The Dangerous God

This Advent, the folks at the First U.P. Church of Crafton Heights are considering some of the characteristics of the God whom we worship.  On December 6, we talked about what it means for us to worship and serve a God who seems willing to send those he loves to dangerous places.  Our texts included Nahum 1:3-5 and John 20:21.


You’ve heard the old saying, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” right? “Like father, like son”?

Think about your parents. Which characteristics did or do they have that you’d like to think are present in your life? And where are you just a little bit afraid that you’re going to wind up being exactly like your mother or father?

Think about the people you know. How often are you surprised to find out that two people are related because they just seem so different from each other? And how often can you see clearly that, yes, these people definitely came from the same stock?

This is Advent, the season of expectancy and hope and joy; the season where we celebrate the fact that God’s own son has come into the world. Jesus, the pre-existing Son of God the Father, is here! Hallelujah!

Creation of the Sun, Moon, and Vegetation, Michelangelo, c. 1510

Creation of the Sun, Moon, and Vegetation, Michelangelo, c. 1510

There are many in our world who talk about Jesus as though he’s some sort of an exception to the “like Father, like Son” principle. How many times have you heard something like, “Well, that God in the Old Testament, he was just so angry and vengeful all the time. All of that smiting and judging and punishing. But then Jesus came and he was so kind and loving and humane. I like him a lot better.”

As if God is the really grouchy, crotchety old neighbor who’s always chasing the kids off his lawn while Jesus is the boy scout who shares milk and cookies with children and shovels other people’s walks just for fun…

Have you encountered that line of thinking before? I have to say that it’s not really that helpful, because while we perceive the person of Jesus differently than we perceive the person of the Father, scripture is clear that they are one in essence. As Jesus himself said, “I and the Father are one.” (John 10:30).

That means that all the power of God is present in Jesus. And all the love of Christ started in the heart of the Father.

Don’t get me wrong – God is immense and powerful and limitless. You heard that in the reading from Nahum, although we could have just as easily turned to a dozen other prophets or the Psalms. The Bible is full of places where, when God shows up, there’s thunder and lightening, or even worse.

And yet when God chose to reveal himself in a more complete and intimate way, he chose to be present in the person of Jesus of Nazareth.

And again, don’t get me wrong – it’s not like Jesus didn’t know a thing or two about power. Do you remember the time he cleaned out the Temple, and sent the moneychangers flying? Hoo-boy, that was something. Do you remember how angry he got when he saw people using God’s name to do despicable things? Yikes.

And yet, he chose most often to reveal himself in vulnerability and even weakness.

There was a very successful advertising campaign in the 1970s for a perfume, the tagline of which was “if you want to get somebody’s attention, just whisper.” In some ways, Jesus of Nazareth was the “whisper” of the omnipotent, omnipresent God.

Jesus of Nazareth, God the Son, was sent by the Father into a world longing for the presence, healing, and justice of God…that Jesus had access to all of the power, might, majesty, and weaponry of God. And yet he chose not to use it.

And there were times when his closest friends, once they figured out who he was, could not believe that he was setting all of that aside. Do you remember when Jesus and his followers were going through Samaria and his disciples felt disrespected and unwelcome? They turned to Jesus and said, “Lord, now can we call down fire from the sky and destroy them? Because these people are really getting on my nerves, Jesus.” (Luke 9:54). I mean, that’s an Old Testament strategy if ever there was one, right? And do you further remember that not only did Jesus refuse to permit his disciples to go all fire and brimstone on the neighbors, but he rebuked them for even suggesting it. He shut them down cold, saying “Look, fellas, that’s not the power we are using here…”

The incarnation – the presence – of Jesus is a demonstration that compassion is stronger than hatred, that hope is better than fear, that grace triumphs over judgmentalism, and that, at the end of the day, love wins. Deeper and more powerful than the raging anger and world-shaking, tree-tossing, pillar-of-fire-and-smoke power of God is the astoundingly simple, disarming, and vulnerable truth that brute force and coercion is not what God is best at. There’s a deeper, stronger, more eternal truth, and it is love. That’s Advent in a nutshell, right? That’s Christmas – love wins!

Which leads me to one of the scariest things that Jesus ever said. It is so frightening and so intimidating that Carly could only read one sentence from the Gospel this morning. You all thought she got off easy and were remembering the day I made you say things like “Mephibosheth” or “Ahasuerus” when you were lay reader, but I’m telling you that Carly laid down the hardest Gospel truth of all this morning. What was it?

“As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.”

Listen, beloved: if we are paying any attention at all to what happens in the Gospel, that sentence should scare the pants off of us.

As the Father has sent me…

Christ of the Breadline, Fritz Eisenberg

Christ of the Breadline, Fritz Eisenberg

How did the Father send? Naked. Vulnerable. In a pall of shame and suspicion. In poverty. As a child refugee whose parents had to flee to another country to save not only their own skins, but that of the One who created skin. Humbly. In poverty. Armed, not with fire and brimstone, but with love and truth.

As the Father has sent me…

To whom did the Father send? Not to those in the palace. Not to the prominent, successful, or the religious insiders. But to those on the margins. To the excluded and beaten up. As one of my favorite theologians has put it, Jesus was sent to the last, the lost, the least, the little, and the dead.[1]

As the Father has sent me…

For what was Jesus sent? To submit himself to the will of the One who sent him. To offer himself as a sacrifice. To reach out. To empower.

Do you hear that, church? As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you. Like that. To them. For this.

“Uh, er, yeah, Jesus… that sounds pretty intense. I mean, like, you know, a lot of commitment. Don’t get me wrong, Lord, I really want to be a follower and all, but, well, I’ve got a lot going on right now. And I told my mom I’d be home before dark. My show comes on at 9. And I have this thing on Saturday…”

Jesus of Nazareth, whom in the Nicene Creed we say is

the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father…

that Jesus looks at us and says, “OK, I called you to follow me. I showed you how. And now I’m sending you. This is how you do it.” And most of us, most of the time, don’t like it. Encountering the Advent God as made known in Jesus of Nazareth is a dangerous thing because this God seems to expect so much from us.

A lot of us can point to a time when we met the Lord and we said, “Wow, I really need help right now.” We look at Jesus in all sincerity and say, “You are right. I need a little forgiveness. No, I need a lot of forgiveness. Yes, thank you Lord. Thank you for that forgiveness. You can just put it right over there.”

And we’re serious when we say that. We’re serious when we ask for forgiveness and we’re grateful when we say thanks. But Jesus comes in and sets his love and forgiveness down and then stands around like a the pizza guy waiting for a tip. Actually, it’s worse than that, because Jesus comes all the way in and he never wants to leave. I tell him to put that really nice (OK, that really big) box of forgiveness and love over on the counter and I’ll get to it later, but he opens it up and starts to unpack it and begins to rearrange the furniture of my life, critiques the art I have hanging inside, and even starts nosing through the medicine cabinet and the pantry. Jesus strolls into my life and starts acting like he owns the place?

He does, of course.

Following Jesus is scary business. We serve a dangerous God who doesn’t seem to hesitate to send those whom he loves to dangerous places.

Too often, we get caught up in our own safe places. We don’t want to leave what we call “the comfort zone”. We get into a nice routine, doing what feels good, following our patterns, and pretty soon our faith gets stale and predictable. We catch a glimpse of Jesus, whispering for us to step closer to him, and we notice that he’s moved away from our comfort zone. And so we find ourselves in one-on-one conversation about real stuff that matters…we find ourselves face to face with another human being who is homeless, or a refugee, or a kid who needs an adult mentor…before we know it we’re packing our bags for a place that seems so far away…we’re standing up for the rights of someone else…and we find ourselves trusting in the One who called and sent us more than we trust our 401(k) plans, our security systems, our concealed carry permits, or ourselves.

And it’s just plain scary.

As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.

Never forget that. God bless us in the scary and dangerous places of this Advent journey. Amen.

[1] Robert Farrar Capon, Kingdom, Grace, Judgment: Paradox, Outrage, and Vindication in the Parables of Jesus (Eerdman’s 2002) p. 205.

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