Ezekiel

“Jesus Taught what Jesus Learned: The Threat of Judgment”

Posted on November 28, 2023 by -

Jesus Taught what Jesus Learned:

The Threat of Judgment

First Baptist Richmond, November 26, 2023 Reign of Christ/Christ the King Sunday

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24; Matthew 25:31-46

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.

Our scripture readings for today are full of sheep, and goats, and kings: three things we don’t know very much about. But there was a time when people did know about such things, and as I sat in the Sermon-Writing Chair last week I began to wonder when that changed. It occurred to me that it might have happened around the time of the Industrial Revolution, and so I did a little research.

I went to the Encyclopedia Britannica for Kids because I (singing) don’t know much about history and the kids’ version puts it in a way that even I can understand. Here’s what it said: “The Industrial Revolution occurred just a little more than 200 years ago and greatly affected the way people lived as well as the way they worked. Before that most people lived in agrarian societies, where agriculture, including both crop production and animal breeding, were the foundation of both the economy and jobs.”i Now, those people would have known something about livestock. But not us. We know more about the stock market, about companies, and factories, and CEO’s. We know about mass production and high-speed Internet. We know about the Dow Jones Industrial Average and the

Fortune 500. But we do not know about sheep and goats, most of us. At least not much.

And we don’t know much about kings! Here on “Reign of Christ” Sunday (which used to be called “Christ the King” Sunday) we need to admit that we don’t know much about the monarchy and how it works. We know about Congress and the US Constitution. We know about the Executive, the Legislative, and the Judicial branches of government. But we don’t know what it is like to live under the rule of a king or queen, and we haven’t for more than 200 years. So, let me invite you to do some time traveling. Let’s go back to 1780, to the year that Richmond’s First Baptist Church was established, when the Revolutionary War was still going on and crazy King George III was on the throne. Let’s imagine that we’ve all gotten up early, milked the cows, slopped the hogs, gathered the eggs and come to church, and that as we sit here in our pews, breathing in the rich, earthy smells of our fellow parishioners, we are confronted by the audacity of the preacher, who on this day has the nerve to talk about someone other than George III being our king.

Old Testament scholar Gene Tucker says, “This passage from Ezekiel is a highly appropriate reading for the last day of the liturgical year, the celebration of Christ as King. On the one hand, the text calls attention to important Old Testament roots of New Testament images and ideas concerning Jesus Christ and the kingdom of God. On the other hand, it has its own particular contributions to make to the Christian proclamation of messianic and eschatological themes.”ii It makes me wish there were a children’s version of Gene Tucker’s Old Testament commentary, but let me see if I can summarize.

Tucker reminds us that Ezekiel was a prophet during the Babylonian Exile,

and that today’s reading comes from the part of his book where he starts to talk about the return of the exiles and the restoration of the nation. Ezekiel 34, in which we find today’s Old Testament lesson, uses the imagery of the shepherd to illustrate the history of Israel—past, present, and future.

The chapter begins with an indictment of “the shepherds of Israel,” the kings who did not feed their “sheep,” that is, their citizens (and let me just say that if you were sitting in the pews as subjects of King George III you might begin to warm up to what the prophet was saying. You might decide that old Georgie Boy was not a very good shepherd). But then comes an announcement of judgment against those shepherds: the Lord vowing that he himself will take charge of the sheep. The chapter concludes with an announcement of the restoration of the people and the promise of a “covenant of peace” (vss. 25-31) which would sound especially good in a time of war.

Within that framework we find our reading for today, beginning with verses 11-16, in which the Lord himself is the shepherd. He will search out the sheep that have been scattered, “bring them out from the peoples, and gather them from the countries, and will bring them into their own land” (vs. 13). Tucker says that “This clearly is a promise of return from the Babylonian Exile and restoration in the Promised Land.” The Lord further promises to provide the main elements necessary for life: food—in abundance!—and security (vss. 14-15). He will take particular care of the lost, the strayed, the crippled, and the weak” (vs. 16).

But then, in verses 20-24, the “one shepherd” is not Yahweh but his servant David, “and he shall feed them.” Tucker says, “The promise of a future David is not to be taken literally, but is a messianic hope, the expectation of a new and righteous king from the Davidic line.” Again, if you were sitting in the pew in 1780

you might begin to dream of a king better than George III, one who would actually care for his people. And you might appreciate what the prophet says next, that there will be judgment for those fat sheep who have pushed the others aside, keeping them away from the food trough, turning them into the lean sheep pitied by the Lord. “There will be judgment!” says the prophet, talking about the kings of ancient Israel. “There will be judgment!” says the preacher, speaking perhaps of King George III. And if you were sitting there in the pews you might begin to say, “Hear! Hear!” Until the preacher turned to the Gospel lesson, and began to talk about judgment in a whole different way.

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory,” he would say, “and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left.”

Fred Craddock says you could hardly have a more appropriate text for Christ the King Sunday than this one. “It’s not a parable,” he says, “but an apocalyptic vision of the Last Judgment. The heart of it is the coming of the Son of Man. His coming is not to the earth, but to the throne in heavenly glory. The scene is an enthronement, the Son of Man being installed as King and Judge. The ‘coming’ has been dealt with already in this Gospel: it will be sudden as the lightning (24:27); it will be on clouds of glory and with great power (24:30-31); the day and the hour are unknown (24:36-42); it will be as a burglar entering at night (24:43); it will be a time of reckoning and woe to the unprepared (24:45-51). Three parables have dealt with the delay of the coming (24:45-25:30). But now comes the full vision, glorious in appearance, cosmic in scope, and yet personal in that every life must

appear before the judgment seat.”iii

And how will they be judged? People living in an agricultural society would understand the reference to separating the sheep from the goats. They would know that this is how it was done in those days: that the sheep and the goats would go out to pasture together, and the shepherd would watch over both, but that when they came back to the sheepfold at the end of the day he would separate them from each other: sheep in one place, goats in another. He would do that on the basis of what they were. But in today’s Gospel lesson people are separated from one another not because of what they are, but rather because of what they have done—or haven’t done—for others.

“I was hungry and you fed me,” says the King “thirsty and you gave me something to drink; I was a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you gave me clothing; I was sick and you took care of me, in prison and you visited me. So, come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” And the righteous will marvel, wondering when it was that they saw their king in any of those wretched circumstances. But he will say, “Just as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.”

And then he will turn to those on his left and say, “You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels,” because they saw him in all those same circumstances and yet did nothing for him. They will try to defend themselves, asking, “When did we see you hungry or thirsty, a stranger or naked, sick or in prison?” And he will say to them just the opposite of what he said to the others: “Whenever you did not do it for the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did not do it to me.” And these will go away

into eternal punishment, Jesus says, but the righteous into eternal life. And, good gracious! Wouldn’t you want to end up on the right side of that judgment?

Well, there’s a way to do that, apparently, and that is to begin looking, now, for the most vulnerable people in society and caring for them as if you were caring for Christ himself. And I think this is where the agricultural analogy might be especially helpful, because a shepherd is used to looking over his flock for any sheep or goats who might need his special attention. If one of them is limping he’s going to inspect its hooves, run his hands over its legs feeling for broken bones or swollen tendons. If one of them is being butted away from the food trough by a bigger, stronger animal, he’s going to see to it that it gets its share of the food. If one of them is sick or diseased in any way, he’s going to do whatever he can to make it better. This is just what shepherds do—good shepherds, that is. They look over the flock. They pay attention to the sheep or goats that need extra care. They make sure that they get what they need so that they can be healthy and whole. If we really had traveled back in time we would know that, and we might begin to see the difference between a king like George III, who didn’t seem to care much about his flock, and Christ the King, who once described himself as a good shepherd, and who was always looking out for those who needed his help.

Mahatma Gandhi is often quoted as saying, “The true measure of any society can be found in how it treats its most vulnerable members,” but there is no evidence that he actually wrote or said those words. There is a related quote where Gandhi is speaking about cruelty to animals and says: “The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way in which its animals are treated. I hold that the more helpless a creature, the more entitled it is to protection by man from the cruelty of man.” That’s close, but a scholar named

Alexander Atkins thinks the quote in question may actually belong to American writer and novelist Pearl S. Buck who wrote, “Our society must make it right and possible for old people not to fear the young or be deserted by them, for the test of a civilization is the way that it cares for its helpless members.”iv Buck was the daughter of a missionary who spent a large part of her life in China. When she came back to America she became a passionate advocate for mixed-race adoption, minority groups, and women’s rights.

But another close contender for the quote is Hubert H. Humphrey, who served as U.S. Vice President from 1965 to 1969. In an address to the Democratic National Convention in New York City on July 13, 1976, Humphrey spoke about the treatment of the weakest members of society as a reflection of its government: “The ultimate moral test of any government is the way it treats three groups of its citizens. First, those in the dawn of life—our children. Second, those in the shadows of life—our needy, our sick, our handicapped. Third, those in the twilight of life—our elderly.”v

If it really were 1780, we would be aware that our little nation had already declared its independence and was fighting for its freedom. I don’t know much about history, but I know that the Revolutionary War didn’t end officially until 1783. And we might be thinking that if we won (which seemed unlikely) we would have the chance to do things differently. We might even dream of establishing a government of the people, by the people, and for the people, and imagine that if we ever had a president who didn’t lead with compassion we could simply vote him out of office and replace him with one who did.

Jesus has provided us with the perfect model of servant leadership. He has taught us that the good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep. But in today’s

Gospel lesson he also warns us that in the end it will not be our government that is judged, but us—each one of us. And that even if our government has not cared for the most vulnerable members of society, we can. We can learn to not only look at them, but to see them, and to see Christ in them, and when we do we will care for them. We won’t be able to help ourselves. If we do it right, no one will be more surprised than we are when the King of Kings says to us, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”

—Jim Somerville © 2023

Jesus Taught what Jesus Learned: Which Did the Will of the Father?

Posted on October 2, 2023 by -

Jesus Taught what Jesus Learned:

“Which Did the Will of the Father?”

First Baptist Richmond, October 1, 2023 World Communion Sunday

Ezekiel 18:1-4, 25-32; Matthew 21:23-32

When he entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him as he was teaching, and said, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?”

There’s a word I hear these days that seems to mean something different than it used to. It’s the word agency. When I was a boy my father might say that he needed to talk with someone at the insurance agency. When I was in DC I had a friend who worked for the Environmental Protection Agency. But these days I hear people say, “I felt a sense of agency,” and what they mean is that they felt that they had some power over their situation. Here’s a better definition: “Agency is the sense of control that you feel in your life, your capacity to influence your own thoughts and behavior, and have faith in your ability to handle a wide range of tasks and situations. Your sense of agency helps you to be psychologically stable, yet flexible in the face of conflict or change. Agency is your very own power, your ability, to affect the future.”i

Agency is what God’s people were not feeling when they were in exile in Babylon. They felt that they had no control over their situation. Their parents had been brought there by the Babylonians and now here they were, the next generation, trying to understand why. They eventually came to this conclusion: that it wasn’t them; they weren’t being punished for something they had done; they were being punished for something their parents had done. Their parents

had not kept God’s covenant. They had been unfaithful to him and worshiped other gods. Therefore God had allowed the Babylonians to sack the city of Jerusalem and carry them away into captivity. But now here were their children, languishing in exile, and feeling no agency at all. They began to quote the words of an old proverb: “The parents have eaten sour grapes and the children’s teeth have been set on edge.”

Have you ever done that? Have you ever actually eaten a sour grape? Do you know what it’s like? It’s not only your mouth that puckers up, it’s your whole face. Your eyes squinch shut and, yes, your teeth are set on edge. It’s terrible. But it’s exactly what you get for eating sour grapes. What this proverb means is that you didn’t do it. You didn’t eat the sour grapes. And yet you are having to suffer the consequences of someone else’s bad decision. That’s how the children of Israel felt in exile. It was their parents who had broken the covenant, not them. But now here they were being punished for something they didn’t even do.

It wasn’t fair.

And that’s when the word of the Lord came to Ezekiel. He was one of the first to be taken into exile. He knew the sins of the parents, and he knew their children were right to say, “This is not our fault.” But the Lord said: “What do you mean by repeating this proverb concerning the land of Israel, ‘The parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge’? As I live, says the Lord GOD, this proverb shall no more be used by you in Israel. Know that all lives are mine; the life of the parent as well as the life of the child is mine: it is only the person who sins that shall die.’” And then the Lord went on to say that the children weren’t blameless, they had sins of their own, but they also had agency. If they would turn from those sins they would live. If they didn’t they would die.

“Cast away from you all the transgressions that you have committed against me, and get yourselves a new heart and a new spirit!” said the Lord. “Why will you die, O house of Israel? For I have no pleasure in the death of anyone, says the Lord GOD. Turn, then, and live.”

And apparently they did, because when Babylon was conquered by the Persians a few years later Cyrus, the King of Persia, decided to let God’s people go—back to Jerusalem where they could return to their former way of life and rebuild their temple. Their parents may have eaten sour grapes but the children of Israel got to make a fresh start. And for a while things were good. But 400 years later they found themselves once again subject to a foreign empire, this time the Roman one. Some of them may have started using that proverb again, claiming that their parents had eaten sour grapes and now their teeth were set on edge. But that’s when the word of the Lord came to John in the wilderness, and the word was this: Repent. This is not about your parents; this is about you. “Repent,” John said, “for the Kingdom of Heaven has come near.”

Matthew tells us that John was the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” He goes on to explain that “John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey.” He looked like an Old Testament prophet. And perhaps for that reason, “the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, ‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance!”

Keep that in mind as we turn to this morning’s Gospel lesson from Matthew 21, where the chief priests and the elders of the people come to Jesus as he is teaching in the temple, and say, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” If you want to know what “things” they are talking about you need only look back to the beginning of this chapter where Jesus enters the city of Jerusalem, humble and riding on a donkey, while a large crowd spreads their cloaks on the road and those who go before and those who follow behind shout, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” The whole city is stirred up. Everyone is asking, “Who is this?” and the crowds reply, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”

When Jesus gets to the temple he begins to drive out all who are selling and buying. He overturns the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sell doves. He says to them, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer’; but you are making it a den of robbers.” When the dust settles the blind and the lame come to him, and he cures them. But when the chief priests and the scribes see the amazing things that he is doing, and when they hear the children crying out in the temple, “Hosanna to the Son of David,” they become angry and say to him, “Do you hear what these are saying?” But he shrugs his shoulders and says, “Out of the mouths of babes!” And then he goes to Bethany to spend the night.

The next day he is confronted by the chief priests and elders who ask, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” And they have a right to ask. These are the people who are responsible for maintaining law and order in the temple precincts. And yet Jesus says, “I will also ask you one

question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?”

Here’s another word you may have heard: chutzpah. It’s a Yiddish word that originally came from the Hebrew. Its meaning is usually defined by a series of synonyms, including nerve, gall, audacity, supreme self-confidence, and conspicuous boldness. It’s the word that comes to mind when I think of how Jesus responded to these religious authorities. “Are you asking me a question?” he says. “Fine. Let me ask you one, and if you answer mine I’ll answer yours.” And then he asks them about the baptism of John. Was it from earth or from heaven? In other words, did John come up with it on his own or did God send him to do it?

Earlier in this Gospel Matthew tells us that all the people of Jerusalem and Judea were going out to be baptized by John. If that’s true then chances are good that most of the people standing there listening to Jesus had been baptized by John. They believed that he had been sent by God. They waited to hear what the chief priests and elders would say, but they only argued among themselves, realizing, “If we say it was of human origin the crowd will turn on us, but if we say it was from heaven he’ll ask us why we didn’t believe him.”

But it was true: they didn’t believe him. They didn’t believe they had any need of repentance or baptism. They were the chief priests and elders of Israel! It would have been embarrassing for them to wade out into the river and tell John all the things they were sorry for. But it wasn’t embarrassing for the tax collectors and prostitutes. Everybody knew they were sinners. Their sin wouldn’t have surprised anyone. What would have surprised them is if they had decided to confess and repent, but apparently that’s what they had done. Tax collectors and

prostitutes had waded out into the water. They had stood before John confessing their sins. The tears had run down their dirty cheeks until John dipped them under the water and they came up clean. The chief priests and elders hadn’t done that. They didn’t believe they needed to. And now they find themselves standing in front of a crowd that is waiting to hear whether they think John’s baptism was from heaven or earth. In the end they mumble, miserably, “We don’t know.” And Jesus says, “Then I won’t tell you by whose authority I do these things,” although it seems clear by this point that John’s authority and Jesus’ authority come from the same place.

And then Jesus asks another question. “What do you think,” he says. “A man had two sons. He went to the first and asked him to go and work in the vineyard. At first he said no but later changed his mind and went. The second said yes but never actually got there. Which of the two did the will of the Father?” And even the chief priests and elders know the answer to that question: it was the first son, the one who actually did what his father asked him to do. God isn’t looking for people whose lips say yes; he’s looking for people whose lives say yes.

And that’s when Jesus mentions the tax collectors and the prostitutes. They didn’t think that they were too good to repent. They didn’t blame their parents for what had happened to them. They knew that they, themselves, could do something about their situation. They took responsibility for their own sin. They felt a sense of agency. They waded out into the Jordan, confessed their sins, and repented. And for this reason, Jesus says, “They are going into the Kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.”

Jesus taught what Jesus learned. He taught that all people are in need of repentance and that all people are able to do it, even those who think they have no need of it: the children of the exiles in Babylon; the Chief Priests and Elders of Israel; the members and friends of Richmond’s First Baptist Church. In Ezekiel 18 God says, “Therefore I will judge you, O house of Israel, all of you according to your ways.” In Matthew 21 Jesus implies that each of us will be judged not by what our lips say, but what our lives say. And in 2 Corinthians 5 Paul insists that, “We will all appear before the judgment seat of Christ.” If that’s true then on that day it won’t matter what anyone else did or didn’t do; it will only matter what we did or didn’t do.

So on this day, this World Communion Sunday, I’m wondering what would happen if each of the two billion Christians around the world came to the Lord’s Table as if they were coming to Christ himself. What would happen if they experienced in those elements that represent his body and blood something like his actual, physical presence? What would happen if they found themselves standing before Jesus like those tax collectors and prostitutes found themselves standing before John the Baptist? In that moment could they think of anyone’s sins other than their own? And would they not be moved to confess them, and turn away from them, forever? I’m wondering how the world would change if on this day Christian people around the globe felt a sense of agency, enough to own up to their own sins, to confess them, and repent from them. I’m wondering how this church would change if we did that. I’m wondering how my life would change if I did that.

I’m ready to find out.

In just a moment I’m going to invite you to the Lord’s Table, but before I do

I’m going to give you a moment to sit in his presence, to confess your sins, and repent.

—Jim Somerville © 2023

Decisions, Decisions: Can These Bones Live?

Posted on March 27, 2023 by -

The hand of the LORD came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the LORD and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. He said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?” I answered, “O Lord GOD, you know.”

If you were here last week you probably know why this Sunday’s Old Testament lesson is the story of the dry bones, from Ezekiel 37.  It’s because this Sunday’s Gospel lesson is the Raising of Lazarus, from John 11.  The Old Testament lesson is chosen to accompany the Gospel lesson and there is no Old Testament lesson that provides better company for Lazarus, lying in his grave, than the dry bones of Ezekiel 37. 

It seems to me that this is always the chapter we turn to in Ezekiel, although that’s not entirely true.  There are other readings on other Sundays from this strange Old Testament book.  But if you’ve spent any time in Ezekiel at all you will agree with me: it’s strange!  It’s full of apocalyptic visions, with wheels within wheels, covered with eyes all around, and that’s just the first chapter.  You have to be truly committed to make it all the way to chapter 37, but if you do you will be rewarded with this vision of the Valley of Dry Bones: one preachers have turned to again and again when their churches become like Lazarus in his grave—so dead that they begin to stink.  You’ll be glad to know that’s not why I’m turning to this passage today.  I’m turning to it because it’s one of today’s lectionary readings, chosen years ago by a committee that didn’t even know our church.  They picked it because it pairs nicely with the Raising of Lazarus, but maybe all of today’s readings have something to do with how God feels about death and what God intends to do about it in the end.

If you think about it long enough and hard enough you may remember that Ezekiel was a prophet during the Babylonian Exile at a time when God’s people had mostly given up.  If you can picture them shaking hands with him after synagogue on the Sabbath you can almost hear them say, “Thank you for your sermon today, Preacher.  We appreciate your optimism.  But God is not going to take us back to Jerusalem.  This Exile has been going on for decades now and it doesn’t show any signs of letting up.  We might as well admit that we are going to die out here in this wretched desert.” 

Discouraging words for a preacher.  Ezekiel may have had trouble sleeping that night.  He may have tossed and turned until the Lord came to him in a vision, and carried him out to a valley full of dry bones.  “What do you think, Mortal?  Can these bones live?”  “I don’t know,” Ezekiel said (telling the truth).  “But you do.  What do you think?”  And the Lord said, “I think this is how my people feel right now.  Like dry bones.  Like people whose hope is dead and gone.”  “But how about you?” Ezekiel asked, timidly.  “How do you feel?”  “Oh, just the opposite!” the Lord said.  “I feel like something wonderful is about to happen.”  And then he said, “Prophesy to these bones, Ezekiel, and say to them: ‘O dry bones, hear the word of the LORD.  Thus says the Lord GOD to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.  I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the LORD.’” 

When I read that passage last Monday I noticed for the first time that God is going to do all these things so that his people will know he is the Lord.  He says he will lay sinews on those dry bones, and cause flesh to come upon them, and cover them with skin, and put breath in them, and they will live, and then they will know that he is the Lord.  But what I wondered when I was looking at this passage last Monday was whether it could work the other way around.  What if you got to know the Lord first, and when you did the breath came back into your body?  What if that’s when you stood up, alive and well?  And what if it didn’t happen so that you would know the Lord is God, but because you knew that the Lord is God?

Every morning for years now I have prayed the same prayer for this church.  I say: “Fill the pews with people who love you and long to sing your praises; fill the offering plates with the generous gifts of a grateful people; fill the classrooms with disciples who lean over open Bibles, eager to hear and obey your Word; fill the hallways with brothers and sisters who greet one another with hugs and laughter.  Fill us with your love until it overflows onto the streets of our city and into every surrounding suburb, until your kingdom comes, and your will is done, in Richmond as it is in heaven.”  That’s my prayer, and when I pray it I can almost picture it: this church, fully alive, bursting at the seams, bringing in the Kingdom.  But I get that picture from reading the Bible, not the newspaper.

If you read the newspaper you will learn that the church in America is in decline: that membership is down, attendance is down, and giving is down.  You will learn that three out of ten Americans claim no religious affiliation at all, and a good many more don’t claim to be Christian.[i]  In fact, if you continue the trajectory of any of those trends you can see Christianity dropping completely off the bottom of the charts in the next few decades.  I hear those kinds of dire predictions at some of the conferences I attend.  I read them on the blogs of the church leadership gurus.  It’s as if the whole household of Christianity is saying, “Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone.  We are cut off completely.”

But I’m not there yet.  I haven’t given up.  I’m still praying that prayer.  But maybe for the first time I’m thinking that instead of lying around waiting for the Lord to bring dry bones back to life so that we will know he is God, we could get to know that he is God and begin to feel the life coming back into our dry bones. 

For example: let’s imagine that a nice couple living just down the street wakes up one morning and decides that they want to get to know God.  Who knows why?  Maybe because they talked to one of you.  But for whatever reason they decide that that’s what’s been missing from their life: God!  And so they set out to get acquainted.  They start reading the Bible, saying their prayers, looking for resources on the Internet.  And let’s imagine that it works: that within six months they are so in love with God they can’t talk about anything else.  One day the wife says to the husband, “I just wish there were some place we could go to sing God’s praises.  I wish there were other people who felt the way we do.”   Her husband says, “I know a place like that!  I jogged by it this morning.  It’s called church, and it’s open at 11:00 on Sunday.”

Because these people have never been to church.  They don’t know anything about it.  But as I said they live just down the street, and when Sunday morning comes they come here, and when they get inside they can’t believe it.  Here is a room full of people just like them, people who know and love the Lord.  And after the prelude and call to worship the people around them pick up books and begin to sing.  It’s the strangest thing!  But even though this couple doesn’t know the words or the tune they can tell that these people are pouring out their hearts to the God they love. 

And it’s wonderful.

When the service is over someone next to them says, “I can tell you really enjoyed worship today.”  “Yes!” they say.  “Do you do this every week?”  “Yes, and if you come a little earlier you can join us for Sunday school at 9:45; there’s room in my class.  And you can come to Wednesday night supper at 5:00; please be my guest.  And you can join us in our mission of bringing heaven to earth; I’m happy to tell you more.”  And before you know it this couple is completely involved.  They’re singing hymns louder than anyone else in church; they’re dropping very generous checks into the offering plate; they’re leaning over open Bibles in Sunday school, eager to hear and obey God’s word; they’re greeting their new brothers and sisters in the hallways with hugs and high fives.  It’s wonderful!  They feel it.  And their love for God and for their church is contagious.  It spills out onto the streets of the city and goes with them wherever they go, until everybody who knows them knows God.

Of course, not everyone lives just down the street from the church.  Some of you who are watching from home this morning live hundreds of miles away.  Others are unable to attend for other reasons.  But that shouldn’t keep you from participating. 

For years now I’ve had this idea that along with those who come to church on Sunday morning there are those who could be the church right where they are.  That may have been the idea when we started broadcasting our services back in 1986.  But watching a worship service on television is not the same thing as being here, so here’s my thought: 1) What if we continue to create content and send it to you through the airwaves or the Internet, and 2) what if you create community by inviting one or more friends or family members to watch it with you, and 3) what if you collaborate with us in our mission of bringing heaven to earth by finding a way to “bring it” right where you are?  Got that?  Content, Community, Collaboration.  Those are the three “C’s” of something I call “Microchurch,” and you can start one anywhere.

Let’s say that you live at 123 Elm Street.  You could call it, “The Church at 123 Elm Street.”  And let’s say that you live there alone, that you don’t have family members who can sit down with you and watch the Sunday morning broadcast.  No problem.  Phone a friend just as the service is beginning and watch it together.  Stay on the line through the whole thing.  Say “Amen!” when the preacher makes a good point.  And then, when it’s over, take some time to pray for each other. 

That’s church! 

But of course if you can watch it with two or three other people that’s better.  You might even bring the makings of a simple lunch.  You could eat together after worship.  You could pray for each other after that.  And then you could take up an offering and use it right where you are to bring heaven to earth.  But if you do that please let us know!  That’s how the Microchurch movement will gain momentum.  Send us your pictures, tell us your stories.  Say, “This is how we brought it this week at the Little Church on Elm Street!”  We’ll post those pictures and stories on our website, we’ll publish them in our newsletter.  You’ll be famous.  But, of course, if you can’t think of anything to do with your offering you can always send it to us.  We are working to bring heaven to earth every single day and we could always use your help.

Now, all of this is based on two huge assumptions: 1) that there are people out there (and in here) who really want to know the Lord, and 2) that knowing the Lord would lead to the revitalization of the church.  Neither of those things may be true, but if not they should be.  Take that first part, for instance: really wanting to know the Lord.  If that’s not true for you it should be.  Do you know why?  Because, in John’s Gospel, in various places, Jesus says that he has come so that we might have life that is abundant, overflowing, and everlasting.  Who doesn’t want a life like that?  But then he tells us how to get it.  In John 17:3, as he is praying for his disciples, he says, “This is eternal life: that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.”  That verb, “to know,” is the most intimate verb in the Bible.  And here Jesus seems to suggest that knowing the God revealed in Jesus Christ, and sharing in that intimacy, is how you experience abundant, overflowing, and everlasting life. 

And what about that second assumption, that knowing God might lead to the revitalization of the church?  I can think of a few Bible passages that speak to that.  One is that verse from 2 Chronicles 7 that says, “If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, pray, seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.”  Another is from Jeremiah 31, where God promises to make a new covenant with his people.  “I will put my law within them,” he says, and I will write it on their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.  No longer shall they teach one another or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord, for I will forgive their iniquity and remember their sin no more.”

That sounds like revitalization to me, like dry bones coming back to life.  And it sounds like it all begins with knowing the Lord.  But I could be wrong about that.  I have been wrong before.  I tried to bring one of my former churches back to life and a fellow pastor finally told me, “That church isn’t dead enough yet.”  Resurrection doesn’t happen until something dies.  Maybe that’s why Jesus waited four days to raise Lazarus.  Maybe that’s why the Lord showed Ezekiel a valley full of dry bones.  Maybe the church in America isn’t dead enough to be resurrected but maybe it is alive enough to hear this word and do something about it. 

Decisions, decisions.

Maybe there is enough breath left in your body to decide here and now, that you will do everything in your power to know the Lord. 

And then let’s see what happens.

—Jim Somerville © 2023

[i] https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2021/12/14/about-three-in-ten-u-s-adults-are-now-religiously-unaffiliated/

Decisions, Decisions: Can These Bones Live?

Posted on March 26, 2023 by -

The hand of the LORD came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the LORD and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. He said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?” I answered, “O Lord GOD, you know.”

If you were here last week you probably know why this Sunday’s Old Testament lesson is the story of the dry bones, from Ezekiel 37.  It’s because this Sunday’s Gospel lesson is the Raising of Lazarus, from John 11.  The Old Testament lesson is chosen to accompany the Gospel lesson and there is no Old Testament lesson that provides better company for Lazarus, lying in his grave, than the dry bones of Ezekiel 37. 

It seems to me that this is always the chapter we turn to in Ezekiel, although that’s not entirely true.  There are other readings on other Sundays from this strange Old Testament book.  But if you’ve spent any time in Ezekiel at all you will agree with me: it’s strange!  It’s full of apocalyptic visions, with wheels within wheels, covered with eyes all around, and that’s just the first chapter.  You have to be truly committed to make it all the way to chapter 37, but if you do you will be rewarded with this vision of the Valley of Dry Bones: one preachers have turned to again and again when their churches become like Lazarus in his grave—so dead that they begin to stink.  You’ll be glad to know that’s not why I’m turning to this passage today.  I’m turning to it because it’s one of today’s lectionary readings, chosen years ago by a committee that didn’t even know our church.  They picked it because it pairs nicely with the Raising of Lazarus, but maybe all of today’s readings have something to do with how God feels about death and what God intends to do about it in the end.

If you think about it long enough and hard enough you may remember that Ezekiel was a prophet during the Babylonian Exile at a time when God’s people had mostly given up.  If you can picture them shaking hands with him after synagogue on the Sabbath you can almost hear them say, “Thank you for your sermon today, Preacher.  We appreciate your optimism.  But God is not going to take us back to Jerusalem.  This Exile has been going on for decades now and it doesn’t show any signs of letting up.  We might as well admit that we are going to die out here in this wretched desert.” 

Discouraging words for a preacher.  Ezekiel may have had trouble sleeping that night.  He may have tossed and turned until the Lord came to him in a vision, and carried him out to a valley full of dry bones.  “What do you think, Mortal?  Can these bones live?”  “I don’t know,” Ezekiel said (telling the truth).  “But you do.  What do you think?”  And the Lord said, “I think this is how my people feel right now.  Like dry bones.  Like people whose hope is dead and gone.”  “But how about you?” Ezekiel asked, timidly.  “How do you feel?”  “Oh, just the opposite!” the Lord said.  “I feel like something wonderful is about to happen.”  And then he said, “Prophesy to these bones, Ezekiel, and say to them: ‘O dry bones, hear the word of the LORD.  Thus says the Lord GOD to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.  I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the LORD.’” 

When I read that passage last Monday I noticed for the first time that God is going to do all these things so that his people will know he is the Lord.  He says he will lay sinews on those dry bones, and cause flesh to come upon them, and cover them with skin, and put breath in them, and they will live, and then they will know that he is the Lord.  But what I wondered when I was looking at this passage last Monday was whether it could work the other way around.  What if you got to know the Lord first, and when you did the breath came back into your body?  What if that’s when you stood up, alive and well?  And what if it didn’t happen so that you would know the Lord is God, but because you knew that the Lord is God?

Every morning for years now I have prayed the same prayer for this church.  I say: “Fill the pews with people who love you and long to sing your praises; fill the offering plates with the generous gifts of a grateful people; fill the classrooms with disciples who lean over open Bibles, eager to hear and obey your Word; fill the hallways with brothers and sisters who greet one another with hugs and laughter.  Fill us with your love until it overflows onto the streets of our city and into every surrounding suburb, until your kingdom comes, and your will is done, in Richmond as it is in heaven.”  That’s my prayer, and when I pray it I can almost picture it: this church, fully alive, bursting at the seams, bringing in the Kingdom.  But I get that picture from reading the Bible, not the newspaper.

If you read the newspaper you will learn that the church in America is in decline: that membership is down, attendance is down, and giving is down.  You will learn that three out of ten Americans claim no religious affiliation at all, and a good many more don’t claim to be Christian.[i]  In fact, if you continue the trajectory of any of those trends you can see Christianity dropping completely off the bottom of the charts in the next few decades.  I hear those kinds of dire predictions at some of the conferences I attend.  I read them on the blogs of the church leadership gurus.  It’s as if the whole household of Christianity is saying, “Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone.  We are cut off completely.”

But I’m not there yet.  I haven’t given up.  I’m still praying that prayer.  But maybe for the first time I’m thinking that instead of lying around waiting for the Lord to bring dry bones back to life so that we will know he is God, we could get to know that he is God and begin to feel the life coming back into our dry bones. 

For example: let’s imagine that a nice couple living just down the street wakes up one morning and decides that they want to get to know God.  Who knows why?  Maybe because they talked to one of you.  But for whatever reason they decide that that’s what’s been missing from their life: God!  And so they set out to get acquainted.  They start reading the Bible, saying their prayers, looking for resources on the Internet.  And let’s imagine that it works: that within six months they are so in love with God they can’t talk about anything else.  One day the wife says to the husband, “I just wish there were some place we could go to sing God’s praises.  I wish there were other people who felt the way we do.”   Her husband says, “I know a place like that!  I jogged by it this morning.  It’s called church, and it’s open at 11:00 on Sunday.”

Because these people have never been to church.  They don’t know anything about it.  But as I said they live just down the street, and when Sunday morning comes they come here, and when they get inside they can’t believe it.  Here is a room full of people just like them, people who know and love the Lord.  And after the prelude and call to worship the people around them pick up books and begin to sing.  It’s the strangest thing!  But even though this couple doesn’t know the words or the tune they can tell that these people are pouring out their hearts to the God they love. 

And it’s wonderful.

When the service is over someone next to them says, “I can tell you really enjoyed worship today.”  “Yes!” they say.  “Do you do this every week?”  “Yes, and if you come a little earlier you can join us for Sunday school at 9:45; there’s room in my class.  And you can come to Wednesday night supper at 5:00; please be my guest.  And you can join us in our mission of bringing heaven to earth; I’m happy to tell you more.”  And before you know it this couple is completely involved.  They’re singing hymns louder than anyone else in church; they’re dropping very generous checks into the offering plate; they’re leaning over open Bibles in Sunday school, eager to hear and obey God’s word; they’re greeting their new brothers and sisters in the hallways with hugs and high fives.  It’s wonderful!  They feel it.  And their love for God and for their church is contagious.  It spills out onto the streets of the city and goes with them wherever they go, until everybody who knows them knows God.

Of course, not everyone lives just down the street from the church.  Some of you who are watching from home this morning live hundreds of miles away.  Others are unable to attend for other reasons.  But that shouldn’t keep you from participating. 

For years now I’ve had this idea that along with those who come to church on Sunday morning there are those who could be the church right where they are.  That may have been the idea when we started broadcasting our services back in 1986.  But watching a worship service on television is not the same thing as being here, so here’s my thought: 1) What if we continue to create content and send it to you through the airwaves or the Internet, and 2) what if you create community by inviting one or more friends or family members to watch it with you, and 3) what if you collaborate with us in our mission of bringing heaven to earth by finding a way to “bring it” right where you are?  Got that?  Content, Community, Collaboration.  Those are the three “C’s” of something I call “Microchurch,” and you can start one anywhere.

Let’s say that you live at 123 Elm Street.  You could call it, “The Church at 123 Elm Street.”  And let’s say that you live there alone, that you don’t have family members who can sit down with you and watch the Sunday morning broadcast.  No problem.  Phone a friend just as the service is beginning and watch it together.  Stay on the line through the whole thing.  Say “Amen!” when the preacher makes a good point.  And then, when it’s over, take some time to pray for each other. 

That’s church! 

But of course if you can watch it with two or three other people that’s better.  You might even bring the makings of a simple lunch.  You could eat together after worship.  You could pray for each other after that.  And then you could take up an offering and use it right where you are to bring heaven to earth.  But if you do that please let us know!  That’s how the Microchurch movement will gain momentum.  Send us your pictures, tell us your stories.  Say, “This is how we brought it this week at the Little Church on Elm Street!”  We’ll post those pictures and stories on our website, we’ll publish them in our newsletter.  You’ll be famous.  But, of course, if you can’t think of anything to do with your offering you can always send it to us.  We are working to bring heaven to earth every single day and we could always use your help.

Now, all of this is based on two huge assumptions: 1) that there are people out there (and in here) who really want to know the Lord, and 2) that knowing the Lord would lead to the revitalization of the church.  Neither of those things may be true, but if not they should be.  Take that first part, for instance: really wanting to know the Lord.  If that’s not true for you it should be.  Do you know why?  Because, in John’s Gospel, in various places, Jesus says that he has come so that we might have life that is abundant, overflowing, and everlasting.  Who doesn’t want a life like that?  But then he tells us how to get it.  In John 17:3, as he is praying for his disciples, he says, “This is eternal life: that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.”  That verb, “to know,” is the most intimate verb in the Bible.  And here Jesus seems to suggest that knowing the God revealed in Jesus Christ, and sharing in that intimacy, is how you experience abundant, overflowing, and everlasting life. 

And what about that second assumption, that knowing God might lead to the revitalization of the church?  I can think of a few Bible passages that speak to that.  One is that verse from 2 Chronicles 7 that says, “If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, pray, seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.”  Another is from Jeremiah 31, where God promises to make a new covenant with his people.  “I will put my law within them,” he says, and I will write it on their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.  No longer shall they teach one another or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord, for I will forgive their iniquity and remember their sin no more.”

That sounds like revitalization to me, like dry bones coming back to life.  And it sounds like it all begins with knowing the Lord.  But I could be wrong about that.  I have been wrong before.  I tried to bring one of my former churches back to life and a fellow pastor finally told me, “That church isn’t dead enough yet.”  Resurrection doesn’t happen until something dies.  Maybe that’s why Jesus waited four days to raise Lazarus.  Maybe that’s why the Lord showed Ezekiel a valley full of dry bones.  Maybe the church in America isn’t dead enough to be resurrected but maybe it is alive enough to hear this word and do something about it. 

Decisions, decisions.

Maybe there is enough breath left in your body to decide here and now, that you will do everything in your power to know the Lord. 

And then let’s see what happens.

—Jim Somerville © 2023

[i] https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2021/12/14/about-three-in-ten-u-s-adults-are-now-religiously-unaffiliated/