The Chosen, The Servant
Dr. Jim Wilson, January 10, 2010 Fred Craddock, the widely recognized dean of preachers and teachers of preachers, tells a story about an experience that occurred while he and his wife were vacationing in the Smokey Mountains. While at dinner one evening, a distinguished gentleman came to their table and asked if he could join the Craddocks. Ever gracious, the Craddocks agreed. When the gentleman learned that Craddock was a professor of preaching, he said that he had a wonderful story to tell him, a story about a preacher. “Many years ago,” began the man, “a baby boy was born to a young woman out of wedlock. The boy never knew his father. Now this may not seem unusual today, but in the South in those days, it made for a very difficult childhood for the boy. The other children would taunt him and call him names. They would ask him, “Who’s your daddy?” He spent much time in tears, utterly ashamed of himself. Whenever he was out in public with his mother, he was constantly and painfully aware that he had no father. One day when he was about 10, the boy was in church. Usually, when he service was over, he found his way quickly and discreetly out the back door---which meant that he never talked to the preacher, never had to share his name. On this particular Sunday, however, the boy got swept up in the crowd and before he knew it, there was the pastor, his hand extended to him. ‘Well, son, whose boy are you?’ asked the preacher. He hardly could have asked a more embarrassing question. The boy flushed and started to stammer, but before he could say anything, the preacher, still gripping his hand, said, “Oh, I know. You’re a son of God!” He put his arm around the boy and added, “Boy, go claim your inheritance.’” The man concluded by saying, “The boy never forgot that incident, or the preacher’s kindness by not drawing attention to his single-parent family. And, most importantly, he never forgot the words, ‘You are a son of God. Go claim your inheritance.’ In fact, said the man, ‘this boy grew up and became the Governor of the State of Tennessee, and was so popular he was re-elected four times.’ As the man got up to leave, he thanked the Craddocks and shook Fred’s hand and then said, ‘Oh yes, there is something else. I am that boy.’” Here the words of a preacher confirmed an identity on a boy, telling him that he had been gifted with a new identity as a son of God, and that he should go and live into that identity. I don’t know of a more powerful transforming moment in life. Something like this, the granting of an identity and sending one forth in service, is going on in both of our texts for this morning. The Isaiah passage comes from the prophet scholars commonly refer to as “Second Isaiah,” a 6th century B.C. prophet at the end of the Babylonian Exile. Second Isaiah announces the Exile is over and declares in word and image Yahweh’s profound and abiding love for Israel. Using the ancient prophetic formula, “Thus says the Lord,” Isaiah speaks for God, who is the One who created Jacob, the One who formed Israel.” Given this intimate relationship, Israel has no reason to fear for Yahweh has redeemed her. In words that proclaim this intimate bond between Yahweh and Israel, God reminds Israel, ‘I have called you by name. You are mine.’ As God’s special possession, Israel has nothing to fear, a promise illustrated in powerful images,: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you…they shall not overwhelm you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” Powerful images indeed! What a profound promise! God will be with his chosen, those God has named. This intimate language of Yahweh’s gracious, identity-giving love, yields now to the transcendent language which reminds Israel who he is: “For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, Your Savior.” Even so, God’s love again finds expression: “I give Egypt as your ransom, Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you.” No ransom is too high; no price is too much for Yahweh to pay for Israel’s freedom. “Because,” says Yahweh, “You are precious in my sight…and I love you.” This is one of a handful of passages in all of Scripture in which the love, the gracious love of God for his people, much like the love of a parent for a child, is so poignantly expressed. The prophet concludes by announcing a homecoming. Israel, after some 50 years in exile, is coming home. Yahweh is bringing all the exiles home from each of the four quarters of the world, from the east and from the west, from the north and from the south, “…everyone” says Yahweh, who is called by my name, who I created for my glory, whom I formed and made,” shall come home. I confess these words of Second Isaiah are among my favorite pieces of Scripture. They have served me well in time of trial and struggle. They speak of God’s grace, that love which forms us, which calls us, that names us and gifts us with identity that protects us and sends us forth to serve. In times of fear or doubt, these words remind us of who and whose we are. Jesus’ baptism offers us a similar emphasis, but with a particular focus. When Jesus emerges from the waters of the River Jordan, Luke tells us, as do Mark and Matthew, that the Holy Spirit descends on him like a dove, and a voice from heaven declares: “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.” Again, an identity is confirmed and a mission is given---that is the meaning of baptism. Jesus is God’s Son, the Beloved. Not only is Jesus chosen, affirmed as God’s own possession, he is also empowered for mission. As Israel was chosen, elected as God’s own possession, and sent to be “a light to the nations, so Jesus is confirmed as God’s Son and sent to bring God’s salvation. Both are chosen and named, chosen and named to be a servant. Now, you may be thinking, “Well, all this is nice, but what has it to do with me, with my life?” That is a fair question. I believe it addresses that very existential question, the one we all have wrestled with at one time or another---Who am I? Both passages remind us that for the faithful, the answer is, “I am baptized.” In the act of baptism, you and I have been named and gifted with our identity. “What name is given this child?” the pastor traditionally asks parents when a child is brought to the font. This is the act of “christening” or naming. In ancient times, the church literally named the child, usually with the name of a saint. Christening, then, was a shortened form of “Christianing,” giving the Christian name. While this is no longer the case, still this act of naming is important, for it is part of gifting the child with identity. Whatever the name given, the act of baptism stamps the name “Christian” on this life. In baptism we are identified as a child of God, claimed by God as a daughter or son and sent to live into our name. A number of years ago, I baptized a baby boy whose given name was “Timothy John, Robert, McIntosh Rasmussen III. After the service, we were chatting about the name which was a combination of family names. The father said, “He has a big name to live into.” I agreed. But then his grandfather, a retired Presbyterian pastor said, “He has another name which is even a bigger challenge to live into---Christian.” I said, “Amen.” The point here is that for the faithful, our identity is not something we discover in the dark recesses of our egos, or by making a selection from the menu in the cafeteria of our culture, or even in pursuit of our career. It is given to us as a gift from the gracious One. We did not discover our identity as a member of our family or did not earn our family name. We received them as gifts. So it is with our name and identity as Christian. Yet, there is always the danger that we will respond to a different name, a lesser name and let that name define who we are. But thanks be to God, the One who claims us and names us, does not let go easily. A friend tells of a young man from the church he pastors stopping by his study at the beginning of the summer. The young man had just completed his first year of college. He announced to the pastor that he would not see him much while he was home. When the pastor asked “Why?” the young man replied, “Well, I have done a lot of thinking about religion this past year and I have concluded that there is not much to it. I just don’t need it or the church to get by.” The pastor said, “That is interesting.” “Aren’t you upset?” asked the boy, “I thought you would get all worked up when I told you this.” The pastor just smiled. He had known this young man for over six years, baptizing him about three years ago, and watched him grow during his high school days. He came from a difficult family situation and the church had been supportive of him, even helping him get into college. “No, I’m interested in seeing how you pull this off,” the pastor replied. “What do you mean ‘pull this off’” asked the boy, “I’m 19 and can make my own decisions.” “Yes, I know,” said the pastor, “When I was 19 I thought I was on my own too. I’m just not sure you can get away with his.” “Why not?” demanded the student. “Well,” answered the pastor, “for one thing, you’re baptized.” “So, what does that have to do with anything?” “Well, try forsaking it, rejecting it, forgetting about it, and maybe you’ll find out,” answered the pastor. “I can’t figure out what being baptized has to do with me,” sighed this young man. “For one thing,” the pastor began to explain, “there are people out there who care about you. They made promises to God when you were baptized. You try not showing up around here this summer and they will begin nosing around, asking what you are doing with your life, what kind of grades you made last semester, what you’re doing with yourself. And then there is God. No telling what God might try with you. From what I have seen, once he has claimed you, you don’t get off the hook so easily. God is relentless in claiming what is his. And in baptism, God says you belong to him.” The boy shook his head in wonder at this strange, unreasonable ecclesiastical reasoning and, more or less, stumbled out of the pastor’s study. In a week or so, he was back in his usual place in the second pew. The baptizers had done their work. The name was again heard. God claims us as his own, names us granting us our identity, and empowers us to grow into our identity by serving him in the world. We are somebody indeed---both chosen and a servant. Somewhere C.S. Lewis writes that he feels sorry for atheists. He feels sorry for those who try to live without God, to answer to another name, because God is so resourceful, so unscrupulous about keeping his own. Thanks be to God! Amen! |
