Every
three or four years a city somewhere in the world hosts an
international conference on pain: pain-management, pain-control,
pain-alleviation. Plainly
there are many experts at these conferences who know eversomuch about
pain, about neural mechanisms, about analgesics.
Nevertheless, the experts who read the learned papers are
plainly not in pain themselves; not in pain so severe that they
can’t concentrate or eat or sleep.
While they know eversomuch about pain, then, in a profounder
sense they don’t know pain. To
know in this profounder sense is qualitatively different from
gathering up all the information available; to know in this profounder
sense is to be personally acquainted, intimately acquainted, with pain
itself.
When scripture speaks of knowing hunger it doesn’t mean that
someone is an expert on malnutrition; it means that someone is herself
intimately acquainted with hunger.
To know grief isn’t to take a course in the psychology of
bereavement; it’s to be grief-stricken oneself.
When prophet and apostle speak of knowing
God, then, they are speaking of intimate acquaintance with the living
God. Such engagement is
what the bible means by “faith”.
Faith, in scripture, isn’t something we exercise in the
absence of knowing; faith isn’t an alternative to knowing.
Faith is knowledge;
faith is that knowing which corresponds to faith’s author and
object, God. Encounter
with God, engagement with God, the interpenetration of God’s life
and our life; all of this adds up to the knowledge of God.
Today we are going to look at four aspects of our knowledge of
God: gratitude, love, trust and obedience.
I:
-- First,
gratitude. Oblivious to
anyone else, a woman stumbles up to Jesus, pours over his feet a bottle
of perfume whose price amounted to a year’s wages, wipes his feet with
her hair and kisses them repeatedly.
The disciples are bug-eyed: the cost of the perfume.
They remark that there has to be a better use for this much
money. I think too that the
disciples are startled for another reason: what the woman is doing is in
appallingly bad taste. A
friend of mine who is a psychiatrist (a Christian too), casually
remarked to me one day that what the woman did was highly erotic.
The disciples had to know it was.
They lived in a culture where a man didn’t so much as speak to
a woman in public, not even to his wife.
And here is this tasteless woman pouring out what advertising
industry always associates with eroticism at the same time as she does
what is unquestionably erotic. And,
as my psychiatrist-friend pointed out to me, Jesus let’s her do it.
The disciples object. Jesus
replies, “You fellows can’t understand; your arid hearts have never
swelled to bursting with the gratitude that has burst this woman’s
heart.”
Through meeting the master the woman has found someone who has
pardoned her, set her on her feet, sent her on her way with a new vision
and a new hope and a new song. She
has a new future (in fact she now has the only “future” worthy of
the name -- venture with Jesus Christ); and of course she has a new
friend. However wasteful her
poured-out perfume might appear; however erotic her foot-kissing/wiping
might seem; what matters above all is that gratitude spills out of her
and expresses itself in whatever ways it can find expression regardless
of the incomprehension of the heart-shrivelled.
If you or I were convicted of a capital offence and sentenced to
death; and if by the mercy of the judge we were pardoned, our first
response would not be a diligent study of the penal system; our first
response would not be a psychological analysis of the judge who has just
pardoned us. Our
uncontrived, spontaneous response would be gratitude.
And if we stumbled up to the judge’s desk and slobbered all
over it as we couldn’t find words for what our hearts wanted to cry
out, we wouldn’t care if spectators sitting at the back of the
courtroom smirked at our loss of emotional control.
Isn’t this our situation before God?
The event that fills the horizon of all biblical thought is the
event of the cross. The
apostle Paul declares that he has but one sermon in his filing cabinet:
Jesus Christ crucified. The
cross embodies two unalterable truths: God’s judgement and God’s
mercy. In the light of the
cross we are brought up short to know we have to do with the just judge
who has secured a conviction against us -- even as we are brought up
short to find ourselves pardoned. The
woman with the perfume knew what nobody around her appeared to know.
We live in an age that is shallow in many respects.
Our age has no grasp of the holiness of God and the sinfulness of
the human heart; no grasp of God’s righteous wrath and his
uncompromisable condemnation; and therefore our age has little wonder at
the provision God has made for us who deserve anything but mercy.
Our age is shallow in yet another respect: we have forgotten what
it is to be grateful. We
expect so much; we think we have a right to so much; we claim so much;
we presume so much; we have such an enormous sense of entitlement.
Nothing surprises us as gift; and therefore nothing impels us to
gratitude.
It wasn’t always thus. Some of our foreparents knew better,
such as our foreparents in faith who cherished the Heidelberg Catechism.
You have often heard me say that the Heidelberg Catechism
(written in 1563) is the crown jewel of the shorter Reformation
writings. Part I of the HC
is titled, “the Misery of Humankind”;
Part II, “The Redemption of Humankind”; Part III (by far the largest
part), “Thankfulness”. That’s
all: “Thankfulness”. Part
III of the HC discusses the whole of the Christian life; all of it.
Our discipleship in its entirety is rooted in gratitude and
motivated by gratitude and directed by gratitude.
You and I have no claim on God’s mercy.
Yet so crucial is this mercy that the Apostles’ Creed gathers
up the totality of our blessing at God’s hand in one brief expression,
“I believe in the forgiveness of sins.”
Gratitude will always remain a vital aspect of our knowledge of
God.
II:
-- Another
aspect is love. Enduring
love for God. Gratitude will
remain gratitude only if love fuels it; otherwise gratitude, however
large-looming at the moment, will gradually evaporate until gratitude is
little more than a word and a memory.
However grateful we might be to the person who gets our car going
on the highway after it has stopped we don’t maintain any relationship
at all with our benefactor; we thank him – genuinely -- and wave him
good-bye. Just because God
isn’t to be thanked and then waved away, gratitude must always be
supplemented by love.
This is not to say that we are supposed to “work up” love for
God; we aren’t supposed to fish around inside ourselves until we have
generated a peculiar affect. But
it is to say that we shall
love God as we are overtaken again, and overwhelmed yet again, at the
love wherewith God loves us. The
apostle John writes, “Herein is love, not that we loved him, but that
he first loved us.” The
emphasis is on “first”. Our
love can only be second; it can only be a response; it can only be an
answering love. But it must
be this.
Few things are more pathetic than the sight of someone trying to
generate love for someone else who doesn’t love her.
At first she feels she doesn’t have to generate love for
someone else; she simply loves him spontaneously.
Sooner or later, however, it’s an effort, as secret doubts and
unspoken misgivings and sheer fatigue all take their toll.
Eventually she admits she doesn’t have it in her to work up
love for someone who is affectively inert.
At this point her marriage is dead, she knows it, and the rest is
commentary.
Because God loves us ceaselessly his love quickens in us an
answering love for him. Yes,
the command to love God is a command, and people who say, “But
that’s impossible, since love can’t be commanded”; people who
speak like this speak too soon, for they haven’t understood that love
can be commanded in the sense that we are to set our hearts only on him
who has set his heart on us eternally.
And what’s more, God commands us to love him only as his love
for us ignites our love for him.
As part of the Easter event the risen Jesus confronted Peter in
front of the other disciples and asked, “Peter, do you love me?”
We had better not pretend that the question wasn’t
“loaded”; it was. Earlier
Peter had insisted that he would never deny his master; only the
spiritually feeble would do such a thing.
Besides, Peter had declared still earlier in the earthly ministry
of Jesus that he had left everything to follow him.
And then all it took was a fifteen-year-old girl saying in front
of street-wise loiterers, “Your accent is odd; you come from
Galilee
too; you must be one of his followers.”
Peter spews vulgarity after vulgarity as he lies through his
teeth that he has never so much as seen the Nazarene before.
Then the question three times over, once for each courtyard
denial, “Do you love me?” -- and the answer three times over, barely
croaked out in view of Peter’s distress, “You know that I love
you”. Distress?
Yes. It’s always
distressing to be loved still by the very person we have failed and
betrayed. Yet the love that
distresses us in such circumstances; this love alone can quicken and
maintain the profoundest answering love in us.
We are Christ-deniers. Every
day, in a dozen different ways, we deny the One who is life to us and to
whom we have professed loyalty. And
all our Lord does in the midst of our denying him is to laser his love
into our treacherous hearts so that we can find ourselves saying
honestly, however distressingly, “You know that I love you.”
III:
-- The
third aspect of our knowledge of God is trust: trust in the midst of
darkness, of pain, of confusion, of sheer incomprehension.
A few centuries ago Christians used to speak of “the dark night
of the soul.” By this
expression they were not referring to that spiritual “chill” which
comes upon us when we sin and persist in sin and disguise our sin and
excuse our sin. There is
nothing incomprehensible about spiritual chill arising from spiritual
self-destruction. “The
dark night of the soul” refers rather to those periods in any
Christian’s life when we feel so bereft of God, so God-forsaken, we
couldn’t feel more orphaned. Mediaeval
Christians distinguished such “desolation” from depression.
Depression is a psychological condition; desolation, a spiritual
condition.
In addition to spiritual desolation where we unaccountably feel
ourselves “orphaned”, as it were, for protracted periods, there are
also those periods when God seems eclipsed by the crushing misfortune
that falls on some people.
Paul was familiar with the latter.
At the beginning of his second Corinthian letter he writes,
“Brothers, we don’t want you to be ignorant of the affliction we
experienced in
Asia
. We were so utterly,
unbearably crushed that we despaired of life itself.
Why, we felt we had received the sentence of death.”
What are we going to do when either crushing misfortune or
spiritual desolation overtakes us? We
are going to trust; we are going to trust that the love we cannot feel
is yet a love that has never been revoked; we are going to trust that
the providence which is currently opaque will one day be made gloriously
translucent. Paul tells us
that as a result of the crushing affliction in
Asia
(we are never told what it was) he could only trust the God who raises
the dead. Yes. The
God we are to trust has already proven himself trustworthy by keeping
his promise to us in the resurrection of his son. Since we know him to
have borne his son through the son’s affliction, we can trust him to
bear us through ours as well.
IV:
-- The
final aspect of our knowledge of God is obedience.
John writes in his first epistle, “We may be sure that we know
him if we keep his commandments.”
To speak of obedience is not to suggest that God is like a
prison-camp commandant, whip in hand, with everything in his heart
except benevolence for us, insisting that we conform “or else.”
On the contrary, since God wills only our good there can be
genuine obedience to him only if our obedience is glad, eager, willing,
joyful. Having told us that
to know God, and to know that we know God, is to obey him (“keep his
commandments”), John adds, “and his commandments are not
burdensome.” (I John 5:3)
Jesus said it all when he told his hearers, “Take my yoke upon
you.” Yoke, the collar by
which oxen pulled a load, is the everyday Hebrew metaphor for obedience.
“Take obedience of me upon you”, Jesus means, and then adds,
“My yoke is easy; my burden is light.”
Several things need to be said here.
Christ’s yoke is easy; his
burden is light. Other
burdens -- the “baggage” we saddle ourselves with as a result of our
folly and our sin -- other burdens are heavy.
Other yokes -- the false gods and foolish causes to which we
harness ourselves -- these yokes only chafe and irritate until we are
rubbed raw and infected as well.
But Christ’s yoke is easy.
Since our Lord apprenticed in a carpenter shop he made ox-yokes
every day. He knew that if
the yoke fit well, the ox could pull the heaviest load with maximum
efficiency and minimum discomfort; but if the yoke fit badly, at best
the animal suffered, and at worst it strangled.
There are two truths we must preserve about Christ’s yoke.
One, his yoke is easy; two it is
a yoke. Obedience ever remains an essential aspect of faith; keeping the
commandments of God in the spirit of obeying the living person of God;
this ever remains an ingredient in our knowledge of God.
To know God, then, is to honour the shape, the direction, the
orientation that God ordains for human existence.
To know God is to relish the discipline of discipleship, certain
that anything else issues ultimately in spiritual suffocation.
As I moved through the requirements of my doctoral program I was
sent to Professor Jakob Jocz (
University
of
Toronto
) for an oral examination. Jakob
Jocz was a third-generation Hebrew Christian.
He was a delightful man, wise, profound, spiritually alert.
Jocz had suffered much in his life.
Decades earlier he and his wife had gone from
Poland
to
England
where he had delivered a set of lectures in a British university while
his wife had delivered a baby in a British hospital.
While the Joczs were in England Germany invaded
Poland
. Since Jocz was Jewish by
birth, he never returned. He
and his wife walked away from everything they owned.
As my oral examination with him drew to a close I knew that I had
triumphed; I didn’t need to wait for his evaluation; I knew I had
“nailed” the thing magnificently.
He dismissed me and sent me on my way.
Then he called me back. I
think he had discerned a hint (more than a hint) of smugness and
arrogance and triumphalism in me. He
called me back and said very soberly, “Mr. Shepherd, you have done
well in the examination. But
remember: theology, important as it is, remains an abstraction.
What really counts is the shape of a man’s life.”
I have remembered: what really counts is the shape of a
person’s life.
To be sure, our Lord’s yoke is easy; easy as it is, however, it
is still a yoke we must put on. For
not to obey God is simply not to know him at all.
The
prophet Hosea lamented that his people were destroyed for lack of
knowledge of God. There is
no need for this. God
invites us at all times and in all circumstances to that knowledge of
him which is life. To know
him is to thank him, love him, trust him, obey him.
John had it right when he wrote that eternal life is nothing
more, nothing less, nothing else, than knowing “...thee, the only true
God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.” (John 17:3)
Victor
Shepherd
January 2006