Readings for Sunday, August 12

Lectionary Readings:

Isaiah 1:1,10-20 with Psalm 50:1-8,22-23
Genesis 15:1-6
Hebrews 11:1-3,8-16
Luke 12:32-40

Life has a language.
And Scripture has a word for us.
Each week these two thoughts frame LCL’s Lectionary Lens.

In every Lectionary there is a thread of coherence that knits together the readings. Each Sabbath the Psalms sing what the Epistles convey, the first readings frame what the Gospels observe. And, in every Lectionary, we can't help but connect it to our personal experience. We do so somewhat carefully, knowing that if there are too many “I's” in the sermon we may have eclipsed part of its message. But we also know that worship is not intended merely to make an interesting point. It runs deeper than that. The world's needs, to say nothing of our own needs, are greater than that. We wonder how we can cling to faith when there are so many circumstances that seem to work against us.

This week's Epistle lesson sheds light on how we navigate the visible and invisible streams of reality. Because the verses are so well known we would be wise to unpack them slowly.

Hebrews 8:1-3, 8-10
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.

In our lives the last three months have led us through the intricate and often daunting maze of the medical world in search of healing. We know chronic diseases preclude healing. I know I must learn to live with the complications that are part and parcel of a half century with Type 1 diabetes, and that my wife and children must live the increasing burden of pain my wife and children experience each day. There is a sense in which we, and all people with chronic disease, have been betrayed by the very body that was designed to sustain us.

And so life has asked us to live in a world defined by a different set of expectations. We do so with the conviction that “it is worth it.” We do so knowing that pretend and denial, to say nothing of magical thinking, are not part of the conversation. Once we are called to a new place we have no choice but to fill that place as best we can. What was familiar must no longer be familiar. Change is in the wind. Had Abraham denied his call his life-changing story that is so deeply shared by three faiths would have no light to shed. But that does not make the journey easy. Indeed, scripture underlines the inherent difficulty of responding to a call. Yes, Abraham set out by faith. Yes, he didn't know where he was going. But once he arrives in the promised land the story line takes a sudden and dramatic turn. He and Sarah are living in this promised land “as in a foreign land.”

This is a tenuous existence. This is a dangerous existence. I happened to visit Lesotho not long after an uprising. The family I stayed with had a special satchel hanging on a hood beside the front door. In it were birth certificates, passports, identity cards, phone numbers, cash, credit cards—emergency supplies they might need if violence once again came there way. Living in a foreign land, be it another country or in our own country, is an “iffy” existence.

I think of the millions of people who claim life in a medical system that must count its costs and finds it hard to welcome their lack of insurance or their incapacity to pay. They are in a promised land of healing but find it a foreign place. What's to be done? They, and we, cling to a dignity that is not material. We live in promise when we find ourselves in a foreign land. In the words of Scripture “We look forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.” The promise does not take away the afflictions of a body that has betrayed us, but it does allow us to not get caught in circumstance. It does allow us to keep despair at bay. Indeed it is comforting to know Abraham found the promised land an uncertain place; that he had to adapt, and re-adapt, adapt again, and then adapt yet again to not lose his life-defining call.

A pastor once said to me, “Never underestimate the burdens people are carrying on their shoulders then they come into worship.” This Sunday, in your church there are some givens:

Someone will wonder how they are to live when their body has betrayed them;
Someone will wonder if they have the courage to live out an authentic call with unknown implications;
Someone will wonder if they can risk a call to live in another country;
Someone will wonder how to live in that land of tenuous uncertainty;
Someone will wonder if faith can quell the chaos that seems to once again swallow the world with each news cycle'
Someone will come to a holy place whose entire architecture is designed to emphasize and inspire coherence, with the hope of restoring their lives;
Someone, you see, is traveling to the promised land and wonders how to get there.

In short, there is a yearning for the coherence of life that transcends circumstance. This Sunday you will name the circumstances that would seek to restrain our lives. And then you may well ask, “Friends, what is it that defines us? We are defined by faith and it is through faith that we receive our approval.”

Thanks be to God.

Larry