Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

July 29, 2007

Sermon by Pastor John Marboe

The Holy Gospel according to St. Luke. (Luke 11:1-13)

Jesus was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” He said to them, “When you pray say:

Father, hallowed be your name.

Your kingdom come.

Give us each day our daily bread.

And forgive us our sins,

for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.

And do not bring us to the time of trial.

And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’ And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’ I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.

“So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

The Gospel of the Lord.

Grace to you and peace from God our Father.

I have been thinking a little bit recently about how we describe other people—how do we describe other people?—and phrases came to mind. I began to think of things that people say to describe other people: “Salt of the earth—she’s salt of the earth,” particularly popular over in Ireland. “Pure sweetness, pure sweetness.” “Battle-axe.” I like this one: “A complete zoo.” Here’s a new one: “Liquid Drano.” “A drink from the fire hose.” “Milque toast.” “Henpecked.” “A take-no-prisoners personality.” “About as fun as a heart attack.” “A real gem.” “A diamond in the rough.” “Fingernails on a chalkboard”—oh, that hurt. “A bull in a china shop.” “A bit precious.” “Spit and vinegar.” “In your face.” And on and on and on.

How do people describe you? How do people describe me? Don’t answer. How do people describe God?

In our Old Testament lesson today, it’s a strange story, one that probably most of us are familiar with. But Abraham, in the Book of Genesis, receives a visit from three mysterious visitors, and we’re made to know through the narration of the story that somehow this is the Lord visiting Abraham. And you know how it goes. They arrive, and, it says, Abraham was sitting under the shade of a tree in the heat of the day, probably taking a little snooze. And these three visitors surprise him, and he leaps up. And he shows them extravagant hospitality, offering them food, and water, taking care of their needs, inviting them in, creating a feast for them. And it says that he knew that somehow this was the Lord. But it was three visitors.

And so we have the story today where they decide that they are going to disclose to Abraham their business, their errand. And they tell Abraham, “We have heard about what’s going on in Sodom and Gomorrah, and we’re going to go down and take a look and see if it’s true, and, if it’s true, we’re going to destroy those cities.” And Abraham leaps up and he intervenes, because these are relatives of Abraham. This is Lot, his sort of no-account nephew that we’ve learned about in previous chapters, who has been sent off to take whatever land he wanted; this is Lot and his branch of the family. But Abraham intercedes for them, and he says, “Look, you know, if there were fifty righteous people in those villages, wouldn’t you spare those villages?” And the Lord, “Yes, for fifty, I would spare it.” And then he says, “Well, don’t be angry with me, but what about forty-five?” “I would spare it for forty-five.” “Okay. Please, please don’t be angry with me, but what about thirty?” “Okay, for thirty, I would spare those cities.” “All right. But what about twenty?” “Well, for twenty, I would spare those cities.” “Okay. Please, please, now, don’t be angry, but what about ten?” “Okay, for ten.” Now, we know how the story unfolds, and it doesn’t go so well and ten are not found, and things go badly in those towns.

But the story—when we think about what it tells us about God—leaves us really with more questions than answers, doesn’t it? Was God one of those three; or all of those three; or none of those three, somehow, but somehow mysteriously present in the three? And why didn’t God already know the situation in Sodom and Gomorrah? Why did God have to go and visit and investigate? In what sense does God visit anywhere, really? Isn’t God already everywhere? And what about this business of Abraham changing God’s mind; did God’s mind change, or did God already know what he was going to do?

Our language regarding God, like our language regarding people, is always picture language. It’s always as if language. Our knowledge, what we know about God or think we know about God, is always as if knowledge. It’s as if this; God is as if this. When it comes to speaking about God, we do so in images and stories, because that’s all the better we can do.

Images and stories tell us something, but they don’t tell us everything. The problem with images—and it’s our problem with images—is that what we often do, and especially in relation to God, is that we take the image for the thing itself. We mistake our image for God, and that the scripture calls idolatry. In the central-core commandments of the scripture, we are forbidden from making graven images. And the meaning of that commandment, I believe, is so that we will not mistake an image for God. When Moses said, “Reveal yourself to me, God, tell me your name,” what did God say to Moses? The mysterious name of God is translated, roughly, “I am.” “I am.” “I am.” God is the only being whose being is not dependent on other beings. All of us have being by virtue of other beings—but not God. God exists all by God’s self, and all being emanates from that being. As one theologian put it, “God is not a being among other beings. God is being itself.”

So we must not make the mistake, mistaking our images of God for God. But here’s the problem. We cannot think or speak without them. We cannot think or speak without images. Jesus, in our Gospel text today, when his disciples say, “Teach us to pray,” Jesus offers a new image for God, a fresh image for God, in prayer. He says, “Say Father,” “say Father.” This is a new image in biblical history. This is a new image for God.

What were the images that were normally used before that? “Almighty,” “Everlasting,” “King of the Universe,” “Ruler,” “Sovereign”—these were thought to be the images for God that were properly respectfully when addressing God, the Almighty. But “Father” is a different image. Can you feel the difference?

As I was preparing these comments, as I was writing, Charlie came into the room and started climbing on me. And so I am trying to scribble my notes—and always they’re scribble, anyway, but they were especially scribbly because Charlie was playing on my knee as I was writing. And she was just playing; she wasn’t really bothering me, but she was just playing on my knee as I was working, and thinking, trying to come up with some comments for a sermon. And I realized that was it, right there. That’s the image—Charlie playing on the knee—father, child.

Now, we know that the ideal father in the ancient world was not exactly the same as the ideal father in the modern world. There were differences, certainly. But, compared to “King,” and “Ruler,” “Almighty,” “Everlasting,” the image conveyed something very different—a closeness, a relationship of care and love.

Well, images are our only means to think and speak about God. But they are not exactly God. They are our human way. You see it right away with the image of father. A father is a human image. God is not a man. God does not shave in the morning. God does not go to work, or mow the lawn, or wash the car. I know some fathers like that, too. It’s a human image, and Jesus teaches it’s a good image for addressing God. But an image is not God. An image is a suggestion. An image is always a partial picture.

Again, while I was preparing my comments, I looked up on the wall in our dining room and I saw there a painting that my mother painted in watercolors some years ago, and it’s a painting of the house that I grew up in. It’s an interesting painting. She was never fully satisfied with it. But I just looked at that painting, and I thought to myself, you know, my mother actually designed that house. I mean, my mother had envisioned the house, and then drew it, and then it was built, and it became a house, a real house. But then she felt compelled to paint it. And I looked at it and I thought, “Oh, how interesting. Why did she decide to paint it from this side and not the other side? And why did she choose these colors, and not those colors? And why did she paint it with the fall colors on the tree?”

And I realized that, as I looked at the picture, it was our house— but it’s not our house, but it is our house—but it’s a picture of our house, a particular picture. And why would she paint that house? Why would she not be satisfied with just having the house and walking around in it? I mean, in a painting you only have two dimensions. Why do you take something that’s three-dimensional and make it two-dimensional? And you can’t smell it; you can’t walk around in it; you can’t feel it. Why do people do it? Why do we create an image? Because images express our relationship to a thing.

The Bible uses a lot of images to speak about God. Listen to just a handful of them: shepherd, sword and shield; hen with her brood; rock; fortress; light; consuming fire; judge, both unjust and just judge; poor widow; scorned lover; spirit, potter, farmer, blacksmith, warrior, dancer, host; and, oh, yes, mother, mother giving birth. There are many images for God in the Bible, and they’re all true. We need them all. And still even with all of them, they are not enough for our small understanding, so that even with all of them, God remains to us largely a mystery.

Perhaps the most profound language in the scripture concerning God is found in the Book of First John, where John says—after years and years of reflection on God— simply, God is love.

Well, have we finally arrived at a definition? Is this finally telling us who and what God is? No. God cannot be captured in human words or concepts, no matter how sublime they are. So when we say God is love, we’re saying that we encounter God when we encounter love; that the experience of love, that experience of giving love and receiving love, expressing love, knowing love, feeling love, is the experience of divine love and divine life. As John says, “Those who love are connected to God and know God. Those who do not love”—and I paraphrase—“have no idea what God is like.” So Jesus said, “When you pray, say Father.” And Jesus taught that God is our father. But that’s not all God is. But it’s so important an image that Jesus made it central.

Now, when I say “father” to you, everybody has a slightly different picture, depending upon your experience. For some, it’s a beloved image that communicates you being a beloved child, in the warmth and tenderness of your own father’s love; but not all of you, not all of us. For others, the image may pose a stumbling block, either because your human father failed you in certain ways, so that the image becomes one of fear, and maybe even resentment; or maybe because the image seems to suggest a male image, that male images are closer to the image of God than feminine images, which is certainly not the case.

In these cases, in these instances, we need to recall that this is an image. It’s the image; it’s an image. God is neither male nor female. Nor is God literally a father; nor is God exactly like your father, or mine. Yet, at the same time, God is our father in the same way that God is love.

Does this mean we understand who God is? No, not entirely. But we’re given an image with which to approach God in prayer, and the image, though it’s not God, it gives us a way to imagine God. One image is not sufficient. All the images together also are not quite sufficient. It only is a beginning. It gives us a sense, an approach. But Jesus emphasized the image of father. And he did so, I think, so that we would see ourselves as children of God, not just servants, or slaves, or subjects, which is too often the way we seem to relate to ourselves.

Your place in the world, your place before God, is like Charlie on my knee. You belong, you belong to God. You are, so to speak, God’s flesh and blood, so Jesus taught us to pray.

Amen.