Considering that pastors who do this week in and week out probably develop a system that enables them to be more efficient (i.e., certain commentaries they always use, how they outline, when they study, when they start writing, how much they practice delivery, etc.); I wonder what the average time spent each week is on their sermons?

Below is the text. Due to my last minute preparation, what you read is not exactly what was preached. I do not have the audio (my apologies again).

Introduction

The last time I was up here I joked about how my procrastination and last minute preparation meant that you would either hear a really long or a really short sermon. Let me give you fair warning that this time around I feel less prepared and even more inadequate. However, my concern stems not from a desire to deliver a well crafted and lofty sermon within the expected time limit, but rather, as we will see in the text, my hope is that you will hear nothing today but Jesus Christ and him crucified.

As one of Pastor Dan’s seminary professors is fond of saying, “It is important that we as teachers dare to be boring.” That seems a little odd at first, doesn’t it? Just what does he mean by “be boring?” Certainly it is not in the dull and tedious sense, so that you are all wondering, “When is this sermon going to end?” Rather, the point he makes is that ministers should dare to BE repetitive, dare to NOT be original, dare to say the BASIC truths of the Gospel over and over and OVER again. In other words, it is better to state the fundamentals than to try to say anything new, because the source of authority from the pulpit is not rooted in the wisdom of man.

So the call to be boring is a great comfort to me as I preach, that is, RE-proclaim God’s Word to you this morning, though it says nothing about how long it will take. Maybe I can borrow some rollover minutes from Bob or David? Dan doesn’t have any to give (though he thinks he does).

Scripture Intro/Reading

The text we will look at today comes from Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians, my favorite group of sinners. They were also near and dear to Paul, who spent a year and a half establishing the church at Corinth during his second missionary journey (as recorded in Acts 18). Paul would return two more times and write to them a total of four letters, with First and Second Corinthians being those that have survived (though some scholars believe that the last four chapters of Second Corinthians are one of the separate letters).

While it is clear that Paul had a special love for the church in Corinth, relations were not always smooth sailing. For all the time he spent with them, Paul had good reason to expect a certain level of spiritual maturity from the Corinthian Christians. Yet his letters reveal that instead of growing during their time apart, they slid backwards in their sanctification. Paul’s list of problems with the Corinthian church is numerous: divisions, immorality, divorce, idolatry, worship disruptions, various theological questions; and, as we will focus on today, a passionate commitment to their own glory: a boasting of which was rooted in the fear that one day they may be exposed for the fakes they are.

Turn with me then, to First Corinthians, page 952 of your pew bible; our passage comes from the second chapter, immediately following Paul’s exhortations regarding his primary concern that the unity of the Corinthian church has broken down. We will read verses one through five of chapter two. We will also look later at a passage in Second Corinthians that gives an example how Paul works these principles out in his relationship with the church in Corinth.

1 Corinthians 2:1-5

And I, when I came to you, brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. And I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling, and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.

Prayer for Illumination

This is the word of God, which contains all that is necessary to know for salvation and eternal life. Let us pray that God, by his Holy Spirit, would illuminate our hearts so that we might hear His truth this morning—clearly and with understanding.

[prayer]

Sermon Introduction

One of the magazines we subscribe to at home, rather, one of my wife’s subscriptions (which I happen to read sometimes), is Real Simple. In the December 2006 issue there was a motivational article titled, “When Being Right is Wrong.” The author, Gail Blanke, explains how constantly finding fault with others can not only be exhausting, but can also be downright destructive.

Being right about how wrong someone or something is can be pretty irresistible, especially during the holidays. It’s a trap we fall into on a daily basis. You can walk into the place where you buy your holiday plants and be right about how wrong it is to only have red poinsettias when you had specifically ordered white. You can be right about how wrong your boss is to ignore how hard you’ve worked all year. You can be right about how wrong your sister-in-law is to give you a too-small sweater for the fourth year in a row. And the thing is, you probably are right. You probably could get a bunch of people to agree with you, and you could all sit on a bench together and revel in your rightness. But then what? While you were busy being right, your whole life could float on by.

The article goes on to give several examples of how we often get into arguments trying to prove to ourselves, and others, just how “right” we are. Sometimes we are right; sometimes we are not right…either way, we want to ensure that our point is heard and that others are put in their place.

I remember just the other day how I got into an argument with my wife over how I snapped at her mother. Sure, it may have sounded like snapping, but she misunderstood what I was snapping about. I wasn’t snapping “at” her, but rather it was just a general complaint made out loud. And besides, I told her, why are you bugging me about this now? Can’t you see how what I am doing is more important than me having to go explain to your mom how wrong she is to think that I snapped at her?

If you could have only seen me, and how angry I got, then you would be wondering to yourself right now how it is that I can stand here and deliver the message to you this morning. After all, isn’t my ability to preach the Gospel dependent on my reputation? I may have been right in a certain sense of the word, but during that whole argument I was looking out for myself—numero uno. D.A. Carson writes in his book, The Cross and Christian Ministry, that:

We ruefully acknowledge how self centered we are after we have had an argument with someone. Typically, we mentally conjure up a rerun of the argument, thinking up all the things we could have said, all the things we should have said. In such reruns, we always win. After an argument, have you ever conjured up a rerun in which you lost?

My passionate commitment to my own glory—the protection of my all important reputation in the pursuit of that glory—is driven by the fear that one day someone other than my family might witness, perhaps during such an argument, what a fake I really am. This was part of the problem that Paul was addressing in his letters to the Corinthians; in fact, in Second Corinthians they were seeing his waffling regarding his plans to re-visit as evidence that Paul’s accusers were right: He was being accused of being an apostolic pretender—and his argument was nothing more than “Jesus Christ and Him crucified.”

Why was it that Paul acted like he had no personal reputation to defend? Why did he only assert that his confidence and authority—that is, the glory of his reputation—was in the “foolishness” of “Jesus Christ and Him crucified?” Why is it that Paul, unlike myself as I argued with my wife, did not become defensive, somewhat akin to a “cornered wildcat,” arguing passionately, scrapping to ensure that people knew “I am right,” or “You are NOT right,” and all the shades of nuance in between? These are the questions we will explore today.

Sermon Body

In order for us to understand Paul’s pastoral approach to the Corinthian church, we must first know the context of the culture he was dealing with. In 9:22 of 1 Corinthians Paul says:

To the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some.

The idea of being “all things to all people” is offensive to our 21st century ears, isn’t it? It conjures up visions of a spineless, double-dealing, disingenuous, and deceitful smooth talker. It would have been offensive as well to the Corinthian church, because they were accusing Paul of that very thing—that he was weak; fickle; fake; lacking any real authority or power.

One of the chief reasons for this picture of Paul is that he did not use the accepted rhetoric of the times. He says in verse one of chapter two:

And I, when I came to you brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom.

When Paul uses words like “lofty speech,” there is little doubt that he was referring directly to the Sophists of the day. We all value education, but the Sophists were in a league of their own. Beginning shortly before the birth of Christ in the 5th century, especially in and around Athens, the term “sophist” was “applied to a group of thinkers and speakers who employed rhetoric to achieve their purposes, generally to persuade or convince others” (from Wikipedia). They were so highly esteemed in the Greek culture that they often had students who paid tuition to learn the art of lofty public speaking! Paul, “having arrived in Corinth after his visit to Athens,” would have been “more determined than ever to preach the simple message of the cross, however offensive it might seem to some” (The Reformation Study Bible, p. 1643).

How exactly did Paul come to Corinth? In 2 Corinthians 10:10, Paul quotes his opponents as saying about him that, “His letters are weighty and strong, but his bodily presence is weak, and his speech of no account.” So upon meeting Paul in person, or spending any amount of time with him, the people of Corinth would have thought to themselves, “If Paul was a real teacher, if he were a real apostle, surely he would have:

• Desired for us to know more than “Jesus Christ and Him crucified” (verse two)
• Not come to us in weakness, fear and trembling, but rather in strength, confidence and steadiness (verse three)
• Used rigorous proofs and logically irrefutable arguments, rather than persuading us by demonstration (verse four)
• Given us a wisdom that we can admire instead foolishness of the cross (verse five)

In short, the Corinthians, in their Greek pride, had a sneaking suspicion that Paul was not who he said he was, and if he was; then he would “act” and “be” a certain way. These suspicions made it easy for the false prophets of the day to pick up on these perceptions and deceive the people.

Such was the situation that the Corinthians found themselves in after Paul’s absence. This had a huge bearing on Paul’s pastoral approach to the Corinthian church. However, we must first also know some things about Paul before we can understand and apply what he means by “Jesus Christ and Him crucified.”

Paul says back in 1 Corinthians 1:17 that he was not sent to preach the gospel “with words of eloquent wisdom.” And yet, we know from Paul’s letters that he was not only a shrewd thinker, but he had a command of written language. We need only turn to chapter 13 of 1 Corinthians to see one of the most famous examples: “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal…Love is patient and kind…and so on.

As for Paul’s speaking abilities, we see that in the Book of Acts 14:12, that at Lystra Paul was called Hermes, the Greek god of communication, “because he was the chief speaker.” Later in his missionary journeys, we see Paul demonstrating the very same skills that the Corinthians demanded when he visited Thessalonica:

And Paul went in, as was his custom, and on three Sabbath days he reasoned with them from the Scriptures, explaining and proving that it was necessary for the Christ to suffer and to rise from the dead, and saying, “This Jesus, whom I proclaim to you, is the Christ.” And some of them were persuaded and joined Paul and Silas, as did a great many of the devout Greeks and not a few of the leading women. (Acts 17:2-4)

And not only was Paul persuasive, but he was also highly adaptable. Quoting again from D.A. Carson’s book:

We would be entirely mistaken if we concluded on the basis of [1 Corinthians 2:1-5] that Paul was insensitive to cultural peculiarities among the diverse groups he evangelized, and therefore we need not bother with such niceties ourselves. In fact, Paul was astonishingly flexible. This point can be demonstrated by appealing [again] to the Book of Acts and comparing, say, Paul’s sermon in Pisidian Antioch in a Jewish synagogue (Acts 13:13-41) with his sermon in the Areopagus in Athens, in a decidedly pagan context (Acts 17:16-31).

So we see then that Paul was able to brilliantly adapt to the sophist culture in Corinth and preach the gospel in such a way as to throw off any of the intellectual persuasiveness or lofty speech that might take away from the message of God’s grace in Jesus Christ—that while we were yet sinners, dead in our trespasses, completely unable to save ourselves, totally without any merit of our own, not even our wisdom or status can save us; Christ died for us. However, Paul’s flexibility does not fully explain how he was able to withstand all of the accusations that were made against him. After all, Paul is pretty much the one person (other than Jesus) who we view as being “right” and certainly worthy of defending himself, his reputation and his own glory.

What I mean is, given how deeply and instinctively our desire for our own glory runs in the warp and woof (the fiber) of our hearts, how was Paul was able to counteract it? Or, more accurately and Presbyterian-ly, how does this tendency get countered? How does it get rooted out? The answer, which we will examine next, is found simply in “Jesus Christ and Him crucified.”

Look with me for a moment at 2 Corinthians 1. In the interim between the two letters, the divisions in the church had grown wider, and so Paul visited Corinth again. It did not go well; we don’t know all the gory details, but apparently he was strongly opposed or deeply offended by someone in the church. After leaving, Paul sent a stern letter rebuking the church and calling for repentance. The accusations of being weak in character and lacking integrity continued when Paul delayed his plans to visit Corinth for a third time. Beginning in 1:12 Paul says:

For our boast is this: the testimony of our conscience is that we behaved in the world with simplicity and godly sincerity, not by earthly wisdom but by the grace of God, and supremely so toward you. For we are not writing to you anything other than what you read and acknowledge and I hope you will fully acknowledge—just as you did on the day of our Lord Jesus you will boast of us as we will boast of you. (1:12-14)

Once again, Paul is boasting not in his speaking ability or intellectual capacity, but rather he is boasting about the triumph of God’s grace working in him and through him. He then goes on, through the end of the chapter and into chapter two, explain the rationale for his change of plans, how much he dearly loved them, how—even though he had been wronged—his desire was for Christ-like repentance and reconciliation to take place; so that the Gospel might be glorified.

This passage goes back to what we read in 1 Corinthians 2:1-5, in that Paul sees this “conflict” as an opportunity to show the people in Corinth how the logic of “Jesus Christ and Him crucified” works out in real life. Verse 2, “For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified.” But what exactly does Paul mean by “Jesus Christ and Him crucified?”

I think that John Piper sums it up well when he says in a sermon on this same passage:

…that whatever else [Paul] knew, whatever else he spoke about, and whatever else he did, he would know it and say it and do it in relation to Christ crucified…He will not let the cross become a historical relic. He puts it at the center of his everyday work and relationships. He makes tents in the shadow of the cross. He preaches in the shadow of the cross. He disputes with opponents in the shadow of the cross. He eats and drinks and sleeps Christ crucified.

And the effect this has on him is make him a man of broken-hearted love, so out of step with this glory-seeking world that he can only be explained by the power of God.

What Paul understood by “Jesus Christ and Him crucified” was that we are united with Christ in both life and death. Galatians 2:20 says, “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” Paul understood that because his life was hid with Christ, he was free to live in Christ. This is what enabled Paul to sacrifice his reputation for the Corinthians, without having to fear the consequences. Only the Gospel of “Jesus Christ and Him crucified” can explain Paul’s actions.

So what? So what does this mean for me, you may be asking yourselves? I mean, we know that Jesus, because he was God, was a perfect example of loving sacrifice. After all, he gave up the riches and glory of heaven to become a sin bearing servant. And it seems that the Apostle Paul did a pretty good job of modeling that behavior, too. But come on, I am certainly no Paul, and this is not the church in Corinth we are dealing with. There are some pretty bad people in my life and I have been hurt beyond what you can imagine. I don’t know if I could ever forgive them, let alone look like the fool in front of them. What does “Jesus Christ and Him crucified” really mean for me? There are three areas for application relative to those questions that I would like us to consider as we close.

The first application is that we are vindicated. We are freed from defensiveness because our reputation has already been vindicated by Jesus Christ. That is, like Paul’s example, we are free from needing to insulate and protect and defend our reputation. We are free from the fear that we may be exposed as “fakes” because our reputation is already proven. Our confidence, authority and “authentication” are hidden in Christ.

The second application is that we are commissioned. Having been freed from our defensiveness, we are freed for offensiveness. To put it in warfare terms, we are called to be on the offensive. As Paul demonstrates in the course of his ministry with the Corinthians, we may take the Christ-like initiative to sacrifice our reputations for the sake of the Gospel.

The third application is that we are equipped after the mind and model of Christ. That is, we are “freed from defensiveness” and “freed for offensiveness” only in view of Jesus Christ and Him crucified. As Paul demonstrated time and again, because our reputation is hid with Christ, we know also, that the other’s reputation is hid in Christ (this is literally and presently true of Christian brothers; but is, in fact, foundationally true even of “unbelievers”—not, of course, in a salvation way, but the basis of our compassion and our patience with unbelievers is not our fellowship with them in Christ, but in the fact that the hope and glory of their reputation is also rooted in Jesus Christ and Him crucified).

On these three bases alone—vindicated, commissioned and equipped—we can grant forgiveness to our accusers: On the basis of Jesus Christ and Him crucified, we can freely, confidently, hope filled-ly grant forgiveness to believer and unbeliever alike to see the peace, wholeness and restoration of Christ displayed. We do not have to fear that people will find out that we are fakes, because you know what? They’re right. But the good news is that our “authenticity” is clothed in the righteousness of Jesus Christ and Him crucified.

Sermon Conclusion

In closing, while Scripture is not without its offensive examples—Paul calling the Galatians idiots, or Jesus chasing the money-changers out of the temple—too often I think that our evangelical approach is to go on the attack, seize political power, stand in judgment, arrogantly and powerfully condemn sin; all because we have the confidence that we are right and others are wrong. Not that are not right and able to do these things, but we must remember we do them only after the mind and model of Jesus Christ. Like the church in Corinth, we embrace the Gospel at first, but over time we let worldly philosophies seep in and water down the message into a non-Gospel.

The question we must ask ourselves is the same one that the article in Real Simple magazine asks: what is it that we are committed to? The world’s answer (according to the article) is that we should be committed to finding “fulfillment in not finding fault.” The rhetorical question raised by the world is something smaller. “Isn’t it better to just get along? It’s so much easier, when you think about it, than spending all that energy on being right.

The deeper question for the Christian is: are we committed to our own glory, our own rightness, or; are we committed to something bigger, something that requires more of us, in fact, not just our reputations, but our very lives? Like Paul demonstrated throughout his ministry—an example that was patterned after the mind and model of Jesus Christ—are we willing to die to self, take up our cross and follow Jesus wherever and whatever; for the sake of God’s glory and not our own? Are we willing to die so that Christ may gain? Are we willing to lose the battle to win the war? Am I willing to let go of my pride and admit to my wife when I am wrong for snapping (instead of passionately defending my own glory over even the slightest offense), so that the peace and wholeness of Christ might be displayed. Are we, by God’s grace and humble reliance on him, committed to Jesus Christ and Him crucified?

Closing Prayer

[prayer]

[hymn - Take My Life, and Let It Be #585]

I soon realized that no amount of explaining was going to work, so I turned my attention to deconstructing and analyzing the blog conversation with a friend. In spite of my frustrations in trying to get a point across, the reaction was along the lines of what was expected. What is so fascinating is that so much of the ranting (as in distinction from another’s venting which, by his own implicit admission in his second comment, he knew was off topic) provides a sort of anatomy of the Pharisaical criticisms of Jesus: he was forever crossing the boundaries of social and religious propriety and shaking things up.

Think for a moment about the various reasons that the parable of the Good Samaritan would have been offensive: it was not merely, 1) that a dirty Samaritan helped a Jew and that, 2) those from whom we are given Scriptural warrant to expect aid (namely the Pharisee and Priest) pass their fellow Jew; but it is the swirl of rationalizations that would have immediately arisen due to what the people had been taught about safety and propriety.

When faced with a “Jew on the side of the road,” we might say:

1. that the Pharisee and Priest had important work to do. In a simple cost/benefit analysis, more people would be inconvenienced if they stopped to help the man.
2. it was a dangerous road. You never know, but he may be lying on the road as bait laid by nearby bandits. Stop to help and you yourself get mugged!
3. that surely the man ought to have known better than to walk the Jericho road alone. You make your bed—now sleep in it.

Another fascinating thing about the comments is how they expose how astoundingly refined we have made the categories “clean” and “unclean,” so that now we have the stylishly untouchables (your run-of-the-mill street people) and the toe jam untouchables (the most disgusting yet blog-safe adverb as possible), those nasty ol’ teenage hoodlums who are up to no good. Interestingly, to be stylishly untouchable—to be the sort of untouchable that somehow bears sanctifying merit for those who dare touch them—you must be visibly poor, dirty, and malnourished. Anyone who is well-dressed, well-financed, well-nourished—such as the Lost Children of Rockdale County—is, well, of the toe jam variety of untouchables.

In other words, it seems that on one hand there is a sort of untouchable among whom if we can report we have been, then we gain a sanctification merit badge. On the other hand we have untouchable untouchables that, if we are not ashamed to be numbered with them (never mind actually be seen with them and to say nothing of talking with them—almost as bad as talking with a woman at the well), we actually receive demerits! The Pharisees of the day, the self-appointed protectors of all that is holy, cluck their tongues and wonder if we will ever be clean enough to dine with them again. It seems that Jesus spoke about this sort of criticism that we would receive “from the world.”

You can imagine that I was taken aback. I expected this day to come, but not now. After all, it took me a while before before I was wise to the deception. I must have been six or seven (or even older) when I recognized that Santa Claus and my mother had the same handwriting on the Christmas gift tags.

“Who told you,” I asked?

“Nobody!”

“Was it someone at school?”

“No-o-o-o,” he said (not fooling me at all). Right then the network queued up the Linus and Lucy song and we became engrossed with the cartoon. By the time it was over we had forgotten the discussion. I did, however, bring the topic up the next day at dinner. Eventually, we pulled it out of him that our pastor’s son had told him at preschool that Santa was made up. Apparently my son’s friend had asked his mom the same question the day before.

My wife and I explained the historical origins of Santa Claus and left it with saying that he was indeed pretend, just like many of the bedtime stories that we read or the toys he plays with. He appeared to take it all quite well. It also seemed somewhat of a relief to have gotten it out in the open. While I do not mind celebrating certain cultural aspects of the Christmas holiday, I do not want the commercialism to take center stage in our household.

I should have known that things had really not been smoothed over. Not five minutes later he hit me with the obvious follow-up question.

“Daddy, is Jesus made up?”

It was then that the importance of modeling Christ to my children became clearer than ever before. No amount of explaining will ever be sufficient to prove to them that Jesus is real. My prayer is that by God’s grace He would continue to change me and make my heart worthy of their imitation.

“Sometimes it gets rough,” Pastor Reid said. “I understand these are not all good, wholesome people . . . so we just try to love them through it.”

Club Fathom’s unusual approach has allowed it to reach groups that more conventional religious outreach efforts miss, Pastor Reid said.

“Traditional churches are asleep on Friday and Saturday nights,” he said. “Somebody needs to be awake . . . and so God placed us there right in the middle of Chattanooga . . . We’re right in the middle of Party Central.”

Sometimes, Club Fathom customers bring weapons or drugs or alcohol along with them when they arrive. Sometimes, after they leave, they get into fights with customers of the other nightspots in the area or run into trouble with the police. Sometimes, their troubles make headlines and the club gets blistered with bad publicity.

But sometimes, come Sunday morning, they show up to worship at Mosaic, his church.

Mosaic takes its name from the art form: broken pieces of glass that seem to have little value at first glance, but “when you bring them all together they make a beautiful picture.”

About 100 worshippers attend Mosaic’s Sunday morning and Sunday evening services, Pastor Reid said. Some of them are dressed in their Sunday best; others wear barely-there miniskirts or other inappropriate clothing.

All are welcome.

“I’m not worried about their mini-skirts, or their smoking,” he said. “My focus is to bring them to Christ. Once that happens, the rest will follow.”

Reading through the article I thought that whatever else I may think of the approach or theology associated with Mosaic and Club Fathom, Pastor Reid’s motivation is strikingly similar to that of Jesus’ own motivation; namely, to touch the untouchables, to reach the unreachables with the truth of the gospel. Not too much later in my reflections, however, the depth of my hypocrisy dawned on me—my own thoughts and instinctive responses bear a striking similarity to Jesus’ own critics. Let that last sentence really sink in so that we can all share in the discomfort together.

However, after having seen The Davinci Code I was instantly reminded of the power of the movie medium. It is one thing to read something in print and dismiss it as heresy; it is another thing entirely to watch to Ian McKellen portray it on the big screen. Only you can decide if seeing the film is right for you, but either way I think it is your duty to be discerning no matter what movies you choose to consume. If The Davinci Code interests you, then I would recommend that you do some research on the true historical facts of the film. Even if it does not, then it is quite possible that the movie you see as a threat may be an opportunity to share the gospel.

As we drove downtown for some after-movie drinks and hors d’oeuvres, Pam and I had our normal debriefing session about what we had just watched. One thing that stuck out in our minds was the closing dialogue between Robert Langdon (Tom Hanks) and Sophie Neveu (Audrey Tautou). Sophie has just found out that she is directly descended from Jesus and is conflicted about whether or not to reveal this truth to the world–something that Leigh Teabing, played by McKellen, was so obsessed over that it led to murder. Robert attempts to console Sophie as she wrestles with a decision that could destroy or maintain the faith of millions.

In this melodramatic moment–the only brightly lit scene in the movie–Langdon asks, “Why does it have to be human or divine?” In other words, what does it matter if Jesus really was God? Then he suggests, “Maybe human is divine.” This must be very soothing to the post-modern ear, but for us it only begged more questions: What does it mean to be human? Divine? There is little time to dwell on these questions before Langdon concludes with, “What really matters is what you believe.”

That all sounds well and good, and is actually not too far from the truth, but what is more important than “what you believe” is what (or who) you put your trust in. For Langdon it is simply important to believe in something, even if it is a lie, so long as that lie makes you happy. Do we Christians believe in the truth or a lie? What if Jesus was just a good person? What does it really matter anyway? What does it really matter if we are blissfully ignorant?

If we spend our whole lives in faithful obedience to God and His Word, only to find out in the end that Christianity is not true, then we Christians are to be pitied above all men. If Jesus is not really who he says he was; if the Christ did not die on the cross; if, as Paul says in 1 Corinthians 15:32, “the dead are not raised,” then we might as well be tripping billies with Dave Matthews. And so it happened that the Sunday after seeing the film we found ourselves in worship; corporately confessing our faith using The Apostles’ Creed. I was especially tuned to the words and what we were confidently proclaiming, because I knew that what you believe and trust in matters everything.

I believe in God, the Father Almighty,
the Creator of heaven and earth,
and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord:

Who was conceived of the Holy Spirit,
born of the Virgin Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, died, and was buried.

He descended into hell.

The third day He arose again from the dead.

He ascended into heaven
and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty,
whence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and life everlasting.

Amen.

One question that our pastor asked stirred up a lot of interest. It actually caused our faces to contort into the “I’ve never thought of that before” look, followed by the “if I have…I don’t remember/am afraid to answer” face. The question is what came first, God’s law or God’s grace? I could just give you the answer in this post, but I am interested in your responses and why.

Without pulling out the history and theology books, I think that it is important for us as Christians to remember that God chose Israel. It was not because they were special or great — Israel was a tiny stiff necked nation — rather God simply set His covenantal love on them. Fast forward to the New Covenant, which is really part of the same covenant of grace that God made with Israel, and you see that God’s plan of salvation is characterized by the same grace and mercy. He save us, both Jew and Gentile, not by works which we had done, but by the blood of Christ Jesus poured out richly on us.

In the Middle East hate runs deep on both sides of the border. While it is painful to see the bodies of Palestinian children being lifted out of the rubble, or watch people live under the constant threat of rocket attacks, it is also difficult for us as Westerners to comprehend that at a very young age these people are taught to hate their neighbor — Palestinian or Israeli, Arab or Jew. The closest we come to this in America is the cycle of racism. Both are generational problems, but over there it manifests itself far more violently.

I think we need to be careful about how we view the war between Israel and its neighboring Arab countries. It would be very, very easy to side with one group, or the other, and forget that neither side is special. This is where our favoritism toward Israel gets in the way, because the people on both sides of the conflict are equally deserving of our prayers and compassion. Until we repent of this behavior and see the Palestinian people on par with the Israelis, as the neighbor Jesus speaks of in Matthew 22, then I think in a very real sense we become passive participants in the cycle of hate.

I know a missionary family of five that moved overseas several months ago to minister specifically to Palestinian refugees. The Hastings’ presentation at our church and their love for these people opened my eyes to a suffering that I would not have otherwise seen. They were supposed to be in Beirut, but at the last minute the mission agency routed them to Jordan. Please pray for this family, their ministry and for all who are carrying the gospel to this needy region. By God’s grace, the work by people like Jonathan is the only real hope for a lasting peace settlement in the Middle East.

Unfortunately, when I arrived around 8:30 PM the train was gone. Not to be one who wastes a trip, I decided to make the best of the situation and proceeded down Broad St. to look for something to photograph. I parked near the old Southern Saddlery building and began taking long exposures of passing cars (with the building in the background). Little did I know that my own stereotypes and biases would be challenged enough for me to blog about it later.

The newly renovated Southern Saddlery building sits along the convergence of S. Broad St. and the Chattanooga Creek. Due to multiple manufacturing facilities in the vicinity, a double railroad line also runs right along the creek and under Broad St. It was while I was shooting the rail bed from the bridge above it that a man and woman approached me and asked me what I was doing. Keep in mind that I do not go out on urban night shoots without my CCL and fully stocked fanny pack.

They seemed harmless enough and I actually remembered seeing them walk by about thirty minutes prior. However, considering the location the red flags were up immediately. They said that they had seen me photographing the building earlier and were just curious about what I was up to. The guards were let down a little. Then they asked me if I was a professional photographer, to which I responded that I was just an amateur enthusiast. The next question is where things got awkward.

The woman wondered if I ever took photos of homeless people? In my mind I expected to be asked for money, so I immediatley told them that all I took with me on photo shoots was my camera and that “I didn’t have anything.” The man nodded as if he understood what I meant, but the woman continued on and repeated the question. I soon realized that she was simply asking me if I ever photographed homeless people–like them–just to tell others about their story.

Although I was embarassed, I continued the conversation by saying that I had always thought about it, but did not know where to start. The woman told me that she and her husband lived under the very bridge that we were standing on. They had a makeshift shelter, a bed and had been there for a year and three months. She followed up by saying that her husband was planning to get a job in March. As we parted we shook hands and exchanged names–Angie and Michael Hunt. They told me to be careful and stay warm.

For the rest of the evening I thought about what had happened. About 99.9% of the time the homeless people I run into in downtown Chattanooga hit me up for cash. More often than not they seem like the sort that are just looking for a quick fix (be it alcohol or drugs). This encounter was different. Except for the fact that they lived like trolls (under a bridge), these people were acting normal. It was me who had the hang-up. Whether or not I go back and attempt to discover the rest of their story, my prayer is that God continues to use experiences like this to break my self-righteous spirit.

Most of today’s class was focused on talking about truth. What is truth? How do we define it as Christians? How does our culture define it? Is truth just a cultural artifact, or is there a universal truth found in our faith? Is our confidence in the Bible as truth solid and comforting? Does it offer understanding and hope?

The introduction to the overview was a discussion on a quote from Walter Truett Anderson’s book, Reality Isn’t What it Used to Be: Ready-to-Wear Religion, Global Myths, Primitive Chic and Other Wonders of the Postmodern World, which reads as follows:

Three umpires are having beer after a baseball game. One says, “There’s balls and there’s strikes and I call ‘em the way they are.” Another responds, “There’s balls and there’s strikes and I call ‘em the way I see ‘em.” The third says, “There’s balls and there’s strikes, and they ain’t nothin’ till I call ‘em.”

It was an exercise that provoked a discussion about truth, relativism, absolutes, and how Christians and the world define truth. I would be interested in hearing which umpire you would agree with and why?

After class I was talking with one parishioner about the topic and possible avenues for further study (as today’s class was intended more to set the tone for a NT survey rather than serve as an intro for a study on epistemology). I immediately thought of a book by Jim Thomas that I taught to the High School class a couple years ago. Coffeehouse Theology: Where Real Questions Meet Honest Answers addresses many of the questions that we face in our own lives, as well as the questions that the watching world is likely to pose. I would highly recommend it to anyone who is looking to take a deeper dive into the mechanics of the Christian faith.

The experience has given me a far greater appreciation for the “job” of pastor. A few things that struck me are: 1) sermon preparation requires a huge amount of time and effort; 2) I do not know how they find time for other “pastorly” duties; and 3) the work schedule for a pastor is 24/7.

Many thanks must go to my pastor for helping me scope, narrow and refine the message. I am posting the text for those who asked me to do so (click on the following link). Maybe once I get a copy of the tape I can put up my first podcast?

Introduction

About a week ago I was talking with a friend about my upcoming sermon. And the first question he asked me was whether or not I was nervous? After a moment of hesitation, I responded by saying that it was not so much the delivery that concerned me, but rather the preparation that had my stomach all in knots. You see I was thinking about my reputation as a procrastinator, especially with matters such as this. The fear I expressed to my friend, and the eventual reality, is that this message would follow much of that same pattern of procrastination and last minute preparation.

That means one of two things for today. Either we will be done quickly and out in ten minutes, or we will be here for a very long time. I do have the green light from Dan to go five minutes longer than he usually goes. That way next week his sermon will seem short. [Laughs]

Scripture Intro/Reading

So, having prepared you, please pull out your bibles and turn with me to I Timothy. As you turn there, let me orient you to the letter itself. This letter to Timothy is the first of the three so-called “Pastoral Letters,” II Timothy and Titus being the other two, in which Paul is speaking primarily to church leaders (i.e., shepherds) rather than the entire church. Paul had left Timothy behind in Ephesus, where he was facing opposition from false teachers. The over-arching theme of I Timothy is “How to Run a Church”—covering topics such as prayer and worship, qualifications for leaders, guarding against false doctrines, and finally guidelines for young pastors (such as Timothy).

However, it can easily be argued that Paul wrote I Timothy for a much wider audience. The letter is rich in doctrinal teaching and abounds with information that would not have been necessary had Paul intended to deal with Timothy alone. I say this to remind us that God’s Word is as alive today as it was when He inspired these words nearly two thousand years ago. It continues to rebuke, correct and instruct us in righteousness.

Reading from I Timothy, found on page 1846 of your pew bible; our passage for this morning comes from the first chapter, immediately following Paul’s rather strong warnings regarding false teachers. We begin reading in verse twelve (12):

12I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has given me strength, that he considered me faithful, appointing me to his service. 13Even though I was once a blasphemer and a persecutor and a violent man, I was shown mercy because I acted in ignorance and unbelief. 14The grace of our Lord was poured out on me abundantly, along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.

15Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst. 16But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on him and receive eternal life. 17Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory for ever and ever. Amen.

May God add His blessing to the reading of his Word. Let us pray…

Prayer for Illumination

Sermon Introduction

I recently picked up an album by an emerging Christian artist, Sufjan Stevens, which includes a song titled John Wayne Gacy, Jr. Perhaps that name rings a bell with you? John Wayne Gacy, Jr., according to a CBS Who’s Who summary, “was considered a pillar of his community before his arrest in 1978. But his passive behavior was only a guise hiding a ruthless killer. When Chicago police finally caught on to him, he had killed and raped dozens of boys and young men in the Chicago area. Investigators found 28 bodies buried in the crawl space of his house and the surrounding yard. Another five bodies were recovered from a nearby river. He was given the death sentence and died by lethal injection on May 10, 1994.”

Sufjan Stevens’ song is a lyrical biography of John Wayne Gacy, tracing “the pathology of Illinois’ most infamous serial killer.

The lyrics read like this:

His father was a drinker
And his mother cried in bed
Folding John Wayne’s T-shirts
When the swing set hit his head
The neighbors they adored him
For his humor and his conversation
Look underneath the house there
Find the few living things
Rotting fast in their sleep of the dead
Twenty-seven people, even more
They were boys with their cars, summer jobs
Oh my God

Are you one of them?

He dressed up like a clown for them
With his face paint white and red
And on his best behavior
In a dark room on the bed he kissed them all
He’d kill ten thousand people
With a sleight of his hand
Running far, running fast to the dead
He took off all their clothes for them
He put a cloth on their lips
Quiet hands quiet kiss
On the mouth

It is a song that can best be described as spooky, spooky and yet strangely beautiful. And yet having heard a portion of the lyrics, you may be sitting there thinking to yourself, why on earth would a musician, let alone one who professes Christ, choose to sing about a bad, bad man like John Wayne Gacy? In fact, many of us are uncomfortable—even offended—to have it brought up in a gospel sermon; after all, the gospel is about the good news of God’s comfort for the lost, not about people like John Wayne Gacy. and those who would sing of him.

But then again, as we look back at our text in I Timothy we find something terribly troubling. Hidden beneath the floorboards of SAINT Paul’s apostleship is something shocking—the blood of many early Christians is buried there. Paul was a bad, bad man in his own right. In fact, he calls himself the “chief of sinners.” You might wonder: could God redeem a man like Gacy? Could God use a man like Gacy? But like Gacy, Paul would have killed ten thousand with the slight of his hand. Before his amazing conversion on the road to Damascus, Paul was, as Brian Chapel put it so well, a “callous, pious, self-righteous, bigoted murderer hell-bent on a full-scale inquisition.”

The answer to that question, Brothers and Sisters, is what I hope to explore and unpack for you this morning as we look into these verses in I Timothy. It is an examination that will reveal to us both the cleansing power—and security from despair—that the gospel of Jesus Christ gave; not only to a sinner like Paul, but a cleansing and security that he gives to you and me and all who believe in the name of Jesus Christ. For that is Paul’s purpose in writing this letter to Timothy, that all might be saved and come to knowledge of the truth.

Sermon Body

Verse12

Paul had a lot to be thankful for as he wrote these verses to Timothy. After all, he went from being one of the most infamous persecutors of the early church to its greatest missionary and theologian. And yet right away he cuts off any argument that his assumption to apostleship had anything to do with himself. Verse twelve (12) says, “I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has considered me faithful, appointing me to his service.” The focus is not on himself, but rather on Christ and His choosing of Paul to be his faithful servant.

This is much unlike the false teachers that Paul warns Timothy about in the preceding verses, beginning in verse five (5):

5The goal of this command is love, which comes from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith. 6Some have wandered away from these and turned to meaningless talk. 7They want to be teachers of the law, but they do not know what they are talking about or what they so confidently affirm.

Paul is emphasizing here in verse twelve (12) that Christ calls only those with pure motives into his service. He may allow some to rise for a time, but the ambitious are soon rejected.

Verse 13

Of course, many may have had reason to doubt the purity of Paul’s own motives, and so in verse thirteen (13) he acknowledges his unworthiness by saying, “Even though I was once a blasphemer and a persecutor and a violent man, I was shown mercy because I acted in ignorance and unbelief.” Now I do not want to get too far off topic here, but I think it is worth clarifying what Paul means by the last half of verse thirteen (13), “…because I acted in ignorance and unbelief.”

What he is not saying is that Paul received mercy because he was innocent. It is not suggesting that he deserved any of the mercy bestowed on him by God. In fact, that assumption would be the opposite message of the letter, as well as the rest of Paul’s teachings. Romans 6:23 says that “the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” We are saved by grace and grace alone. There is nothing in ourselves that enables that grace.

So what, then, does Paul mean here? Simply put, Paul says his records of wrongdoings were based on the mistaken belief—the misplaced faith—that he was doing the right thing. As a Pharisee, Paul was passionate and sincere for the glory of God in his persecution of Christians. He thought that he was defending God’s very righteousness, the faith, against heresy. His blasphemy and attacks on God’s people—as bad as they were—did not disqualify him from receiving God’s grace as would a sin of high-handed unbelief; the kind of unforgivable sin that Jesus talks about in Mark chapter three (3), verse twenty-eight (28) in particular.

Verse 14

And so, in verse fourteen (14) we see that “the grace of our Lord was poured out on” Paul “abundantly, along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.” It is a picture of contrast between Paul’s former life and his current one—“unbelief” of the Pharisee versus “belief” of the Apostle; the “faithLESSness” of the Pharisee versus the “faithFULness” of the apostle.

The attitude of Paul in these three verses is consistent with what he says elsewhere, like in Galatians 6:14, “May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ…”

Verses 15 & 16

And yet when I get to verse fifteen (15), in spite of the preceding testimony, it still strikes me as odd that Paul, at the end of his missionary career, calls himself the foremost of sinners. After all, this is Paul we are talking about, right? I mean, we are right up there with Paul and Timothy in the rebuke of the false teachers among the Ephesians. Look at verse eight (8):

8We know that the law is good if one uses it properly. 9We also know that the law is made not for the righteous but for lawbreakers and rebels, the ungodly and sinful, the unholy and irreligious; for those who kill their fathers or mothers, for murderers, 10for adulterers and perverts, for slave traders and liars and perjurers—and for whatever else is contrary to the sound doctrine…

These false teachers in Ephesus were bad, bad men, just like John Wayne Gacy. They were not only men who strayed from the truth; they were lawless, ungodly, murderous and perverse. The last thing that you expect Paul to do is to identify with them by calling himself the chief of sinners. After all, Paul is the champion of sound doctrine mentioned in verse ten (10).

15Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst.

In this one verse the crux of the Gospel is summed up. We are lost, but Christ saves. This, Brothers and Sisters, is the gospel. We hear it and we confess it, but all too often we only focus on half of it. The two sides of the Gospel are 1) Jesus loves me; and 2) I do not deserve the least of it. We say that we are sinners, but we often do not believe that we really are, or that we are as sinful as Paul claims here in Timothy.

Paul makes claims like the one in this passage of I Timothy three times in the Epistles.

In 1 Corinthians 15:9 he says:

“For I am the least of the apostles and do not even deserve to be called an apostle…”

In Ephesians 3:8 Paul says:

“…I am less than the least of all God’s people…”

Do you see the pattern, how each time that Paul is self-deprecating like this he gets more intense about it? Notice how he goes from being least of the apostles (not a bad place, really); to being least of all God’s people (bad, but still part of the elect); and then here in verse fifteen (15) and sixteen (16) that calls himself the worst sinner (it’s like he’s marching backwards!).

The Greek word that Paul uses for “worst” is protos, which implies that he believes himself to be Public Enemy Number One. There may be a sense in which he is reflecting on his past persecution of the Church, but notice here that he is speaking in the present tense. I am the worst of sinners, not was, or now cease to be. I was and still am capable of great sin—and the longer I live the “worser” I discover I am.

Look with me at Romans chapter seven (7), verses 15, 19 and 21:

15I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do … 19For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing … 21So I find this law at work: When I want to do good, evil is right there with me.

And so the encouragement that we see in Paul’s life is that the further along he is in his ministry—the older he gets—the better his perspective becomes with regard to his sin. But it does not stop there. Rather than develop a fatalistic attitude, he becomes more thankful than ever for God’s grace. It is a synergistic relationship in which as Paul is sanctified, he experiences both a greater awareness of his own sin and a greater awareness of God’s grace. You may have heard of the Sonship program before, which says it this way: You are far more sinful than you think, but God’s grace is far greater than you can imagine.

The problem, however, for us as 21st Century Christians, is that we have come to understand the “good news” to mean that we can be comfortable with our sinfulness—that we do not have to worry about, much less acknowledge, our sins. This stands in contrast to the Biblical perspective, which says that we should be terrified by our sinfulness (and its consequences), but the “good news” is that we can be assured of the security of our forgiveness. As we see in the life of Paul, God’s grace in Jesus Christ far exceeds the terror of our sin.

The flip side of this cavalier attitude toward our sin, is that sometimes we find ourselves acknowledging that Christ came to save—only to question that surely such a salvation does not belong to sinners like us? Paul may have called himself the chief of sinners, but he obviously never met me. He would not have made such a claim if he knew what I have done. We look at our worthiness, and when our unworthiness is revealed, our confidence sinks. We become fatalistic about our sin. But here is a trustworthy saying that should dispel those thoughts—something that we can take to the bank:

15Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst. 16But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on him and receive eternal life.

Christ did not come to bring salvation to the righteous, but to sinners like Paul, sinners like you and me—bad, bad men though we are. When we behold the model of God’s grace in the life of Paul, then the ambivalence toward our sin and the distrust of our hearts is counteracted.

Verse 17

The resulting joy that flows from God’s graciousness toward Paul is so overwhelming, that in the middle of the letter to Timothy he breaks out into this wonderful doxology in verse seventeen (17).

17Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only god, be honor and glory for ever and ever. Amen.

Paul’s words of praise focus the attention back upon the Lord, and that is exactly where God wants us to end up as well. Paul does not wish to glamorize his past, but rather point us to Christ.

Sermon Conclusion

Going back to the rather shocking song I read earlier about John Wayne Gacy, the musician Sufjan Stevens does not want Gacy and his sin to be glamorized, either. Reflecting on earlier verses, the narrator of the song concludes with the following lines:

And in my best behavior
I am really just like him
Look beneath the floorboards
For the secrets I have hid

Steven sings about the reality of the human state and gives humanity to John Wayne Gacy. Then he simply puts it into perspective by equating his own human brokenness to Gacy in comparison to God’s holiness. It is an emotion of humility. It is also a statement that echoes Paul when he called himself “chief of sinners.” I wish that I could be as honest with myself as Stevens is with his listeners.

Too often we have confidence in our own righteousness. We say that because we are righteous—or at least more righteous than most—we can confidently judge and condemn such evil-doers as John Wayne Gacy; but the Gospel fact, the Pauline fact, the Sufjan Steven’s fact is that we have no hope in our righteousness, much less any foundation for judgment. But Paul’s confidence—and the basis of his encouragement to Timothy and judgment upon false teachers—is rooted in the objectively revealed Word-made-flesh righteousness of God in Christ Jesus.

Our confidence and our hope are found in this, that “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst.” The gospel does not turn a blind eye to our sinfulness, but shines its light upon it. It exposes our guilt and makes it public all the while cleansing us from it. That is why we call it the “good news.” And not only does it cleanse us from past guilt, but it secures us in the forgiveness of our sinfulness as those made alive in Christ. With this security, we rejoice ever more as, like Paul, we grow in an awareness of our sinfulness. We are really just like John Wayne Gacy, but we need not despair or fear. We can stand ever more in stunned silence that through the discovery of the depths and breadths of our sinfulness, we are, in fact, discovering the ever deeper and broader horizons of God’s amazing work of grace in Jesus Christ.

Thus, when you discover that Scott is really 1) an arrogant, 2) self-righteous, 3) lazy procrastinator; or when you are exposed as 1) __________, 2) __________, 3) __________ ; we do not have to be afraid, we do not have to fearful that we have lost our salvation; but we can acknowledge that 1) the observation is right, 2) you do not know the half of it, and 3) you can rejoice in the historical fact that even the “chief of sinners,” like you and me, is being made new in Jesus Christ.

Closing Prayer