Lord and Savior
Feb. 7, 2010
Isaiah 6:1-8; Luke 5:1-11
Where does God speak? Where does God speak to you? Through whom does God speak? What mediates the divine for you? How do you hear the divine voice? What is God calling you to do? And, then, how do you respond?
All of these questions are at stake in our readings for this morning. The prophet Isaiah hears God calling him to speak a prophetic word. He hears that call in the Temple. In other words, Isaiah hears God speak through worship. He goes to church and God speaks to him.
The first disciples hear God calling through Jesus, and they hear a call to fish for people. It’s early in the morning. They are on the water, at the end of a long night of work when God speaks to them.
And in both cases, Isaiah and, at least, Peter, do not feel worthy of the calling to which they are called.
“I am a man of unclean lips and I live with people who are every bit as unworthy,” says Isaiah.
“Go away from me, lord, for I am a sinful man,” says Peter.
“We’re not worthy. We’re not worthy. We’re not worthy,” they say. It’s as if God has called Wayne and Garth – that’s your pop-culture age test for the morning.
Scripturally speaking, there is nothing remotely unusual about any of this. The Bible is full of call stories, and full of characters who do not feel up to the task, who do not feel worthy or able to respond to what God calls them into.
Abraham – too old to father a great nation.
Joseph – too young to lead any nation.
Moses – a murderer with a stutter.
The prophets – a mixed bag to be sure.
The disciples – an even more mixed bag.
Perhaps the take away is that God has strange taste and low standards! Or, like Garth Brooks, friends in low places – to toss out another pop culture age test for you.
Which brings it all back home for me, and, perhaps for you as well.
I have never felt “worthy” of the calling to which I am called, nor have I ever felt that I fully understand it. Sometimes I am far from certain that I wish to accept it, and occasionally I prefer to pretend that I am not what I, in fact, am.
I don’t believe that is at all unusual.
I was chatting with someone just the other day who asked me whether I thought it was more difficult to come out as gay or as Christian. I said that obviously I couldn’t really compare, but that I do understand how it sometimes seems incredibly difficult to “come out” as a Christian.
Please don’t take this as part of the “attack on Christmas” paranoia of certain fundamentalists who believe that godless socialists – or, worse, homosexuals – are lurking in every shadow.
It’s not that at all. But because of the religious loud in America it has become decidedly uncomfortable in many social circles to calls one’s self a follower of Jesus.
Oddly enough, that makes joining the church of Jesus Christ a courageous act.
Oh, to be sure, it’s not a courageous act on the same scale that it was in the church’s earliest days when Christians were persecuted and often martyred for their faith.
But it is far more courageous today than at the height of Christian establishment and the WASPy power structure of mid 20th century America. It does take an honesty of purpose and courage of one’s convictions to join your voice to the ancient profession of faith that Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior.
Why should this be so? And, more to the point, what is it about that profession that can still speak to us today?
Part of the challenge is that for far too long a smug self-righteousness has hung about the church, and we have pretended that somehow, within the club of the saved, we no longer have the all too human problems that plague the rest of the world. The attitude is such that, in some churches, a man of unclean lips would find no home nor would one who says, “go away lord for I am a sinful man.”
Would we save a seat for Moses, knowing that he killed a man? For Matthew, knowing that he collaborated with the other side?
Well, more to the point, would we save a seat for ourselves? Knowing what we know about who we really are? And, moreover, can we be honest enough with ourselves and with one another to own up to who we really are and find the strength to forgive – ourselves and one another?
In our Reformed tradition of worship, we begin our gatherings in honesty of confession not to say, as the youth group at our Cleveland church put it, “we suck,” but rather to say that God is great – and able to make of us more than we are on our own.
That moment of confession is the initial opening to understand Christ as savior, because we trust that we can become more than who we are as we follow the way of Jesus. That is a profoundly countercultural proposition, and profoundly so whether or not you are speaking of conservative parts of the culture or progressive ones. To confess that we, on our own accord, as ruggedly individual, independent, self-motivated, all American boys and girls cannot make it, is, well, down right un-American.
To set aside the American dream of self reliance and confess our deep need for relationship with God and with the community of faith runs counter to both conservative and liberal notions of individualism, and on that ground alone – before any of the issues of the so-called culture wars arise – on that fundamental level, coming out as Christian is often uncomfortable and socially challenging.
You want to kill the buzz of a party these days start a conversation with the phrase, “well, at church last Sunday …”
Professing faith in Christ is not easy.
We don’t make it any easier in the church by clinging to affirmations of faith developed almost 2,000 years ago in the midst of the Roman Empire, and translated gradually toward our own tongue through the context of feudalism. That is to say, the phrase “lord and savior” carries for us none of the meanings that were resonant for the first Christians or for the first millennia of Christianity.
We just don’t have lords anymore, and we are so far removed from the resistance to empire pronounced in the phrase “Christ is lord” that we have completely forgotten how countercultural the confession was from its first utterance.
To begin with the phrase Christos Kurios, which comes down to us as Christ is lord, was a direct responses to the pledge of loyalty required of Roman citizens as Caesar Kurios, or Caesar is lord. The word itself, kurios, is a Greek term that originally meant strong or authoritative and became a standard reference originally to landowners and gradually to anyone who exercised control or authority over land, animals or other people. In parallel the word also became a common reference to God or gods, and about the time of Jesus began to be inscribed, along with the emperor’s face, on Roman coins as part of the phrase Caesar Kurios. Can you hear the tension inherent in the counterclaim Christos Kurios?
But, of course, we’ve lost all that, and perhaps all the more so through translation into the English lord which had resonance in a feudal society of lords and serfs but is a linguistic relic in the age of capitalism and democracy.
So how can we make the claim Christ is lord and savior with any resonance and relevance to our own ears?
Remarkably enough, these English words have Latin or old English roots that have, for me, given our basic ancient affirmation of faith new power. Salvation – to which savior is connected both linguistically and in terms of meaning – has roots in the word salus, in which you might hear salud, which you might say when someone sneezes. It refers to health and healing, and to wholeness. It is not unlike the Hebrew word shalom. In that sense, when I reaffirm my faith in Christ as savior I am saying that in trying to follow the way of Jesus I find wholeness and healing for my life and the life of the world. That is a faith I am proud to proclaim.
Likewise, the word lord has roots in old English that, through a different shoot, as it were, come to us also as loaf, as in “a loaf of bread.” The word was used in feudal society to refer to the lord of the manor as the “keeper of the loaf.” In other words, the lord was the one who guaranteed that you would eat.
As a community that has been, from its earliest days, obsessed with the breaking of bread, we affirm in confessing Christ as lord that we are fed in and through our faith. When I reaffirm my faith in Christ as lord I am reminding myself that in the breaking of bread I am made known to God and to myself, and that God is made known to me. That, too, is a faith I am proud to proclaim.
It is a faith that welcomes everyone, and that can find a place for Peter, for Matthew, for you and for me. So as we welcome new members to this community of faith, let us reaffirm together our faith in Christ as lord and savior, and as we gather at table as one community may we be reminded that in Christ we are made whole, and at his table we are fed. Amen.
Isaiah 6:1-8; Luke 5:1-11
Where does God speak? Where does God speak to you? Through whom does God speak? What mediates the divine for you? How do you hear the divine voice? What is God calling you to do? And, then, how do you respond?
All of these questions are at stake in our readings for this morning. The prophet Isaiah hears God calling him to speak a prophetic word. He hears that call in the Temple. In other words, Isaiah hears God speak through worship. He goes to church and God speaks to him.
The first disciples hear God calling through Jesus, and they hear a call to fish for people. It’s early in the morning. They are on the water, at the end of a long night of work when God speaks to them.
And in both cases, Isaiah and, at least, Peter, do not feel worthy of the calling to which they are called.
“I am a man of unclean lips and I live with people who are every bit as unworthy,” says Isaiah.
“Go away from me, lord, for I am a sinful man,” says Peter.
“We’re not worthy. We’re not worthy. We’re not worthy,” they say. It’s as if God has called Wayne and Garth – that’s your pop-culture age test for the morning.
Scripturally speaking, there is nothing remotely unusual about any of this. The Bible is full of call stories, and full of characters who do not feel up to the task, who do not feel worthy or able to respond to what God calls them into.
Abraham – too old to father a great nation.
Joseph – too young to lead any nation.
Moses – a murderer with a stutter.
The prophets – a mixed bag to be sure.
The disciples – an even more mixed bag.
Perhaps the take away is that God has strange taste and low standards! Or, like Garth Brooks, friends in low places – to toss out another pop culture age test for you.
Which brings it all back home for me, and, perhaps for you as well.
I have never felt “worthy” of the calling to which I am called, nor have I ever felt that I fully understand it. Sometimes I am far from certain that I wish to accept it, and occasionally I prefer to pretend that I am not what I, in fact, am.
I don’t believe that is at all unusual.
I was chatting with someone just the other day who asked me whether I thought it was more difficult to come out as gay or as Christian. I said that obviously I couldn’t really compare, but that I do understand how it sometimes seems incredibly difficult to “come out” as a Christian.
Please don’t take this as part of the “attack on Christmas” paranoia of certain fundamentalists who believe that godless socialists – or, worse, homosexuals – are lurking in every shadow.
It’s not that at all. But because of the religious loud in America it has become decidedly uncomfortable in many social circles to calls one’s self a follower of Jesus.
Oddly enough, that makes joining the church of Jesus Christ a courageous act.
Oh, to be sure, it’s not a courageous act on the same scale that it was in the church’s earliest days when Christians were persecuted and often martyred for their faith.
But it is far more courageous today than at the height of Christian establishment and the WASPy power structure of mid 20th century America. It does take an honesty of purpose and courage of one’s convictions to join your voice to the ancient profession of faith that Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior.
Why should this be so? And, more to the point, what is it about that profession that can still speak to us today?
Part of the challenge is that for far too long a smug self-righteousness has hung about the church, and we have pretended that somehow, within the club of the saved, we no longer have the all too human problems that plague the rest of the world. The attitude is such that, in some churches, a man of unclean lips would find no home nor would one who says, “go away lord for I am a sinful man.”
Would we save a seat for Moses, knowing that he killed a man? For Matthew, knowing that he collaborated with the other side?
Well, more to the point, would we save a seat for ourselves? Knowing what we know about who we really are? And, moreover, can we be honest enough with ourselves and with one another to own up to who we really are and find the strength to forgive – ourselves and one another?
In our Reformed tradition of worship, we begin our gatherings in honesty of confession not to say, as the youth group at our Cleveland church put it, “we suck,” but rather to say that God is great – and able to make of us more than we are on our own.
That moment of confession is the initial opening to understand Christ as savior, because we trust that we can become more than who we are as we follow the way of Jesus. That is a profoundly countercultural proposition, and profoundly so whether or not you are speaking of conservative parts of the culture or progressive ones. To confess that we, on our own accord, as ruggedly individual, independent, self-motivated, all American boys and girls cannot make it, is, well, down right un-American.
To set aside the American dream of self reliance and confess our deep need for relationship with God and with the community of faith runs counter to both conservative and liberal notions of individualism, and on that ground alone – before any of the issues of the so-called culture wars arise – on that fundamental level, coming out as Christian is often uncomfortable and socially challenging.
You want to kill the buzz of a party these days start a conversation with the phrase, “well, at church last Sunday …”
Professing faith in Christ is not easy.
We don’t make it any easier in the church by clinging to affirmations of faith developed almost 2,000 years ago in the midst of the Roman Empire, and translated gradually toward our own tongue through the context of feudalism. That is to say, the phrase “lord and savior” carries for us none of the meanings that were resonant for the first Christians or for the first millennia of Christianity.
We just don’t have lords anymore, and we are so far removed from the resistance to empire pronounced in the phrase “Christ is lord” that we have completely forgotten how countercultural the confession was from its first utterance.
To begin with the phrase Christos Kurios, which comes down to us as Christ is lord, was a direct responses to the pledge of loyalty required of Roman citizens as Caesar Kurios, or Caesar is lord. The word itself, kurios, is a Greek term that originally meant strong or authoritative and became a standard reference originally to landowners and gradually to anyone who exercised control or authority over land, animals or other people. In parallel the word also became a common reference to God or gods, and about the time of Jesus began to be inscribed, along with the emperor’s face, on Roman coins as part of the phrase Caesar Kurios. Can you hear the tension inherent in the counterclaim Christos Kurios?
But, of course, we’ve lost all that, and perhaps all the more so through translation into the English lord which had resonance in a feudal society of lords and serfs but is a linguistic relic in the age of capitalism and democracy.
So how can we make the claim Christ is lord and savior with any resonance and relevance to our own ears?
Remarkably enough, these English words have Latin or old English roots that have, for me, given our basic ancient affirmation of faith new power. Salvation – to which savior is connected both linguistically and in terms of meaning – has roots in the word salus, in which you might hear salud, which you might say when someone sneezes. It refers to health and healing, and to wholeness. It is not unlike the Hebrew word shalom. In that sense, when I reaffirm my faith in Christ as savior I am saying that in trying to follow the way of Jesus I find wholeness and healing for my life and the life of the world. That is a faith I am proud to proclaim.
Likewise, the word lord has roots in old English that, through a different shoot, as it were, come to us also as loaf, as in “a loaf of bread.” The word was used in feudal society to refer to the lord of the manor as the “keeper of the loaf.” In other words, the lord was the one who guaranteed that you would eat.
As a community that has been, from its earliest days, obsessed with the breaking of bread, we affirm in confessing Christ as lord that we are fed in and through our faith. When I reaffirm my faith in Christ as lord I am reminding myself that in the breaking of bread I am made known to God and to myself, and that God is made known to me. That, too, is a faith I am proud to proclaim.
It is a faith that welcomes everyone, and that can find a place for Peter, for Matthew, for you and for me. So as we welcome new members to this community of faith, let us reaffirm together our faith in Christ as lord and savior, and as we gather at table as one community may we be reminded that in Christ we are made whole, and at his table we are fed. Amen.
posted by David Ensign at
7:50 AM
<< Home