John Calvin

Lord, Teach Us to Pray

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Lord Teach Us to Pray” Luke 11:1-13

Although prayer is at the heart of who we are as faithful people, many of us struggle with prayer. When asked to pray with others, we feel inadequate. We don’t have the right words, we feel unworthy, or we are embarrassed to use our prayer voice out loud. Early on in my ministry, I saw a look of abject terror cross the face of a gifted elder and lay leader when I asked him if he would close a committee meeting in prayer. Once he got over the shock of my invitation, he gently informed me that at that church they didn’t pray. They closed their meetings with the Mizpah Blessing from Genesis, “May the Lord watch between me and Thee while we are absent one from another.” 

Even if we have the right words for prayer, we often battle the twin troubles of busyness and weariness. We live mile-a-minute lives from early morning to late at night. We begin the day with the intention of making time for prayer, but our agenda gets hijacked: by work and meetings; by taxiing kids and attending athletic events, concerts, and dance recitals; by doctor’s appointments and civic commitments; by the daily routine of cooking, cleaning, and home repair; by the chatter of television and social media. As the day ends, we find ourselves falling fast asleep before we can even make it through the Lord’s Prayer.

Sometimes, we give up on prayer out of disappointment or frustration. We have worn ourselves out in pursuit of prayers that seem unanswered. God doesn’t grant us what we long for: a miracle healing for our loved one, a cure for the addiction for our adult child, a change in our spouse, an end to war or hunger or gun violence. Weary and worn, we lament, “What’s the point of praying when it feels like God is silent or unwilling to provide what we want when we want it.”

I suspect Jesus’ disciples felt a lot like we do. They were fishermen, farmers, tax collectors, and tradesmen. Not one of them was a prayer professional, like the priests, scribes, and Pharisees, who were known for public prayers. The disciples lived in a time when personal piety was reflected in daily prayer. The Prophet Daniel, who lived during the exile in Babylon, prayed three times daily: morning, evening, and at the ninth hour—that’s three o’clock in the afternoon­—when sacrifice was offered in the Temple in Jerusalem. The first century Jewish historian Josephus reported that the Hebrew people offered prayer twice daily—in the morning and evening to “bear witness to God for the gifts given when God delivered them from the land of the Egyptians.” First century Jewish prayer offered thanksgiving for what had happened and thanksgiving for what would be, trusting in the goodness and faithfulness of God. Rabbis, like John the Baptist, often taught their disciples to pray. It’s no wonder that Jesus’ followers turned to him with the heartfelt request, “Lord, teach us to pray.”

Perhaps what is most surprising about what Jesus had to say about prayer is how very simple it is. In Luke’s gospel, the Lord’s Prayer is four terse sentences. Jesus tells us to begin by thinking of God as a familiar and loving parent, “Father,” whose name was sacred and worthy of reverence and blessing, “Hallowed be thy name.” Next, we express our longing for the fulfillment of scripture and the coming of God’s kingdom, “Thy Kingdom come.” Then, we pray three simple requests for what we truly need to be whole and healthy: sustenance to fuel our bodies and provide for our lives, the healing of relationships through forgiveness and a willingness to be forgiven, and lastly, protection from life’s trials and difficulties.  According to Jesus, all we really need to pray are four simple heartfelt sentences that envision God as the source of our world, our lives, our healing, and our protection.  That’s it.

Jesus followed his prayer with two example stories to encourage us to pray. The story of the friend who comes knocking at midnight exhorts us to pray shamelessly, whenever we need to. The example of a good parent, who lovingly provides good things for a child, reminds us that God longs to provide what is good and right for us—and God knows exactly what that may be. 

In the first centuries of the church, Christians followed the example of their Jewish tradition, praying throughout the day with gratitude and expectation. They also took the prayer that Jesus taught them out into the Roman Empire. Archaeological excavations at Pompei found inscriptions indicating that the Lord’s Prayer was in use there before the destruction of the city by the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in the year 79. The Lord’s Prayer became an essential part of teaching new Christians. The Didache, that’s the first century collection of The Lord’s teaching shared by the Apostles, includes the Lord’s Prayer and instructs that it should be said three times each day. In the third century, Origen, the finest systematic thinker of the Church Fathers, taught that the Lord’s Prayer is meant to be an outline for prayer, a simple framework that we are to fill in with our particular needs, cares, and concerns for others. We know that by the 4th century, the Lord’s Prayer was at the heart of worship. Each week, Archbishop John Chrysostum prayed the Lord’s Prayer with his beloved flock in Constantinople, introducing it with the words, “And make us worthy, O Lord, that we joyously and without presumption may make bold to invoke Thee, the heavenly God, as Father, and to say, ‘Our Father…’”

Our ancestors in the Reformed tradition were devoted to prayer and the Lord’s Prayer. John Calvin once said that the one who neglects to pray “neglects a treasure buried and hidden in the earth, after it has been pointed out to them.” Calvin offered practical advice about prayer to his churchgoers in Geneva. Appoint certain hours for prayer each day, lest it slip from our memory. Approach God with reverence and humility. Trust in God’s mercy and providence. It doesn’t have to be fancy. Calvin said that God tolerates “even our stammers and pardons our ignorance.” Let your prayer rise not from the head, but “from the bottom of [y]our heart,” Calvin taught.

Maybe our personal prayer struggles arise because we pray from the head, looking for those eloquent words, hoping to steer the course of the world, wanting to forge a future that meets our personal vision of how things ought to be. But we are called to pray from the heart, to pray in ways that acknowledge the greatness of God and our personal vulnerability.  When we pray from the head, we expect the world to change, which is often a recipe for disappointment. When we pray from the heart, we can expect to be changed.  Heartfelt prayer coaxes us to grow into the people God created us to be. Heartfelt prayer equips us to live to the best of our ability in a world that is less than perfect and sometimes bitterly disappointing.

The Rev. Fred Rogers, better known to generations of Americans as Mr. Rogers, shared this understanding of heart prayer. In 1992, he was awarded an honorary doctorate from Boston University. He was invited to pray the invocation at commencement. As Mr. Rogers neared the podium, students, who had grown up watching “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood,” were excited. Knowing his audience, Fred said, “I think you want to sing. Will you sing with me?” The young people immediately launched into a rousing round of “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.” When they settled, Fred began his prayer, “Dear God, please inspire our hearts to come even closer to you…”

So, perhaps we can make a fresh start on prayer this morning. We can resolve to keep things simple and heartfelt.  Perhaps you’ll allow me to help you by leading you in a guided prayer, based on the prayer that Jesus taught his followers to pray. You might want to close your eyes, bow your head, and take a few deep breaths as I lead you in a prayer from the heart. 

First, give thanks for God, who loves us like the best parent and yet is holy and all-powerful, who puffs into our lungs the breath of life and stretches the heavens like a tent.

Now, allow your heart to yearn for God’s kingdom, for a world here and now where righteousness and peace will kiss each other. Can you imagine it?

Think about your day, whatever has been or may lie ahead.  Ask the Lord to provide what is needed, whether it is strength or love, kindness or patience, hope or help.  Trust that what is truly needed will be provided.

Next, resolve to return to God, forsaking whatever drives a wedge between us, the Lord, and our neighbors.

Now, consider a relationship that needs mending.  Perhaps you need to forgive or to be forgiven. Ask God to bring healing and know that the Lord is already at work. 

Finally, consider a place of trial or temptation in your life. Feel the weight and the challenge of it. Ask the Lord to be your safety and protection. You could imagine God wrapping you up in the light of God’s sheltering love or envision Jesus praying with you and for you.  Remember that although you may feel weak, God is strong and God is with you. 

And as we finish, we might even resolve to try this again, to make a daily discipline of doing what Jesus did, finding the strength and the vision to live fully and faithfully through simple, heartfelt prayer. In his name we pray. Amen.

Resources

Michelle Voss Roberts. “Theological Perspective on Luke 11:1-13” in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke vol.1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

H. Gregory Snyder. “Exegetical Perspective on Luke 11:1-13” in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke vol.1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Lewis Galloway. “Homiletical Perspective on Luke 11:1-13” in Feasting on the Gospels, Luke vol.1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

–. “History of Jewish Prayer” in My Jewish Learning. 70 Faces Media. Accessed online at myjewishlearning.com.

Simon J. Kistemaker. “The Lord’s Prayer in the First Century” in the Journal of the Evangelical Theological Seminary, 21/4, Dec. 1978, 323-328.

John Calvin. Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book 3, chapter XX. The Westminster Press, 1977.

Carlton Wynne. “Calvin’s Four Rules of Prayer” in Reformation 21, March 29, 2019.

Luke 11:1-13

Jesus was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” 2 So he said to them, “When you pray, say:

Father, may your name be revered as holy.
May your kingdom come.
3 Give us each day our daily bread.
4 And forgive us our sins,
for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
And do not bring us to the time of trial.”

5 And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, 6 for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’ 7 And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’ 8 I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything out of friendship, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.

9 “So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. 10 For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. 11 Is there anyone among you who, if your child asked for a fish, would give a snake instead of a fish? 12 Or if the child asked for an egg, would give a scorpion? 13 If you, then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

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Famished

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Famished” Luke 4:1-13

On February 28, our Muslim neighbors around the world began Ramadan, a month of fasting, prayer, and reflection. Fasting is one of the five essential practices (pillars) of Islam. During Ramadan, adults of sound health fast daily from sun up until sunset—no food or drink—and their early morning and after dark meals are simple. Ramadan reminds them of the needs of hungry neighbors and our personal dependence upon God.

In my last church, my senior pastor Michael Winters and I were a part of an interfaith ministry group with the local reformed rabbi and the Muslim Imam. Each year at the end of Ramadan, our faith communities would gather for Eid, a celebratory feast, kind of like the ultimate, most delicious potluck that you can imagine. Each year, my colleague Michael, the Imam, and the rabbi would give a little talk at the feast, briefly teaching about a spiritual practice. I’ll never forget the meeting when they decided to talk about fasting in their respective churches. Michael looked mildly alarmed.

Later, in the car on the way back to the church, I turned to Michael.

“Fasting?”

“Not high on the list for Presbyterians,” he glumly replied.

I thought about my time as a Presbyterian, from young adult to seminarian to clergy person. Never once had a congregation that I served ever discussed, let alone practiced, fasting. I commiserated with Michael, “Ugh. I’m guessing that you got nothing. Am I right?”

Shaking his head, he said, “Tell me about it.”

As the season of Lent begins, our gospel reading takes us to the wilderness with Jesus. According to Luke, no sooner had Jesus been baptized than the Holy Spirit swept him into the Judean desert in preparation for his ministry. There, Jesus spent forty days fasting and praying to seek insight, wisdom, and guidance from his heavenly Father. It was a spiritual journey that left him famished.

Thinking that Jesus’ long fast would leave him vulnerable to temptation, the evil one showed up to put the Lord to the test. Jesus was invited to use his power in self-serving ways: first, to relieve his overwhelming hunger by transforming stones to loaves of bread, next to gain worldly authority by changing his allegiance, and finally to put God to the test with a death-defying leap. Each temptation was deftly defeated by Jesus with a short but sweet quote from scripture. Clearly, Jesus’ time of prayer and fasting had equipped him to meet the challenges that were to come.

When Jesus fasted for those forty days, he was part of a long tradition of fasting observed by his ancestors. Leviticus 28 required the Hebrew people to fast each year on the Day of Atonement to seek God’s forgiveness for sin. Also, in times of national crisis, Israel’s kings called for a day of fasting and prayer. For example, when a large army from Edom threatened to invade Judah, King Jehosophat and his people fasted and prayed to avert the catastrophe. The Israelites also refrained from food and drink to deepen their prayer and draw near to God, like Moses—while on the mountaintop with God, he fasted for forty days.

Jesus expected his followers to fast and gave them instructions that suggested some people made a big, self-aggrandizing show of their pious restraint when it came to food. Jesus said, “Whenever you fast, do not look somber, like the hypocrites, for they mark their faces to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen—not by others—but by your heavenly Father….” First century Jews fasted twice weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. That means they refrained from food on those days until the ninth hour—three o-clock in the afternoon. As Jesus’ followers took the gospel out into the world, fasting went with them. When the Apostle Paul and his home church in Antioch prepared for the Gentile mission, they did so with fasting and prayer.

Jesus knew that our deepest, most existential, hunger is for God. We look for poor substitutes, trying to fill our lives with food, social media, an over-commitment to work, a passion for politics, shopping until we drop, addictions. You name it. The practice of fasting makes room within us for God. You might even say that fasting is a soul feast, an intentional time to rest in God and meet that deep hunger we have for the sacred. Augustine taught that our hearts are always restless until they find their rest in God alone.

Between the sixth and eighth centuries the role of fasting expanded in Christianity. In addition to fasting until the ninth hour twice weekly, Christians were expected to similarly fast for the forty days of Lent, for three days before the Festival of Ascension, one day every month (except in July and August), on Good Friday, and the day before Christmas, Epiphany, Easter, and Pentecost. If you add all that up, Christians engaged in some form of fasting about 140 days each year.

So how did we as Protestants get from fasting for 140 days to me and Michael Winters feeling like we had nothing to say as we joined our Muslim and Jewish neighbors for Eid? We can blame it on the Reformation. By the 16th century, fasting had lost its spiritual significance. Instead of fasting to draw near to God in prayer, or say “no” to the flesh, or seek divine help in times of crisis, our ancestors were fasting because they considered it a requirement for getting into heaven. John Calvin and other Reformers said that smacked of works righteousness, as if we could manipulate God into opening the pearly gates. This would never do.

In his effort to rethink fasting, Calvin taught that we should think about time, quantity, and quality. Christians should fast at self-chosen times for a prescribed period, like a day or a week; and fasting should always be accompanied by prayer and confession. Fasting did not mean total abstinence from food but to eat sparingly and content ourselves with humble fare. No “dainties” as Calvin called them. In Calvin’s church in Geneva, a simple fast was expected before partaking of the Lord’s Supper, before baptism, and before being ordained to a ministry of the church.

Calvin’s ideas seem reasonable, but when we are left to our own devices to determine our time, quantity, and quality of restraint from food, we opt out. Most of us do not consider fasting to be a core practice of the life of faith. So, how on this first Sunday in Lent, are we to reclaim the ancient practice of fasting in ways that are meaningful and beneficial? And do we really want to?

The late author and editor Harvey Smit suggested that fasting can be a powerful reminder that we do not live by bread alone. In this world where ego is king, fasting reminds us of our utter dependence upon God. Fasting also places us in solidarity with the world’s hungry people—malnourished children in Afghanistan, the starving women and children of Yemen, and working-class families right here in the United States who feel the pinch of inflation and skip meals so that their children can eat. Smit also argued that fasting is useful because it teaches us to postpone gratification. In a world where we want it and we want it now, fasting teaches us to say no to the flesh, no to the selfish impulse, no to the desire for more, more, more. And we shouldn’t forget that fasting functions much as it has for eons: to focus our attention and our prayers upon God, trusting that Jesus, who fasted in the wilderness, is with us.

What might Presbyterian fasting look like? We could try substituting prayer time for a meal, or we could consider simplifying our diets, only having one substantial meal a day and two small snacks that are accompanied by prayer or scripture reading. We could follow the example of the early church and pick a day to fast until the ninth hour (three o’clock). Instead of working through the breakfast and lunch that we miss, we could read a devotional book, sing hymns, play spiritual music, or listen to a sermon. Although fasting is not prescribed for us for Lent, a day of fasting during Lent could serve to focus our attention on Jesus and his journey to the cross. As we ponder the Lord’s words, humility, and self-sacrifice, we draw near to God with gratitude for all that God has done for us.

If the thought of refraining from food makes your blood sugar drop and your knees feel weak, you’ll be relieved that Martin Lloyd-Jones, one of the most influential Calvinist preachers of the twentieth century, taught that, “fasting should really be made to include abstinence from anything. . .for the sake of some special spiritual purpose.” That opens us to a world of possibilities. Could we fast from social media? Instead of doom scrolling, we could try a time of prayer. Could we turn off the television and spend the evening in meditation and divine reading? Could we step back from sweets? Alcohol? Indulgent purchases? Could we then donate the money we save to One Great Hour of Sharing or a favorite charitable concern? The possibilities are truly limitless and up to us.

Back in Morton Grove all those year’s ago, my friend Michael cobbled together a talk on Presbyterian fasting. He spoke last after the Imam told us all about Ramadan and the rabbi impressed us with Yom Kippur and weekly fasts. Later, I took a seat next to Michael after helping myself to a second (or was it third?) plate of tasty treats from the potluck buffet.

“How are you?” I asked my friend. I looked down at his plate, which was just as full as mine.

Michael looked around the room at Jewish, Christian, and Muslim neighbors chatting, eating, and comparing recipes. He smiled, “I may not be an expert in fasting, but this,” he gestured to the beautiful interfaith fellowship and overflowing plates, “this looks like the beautiful feast in the Kingdom of God.”

He couldn’t be more right.

Resources:

William H. Shea. “Fast, Fasting” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 2, D-G. Doubleday, 1992, pp. 773-776.

David S. Jacobsen. “Commentary on Luke 4:1-13” in Preaching This Week, March 10, 2019. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/first-sunday-in-lent-3/commentary-on-luke-41-13-4

Richard W. Swanson. “Commentary on Luke 4:1-13” in Preaching This Week, March 9, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/first-sunday-in-lent-3/commentary-on-luke-41-13-6

Thomas A. Tarrantson. “The Place of Fasting in the Christian Life” in Knowing and Doing, Knowing and Doing, Summer 2018.

James A. Strong and John McClintock. “Fasting in the Christian Church” in The Encyclopedia of Biblical, Theological, and Ecclesial Literature. New York: Harper Bros, 1880.

David Mathis. “Fasting for Beginners” in Desiring God, August 26, 2015. Accessed online at https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/fasting-for-beginners

Harvey Albert Smit. “Fasting Guidelines for Reformed Christians” in Reformed Worship, December 1987. Accessed online at https://www.reformedworship.org/article/december-1987/fasting-guidelines-reformed-christians

Luke 4:1-13

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, 2 where for forty days he was tested by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over he was famished. 3 The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” 4 Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’ ”

5 Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. 6 And the devil said to him, “To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. 7 If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” 8 Jesus answered him, “It is written,

‘Worship the Lord your God,
    and serve only him.’ ”

9 Then the devil led him to Jerusalem and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, 10 for it is written,

‘He will command his angels concerning you,
    to protect you,’

11 and

‘On their hands they will bear you up,
    so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’ ”

12 Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” 13 When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.

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The Gospel We Don’t Want to Hear

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — The Gospel We Don’t Want to Hear Luke 4:21-30

Cindy and Bud could use a miracle. They are sandwiched between generations, caring for aging parents and young children. Cindy is always taxiing kids to music lessons, driving to sporting events, or making cupcakes for a school party. Bud is always getting his parents to doctor’s appointments, tackling their home repairs, or unraveling problems with their finances. When Cindy and Bud’s youngest child ended up in the hospital, they were overwhelmed. They pray a lot, asking for help, resources, support, but those big life problems don’t go away.

Heather followed in the footsteps of her parents to become a teacher. She felt especially called to work with underserved and at-risk youth. But when Heather started work with Teach for America in an inner-city school, she found things practically impossible. Her classroom was chaotic. Absenteeism was rife. Fights were routine. Some students came to school hungry or in the same unwashed clothes that they had been wearing for weeks. She started the school year thinking she would do transformational work. Later, she just hoped that her students would pass. It has been lonely and stressful. She wishes things were different, but she thinks that would take a miracle.

Sam doesn’t understand why God doesn’t cure his wife’s rheumatoid arthritis. She lives with constant pain and has been through more surgeries than Sam can count. They have tried a healthy diet, exercise, heating pads, ice packs, supplements, alternative therapies, and prescription medications. Sometimes she seems to be in remission, but it never lasts. They pray about it and so does their church, but they are still waiting on their miracle.

Our gospel lesson today allows us to listen in as worshipers respond to Jesus’ first sermon in Nazareth. At first folks were thrilled to hear that Isaiah’s vision of good news for the poor, release to captives, healing for the sick, and a coming time of God’s Jubilee was being fulfilled in Jesus. They knew that Jesus had been up to some spectacular things in Capernaum, working miracles of healing and casting out demons. They were eager for Jesus to work his deeds of power right there in his hometown. “Come on, Jesus,” they implored him, “heal thyself. How about some miracles for your hometown crowd?”

But there were no miracles in Nazareth on that sabbath day. Instead, Jesus’ sermon headed in a direction that they didn’t want to hear. Faithful people in the hometown crowd don’t always get miracles. Jesus talked about the God’s mercy and grace flowing to unexpected places, beyond the bounds of the covenant community, even to traditional enemies of Israel—Naaman the Syrian leper getting a beautiful new birthday suit and the poor Phoenician widow at Zarephath finding relief from famine. Who wants to hear about God’s goodness flowing to unexpected places when you have a sick child, an incurable disease, or a personal crisis that has brought you to your knees. No miracles? Perhaps we can understand why people in Nazareth got so angry.

Why doesn’t everyone get a miracle? A 2023 Lifeway Survey found that an increasing number of churchgoers in the United States subscribe to beliefs associated with the prosperity gospel, sometimes called the “health and wealth gospel” or “name it and claim it” theology. Advocates of the prosperity gospel argue that God wills the financial prosperity and physical well-being of his people and that faith, positive speech, and donations to select Christian ministries can increase one’s material wealth and health. Gifted preacher Creflo Dollar tells us that the Lord is eager to bless his faithful ones with wealth.  Pastor Benny Hin says that God is ready to heal our incurable diseases and shower us with abundant health.  And the charismatic Joel Osteen says that the choice for Jesus can grant us our best life now. Health, wealth, and the best life ever. That’s the gospel we want to hear. With promises like that, it’s no wonder that these three men are multi-millionaires with thousands of followers.

I don’t begrudge prosperity preachers their health, wealth, and best lives now, but I might want to challenge them a bit. Because I have noticed that no matter how hard we pray, how much we give, or how faithful we are, we don’t always get the miracle we are asking for. Indeed, the most devout and faithful of people can find that their life circumstances are a far cry from wealthy, healthy, and best ever.  In fact, sometimes the utterly faithful choices that people make land them in difficult, stressful, no-win situations. That’s the way it is, and I suspect there are plenty of people who have been disappointed by the empty promises made from prosperity gospel pulpits.

What do we do when God doesn’t give us what we want? The peaceful assembly in Nazareth turned into a lynch mob, ready to throw Jesus down a gully and stone him to death.  Bible scholars tell us that if we take a step back and look at what happened in Nazareth, we can see that it foreshadowed what would happen throughout Jesus’ ministry—an initial welcome, appeals for miracles, followed soon afterward by angry rejection and violence. Jesus didn’t end up the victim of a Nazareth stoning; instead, he would find himself in Jerusalem, rejected, abandoned, and friendless, hanging from a cross while mocked and taunted. Where’s the health, wealth, and best life now in that calling?

Our ancestor in the Reformed tradition John Calvin taught that God is not transactional. Five fervent prayers and a healthy donation to the church does not earn us a miracle. God is sovereign, with the power, wisdom, and authority to do as God chooses. We want a world in which God builds a protective wall around the faithful and grants us a privileged life. But it doesn’t always work out that way. In Calvin’s words, for a time “the upright and deserving [are] tossed about by many adversaries, and even oppressed by the malice and iniquity of the impious” (Institutes 1.v.7). We all have days when we feel we are waiting on a miracle that doesn’t come. Yet Calvin also taught that God is loving, merciful, kind, and fatherly. Our help is found in the nearness of God, who came close to us in Jesus and preached to a hostile hometown crowd in Nazareth. We may be afflicted, but hope is found in God whose presence, according to Calvin, “takes root in the heart” (1.v.9) and “dwells by God’s very present power in each of us.”

God is with us in all the circumstances that make us want to pray for a miracle. God is present with the strength and courage to help us get out of bed in the morning and put one foot in front of the other. God is with people like Cindy and Bud, who are stretched thin with the care of their extended family. God is with people like Heather, whose vocational dreams don’t come true. God is with Sam as he supports his wife with chronic illness. The presence of the holy in the midst of days that feel downright unholy must sometimes be miracle enough.

Jesus was acutely aware of God’s support and presence. He was able to face hate and terrible adversity because he knew that he and the Father were one. Jesus made it his daily practice to slip away early in the morning or late in the evening to spend time with God. By attending to God’s presence, Jesus found the resources to meet the insatiable needs of the crowds and face the mounting attacks of his opponents. On the night of his arrest, in his anguished prayer time with God in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus found the resolve to even face the cross that his enemies had in store for him. Jesus didn’t get a miracle of deliverance, but he was able to see that God would be with him in his time of trial, and God would ultimately win the victory over sin and death.

Every faithful life, my friends, has times when we feel like we could use a miracle. May we remember that the Lord is with us with the strength, help, and courage to endure. May that be miracle enough.

Resources

Shively Smith. “Commentary on Luke 4:21-30” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 30, 2022. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-after-epiphany-3/commentary-on-luke-421-30-5

David S. Jacobsen. “Commentary on Luke 4:21-30” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 3, 2019. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-after-epiphany-3/commentary-on-luke-421-30-4

Matt Fitzgerald. “Homiletical Perspective on Luke 4:21-30” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke 1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

R. Alan Culpepper. “The Gospel of Luke” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume IX. Abingdon Press, 1995.

Joe Carter. “9 Things You Should Know about the Prosperity Gospel” in The Gospel Coalition: Current Affairs, Sept. 2, 2023. Accessed online at https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/9-things-prosperity-gospel/

Luke 4:21-30

21 Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” 22 All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, “Is this not Joseph’s son?” 23 He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’ ” 24 And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in his hometown. 25 But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months and there was a severe famine over all the land, 26 yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. 27 There were also many with a skin disease in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.” 28 When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. 29 They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. 30 But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.

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“Live Forever”

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Sabbath Day Thoughts – John 6:51-58

“So Jesus said to them, “I assure you: Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you do not have life in yourselves. Anyone who eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. — John 6:53-54

We want to live forever.

Some turn to cryonics in pursuit of immortality.  At death, their bodies or heads are subjected to low-temperature freezing with liquid nitrogen.  Then, they are stored with the speculative hope that advances in science will one day allow them to be resurrected or digitally replicated.  That will cost you about $80,000.

Others, in their quest for prolonged life, resort to calorie restriction.  Citing the evidence of lab animals that live longer when their food intake is cut by half, calorie restrictors limit their daily diet to about 1,400 calories and maintain below-normal body weight.  For a six-foot-tall man, that’s about 144 pounds, for a five-foot six-inch woman, 108 pounds.  They say that their reduced body mass needs less energy to maintain and cuts their risk for age-related disease.

We may roll our eyes at the extreme practices of cryonics and calorie restricting, but we will gladly try whatever the doctor tells us will extend our lives.  We’ll get outside and exercise daily, year after year.  We’ll floss our teeth and eat our veggies. We may even quit smoking, give up red meat, and watch less television.  What have you been doing in pursuit of longevity and that fountain of youth?

In our reading from John’s gospel, Jesus told his listeners in the synagogue in Capernaum that anyone who eats his flesh and drinks his blood will live forever.  Jesus’ Jewish listeners found his words both puzzling and repulsive.  To begin with, it sounds like an invitation to cannibalism—Eeeewww!  On top of that, the most essential dietary restriction of the Torah was the prohibition on eating blood.  Blood, the life of an animal, belonged to God alone.  In the Temple, blood was poured out in sacrifice to atone for sins.  In the slaughter of farm animals, blood was covered with earth as a memorial to God.  According to Leviticus seventeen, the person who ate blood was cut off from God and the people.  It is little wonder that those folks in Capernaum were shocked and offended by Jesus’ sermon.

When we hear Jesus’ hard teaching, we need to remember the story of the Israelites, and their forty years of wilderness wandering.  Back then, the people were fed by God, who sent bread and meat from heaven—manna and quails—so that the people might live.  Given that context, we are able to imagine Jesus as bread or manna or flesh, the spiritual food sent from heaven so that we might live.  We also understand that Jesus spoke in metaphor.  When Jesus talked about eating his flesh and drinking his blood, we hear in those cryptic words the institution of the Lord’s Supper.  Each month we break the bread and lift the cup—eating and drinking the body and blood of Christ—in remembrance of Jesus.  We further realize that Jesus’ saving death on the cross was like the ultimate outpouring of bloody sacrifice, an offering that atoned for the sins of the world.  When we put that all together, we “get” what Jesus is saying here.  But for “outsiders” like those in the Capernaum synagogue, for outsiders like our unchurched neighbors today, it all sounds like a gruesome and incomprehensible mystery.

Given the public fascination with cryonics, calorie restricting, and daily habits that may promote longevity, it seems that even those of us who get what Jesus is saying, find it hard to trust his promise that we will live forever.  We have had tough experiences of death: the slow and painful demise of parents or the shocking accidental or untimely death of those who are young and vibrant.  We have been traumatized by near-death experiences of our own.  We are skeptical about highly publicized and lucrative accounts of those who have returned from death—from Pastor Todd Burpo’s book Heaven Is for Real to neurosurgeon Eben Alexander’s autobiographical work Proof of Heaven.  When it comes to living forever, we wonder.  We peer through a glass dimly.  We won’t truly know until we are there, in the midst of the great what’s next.

Throughout history, the best Christian minds have sought to unravel for us the great mystery of the life eternal.  In the fourth century, John Chrysostum taught about today’s reading from John 6, saying that in Jesus, God became flesh, condescending to live among us.  When we partake in communion, eating and drinking the body and blood of Christ, we participate in God’s great, out-reaching love.  We are commingled with Christ—inseparably mixed and joined.  The “life, breath, and fire that terrify the devil” are imparted to us.  We become a part of the life of Christ—and that life is eternal, reaching beyond the grave.

John Calvin in unraveling the mystery of John six eloquently wrote that in “becoming the Son of Man for us, Jesus has made us sons [and daughters] of God with him; that by his descent to earth, Jesus has prepared an ascent to heaven for us; that by taking on our mortality, Jesus has conferred his immortality upon us.”  We live forever because in Jesus of Nazareth, God has freely and graciously chosen to open for us the way to eternal life.  How good is that?

I wish that I could tell you exactly what to expect in the great what’s next—hand you a detailed map, or email you a link to click, or paint you a beautiful watercolor—but I haven’t been there.  Yet I find insight and anticipation when I ponder the metaphors that Jesus used to talk about it.  When the Lord warned his disciples of his coming death, he said that he was going to his Father’s House.  Jesus was drawing on the everyday reality of the Beth Ab, the home where many generations gathered under the extended roof of a patriarch and matriarch—elders, adults, children, and grandchildren, unwed aunts, disabled brothers, widows, orphans, slaves, and vulnerable neighbors, all living together with mutual regard and loving care.  Jesus also liked to use the metaphor of the Great Banquet—like the Lord’s Supper on steroids—where all will be gathered in the love and generous hospitality of God, a feast with the finest food, the best conversation, and the greatest of joy.

We know that with the Father’s House and the Great Banquet Jesus was using earthly metaphors to try to describe an incomprehensible, holy reality.  Yet Jesus’ words assure us that in that sweet bye and bye we will be perfectly loved, warmly welcomed, and completely accepted.  We will be totally at home—safe and sound, nurtured, fed, and filled with joy.  I like the sound of that.  If that is what living forever is all about, then I want in.  How about you?

Lord, give us this flesh to eat.  Lord, give us this blood to drink.  Lord, let us live forever.  When we read John’s gospel, we hear, again and again, the way to eternal life.  It’s pretty simple.  We don’t have to be sinless—and according to John Calvin, thanks to our total depravity, we couldn’t be sinless, even if we wanted to be.  We don’t have to undertake heroic works of mission, taking the gospel to drug-infested neighborhoods or to a remote village in the Amazon.  We don’t have to be more pious than anyone else, making the journey of a thousand miles on our knees.  We don’t have to pay $80,000 to be frozen in liquid nitrogen and warehoused until the time is right.  We don’t need to drastically reduce our calorie intake.  We don’t have to floss or give up red meat or shoot for 10,000 steps daily, even though those habits might be good for us.  None of that will make us live forever.

According to John’s gospel, according to Jesus, all that is needed to live forever is belief.  We simply need to trust that a God who loves us enough to become incarnate for us, to live with us, and to die for us, isn’t going to leave us hanging for an eternity.  For God so loved the world that he gave us Jesus, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life (Jn. 3:16).  The “yes” that we speak to God’s immeasurable love for us opens the door to eternity.  It’s that simple.  Does anyone want to share a yes with me this morning?  Let’s hear it.  Yes!

Karoline Lewis, who teaches at Luther Seminary in Minneapolis, reminds us that, for those of us who believe, our eternal life with God has already begun.  We, who wish to live forever, are already on our way.  In our lives as people of faith, as our relationship with Jesus is nurtured in the breaking the bread and lifting the cup, there is “an abiding, a unity, a reciprocity, and oneness.”  Forever is tasted, here and now, as we live with God in the moment.  That is a promise that we can trust for eternity. 

One day, we shall arise in that far brighter light on that far better shore.  The great mystery will come to an end and we will see clearly and know fully the immeasurable love that God has for us.  We’ll walk with the Lord.  We’ll take up residence in the Father’s House.  We’ll find our seat at the Great Banquet.  All will be perfectly and ultimately well.  I hope to see you there.  Amen.

Resources:

Calvin, John.  Institutes of the Christian Religion, vol. 2. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1977. 4.xvii.2.

Lewis, Karoline.  “A Living Bread” in Dear Working Preacher, Aug. 9, 2015.  Accessed online at www.workingpreacher.org.

Hendricks, Michael. “The False Science of Cryonics” in MIT Technology Review, Sept. 15, 2015. Accessed online at www.technologyreview.com.

Grabski, Isabella. “Can Calorie Restriction Extend Your Lifespan?” in Science in the News: Harvard University Graduate School of Arts and Sciences, Aug. 2, 2020.  Accessed online at sitn.hms.harvard.edu

Meeks, Wayne. “Exegetical Perspective on John 6:51-58” in Feasting on the Word, Year B, vol. 3. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Morse, Christopher. “Theological Perspective on John 6:51-58” in Feasting on the Word, Year B, vol. 3. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

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