Joel D. Kline
August 24, 2003
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost
There may have been some eyebrows raised as this morning’s lesson from Ephesians, chapter six, was being read. For those of us who have embraced a conviction that a call to peacemaking stands at the heart of Christian discipleship, imagery drawn from military life seems strangely out of place. What did the writer of the letter to the Ephesians have in mind when urging us to “take up the whole armor of God?” “Fasten the belt of truth around your waist … put on the breastplate of righteousness … as shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace … take the shield of faith … take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit” (vv. 13-17).
For many of us, militaristic images recall the worst of church history—the dark days when Christians marched forth with banners unfurled, to crusade and conquer. Sword literally in hand, the crusaders were determined to set others right, to “Christianize” the world, to make holy war—all supposedly in the name of Christ. But perhaps the apostle makes use of this imagery, not to glorify a militant lifestyle, but to point to a truth behind the image—that we need to prepare ourselves, we need to ready ourselves for the ministry to which we are called.
The people of the day would well understand the military image, for the power of the Roman Empire was evident in virtually every community. In chapter four of Ephesians the writer refers to himself as a “prisoner in the Lord,” and he no doubt finds himself regularly guarded by Roman soldiers, with the soldiers’ very presence likely prompting the apostle’s use of military imagery. At the same time, the apostle would have been familiar with the writings of the Hebrew prophets, who occasionally made use of military imagery to speak of a disciplined life of faith. The prophet Isaiah speaks in chapter fifty-nine of the Lord “put[ting] on righteousness like a breastplate, and a helmet of salvation on his head” (59:17), and in chapter eleven the long anticipated Messiah who will usher in an age of peace is depicted as having righteousness as the belt around his waist and faithfulness as the belt around his loins.
Whatever the source of the apostle’s imagery, it serves as a reminder that we are called to enter into the fray. Christian discipleship is not simply a matter of sitting on the sidelines; it is getting involved. And to do so demands that we embrace a discipline for the journey of faith, one that looks to God for our strength and power.
United Methodist author Robert Raines, writing in his book New Life in the Church, asserts that all too many Christians would like to embrace what he labels an “automatic pilot” view of the Christian life. It’s as if we try to convince ourselves that following in the footsteps of Jesus, living faithfully as a community of Christ’s people, is something that comes to us naturally—like breathing the air or drinking water. And yet, as Robert Raines reminds us,
There is nothing automatic about the Christian life. One decides for or against Christ every day in all one’s decision making. It is a crucial decision to have turned one’s life toward Christ, but that is when the real struggle begins. Conversion has a beginning in our awakening to decision, but if conversion is to abide, it has no ending, for we are called now to walk the way we have chosen.
If you are a fan of the Harry Potter series, you may remember a scene near the ending of the second book, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Harry has struggled against Voldemort, the evil one, but is troubled as he considers that Voldemort and he, in fact, have certain qualities, certain abilities or gifts in common. Harry confesses his internal struggle to his mentor, Professor Dumbledorf, who wisely reminds Harry, “It is not our abilities that finally show who we really are; it is our choices.”
It’s a profound truth. The quality of our Christian discipleship is dependent upon the choices we make. Who among us has not begun to learn to play a musical instrument, or embarked upon a diet, or determined to adopt a new level of kindness in our relationships with others, only to discover that our inner determination is not up to the task? Who has not initiated a new course of study, or perhaps found ourselves drawn by the example of those who seem able to spend quality personal time in prayer and study of the Scriptures, only to find that our spirit wanes and our zeal falls short?
The issue likely is not our lack of ability so much as it is our need for greater discipline—hanging in there, standing firm even in our times of greatest difficulty, holding fast when the going gets tough, renewing our decision to risk new growth. “Be strong in the Lord,” says the writer of Ephesians. “Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand.” In other words, do those things that may not come naturally.
There’s an old Peanuts cartoon that portrays Charlie Brown crying out, “There’s no problem so large that I can’t run away from it.” But the writer of Ephesians would remind us that we do not need to run from life’s challenges, that there is a new kind of strength available for us, a new “armor.” It’s not the armor of military prowess, but the armor of God’s presence. It’s the armor of God’s encouragement, God’s compassion, God’s loving-kindness. It’s the armor of God’s empowerment, God’s loving arms of support, God’s equipping spirit.
You and I are called by One who invites and challenges us to do what comes unnaturally—denying self, going the extra mile in relationships, loving even those we are tempted to dismiss as unlovable, breaking down dividing walls of hostility, taking up a cross, doing the things that make for peace, extending arms of compassion, and walking in paths of justice. Each of us is involved—are we not—in a never-ending struggle of “Not my will but thine be done.” By our very nature we want to save our lives, not lose them. By nature, we want to do our own will, no one else’s. All this talk of denying self is unnatural, foreign to us. And so by nature we retreat from the message of the cross, from this call to pour out our lives for the sake of others, as did Jesus. By our nature, we yearn for security and seek to protect ourselves, yet the gospel calls us to embrace faith as adventure.
There’s a paradox to the life of faith, isn’t there? On the one hand, faith comes to us as a gift from God. The God who loves us with a love that will not let us go has planted within us the kernel of faith, a sense that we need a strength and power beyond our own. But on the other hand, embracing faith can be anything but a natural or easy matter. Faith involves response and decision. A gift from above, and yet a decision below. God calling, and our responding.
Faith demands action. Tom Ehrich reminds us,
Much of today’s misbegotten religious energy goes into building a loyal customer base by portraying belief as passive, an attitude, a label, an interior posture. We are right and everyone else is wrong, says the preacher, and being right is all that matters. Our prayers are elegant and our liturgy grounded in apostolic authority, says the celebrant, and nothing further need happen. Say “Amen,” and you will be righteous. Watch me, and you will be saved.[But] Jesus set the bar higher than that. His harshest criticism was reserved for “hypocrites,” those who say one thing and do another, who claim the moral high ground but shun moral action. He had a warm heart for the weak and the fallen, but no patience for hypocrites. Not only did their actions hurt others, but their empty self-righteousness cheapened God.
Jesus sent his disciples out to act. No serene perches of right opinion for them. He moved about, and they were to move about. He spoke and acted against injustice, and so should they. They were to distribute bread, not to venerate bread. They were to stand with the outcast, not to judge the outcast. They were to do the word, not just hear the word. They were to repent—literally, change their minds, change their behavior, take on a new life—and not just adopt a holier attitude. Rather than stand safely at a distance and watch Jesus die, they were to understand his death as their new life and to go forward in that new life to bring light and life to others. They were to act, not to shake in fear or rapture.
It is a matter of choosing to do what comes unnaturally to us. And when we do, we become as salt and light for the world around us. By our actions we point to a new way of living, we point to the wonder of God’s presence in us and among us. In his commentary on the Sermon on the Mount Clarence Jordan reminds us:
It is difficult to be indifferent to a wide-awake Christian, a real live child of God. It is even more difficult to be indifferent to a whole body of Christians. You can hate them, or you can love them, but one thing is certain—you can’t ignore them. There’s something about them that won’t let you. It isn’t so much what they say or do. The thing that seems to haunt you is who they are … They confront you with an entirely different way of life, a new way of thinking, a changed set of values, and a higher standard of righteousness.
In their book Resident Aliens, Stanley Hauerwas and William Willimon tell the story of a white pastor invited to preach in an African-American congregation located in the heart of the inner city. It was an exhausting experience for the white pastor, who was accustomed to well-orchestrated sixty-minute worship services. But worship in this African-American congregation went on for hours, complete with gospel singing, hand clapping, “Amen” shouting. The guest preacher asked the host pastor why worship in the black church goes on so long, and this is the answer he received:
Unemployment runs nearly fifty percent here. For our youth, the unemployment rate is much higher. That means that, when our people go about during the week, everything they see, everything they hear tells them, “You are a failure. You are nobody. You are nothing because you do not have a good job, you do not have a fine car, you have no money.”So I must gather them here, once a week, and get their heads straight. I get them together, here, in the church, and through the hymns, the prayers, and the preaching say, “That is a lie. You are somebody. You are royalty! … God loves you.”
It takes so long to get them straight because the world perverts them so terribly.
Is that not our calling as well, to live and proclaim the good news that we can experience life afresh? Though the world around us may seek to pervert so much of life, though the world may ridicule the vision of a new world in which all are treated with dignity and learn to live in peace, nevertheless we can begin to do what comes unnaturally. We can embrace life in the realm of God. We can put on a new kind of armor, the armor of God’s grace. We can be among those who live and act in the conviction that God will empower us, that we might embrace an entirely different way of life, a new way of thinking, a changed set of values, and a higher standard of righteousness.
Holy God, you who come among us as Creator, Redeemer, and sustainer, you who challenge and invite us to journey in faith, listen to the prayers of our hearts. Draw near to us in these moments of quiet.
Some of us come, O God, torn by your calling—drawn to it, yet we find ourselves holding back at points.
Some of us feel overwhelmed by life’s struggles and demands, and wonder if there really is good news for our situation.
Some of us yearn for a deeper experience of your presence in our lives, but feel we must first somehow “measure up.”
Some of us have been hurt by others who name themselves as Christian, and aren’t sure whether to trust you and the church community.
And some of us are experiencing brokenness in those relationships most significant to us, feeling hurt, perhaps betrayal, anger, confusion—wondering if your peace and love can touch our hearts and bring healing to our situations.
Gracious God, whatever our need this day, whatever our hurt or struggle, we do want to see you more clearly, love you more dearly, follow you more nearly. Speak to us, O God, and guide us, even when we do not know where we are going …
God, hear our prayers for peace in our world. Grant to us the wisdom and courage we need to be your peacemakers. Fill us with determination to stand firm for justice, particularly for the poor and those so frequently overlooked by our world. Empower us to take our stand for your truth, your compassion, your vision for justice and peace.
Hear us, loving God, as we remember this day those in special need of your healing touch …
Thank you, God, for the assurance that you stand with us in our times of struggle every bit as much as in our times of smooth sailing, our times of uncertainty as in our times of clarity. God, may we experience this day—here and now—the promise of life in your kingdom. Raise us up on eagle’s wings, that we may be filled with strength and courage and passion to do your will—to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly in your presence. Amen.