
actively working on human rights issues.
They took those two computers, leaving nine others behind.
It is why the Mennonite churches and others there,
have had to deal with harassment, attacks, kidnappings,
and even killings.
It is why there have been repeated death threats against
Ricardo Esquivia, a Colombian Mennonite church leader,
lawyer, and advocate for peace and justice,
who is a personal acquaintance of mine, and of some of you.
Ricardo spent some time here in Harrisonburg,
and a number of years ago
I had him preach the sermon here at Park View.

Ricardo is now president of the Peace Commission of the
Colombia Protestant Council of Churches,
and he has a message for us,
which you can read on the bulletin insert.
He is speaking on behalf of our brothers and sisters in Colombia,
and asking us to observe today and tomorrow, April 27 and 28,
as “Days of Prayer and Action for Peace in Colombia.”
The insert gives some background information,
as well as specific ways to pray for the churches there,
for the victims of the war,
for the Colombian government and factions,
and for our own government.
It also gives a practical suggestion of what we might communicate
to our government leaders about the situation.
And a website where you can go for more information.
I urge you, when you get home, to read the insert carefully,
to take their plea seriously.
These are our persecuted brothers and sisters reaching out to us.
We, like them,
claim that Jesus Christ is Lord, and no other.

Today’s scripture speaks to their situation perfectly.
I said at the beginning that we at Park View
have almost nothing in common
with the churches that Peter was addressing.
But the churches in Colombia would have no trouble identifying.
Imagine, if you will, that you are a member
of one of the Mennonite Churches in Colombia,
and that information about your church’s work,
and the activities of your pastor,
were recorded in detail on one of those stolen computers.
From that vantage point, listen again to these words from 1 Peter.

Even if you do suffer for doing what is right, you are blessed.
Do not fear what they fear, and do not be intimidated,
but in your hearts sanctify Christ as Lord.
Keep your conscience clear, so that, when you are maligned,
those who abuse you for your good conduct in Christ
may be put to shame.
For Christ also suffered for sins once for all...
[and] has gone into heaven and is at the right hand of God,
with angels, authorities, and powers made subject to him.
When Christ was abused, he did not return abuse...
but he entrusted himself to the one who judges justly.
If any of you suffers as a Christian, do not consider it a disgrace,
but glorify God because you bear this name.

Let us pray that these words might comfort and strengthen
our Christian brothers and sisters in Colombia,
and in other parts of the world.

But having said that, I also claimed that these words
are relevant to us at Park View today.
No, we are not daily threatened of life and limb.

But I would observe,
that if we take seriously our core Christian conviction—
that is, Jesus Christ is Lord, and none other—
then we are a threat to every other power
active in the world around us, every day.
The power that wealth and material possessions have over us,
is undermined by that Christian claim.
The power of our individualistic pleasure-seeking culture,
and its worship of the free and independent,
and self-reliant and self-determined individual,
is threatened when we promise to lay down our lives
for the sake of God’s kingdom.
The spiritual powers of evil
that are at work in the lives of individuals, and systems,
are brought up short, and found weak and wanting,
when we confess Christ as Lord.
Even the power of the United States of America,
our country’s ability to force our will on other countries,
with guns and bombs if necessary,
our determination to protect our own national interests
at all costs,
including the cost of human suffering
in other parts of the world,
that imperial political power
is threatened and undermined,
whenever Christians unite their voices to say,
“Jesus Christ is Lord.
We bow to none other.”

That core Christian confession, “Jesus Christ is Lord,”
has major personal ramifications,
and spiritual ramifications,
and relational ramifications,
and physical ramifications,
and political ramifications.
If we mean what we say,
it altogether, completely, and utterly reorders our lives.

When we do as Peter urges us in 1 Peter 3:14:
“Do not fear what they fear, and do not be intimidated,
but in your hearts sanctify Christ as Lord,”
then we need to realize that we have taken a stand
that puts us at odds with most of the rest of the world.
And there might be suffering.
Maybe not the kidnapping and killing kind,
suffered by some of our brothers and sisters in Christ,
but maybe losing a job because you
took a stand against a boss’ unethical behavior,
or losing money by getting rid of stock in a company
whose business practices you can’t support,
or losing a friend whose racist or sexist jokes
you finally choose to confront,
or any number of other losses or injuries that might happen.
See, the powers of evil we choose to resist
have a way of pushing back...hard.
We are never promised a life free of suffering.
We are promised God’s presence.

That is the good news in the Gospel reading today from John 14:
And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate,
to be with you forever...the Spirit of truth...
I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you.

We do not need to be gripped by the fear that grips this world.
The world around us is guided by an intense fear of losing control.
They are consumed by a fearful and feverish grasp for power,
and for self-determination.
We are not to fear what they fear.
We are to fear the Lord our God.
We are to fear, in the biblical sense,
that is, to reverence, to honor, to stand in awe of,
the One who asks us to relinquish control,
to lay down our lives.

The fear that grips this world and its powers,
is an ugly fear.
It causes us to do all kinds of terrible things to each other,
to ourselves,
to other nations,
and to creation.
When fear for my own self and my agenda and my position
and my wealth and my possessions, gets hold of me,
I do ugly things.
When empires act out of fear and self-preservation,
they do ugly things in the world.

But we are not to fear what they fear.
We are to fear the Lord our God.
And the fear of God is a beautiful fear.
It is a fear that centers us, that grounds us,
that aligns us with God’s purposes for our lives.
And it’s a fear that allows us to stand strong and serene,
in the midst of a fearful and frantic world.
And that is a beautiful thing to behold.

It’s a beautiful fear that I see at work in the lives and witness
of our sisters and brothers in Colombia.
They model what Peter means, “Do not fear what they fear.”
They have something to teach us,
even about living in our comfortable and secure empire,
and standing up to the powers of our culture,
with the centered, grounded, and beautiful fear of God.
May God help us.

—Phil Kniss, April 27, 2008


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Millard Fuller: From heaven to earth

April 20, 2008
Easter 5: John 14:1-14
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Barbara Moyer Lehman: Say it again

April 13, 2008
Easter 4: Alleluia! Praise the God of Provision!
Psalm 23; I Peter 2:19-25; John 10:1-10

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Many of us have probably been involved in a deeply meaningful, powerful experience of some kind and then tried to convey what that was like to another person, and realized we couldn’t. Or maybe we witnessed an absolutely breathtaking scene, or tasted something so delicious and exquisite, and then tried to describe what we saw or tasted to another person who hadn’t experienced it, and discovered we didn’t have the words. The limitations of our language and our own limitations often fail us. We try to convey to another something that can never be duplicated or explained. We become frustrated. Nevertheless we keep trying.

For example: if you have never been to a Mennonite General Assembly, it is hard to describe what the music is like, when 4-6000 Mennonites come together to worship and sing old, new and favorite hymns of the church. I think it is a “prelude” to heaven, but even that is an inadequate description.

I have never been to the Grand Canyon, but last summer on the way to San Jose, our General Assembly, we flew over it. I was glued to the window. I was tired and wanted to take a nap before we landed, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of what I saw. There is no way to describe it. I could make some feeble attempts, like it was awesome, but that is an understatement.

A few weeks ago, John and I ate out in a Charlottesville restaurant with our son and daughter in law. The place was known for good fish. I ordered salmon. The flavor, texture, seasoning, freshness, presentation of this entrée was truly magnificent. I don’t know how else to describe it. It was the BEST salmon I ever had. That doesn’t say a whole lot. But it was good!!!

When we read the gospel of John, we face language that is rich in symbolism, layered with metaphors, filled with subtle shades of meaning …language that can draw us in with its poetic power or frustrate us to no end as we try to “figure out” what it means. John is an extraordinary wordsmith! Words are important. Words matter. “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.”

And so John includes in his account the “I am” statements of Jesus, these figures of speech that Jesus uses to convey to his audience who he is, what his relationship is to the Father and why people should believe in him. His audience often missed the point. So do we. But we, like they, will be given another chance to ‘get it’.

In 2 out of the 4 lectionary texts for today, the theme of shepherds/shepherding is evident. I don’t know any shepherds. I have never raised any sheep. I saw some shepherds from a distance as we traveled in Israel/Palestine in ’99. It looked like a hard life. Even without the personal experience, when I read Psalm 23, I have a sense of the importance of the shepherd, the nature of his role. If I claim the Lord to be MY shepherd, then I also have the assurance that he will be with me all the way, providing for me, caring for me, leading me. Reading this passage gives us a clear image that God is a God of provision, who shepherds us and leads us, so we can find that abundant life. The message is one of comfort, of strength, of assurance and hope.

When we approach John 10:1-10, the gospel reading for today, we discover a similar theme, that is shepherds and shepherding, but a different approach. We find Jesus responding to the Pharisees, in a continuation of the story from chapter 9 about the man born blind, who Jesus had healed on the Sabbath. The Jewish leaders, who were responsible for the care of the people, in a shepherding role, had made the decision that anyone who had confessed that Jesus was the Messiah, would be put out of the synagogue! A rather nasty and unkind thing to do! As Jesus begins his story, as we read it in John 10, (“Let me set this before you as plainly as I can.” The Message), it appears he is implying their action was more like bandits and thieves who care little for the sheep, rather than as a shepherd who cares for each member of his flock.

But other things in this passage are less clear. Jesus brings in thoughts about sheepfolds, gates, thieves, sheep, gatekeepers, strangers and voices. After a while he realizes they had no idea what he was talking about, so he tries again. He throws out some more word pictures, similar theme, but yet different.

We see in these 10 verses, two sections, two metaphors, two images. In verses 2-6 we see Jesus as Shepherd, the one who enters by the gate which the gatekeeper opens for him. In verses 7-9, we see Jesus is the gate, by which the sheep enter to find salvation and go out to find pasture.

Two different images, two valid images. We can’t force them together. Each conveys some truth about who Jesus is. Neither has the whole truth. No single image, no single word, can ever go far enough to ‘explain’ God.

Sometimes we try too hard.

Billy Collins wrote a wonderful poem about poetry that can also be applied to understanding scripture. In talking about students, he writes:

I ask them to take a poem
And hold it up to the light
Like a color slide
Or press an ear against the hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
And watch him probe his way out,
Or walk inside the poem’s room
And feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
Across the surface of a poem
Waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But all they want to do
Is tie the poem to a chair with rope
And torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
To find out what it really means.

Sometimes we think we need to analyze and dissect, scripture, to discover the meaning, as if there is only one meaning or one interpretation for every passage. Instead, maybe we need to allow the sheer beauty and power of the language, the images that come, the nuances that we see in an ‘aha’ moment, to shape and transform us, to teach us. Too often we are guilty of tying a text to a chair and beating a meaning into it. If we are trying to find precise meanings without ambiguity for Jesus’ figures of speech, we will be frustrated. If we look at these 10 verses and ask, “How can Jesus be the shepherd, the gate, even the gatekeeper, all at once?” Our answer is, the same way he is the way, the truth, the life, the same way he is the true vine, or the light of the world, the same way he is the resurrection and the life, the same way he is the true bread of heaven which the father gives…and more.

All of these metaphors, ‘get at’ who Jesus is. They connect in different ways and at different levels.

Each Sunday morning in worship from Easter through Pentecost we are focusing on a different characteristic of God. (We all come to scripture with our ideas of God, our own perceptions : PICKLES cartoon:: 1) It’s sweet that your grandson thinks you look like God, Earl, but don’t let it go to your head. 2.) You and I both know that any resemblance between you and the almighty is purely imaginary, right? 3. Yea, Verily. 4.) And stop talking in your “God” voice. ). On Easter we celebrated the God of victory, followed by the story of Thomas, which helped us understand the God of hope. Last week as we heard the story of Jesus walking along the road to Emmaus, we were reminded that God is one who opens our eyes, a God of revelation. Today we understand from our texts that God is truly a God of Provision.

The Shepherd knows the sheep need a sheepfold, a place of safety and security, a place of rest and renewal, a place to come home to and a place to go out from to find the green pasture, the living water, the abundant life. We need a sheepfold, a place of safety and security, rest and renewal. We need a place to come home to and go out from. Within the sheepfold we find community. We find a place with some structure and boundaries that hold us together, but also a gate that gives us freedom to leave, to come in and go out and find pasture.

What is that sheepfold for us? Is it our family, our church, our faith community, a network of close friends, a small group, our home? Some young people seek this security, this community, in gangs. It may feel like a secure place, but too often there is little or no freedom to come and go. If one attempts to leave, there is often pressure and maybe violence. Gangs are not sheepfolds. Even adults get seduced into groups, sects, religious communities that offer some semblance of safety and security, but often those who join become trapped in something from which they can not escape, except by taking huge risks and even endangering their lives and others.

The Shepherd establishes a close relationship with the sheep for which he is responsible. They know his voice, they follow his voice, not the voice of strangers. They trust the shepherd to lead them in to the fold at night. When there is injury or illness to one of the flock, the shepherd takes responsibility for the care.

When Jesus used this imagery and his listeners just didn’t ‘get it’, he took a different approach. Jesus now uses the metaphor of gate. “I am the gate for the sheep”. When we enter the ‘right gate’, we will be saved. We will be shepherded in a place of safety and security, cared for, known intimately, called by name, but we will also be led out of that sheepfold and place of safety to find the pasture, the abundant life, eternal life. Others that are up to no good, the thieves and sheep stealers, the sheep will not follow them. The sheep no the shepherd’s voice and trust him.

When we read the gospel of John we often come across references to the disciples not understanding a particular figure of speech or action of Jesus, but then the reader is told in time they will understand. Maybe we simply need to immerse ourselves in the biblical language, the metaphor and images, and know that, in time, we too will understand more fully. Glimpses of truth sometimes come totally unexpectedly, while others unfold over time, as we gather the various pieces together, of what we hear said over and over again in various ways and forms.

From start to finish and in between, John’s gospel declares in numerous ways that the purpose of God’s creative acts and Christ’s work on the cross is about life.

John 1:4: In him was Life, and the Life was the light of all people.

John 3:16: For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son., so that everyone who believes in him may not perish, but have everlasting Life.

John 10:10: I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.

The God of Provision calls us to follow him to the green pasture and experience life to the fullness.

He Leadeth Me. He Leadeth You. And in order for us to really “get it”, let us now sing it. WB 599

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Phil Kniss: Why Being Disillusioned Is a Good Thing

April 6, 2008
Easter 3: Alleluia, praise the God of revelation!
Luke 24:13-35

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The journey of Cleopas and his companion—
from Jerusalem, to Emmaus, and back to Jerusalem—
was without a doubt, the journey of a lifetime.
It was just a 14-mile round-trip walk.
Well, they walked to Emmaus.
They probably ran back to Jerusalem.
This was so momentous a journey for these two disciples
(who we never hear from again),
that it was not only recorded in Luke’s gospel,
and mentioned in Mark’s,
but it has become a favorite story of the Easter season.

In fact, it has become a sort of prototype, a model,
for walking with Jesus as a disciple.
There are Christian churches and movements worldwide,
named after this village Emmaus, where Jesus was hosted.
There is a worldwide movement of Christian renewal,
called the Emmaus Walk.

But even though for Cleopas and his friend,
this was the journey of a lifetime,
it’s a walk that has been repeated many times over,
by many different disciples.
It’s a walk that, in fact, we all must make,
if we want to be disciples of Jesus,
and want to see and to know Jesus, the one we seek to follow.
Why do I say that?
Because the walk to Emmaus and back,
was a walk that took Cleopas and the other disciple
from disillusionment, to clear vision,
from a misplaced wish-dream, to authentic faith.

When these two deflated and dejected disciples left Jerusalem,
and started trudging down the road to Emmaus,
they were actually in a wonderful state of mind.
Emotionally and intellectually,
they were at an ideal place
to have a life-changing encounter with Jesus.
Because they were disillusioned.
And what a wonderful gift it is...to be disillusioned.

Yes, that’s what I said.
Oh, I know what it feels like to suddenly become disillusioned.
And it’s not very fun.
When something we enthusiastically and wholeheartedly believe in,
suddenly turns out to be false.
When we have some high expectation that we stake our future on,
and it falls flat.
When some person we admire and idolize and try to emulate,
turns out to be living a double life,
and carrying a dark secret that becomes public.
Being disillusioned is no fun.
It can be downright painful, and disorienting, and confusing.
Some people have a difficult time recovering from disillusionment.
Some are never able to.
Which is a sad thing.

But I still insist.
It’s a good thing to be disillusioned.
And it puts us in an ideal place to meet up with Jesus.

Because what is disillusionment, after all?
It’s when some illusion we are living with,
gets exposed to the light,
and the illusion is destroyed...forever.
And we can never go back.
It’s when a false image is shown for what it really is—false.
It’s painful to realize it, yes.
But what a wonderful gift.
That is, if we really want to live in the light.

Cleopas and his friend, and all the other disciples for that matter,
were living with a grand illusion.
Cleopas says, in v. 21, “We had hoped...”
Three words common to any disillusionment.
“We had hoped.” Past tense.
But the hope is gone now.
“We had hoped,” Cleopas said,
“that he was the one to redeem Israel.”

But the kind of redemption Cleopas was hoping for,
was an illusion.
It was a false hope, a misplaced hope.
He, along with most Jews in and around Jerusalem,
were hoping for deliverance from the occupying forces.
They wanted self-rule again.
They wanted one of their own people,
namely, a descendent of King David,
to sit on the palace throne where the brutal and pagan
King Herod now sat.
They had hoped...and lots of signs were pointing that direction,
the more Jesus got confrontational with the authorities,
and the more miracles he performed,
the more likely it seemed
that he would be able to pull off the ultimate miracle—
to stand up against Caesar and the Great Roman Empire,
and prevail.

Nearly everyone believed that’s what they needed,
in order to become whole people, God’s holy people.
They needed a Messiah who would recover the glory of Israel.
In Cleopas’ words, “we had hoped he would redeem Israel.”
Now, all their hopes are utterly crushed.
The enthusiastic followers of Jesus are thoroughly disillusioned.

Which is absolutely perfect, as far as Jesus is concerned.
It’s the perfect time to meet up with them on the road,
and have a talk,
have an illuminating conversation.
It’s the perfect time for a shift in thinking,
a change in expectations.

So Jesus prepares the way for this shift,
by addressing their faulty thinking.
He opens the scripture, and reinterprets Moses and the prophets.
Puts a spin on those words they hadn’t heard before.
“Was it not necessary,” Jesus asked them,
“that the Messiah should suffer these things
and then enter into his glory?”
They had never considered a Messiah who could deliver them
with the power of suffering love.
They had never considered a Messiah
who could be given glory and honor,
without sitting on David’s throne,
or who could exercise tremendous power,
without ever lifting a sword, or commanding an army,
and, in fact, laying down his life.
They had never considered the thought.

So...disillusioned as they were,
it was the perfect time for Jesus to meet them on the road.
Now they could be receptive,
and grasp the truth they could not see earlier,
when Jesus was performing miracles and attracting a following,
and they were all getting caught up in the exciting possibilities.

So Jesus met them, and started to turn their thinking.
But where the revelation became complete,
was in the breaking of the bread.
Where the disillusionment turned to sight was at the table.
It was in the real, physical, and familiar act of breaking bread,
perhaps reminding them of a meal with Jesus not that long ago.
It was at the table, sharing the ordinary stuff of life,
that recognition finally came to them.

As long as they were looking at Jesus in the abstract,
as a public symbol of political deliverance,
as an icon of freedom, so to speak,
their sight was impaired.
They were seeing an illusion.
But in the breaking of bread across a table,
in the prayer of blessing, in the sharing,
the reality of who Jesus was in the present, at the core,
was made known to them.

Jesus was the living presence of the God of power and sacrificial love.
It was through this Jesus, the resurrected Jesus,
that their own lives could be transformed,
that they could hope again,
that they could go on.
Because the God of love and power was with them in Jesus.
_____________________

I dare say we today are just as prone, and even more so,
to live with illusions about who Jesus is.
We, too, see Jesus as an icon.
Not as an icon of freedom from Roman oppression,
but an icon, nevertheless.
And by icon, I mean, a drastic reduction of the real thing,
a small, artificial, representation of what’s behind it.
Like an icon on your computer screen.
That icon is not the program.
You can stare at that little word processing icon all day,
but it will never be able to write a letter for you.
By itself, the icon is only an empty and powerless image,
and not a very good image at that.

That’s what our culture has reduced Jesus to—an icon.
The living, risen Lord Jesus,
the one who calls us to take up his cross
and to follow him in life sacrificially,
the one who confronts injustice,
the one who brings both peace and division,
the one who is present with us in the here and now,
the one who forgives us when we fall,
and then expects us to get up and keep walking with him,
the one whose love for us is stubborn, and costly, and deep,
and the one who makes himself known to the world,
through his body, the church, as fallible as it is.
That Jesus has been reduced to an icon.
A symbol of all things sweet and comfortable and safe.

Speaking of Cleopas and friend seeing Jesus in breaking bread,
did you hear about the youth pastor in Texas,
who saw Jesus in a bag of Cheetos.
He was eating Cheetos, and pulled one out that was shaped funny,
and held it up, and saw in it the figure of Jesus.
This actually made it onto national cable TV News.
I saw it sitting in a restaurant a couple weeks ago,
on the big-screen TV on the wall.
The pastor is keeping it in specially protected clear plastic case,
on display in his office.
And is thinking about selling it on eBay.
That’s the kind of Jesus our culture loves to see, and imagine.
Jesus as an icon. An image. A symbol.

Our culture, our religious structures, and even we ourselves,
have stripped Jesus of his real power to transform lives,
because the full-orbed risen and living Lord Jesus
is too hard to deal with,
and still keep a semblance of order and stability and comfort
in our everyday lives.
It’s hard enough to maintain balance and order in our lives,
working 50 or 60 hours a week,
trying to keep up with payments on our spacious houses
and late-model cars,
running every day to follow our kids, or grandkids,
to sports practices and games and recitals and concerts.
It’s hard enough to establish a meaningful relationship
with our next-door neighbor in our middle-class subdivision.
So how do we find time to love the poor and dispossessed?
How are we supposed to be a serious follower of Jesus,
and keep up everything else we do?

How are we, in our lives, in our time
able to follow the same Jesus who once asked
a particularly encumbered young man
to sell everything and give all his wealth to the poor,
and actually meant for him to do it?
How are we to follow the Jesus
who said he wanted to be visited when he was in prison,
and to be fed when he was hungry,
and clothed when he was naked,
and taken care of when he was sick,
and taken in when he was a stranger?
Jesus said when we encounter these poorest and least,
we encounter Jesus himself.
And I don’t think Jesus meant to say,
when I find myself in prison, I hope some of my followers
will send a check to a good prison ministry,
and when I’m homeless and hungry,
I hope my disciples will drop a donation
in the Salvation Army kettles.

We 21st-century wealthy North American Christians,
and I count myself among them,
have embraced the values of our culture,
have constructed large and comfortable and secure lifestyles,
and then tried to figure out how to squeeze Jesus
into the available spaces here and there.

That’s reducing Jesus to an icon.
An icon that represents an abstract idea:
Jesus, our personal comforter.
Jesus, the mystical giver of inner peace.
Jesus, our private rescuer,
who pulls us out of every bad circumstance we’re in.
The safe Jesus whose is found
on keychains and greeting cards...and in Cheetos.
The domesticated Jesus who never asks more of us
than we are ready, willing, and wanting to be asked.
If that is the Jesus we see, when we picture Jesus being with us,
if that is the Jesus we worship in our private times,
if that is the Jesus we identify with
when we call ourselves Christians,
then we are seeing an illusion.
A false representation of the real thing.

Maybe in our quiet times,
we should start praying for disillusionment.
We should ask God, if we have the courage,
to strip away our illusions,
to shine the burning light of truth
on any mistaken notion we might be clinging to about Jesus.
That burning light is what happened on the road to Emmaus.
They asked each other later, “Were not our hearts burning,
as he opened the scriptures to us?”
The disillusioning light of truth
can very well be experienced as a burning sensation.
It kind of stings, to have our illusions stripped away.
To realize that Jesus may not primarily be interested
in our personal comfort and safety and security.
To realize that following Jesus is risky business.
That it could radically alter our lives.

Shane Claiborne, a leader of a small community
living among the poor in north Philadelphia,
who spoke at EMU week before last,
told about a time he was speaking at a Christian conference,
and a prominent local citizen came up to him before the session,
and said, “Yeah, my life was really messed up,
and then I met Jesus, and he put my life in order again.”
Shane answered, “Wow, that’s interesting.
I pretty much had things put together, even went to seminary.
Then I met Jesus, and he really messed up my life.”
_____________________

At some point the illusions we hold about who Jesus is,
and what he expects of us,
are bound to crumble and start falling away.
Jesus, the icon, doesn’t have much lasting value.
Sooner or later,
we discover that Jesus does not always rescue us from trouble.
In fact, as we look around,
there’s not much evidence that followers of Jesus,
have any less trouble and pain and suffering,
than those who don’t follow Jesus.
Sooner or later,
we discover that Jesus is not always
an intimate, comforting presence in our lives,
that sometimes, for no explainable reason,
God seems absent and far away, even for long periods.
Mother Teresa even discovered God could be silent and distant.
Sooner or later,
we will have to deal with disillusionment.
And at that point,
we can either try denial, and see how long that works.
Going on as if our illusions about Jesus still work for us.
Or we can try honesty.
Like Cleopas and his friend did with Jesus on the road.
They laid out their disappointment and disillusionment,
they put it on the table, so to speak.
And then they listened. They were open to a new way of seeing.
And in the breaking of the bread, they saw.
Their perspective on Jesus changed.
They realized that his physical death was not the end.
That there was a glory awaiting Jesus, and awaiting them,
that did not rely on establishing political independence
and putting a new king on David’s throne.

They learned that there was much more to Jesus than what they first saw.
And that it would take a lifetime of continuing to walk with him,
to discover what it all meant for their lives.
And that is still true today.
We must walk this road from Jerusalem to Emmaus,
from disillusionment, to clear vision,
from misplaced wish-dreams, to authentic faith.
And we must walk it with other disciples.

May the burning light of the truth about who Jesus is,
and what Jesus is asking of us,
shine into our illusions, and strip them away.
And may the living, risen Lord Jesus walk with us daily,
and may we have the courage we need, to follow.


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