Corinth Reformed Church
150 Sixteenth Avenue NW
Hickory, North Carolina 28601

Robert M. Thompson, Pastor
August 24, 2008
(more sermons)

Just too much

Last week during the sermon the subject was "the community at prayer." We saw how the apostle James encourages us in chapter five of his letter to be very specific in prayer -- pray when you are in trouble, when you are happy, when you are sick, when you are guilty. Don't just pray yourself -- allow the community to share in the privilege of prayer. It's one way the community draws closer.

I do not wish in any sense to take away from that teaching of James or the need to pray in specific ways for specific needs. But there are situations for which James 5 seems too small, maybe even trite. For those times we need Ephesians 3.

We heard a reminder earlier in the service about the murder-suicide in our community one year ago today. It was a public story, but it was personal for our congregation, and will remain so for a long time. The murder victim, shot in cold blood by her estranged husband on the street outside her place of employment, was Catherine Stearns Smith, the sister of our own Amy McGhinnis. The shooter then took his own life, turning two children into orphans. Amy and her husband Mike are caring for those boys along with their own two sons, meaning that Gabe and Aiden are part of us.

James says to pray if you are in trouble, or happy, or sick, or guilty. Those words either don't apply or they seem to grossly understate the horrible tragedy of domestic violence. By that I mean both this individual case and the broader problem.

Besides the seismic shift this tragedy created for the McGhinnises from now to the end of their lives, the horrible death of Catherine Stearns reminds me that this is a pervasive and terrifying problem in our culture that happens among every demographic -- age, race, culture, social class. People you know -- more than likely people in this room -- live every single day of their lives in terror wondering if it could be their last when a family member snaps one more time. I pray that her story has inspired dozens of women to act decisively to get themselves and their children out of dangerous homes, and hundreds of people in our community to intervene and volunteer.

But the subject of this sermon is prayer. When we think about Catherine's death, how do we pray? Whatever we say, whenever we pray, however we help -- it all seems too small.

That's when we need to turn to Ephesians 3. We also turn there when our triumphs are larger than life. These verses are for those superlative moments of life, good and bad.

Larger, taller, broader

Ephesians 3:14-21 has been described as the Mount Everest of the New Testament. I grew up in the foothills of the Himalayas. We couldn't see Mount Everest from northwest Pakistan, but we could see K2, the world's second tallest peak, from near our home. The majestic, snow-covered peaks stand out even in contrast to their mountainous surroundings. That's Ephesians 3. Some say it's the highest point of the most profound letter in the Bible, which is the world's greatest book. Whether all those superlatives are true or not, Ephesians 3 is certainly a high place from which to view the world.

I do not point us to Ephesians 3 to say, "the problem of domestic violence is small and trivial in comparison to what really matters." Quite the opposite. A murder-suicide, especially when it comes so close to home, is just too big to get my hands around in reflection or action or prayer. I need to climb even higher.

What Paul does in Ephesians 3 is he moves us from whatever occupies our thoughts -- good or bad, big or small -- from the kinds of prayers that deal with "me and mine, here and now" -- to the eternity of God, to inexhaustible love, to inexplicable strength.

Ephesians is not situation-specific. There were people in that church who were troubled, happy, sick, and guilty, but Paul didn't name them or talk about their circumstances. There were mega issues. Paul himself was almost mobbed to death by a riot when he visited the city. He was accused of undermining the economy by claiming that man-made idols were not really gods. The crowd shouted, "Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!" -- a reference to their goddess of fertility, to whom they had built a glamorous seaside temple.

We don't even know if Paul wrote this letter specifically to the Ephesians. Their city is not named in the best manuscripts of this letter. It was probably some kind of circular letter, written to Christians in western Asia Minor. As such, it wasn't about personal or even local or regional issues. Think larger, taller, broader.

As one reads through the foothills of this grand letter, the end of chapter three is, indeed, the Mount Everest. I haven't climbed Mount Everest, but two years ago Linda and I rode a cable car up to Schilthorn in Switzerland, from where we had a different perspective of the world 360 degrees.

When you're up high, you see differently, you see more. What is it that Paul wants us to see from the Mt. Everest of the Bible? Jot down these five key words.

Father. Paul says in verse 14 that all fatherhood, meaning all family, all community, all belonging, comes from the Father in heaven. He means to remind us that when we bring our needs to God, we come before the original Father.

I watched one of my favorite earthly fathers at work yesterday. Several men from the church helped the Mattox family move from one home to the other within Catawba Springs. Once again, I saw this remarkable man in action -- caring for his family, responding to their needs, doing what needs to be done for them.

But had I only helped move furniture in the morning, I would have missed the best moment of the day. Yesterday afternoon I went back by to help with a little detail -- a plumbing detail, if you need to know -- and while I was in the laundry room I heard Tom's voice, "Look at this, Bob!" Tripp Mattox, who has been through a bone transplant and multiple surgeries and unending medicines and trials this past year, was walking down the hall -- walking! The best part was the beaming dad standing behind him.

Fatherhood represents God's provision, his protection, his joy in every step we take, his readiness to catch us when our stumbling feet buckle. We are all like Tripp Mattox in this world -- disabled, fragile, just trying to stay vertical. We cannot possibly grasp life and its complexities. But when we pray, we must remember that we have a Father in heaven from whom all fathers receive their identity and inspiration.

Strength. One of the themes running through this entire passage is strength, as well its synonym, power. When we pray we are constantly aware of our inadequacies, our inabilities, our weakness. If we ever forget them, reminders happen.

Paul is aware of that. So his "Mount Everest" perspective is a prayer in verse 16 -- that God would "strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being." Then in verse 18 he prays "that you would have power" to grasp God's love (we'll come back to that theme). And in verse 20, he reminds us of God's "power that is at work within us."

He says this power is from the one "who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine." Ponder that, friends. We can ask God for a lot. We imagine much for which we don't ask. Paul uses a phrase that is the highest form of superlative possible in the Greek language to say that God can do "immeasurably more" than all we ask or imagine.

This morning following the sermon you will hear a song Peter Corneliussen wrote following the 1996 Olympics. Do you remember a courageous gymnast named Kerri Strug who helped the American women win the gold medal in the team competition? She tore her ligaments and sprained her ankle on the first vault. But with America's gold medal hopes squarely on the shoulders of her 88-pound frame, Kerri hopped on one leg to the starting line, sprinted toward the vault, performed a flawless tumble through the air, stuck the landing, and collapsed in pain. But her team won the gold.

Peter's song reminds us to reach out for God's strength at moments we think we have nothing left, and that's the theme of Peter's song. The source of strength you need as a believer is God in you. Paul wants you to pray remembering his strength.

Love. Once again, words fail Paul as he says that he prays in verses 17-19 that we, "being rooted and established in love," would be able "to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge."

What did Paul have in mind when he wrote these words? Was he thinking of the height of the heavens, the depth of the oceans, and the infinity of the horizons? Or was he, as some commentators believe, thinking of the cross -- pointing up to God, and down to sinners, and reaching out the arms of Christ to every person? Does he just mean to remind us that God's love has so many infinite dimensions we can never fully grasp it?

There is a perspective on God's love which I don't believe Paul means. Our culture has become so fixed on self-esteem and the pursuit of happiness that we are quite convinced God wills our personal comfort and ease as much as we do. This theology is in part what creates a dilemma when life doesn't treat us fairly. We agonize over the fact that if God loves us so much, he should use all his powers to smooth our rough road.

Paul's perspective on God's love -- neither here nor elsewhere in his writing -- is not intended to reinforce our self-serving sense of God's duty or even his desire to make life easy. What we most need to remember is that whatever suffering we endure -- he suffered even more to give us eternal life. When we pray, we need to climb high enough to see the world through the lens of love.

Fullness. The end goal of Paul's prayer is that his readers would be "filled to the measure of all the fullness of God" (19).

Our first reaction might be to say, "That's impossible." Every day, even in our limited experience, we observe and experience things once thought impossible. World records have been broken in these Olympic games by an American swimmer and a Jamaican sprinter that were once thought beyond human capability. My wife's new laptop, which is, as we used to say, "smaller than a breadbox," has a hard drive of 250 gigabytes, or about two trillion bits of information.

Paul wants us to stretch out and reach for the impossible -- to be filled with God's fullness. Are we too satisfied where we are spiritually? Too complacent with a casual side dish of Jesus for an hour once a week?

Community. The overarching theme of this passage, and of this letter, even of the whole Bible, is that this ability to see the world from Mount Everest happens in community with other believers. The pronouns in this passage are plural. You can't understand fatherhood, you can't gain strength, you can't grasp love, you can't find fullness, in isolation.

The clearest language Paul uses in this text about community is in verse 18. If I can shorten his prayer to the key phrases, Paul says, "I pray that you may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp the love of Christ that you may be filled with God" (excerpted, emphasis added).

When we say, "saints," we tend to think of super Christians -- St. Paul or St. Francis, or maybe Mother Teresa. The Catholic church gave us this definition of saints -- really holy, dedicated, special people who happen to be dead.

The New Testament doesn't use the word "saint" like that at all. When Paul says, "together with all the saints," he's talking about all who have been called and set apart by God -- that is, all believers. That's why Eugene Peterson's Message paraphrase speaks of all "followers of Jesus." You're all saints -- not by behavior, but by faith in Jesus Christ.

It is only in community, when we're "together with all the saints," that we can fully grasp God's love, his strength, his fatherly care, his fullness. You may get to base camp on your own, but you will never climb Mount Everest by yourself. It takes community to see the world from a different perspective.

That's why this second sermon on "the community at prayer" takes us to Ephesians 3. Our approach to prayer is far too small, too shallow, too myopic, when it's only private prayer for specific felt needs -- ours or those of others. Paul teaches us to pray with the community of "the saints," and to pray the great themes of faith -- that the Father would strengthen us with the power of his love so that we can have the fullness of what he planned for us.

That is an enlarged vision of prayer.

Pinpoint peripheral vision

I met a boy this week who taught me something about enlarged vision. His physical sight is limited. In fact, he is legally blind.

His name is Preston Harris, and his parents will join Corinth next Sunday. Their names are Justin and Jami Harris. Preston and his sister, Ava, will be baptized two weeks later.

Preston Harris is seven years old, and will be starting first grade this fall. He was born with a severe visual handicap. Both of his eyes failed to develop properly. No one knows the cause, but some form of this disability affects one in 10,000 children.

The formal name of his condition is "bilateral microphthalmia with colobomas." Both eyes are severely underdeveloped. Let me explain what that means practically.

Out of his left eye, Preston can see nothing. In fact, it is covered with a glass eye. So if you met him, you might think that's his good eye. With his right eye, Preston still has very limited vision. He can see only a small portion of what you see.

Let me demonstrate what Preston sees. Cover your left eye with your left hand. With your right hand make a fist and hold it up to your eye so that you can see just a small hole at the end. That's how Preston sees the world. If you are with him, you will notice his right eye moving back and forth very quickly. He is scanning his environment to use that narrow scope to see as much of his world as he can.

Preston wouldn't want you to feel sorry for him. This way of seeing is normal for him -- it's all he's ever known. He copes well, even though he has limited depth perception. I sat with his parents out near the playground the other day and enjoyed our conversation while both children played happily. Sometimes he does get frustrated when others try to get him to see more than he is capable of seeing.

But it occurred to me as the week went on that we all see the world like Preston Harris. We are all visually handicapped. We can see little parts of it here and there, and we flitter our little eyes back and forth trying to scan our world. We are usually unaware of how little we actually see.

But God -- he sees the whole picture, the broad spectrum. Not only side to side but up and down, even front and back. Paul's prayer is that somehow we would learn to trust this God, no matter the situation in which we find ourselves, because he's the Father, because it's his power at work in the world, because his love is wide and long and high and deep. He sees it all. We don't. Our role in community of faith is help each other see more, and help each other trust him fully. Amen.

Copyright 2008 by Robert M. Thompson, Pastor. Unless otherwise indicated, Scriptures quoted are from The Holy Bible, New International Version, Copyright 1978 by New York International Bible Society.