Our country now subjects 95 year old women, and young children--American citizens-- to invasive searches.
At the same time, it wanted to try terrorists in civilian courts.
Why do we treat citizens like terrorists, and terrorists like citizens?
27 June 2011
Sermon on Matthew 4:18f--second Sunday after Pentecost 2011
When we first hear today’s gospel, we’re struck by how abrupt the call of Christ seems to be. He walks by the side of the sea and calls 4 fishermen: Peter and Andrew, James and John. Without question, without hesitation, they leave their nets and follow him.
But St. Matthew gives us, in fact, the second call of the apostles. Already they knew of Christ, already they followed him, as we learn in St. John. They followed him, but remained at their work. Now Christ meets them where they work, and calls them once more: this time, to be “fishers of men.”
See how Christ has dealt with them. When he had first called them and they went back to fishing, he didn’t forbid them. But neither did he let them go altogether. He gave them slack, but drew them back—the very point of fishing itself! In other words, first he fishes for them, then he calls them to fish for others.
Christ caught them, by his words; so they followed, convinced that those words would catch others too. We must be careful, beloved. We call others to believe: do we believe? We urge them to pray; do we call on God? The stakes are high. What will it profit someone to gain the whole world-even for Christ-and lose his own soul?
To be a leader, we must first follow. To be a teacher, we must first be a student. And to be a “fisher of men,” to do evangelism rightly, we must first be evangelized ourselves.
Let us take care to hear the good news for ourselves! This one who calls Peter and Andrew, James and John is the one who first called them—and you—from nothingness into being. He who invites them to be fishers of men is he who made fish, and water, and men in the beginning. God became man to seek and to save us in all the places we have hidden ourselves. He did not cease being what he was—God—in order to become what he was not—man. He took on himself all that we are, apart from sin, then bore our sin, in order to make us partakers of all that he is.
No wonder their response is radical. For though they were in the midst of their work (and fishing demands a lot of time and energy) when they heard His command, they didn’t delay, they didn’t procrastinate, they didn’t say, “let’s go home and talk with our families first,” but “they forsook all and followed,” even as Elisha did to Elijah.
They forsook all—they left everything. That doesn’t mean they never fished again. Even after Christ rose, Peter and the others went fishing. But they no longer viewed their time and possessions as their own. Now all that belonged to Christ, the Lord, and they were his slaves and stewards.
I’ve often wondered at the words in Hebrews, where St. Paul reminds them, “You gladly suffered the loss of your possessions.” How could that be—unless they had already decided they owned nothing, that all belonged to Christ. Like the song says, “When you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose!”
Only after he catches the disciples does the Lord Jesus begin his public ministry in earnest. Then it was he went about all Galilee teaching, preaching, and healing all disease and infirmity. Why so many miracles then? Because each time the Lord introduces a new covenant, he accomplishes miracles to give credibility to what he says. In the time of Abraham He gave many signs; as his victory in the war, the plague upon Pharaoh, his deliverance from dangers. And when about to legislate for the Jews, He showed forth those marvelous and great prodigies, and then gave the law. So also here, at the beginning of the new covenant, he works wonders.
But why so few miracles now? In the first place, because the new covenant has been firmly established. It’s two thousand years since Christ’s death and rising, since the first preaching of the apostles.
In the second place, because unless and until we are fully and completely “caught,” such signs would actually be harmful. We are ever prone to change Christ from our Lord to our “buddy,” to serve our own drive for power and pleasure. “A faithless and perverse generation seeks signs,” he told the Jews, “but no sign will be given it except the sign of Jonah.” Well does Chrysostom say, “If you change from inhumanity to almsgiving, you have stretched forth the hand that was withered. If you withdraw from theaters and go to church, you have cured the lame foot. If you draw back your eyes from a harlot, you have opened them when they were blind. These are the greatest miracles.”
Let us take care then, beloved, that we be caught ourselves by Christ. Let us not be content to have him as an element in our life, a piece of the puzzle, but the heart and core and center of everything we think, do and say. Let us receive him as he comes to us. In short, let us get out of the water and into his net. It will mean death for our life in this passing world; but it will mean resurrection and life for the world that never ends—the life in his Kingdom, of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
(Note: Many of the underlying thoughts derive from Chrysostom's homily ad loc)
But St. Matthew gives us, in fact, the second call of the apostles. Already they knew of Christ, already they followed him, as we learn in St. John. They followed him, but remained at their work. Now Christ meets them where they work, and calls them once more: this time, to be “fishers of men.”
See how Christ has dealt with them. When he had first called them and they went back to fishing, he didn’t forbid them. But neither did he let them go altogether. He gave them slack, but drew them back—the very point of fishing itself! In other words, first he fishes for them, then he calls them to fish for others.
Christ caught them, by his words; so they followed, convinced that those words would catch others too. We must be careful, beloved. We call others to believe: do we believe? We urge them to pray; do we call on God? The stakes are high. What will it profit someone to gain the whole world-even for Christ-and lose his own soul?
To be a leader, we must first follow. To be a teacher, we must first be a student. And to be a “fisher of men,” to do evangelism rightly, we must first be evangelized ourselves.
Let us take care to hear the good news for ourselves! This one who calls Peter and Andrew, James and John is the one who first called them—and you—from nothingness into being. He who invites them to be fishers of men is he who made fish, and water, and men in the beginning. God became man to seek and to save us in all the places we have hidden ourselves. He did not cease being what he was—God—in order to become what he was not—man. He took on himself all that we are, apart from sin, then bore our sin, in order to make us partakers of all that he is.
No wonder their response is radical. For though they were in the midst of their work (and fishing demands a lot of time and energy) when they heard His command, they didn’t delay, they didn’t procrastinate, they didn’t say, “let’s go home and talk with our families first,” but “they forsook all and followed,” even as Elisha did to Elijah.
They forsook all—they left everything. That doesn’t mean they never fished again. Even after Christ rose, Peter and the others went fishing. But they no longer viewed their time and possessions as their own. Now all that belonged to Christ, the Lord, and they were his slaves and stewards.
I’ve often wondered at the words in Hebrews, where St. Paul reminds them, “You gladly suffered the loss of your possessions.” How could that be—unless they had already decided they owned nothing, that all belonged to Christ. Like the song says, “When you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose!”
Only after he catches the disciples does the Lord Jesus begin his public ministry in earnest. Then it was he went about all Galilee teaching, preaching, and healing all disease and infirmity. Why so many miracles then? Because each time the Lord introduces a new covenant, he accomplishes miracles to give credibility to what he says. In the time of Abraham He gave many signs; as his victory in the war, the plague upon Pharaoh, his deliverance from dangers. And when about to legislate for the Jews, He showed forth those marvelous and great prodigies, and then gave the law. So also here, at the beginning of the new covenant, he works wonders.
But why so few miracles now? In the first place, because the new covenant has been firmly established. It’s two thousand years since Christ’s death and rising, since the first preaching of the apostles.
In the second place, because unless and until we are fully and completely “caught,” such signs would actually be harmful. We are ever prone to change Christ from our Lord to our “buddy,” to serve our own drive for power and pleasure. “A faithless and perverse generation seeks signs,” he told the Jews, “but no sign will be given it except the sign of Jonah.” Well does Chrysostom say, “If you change from inhumanity to almsgiving, you have stretched forth the hand that was withered. If you withdraw from theaters and go to church, you have cured the lame foot. If you draw back your eyes from a harlot, you have opened them when they were blind. These are the greatest miracles.”
Let us take care then, beloved, that we be caught ourselves by Christ. Let us not be content to have him as an element in our life, a piece of the puzzle, but the heart and core and center of everything we think, do and say. Let us receive him as he comes to us. In short, let us get out of the water and into his net. It will mean death for our life in this passing world; but it will mean resurrection and life for the world that never ends—the life in his Kingdom, of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
(Note: Many of the underlying thoughts derive from Chrysostom's homily ad loc)
21 April 2011
Seeds of God
A woman once had a dream in which she went into a shop and saw the Lord God standing behind the counter.
“Lord, it’s you!” she exclaimed with joy
“Yes, it’s Me”, answered God.
“But what can I buy from you?” asked the woman.
“You can buy everything from me”, came the answer.
“Then please give me health, happiness, love, success, and lots of money”.
God smiled kindly and went into the back room for the goods she had ordered. After a while He returned with a small paper box.
“Is that it?” exclaimed the disappointed woman in amazement.
“Yes, that’s it”, answered God, adding: “Surely you knew that I only sell seeds in my shop?”
From Pramvir.com
“Lord, it’s you!” she exclaimed with joy
“Yes, it’s Me”, answered God.
“But what can I buy from you?” asked the woman.
“You can buy everything from me”, came the answer.
“Then please give me health, happiness, love, success, and lots of money”.
God smiled kindly and went into the back room for the goods she had ordered. After a while He returned with a small paper box.
“Is that it?” exclaimed the disappointed woman in amazement.
“Yes, that’s it”, answered God, adding: “Surely you knew that I only sell seeds in my shop?”
From Pramvir.com
05 April 2011
Sermon on the demon-possessed boy
Throughout the Gospels there are many accounts of people bringing someone else to Jesus, for him to heal.
➢ A few Sundays ago, we heard of the paralytic being let down through the roof
➢ Yesterday’s Gospel told of them bringing a deaf and dumb man to Jesus
Today we hear of a man bringing his demon-possessed son to the Lord’s disciples. “I brought him to you,” the man says to Jesus, “and your disciples could not heal him.”
Note, beloved—in this the man spoke truly. To bring someone to the disciples, is to bring someone to Christ. It’s no small matter for our day. A seeker asks the right question when he says, “Where is the Church?” And we are here today because we asked that question.
But why couldn’t the disciples heal the boy? And why do our prayers sometimes seem to go unanswered? We learn the answer in the man’s dialogue with the Lord. “If you can do anything,” the man says, “take pity and help us.” Christ responds, “If you can believe, all things are possible to him who has faith.”
It all gets down to faith.
The father in our Gospel had a very weak faith. The text is plain; Christ said, “O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I put up with you?” And the man himself said, “I believe; help my unbelief.”
Rarely does Christ work in the Gospel without faith. When he went to his hometown, we are told, “And he did few miracles there, because they did not believe.” Note: he did few. He works sometimes without faith, to teach us that his power does not depend on us; he works rarely without faith, to teach us that faith is the way we connect with him.
But what does Christ mean by saying “All things are possible for him who has faith”? Some TV preachers would have you believe this is a “name it and claim it” game. If you want a new car, believe that it will happen and it will. If you don’t get what you named, it’s because you don’t believe enough.
That’s a perversion of what Christ says here.
Faith isn’t a coin, and God isn’t a cosmic vending machine. If someone prays to be healed from cancer, and it doesn’t happen, that doesn’t mean they didn’t believe enough. For sometimes God says “no,” even to his beloved children.
Once when I was little, one of my uncles wanted to give me a handgun. (He was a few cards short of a full deck, as they say.) I thought it would be neat—when we played army, or cowboys and Indians, I could have a real gun. But my parents said, “No.” At the time it seemed strange. Now I understand.
What, then, does Christ mean when he says, “All things are possible for him who has faith”?
Faith, beloved, puts us in contact with the Pantocrator, the maker and ruler of all things, by whose will the universe exists. What we call “the laws of nature” are, as C.S. Lewis noted, but a shorthand expression for God’s ongoing will.
When we pray in faith, we seek God’s will for what we ask. And he invites us, as beloved children, to ask whatever we want—recognizing that he, our Father, might say “no” if he knows what we ask would harm us.
At our best, we cry out with the father, “I believe—help my unbelief.” And how does he help?
➢ By our reading the Scriptures. It was Christ’s promise “All things are possible to him who believes,” that led the man to say, “I believe; help my unbelief.”
➢ By our prayer and fasting. When the disciples ask the Lord, “Why couldn’t we cast this demon out?” the Lord told them, “This one only comes out by prayer and fasting.” All our Lenten discipline exists for one purpose only—to strengthen our faith in Christ.
Let us, then, renew our efforts in prayer. Does something worry or discourage you? Bring it to the Lord in prayer. Lay it before him. Cling to his promises.
Don’t give up, if it seems long; he is exercising your faith, he is drawing you nearer.
Don’t ask for little things; he able to do far above all we could ever ask or think.
And don’t be upset if you don’t get what you want. Learn, through prayer and fasting and reading the Scriptures, what he wants.
For in the end, the point of prayer is not that we get this-or-that. The point of prayer is that we commune with him who, for love of us, came to share our life…that by his death, we might share his life.
➢ A few Sundays ago, we heard of the paralytic being let down through the roof
➢ Yesterday’s Gospel told of them bringing a deaf and dumb man to Jesus
Today we hear of a man bringing his demon-possessed son to the Lord’s disciples. “I brought him to you,” the man says to Jesus, “and your disciples could not heal him.”
Note, beloved—in this the man spoke truly. To bring someone to the disciples, is to bring someone to Christ. It’s no small matter for our day. A seeker asks the right question when he says, “Where is the Church?” And we are here today because we asked that question.
But why couldn’t the disciples heal the boy? And why do our prayers sometimes seem to go unanswered? We learn the answer in the man’s dialogue with the Lord. “If you can do anything,” the man says, “take pity and help us.” Christ responds, “If you can believe, all things are possible to him who has faith.”
It all gets down to faith.
The father in our Gospel had a very weak faith. The text is plain; Christ said, “O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I put up with you?” And the man himself said, “I believe; help my unbelief.”
Rarely does Christ work in the Gospel without faith. When he went to his hometown, we are told, “And he did few miracles there, because they did not believe.” Note: he did few. He works sometimes without faith, to teach us that his power does not depend on us; he works rarely without faith, to teach us that faith is the way we connect with him.
But what does Christ mean by saying “All things are possible for him who has faith”? Some TV preachers would have you believe this is a “name it and claim it” game. If you want a new car, believe that it will happen and it will. If you don’t get what you named, it’s because you don’t believe enough.
That’s a perversion of what Christ says here.
Faith isn’t a coin, and God isn’t a cosmic vending machine. If someone prays to be healed from cancer, and it doesn’t happen, that doesn’t mean they didn’t believe enough. For sometimes God says “no,” even to his beloved children.
Once when I was little, one of my uncles wanted to give me a handgun. (He was a few cards short of a full deck, as they say.) I thought it would be neat—when we played army, or cowboys and Indians, I could have a real gun. But my parents said, “No.” At the time it seemed strange. Now I understand.
What, then, does Christ mean when he says, “All things are possible for him who has faith”?
Faith, beloved, puts us in contact with the Pantocrator, the maker and ruler of all things, by whose will the universe exists. What we call “the laws of nature” are, as C.S. Lewis noted, but a shorthand expression for God’s ongoing will.
When we pray in faith, we seek God’s will for what we ask. And he invites us, as beloved children, to ask whatever we want—recognizing that he, our Father, might say “no” if he knows what we ask would harm us.
At our best, we cry out with the father, “I believe—help my unbelief.” And how does he help?
➢ By our reading the Scriptures. It was Christ’s promise “All things are possible to him who believes,” that led the man to say, “I believe; help my unbelief.”
➢ By our prayer and fasting. When the disciples ask the Lord, “Why couldn’t we cast this demon out?” the Lord told them, “This one only comes out by prayer and fasting.” All our Lenten discipline exists for one purpose only—to strengthen our faith in Christ.
Let us, then, renew our efforts in prayer. Does something worry or discourage you? Bring it to the Lord in prayer. Lay it before him. Cling to his promises.
Don’t give up, if it seems long; he is exercising your faith, he is drawing you nearer.
Don’t ask for little things; he able to do far above all we could ever ask or think.
And don’t be upset if you don’t get what you want. Learn, through prayer and fasting and reading the Scriptures, what he wants.
For in the end, the point of prayer is not that we get this-or-that. The point of prayer is that we commune with him who, for love of us, came to share our life…that by his death, we might share his life.
30 January 2011
Sermon on Zacchaeus
“Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold.” Do you realize what those words mean? Zacchaeus was giving up practically all that he owned…he was moving from the top to the bottom of the income-tax brackets in one fell swoop.
This was a big move! Most of us work as hard as we can to earn as much as we’re able. We measure success by the “bottom line.”
Why is this? In itself, money is nothing—just pretty paper with pictures on it. But money represents power and freedom: the ability to do what I want. When I have it, I can take care of the necessities like food and shelter. When I have enough of it, I can get some ‘toys’ and maybe even be generous to others.
Money also represents life, and labor. We earn our living by the sweat of our brow. St. Paul said that those who do not work, should not eat. Money is not the root of all evil; the love of money is the root of all evil. Wealth is no vice, and poverty no virtue. What matters is not money, but how we relate to it.
Zacchaeus had measured his life by money. He was a little man, but he had big ambitions. So he worked the system, and he worked it hard. He became a chief tax collector. Nobody liked him, but he didn’t care. Why should he? He was rich.
And yet, with all his money, he wasn’t happy. He was restless…he was lost. He knew there was something missing. That something was a someone.
So when he heard that Jesus was coming to town, Zacchaeus made a plan. He wanted to see the Lord. But he was too short. So he abandoned all his pride, and acted like a little boy. He climbed a tree, and perched up there as the Lord walked by.
All at once, the parade stopped. Jesus looked up in the tree. “Come down, Zacchaeus,” he said; “I must eat at your house today!” These words are shocking on three levels. First, the Lord called Zacchaeus by name. For us, names are no big deal. But back then, to know a name was to know the person whose name it was. How did Jesus know Zacchaeus by name? How indeed…unless he were enfleshed God!
Second, the Lord invites himself to dinner. Can you imagine someone saying to you, “I’m coming to your house today for lunch.” At the very least, it would be a breach of etiquette. Normally the host invites the guest, but here the guest invites himself.
And third, of all the houses in Jericho, of all the places Jesus could stop for lunch, he chose the most notorious resident of the city. Zacchaeus’ house was the last place you’d expect him to go.
Ever since our first parents fell, we’ve been covering ourselves with foliage. Adam and Eve covered themselves with fig leaves. We hide our bodies with clothes, and our souls with words and works. The unhappy person paints a smile…the weak person bellows and blusters. We cover our fear of death with money. And what is make-up, but an effort to change and cover what’s there?
That day in Jericho, the God who called “Adam, where are you?” called out to this son of Adam, “Zacchaeus! Come down!” And he calls to you and me this morning. Where are you? How are you covering yourself? You can hide from others…you can even hide from yourself…but you can’t hide from Christ. He is here, now.
He invites himself to your home and your life. He doesn’t want to be on the fringes. He doesn’t want you to simply watch him pass by. He wants to come in…to all those places that most folks don’t go. It doesn’t matter what others think of you. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. He is calling.
To have him in our hearts and homes, is to have all that we need. He forgives our sins, he heals our diseases, he redeems our life from the pit. He perfects his power in our weakness. He came from heaven and shared our life in every way but sin, all the way to death; and even our death and sin he took on himself, to give us his own indestructible life and light. As St. Athanasius said, “He became man, that we might become God.” No wonder Zacchaeus could give up all that he had, to welcome Christ and follow him.
I love this Sunday’s gospel lesson, because with today the Church year takes a turn. We are leaving behind the splendor of Christmas and Theophany. Now, in the middle of winter, we hear the first stirrings of the Lenten spring. Once again we prepare ourselves for the season of repentance, and making ready for Christ’s holy resurrection.
But each day can be a little Lent, every moment a time of Paschal joy. When for the love of Christ we give us the pleasures and passions and power of the world, then we are in Lent. When we receive the Lord who calls us by name, who died and rose for us, into our homes and hearts—then, beloved, it is Pascha for us. So let us loose our grip on the things that hold so tightly: our money, our time, and our talents; yes, and even our sins. Let us be generous with ourselves in the little time we have left, that having received Christ here and now, he may welcome us into his heavenly Kingdom: to which may we all attain, through his grace and love for mankind, always, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.
This was a big move! Most of us work as hard as we can to earn as much as we’re able. We measure success by the “bottom line.”
Why is this? In itself, money is nothing—just pretty paper with pictures on it. But money represents power and freedom: the ability to do what I want. When I have it, I can take care of the necessities like food and shelter. When I have enough of it, I can get some ‘toys’ and maybe even be generous to others.
Money also represents life, and labor. We earn our living by the sweat of our brow. St. Paul said that those who do not work, should not eat. Money is not the root of all evil; the love of money is the root of all evil. Wealth is no vice, and poverty no virtue. What matters is not money, but how we relate to it.
Zacchaeus had measured his life by money. He was a little man, but he had big ambitions. So he worked the system, and he worked it hard. He became a chief tax collector. Nobody liked him, but he didn’t care. Why should he? He was rich.
And yet, with all his money, he wasn’t happy. He was restless…he was lost. He knew there was something missing. That something was a someone.
So when he heard that Jesus was coming to town, Zacchaeus made a plan. He wanted to see the Lord. But he was too short. So he abandoned all his pride, and acted like a little boy. He climbed a tree, and perched up there as the Lord walked by.
All at once, the parade stopped. Jesus looked up in the tree. “Come down, Zacchaeus,” he said; “I must eat at your house today!” These words are shocking on three levels. First, the Lord called Zacchaeus by name. For us, names are no big deal. But back then, to know a name was to know the person whose name it was. How did Jesus know Zacchaeus by name? How indeed…unless he were enfleshed God!
Second, the Lord invites himself to dinner. Can you imagine someone saying to you, “I’m coming to your house today for lunch.” At the very least, it would be a breach of etiquette. Normally the host invites the guest, but here the guest invites himself.
And third, of all the houses in Jericho, of all the places Jesus could stop for lunch, he chose the most notorious resident of the city. Zacchaeus’ house was the last place you’d expect him to go.
Ever since our first parents fell, we’ve been covering ourselves with foliage. Adam and Eve covered themselves with fig leaves. We hide our bodies with clothes, and our souls with words and works. The unhappy person paints a smile…the weak person bellows and blusters. We cover our fear of death with money. And what is make-up, but an effort to change and cover what’s there?
That day in Jericho, the God who called “Adam, where are you?” called out to this son of Adam, “Zacchaeus! Come down!” And he calls to you and me this morning. Where are you? How are you covering yourself? You can hide from others…you can even hide from yourself…but you can’t hide from Christ. He is here, now.
He invites himself to your home and your life. He doesn’t want to be on the fringes. He doesn’t want you to simply watch him pass by. He wants to come in…to all those places that most folks don’t go. It doesn’t matter what others think of you. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. He is calling.
To have him in our hearts and homes, is to have all that we need. He forgives our sins, he heals our diseases, he redeems our life from the pit. He perfects his power in our weakness. He came from heaven and shared our life in every way but sin, all the way to death; and even our death and sin he took on himself, to give us his own indestructible life and light. As St. Athanasius said, “He became man, that we might become God.” No wonder Zacchaeus could give up all that he had, to welcome Christ and follow him.
I love this Sunday’s gospel lesson, because with today the Church year takes a turn. We are leaving behind the splendor of Christmas and Theophany. Now, in the middle of winter, we hear the first stirrings of the Lenten spring. Once again we prepare ourselves for the season of repentance, and making ready for Christ’s holy resurrection.
But each day can be a little Lent, every moment a time of Paschal joy. When for the love of Christ we give us the pleasures and passions and power of the world, then we are in Lent. When we receive the Lord who calls us by name, who died and rose for us, into our homes and hearts—then, beloved, it is Pascha for us. So let us loose our grip on the things that hold so tightly: our money, our time, and our talents; yes, and even our sins. Let us be generous with ourselves in the little time we have left, that having received Christ here and now, he may welcome us into his heavenly Kingdom: to which may we all attain, through his grace and love for mankind, always, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.
08 January 2011
Subterranean scribbling: this needs unpacking
In a recent post on Weedon's blog, Pr. Weedon said:
I quote the entire passage so as to be fair. What's intriguing here, for an Orthodox Christian, is that Pr. Weedon equates the ark of the covenant to Christ. For the Orthodox, Mary--not Christ--is the ark.
Still, it is difficult to articulate the comparison Pr. Weedon is making here. First, he refers to "the incarnate Lord, who is like unto the ark of the living God, tabernacling among us (John 1:14)." Then later he says "The words are hidden within the Ark - the will of God for our lives to be wholly love is similarly hidden within His Son, who is the perfect embodiment of the will of God for the race of men and to whom the commandments are never condemnatory..."
Something funny is going on here, and someone with more ability than I have (are you reading this, Perry Robinson?) might have fun contrasting the Orthodox Mary-as-ark with the Weedonian Christ-as-ark positions. I have a hunch that somewhere in the Christ-as-ark view will be a Nestorianizing Christology. But the semester has begun once again, alas!
Thoughts?
Third, that Moses is instructed to put the ten words into the ark (Deut. 10), suggests that the fulfillment of the ten words, how they will come to realization, will only be through His work in the incarnate Lord, who is like unto the ark of the living God, tabernacling among us (John 1:14). It is only through union with Christ that the "ten words," which are God's plan and purpose for our lives, come to their true fulfillment. The words are hidden within the Ark - the will of God for our lives to be wholly love is similarly hidden within His Son, who is the perfect embodiment of the will of God for the race of men and to whom the commandments are never condemnatory for His heart and His life are wholly congruent with them - love enfleshed - to love His Father with His all, to love His neighbor as Himself - you and me - that is the very ache, joy, and content of His being. He perfectly lives them and so He is our perfect righteousness given to us; and He will bring about the perfect fulfillment of them which He begins to work within us in this life and brings to consummation at the Day of His appearing (accomplishing what Jeremiah foretold in his 31st chapter - that the Torah would be written on our hearts - that is, that it would be our DESIRE to fulfill it).
I quote the entire passage so as to be fair. What's intriguing here, for an Orthodox Christian, is that Pr. Weedon equates the ark of the covenant to Christ. For the Orthodox, Mary--not Christ--is the ark.
Still, it is difficult to articulate the comparison Pr. Weedon is making here. First, he refers to "the incarnate Lord, who is like unto the ark of the living God, tabernacling among us (John 1:14)." Then later he says "The words are hidden within the Ark - the will of God for our lives to be wholly love is similarly hidden within His Son, who is the perfect embodiment of the will of God for the race of men and to whom the commandments are never condemnatory..."
Something funny is going on here, and someone with more ability than I have (are you reading this, Perry Robinson?) might have fun contrasting the Orthodox Mary-as-ark with the Weedonian Christ-as-ark positions. I have a hunch that somewhere in the Christ-as-ark view will be a Nestorianizing Christology. But the semester has begun once again, alas!
Thoughts?
06 January 2011
Subterranean scribbling: What does this mean?
"In order to have canon law, you have to have a church. The LCMS is congregational in structure and congregationalist in practice. Since congregation is the only church there is, there can be no canon law.
When the Confessions say "We do... keep... observe..." they are not merely descriptive. They had no conception of something other than this. It was not even possible much less permissible. Our current circumstances in Missouri and wider Lutheranism present perspectives which were foreign and alien to the framers of the Confessions."
--Pr. Larry Peters, in a combox on Weedon's blog
When the Confessions say "We do... keep... observe..." they are not merely descriptive. They had no conception of something other than this. It was not even possible much less permissible. Our current circumstances in Missouri and wider Lutheranism present perspectives which were foreign and alien to the framers of the Confessions."
--Pr. Larry Peters, in a combox on Weedon's blog
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