I have just returned from work at Camp Allen with my colleague Philip Turner. Given our season of prayer and challenge, I found the attached sermon especially uplifting. ACI is happy to share it with the wider blogosphere.
Grace and Peace,
Chris Seitz
President, ACI
LOOK TOWARD HEAVEN AND NUMBER THE STARS A SERMON BY THE REV. DR. PHILIP TURNER
GEN. 15:1-6 HEB. 11:1-3; 8-16 LUKE 12:32-40
And he brought him outside and said, "Look toward heaven, and number the stars if you are able to number them." Then he said to him, "So shall your descendents be." And He believed the Lord; and he reckoned it to him as righteousness.
It is hard to miss the fact that all the readings for this Sunday are about having faith. Abraham has faith in God and in his promises, and it is reckoned to him as righteousness. So reads Genesis. By faith Abraham leaves home to receive an inheritance and from one "as good as dead were born descendents as many as the stars of heaven, and as the innumerable grains of sand by the sea shore." So reads the Epistle to the Hebrews. Then in the reading from St. Luke's Gospel Jesus reminds his disciples of God's promise to give them the Kingdom. By faith they are to invest their treasure in that promise, even to the point of selling their possessions.
Faith, "the assurance of things hope for, the conviction of things not seen!" This is the mysterious quality of certain lives lived that the Church invites us to contemplate on this very warm mid-August morning. Given the helter-skelter of our lives even in the dog days of summer, this request may seem either naïve or a bit over the top. Mid-August is a time for trips and beach books but not for the contemplation of the depths of our souls and the mysterious ways of God. Nevertheless, it is precisely contemplation of the deep purposes of God and the stance, or direction, or character of our spirit that is being asked of us. I put it this way because the question of faith, if we understand it properly, forces our minds and hearts in these directions-toward the deep purposes of God and toward what St. Augustine called "our weight," the way we are standing in the world.
I am more than aware that when most of us hear the word "faith" our minds do not rush to the deep purposes of God. I am equally certain that when we hear the word "faith" most of us most of the time do not begin to make an inventory of where we have invested our energies. Most of us most of the time think more modestly of the things we hope for. Our faith is more often than not related to the little things of life.
In his poem "For the Time Being" W.H. Auden writes this our petitions and the concerns that lie behind them.
O God...Leave Thy Heavens and come down to our earth of water clocks and hedges. Become our Uncle. Look after baby, amuse Grandfather, escort Madam to the opera, help Willy with his homework, introduce Muriel to a handsome naval officer.
For most of us most of the time the question of faith is raised by the concerns of our daily lives. Will this marriage survive? Will my child make it safely through the trials of adolescence? Will I get this job? Will a loved one recover from illness? Will I find a way out of the financial difficulties I face?
We pray for these things, but somewhere an inner voice asks the question of faith. Do I believe that God will or can respond to my plea? We wonder these things, but we have a promise from Christ. "Do you not know that even the hairs of your head are numbered?" Or again, in the Sermon on the Mount Christ makes this promise. "Therefore do not be anxious saying what shall we drink or what shall we wear. For the Gentiles seek all these things, and your Heavenly Father knows that you need them all."
We worship and adore a gracious God-one who bids us ask for the provision of life's necessities and who asks us to believe that he will make provision for what we need. I am beginning to grow old now, and as I look back over my life I see (as we all do) some pain, suffering, and loss, but a deeper thread is God's provision of what I need for the daily course of my life. I have knocked and the door has been opened. I have asked and what I need has been provided.
However, if I were to seek the meaning of faith in the domestic space of my own little life I would miss altogether the true context in which faith takes its meaning. The passages we have just heard ask us to step outside the domestic space of our little lives and place ourselves before God's face and within the enormous space of his purpose for the world he has created and over which he rules. To put it another way, our readings locate us, and so the weight of our lives, within the full scope of God's providence. It is on this stage that faith is born, and it is on this stage that faith is both tested and deepened.
Let us think for a moment about Abraham, our father in faith. Let us remember him as a way of understanding God's promise and God's evocation of faith. Abraham is commanded to go into a far country. That command is accompanied by promises, namely, that through him a great nation will come to be, that he will have a great name, and (most of all) that through that nation all the nations of the earth will be blessed.
The call of Abraham and the promises made to him are at the same time an announcement of God's purpose in human history. That purpose is to unite the peoples of the earth in the love and worship of the one, true God who is the creator and ruler of the universe. The faith of Abraham that we read of in our Old Testament lesson was evoked in response to something far greater than the pain of a couple who had no son. God is up to something greater than coming down to their world of water clocks and hedges. God is up to creating a people through whom his purpose for creation will be brought to fulfillment.
Abraham's faith was directed far beyond the relief of the pain and shame of a childless couple. It was an assurance of things hoped for. It was a conviction of things unseen. It was confidence that God would fulfill his promises and his purpose even through the bodies of a couple too old to bare children.
"Can these bones live?" Can these bodies beyond the years of child bearing indeed produce an heir to God's promises? Abraham looked at God as God, and says in the deep corners of his being, yes! Yes! Abraham believed the Lord and it was reckoned to him as righteousness. Abraham rested his weight upon God and God's promise, and this stance in the world God counts as righteousness.
It is just this stance the author of the Letter to the Hebrews admonishes us to consider. He reminds the Church and so us that it is by faith that we "understand that the world was create by the Word of God." He would have us understand also that it is through faith in this word that through the ages God has moved the course of the world he created toward the fulfillment of his purpose. That purpose, says Hebrews, is to bring the people of the earth into one city, one commonwealth whose builder and maker is God.
To what then do our readings call us? They call us out of our domestic space and ask us to relocate the center of our lives under the providence of God. The first context of faith is the place each of us occupies within God's governance of the world as he moves its course toward completion. The question is where do we fit in that history. The question is can God indeed fulfill the promise made to us.
God's response is "You, yes you, are my chosen one. I have made you a part of the people through whom all peoples will be blessed. Measure the small events our your life according to this scale. Believe that the course of your life is part of a history that I govern, and in that context ask for what you need. In asking, believe that I have included you in my purpose for all things. Make this stance yours. Place your weight here, and you will be blessed. What is more, you will be a blessing to the peoples of the earth.
I have searched the memory bank of my life for an example that will display what it is like to place one's life on such a stage, within such a context; and I think of a story that has come to me of Phoebe Brown-Cave whom I knew during the years I lived in Uganda. Phoebe was a very plain but brilliant woman who read classical languages at university. She went to Uganda as a CMS missionary and taught all her life in a school in Lango. But she did more than that. For some 30 years each day she met with the elders working on a translation of the Bible from Hebrew and Greek into the language of the Lango people. She also counseled people in distress, tended the sick, and sorted out disputes. Phoebe knew everyone and everyone knew her. When the time of her retirement approached, she told the people she would return to England to die. The elders came to her to say, "you can't go. You belong to us. We want your bones!"
Well, Phoebe did go, and her departure went like this. It was the custom of the missionaries when one of their number came or went to go to the Entebbe airport to greet arrivals and say good by to those leaving. On this occasion, however, one could not get near the airport. There was no space because just about every living soul in Lango had come to the airport by foot, or bike, or taxi, or bus to say good by. Phoebe left carried by the singing of a great multitude. But she did return eventually and there she rests.
My question is this. Does not Phoebe's life display what it is to place oneself within the vast providence of God? Is her life not a sign of God's fidelity to his promise and of his power to evoke such a stance in the world? Can we not say of Phoebe, "Therefore, from one woman, and she as good as dead, were born descendants as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the sea shore?" And can we not say the same thing of ourselves? And can we not say in response, "Thanks be to God?" AMEN.
Grace and Peace,
Chris Seitz
President, ACI
LOOK TOWARD HEAVEN AND NUMBER THE STARS A SERMON BY THE REV. DR. PHILIP TURNER
GEN. 15:1-6 HEB. 11:1-3; 8-16 LUKE 12:32-40
And he brought him outside and said, "Look toward heaven, and number the stars if you are able to number them." Then he said to him, "So shall your descendents be." And He believed the Lord; and he reckoned it to him as righteousness.
It is hard to miss the fact that all the readings for this Sunday are about having faith. Abraham has faith in God and in his promises, and it is reckoned to him as righteousness. So reads Genesis. By faith Abraham leaves home to receive an inheritance and from one "as good as dead were born descendents as many as the stars of heaven, and as the innumerable grains of sand by the sea shore." So reads the Epistle to the Hebrews. Then in the reading from St. Luke's Gospel Jesus reminds his disciples of God's promise to give them the Kingdom. By faith they are to invest their treasure in that promise, even to the point of selling their possessions.
Faith, "the assurance of things hope for, the conviction of things not seen!" This is the mysterious quality of certain lives lived that the Church invites us to contemplate on this very warm mid-August morning. Given the helter-skelter of our lives even in the dog days of summer, this request may seem either naïve or a bit over the top. Mid-August is a time for trips and beach books but not for the contemplation of the depths of our souls and the mysterious ways of God. Nevertheless, it is precisely contemplation of the deep purposes of God and the stance, or direction, or character of our spirit that is being asked of us. I put it this way because the question of faith, if we understand it properly, forces our minds and hearts in these directions-toward the deep purposes of God and toward what St. Augustine called "our weight," the way we are standing in the world.
I am more than aware that when most of us hear the word "faith" our minds do not rush to the deep purposes of God. I am equally certain that when we hear the word "faith" most of us most of the time do not begin to make an inventory of where we have invested our energies. Most of us most of the time think more modestly of the things we hope for. Our faith is more often than not related to the little things of life.
In his poem "For the Time Being" W.H. Auden writes this our petitions and the concerns that lie behind them.
O God...Leave Thy Heavens and come down to our earth of water clocks and hedges. Become our Uncle. Look after baby, amuse Grandfather, escort Madam to the opera, help Willy with his homework, introduce Muriel to a handsome naval officer.
For most of us most of the time the question of faith is raised by the concerns of our daily lives. Will this marriage survive? Will my child make it safely through the trials of adolescence? Will I get this job? Will a loved one recover from illness? Will I find a way out of the financial difficulties I face?
We pray for these things, but somewhere an inner voice asks the question of faith. Do I believe that God will or can respond to my plea? We wonder these things, but we have a promise from Christ. "Do you not know that even the hairs of your head are numbered?" Or again, in the Sermon on the Mount Christ makes this promise. "Therefore do not be anxious saying what shall we drink or what shall we wear. For the Gentiles seek all these things, and your Heavenly Father knows that you need them all."
We worship and adore a gracious God-one who bids us ask for the provision of life's necessities and who asks us to believe that he will make provision for what we need. I am beginning to grow old now, and as I look back over my life I see (as we all do) some pain, suffering, and loss, but a deeper thread is God's provision of what I need for the daily course of my life. I have knocked and the door has been opened. I have asked and what I need has been provided.
However, if I were to seek the meaning of faith in the domestic space of my own little life I would miss altogether the true context in which faith takes its meaning. The passages we have just heard ask us to step outside the domestic space of our little lives and place ourselves before God's face and within the enormous space of his purpose for the world he has created and over which he rules. To put it another way, our readings locate us, and so the weight of our lives, within the full scope of God's providence. It is on this stage that faith is born, and it is on this stage that faith is both tested and deepened.
Let us think for a moment about Abraham, our father in faith. Let us remember him as a way of understanding God's promise and God's evocation of faith. Abraham is commanded to go into a far country. That command is accompanied by promises, namely, that through him a great nation will come to be, that he will have a great name, and (most of all) that through that nation all the nations of the earth will be blessed.
The call of Abraham and the promises made to him are at the same time an announcement of God's purpose in human history. That purpose is to unite the peoples of the earth in the love and worship of the one, true God who is the creator and ruler of the universe. The faith of Abraham that we read of in our Old Testament lesson was evoked in response to something far greater than the pain of a couple who had no son. God is up to something greater than coming down to their world of water clocks and hedges. God is up to creating a people through whom his purpose for creation will be brought to fulfillment.
Abraham's faith was directed far beyond the relief of the pain and shame of a childless couple. It was an assurance of things hoped for. It was a conviction of things unseen. It was confidence that God would fulfill his promises and his purpose even through the bodies of a couple too old to bare children.
"Can these bones live?" Can these bodies beyond the years of child bearing indeed produce an heir to God's promises? Abraham looked at God as God, and says in the deep corners of his being, yes! Yes! Abraham believed the Lord and it was reckoned to him as righteousness. Abraham rested his weight upon God and God's promise, and this stance in the world God counts as righteousness.
It is just this stance the author of the Letter to the Hebrews admonishes us to consider. He reminds the Church and so us that it is by faith that we "understand that the world was create by the Word of God." He would have us understand also that it is through faith in this word that through the ages God has moved the course of the world he created toward the fulfillment of his purpose. That purpose, says Hebrews, is to bring the people of the earth into one city, one commonwealth whose builder and maker is God.
To what then do our readings call us? They call us out of our domestic space and ask us to relocate the center of our lives under the providence of God. The first context of faith is the place each of us occupies within God's governance of the world as he moves its course toward completion. The question is where do we fit in that history. The question is can God indeed fulfill the promise made to us.
God's response is "You, yes you, are my chosen one. I have made you a part of the people through whom all peoples will be blessed. Measure the small events our your life according to this scale. Believe that the course of your life is part of a history that I govern, and in that context ask for what you need. In asking, believe that I have included you in my purpose for all things. Make this stance yours. Place your weight here, and you will be blessed. What is more, you will be a blessing to the peoples of the earth.
I have searched the memory bank of my life for an example that will display what it is like to place one's life on such a stage, within such a context; and I think of a story that has come to me of Phoebe Brown-Cave whom I knew during the years I lived in Uganda. Phoebe was a very plain but brilliant woman who read classical languages at university. She went to Uganda as a CMS missionary and taught all her life in a school in Lango. But she did more than that. For some 30 years each day she met with the elders working on a translation of the Bible from Hebrew and Greek into the language of the Lango people. She also counseled people in distress, tended the sick, and sorted out disputes. Phoebe knew everyone and everyone knew her. When the time of her retirement approached, she told the people she would return to England to die. The elders came to her to say, "you can't go. You belong to us. We want your bones!"
Well, Phoebe did go, and her departure went like this. It was the custom of the missionaries when one of their number came or went to go to the Entebbe airport to greet arrivals and say good by to those leaving. On this occasion, however, one could not get near the airport. There was no space because just about every living soul in Lango had come to the airport by foot, or bike, or taxi, or bus to say good by. Phoebe left carried by the singing of a great multitude. But she did return eventually and there she rests.
My question is this. Does not Phoebe's life display what it is to place oneself within the vast providence of God? Is her life not a sign of God's fidelity to his promise and of his power to evoke such a stance in the world? Can we not say of Phoebe, "Therefore, from one woman, and she as good as dead, were born descendants as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the sea shore?" And can we not say the same thing of ourselves? And can we not say in response, "Thanks be to God?" AMEN.
