“The Materialism of Salvation”: Sermon 12/10/2006
Pastor David Nicol
Malachi 3:1-4 Luke 1:68-79 Philippians 1:3-11 Luke 3:1-6
Somewhere in a science-fiction future, where the machines have overtaken earth, a prophecy arises of a savior who will come and set right the world that seems so entirely broken. Reality is not what it seems—the machines use humans as biochemical batteries; having reduced their once-masters to a power-source, the machines have transformed earth from a home for animals and plants into a semi-toxic, forbidding terrain of metal and rock with an atmosphere filled with electrical storms. In this clearly fallen world, Morpheus has risen as a dreamer among the small group of humans free from machine domination, who await the day foretold in prophecy—the days of “the one who is to come.” In the world of The Matrix, nothing is what it seems.[1]
The Matrix stands as a powerful postmodern legend—telling of the dangers of human innovation, the risks of over dependence on technology, and speaking to our human need for our lives to be meaningful. In this story, Morpheus plays the role John the Baptist plays in several of today’s texts —he is the one who both foretells the coming of the one foretold, and who prepares the way for him. But Morpheus isn’t John, and Neo isn’t Jesus. Like many of the legendary accounts that have inspired people across human cultures, The Matrix takes place in an indefinite time, in an indefinite place. The truth of a legend doesn’t depend on its happening in a clearly defined time and place—in fact, most legends seem to gain from their lack of specific ties.
In the ancient religious landscape, gods were sometimes seen in relationship to particular locations, but for someone wishing to spread the worship of a particular god, this connection carried with it a distinct disadvantage. If Athena was the goddess of Athens, and Horus a god in Egypt, too much particularity would have made them little better than the water-sprites many ancient people believed inhabited their springs and brooks. Fortunately for the cause of Athena, Horus, and a host of other ancient deities, their worshippers found little historically specific, or particularly localized in the worship of these gods and goddesses. The historical rooted-ness of these stories didn’t seem to impact their truth.
But for Christians, particular times, particular places, particular people, and a very material, earthy reality impacts our faith in a profound and dramatic way, even before Jesus enters the scene. The prophet Malachi spoke of the day when “…the Lord whom you see will suddenly come to his temple.” Unlike Athena, who was goddess of wisdom in many temples, but at least in myth, isolated to Mount Olympus, the LORD of hosts is to be worshiped in a particular place, and will come to his temple on a particular day, but is God of heaven and earth, in the Temple, in Jerusalem, and in the whole of the created universe. Unlike Athena, the LORD of hosts is everywhere at once, and yet tied to a particular place, a particular people, and a particular history, because God chose to reach out to people through the descendents of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
So it was “In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar—when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, Herod tetrarch of Galilee, his brother Philip tetrarch of Iturea and Traconitis, and Lysanias tetrarch of Abilene—during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.” While these names and places might seem as foreign to us as Morpheus and Neo, or as far from historical markers as the myths about Greek or Egyptian gods, to the first readers of Luke’s Gospel this list was as much a distinctive historical marker as it would be for us to describe an event that took place “In the fourth year of President George Bush, when Paul Martin was Prime Minister of Canada, and Tony Blair was Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, and Vicente Fox was President of Mexico, during the pontificate of John Paul II…”
John the Baptist not only preached a message to the people that required a timely response, but also did so at a particular time in a particular place. Unlike most other growing religions in the time of Jesus, the faith proclaimed by John the Baptist, faith in the God of Israel, was grounded in a historically experienced, documented, and rooted relationship between God who created the Heavens and the Earth and God’s chosen people. Christians affirm, with John the Baptist, but contrary to much worldly wisdom, that “…all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” It is for this reason that Paul writes to the Philippians: “And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that come through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.” Unlike the supposedly higher forms of religious thinking found among intellectuals, ours is a very earthy faith. Unlike the so-called gods of the world, our God sent prophets at particular times, in particular places, to call us to repent of our sins; of the ways we mistreat one another, of the ways we abuse God’s creation, of the ways we fail to love one another. The One true God called John, son of Zechariah, out of the wilderness at a particular time to proclaim a baptism of repentance and forgiveness of sins to very real people, in need of God’s very real grace.
Today, in 21st century North America, we still need to hear the message that God has come in the flesh and that God will come again, ready to judge how we have lived in relationship to one another and all of creation. John preached a baptism of repentance because the people of Judea were not living holy lives. Paul prayed that the Philippians would live holy lives, “…so that in the day of Christ [they] may be pure and blameless.” If Jesus returned today to judge how we have managed living out our faith, would he judge you faithful? As Malachi asks “…who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner’s fire and a fuller’s soap…” Are we ready now, in this life, to let God purify us so that we might be holy, so that we might offer our lives to God as a holy and living sacrifice, in union with Christ’s offering for us? Are we willing to stand on Christ’s merits, and embrace God come in the flesh, accepting the materialism of our salvation, recognizing the scandal of God-in-history and the powerfully life-affirming way God has chosen to come to us?
As we come nearer to Christmas, which form of materialism will we choose—will you choose the materialism of the world around us, which tells us that we need to save for our futures, spend on our loved ones, provide for our needs, and leave religion and “spirituality” where it belongs—away from our decisions about everyday life? Or, will you choose the materialism of the Incarnation, that shows God’s great love for us in God’s coming as a baby, living like us, dying for us, and rising so that we can see we too shall rise? This materialism carries with it far more risk—Jesus calls us to give over control of our purse-strings, our creature comforts, and our security. Jesus calls us to keep only what we need and give what we don’t to care for those who cannot care for themselves. Perhaps Jesus is calling you to spend less and give more, to sell all you have and give to the poor, or to downsize and revitalize your spiritual life by discovering the real value of the material world… I don’t know where Jesus is leading you today—but as we come toward Christmas, John’s question is worth repeating anew—which materialism will you choose?
[1] Inspiration for this citation from http://www.textweek.com/movies/john_the_baptist.htm
Malachi 3:1-4 Luke 1:68-79 Philippians 1:3-11 Luke 3:1-6
Somewhere in a science-fiction future, where the machines have overtaken earth, a prophecy arises of a savior who will come and set right the world that seems so entirely broken. Reality is not what it seems—the machines use humans as biochemical batteries; having reduced their once-masters to a power-source, the machines have transformed earth from a home for animals and plants into a semi-toxic, forbidding terrain of metal and rock with an atmosphere filled with electrical storms. In this clearly fallen world, Morpheus has risen as a dreamer among the small group of humans free from machine domination, who await the day foretold in prophecy—the days of “the one who is to come.” In the world of The Matrix, nothing is what it seems.[1]
The Matrix stands as a powerful postmodern legend—telling of the dangers of human innovation, the risks of over dependence on technology, and speaking to our human need for our lives to be meaningful. In this story, Morpheus plays the role John the Baptist plays in several of today’s texts —he is the one who both foretells the coming of the one foretold, and who prepares the way for him. But Morpheus isn’t John, and Neo isn’t Jesus. Like many of the legendary accounts that have inspired people across human cultures, The Matrix takes place in an indefinite time, in an indefinite place. The truth of a legend doesn’t depend on its happening in a clearly defined time and place—in fact, most legends seem to gain from their lack of specific ties.
In the ancient religious landscape, gods were sometimes seen in relationship to particular locations, but for someone wishing to spread the worship of a particular god, this connection carried with it a distinct disadvantage. If Athena was the goddess of Athens, and Horus a god in Egypt, too much particularity would have made them little better than the water-sprites many ancient people believed inhabited their springs and brooks. Fortunately for the cause of Athena, Horus, and a host of other ancient deities, their worshippers found little historically specific, or particularly localized in the worship of these gods and goddesses. The historical rooted-ness of these stories didn’t seem to impact their truth.
But for Christians, particular times, particular places, particular people, and a very material, earthy reality impacts our faith in a profound and dramatic way, even before Jesus enters the scene. The prophet Malachi spoke of the day when “…the Lord whom you see will suddenly come to his temple.” Unlike Athena, who was goddess of wisdom in many temples, but at least in myth, isolated to Mount Olympus, the LORD of hosts is to be worshiped in a particular place, and will come to his temple on a particular day, but is God of heaven and earth, in the Temple, in Jerusalem, and in the whole of the created universe. Unlike Athena, the LORD of hosts is everywhere at once, and yet tied to a particular place, a particular people, and a particular history, because God chose to reach out to people through the descendents of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
So it was “In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar—when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, Herod tetrarch of Galilee, his brother Philip tetrarch of Iturea and Traconitis, and Lysanias tetrarch of Abilene—during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.” While these names and places might seem as foreign to us as Morpheus and Neo, or as far from historical markers as the myths about Greek or Egyptian gods, to the first readers of Luke’s Gospel this list was as much a distinctive historical marker as it would be for us to describe an event that took place “In the fourth year of President George Bush, when Paul Martin was Prime Minister of Canada, and Tony Blair was Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, and Vicente Fox was President of Mexico, during the pontificate of John Paul II…”
John the Baptist not only preached a message to the people that required a timely response, but also did so at a particular time in a particular place. Unlike most other growing religions in the time of Jesus, the faith proclaimed by John the Baptist, faith in the God of Israel, was grounded in a historically experienced, documented, and rooted relationship between God who created the Heavens and the Earth and God’s chosen people. Christians affirm, with John the Baptist, but contrary to much worldly wisdom, that “…all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” It is for this reason that Paul writes to the Philippians: “And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that come through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.” Unlike the supposedly higher forms of religious thinking found among intellectuals, ours is a very earthy faith. Unlike the so-called gods of the world, our God sent prophets at particular times, in particular places, to call us to repent of our sins; of the ways we mistreat one another, of the ways we abuse God’s creation, of the ways we fail to love one another. The One true God called John, son of Zechariah, out of the wilderness at a particular time to proclaim a baptism of repentance and forgiveness of sins to very real people, in need of God’s very real grace.
Today, in 21st century North America, we still need to hear the message that God has come in the flesh and that God will come again, ready to judge how we have lived in relationship to one another and all of creation. John preached a baptism of repentance because the people of Judea were not living holy lives. Paul prayed that the Philippians would live holy lives, “…so that in the day of Christ [they] may be pure and blameless.” If Jesus returned today to judge how we have managed living out our faith, would he judge you faithful? As Malachi asks “…who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner’s fire and a fuller’s soap…” Are we ready now, in this life, to let God purify us so that we might be holy, so that we might offer our lives to God as a holy and living sacrifice, in union with Christ’s offering for us? Are we willing to stand on Christ’s merits, and embrace God come in the flesh, accepting the materialism of our salvation, recognizing the scandal of God-in-history and the powerfully life-affirming way God has chosen to come to us?
As we come nearer to Christmas, which form of materialism will we choose—will you choose the materialism of the world around us, which tells us that we need to save for our futures, spend on our loved ones, provide for our needs, and leave religion and “spirituality” where it belongs—away from our decisions about everyday life? Or, will you choose the materialism of the Incarnation, that shows God’s great love for us in God’s coming as a baby, living like us, dying for us, and rising so that we can see we too shall rise? This materialism carries with it far more risk—Jesus calls us to give over control of our purse-strings, our creature comforts, and our security. Jesus calls us to keep only what we need and give what we don’t to care for those who cannot care for themselves. Perhaps Jesus is calling you to spend less and give more, to sell all you have and give to the poor, or to downsize and revitalize your spiritual life by discovering the real value of the material world… I don’t know where Jesus is leading you today—but as we come toward Christmas, John’s question is worth repeating anew—which materialism will you choose?
[1] Inspiration for this citation from http://www.textweek.com/movies/john_the_baptist.htm
posted by Rev. David Nicol at 8:49 AM
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