Thursday 18 July 2024

Love in Action: From Words to Works

A Sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
21st July 2024
 

1 John 3.16-24

The theologian Sallie McFague knows a thing or two
            about the power of words,
and she says that ‘when people call for action,
            they need to think about words.’
 
Because, she says ‘words are actions for human beings.’
 
Words, she claims, have the power to create worlds,
            and just as in the book of Genesis God is depicted
                        speaking the world into being in the great act of creation;
            so we too speak new worlds into being,
                        creating new possibilities with every utterance.
 
We must reject the lie that “Sticks and stones can break my bones,
            but words will never hurt me”,
because words have great power,
            creating the worlds within which we live and believe,
            and flourish and perish.
 
There's a power in words.
            and those of us who preach or teach understand this deeply.
We stand before you each week,
            wielding the mighty sword of scripture,
hoping to pierce hearts and illuminate minds.
 
But words, for all their potency,
            can also sometimes feel a little...hollow.
 
We can get caught up in the beauty of a passage,
            the elegance of a turn of phrase,
            or the academic enquiry into context and origin,
and we can forget that the ultimate goal of words
            isn't a mental exercise,
            it a transformation of the world.
 
The Bible isn't meant to simply be admired, or studied;
            it's meant to be lived.
 
Because the Bible becomes alive for us
            as the Spirit of life brings the words of life, to life in our lives.
 
The author of 1 John understood this,
            and in today's passage, he confronts a truth that can be uncomfortable:
                        and the truth is this: talk is cheap.
 
We can shower people with compliments,
            we can express our love in grand pronouncements,
but if those words aren't backed by action,
            they ring hollow.
 
If our words don’t create a new world,
            in which love is made known and experienced in people’s lives,
            they are just a clanging cymbal or a banging drum (cf 1 Cor. 13)
 
Imagine that today is turning out to be one of the worst days of your life.
            Maybe you've lost your job,
            or heard that a loved one is struggling with illness.
 
You reach out to a friend, you pour out your heart,
            and they offer a sympathetic ear and kind words.
 
But then...nothing.
            No offer of help, no concrete action to ease your burden.
 
The initial comfort quickly evaporates,
            replaced by a deeper sense of isolation.
 
This, the author of 1 John suggests,
            is the danger of love that exists only in words.
 
Instead, he calls for a different kind of love
            – a love made known "in truth and action", (1 John 3:18).
 
This kind of love isn't about empty platitudes;
            it's about rolling up your sleeves and getting involved.
 
It's about looking around your own Christian community
            – at your brothers and sisters in faith –
            and seeing who might be hurting.
 
Maybe it's a single parent struggling to make ends meet.
            Perhaps it's a neighbour facing a health crisis.
True love compels us to see these needs, to offer a helping hand,
            and to share the burdens we carry together.
 
This call to action might sound daunting.
            After all, isn't love a feeling?
            Can we really force ourselves to care?
 
The answer, thankfully, is no.
            The love the author speaks of isn't a fleeting emotion;
            it's a commitment, a way of life rooted in faith.
 
This is love spoken into being,
            taking shape and form in deed and action.
 
As we saw in our sermon last week
            when we choose to follow Christ, we choose to embody his love,
            and Christlike love culminated in the ultimate sacrifice
                        – as Jesus laid down his life for his friends (John 10:17).
 
This love of God that is made known to us in Christ
            is a love that demands selflessness,
            a willingness to put the needs of others before our own.
 
This doesn't mean we need to become martyrs.
            But it does mean being intentionally attentive
            to the needs of those around us.
 
It means asking ourselves some tough questions:
            Do we truly see the struggles of our brothers and sisters in Christ?
            Are we willing to offer practical help,
                        even if it means sacrificing our own comfort or convenience?
 
This morning, as we spend some time with this passage from 1 John,
            we’ll find ourselves facing both the dangers of hate
            and the life-giving power of love,
and how our words can shape action both good and bad.
 
We'll see how our actions
            can either confirm or contradict our faith.
 
And ultimately, we'll seek to answer the question
            of how can we move from words of good intent
            to true love in action,
building a Christian community
            where love is not just spoken, but lived?
 
This journey begins with a critical first step
            – recognizing the limitations of words
            and embracing the transformative power of love in action.
 
Beyond Words: The Challenge of Love and the Danger of Hate (1 John 3:10-15, 17)
 
But the next step on the journey
            involves both a challenge and a warning:
there is a call here to cultivate genuine love within our Christian community
            but also a caution against the destructive power of hate,
and both of these are rooted in the language we use,
            the words that we choose.
 
So John begins by reminding his readers
            of the privilege and responsibility
            that comes with being children of God.
 
He emphasizes the importance of love within the Christian family,
            stating, ‘Whoever does not love does not know God,
            for God is love’. (1 John 4:8).
 
This divine love isn't a passive feeling;
            rather it's an active commitment that binds believers together
            as brothers and sisters in Christ (1 John 3:14).
 
However, John isn't naive.
            He recognizes that even within the Christian community,
            darkness can lurk.
 
And so he warns against the insidious presence of hate,
            contrasting it with the life-giving power of love.
 
He says, "All who hate a brother or sister are murderers,
            and you know that murderers
            do not have eternal life abiding in them" (1 John 3:15).
 
John's language might seem harsh here,
            but it underscores the gravity of hateful words and behaviours.
This is not a harmless emotion,
            but a destructive force that can lead to devastating consequences.
 
Perhaps you've experienced this first-hand
            – a conflict with a fellow believer,
                        a simmering resentment that festers and grows.
 
This kind of hate, John warns,
            cuts us off from the very wellspring of life – from God's love.
 
But John also offers a glimpse
            into the consequences of failing to show love.
 
He presents a scenario where someone possesses material resources
            but refuses to help a brother or sister in need (1 John 3:17).
 
Here, John isn't advocating for blind handouts;
            he's highlighting the importance of compassion
            and practical assistance within the Christian family.
 
When we see a fellow believer struggling and turn a blind eye,
            it raises a troubling question:
"does the love of God reside in such a person?" John asks… (1 John 3:17).
 
This passage compels us to examine our own hearts.
            Are we truly seeing the needs of those around us,
                        especially those within our church community?
 
            Do we offer practical help and support,
                        or do we remain comfortable while others struggle?
 
The community here at Bloomsbury is diverse,
            and none of us should ever assume that everyone else is like us.
 
It's too easy to fall into the trap of convenience,
            convincing ourselves that someone else will step in,
            or that the need isn't urgent enough.
 
But John challenges these justifications,
            reminding us that love isn't a spectator sport;
            it demands active participation of the whole community.
 
Now, some might argue
            that we simply don't have the resources to help everyone.
And of course that's true.
            But resources come in many forms.
 
It's not just about money;
            it's also about offering a listening ear,
                        a helping hand,
            or simply giving the gift of spending time with someone.
 
The key is to be open to the needs around us
            and to respond with a willingness to help, even in small ways.
Our words of love need to take shape
            in actions of loving compassion.
 
We’ve explored before the difference between charity and reciprocity,
            and I’m reminded of Prof John Barclay’s groundbreaking work on Christian love.
 
He suggests that the outworking of love in the life of the believer
            should be found in building reciprocity
so that the recipient of assistance is empowered
            to move from dependence to independence.
 
He notes that both in the ancient world and today
            poverty and need are often associated with shame:
the shame of asking, the shame of being dependent upon others,
            the shame of never being able to return a gift, but having to ask again,
            the shame of falling into one-way dependence.
 
In a disconcertingly honest precursor
            to the rhetoric of some of our contemporary populist politicians,
there was some graffiti found in Pompeii which reads:
            ‘I hate poor people, if someone wants something for nothing, he is a fool.
             Let him pay for it’.[1]
 
In this rhetoric, in these harmful and hateful words,
            we find scorn directed against the poor,
            who are perceived as scroungers.
 
And in such circumstances it is unsurprising
            if the poor and needy end up hating the wealthy in return,
            even hating the one-way charity that traps them in their shame.
 
Do we think that people like going to food banks?
            Do we think that people enjoy receiving hand-outs?
Of course not, they hate it,
            and they wish it were different.
 
And so true Christian love builds reciprocity,
            true Christian love releases people from shame and dependence,
            true Christian love creates capacity and agency.
 
The iron rule of community organising
            is to never do for someone what they have the capacity to do for themselves.
 
To put it another way, don’t do for, do with!
 
The purpose of community organising, as it is practiced by London Citizens,
            is to build people’s capacity,
so that they can take power and control
            in and over their own lives and choices.
 
And this is Christ-like love in action, because it leads to new life,
            releasing people from spirals of poverty and debt.
 
And this is why the author of 1 John speaks of hate:
            The danger of hate, and the importance of love
            aren't mere theoretical concepts.
They have real-world consequences.
 
When we cultivate Christ-like love within our community,
            it generates a sense of belonging, support, and shared purpose.
 
It creates a safe haven where people can be vulnerable,
            knowing they will be met with compassion and understanding.
 
And through such a community
            Christ reaches out his healing hand to lift up the broken,
                        to heal the lame and the maimed,
                        and to give hope to the hopeless.
 
Charity without reciprocity creates the context
            in which hate takes root,
it sows division, isolation, and ultimately, destruction.
 
The words of hatred in our society,
            spoken so often out of a sense of alienation and disempowerment,
            only generate works of hatred and violence.
 
So, how do we combat hate and nurture love?
            The answer lies in a conscious shift in our focus:
            we must move beyond ourselves and our own needs.
 
We must practice active listening,
            seeking to understand the struggles of others.
 
We must cultivate empathy,
            allowing ourselves to feel the weight of their burdens.
 
And most importantly, we must be willing to act
            – to offer practical help and support,
            even when it's inconvenient or requires sacrifice on our part.
 
Love in Action: The Assurance and Joy of Belonging (1 John 3:18-24)
So far, in our journey through this passage
            we've explored the limitations of words
                        and the importance of demonstrating love through concrete actions.
 
We've examined the destructive power of hate
            and the life-giving power of love,
            as they relate to Christian acts of charity and reciprocity.
 
And as we come now to the final section of our passage from 1 John,
            we’ll be focusing on the spiritual benefits of love in action
            and the assurance it brings.
 
John, ever the practical guide, offers a clear directive:
            " Little children, let us love not in word or speech but in deed and truth."
            (1 John 3:18).
 
He emphasizes here the importance of authenticity
            – love that isn't merely spoken, but actively lived out.
 
This kind of love isn't just about outward gestures;
            it's rooted in a genuine desire for the well-being of others.
 
John goes on to highlight a key benefit of love in action:
            the assurance it brings.
 
He writes, " by this we will know that we are from the truth
            and will reassure our hearts before him  " (1 John 3:19).
 
When we practice love, when we see others being brought to life,
            we gain a sense of confidence in our faith.
 
Our actions become a tangible manifestation of our beliefs,
            a testament to the transformative power of Christ's love within us.
 
Imagine you have spent weeks preparing a delicious meal for your family.
            You have poured your love and attention into every detail.
But then, as you sit down to eat, no one takes a bite.
            They criticize the appearance, question the taste, or simply lose their appetite.
This scenario would leave even the most enthusiastic chef disheartened
            and questioning their efforts.
 
But if, on the other hand, your family devour the meal with gusto,
            expressing their appreciation for your hard work,
it would fill you with a sense of satisfaction
            as well as confirming your culinary skills!
 
Similarly, when we actively love others,
            it becomes an outward sign of our inward faith.
 
It assures us that we're truly living out
            the significance of our faith in Jesus.
 
John isn't suggesting that our salvation hinges on our actions;
            Christ's sacrifice is the foundation of our faith.
 
However, our actions do serve as an indicator
            of whether we've truly grasped the essence of his message.
 
As Mother Teresa famously put it:
            The fruit of silence is prayer, the fruit of prayer is faith,
                        the fruit of faith is love,
            the fruit of love is service
                        and the fruit of service is peace.
 
And so John reminds his readers
            that God isn't limited by human understanding.
 
He writes, "For even if our hearts condemn us,
            God is greater than our hearts, and God knows everything" (1 John 3:20).
 
Sometimes, despite our best efforts,
            we still struggle with feelings of doubt or inadequacy.
 
Maybe we second-guess our ability to truly love others.
 
But John offers comfort by pointing to God's boundless love.
            God knows our hearts, even the parts shrouded in doubt.
 
This truth liberates us from the burden of self-condemnation.
            It allows us to approach God with confidence,
knowing that God’s love is not a reward for our perfect performance
            but a gift freely given.
 
Even when our best intentions fall short, and our love feels inadequate,
            we can find solace in this truth.
 
John concludes by reminding us of the joy and freedom
            that come with practicing real love:
 
"Beloved, if our hearts do not condemn us,
            we have boldness before God,
and we receive whatever we ask,
            because we obey God’s commandments and do what pleases God."
            (1 John 3:21-22).
 
When we live in accordance with God's love,
            we experience a sense of inner peace and confidence in our prayers.
 
This isn't about manipulating God into giving us whatever we desire;
            it's about aligning our desires with God’s will
and experiencing the joy that comes
            from living in accordance with God’s principles.
 
Ultimately, the call to love in action isn't a burden; it's a gift.
            It's an opportunity to embody the love of Christ,
                        to strengthen our faith,
            and to build a vibrant, supportive Christian community.
 
Let us not be content with mere words of love.
            Rather, let us embrace the challenge to love "in truth and action,"
transforming our words into deeds that uplift, strengthen,
            and offer a tangible expression of God's love in this world.
 
Conclusion
And so we are called to a love that transcends mere words.
            to a love that rolls up its sleeves,
where our words of love create a world of love in action,
            a love that sees the needs of others and offers a helping hand,
            to lift up those who are downtrodden.
 
This is a love that builds bridges within our Christian community,
            creating places of belonging and support.
 
This journey of love in action might require sacrifice.
            It might mean stepping outside our comfort zone,
            offering practical help even when it's inconvenient.
 
But the rewards are immeasurable.
            We gain a deeper sense of purpose,
                        a stronger connection with God,
            and the joy of knowing we're truly living out the message of Christ.
 
So let's together seek opportunities
            to embody transformative love in tangible ways.
Because every act of love, no matter how small,
            contributes to a more loving, more Christlike world.
 
And may God empower us to be instruments of love,
            transforming our words into actions
that bring hope, healing,
            and a tangible expression of God's grace in this world.
Amen.
 


[1] Prof John M G Barclay - Beyond Charity: Gift & Community https://youtu.be/xQDmkjIT5AA?si=xSlKOyjsbjIfBPr5

Wednesday 10 July 2024

Embraced by Love, Becoming More: A Journey of Transformation

 A sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
14 July 2024
 


1 John 3.1-7
 
Have you ever felt like you just can't measure up?
 
Maybe it's the constant barrage of curated perfection on social media,
            the relentless drive for achievement at work,
or even the nagging voice inside our heads
            that whispers doubts about our worth.
 
In today's world, it's easy to feel like we're constantly swimming upstream,
            desperately trying to keep our heads above water
            in a sea of shoulds, coulds, and never-ending comparisons.
 
We chase an ever-shifting image of success,
            defined by external validation and fleeting trends.
 
This is the world many of us inhabit,
            and it’s a world of low self esteem, poor mental health,
            and stress related illness.
 
The question I want us to begin with this morning, though,
            as we return to our summer series looking at the first letter of John,
is whether there is another way to live,
            a way rooted not in the fickle judgments of the world,
            but in unconditional love that surpasses all understanding.
 
Certainly, the author of the epistle seems to think so,
            and he invites his readers to discover a transformative love
that doesn't wait for us to achieve a certain level of performance
            or force us to fit a specific mould.
 
Instead, he describes a love that embraces us exactly as we are,
            flaws and all,
and offers us a path towards becoming the best versions of ourselves.
 
Today’s passage from 1 John offers a powerful antidote
            to the anxieties and pressures of the world.
 
It's a message filled with hope,
            reminding us of our true identity,
and calling us to action as we take our next tentative steps
            on the lifelong journey of becoming more like Christ.
 
I. Beloved Children: Redefining Our Identity in God's Love (1 John 3:1-2)
 
Imagine with me for a moment
            a world where worth isn't measured
by the number of likes on your latest post,
            the size of your bank account,
                        or the prestige of your job title.
 
A world where your value isn't determined by the latest trends
            or the fleeting opinions of others.
 
The first epistle of John invites us to step into such a reality.
 
In the opening two verses we are offered a radical redefinition of our identity,
            one rooted not in external validation
            but in the extravagant love of God.
 
The passage opens with an exclamation
            that resonates with both awe and tenderness:
"See what love the Father has given us,
            that we should be called children of God;
            and that is what we are!" (1 John 3:1).
 
The author doesn't use passive language here,
            rather he uses the imperative "see!"
            “See what love the Father has given us!”
 
He is urging his readers to actively contemplate the magnitude of God's love;
            a love so profound, so all-encompassing,
that they learn to see themselves not merely as the recipients of God’s love,
            but beneficiaries of a transformative gift:
a new identity as children of God.
 
This isn't simply a metaphor or a sentimental title.
            It's a declaration that carries immense weight.
 
In the ancient world, being a child of a deity held significant meaning.
            It spoke of a special relationship, one of privilege and inheritance.
 
But John goes even further.
            He emphasizes the present reality:  declaring, "and that is what we are!"
 
In John’s theology, we are not children of God in some future, contingent sense.
            Rather, we are God's children right now, in this very moment.
 
This truth, properly understood, has the capacity
            to revolutionise the way we see ourselves.
 
Think about the implications.
 
As children of God, we share a deep and irrevocable connection
            with the fundamental force of love in creation.
 
As children of God, we are part of a divine family,
            embraced by a love that transcends human understanding.
 
And our belonging in this family, our status as dearly loved children of God
            isn't based on our achievements, our social status,
            or the ever-changing whims of our culture.
 
Rather, it's a love that sees us for who we truly are,
            flaws and all, and chooses to love us anyway.
 
Now, we might well ask,
            "But what about my mistakes? What about the times I fall short?"
 
Well, the truth is, we all stumble.
            We all make choices that don't reflect the best versions of ourselves.
 
Our reading last week from the first chapter of this letter made that clear,
            ‘If we say that we have no sin,
            we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.’ (1 John 1.8)
 
What John is describing here isn't offering a conditional love
            based on our performance.
 
Rather he's offering a transformative love
            that empowers us to become more like the children we truly are.
 
This love doesn't deny our struggles
            or minimize the importance of confession, repentance and personal growth.
 
Instead, it provides a foundation,
            a safe space where we can acknowledge our shortcomings without shame.
 
It's a love that whispers to us in our darkest moments that we are loved,
            not because of what we do, but because of who we are:
            we are God’s deeply loved children.
 
This unwavering acceptance then becomes the fertile ground
            where genuine transformation can take root.
 
Perhaps like so many of us,
            you've been carrying the weight of unmet expectations
            or feeling lost in a sea of comparisons.
 
Maybe you've struggled to see your own worth
            through the distorting lens of the world.
 
Well, today, the first epistle of John invites you to lay down those burdens
            and step into a new reality.
 
You are a beloved child of God,
            and that is what defines you.
 
This truth, embraced and lived out,
            has the power to transform not just our own lives,
            but the world around us.
 
II. Hope for Transformation: Becoming More Like God (1 John 3:2-3)
Imagine gazing into a blurry mirror
            that only offers a distorted reflection of yourself.
 
You know there's a clearer image waiting to be revealed,
            but you lack the means to achieve it.
 
This is a good image for what the epistle does next,
            as it offers a glimpse into a future where the fog clears,
revealing the full potential of who we are as children of God.
 
The letter offers a transformative vision for what it means to be human,
            and this can serve as a powerful motivator for us
            as we continue our journey of becoming more like Christ.
 
We are given a tantalizing hint:
            “Beloved, we are God’s children now;
                        what we will be has not yet been revealed.
            What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him,
                        for we will see him as he is” (1 John 3:2)
 
The author here acknowledges the limitations of our current understanding.
            We are children of God, yes,
                        but the full scope of what that means remains veiled.
 
It's like a bud on the verge of blooming
            – we see the potential, but the final form hasn't yet been revealed.
 
However, John doesn't leave his readers hanging in uncertainty.
            He offers a promise that fuels hope:
            declaring "when he is revealed we shall be like him."
 
Like a child growing into their full adulthood,
            so those who are declared children of God have much growing still to do,
and just as a child only has a limited understanding of their parents,
            so there is more revelation of God to come
            for those who enter into their status as adopted and beloved children of God
 
This future hope serves as a powerful motivator in the present.
 
John doesn't ask us to passively wait for the future.
            Instead, verse 3 urges us to action:
 
"And all who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure." (1 Jn 3.3)
 
The Greek word translated here as "purify"
            carries the idea of ongoing consecration.
It's not a one-time event,
            but a continuous process of aligning ourselves with God's will.
 
Some might interpret this as a call
            to achieve some unattainable standard of perfection.
But John isn't advocating for self-flagellation
            or a performance-based relationship with God.
 
The "hope set on him" provides the context.
            We "purify ourselves" because we are motivated
            by the transformative love and the future hope that God offers.
 
Here's where the concept gets particularly interesting,
            especially for those of us engaged in social justice issues
            and progressive movements.
 
Traditionally, "purifying ourselves" might be interpreted
            as a call to personal piety or individual morality.
 
But consider this: God's love isn't a solitary experience.
            It's meant to overflow and touch the world around us.
 
Imagine God's love as a radiant light.
            As we move closer to that light,
                        we are not only transformed ourselves,
            but we also become instruments of transformation in the world.
 
John's call to "purify ourselves" can be seen
            as a call to align our actions with God's character,
and we know that his is a character defined by love,
            by compassion, and by a commitment to justice.
 
This reframes our efforts towards social change.
 
It's not just about fighting for a better world
            – it's about embodying the love and justice of God in the here and now.
 
When we advocate for the marginalized, fight for equality,
            and work to repair a broken world,
we are actively participating in the process
            of becoming more like Christ.
 
Our journey of transformation therefore isn't about earning God's love,
            but rather is about expressing it.
 
As we move closer to the light of God's love,
            we are empowered to become agents of positive change,
reflecting God’s compassion and justice in the world around us.
 
This ongoing process of purification,
            fuelled by hope and motivated by love,
is the path towards becoming the best versions of ourselves,
            the versions that truly mirror the image of God within us.
 
III. Sin and Forgiveness: The Journey, Not the Destination (1 John 3:4-7)
And then we come to the problem of sin.
            The first letter of John is not some overly-idealistic call
            for love and justice in the name of God.
 
It takes seriously what it means to be human,
            and that means it takes seriously what it means to be sinful.
 
Imagine embarking on a breath-taking hike,
            a journey towards a magnificent mountain peak.
 
The path is challenging, with moments of doubt and fatigue.
            But the breath-taking vista that awaits fuels your determination.
 
In verses 4-7 of our reading this morning,
            the author addresses the inevitable stumbles we encounter
            on our journey of becoming more like God.
 
And in doing so he offers a message of hope and forgiveness,
            reminding us that even on the path of transformation, we will make mistakes.
 
The passage opens with a seemingly harsh statement:
            "Everyone who commits sin is guilty of lawlessness; sin is lawlessness" (1 John 3:4).
 
John doesn't shy away from the reality of sin.
            We all fall short at times,
            making choices that don't reflect the love and compassion we aspire to embody.
 
But here's the key distinction John makes:
            he differentiates between occasional failings
            and a persistent pattern of rebellion against God's will.
 
The Greek word translated as "commits", as in ‘everyone who commits sin’
            suggests a deliberate, ongoing choice
            to live outside of God's loving embrace.
 
This distinction is crucial for those of us
            who struggle with guilt and shame.
We are not defined by our occasional missteps.
 
As John reminds us later in the passage,
            echoing the language of abiding in Christ from John’s gospel:
            "No one who abides in him sins." (1 John 3:6).
 
True transformation doesn't mean achieving some state of sinlessness,
            but rather aligning our hearts with God's will
            and actively turning away from choices that lead us astray.
 
Now, some might wonder,
            "Doesn't this contradict the message of God's unconditional love?"
Absolutely not.
 
The beauty of John's message
            is that it holds both truths in tension.
God's love is unconditional,
            meaning it's not based on our performance.
However, that love motivates us
            to live in a way that reflects his character.
 
Here's where the concept of forgiveness comes in.
 
John writes: "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just
            and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness" (1 John 1:9).
 
This verse from the first chapter is crucial
            in helping us grasp what John is doing here in chapter 3.
 
We don't have to carry the burden of guilt and shame alone.
            When we acknowledge our shortcomings and turn back towards God,
            we encounter forgiveness and a continuation of the process of our purification.
 
But this process isn't about earning forgiveness
            or making deals with God.
Rather, it's about acknowledging the truth of our situation
            and embracing the ongoing transformation offered by his grace.
 
It's a reminder that the journey
            towards becoming more like God is just that – a journey.
 
There will be bumps along the road, moments of weakness,
            and times when we stumble.
 
But God's love remains constant,
            a guiding light illuminating our path forward into the darkness of the future.
 
The passage concludes with a powerful statement of confidence:
            "Little children, let no one deceive you.
                        Everyone who does what is right is righteous,
                        just as he is righteous. " (1 John 3:7).
 
John reminds us that as we live in accordance with God's love and compassion,
            we gradually become more like him.
 
It's not a one-time event, but a continuous process of growth
            fuelled by God's love and forgiveness.
 
This message offers us genuine hope.
            We don't have to be perfect to be loved by God.
 
Instead, we are invited to embrace the journey,
            with all its stumbles and triumphs.
 
As we move closer to the light of God's love, we are empowered
            to become instruments of compassion and justice in the world.
 
So let us walk this path together,
            acknowledging our shortcomings,
            celebrating our progress,
and holding fast to the incredible promise of transformation
            offered by God's unconditional love.
 
Conclusion
So as we reflect on these verses from 1 John 3,
            I hope we’re hearing a message of hope, forgiveness, and motivation.
 
The world may bombard us with expectations and comparisons,
            leaving us feeling like we never quite measure up.
 
But today, we've explored a different reality.
            We are not defined by the fleeting judgments of others,
                        but by the extravagant love of God.
            We are God’s beloved children, embraced exactly as we are, flaws and all.
 
However, this truth should never be a source of complacency.
            Instead, it should ignite a fire within us,
                        a desire to become the best versions of ourselves,
                        reflections of God's love in the world.
 
As we are ourselves purified by God’s love,
            so we too become the agents of God’s love in the world,
embodying through our actions and our community
            what it means to bring justice, peace, and righteousness to others,
            so that they too can encounter God’s love in ways that are meaningful to their lives.
 
And yes, our journey of transformation will have its challenges.
            We will stumble, we will make mistakes.
But John reminds us that God's love is constant,
            a guiding light that illuminates the path forward.
 
So the call is for us to move closer to that light,
            not through self-flagellation, but through compassion and action.
As we fight for justice, advocate for the marginalized,
            and embody God's love in our daily lives,
we actively participate in this transformative process.
 
Remember, this is a journey, not a destination.
            The call is for us to embrace the growth, celebrate the victories,
                        and find comfort in the forgiveness
            offered by a God who loves each one of us unconditionally.
 
So, friends, go into this week, not burdened by expectations,
            but empowered by love.
And may the light of God shine through you,
            transforming your own life and the world around you.
Amen.
 

Thursday 4 July 2024

Living Life in the Light of the Resurrection

A sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
7th July 2024


Genesis 22.1-13   
1 John 1.1 – 2.2

This week is the first sermon in our summer series
            looking at the first epistle of John, or ‘1 John’ as it’s often known.
 
You can find it hiding towards the back of the New Testament,
            along with 2 and 3 John, just before the Book of Revelation.
 
Though often described as a letter,
            1 John is, in many ways, better understood as a sermon,
written to encourage and teach a group of Jesus’ followers
            who find their community in danger of fracturing.
 
It’s actually an anonymous text,
            but by the end of the second century it became identified
            as having been written by someone called ‘John’;
and over the next hundred and fifty years or so,
            people came to assume that this was the same person
                        who wrote the other two shorter letters that follow it,
                        and the Fourth Gospel (another anonymous text),
                        and the Book of Revelation.
 
They also assume that this ‘John’ who may, or may not,
            have written all of these documents,
was the same ‘John’ the apostle,
            who we meet in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke,
            the brother of James and the son of Zebedee.
 
This association with one of the apostles,
            even if it was only based on assumptions and sharing a common name
was helpful in these documents becoming accepted as holy scripture,
            when other texts were falling by the wayside.
 
But the reality, I’m afraid, is probably much less romantic.
            Most scholars accept that it is very unlikely
                        that an Aramaic-speaking fisherman from Galilee
            could have written the Classical Greek of the Fourth Gospel,
                        and that it’s unlikely that the gospel, the letters, and the apocalypse,
                        even share a common author.
 
But they do all share some common themes,
            such as light, life, and truth; mystery and revelation.
 
So there is some connection between these documents,
            between them they make up what is probably best described
            as a ‘Johannine tradition’.
 
These texts associated with the name ‘John’
            were probably written over a period of about 40 years,
and the people who wrote the later ones
            knew and were inspired by the earlier ones.
 
For what it’s worth, my best guess is that the Book of Revelation is the earliest,
            written in the early 70s, so about 15-20 years after Paul’s letters,
            and contemporary with Matthew’s gospel.
 
Then the Fourth Gospel was written somewhere around the year 90,
            as a version of the Jesus story told by a community
            whose theology had been shaped by their knowledge of the Book of Revelation.
 
And then the letters were written somewhere around the turn of the century,
            by someone who knew, not only the Book of Revelation,
                        but also the Fourth Gospel.
 
Readers and hearers encountering the first letter of John for the first time
            may do so with a sense of déjà vu.
Numerous phrases from the Gospel of John occur in the letter,
            though often with slightly different wording.
 
In addition, those familiar with mid-twentieth century liturgical worship
            will also hear echoes of the confession and communion liturgies.
 
So now, let’s turn to the first letter,
            and then over the next few weeks as we journey through the rest of it,
we’ll see if we can hear this ancient text speaking to us.
 
In The Sound of Music, when Julie Andrews teaches the children to sing,
            she says to them:
Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.
 
And similarly in Wonderland, the King advises the White Rabbit,
            that the beginning is always a good place to begin.
 
Well, it’s as if the author of the first letter of John
            has been heeding their advice,
because this letter begins at the very beginning.
 
We declare to you what was from the beginning,
            what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes,
            what we have looked at and touched with our hands,
                        concerning the word of life.
            This life was revealed, and we have seen it and testify to it,
                        and declare to you the eternal life
                        that was with the father and was revealed to us.’
 
In other words, the letter starts
            with the revelation of God in the person of Jesus.
 
And in true Johannine style, a sort of code-word is used for Jesus:
            in language reminiscent of the prologue to John’s gospel,
                        Jesus is referred to as ‘the word’,
                        or the ‘logos’, as it is put in the original Greek.
 
But whereas in the Gospel,
            the ‘logos’ is presented as the pre-existent word of creation,
            the ‘word’ that was ‘in the beginning’,
in the first letter of John
            Jesus is presented as the ‘word of life’.
 
For the author of this letter, Jesus is first and foremost a revelation of ‘life’,
            and this ‘life’, it seems, has an eternal quality to it:
                        life originating with the Father,
                        life revealed to humans in and through the life of Jesus.
 
Or, to put it another way,
            life in all its fullness can be found and experienced
            through an encounter with the life of Jesus.
 
And this new life that has come us,
            and which has caused us to be ‘born again’,
            (to use another of the Gospel’s phrases),
has been made known to us through our encounter
            with the story of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus,
whose life speaks words of life to us.
 
This is the gospel that is ours to inhabit and to share,
            it is the good news that God has been made known to all people
            in and through the life of Jesus.
 
And here we come to one of the key questions,
            that today’s passage raises for us.
 
And the question is this:
            ‘What God will we believe in?’
            ‘What God will you believe in?’
 
The thing is, there are, as there always have been, plenty of options.
            Which God you believe in and worship is not a foregone conclusion!
 
In the ancient world of the first century,
            the original context for the first letter of John,
the decision as to which God you would worship,
            was a very real choice.
 
Many of the early recipients of this letter would have been Jewish people,
            worshipping faithfully the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
And in fact, the author of the letter, whoever he was,
            was himself a Jew, who had come to worship Jesus as the messiah.
 
But some of the other recipients of his letter
            would have been what became known as pagans,
those who had grown up worshipping the gods
            of the Greek and Roman pantheons,
and possibly also worshipping the emperor as another divine being.
 
You see, there were numerous competing gods
            available for you to worship in the first century;
and these different gods were encountered in a variety of different ways.
 
The God of the Jews was known through the stories of the Jewish faith,
            preserved in the words of the Hebrew Bible,
            through the worship practices of the synagogues,
            and in the cultic practices of the Temple in Jerusalem
                        until its destruction in the year 70,
                        just a few decades before this letter was written.
 
While the gods of the Greeks and the Romans were known
            through their stories, idols, images, and temples,
and the worship of them formed the backbone to the structure of society:
            to decline to worship these gods
            was an act of rebellion, of civil disobedience.
 
The Jews had negotiated a kind of uneasy truce,
            by which they had some protection under the Roman law
                        to allow them to worship their God,
            but there were strict regulations
                        preventing them from seeking to convert others to their faith,
            and they were often an easy target for scapegoating within the ancient world.
 
The long and terrible history of European antisemitism
            has its origins in the way the Roman empire
            treated and mistreated its Jewish citizens.
 
And into all of this, early Christians like the author of our letter for this morning,
            were trying to say something new.
 
They claimed that if you want to know God,
            you don’t look primarily to the Jewish scriptures,
                        or to the worship practices of the synagogues;
            or to the idols, images, and stories of the pagan pantheon;
                        or even to the emperor in Rome himself.
 
Rather, you look to the life of Jesus.
 
And what you discover if you do this, says our letter, is a new vision of God,
            a new understanding of who God is and how God can be known.
 
Verse 5: ‘This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you,
            that God is light and in him there is no darkness at all’.
 
After this point in the letter, the word ‘life’ drops out of use for a bit,
            and is replaced with the word ‘light’, another typically Johannine concept.
 
The word that has been heard, seen, and encountered is the word of life,
            but what comes into the world through that word of life
                        is a vision of a God who is pure light.
            ‘God is light, and in him there is no darkness at all’.
 
This kind of understanding of God
            stood in stark contrast with the competing visions of the ancient gods
            that would have been familiar to the early recipients of this letter.
 
The ancient pagans believed that some gods were angry, and some were capricious,
            some were gluttonous, and some were lustful,
            some were unfaithful, and some were violent.
 
To say that the gods had ‘no darkness’
            would have been as nonsensical to many of those receiving this letter,
            as would saying that humans had ‘no darkness’ in them.
 
And this is because the ancient gods had come into being to reflect human nature;
            they took all our glories and all of our failures,
                        all of our light and all of our darkness,
            and wrote them across the heavens.
 
The reason there were so many gods
            was because humans are so complicated.
 
Indeed, the Jewish understanding of one God
            had emerged against a similar context of many gods;
not the Roman or Greek gods of the first century,
            but the multiple tribal gods of the Ancient Near East a millennia or more before.
 
And the Jewish belief that God is one, rather than many,
            was a radical departure from the beliefs of the nations surrounding them.
 
One way of reading the Old Testament is to see it as a testimony
            to the Jewish attempt to understand their conviction that God is one.
 
The different stories of the Hebrew Scriptures
            are a series of thought experiments concerning the nature of God,
            as they explore different ways of articulating their unique perspective on faith.
 
Is the ‘one God’ of the Jews a consistent, faithful God, or is he capricious and needy?
            Is God a God of war, or of peace?
            Does God demand sacrifice, or offer mercy?
 
The story we heard earlier from Genesis,
            of God testing Abraham by asking him to offer his son Isaac as a sacrifice,
is just such an example
            of ancient Jewish exploration into the nature of their God.
 
The question being asked here was whether God is the kind of God
            who demands a sacrifice from his most faithful follower?
 
At the beginning of the story, in an echo of the story of Job,
            God decides to test the faithfulness of Abraham
            by asking something of him that is surely too costly.
 
But nontheless Abraham and Isaac set off up the hill,
            with Isaac carrying his cross, so to speak, on his shoulders.
 
It’s only at the last moment,
            once Abraham has proved himself willing to sacrifice his own dearly beloved son,
that an angel directs him to an alternative sacrifice,
            and the ram caught in the thicket is offered in place of the boy.
 
The temptations to allegorise this story onto the crucifixion of Jesus are strong,
            resonating as it does with the gospel stories
                        of Jesus carrying his own cross to Golgotha,
                        and dying as a substitute for sinful humans.
 
But whilst this story of Abraham and Isaac
            was clearly in the minds of the gospel writers
            as they reflected on the nature of the Easter story,
there is no straightforward allegory to be found here.
 
Because at the heart of the Abraham and Isaac story
            is still a God who demands a sacrifice.
 
It might not be Isaac in the end,
            but the ram still has to die in Isaac’s place
            in order that he might live.
 
And if we simply substitute Jesus for the ram caught in the thicket,
            and take this as our understanding of what happens on the cross,
            we still end up with a God who demands a sacrifice unto death.
 
And a God who demands death to satisfy his wrath at human sin
            doesn’t sound much like a God who is light,
            and in whom there is no darkness at all.
 
This would be a God of anger, vengeance, and violence,
            not a God of life, love, and reconciliation.
 
The conviction that God is life and light,
            articulated so clearly in the first letter of John,
            challenges us to reconsider our theology of the cross.
 
If our view of the cross is dominated by death and darkness,
            something profound has gone astray.
 
If the cross is about God demanding a blood sacrifice
            getting what he requires from an innocent victim,
then we have a view of God which is predicated on death and darkness.
 
Saying that God substitutes Jesus for us,
            in the same way that Abraham substituted the ram for Isaac,
does not solve this problem.
 
What we need is another way of seeing the cross,
            and the story of Jesus gives us exactly this.
 
The revelation of God in Jesus
            is a radical departure from all other views of God
            that are predicated on transactional substitutionary atonement.
 
If the story ended at the cross,
            we would be left with a violent God, killing his innocent son,
            to satisfy some universal law that sin must be paid for by death.
 
But the resurrection gives the lie to this theology.
            The empty tomb challenges all understandings of God
            which are predicated on darkness and violence.
 
The events of Easter Sunday tell us that God is about life, not death.
            Death is a human thing, not a divine thing.
 
As frail mortal beings, we live our lives in the shadow of death.
            We can postpone it, we can fear it,
            we can deny it, but we cannot avoid it.
 
But God is not about death, God is about life.
            And this means that God is not about violence.
 
When we find ourselves worshipping a God of violence,
            I would suggest that we have invented God, once again, in our own image.
 
If we believe that God demands a sacrifice,
            and then offers his son to be that sacrifice,
we are making our thing to be God’s thing,
            and that is surely a grave error.
 
You see, the truth is that violence, suffering, and death
            are our experience, not God’s.
Murder is a human action, not a divine one.
            Jealously, envy, wrath and rage are human, not godly, emotions.
 
And the message of the cross is not that God has become like us,
            demanding of us a blood sacrifice to atone for our sins.
But rather, the message of the cross is that God has become one of us,
            entering into our darkness of suffering and death
            to bring light and life, forgiveness and reconciliation.
 
The cross is God’s sacrifice offered to us,
            not the other way around.
 
The death of Jesus at the hands of sinners
            unmasks the depths of human depravity;
it shines the fierce light of God
            into the darkest corner of the human psyche;
it reveals the murderous intent that lies deep in each human soul,
            and meets that desire for death with an overwhelming gift of life.
 
The worst thing one human can do to another
            is taken by Jesus into his own body on the cross,
and still it is not enough to extinguish the life
            that breaks through the darkness of death,
            to leave the tomb empty and the darkness defeated.
 
And so we are called to reassess our view of God,
            to lay aside our conceptions of God as angry, violent, and vengeful.
We need to learn the difficult lesson that darkness lies not within the heart of God,
            but within our own hearts.
 
As the author of 1 John puts it,
            ‘If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves,
            and the truth is not in us.’ (v.8)
 
But…
 
‘If we confess our sins, he who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins
            and cleanse us from all unrighteousness’ (v.9)
 
This is the good news of God’s love, revealed in the life of Jesus,
            it is a story of life and light,
                        of forgiveness and reconciliation,
                        of peace and overwhelming love.
 
The cross is the ultimate demonstration of God’s commitment to life;
            to my life, to your life, to our life together.
 
The challenge for us, as we gather in the presence of God,
            is to learn what it is to be born again into the love of God,
to set aside our addictions to violence,
            our compulsions to revenge,
and our captivity to malice, guile,
            insincerity, envy, and slander. (1 Pet. 2.1)
 
And let us not deceive ourselves
            that these are not part of us,
because darkness lies in all our hearts.
 
And let us not deceive ourselves
            that these are part of God’s nature,
because God is light and in him there is no darkness at all.
 
Rather, let us find in the story of Christ,
            a new way of meeting God,
                        who comes to us with the gift of light and life,
            bringing a new way of seeing ourselves,
                        where finally we see ourselves as God sees us.