Sermons

Toward Servanthood

John Wilkinson                                 Third Presbyterian Church  March 30, 2003              Isaiah 52:13 – 53:9/Philippians 2:1-11

Although it is the best we have, human language is never fully equal to the task. Whatever sentiments we carry with us in our hearts and imaginations, we can never truly convey them when we give them utterance. I think that is particularly true about religious language, the words of our faith.

Most of our theological battles have been about the use and misuse of words. Our minds sense things, our hearts feel things, our experiences share things, and yet when we say them aloud, or even try to write them down, they either miss the mark or never quite capture what we intended to say.

Music takes us closer, I think, because music expresses – in the great hymns of the church, its great choral works or great instrumental pieces – the imagination of the divine in a way that is more reflective of humanity’s best response to God’s incomprehensible nature and activity. And yet we still try, with words, even when the effort is incomplete and inadequate.

In Chicago, in the time period just before the time we moved here two years ago this week, I was presented with a CD of the Third Church Chancel Choir. Of course every track on the CD exceeded the one before in excellence and inspiration! But one in particular caught my ear’s imagination. I had heard it before, many times, but this combination of text and tune and musical quality and moment worked on me. “Jesus Christ the Apple Tree.”

Jesus Christ the Apple Tree. And of course, Jesus Christ is not an apple tree, at least to our rational, logical way of thinking. But of course he is. Strong and lovely, providing shade and sustenance. And whether we get caught up in the mind-numbing discussion from high school grammar – is Jesus Christ like an apple tree or is Jesus Christ an apple tree, we know that that imagery, paired in wonderful ways with musical notes, takes us closer to an understanding of who Jesus is and what Jesus does. A pretty good definition of theology, by the way.

The Bible is filled with images of God, and of Jesus, and of the Holy Spirit. God is fortress and rock, nursing mother and mighty king. The Spirit is wind and flame and bird. And Jesus, well, the images are many and diverse and rich, and sometimes even helpful. Marcus Borg notes that Jesus carries many images, all drawn from the biblical witness: word, light, bread, vine, door, shepherd, alpha and omega. (The Meaning of Jesus, page 53, page 149) We would add to that the way that the tradition has often understood him; prophet, priest king. And yet we realize that language never quite makes it. But it gets us closer.

It is perhaps the biggest question on the theological horizon, and we who gather here this morning are right in the middle of its being worked out. Who is Jesus? Who is Jesus for us? Who is Jesus for the church? Who is Jesus for the world?

The poignancy of the question is great, as we are at war with a nation whose religious perspective answers the question quite differently than we do. And, it is a poignant question as American Christianity seems to be at war with itself over our response. Nevertheless, to raise our sights a bit and ask the question not to settle disputes, but to bring the world more fully in reconciliation and our hearts more fully into transformation, is not such a bad thing to do.

We have mere suggestions this morning – images, snapshots, metaphors, analogies. Jesus is all of these things and more, I would submit. And sometimes it is fine to say this is who Jesus is “for me” or “for us.” And sometimes, with humility, we might want to broaden those affirmations a bit and offer them to a world torn with conflict, saying, “This is who Jesus is.”

Part of this conversation gets us into the messy world of theology. Atonement theory, it is called, and it is being reconsidered in this generation. You might remember that the mandate of the current General Assembly Theological Task Force includes the nature of the lordship of Christ and salvation, hinting that this is one of the topics over which we Presbyterians are fussing these days.

It has never been crystal clear for us. My favorite Presbyterian confession, the Confession of 1967, addresses the question this way: “God's reconciling act in Jesus Christ is a mystery which the Scriptures describe in various ways. It is called the sacrifice of a lamb, a shepherd's life given for his sheep, atonement by a priest; again it is ransom of a slave, payment of debt, vicarious satisfaction of a legal penalty, and victory over the powers of evil.” And then the confession continues: “These are expressions of a truth which remains beyond the reach of all theory in the depths of God's love for man. They reveal the gravity, cost, and sure achievement of God's reconciling work.” (9.09)

And yet one image remains, persistent, evocative, provocative. It is the servant, and even more so, the suffering servant. We have encountered the image in each of our scripture lessons this morning. In Isaiah, the image of the suffering servant is offered several times, particular in the face of exile and return to the land. The servant is God’s emissary, undergoing human pain, physical pain, despised and rejected. And yet this one perseveres and emerges triumphant. For us.

“He was wounded for our transgressions…by his wounds we were healed…like a lamb that is led to the slaughter.” Those images are startling, even troubling. The lens with which we read these words today includes those of abuse and domestic violence, for example. And yet. And yet, the persistent call for reconciliation, God’s profound desire to be in community with God’s human creatures, and God’s incarnation in this frail human form.

Paul continues the theme: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave.” Paul continues, and our final hymn this morning will echo his words. It is perhaps a bit victorious for Lent, but we get the point. “Humbled himself…to the point of death.”

As far as images go, the servant has its problems. Servanthood is surely not a marketer’s dream. The people who waited for a Messiah waited either for a royal king or a military dynamo. They got neither. We should remember that.

The image of the servant has not always been translated positively; over time it has been used to perpetuate oppression and shame in the very people Jesus came to free.

And yet, it is worth holding onto, for a variety of reasons. Perhaps the sin you carry is not the sin of pride, but perhaps it is. You will be transformed by this servant. And perhaps the sin you carry is not the sin of shame, but perhaps it is. You, too, will be transformed by this servant.

And if the current war in which we find ourselves is about power, then perhaps servanthood is a value, coupled with humility, that is worth lifting up even now, and even more so in whatever post-war world we will find ourselves, and our children, and their children. Humility as political value, as theological affirmation, as human creed, may not be such a bad way to think about our use of power in this generation and the ones to follow.

And despite the ways we wrestle with the image of Jesus as suffering servant, we must acknowledge its primacy in the biblical witness and theological testimony. Its staying power is, in part, because it captures so well what Jesus did and what we need.

A Christ made strong in weakness, in order that his followers may be strong in love. A Christ who, in the best of parental images, will sacrifice for the sake of the children. A Christ who will take on the principalities and powers and face short-term loss for long-term gain. A Christ, who like an apple tree, will provide shelter and food in order to sustain and nourish the people. A Christ, who, like that mythic pelican, will give of self in order to redeem the generations to follow.

So that, despite the limits of our language, we are able to say something, do something, be something, reflect Christ’s reflection in our lives. And even more, so that we might become servants of the servant, offering to our own world transformation and reconciliation, even as our own souls are healed. Worthy is the lamb that was slain, to receive glory and honor and power and blessing. We say those words because they are true.

We have been reading The Chronicles of Narnia in our house, C.S. Lewis’ allegorical and family friendly and quite British attempt to transmit the Jesus story. In the first book, the Christ figure is Aslan the lion, who in fact dies so that the creatures of Narnia may live. Later, in the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the children approach the end of the world, seeking to sail into Aslan’s country. They encounter a lamb, who offers them breakfast. In the course of the conversation, the lamb becomes the great lion itself. And perhaps it was the simple comfort of a childhood book, or perhaps it was something more. Lion and lamb. Bread and vine. Lord and friend. Servant and savior. We would see Jesus, and we do, whose very life is service and whose very face is love.
Amen.