I’m starting a week’s leave tomorrow (well, it is my birthday and I had to work on it last year). So I’ve written up my sermon for tomorrow week, the Third Sunday in Lent.

Hopefully in the next few days I’ll get to blog about why I have been silent on the blog so much in the last few weeks apart from sermons. Basically it’s been to do with my health and some church troubles. But in the meantime here’s the sermon. I hope it encourages you. And if any of it is helpful to those readers who are preachers in preparing for a week’s time, then I’m all the more glad.

1 Corinthians 10:1-13

Introduction
A poem:

Lead me into temptation
just one more time.
Lead me up close
through circumstances
beyond my control.
Lead me then leave me.
Deliver me from escape,
increase my ignorance,
limit my will.
Make me the victim of
a victim-less crime.
Leave me ‘til sin
is the only way out,
give me a taste of
what to avoid.
Leave me ‘til it’s
your fault
yet guilt floods me
like a chill.
Then lead me back
into temptation,
just one more time.
(Steve Turner, ‘Just One More Time’, from Nice And Nasty, Marshall Morgan and Scott, 1980, p36.)

Temptation. A common theme for Lent, and one we touched on two Sundays ago when thinking about the temptations of Jesus in the wilderness.  We saw then that although Jesus’ temptations seem vastly different from ours there are similarities, and what Jesus did in storing up Scripture in his mind and heart prepared him to deal with difficulties.

Paul too is concerned with how his readers face temptation. He takes the example of Israel in the wilderness as a warning. Again, it seems at first that their experience is far removed from that of the Corinthians, let alone us. But Paul makes the connections: Israel committed idolatry (verse 7) – something we easily do by elevating things above God; there was sexual immorality (verse 8) – there was plenty of that in the Corinthian church and more than we care to admit in today’s church (we just sweep it under the carpet); they put Christ to the test (verse 9), and they complained (verse 10) – something that, believe me, is an epidemic in some churches.

And Paul is practical in helping his readers to resist temptation. He knows it’s not enough just to say ‘Don’t’ to people: he has to advise them ‘how’ and ‘why’, and that’s what I’d like us to explore today. The ‘how’ is quite explicit, ‘the ‘why’ is less obvious. But come with me and let us see how Paul helps us to resist temptation.

1. How
The ‘how’ comes right at the end of the passage in verses 12 and 13:

So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall. No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.

In these two verses I find three strategies for resisting temptation.

(a) Paul calls us to humility: ‘So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall’ (verse 12). Why does he call us to humility? I think it’s for this reason: we are used to the idea that temptation can assail our weaknesses. As one who has recently discovered that his cholesterol is higher than it should be I can talk about my own weakness for sweet things. Let no-one say that chocolate is just for women! It is straightforward to say that I must guard against my weaknesses. Much as I like chocolate, I am learning that at least for the foreseeable future I have to say ‘no’ to it. (Well, except for special occasions.)

Similarly, I know a friend who cannot drink alcohol moderately. He knows that one drink will lead to another and another. His strategy in facing temptation in the area of his weakness is total abstinence.

So it is easy to identify temptation in the areas of our weaknesses. But Paul’s concern is that we can be tempted in the area of our strengths. ‘So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall.’ We can fall from areas in which we expect to stand. The obvious way is that pride can infect our strengths. Our pride in our abilities can lead us to attributing our talents and successes entirely to ourselves and forgetting they are a gift from God.

But our strengths can also be misused, misdirected and perverted. If I am good with words I can use them to put down someone who is less eloquent. If I am a scientist I can use my gifts for destruction rather than the benefit of humankind.

So Paul calls us to guard ourselves as much in our strengths as in our weaknesses. The best way to do that is to maintain a posture of humility before God. It is to remember who the true Giver is. It is to acknowledge regularly (daily would be good) our dependence upon our Creator and Redeemer. It is to remember that we are sinners needing the mercy of God. This is not the grovelling humility of a Uriah Heep, but a grateful humility that rejoices in the abundant grace of God in Christ.

(b) Paul reminds us that we are normal: ‘No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone’ (verse 13a). A particular strategy of the tempter is to make us feel isolated. Paul says, remember that you are not alone. What is happening to you is nothing new. It has been faced by countless others in the past, and is faced by your brothers and sisters today as well. You may not want to talk about it for fear of shame, particularly if it something often associated with shame – let’s say it’s something sexual – but no, you’re normal, you’re a regular human being. And if that is the case then there will be others who have conquered it.

I once had an elderly man speak to me of his shame that he watched TV programmes in which there would be sex scenes. He had struggled to admit his battle to anyone. There was a sense of relief when I told him that most Christian men faced that one! But the culture of the church had been such that it was difficult for him to voice his struggle and find support.

So you can take heart. Do not believe the lie that says what you are facing is unique. It isn’t. You will have brothers and sisters in Christ who have had to cope with what is before you. You are not alone. You are part of the fellowship.

And that leads to something else. If only we can cultivate a deep honesty in our Christian fellowship then the voices of those who have overcome what is tempting you will be able to speak up and say, ‘Here is how I got over this problem.’ Our problem, sadly, is that we don’t feel comfortable with building relationships of such depth, openness and vulnerability that it is possible to do this. It is why our small groups are often so important. There, rather than in Sunday services, we can have a beautiful mutual accountability where we can strengthen each other.

(c) Paul tells us to keep our eyes open: ‘God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it’ (verse 13b).

So there is good news to be found in the midst of temptation and it is this: God is active. He plans an escape route for us. When temptation confronts us like an unwelcome intruder God does not leave us to confront the invader alone: he comes to our aid and has a way to overcome the burglar of our souls. All it requires of us is to be alert for what he is doing. Sometimes we forget he is present and make the mistake of asking him to be present as if he has previously been absent. But the Franciscan writer Richard Rohr puts it this way:

We cannot attain the presence of God. We’re already totally in the presence of God. What’s absent is awareness.[1]

So we pray in temptation, ‘Lord make us aware of your presence. Make us aware of the escape route you have for us.’ And he will.

I believe there is only one exception, and that is when we lead ourselves into temptation. The rock band Crowded House put it this way in a song of theirs entitled ‘Into Temptation’:

We can go sailing in
Climb down
Lose yourself when you linger long
Into temptation
Right where you belong
(Neil Finn; EMI Music Publishing Ltd., 1988)

But for foiling temptation in the first place we have these three strategies: humility, so that our strengths are no more exploited than our weaknesses; fellowship, so that we can be encouraged by our brothers and sisters in Christ who face the same problems; and awareness of God’s presence, so we can see the way out he provides.

2. Why
Secondly and more briefly, why does Paul offer a strategy to resist temptation? Twice in the passage he says these past events were recorded as ‘warnings’ for us (verses 6 and 11). But why do we need to be warned? It sounds like an obvious question but sometimes we give a superficial and misleading answer.

We sometimes answer that God warns us against sin because he is holy and we are sinners. Yes, but that’s inadequate. If we focus only on sins then in the words of Dallas Willard we only have ‘the gospel of sin management’[2]. The Christian psychologist David Benner puts his finger on the problem when he says this:

Some Christians base their identity on being a sinner. I think they have it wrong – or only half right. You are not simply a sinner; you are a deeply loved sinner. And there is all the difference in the world between the two.[3]

God warns us to avoid temptation not because we are sinners but because we are deeply loved sinners. It is not simply that he is angry with us; it is that he is passionate about us and longs that we do not cherish the actions, omissions and attitudes that separate us from him. He is present with us and is utterly committed to us being present with him.

The ‘why’ of resisting temptation, the ‘warnings’ of Scripture against sinning, then, are those of a Father who loves his children so deeply that he cannot countenance the thought of them undergoing spiritual injury let alone eternal harm. This is the God who sent patriarchs and prophets and ultimately sent his own Son. This is the God who now gives us his word and Spirit and the fellowship of Christ’s Body on earth. The call to resist temptation is the call of divine love.

So when you next feel God is asking you to say ‘no’ when you would rather say ‘yes’, remember who this God is who urges us away from sin and provides the means to do so. He is not a stern head teacher. He is not a power-mad sergeant-major. Nor is he an angry policeman. He is the God of love, the Father who cherishes his adopted children. Just as Debbie and I have to warn our two-and-a-half-year-old son away from the cooker, so our heavenly Father warns us to steer clear of those things which will harm us. And just as we also have to warn our nearly-four-year-old daughter against doing the opposite of our counsel and instruction, so our heavenly Father warns us so we may do nothing that impairs or distances our relationship with him.

Yes, even in the heat of temptation, God is present to help us through. And his warning voice is the tender sound of love.

Technorati Tags: temptation, Lent, Steve+Turner, Richard+Rohr, Crowded+House, Neil+Finn, Dallas+Willard, David+Benner

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Luke 4:1-13

Introduction
There’s something very tempting for preachers in the story about the temptations of Jesus: three temptations equals three points. And certainly I’ve preached that way on this story before. But returning to this familiar, yet strange reading again for the first Sunday in Lent this year I was no longer satisfied with that approach. I didn’t feel I was doing justice to the story. And although the details of the account seem so foreign to our experience, there is still much here that is similar to what we face and endure as Christians.

So I invite you to come with me through the phases of the story this year, and see whether there are places in it where you find yourself. I certainly found myself in some parts of the account. For this is a narrative not merely about a strange experience Jesus had; it narrates the Christian experience, too.

1. Wilderness
The story begins with a move to the wilderness:

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness (verse 1).

In some Christian circles it’s quite common to hear people justify their actions by saying, ‘I feel led’. They believe the Holy Spirit has led them to certain decisions. Jesus was led by the Spirit, too – but in the wilderness. ‘Led’ is too weak a word: it means ‘thrown out’. Jesus was thrown out by the Spirit into the wilderness. There in the stark experience of the desert he prepares for his public ministry, for which he has just been anointed by the Spirit.

But going into the wilderness isn’t what we normally expect of ‘led by the Spirit’ experiences: they’re usually more exciting or dramatic than that. But sometimes the Holy Spirit leads us, too, into a kind of ‘wilderness’. It may not be the heat of Palestine, with dry river beds in summer. It may be another wilderness: a place we don’t like, a job we find unrewarding, chronic illness, family disappointment or personal tragedy. We didn’t think these were the things of the Spirit. And in one sense they aren’t: they are not the usual signs of the abundant life promised by Jesus.

But in another way they are the tools of the Spirit to accomplish good. The wilderness is the place of stripping away – no comforts or luxuries, no supports or crutches – and we are face to face with how much of God we have, and how much of us God has.

When I am in a wilderness I usually want to find the quickest road out. But whatever maps I consult I find God may block the way, at least until he knows that I am going to deal seriously with him. He wants my attention in prayer. He wants me to depend on him and not on any props. He wants me to stop playing religious games, trust him and build the relationship. He wants my ears to listen for his voice, not any competing speech.

When I am in the lush places of life it is easy to be seduced by luxuries or alluring voices. I can trust in health, gifts, technology or resources in order to do what I think I am meant to do. And these things are not wrong in themselves. But when I trust them rather than God I make them idols, I do not learn like a disciple, I do not travel like a pilgrim.

So for those of us who are in a wilderness now, is God calling us to deal with his reality, not fabrications and daydreams?

2. Fasting
If the wilderness experience is God’s call for us to get serious with him, how might we respond? Jesus did so in drastic fashion:

for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days (verse 2).

Fasting. Giving attention to his Father matters so much to Jesus that he forgoes food in order to pray. For Jesus, prayer isn’t good, nice, desirable or attractive: it’s so much more than that. It’s essential. James Montgomery in his hymn ‘Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire’ wrote,

Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath,
                The Christian’s native air
(James Montgomery, 1771-1854, Hymns & Psalms 557)

and I believe Jesus would have identified with that. He would have seen his commitment to prayer as his ‘vital breath’ and ‘native air’. And just as nothing should block the body’s inhalation or exhalation so for Jesus prayerlessness would be suffocation. Nothing should block prayer, not even food.

Fasting, therefore, shows Jesus choosing his priorities. Programmes, human demands and expectations, current fashions – all these pall in comparison to communion with the Father for Jesus. It isn’t that he is someone who spends his time retreating from the world, its pain and pressures. No – prayer is his fuel, because he gains direction from the Father and empowering from the Spirit through it. Therefore it comes at the head of all his activity. And he is prepared to make tough decisions to give it that priority, even going without food for a season.

There are many battles we face in living out a consistent prayer life. One of them is the problem of time. I would not suggest we all have to be like the ancient greats who rose at four in the morning to pray like Luther and Wesley – we have to remember they lived in societies without electric light and so went to bed earlier than we do. But I have always been challenged by the title of a book by the American pastor Bill Hybels entitled ‘Too Busy Not To Pray’. Ultimately something has to go to make room for prayer – and it may be something important, because prayer is even more important.

The late Dr Donald English used to tell his ministerial students that ministry was not about priorities, it was about choosing between priorities, and I think that is not just true for ministers: it is true for all of us in the Christian life. I have a rough guideline for ministry that I took from a book by Eugene Peterson called ‘Working The Angles’ in which he said the pastor had three priorities: prayer, Scripture and spiritual direction. I don’t keep to those priorities as I should, but when I read about Jesus spending a protracted time fasting in order to pray then I am deeply challenged to reorder my priorities. I wonder whether this Lent might be a season when we don’t just make some temporary changes but some permanent alterations to our priorities so that we respond to God’s call for us to get serious with him. Is this the time to make those hard decisions we’ve been postponing?

 

3. Temptation
Neither Luke nor Matthew tells us how the Devil comes to tempt Jesus, only that he does. Temptation can come in many guises, from aggressive assault to quiet seduction. For many years I have been attracted to the interpretation of the temptations by the (admittedly Marxist) film director Pier Paolo Pasolini in his movie The Gospel According To St Matthew. A shadowy figure approaches Jesus from the distance, out of the heat haze. He turns out to be a suited businessman. He suggests to Jesus they can cut a deal. Sin is often cutting a deal that we shouldn’t.

But even if Jesus experienced temptation in a different context from us – twice prefaced with the words, ‘If you are the Son of God’ – the content of the temptation is remarkably similar to that which we face.

‘Command this stone to become a loaf of bread’ says the Devil to a hungry Jesus (verse 3), but back comes the reply, ‘It is written, “One does not live by bread alone.” ’ (verse 4). So often the temptation for Christians is only to provide bread and forget that we know that life is more than bread. Much as it is essential to meet social and material needs the church is tempted to reduce her calling to that of a social service agency and forget that life depends on the word of God. We’d like to believe in a ‘bread alone’ option, because it relieves us of the responsibility to get into the controversial spiritual stuff that might lose us face, friends or reputation. But this is an area where we cannot cut a deal.

The offer of the kingdoms of the world, provided Jesus again cuts a deal by worshipping the Devil (verses 5-6) may seem remote from us, but it isn’t. ‘All this can be yours’ sounds dangerously like the claims of a consumer society. But it comes at the same price: false, demonic worship. It is a bowing down to idols, and we live in a culture where consumerism isn’t invited, it’s demanded, because our economy depends on it. ‘All this can be yours’ comes with a threat in our world, one described bluntly by U2:

All of this, all of this can be yours
Just give me what I want and no-one gets hurt.
(‘Vertigo’, lyrics: Bono and The Edge)

True worship leads to a different kind of devotion from consumerism.

Throwing himself down from the temple and demanding that God send his angels to rescue him (verses 9-11)?

According to the Devil’s theory there should be no martyrs. But the divine purpose for Jesus, as for certain others, is that they should be preserved through death, not from death.
(John Nolland, Luke 1-9:20, p181)

This is the temptation to turn faith into the easy life. It is the avoidance of the Cross. Had Jesus succumbed, there would have been no salvation. And for us it is the temptation to short cut the painful road of faithfulness in favour of a quick fix that ultimately fixes nothing, except that we turn from disciples to traitors.

So while the temptations had particular application for Jesus they are also familiar to us. The good news for us is that Jesus resisted. He could have given in. But he resisted, not merely as the Second Person of the Trinity, but as a man acting in the power of the Spirit. As John Calvin put it, Jesus took on sinful human flesh and turned it back to obedience to the Father. Therefore Jesus’ approach to resisting temptation is relevant to us. But what is it? That takes us to the final element of the story:

4. Resistance
There is one common thread in Jesus’ resistance to temptation: ‘It is written’ (verse 4), ‘It is written’ (verse 8), ‘It is said’ (verse 12). Every act of resistance from Jesus is a quotation from Scripture. Jesus knows his Bible. And again, let us not simply say he knew it because he was the Second Person of the Godhead. It is also because as a Jewish boy he went to synagogue school. He devoted himself to reading, studying and learning Scripture.

Not only that, but all the quotations come from the same Old Testament book: Deuteronomy. They come from the context of Israel’s forty years in the wilderness. Jesus not only knows Scripture, he knows what part will be relevant to what he is facing.

My sermons here keep returning to the theme of regular Bible study, both personal and corporate. Here is the best reason of all: the example of Jesus. He studies Scripture and applies it in his life. Here is why I urge on people the discipline of daily Bible reading. Here is why I think it is a ministry priority for me to be involved in the Tuesday morning Bible study group. Meditating on the Bible and spurring one another on in our living it out is a Christ-like thing to do. It is a fundamental discipline of Christian discipleship.

So when one member of this church recently told me they had decided that their Lent discipline was going to be the reading and study of a particular biblical book they had never read before, I was delighted. Here was someone taking seriously the sort of practices that will stimulate holiness. Here was someone getting ready for future occasions when spiritual resistance will be needed. Here was a Christian feeding on God’s Word with the deliberate intention of growing spiritually.

Hence I make no apology for coming back to this theme. Just as athletes achieve nothing without disciplined training, so little of value is accomplished long term in the Christian life without a commitment to spiritual discipline. As in Genesis Joseph advised Pharaoh to store up grain during the seven years of plenty ready for the seven years of famine, so it is vital for us to store up Scripture ready for the time when it will be needed. When the crisis or the temptation hits, we need something to draw on.

So just as the stripping away of props in the wilderness might make us revisit our priorities in terms of engaging with God in prayer, so the wilderness experience of temptation is a call to be disciplined in biblical meditation before the time of trouble pounces upon us from behind. Now is the time to find a set of Bible reading notes; now is the time to join that small group.

And this Lent is not the time to say, ‘I’ll do this for six weeks,’ it’s the time to say, ‘I’ll take this as an opportunity to take my spiritual life up a gear. I’ll recover some younger enthusiasm that has been dulled by the years and by experiences of disappointment.’ Wouldn’t it be great if some of us could look back on this Lent and say, ‘That was the time things changed for me’?

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Luke 4:1-13

Introduction
There’s something very tempting for preachers in the story about the temptations of Jesus: three temptations equals three points. And certainly I’ve preached that way on this story before. But returning to this familiar, yet strange reading again for the first Sunday in Lent this year I was no longer satisfied with that approach. I didn’t feel I was doing justice to the story. And although the details of the account seem so foreign to our experience, there is still much here that is similar to what we face and endure as Christians.

So I invite you to come with me through the phases of the story this year, and see whether there are places in it where you find yourself. I certainly found myself in some parts of the account. For this is a narrative not merely about a strange experience Jesus had; it narrates the Christian experience, too.

1. Wilderness
The story begins with a move to the wilderness:

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness (verse 1).

In some Christian circles it’s quite common to hear people justify their actions by saying, ‘I feel led’. They believe the Holy Spirit has led them to certain decisions. Jesus was led by the Spirit, too – but in the wilderness. ‘Led’ is too weak a word: it means ‘thrown out’. Jesus was thrown out by the Spirit into the wilderness. There in the stark experience of the desert he prepares for his public ministry, for which he has just been anointed by the Spirit.

But going into the wilderness isn’t what we normally expect of ‘led by the Spirit’ experiences: they’re usually more exciting or dramatic than that. But sometimes the Holy Spirit leads us, too, into a kind of ‘wilderness’. It may not be the heat of Palestine, with dry river beds in summer. It may be another wilderness: a place we don’t like, a job we find unrewarding, chronic illness, family disappointment or personal tragedy. We didn’t think these were the things of the Spirit. And in one sense they aren’t: they are not the usual signs of the abundant life promised by Jesus.

But in another way they are the tools of the Spirit to accomplish good. The wilderness is the place of stripping away – no comforts or luxuries, no supports or crutches – and we are face to face with how much of God we have, and how much of us God has.

When I am in a wilderness I usually want to find the quickest road out. But whatever maps I consult I find God may block the way, at least until he knows that I am going to deal seriously with him. He wants my attention in prayer. He wants me to depend on him and not on any props. He wants me to stop playing religious games, trust him and build the relationship. He wants my ears to listen for his voice, not any competing speech.

When I am in the lush places of life it is easy to be seduced by luxuries or alluring voices. I can trust in health, gifts, technology or resources in order to do what I think I am meant to do. And these things are not wrong in themselves. But when I trust them rather than God I make them idols, I do not learn like a disciple, I do not travel like a pilgrim.

So for those of us who are in a wilderness now, is God calling us to deal with his reality, not fabrications and daydreams?

2. Fasting
If the wilderness experience is God’s call for us to get serious with him, how might we respond? Jesus did so in drastic fashion:

for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days (verse 2).

Fasting. Giving attention to his Father matters so much to Jesus that he forgoes food in order to pray. For Jesus, prayer isn’t good, nice, desirable or attractive: it’s so much more than that. It’s essential. James Montgomery in his hymn ‘Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire’ wrote,

Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath,
                The Christian’s native air
(James Montgomery, 1771-1854, Hymns & Psalms 557)

and I believe Jesus would have identified with that. He would have seen his commitment to prayer as his ‘vital breath’ and ‘native air’. And just as nothing should block the body’s inhalation or exhalation so for Jesus prayerlessness would be suffocation. Nothing should block prayer, not even food.

Fasting, therefore, shows Jesus choosing his priorities. Programmes, human demands and expectations, current fashions – all these pall in comparison to communion with the Father for Jesus. It isn’t that he is someone who spends his time retreating from the world, its pain and pressures. No – prayer is his fuel, because he gains direction from the Father and empowering from the Spirit through it. Therefore it comes at the head of all his activity. And he is prepared to make tough decisions to give it that priority, even going without food for a season.

There are many battles we face in living out a consistent prayer life. One of them is the problem of time. I would not suggest we all have to be like the ancient greats who rose at four in the morning to pray like Luther and Wesley – we have to remember they lived in societies without electric light and so went to bed earlier than we do. But I have always been challenged by the title of a book by the American pastor Bill Hybels entitled ‘Too Busy Not To Pray’. Ultimately something has to go to make room for prayer – and it may be something important, because prayer is even more important.

The late Dr Donald English used to tell his ministerial students that ministry was not about priorities, it was about choosing between priorities, and I think that is not just true for ministers: it is true for all of us in the Christian life. I have a rough guideline for ministry that I took from a book by Eugene Peterson called ‘Working The Angles’ in which he said the pastor had three priorities: prayer, Scripture and spiritual direction. I don’t keep to those priorities as I should, but when I read about Jesus spending a protracted time fasting in order to pray then I am deeply challenged to reorder my priorities. I wonder whether this Lent might be a season when we don’t just make some temporary changes but some permanent alterations to our priorities so that we respond to God’s call for us to get serious with him. Is this the time to make those hard decisions we’ve been postponing?

 

3. Temptation
Neither Luke nor Matthew tells us how the Devil comes to tempt Jesus, only that he does. Temptation can come in many guises, from aggressive assault to quiet seduction. For many years I have been attracted to the interpretation of the temptations by the (admittedly Marxist) film director Pier Paolo Pasolini in his movie The Gospel According To St Matthew. A shadowy figure approaches Jesus from the distance, out of the heat haze. He turns out to be a suited businessman. He suggests to Jesus they can cut a deal. Sin is often cutting a deal that we shouldn’t.

But even if Jesus experienced temptation in a different context from us – twice prefaced with the words, ‘If you are the Son of God’ – the content of the temptation is remarkably similar to that which we face.

‘Command this stone to become a loaf of bread’ says the Devil to a hungry Jesus (verse 3), but back comes the reply, ‘It is written, “One does not live by bread alone.” ’ (verse 4). So often the temptation for Christians is only to provide bread and forget that we know that life is more than bread. Much as it is essential to meet social and material needs the church is tempted to reduce her calling to that of a social service agency and forget that life depends on the word of God. We’d like to believe in a ‘bread alone’ option, because it relieves us of the responsibility to get into the controversial spiritual stuff that might lose us face, friends or reputation. But this is an area where we cannot cut a deal.

The offer of the kingdoms of the world, provided Jesus again cuts a deal by worshipping the Devil (verses 5-6) may seem remote from us, but it isn’t. ‘All this can be yours’ sounds dangerously like the claims of a consumer society. But it comes at the same price: false, demonic worship. It is a bowing down to idols, and we live in a culture where consumerism isn’t invited, it’s demanded, because our economy depends on it. ‘All this can be yours’ comes with a threat in our world, one described bluntly by U2:

All of this, all of this can be yours
Just give me what I want and no-one gets hurt.
(‘Vertigo’, lyrics: Bono and The Edge)

True worship leads to a different kind of devotion from consumerism.

Throwing himself down from the temple and demanding that God send his angels to rescue him (verses 9-11)?

According to the Devil’s theory there should be no martyrs. But the divine purpose for Jesus, as for certain others, is that they should be preserved through death, not from death.
(John Nolland, Luke 1-9:20, p181)

This is the temptation to turn faith into the easy life. It is the avoidance of the Cross. Had Jesus succumbed, there would have been no salvation. And for us it is the temptation to short cut the painful road of faithfulness in favour of a quick fix that ultimately fixes nothing, except that we turn from disciples to traitors.

So while the temptations had particular application for Jesus they are also familiar to us. The good news for us is that Jesus resisted. He could have given in. But he resisted, not merely as the Second Person of the Trinity, but as a man acting in the power of the Spirit. As John Calvin put it, Jesus took on sinful human flesh and turned it back to obedience to the Father. Therefore Jesus’ approach to resisting temptation is relevant to us. But what is it? That takes us to the final element of the story:

4. Resistance
There is one common thread in Jesus’ resistance to temptation: ‘It is written’ (verse 4), ‘It is written’ (verse 8), ‘It is said’ (verse 12). Every act of resistance from Jesus is a quotation from Scripture. Jesus knows his Bible. And again, let us not simply say he knew it because he was the Second Person of the Godhead. It is also because as a Jewish boy he went to synagogue school. He devoted himself to reading, studying and learning Scripture.

Not only that, but all the quotations come from the same Old Testament book: Deuteronomy. They come from the context of Israel’s forty years in the wilderness. Jesus not only knows Scripture, he knows what part will be relevant to what he is facing.

My sermons here keep returning to the theme of regular Bible study, both personal and corporate. Here is the best reason of all: the example of Jesus. He studies Scripture and applies it in his life. Here is why I urge on people the discipline of daily Bible reading. Here is why I think it is a ministry priority for me to be involved in the Tuesday morning Bible study group. Meditating on the Bible and spurring one another on in our living it out is a Christ-like thing to do. It is a fundamental discipline of Christian discipleship.

So when one member of this church recently told me they had decided that their Lent discipline was going to be the reading and study of a particular biblical book they had never read before, I was delighted. Here was someone taking seriously the sort of practices that will stimulate holiness. Here was someone getting ready for future occasions when spiritual resistance will be needed. Here was a Christian feeding on God’s Word with the deliberate intention of growing spiritually.

Hence I make no apology for coming back to this theme. Just as athletes achieve nothing without disciplined training, so little of value is accomplished long term in the Christian life without a commitment to spiritual discipline. As in Genesis Joseph advised Pharaoh to store up grain during the seven years of plenty ready for the seven years of famine, so it is vital for us to store up Scripture ready for the time when it will be needed. When the crisis or the temptation hits, we need something to draw on.

So just as the stripping away of props in the wilderness might make us revisit our priorities in terms of engaging with God in prayer, so the wilderness experience of temptation is a call to be disciplined in biblical meditation before the time of trouble pounces upon us from behind. Now is the time to find a set of Bible reading notes; now is the time to join that small group.

And this Lent is not the time to say, ‘I’ll do this for six weeks,’ it’s the time to say, ‘I’ll take this as an opportunity to take my spiritual life up a gear. I’ll recover some younger enthusiasm that has been dulled by the years and by experiences of disappointment.’ Wouldn’t it be great if some of us could look back on this Lent and say, ‘That was the time things changed for me’?

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Luke 4:1-13

Introduction
There’s something very tempting for preachers in the story about the temptations of Jesus: three temptations equals three points. And certainly I’ve preached that way on this story before. But returning to this familiar, yet strange reading again for the first Sunday in Lent this year I was no longer satisfied with that approach. I didn’t feel I was doing justice to the story. And although the details of the account seem so foreign to our experience, there is still much here that is similar to what we face and endure as Christians.

So I invite you to come with me through the phases of the story this year, and see whether there are places in it where you find yourself. I certainly found myself in some parts of the account. For this is a narrative not merely about a strange experience Jesus had; it narrates the Christian experience, too.

1. Wilderness
The story begins with a move to the wilderness:

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness (verse 1).

In some Christian circles it’s quite common to hear people justify their actions by saying, ‘I feel led’. They believe the Holy Spirit has led them to certain decisions. Jesus was led by the Spirit, too – but in the wilderness. ‘Led’ is too weak a word: it means ‘thrown out’. Jesus was thrown out by the Spirit into the wilderness. There in the stark experience of the desert he prepares for his public ministry, for which he has just been anointed by the Spirit.

But going into the wilderness isn’t what we normally expect of ‘led by the Spirit’ experiences: they’re usually more exciting or dramatic than that. But sometimes the Holy Spirit leads us, too, into a kind of ‘wilderness’. It may not be the heat of Palestine, with dry river beds in summer. It may be another wilderness: a place we don’t like, a job we find unrewarding, chronic illness, family disappointment or personal tragedy. We didn’t think these were the things of the Spirit. And in one sense they aren’t: they are not the usual signs of the abundant life promised by Jesus.

But in another way they are the tools of the Spirit to accomplish good. The wilderness is the place of stripping away – no comforts or luxuries, no supports or crutches – and we are face to face with how much of God we have, and how much of us God has.

When I am in a wilderness I usually want to find the quickest road out. But whatever maps I consult I find God may block the way, at least until he knows that I am going to deal seriously with him. He wants my attention in prayer. He wants me to depend on him and not on any props. He wants me to stop playing religious games, trust him and build the relationship. He wants my ears to listen for his voice, not any competing speech.

When I am in the lush places of life it is easy to be seduced by luxuries or alluring voices. I can trust in health, gifts, technology or resources in order to do what I think I am meant to do. And these things are not wrong in themselves. But when I trust them rather than God I make them idols, I do not learn like a disciple, I do not travel like a pilgrim.

So for those of us who are in a wilderness now, is God calling us to deal with his reality, not fabrications and daydreams?

2. Fasting
If the wilderness experience is God’s call for us to get serious with him, how might we respond? Jesus did so in drastic fashion:

for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days (verse 2).

Fasting. Giving attention to his Father matters so much to Jesus that he forgoes food in order to pray. For Jesus, prayer isn’t good, nice, desirable or attractive: it’s so much more than that. It’s essential. James Montgomery in his hymn ‘Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire’ wrote,

Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath,
                The Christian’s native air
(James Montgomery, 1771-1854, Hymns & Psalms 557)

and I believe Jesus would have identified with that. He would have seen his commitment to prayer as his ‘vital breath’ and ‘native air’. And just as nothing should block the body’s inhalation or exhalation so for Jesus prayerlessness would be suffocation. Nothing should block prayer, not even food.

Fasting, therefore, shows Jesus choosing his priorities. Programmes, human demands and expectations, current fashions – all these pall in comparison to communion with the Father for Jesus. It isn’t that he is someone who spends his time retreating from the world, its pain and pressures. No – prayer is his fuel, because he gains direction from the Father and empowering from the Spirit through it. Therefore it comes at the head of all his activity. And he is prepared to make tough decisions to give it that priority, even going without food for a season.

There are many battles we face in living out a consistent prayer life. One of them is the problem of time. I would not suggest we all have to be like the ancient greats who rose at four in the morning to pray like Luther and Wesley – we have to remember they lived in societies without electric light and so went to bed earlier than we do. But I have always been challenged by the title of a book by the American pastor Bill Hybels entitled ‘Too Busy Not To Pray’. Ultimately something has to go to make room for prayer – and it may be something important, because prayer is even more important.

The late Dr Donald English used to tell his ministerial students that ministry was not about priorities, it was about choosing between priorities, and I think that is not just true for ministers: it is true for all of us in the Christian life. I have a rough guideline for ministry that I took from a book by Eugene Peterson called ‘Working The Angles’ in which he said the pastor had three priorities: prayer, Scripture and spiritual direction. I don’t keep to those priorities as I should, but when I read about Jesus spending a protracted time fasting in order to pray then I am deeply challenged to reorder my priorities. I wonder whether this Lent might be a season when we don’t just make some temporary changes but some permanent alterations to our priorities so that we respond to God’s call for us to get serious with him. Is this the time to make those hard decisions we’ve been postponing?

 

3. Temptation
Neither Luke nor Matthew tells us how the Devil comes to tempt Jesus, only that he does. Temptation can come in many guises, from aggressive assault to quiet seduction. For many years I have been attracted to the interpretation of the temptations by the (admittedly Marxist) film director Pier Paolo Pasolini in his movie The Gospel According To St Matthew. A shadowy figure approaches Jesus from the distance, out of the heat haze. He turns out to be a suited businessman. He suggests to Jesus they can cut a deal. Sin is often cutting a deal that we shouldn’t.

But even if Jesus experienced temptation in a different context from us – twice prefaced with the words, ‘If you are the Son of God’ – the content of the temptation is remarkably similar to that which we face.

‘Command this stone to become a loaf of bread’ says the Devil to a hungry Jesus (verse 3), but back comes the reply, ‘It is written, “One does not live by bread alone.” ’ (verse 4). So often the temptation for Christians is only to provide bread and forget that we know that life is more than bread. Much as it is essential to meet social and material needs the church is tempted to reduce her calling to that of a social service agency and forget that life depends on the word of God. We’d like to believe in a ‘bread alone’ option, because it relieves us of the responsibility to get into the controversial spiritual stuff that might lose us face, friends or reputation. But this is an area where we cannot cut a deal.

The offer of the kingdoms of the world, provided Jesus again cuts a deal by worshipping the Devil (verses 5-6) may seem remote from us, but it isn’t. ‘All this can be yours’ sounds dangerously like the claims of a consumer society. But it comes at the same price: false, demonic worship. It is a bowing down to idols, and we live in a culture where consumerism isn’t invited, it’s demanded, because our economy depends on it. ‘All this can be yours’ comes with a threat in our world, one described bluntly by U2:

All of this, all of this can be yours
Just give me what I want and no-one gets hurt.
(‘Vertigo’, lyrics: Bono and The Edge)

True worship leads to a different kind of devotion from consumerism.

Throwing himself down from the temple and demanding that God send his angels to rescue him (verses 9-11)?

According to the Devil’s theory there should be no martyrs. But the divine purpose for Jesus, as for certain others, is that they should be preserved through death, not from death.
(John Nolland, Luke 1-9:20, p181)

This is the temptation to turn faith into the easy life. It is the avoidance of the Cross. Had Jesus succumbed, there would have been no salvation. And for us it is the temptation to short cut the painful road of faithfulness in favour of a quick fix that ultimately fixes nothing, except that we turn from disciples to traitors.

So while the temptations had particular application for Jesus they are also familiar to us. The good news for us is that Jesus resisted. He could have given in. But he resisted, not merely as the Second Person of the Trinity, but as a man acting in the power of the Spirit. As John Calvin put it, Jesus took on sinful human flesh and turned it back to obedience to the Father. Therefore Jesus’ approach to resisting temptation is relevant to us. But what is it? That takes us to the final element of the story:

4. Resistance
There is one common thread in Jesus’ resistance to temptation: ‘It is written’ (verse 4), ‘It is written’ (verse 8), ‘It is said’ (verse 12). Every act of resistance from Jesus is a quotation from Scripture. Jesus knows his Bible. And again, let us not simply say he knew it because he was the Second Person of the Godhead. It is also because as a Jewish boy he went to synagogue school. He devoted himself to reading, studying and learning Scripture.

Not only that, but all the quotations come from the same Old Testament book: Deuteronomy. They come from the context of Israel’s forty years in the wilderness. Jesus not only knows Scripture, he knows what part will be relevant to what he is facing.

My sermons here keep returning to the theme of regular Bible study, both personal and corporate. Here is the best reason of all: the example of Jesus. He studies Scripture and applies it in his life. Here is why I urge on people the discipline of daily Bible reading. Here is why I think it is a ministry priority for me to be involved in the Tuesday morning Bible study group. Meditating on the Bible and spurring one another on in our living it out is a Christ-like thing to do. It is a fundamental discipline of Christian discipleship.

So when one member of this church recently told me they had decided that their Lent discipline was going to be the reading and study of a particular biblical book they had never read before, I was delighted. Here was someone taking seriously the sort of practices that will stimulate holiness. Here was someone getting ready for future occasions when spiritual resistance will be needed. Here was a Christian feeding on God’s Word with the deliberate intention of growing spiritually.

Hence I make no apology for coming back to this theme. Just as athletes achieve nothing without disciplined training, so little of value is accomplished long term in the Christian life without a commitment to spiritual discipline. As in Genesis Joseph advised Pharaoh to store up grain during the seven years of plenty ready for the seven years of famine, so it is vital for us to store up Scripture ready for the time when it will be needed. When the crisis or the temptation hits, we need something to draw on.

So just as the stripping away of props in the wilderness might make us revisit our priorities in terms of engaging with God in prayer, so the wilderness experience of temptation is a call to be disciplined in biblical meditation before the time of trouble pounces upon us from behind. Now is the time to find a set of Bible reading notes; now is the time to join that small group.

And this Lent is not the time to say, ‘I’ll do this for six weeks,’ it’s the time to say, ‘I’ll take this as an opportunity to take my spiritual life up a gear. I’ll recover some younger enthusiasm that has been dulled by the years and by experiences of disappointment.’ Wouldn’t it be great if some of us could look back on this Lent and say, ‘That was the time things changed for me’?

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Just a mini-sermon this week (don’t cheer too loudly), as I’m tag-preaching with a colleague at a united service. We couldn’t decide between the reading below and 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2, so we opted for two mini-sermons. This is mine.

Luke 9:28-36

Introduction
The late Malcolm Muggeridge once went to Calcutta to make a film about Mother Teresa called ‘Something Beautiful For God’. The Home for Dying Destitutes, where Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity take down-and-outs from the streets of Calcutta, was formerly a Hindu temple. It has very poor lighting, so poor the cameraman, Ken Macmillan, said it would be quite hopeless to film there. However, he was persuaded to take a few inside shots. When the film was processed, the inside shots were bathed in a wonderful soft light. Macmillan agreed this could not be accounted for in earthly terms.

Muggeridge said, ‘I have no doubt whatever as to what the explanation is: holiness, an expression of life, is luminous … The camera had caught this luminosity, without which the film would have come out quite black, as Ken Macmillan proved to himself when he used the same stock in similar circumstances and got no picture at all.’[1]

If that is what conventional film stock captured of Mother Teresa, imagine what it would have been like had it been possible to have a camera present at the Transfiguration. Maybe the brightness would have been so intense it would have been impossible to film. Perhaps it is like the story of the emperor who went to a famous Jewish rabbi, Joshua ben Hananiah, and asked to be shown the rabbi’s God. The rabbi replied that this was impossible but the emperor was not satisfied: he wanted to see the God of Israel. So the rabbi took him outside and told him to stare into the midday sun. ‘But that’s impossible!’ replied the emperor. ‘If you cannot look at the sun, which God created,’ retorted rabbi Joshua, ‘how much less can you behold the glory of God himself?’[2]

At the Transfiguration Peter, John and James are dazzled. But what does the dazzling glory of Jesus stand for, and what is a fitting response?

1. Salvation
Listen to the conversation that the disciples witness:

Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.
(verses 30-31)

‘His departure.’ The Greek word for ‘departure’ here is exodos, from which the Old Testament book Exodus takes its name. It is the great story of salvation. In New Testament terms Jesus’ death, resurrection and ascension would be the new great Exodus. Jesus would navigate a path not through the Red Sea but the deep waters of death to new life and salvation, and this is his glory.

This is the glory of the Gospel – nothing less – that the Son of God took human flesh, lived in humility and taught God’s new way of life, then died and rose that we might participate in that new lifestyle. The Gospel isn’t a self-help society, it’s not pop psychology lifted from tabloid pages or daytime TV, nor is it a political platform. It’s the power of God for salvation to be forgiven and live differently. It will lift our self-esteem and it does have profound political implications, but the key is the departure Jesus was to effect from Jerusalem, which leads to an ongoing deep conversion of every part of life. The hymn-writer was right to pen the words, ‘In the cross of Christ I glory.’ The Cross is his glory, and the light shines on the world from the darkness of Calvary.

But if that’s what the glory of the Transfiguration firstly means for us, what does its association with salvation mean for Jesus? Here is a wonderful spiritual experience, perhaps a glimpse of the glorious and beautiful light which he had always shared with the Father and the Spirit. We talk of having ‘mountain-top’ spiritual experiences – perhaps at great celebratory conferences or Christian events. Then when ordinary living hits us after we return we are discouraged.

But the mountain-top experience of glory for Jesus is surely to prepare him for what is to come. Here in his experience of glory, as he talks about his forthcoming departure that will accomplish salvation, perhaps he talks about the pain, isolation and suffering that it will entail. Is the Transfiguration strength for the road ahead? I suspect it is.

And so perhaps we might view our own mountain-top experiences like that. I have no problem in principle with Christians having extraordinary spiritual experiences of God. But I believe that often they are there as the spiritual refuelling before or during an arduous section of our journey. Some of my own most dramatic encounters with God have been while I was in a job I hated, while I was going through a broken engagement and while I was coping with various threats against me from church members during a couple of crises. I wish those spiritual experiences had lifted me out of the bad times, but more often they were the strength I needed to cope and the vision to see the situations God’s way instead of mine.

So it all begs a question: for what reason might we seek an ecstatic spiritual encounter? The Transfiguration suggests it might not be just for religious thrill-seekers: God has a mysterious purpose in these experiences. It is to build us up for the hard times.

2. Superiority
The other night Debbie and I caught a repeat of The Vicar Of Dibley. It began with the vicar, Geraldine Granger, opening the vicarage door to a tall, handsome man who said he had only met her once before when he had produced an episode of Songs Of Praise. But although they had only crossed paths once before, would he marry her? Geraldine – who has already been in a tizzy since seeing him – now turns completely to jelly, accepts his proposal, and as he disappears to bring someone, she tears down her poster of Mel Gibson. Only when the man returns a moment later does Geraldine discover he wanted her to conduct his wedding to his fiancée.

Ordinary people have a reputation for turning gaga when suddenly in the presence of celebrities, the powerful and the extremely attractive. And that’s what Peter – awake despite being tired (verse 32) – does at the Transfiguration. He blurts out nonsense:

‘Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’
(verse 33)

He wants a monument, a blue plaque, a tourist attraction to mark this auspicious occasion. But as the splendidly surnamed novelist William Faulkner once observed, footprints are preferable to monuments:

A monument only says, ‘At least I got this far,’ while a footprint says, ‘This is where I was when I moved again.’[3]

A monument erected by a blabbering disciple won’t do for the Transfiguration. It is not an event that is reducible to a theme park or adventure playground. It requires not stopping there, but moving on. So Peter is rebuked by the divine voice from the cloud: ‘This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’ (verse 35). The cloud disappears and only Jesus is left – Moses and Elijah are no longer there (verse 36). Listen to him. He is not their equal, he is God’s Son. He is superior: listen to him.

It is not a sufficient reaction, therefore, to spiritual ecstasy, to be an incoherent obsessive fan chasing after autographs. When we recover from our trembling limbs, when we get back up from our faces or our backs, there is only one fitting response, and that is obedience to Christ. He is superior to all other divine messengers, because he is God’s Son. Listen to him – and do what he says. Anything less makes us tourists not pilgrims, fans not disciples[4]. Jesus didn’t seek fans or tourists – he challenged them and they usually walked away. But disciples and pilgrims – they might also tremble and shake in the presence of Christ and his glory – but they don’t stop there. They follow. They walk with him. Do we?

Technorati Tags: Malcolm+Muggeridge, Mother+Teresa, Joshua+ben+Hananiah, transfiguration, Jesus, salvation, Gospel, Vicar+Of+Dibley, Songs+Of+Praise, William+Faulkner, Moses, Elijah, Graham+Twelftree, Simon+Coupland, Alister+McGrath, Sam+di+Bonaventura, Ellie+Siegmeister, Eugene+Peterson

Just a mini-sermon this week (don’t cheer too loudly), as I’m tag-preaching with a colleague at a united service. We couldn’t decide between the reading below and 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2, so we opted for two mini-sermons. This is mine.

Luke 9:28-36

Introduction
The late Malcolm Muggeridge once went to Calcutta to make a film about Mother Teresa called ‘Something Beautiful For God’. The Home for Dying Destitutes, where Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity take down-and-outs from the streets of Calcutta, was formerly a Hindu temple. It has very poor lighting, so poor the cameraman, Ken Macmillan, said it would be quite hopeless to film there. However, he was persuaded to take a few inside shots. When the film was processed, the inside shots were bathed in a wonderful soft light. Macmillan agreed this could not be accounted for in earthly terms.

Muggeridge said, ‘I have no doubt whatever as to what the explanation is: holiness, an expression of life, is luminous … The camera had caught this luminosity, without which the film would have come out quite black, as Ken Macmillan proved to himself when he used the same stock in similar circumstances and got no picture at all.’[1]

If that is what conventional film stock captured of Mother Teresa, imagine what it would have been like had it been possible to have a camera present at the Transfiguration. Maybe the brightness would have been so intense it would have been impossible to film. Perhaps it is like the story of the emperor who went to a famous Jewish rabbi, Joshua ben Hananiah, and asked to be shown the rabbi’s God. The rabbi replied that this was impossible but the emperor was not satisfied: he wanted to see the God of Israel. So the rabbi took him outside and told him to stare into the midday sun. ‘But that’s impossible!’ replied the emperor. ‘If you cannot look at the sun, which God created,’ retorted rabbi Joshua, ‘how much less can you behold the glory of God himself?’[2]

At the Transfiguration Peter, John and James are dazzled. But what does the dazzling glory of Jesus stand for, and what is a fitting response?

1. Salvation
Listen to the conversation that the disciples witness:

Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.
(verses 30-31)

‘His departure.’ The Greek word for ‘departure’ here is exodos, from which the Old Testament book Exodus takes its name. It is the great story of salvation. In New Testament terms Jesus’ death, resurrection and ascension would be the new great Exodus. Jesus would navigate a path not through the Red Sea but the deep waters of death to new life and salvation, and this is his glory.

This is the glory of the Gospel – nothing less – that the Son of God took human flesh, lived in humility and taught God’s new way of life, then died and rose that we might participate in that new lifestyle. The Gospel isn’t a self-help society, it’s not pop psychology lifted from tabloid pages or daytime TV, nor is it a political platform. It’s the power of God for salvation to be forgiven and live differently. It will lift our self-esteem and it does have profound political implications, but the key is the departure Jesus was to effect from Jerusalem, which leads to an ongoing deep conversion of every part of life. The hymn-writer was right to pen the words, ‘In the cross of Christ I glory.’ The Cross is his glory, and the light shines on the world from the darkness of Calvary.

But if that’s what the glory of the Transfiguration firstly means for us, what does its association with salvation mean for Jesus? Here is a wonderful spiritual experience, perhaps a glimpse of the glorious and beautiful light which he had always shared with the Father and the Spirit. We talk of having ‘mountain-top’ spiritual experiences – perhaps at great celebratory conferences or Christian events. Then when ordinary living hits us after we return we are discouraged.

But the mountain-top experience of glory for Jesus is surely to prepare him for what is to come. Here in his experience of glory, as he talks about his forthcoming departure that will accomplish salvation, perhaps he talks about the pain, isolation and suffering that it will entail. Is the Transfiguration strength for the road ahead? I suspect it is.

And so perhaps we might view our own mountain-top experiences like that. I have no problem in principle with Christians having extraordinary spiritual experiences of God. But I believe that often they are there as the spiritual refuelling before or during an arduous section of our journey. Some of my own most dramatic encounters with God have been while I was in a job I hated, while I was going through a broken engagement and while I was coping with various threats against me from church members during a couple of crises. I wish those spiritual experiences had lifted me out of the bad times, but more often they were the strength I needed to cope and the vision to see the situations God’s way instead of mine.

So it all begs a question: for what reason might we seek an ecstatic spiritual encounter? The Transfiguration suggests it might not be just for religious thrill-seekers: God has a mysterious purpose in these experiences. It is to build us up for the hard times.

2. Superiority
The other night Debbie and I caught a repeat of The Vicar Of Dibley. It began with the vicar, Geraldine Granger, opening the vicarage door to a tall, handsome man who said he had only met her once before when he had produced an episode of Songs Of Praise. But although they had only crossed paths once before, would he marry her? Geraldine – who has already been in a tizzy since seeing him – now turns completely to jelly, accepts his proposal, and as he disappears to bring someone, she tears down her poster of Mel Gibson. Only when the man returns a moment later does Geraldine discover he wanted her to conduct his wedding to his fiancée.

Ordinary people have a reputation for turning gaga when suddenly in the presence of celebrities, the powerful and the extremely attractive. And that’s what Peter – awake despite being tired (verse 32) – does at the Transfiguration. He blurts out nonsense:

‘Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’
(verse 33)

He wants a monument, a blue plaque, a tourist attraction to mark this auspicious occasion. But as the splendidly surnamed novelist William Faulkner once observed, footprints are preferable to monuments:

A monument only says, ‘At least I got this far,’ while a footprint says, ‘This is where I was when I moved again.’[3]

A monument erected by a blabbering disciple won’t do for the Transfiguration. It is not an event that is reducible to a theme park or adventure playground. It requires not stopping there, but moving on. So Peter is rebuked by the divine voice from the cloud: ‘This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’ (verse 35). The cloud disappears and only Jesus is left – Moses and Elijah are no longer there (verse 36). Listen to him. He is not their equal, he is God’s Son. He is superior: listen to him.

It is not a sufficient reaction, therefore, to spiritual ecstasy, to be an incoherent obsessive fan chasing after autographs. When we recover from our trembling limbs, when we get back up from our faces or our backs, there is only one fitting response, and that is obedience to Christ. He is superior to all other divine messengers, because he is God’s Son. Listen to him – and do what he says. Anything less makes us tourists not pilgrims, fans not disciples[4]. Jesus didn’t seek fans or tourists – he challenged them and they usually walked away. But disciples and pilgrims – they might also tremble and shake in the presence of Christ and his glory – but they don’t stop there. They follow. They walk with him. Do we?

Technorati Tags: Malcolm+Muggeridge, Mother+Teresa, Joshua+ben+Hananiah, transfiguration, Jesus, salvation, Gospel, Vicar+Of+Dibley, Songs+Of+Praise, William+Faulkner, Moses, Elijah, Graham+Twelftree, Simon+Coupland, Alister+McGrath, Sam+di+Bonaventura, Ellie+Siegmeister, Eugene+Peterson

Just a mini-sermon this week (don’t cheer too loudly), as I’m tag-preaching with a colleague at a united service. We couldn’t decide between the reading below and 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2, so we opted for two mini-sermons. This is mine.

Luke 9:28-36

Introduction
The late Malcolm Muggeridge once went to Calcutta to make a film about Mother Teresa called ‘Something Beautiful For God’. The Home for Dying Destitutes, where Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity take down-and-outs from the streets of Calcutta, was formerly a Hindu temple. It has very poor lighting, so poor the cameraman, Ken Macmillan, said it would be quite hopeless to film there. However, he was persuaded to take a few inside shots. When the film was processed, the inside shots were bathed in a wonderful soft light. Macmillan agreed this could not be accounted for in earthly terms.

Muggeridge said, ‘I have no doubt whatever as to what the explanation is: holiness, an expression of life, is luminous … The camera had caught this luminosity, without which the film would have come out quite black, as Ken Macmillan proved to himself when he used the same stock in similar circumstances and got no picture at all.’[1]

If that is what conventional film stock captured of Mother Teresa, imagine what it would have been like had it been possible to have a camera present at the Transfiguration. Maybe the brightness would have been so intense it would have been impossible to film. Perhaps it is like the story of the emperor who went to a famous Jewish rabbi, Joshua ben Hananiah, and asked to be shown the rabbi’s God. The rabbi replied that this was impossible but the emperor was not satisfied: he wanted to see the God of Israel. So the rabbi took him outside and told him to stare into the midday sun. ‘But that’s impossible!’ replied the emperor. ‘If you cannot look at the sun, which God created,’ retorted rabbi Joshua, ‘how much less can you behold the glory of God himself?’[2]

At the Transfiguration Peter, John and James are dazzled. But what does the dazzling glory of Jesus stand for, and what is a fitting response?

1. Salvation
Listen to the conversation that the disciples witness:

Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.
(verses 30-31)

‘His departure.’ The Greek word for ‘departure’ here is exodos, from which the Old Testament book Exodus takes its name. It is the great story of salvation. In New Testament terms Jesus’ death, resurrection and ascension would be the new great Exodus. Jesus would navigate a path not through the Red Sea but the deep waters of death to new life and salvation, and this is his glory.

This is the glory of the Gospel – nothing less – that the Son of God took human flesh, lived in humility and taught God’s new way of life, then died and rose that we might participate in that new lifestyle. The Gospel isn’t a self-help society, it’s not pop psychology lifted from tabloid pages or daytime TV, nor is it a political platform. It’s the power of God for salvation to be forgiven and live differently. It will lift our self-esteem and it does have profound political implications, but the key is the departure Jesus was to effect from Jerusalem, which leads to an ongoing deep conversion of every part of life. The hymn-writer was right to pen the words, ‘In the cross of Christ I glory.’ The Cross is his glory, and the light shines on the world from the darkness of Calvary.

But if that’s what the glory of the Transfiguration firstly means for us, what does its association with salvation mean for Jesus? Here is a wonderful spiritual experience, perhaps a glimpse of the glorious and beautiful light which he had always shared with the Father and the Spirit. We talk of having ‘mountain-top’ spiritual experiences – perhaps at great celebratory conferences or Christian events. Then when ordinary living hits us after we return we are discouraged.

But the mountain-top experience of glory for Jesus is surely to prepare him for what is to come. Here in his experience of glory, as he talks about his forthcoming departure that will accomplish salvation, perhaps he talks about the pain, isolation and suffering that it will entail. Is the Transfiguration strength for the road ahead? I suspect it is.

And so perhaps we might view our own mountain-top experiences like that. I have no problem in principle with Christians having extraordinary spiritual experiences of God. But I believe that often they are there as the spiritual refuelling before or during an arduous section of our journey. Some of my own most dramatic encounters with God have been while I was in a job I hated, while I was going through a broken engagement and while I was coping with various threats against me from church members during a couple of crises. I wish those spiritual experiences had lifted me out of the bad times, but more often they were the strength I needed to cope and the vision to see the situations God’s way instead of mine.

So it all begs a question: for what reason might we seek an ecstatic spiritual encounter? The Transfiguration suggests it might not be just for religious thrill-seekers: God has a mysterious purpose in these experiences. It is to build us up for the hard times.

2. Superiority
The other night Debbie and I caught a repeat of The Vicar Of Dibley. It began with the vicar, Geraldine Granger, opening the vicarage door to a tall, handsome man who said he had only met her once before when he had produced an episode of Songs Of Praise. But although they had only crossed paths once before, would he marry her? Geraldine – who has already been in a tizzy since seeing him – now turns completely to jelly, accepts his proposal, and as he disappears to bring someone, she tears down her poster of Mel Gibson. Only when the man returns a moment later does Geraldine discover he wanted her to conduct his wedding to his fiancée.

Ordinary people have a reputation for turning gaga when suddenly in the presence of celebrities, the powerful and the extremely attractive. And that’s what Peter – awake despite being tired (verse 32) – does at the Transfiguration. He blurts out nonsense:

‘Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’
(verse 33)

He wants a monument, a blue plaque, a tourist attraction to mark this auspicious occasion. But as the splendidly surnamed novelist William Faulkner once observed, footprints are preferable to monuments:

A monument only says, ‘At least I got this far,’ while a footprint says, ‘This is where I was when I moved again.’[3]

A monument erected by a blabbering disciple won’t do for the Transfiguration. It is not an event that is reducible to a theme park or adventure playground. It requires not stopping there, but moving on. So Peter is rebuked by the divine voice from the cloud: ‘This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’ (verse 35). The cloud disappears and only Jesus is left – Moses and Elijah are no longer there (verse 36). Listen to him. He is not their equal, he is God’s Son. He is superior: listen to him.

It is not a sufficient reaction, therefore, to spiritual ecstasy, to be an incoherent obsessive fan chasing after autographs. When we recover from our trembling limbs, when we get back up from our faces or our backs, there is only one fitting response, and that is obedience to Christ. He is superior to all other divine messengers, because he is God’s Son. Listen to him – and do what he says. Anything less makes us tourists not pilgrims, fans not disciples[4]. Jesus didn’t seek fans or tourists – he challenged them and they usually walked away. But disciples and pilgrims – they might also tremble and shake in the presence of Christ and his glory – but they don’t stop there. They follow. They walk with him. Do we?

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