Oak Chapel United Methodist Church

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We can say this, at least: that somewhere in the story of Jesus is a piece of powerful good news which has staggered many a man and women, and which has thoroughly overwhelmed millions of lives. In the strength of this "good news," this gospel, over the centuries, diseases have been cured, wrongs have been set right, lives turned around, prejudices overcome, hearts made pure, institutions reformed. The results of the gospel are part of the record. The proof is in the pudding.

And yet, we have trouble expressing exactly what this good news is. The fact of it is simply too enormous. Language can't contain it. Just as lovers keep repeating the words, "I love you," to each other, and eventually those plane words seem so pitifully inadequate to express their awesome feelings, so the followers of Jesus say the old words ("For God so loved the world…." "Christ died for me." "The body of our Lord Jesus Christ which was broken for thee.…" ) until the words seem irredeemably old and inadequate. But there are no better words. That's as good as it gets in plane language.

So we turn to analogies to express this thing, this love or this message that has bowled us over. A lover might say to his beloved, "You are the sunshine of my life," and we would remember how essential sunshine is to all life forms. Or a Christian might say of Jesus, "He is the morning and the evening star," and we would remember how impossible it is to navigate without those two stars. We might call God "the good shepherd," or "Father." We might talk about lost coins, or lost sheep, or lost sons. Analogies, parables, are ways of extending our language so that, by speaking of "outward and visible things" we might express things "inward and spiritual" (as the book says).

My favorite analogy to express what God did for us in Jesus Christ ("for us and for our salvation," as the Creed says) is Paul's image of adoption. "He destined us for adoption as his children through Jesus Christ," Paul says in the opening paragraph of his letter to Ephesus. Peterson has it like this, "Long, long ago he decided to adopt us into his family through Jesus Christ."

Picture slaves in a slave market. Every town had one in those days, so Paul's readers, in their minds' eyes, could easily see the picture he was drawing. A rich man sends his Son to the market to purchase slaves, to pay the price for them, and bring them home. The Son does so at great cost. The hapless slaves think that they have simply been "bought for a price" (which, of course, they have - as have we all), and they assume that, in their new home, they will still be slaves and will still have to submit to all the rules and regulations of the household (the Law)- and worry all the time that they might lose favor with the master. (That's what real slavery is like, then and now, all the time living under judgement and condemnation.) But, to their amazement, the purchased slaves learn that they have not simply been purchased - they have been ransomed, and are now free. But it gets better! The rich man (God) has invited them to live with him, in the luxury of his household, not in slavery but (as Paul says in Romans) in "the glorious liberty of the children of God." He will adopt them and be their loving Father, "not weighing their merits but pardoning their offenses" (as the old communion ritual says). "There is, therefore, now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus." "Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called "children of God." That's what God did for us in Jesus Christ.

Listen to Peterson's paraphrase of St. John, talking about what Jesus did:

He was in the world,
the world was there through him,
and yet the world didn't even notice.
He came to his own people,
but they didn't want him.
But whoever did want him,
who believed he was who he claimed
and would do what he said,
He made to be their true selves,
their child-of-God selves.

If that is of interest to you, if it sounds like something you might like to be, I offer you Christ, and ask you to make a commitment of thanksgiving. That's really what this is all about. Once we were slaves, slaves to sin and death and all their cronies (all the little deaths, like greed, and fear, and anger, and jealousy, and pride, and self-centeredness). We know now that we have been purchased out of such slavery and set free, and that we now live in the joy and love and safety of God's household. Nothing can separate us from the love of God. We need no longer be afraid. In fact, to be afraid is to belie our faith. We need no longer be timid. We can make commitments even knowing that, by our nature, we will fail. That wasn't o.k. when we were slaves, but it's o.k. in our Father's house, for "Jesus knows our every weakness" (as the hymn says) and still does not condemn us. Young people today tell me that they hesitate to make commitments for fear they might not be able to keep them. That's good, I guess, but I would respond that the only thing worse than a commitment not kept is a commitment never made, and a life without a promise. I believe Jesus understands our weaknesses and judges the intentions of our hearts. There is nothing we can do to repay God for what he has done except to live a life full of thankfulness, and that kind of life includes everything Jesus said and the example he set. So it's a big challenge. But stumbling will not bring reproach. We need to make a start. Maybe today's the day for you.