Give Thanks
Texts: Matthew 6:25-34; Isaiah 55
November 19, 2006
I want to talk about heresy this morning. It’s a nice, light topic for the Sunday before a holiday, don’t you thing?
Being something of an unorthodox – perhaps even heterodox theologian – myself, it may seem surprising that I want to talk about heresy. Then again, may not.
You see, I’m not much interested in the theological expressions that typically get labeled heresies – those expressions about such things as virgin births and scriptural authority and the Trinity and other teachings found in historic Christian creeds and confessions. Oh, sure, I can engage in some good theological arguments over them, but it usually feels like sport, not like something of ultimate concern.
The heresy I want to talk about this morning is not so much a way of thinking, but rather a way of living guided by a particular way of thinking that shapes us as Americans.
I’ll begin by way of a story. About six or seven years ago, one of my best friends and college roommates was struggling in the depths of a serious undiagnosed, untreated mental or emotional condition. On of the signal symptoms was an intense suspicion of anyone who did not see the world exactly as he did – which, given the shape he was in, amounted to just about everyone else in the world. He had burned through most of his friends, and I was about the last one who would even take his phone calls, and I was at wit’s end.
My friend is Jewish, so one of the places I turned for help and advice was a rabbi. The rabbi is a kind and generous man who listened with sympathy as I described the situation. He affirmed the things we were doing, and then said, “God helps those who help themselves.”
We’d certainly arrived at and past the point where the community resources available to help my friend were only going to work if he would take the step of using them, so the rabbi’s words sounded true and rang with the authority of scripture.
Like three-fourths of Americans, I believed that they were words of scripture. I figured they were from Proverbs, and that the rabbi was probably more familiar than I with Hebrew scriptures that we call the Old Testament.
It was only a couple of years later, that I came to understand that the rabbi, rather than speaking Biblical truth, was actually giving voice to the most common American heresy. I was in my own dark place – having been fired from a church in Pittsburgh, unemployed, the five of us staying with my mother-in-law (I love my mother-in-law, but it does not get much darker). I was trying to help myself – applying for jobs, interviewing, praying, making contacts.
In fact, and this may be too much information, I was in the shower in a motel in Lansing, Michigan, when I began to see the light. Cheryl and I were getting ready to hit the road back to her mom’s house having completed an interview with a fascinating little Presbyterian church in Lansing. We both felt that it might just be the place, and they had extended a provisional call.
It was now up to me to decide. And then the phone rang.
Out of the blue, the phone rang in our motel room. It was the Rev. John Lentz, senior pastor of Forest Hill Presbyterian Church in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. Through a circuitous and rather unlikely series of connections, I had been invited to apply for the position of interim associate pastor there. It was not something I was particularly interested in.
But when I returned the call, something in the conversation struck me, and we decided to detour through Cleveland on the way back to Cheryl’s mom’s.
As most of you who are familiar with my history know, I wound up taking the job in Cleveland – the lowest paying, least long-term stability of any of the three positions that I had offers or strong indications of offers at that point.
I took it believing that I might have something to offer the church at Forest Hill, but I learned quickly that this was not about me at all. It was about them. It was about their opportunity to minister to me. It was not about God helping me when I helped myself at all. Rather, it was about God reaching out through that community to help me when I was least capable of helping myself.
You see, the God everywhere attested to in scripture is not a God known primarily for helping those who help themselves, but is instead a God who helps precisely the ones who cannot help themselves – the enslaved Israelites, the exiles in Babylon, those living under the thumb of the Roman Empire. The God attested to in scripture is the God of Isaiah 55, who invites us to eat and drink from the table of grace whether or not we can pay for it, the God whose thoughts are not our thoughts, whose ways are not our ways – especially not our ways of consumerism, careerism, individualism.
This is not the god of American popular imagination who celebrates the success of rugged individuals who pull themselves up by their own bootstraps; this is the God who comforts those who have no boots to begin with. This is not the god who blesses the powerful and mighty; this is the God who reaches into the dark corners of the world to bring light and love. This is not the god who gives the rich good things to eat; this is the God who brings the bread of life to the hungry.
This is the God who clothes the lilies of the field in extravagance even though they neither toil nor spin. This is the God who blesses creation with an abundance sufficient to the day for both the birds of the air and for we creatures who dwell a little lower than the angels.
This is the God of infinite grace who gives beyond measure a love and mercy and abundance that we did not and could not earn no matter how much or how little we may be capable of helping ourselves. This is good news! For the God of love does not wait until we are able to help ourselves, but rather – through the hands and feet and hearts and minds of the beloved – reaches into our lives in their darkest moments to bring light and more light. We can, of course, choose to dwell in deepest darkness, but in this season of abundance, why would we?
To this God of light, on this Sunday before Thanksgiving, let us return thanks upon thanks for grace upon grace. Amen.
Rev. Dr. David Ensign
November 19, 2006
I want to talk about heresy this morning. It’s a nice, light topic for the Sunday before a holiday, don’t you thing?
Being something of an unorthodox – perhaps even heterodox theologian – myself, it may seem surprising that I want to talk about heresy. Then again, may not.
You see, I’m not much interested in the theological expressions that typically get labeled heresies – those expressions about such things as virgin births and scriptural authority and the Trinity and other teachings found in historic Christian creeds and confessions. Oh, sure, I can engage in some good theological arguments over them, but it usually feels like sport, not like something of ultimate concern.
The heresy I want to talk about this morning is not so much a way of thinking, but rather a way of living guided by a particular way of thinking that shapes us as Americans.
I’ll begin by way of a story. About six or seven years ago, one of my best friends and college roommates was struggling in the depths of a serious undiagnosed, untreated mental or emotional condition. On of the signal symptoms was an intense suspicion of anyone who did not see the world exactly as he did – which, given the shape he was in, amounted to just about everyone else in the world. He had burned through most of his friends, and I was about the last one who would even take his phone calls, and I was at wit’s end.
My friend is Jewish, so one of the places I turned for help and advice was a rabbi. The rabbi is a kind and generous man who listened with sympathy as I described the situation. He affirmed the things we were doing, and then said, “God helps those who help themselves.”
We’d certainly arrived at and past the point where the community resources available to help my friend were only going to work if he would take the step of using them, so the rabbi’s words sounded true and rang with the authority of scripture.
Like three-fourths of Americans, I believed that they were words of scripture. I figured they were from Proverbs, and that the rabbi was probably more familiar than I with Hebrew scriptures that we call the Old Testament.
It was only a couple of years later, that I came to understand that the rabbi, rather than speaking Biblical truth, was actually giving voice to the most common American heresy. I was in my own dark place – having been fired from a church in Pittsburgh, unemployed, the five of us staying with my mother-in-law (I love my mother-in-law, but it does not get much darker). I was trying to help myself – applying for jobs, interviewing, praying, making contacts.
In fact, and this may be too much information, I was in the shower in a motel in Lansing, Michigan, when I began to see the light. Cheryl and I were getting ready to hit the road back to her mom’s house having completed an interview with a fascinating little Presbyterian church in Lansing. We both felt that it might just be the place, and they had extended a provisional call.
It was now up to me to decide. And then the phone rang.
Out of the blue, the phone rang in our motel room. It was the Rev. John Lentz, senior pastor of Forest Hill Presbyterian Church in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. Through a circuitous and rather unlikely series of connections, I had been invited to apply for the position of interim associate pastor there. It was not something I was particularly interested in.
But when I returned the call, something in the conversation struck me, and we decided to detour through Cleveland on the way back to Cheryl’s mom’s.
As most of you who are familiar with my history know, I wound up taking the job in Cleveland – the lowest paying, least long-term stability of any of the three positions that I had offers or strong indications of offers at that point.
I took it believing that I might have something to offer the church at Forest Hill, but I learned quickly that this was not about me at all. It was about them. It was about their opportunity to minister to me. It was not about God helping me when I helped myself at all. Rather, it was about God reaching out through that community to help me when I was least capable of helping myself.
You see, the God everywhere attested to in scripture is not a God known primarily for helping those who help themselves, but is instead a God who helps precisely the ones who cannot help themselves – the enslaved Israelites, the exiles in Babylon, those living under the thumb of the Roman Empire. The God attested to in scripture is the God of Isaiah 55, who invites us to eat and drink from the table of grace whether or not we can pay for it, the God whose thoughts are not our thoughts, whose ways are not our ways – especially not our ways of consumerism, careerism, individualism.
This is not the god of American popular imagination who celebrates the success of rugged individuals who pull themselves up by their own bootstraps; this is the God who comforts those who have no boots to begin with. This is not the god who blesses the powerful and mighty; this is the God who reaches into the dark corners of the world to bring light and love. This is not the god who gives the rich good things to eat; this is the God who brings the bread of life to the hungry.
This is the God who clothes the lilies of the field in extravagance even though they neither toil nor spin. This is the God who blesses creation with an abundance sufficient to the day for both the birds of the air and for we creatures who dwell a little lower than the angels.
This is the God of infinite grace who gives beyond measure a love and mercy and abundance that we did not and could not earn no matter how much or how little we may be capable of helping ourselves. This is good news! For the God of love does not wait until we are able to help ourselves, but rather – through the hands and feet and hearts and minds of the beloved – reaches into our lives in their darkest moments to bring light and more light. We can, of course, choose to dwell in deepest darkness, but in this season of abundance, why would we?
To this God of light, on this Sunday before Thanksgiving, let us return thanks upon thanks for grace upon grace. Amen.
Rev. Dr. David Ensign
posted by David Ensign at
12:17 PM
<< Home