He Is Risen from the Dead and Is Going Ahead of You: A Sermon on the Resurrection (Matthew 28:1-8)

(Note: We had difficulties with streaming this past week, so I do not have video of the sermon. If and when that changes, I will post the video. Until then, I will post a manuscript of the sermon. But a manuscript is not a transcript, so the text below will not include everything that was said in the sermon.)

              It is difficult to move on after each sermon in this Wide-Angle series, because there is so much more I could have said. But it is especially difficult to move on after a single, completely inadequate sermon on the death of Christ. Saying that we have seen the cross because we listened to a sermon is like saying that we have seen the Rockies because we flew from Chicago to L.A. The cross of Christ is a mountain of revelation, and we have hardly traced its outline, much less mined its depths. But if we’re going to see the outworking of what happened at Calvary, we need to move on.

          But we must take the cross with us. We saw last week that the cross was like a sword plunged into the earth, but now we find that it is also like a key carried in the pocket. It unlocks the rest of revelation. It opens the door for us to understand the fall, the Law, the covenants, and the kingdom. In fact, we can’t even understand ourselves apart from the cross.

          But we cannot understand the cross apart from the empty tomb. Take away the resurrection, which is something that Christ’s adversaries have tried to do since the very beginning, and the cross becomes a tragic finale.

          And that is exactly what Jesus’s disciples thought on the day it happened. The cross was an unmitigated disaster that dashed their hopes and shattered their confidence. And now they faced the very real possibility that the powers that executed Jesus would come after them. Don’t forget that when the Jewish authorities interrogated and tortured Jesus, they were questioning him about his disciples (John 18:19).

          After the execution, the disciples went into hiding for “fear of the Jews,” which is how John put it (John 20:19). The threat of persecution drove them into the shadows. But that same threat brought another of Jesus’s disciples out of the shadows and into the light.

          His name was Joseph, and he was from the town of Arimathea. The previous chapter (27:57) informs us that he was rich. I think it is safe to assume that he was also influential. For one thing, he was a member of the Sanhedrin, the national ruling body of Israel. For another, he was able to walk into the Roman prefect’s office, be granted a meeting on the spot, and have his request fulfilled within minutes. Joseph was an important man.

          John’s gospel tells us that Joseph had kept his faith in Jesus hidden because he was afraid of what his colleagues would say. How interesting that the very circumstances that sent Jesus’ known disciples into hiding brought a hidden disciple out into the public eye.

          Joseph was a member of the judicial council that condemned Jesus to death. If I read the evidence correctly, certain members of the council never received word that an emergency nighttime session had been called. That is understandable. It was Passover: the population of the city had swelled to ten times its usual size. There was no email or text messages. But I don’t think it was a coincidence that members who would have opposed a death sentence did not receive a summons.

Joseph was one of those members. He had been a secret disciple, but now he was taking a stand for Jesus that would bring him into conflict with the High Priest and his associates. This was political suicide.

          He, along with another prominent leader and secret disciple, Nicodemus, gave Jesus a proper burial in Joseph’s own tomb. Verses 59 says, “Joseph took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock.”

          Without realizing it, Joseph had become emmeshed in something much bigger and much older than himself. Centuries before his birth, the prophet Isaiah had written, “He was assigned a grave with … the rich in his death…” (Isiah 53:9). Dozens of ancient prophecies were fulfilled on this one day. Men and angels were playing roles in a drama that had been scripted long before.

          Joseph and Nicodemus buried Jesus, rolled the great stone into place at the tomb’s entrance and went home. The women who had followed them to the tomb also went home, forced to end their vigil by the approach of the Sabbath.

          But notice verse 62: “The next day, the one after Preparation Day, the chief priests and the Pharisees went to Pilate. ‘Sir,’ they said, ‘we remember that while he was still alive that deceiver said, ‘After three days I will rise again.’ So give the order for the tomb to be made secure until the third day. Otherwise, his disciples may come and steal the body and tell the people that he has been raised from the dead. This last deception will be worse than the first.’”

          Now understand that the day after Preparation Day was the Sabbath. The women, as we just saw, went home and rested in obedience to the law (Luke 23:56). The women kept the Sabbath, while the priests and Pharisees conducted business at the governor’s office in violation of Sabbath law. What makes this more ironic is that Sabbath-breaking was one of the chief accusations they leveled against Jesus (John 9:16).

          The Pharisees especially had been outraged at Jesus for violating the Sabbath. And here they were, one day after his death, violating the Sabbath. They had called Jesus a deceiver (John 7:12), yet in the next chapter, we find these men working on an elaborate plot to deceive the people. And, remarkably, they saw nothing hypocritical about their actions. One of sin’s most troubling features is that it blinds its host to its presence. Ironically, the more control sin exercises over a person, the less aware of sin that person is.

          These men asked the governor for help in securing the tomb from would-be grave robbers. In Matthew, the last recorded words of Pilate are given in verse 65: “‘Take a guard,’ Pilate answered. ‘Go, make the tomb as secure as you know how’.”

          Verse 66: “So they went and made the tomb secure by putting a seal on the stone and posting the guard.” We owe these men a debt of gratitude. By sealing the tomb and posting a guard they gave the lie to their own story. They made ridiculous the idea that the disciples could have stolen Jesus’s body. People who make plans against God find their own schemes turned against them. I am reminded of the words of the Psalmist: “They spread a net for my feet … They dug a pit in my path – but they have fallen into it themselves” (Psalm 64:8).

          Pilate placed the guard at their disposal, and they made the tomb as secure as they knew how. But a hundred tons of steel-reinforced concrete was not going to make that tomb secure. Nothing is secure that is kept from God, including the dreams we cherish, the children we love, and the sins we hide. And nothing is insecure that is placed in his hands. And that is where Jesus was. Remember his final words, as recorded in Luke: “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit” (Luke 23:46).

          So the “guard” (koustodia in Greek), was posted at the tomb. If Matthew means us to understand a koustodia proper, he wants us to think of a Roman special forces unit comprised of sixteen men. These were some of the toughest people in the empire. They had no doubt about their ability to fulfill their duty. They certainly had no fear of a few Galilean fishermen.

And yet, put yourself in their place. Earlier that day, uncanny things had happened. There had been an eclipse of the sun. At the moment Jesus died, an earthquake convulsed Jerusalem and did damage to the temple. Everyone was talking about it. And the centurion who was on duty at the crucifixion was telling people that the man in this grave was the Son of God (Mark 15:39). And now, for some mysterious reason, the governor had assigned them – a koustodia – the duty of guarding a grave. It was enough to make even battle-hardened soldiers a little jittery.

          Early on Sunday morning, for the second time in three days, an earthquake shook the ground under the soldiers’ feet. But that was nothing. With the earthquake came the sudden appearance of an angel. Verse 2: “There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it.” The word the NIV translates as “going to”11 is frequently used in Greek of one combatant approaching another to do battle. This angel came at the soldiers.

          In our day, and for centuries now, angels are pictured as effeminate, wispy-haired creatures that look as though they couldn’t hurt a fly. But verse three says that “his appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow.” Have you ever looked at lightning up close—say, within 50 yards? I did once, and I would prefer not to do it again. The effect is unnerving. So it was with these guards. They “shook (verse 4) and became like dead men.”

          That shaking, I think, was not just fear. It was more like a seizure. God, the scripture says, “makes his angels winds, his servants flames of fire” (Hebrews 1:7). When this being that looked like lightning and burned like fire came toward them, the guards short-circuited. His presence caused their nervous systems to overload, the way a nearby lightning strike causes an electrical surge that overloads computers and TVs. I doubt they even knew what happened to them. These soldiers, who would choose death before dishonor, simply came undone.

          (And think about it: If it is so terrifying to stand before an angel, one of God’s servants, what will it be like to stand in the presence of God himself? Before him, Isaiah was undone, mighty seraphim cover their faces, and heaven and earth flee away.13 When you stand before him, you had better have an advocate—the Advocate—or you will not stand at all.)

          By the time the women arrived, the koustodia were gone, and the tremendous stone that sealed the tomb had been tossed away as if it were a small stone. Understandably, the first thing the angel said to the women was, “Do not be afraid.”

          “Do not be afraid,” he says (verse 5), “for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.” The Greek here is interesting. “…for I know that Jesus, the one having been crucified, you seek.” Jesus is forever the crucified one. Whether we seek him as healer, teacher, example, or Friend of sinners, we will find him to be Jesus the Crucified. If we will not know him in that way, we will not know him at all.

          “I know you are looking for him, but he is not here,” the angel says. “He has risen, just as he said.” One day we will discover that he has done everything “just as he said.” Not one word of his has ever fallen to the ground. He said, “I will be with you,” and he meant it: He has been with us every step of the way. He said, “Do not be afraid,” and we need never fear. He said, “I will give you rest,” and he has, and will, fulfill his promise. His word is as good as gold—or rather, is better “than much fine gold.” If he said, “I will come again and take you to be with me,” then we should get ready, for he is coming. It will be “just as he said.”

          Now I want you to put on your wide-angle lenses for a few moments. Remember the big picture. Eve’s son would crush the serpent’s head.14 God himself would provide a lamb for sacrifice.15 The LORD would make his servant’s life a guilt offering.[1] Remember the law Moses gave, and the festivals he instituted that pointed to Christ, especially Passover and the Day of Atonement.

          According to the Law of Moses, on the Day of Atonement (and only on the Day of Atonement), the High Priest would enter the Holy of Holies, the place of God’s presence, carrying the blood of a perfect sacrifice to make atonement for the people. Before doing that, he would make atonement for himself, for to go into the Holiest Place with one’s sins unforgiven was to invite death.

          The people would gather outside the tabernacle or temple and wait for the High Priest to emerge. When he did, they would rejoice, for it meant that God had accepted the sacrifice and their sins had been forgiven. But if he did not come back from the Holy of Holies, then the offering had not been accepted, and their sins had not been forgiven.

          We talk so lightly of accepting Jesus (as if we possess some kind of veto power over him. It is not so. If we reject him, we only manage to veto ourselves). But in the dim light of that early morning outside the rich man’s tomb the real question was not would people accept Jesus, but would God? As our High Priest, Jesus had entered the Holiest Place.17 Would his offering be accepted and our sins forgiven? Or would it be rejected, and our hopes lost? The resurrection was God’s proclamation that Christ’s offering had been accepted. The High Priest had returned from the Holy of Holies, and are sins have been forgiven. Now we know why Paul wrote, “If Christ has not been raised … you are still in your sins” (1 Corinthians 15:17).

           Now look at the rest of the angel’s message (verse 7): “He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him. Now I have told you.” His message to them was, “He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you.” How comforting that would have been! But he would be going ahead of them from now on—and think of where they went: to prisons, to exile, to beatings, to trial. In each case, Jesus went ahead of them and met them there. They would go to Rome, and he would go ahead of them. They would stand before kings and emperors, and they would die ignominious deaths. He would go ahead of them and meet them there.

          And still the message is, “He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you.” Wherever he leads you, he will go before you. If he leads you into marriage, he will go ahead of you and meet you there. If he leads you into a new city, he will go ahead of you and meet you there. If he leads you to a new job, to the mission field, to a ministry at church, he will go ahead of you and meet you there. You can count on it! And, if he calls you to follow him into death, know this: he has gone ahead of you, and he will meet you there. That is the confidence we have.

          I read once about a British soldier who was mortally wounded. A corpsman, seeing that he was going to die, and wanting to call a chaplain, asked him, “What is your religion?” The man answered, “I belong to the church of Jesus Christ.” Well, that didn’t tell the corpsman anything. He wanted to know whether to call a Catholic or a Protestant chaplain, so he tried again. “I mean what is your persuasion?” To this the man whispered: “I am persuaded that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39).

          He has gone ahead of us, into death and through the heavens (Hebrews 4:14), and he will meet us there!

Blessing/Sending (Romans 8:31-39)

Church, our reasonable response to Christ’s glorious victory over sin and death and hell is to be encouraged with the hope that is ours! Because He was victorious, we can be victorious. In fact, Jesus is at the right hand of God interceding for us right now. I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. This is good news to live by, and it’s the news we need to share with our aching world. By the grace of God, let us do both.


11. proserchomai

13. Revelation 20:11

14 Genesis 3:15

15 Genesis 22:7-8

16 Isaiah 53:10

17 Hebrews 9, especially verse 12.

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You Need a Theology of Suffering

It is not uncommon in church or academic circles to hear someone speak of “a theology of blank,” where the blank is filled with terms like “mission,” “worship,” “creation care,” or a dozen others. To use the term “theology” in this manner requires us to refocus the meaning of the term. Instead of referring to “the study of God,” it denotes “the study of God’s intention, purpose, and meaning” for a particular realm of life or practice.

We need a theology of suffering. Of course, there are books that provide rich insights into God’s intention, purpose, and meaning for suffering, like C. S. Lewis’s, The Problem of Pain, Timothy Keller’s, Walking with God through Pain and Suffering, Elizabeth Eliot’s, “A Path Through Suffering,” and many others. When I say, “We need a theology of suffering,” I do not mean that we need another book about God’s intention, purpose and meaning for suffering. I mean that each Christian needs to develop his or her own theology of suffering.

I say this because, despite the many good books on the subject of suffering, we are (at least I am) not very good at it. When I hurt, my reflex action is to withdraw, complain, and become discouraged. But withdrawing, complaining, and becoming discouraged cannot be the intention, purpose, or meaning God has for suffering in our lives. (Note: I am here neither implying that God actively causes our suffering nor that he passively allows it. For more on that subject, read one of those good books on suffering.)

An impoverished (or non-existent) theology of suffering leads to serious problems both in life and witness. Take the young man with a biblical studies degree. He has studied ancient languages and shown an unusual aptitude for Koine Greek. He has done postgraduate work and has earned both master’s and doctoral level degrees in New Testament. Though he read Lewis’s The Problem of Pain and appreciated it, he never internalized Lewis’s arguments. When he encountered real suffering – not even his own – he began to question God’s goodness and then God’s existence.

I have known people whose stories are not dissimilar to the one I’ve just related. They have rejected God not because of their own suffering but because of the suffering of others, even the suffering they have only heard about. These people needed a personal theology of suffering.

The absence of such a theology has also weakened the church. The American church, which lacks adequate theologies of both suffering and prospering, does not know how to instruct, comfort, or admonish those who are experiencing one or the other. Living in a society where it is possible to avoid suffering temporarily, or at the very least distract oneself from it, has left us unprepared. But avoidance and distraction are never more than temporary. When suffering comes, as it inevitably does, we must have some idea of why God allowed it and how we can endure it.

There is hardly a better place to find help in developing a theology of suffering than Peter’s first letter. It takes up a little over 1% percent of New Testament real estate yet provides nearly 29% of the uses of the verb “to suffer,” and forms besides the verb as well. Peter was writing to hurting Christians who needed to understand God’s intention, purpose, and meaning for their suffering.

In Peter’s letter, readers discover (1 Peter 4:12) that suffering is neither strange (“Do not be surprised by the fiery trial you are going through”) nor is it purposeless (“when it comes upon you to test you”). Whatever its source, suffering “puts you on trial” – a trial that will reveal the state of your faith in God.

Another important element of a theology of suffering is Peter’s insistence that suffering allows the Christian to share in Christ’s sufferings, which is an honor indeed, as St. Paul recognized (Philippians 1:29). If, when I am suffering, I remind myself that I am sharing “in the fellowship of his suffering” (Philippians 3:10), I may find strength to endure.

And not just endure, but to rejoice (“But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed.”) Imagine the impact that suffering church members could have on the people around them (in the church, family, and neighborhood) if they were genuinely joyful despite their obvious suffering. In this way, our suffering can benefit others, in imitation of Christ’s suffering, which benefitted us.

Peter instructs Christians on what to do (and not do) when they suffer (1 Peter 2:19-23). They are not to insult or disparage others, nor are they to threaten those who mistreat them. Instead, they are to imitate Christ by entrusting themselves “to him who judges justly.” This practice alone can transform suffering into a context for blessing.

Peter also explains the why behind suffering—why God allows or initiates it. He says that “all kind of trials…have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”

In other words, the trials serve as “proof of faith” for the person who continues to trust God even through suffering. This “proof of faith” is enormously important to the Christian now (for more on this, click here) and will result in praise, glory, and honor later. Peter does not make clear who receives the praise, etc., but a broader survey of Scripture suggests that God does—and his child does too. (For example, see 1 Corinthians 4:5.)

The truths outlined above need to sink into a believer’s soul while remaining available in their memory. They will do no good if they exist only as abstract notions that are occasionally entertained. They must be forged together into a shield (see 1 Peter 4:1), which is what a personal theology of suffering can be.

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The Cross – Luke 23

God is nowhere more clearly revealed than in the cross of Christ. In this sermon, we marvel at the wisdom and love of God that is displayed in the cross, see how the Old Testament led to the cross, and learn why the cross means that nothing can stop God. Nothing.

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Resurrection: Waking Up Into the Real World

“Think of yourself just as a seed patiently wintering in the earth; waiting to come up a flower in the Gardener’s good time, up into the real world, the real waking.” (C.S. Lewis, Letter to Mary Willis Shelburne, June 28, 1963. The Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis, Volume III.)

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What will people be like in the age to come? Will they eat and drink? Will they need to? Will they play (tennis, chess, basketball, pinochle)? Will they fish, hike, and hunt morel mushrooms? Will they paint, write music, and make love? Or will they, Star Trek-like, be giant brains in jars filled with some chemical preservative, experiencing life through some advanced virtual reality technology?

Were we to ask St. Paul these questions, I know what his answer would be: “How foolish!” for that is how he answered these kinds of questions in the first century. (See 1 Corinthians 15:35-36, where the word Paul uses in not an adjective, as in the NIV, but a nominative case plural noun: “Fools.”) In 1 Corinthians 15, the apostle’s focus is not on what we will be. Like St. John (1 John 3:2), he would probably confess a high degree of ignorance about that. Instead, he focuses on what we will not be.

To make his point, he uses the analogy of a seed alongside its full-grown plant. Had Paul known the story of Johnny Appleseed, he might have pointed out the fact that Johnny planted apple seeds not apple trees. He did not dig large holes in the ground and bury trees, trunks and branches. In Paul’s words, “When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed…” If you want to grow an oak, you bury an acorn in the ground, not a tree.

When God sows, he does “not plant the body that will be,” only the seed. In 1 Corinthians 15, the seed is the analogue, and the Christian is the referent to which it points. Christians are the seeds God sows in this age, but that mature in the age to come. There is a vast difference between the seed (what we are now) and the mature plant we shall be (in the age to come). As Paul later states: “…we shall be changed.” The enormity of that change, which exceeds even the difference between little acorn and giant oak, is beyond imagination.

The Apostle goes further to differentiate between what we are now (seed) and what we shall be (fully mature humans). “The body” – the seed that we now are – “that is sown is subject to corruption, it is raised incorruptible; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.”

When you read “spiritual body,” do not think of a body composed of spirit. A spiritual body is more like an electric car than it is like a brick house. It is not made of spirit, like a house is made of brick, but it is powered by spirit, like a car is powered by electricity.  The word translated “natural” in 1 Corinthians 15:44 supports this conclusion. It is an adjectival form of the word “soul.” Paul’s point is that the body/seed that God plants in this age is powered by this age’s natural energy source (the soul), but when it is raised, it will be powered by spirit.

What could bring about this remarkable? Paul’s answer to that question becomes clear in verse 45. The “first man Adam” was created to be a “living soul,” but the “last Adam” was incarnated to be a “life-giving spirit.” This “last Adam,” the “second man” who is “from heaven,” has become the source of a new kind of humanity, what humanity was intended to be all along, powered by a new kind of life.

But for the new kind of humanity to be realized, a change even greater than the one between acorn and oak is required. What could possibly trigger such a change? Paul’s answer: The resurrection (1 Corinthians 15:51-53). An evolutionary biologist might think that Paul is talking about a type of theological saltation – a sudden, large mutational change occurring in a single generation.

The Christian has a different word for it. What the biologist might call “saltation,” the Christian knows as “salvation.” It is the great God’s good gift to us through Jesus Christ (1 Corinthians 15:57).

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Resurrection: More Than Heaven When You Die

An Easter Sunday sermon that helps us see that resurrection means more than life after death: It means the new creation is underway!

Don’t turn this sermon off after you hear what I say in the first three seconds! Hang around for the puzzle, if nothing else.

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Shutting Jesus In: An Easter Skit and Sermon (Matthew 27:65-28:15)

A fun two-part Easter skit (which churches are welcome to use) paired with Scripture readings and a short sermon that challenges us to let Christ into every area of our lives.

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The Ministry of Jacks and Queens

Occasionally, someone has introduced me as “the minister at our church,” or something like that. What, I wonder, would they think if I introduced them in that way: “I want to introduce you to Mary. She is a minister at our church”? I suspect Mary would object: “I’m not a minister. I just teach the third and fourth grade Sunday School class.”

But Mary would be wrong. Biblically speaking, every member of Christ’s church is a minister. They needn’t be a pastor or preacher to be a minister. They need to be Jesus’s, and they need to serve.

Today, the word “minister” is used as a synonym for “pastor” or “preacher,” but it originally had a much broader range of meaning. A minister was anyone who serves others. (We can still see this usage, albeit, through the fogs of politics, in parliamentary governments like that of Canada, where members of the cabinet are still referred to as “ministers.”)

In his Ephesians letter, St. Paul writes that the church’s apostles, prophets, evangelists, and pastors/teachers are responsible to “to equip the saints for the work of ministry” (ESV). Notice that the “saints” (which refers to all of God’s people and not just his superstars) are expected to do the work of the ministry. They are the church’s ministers.

But many Christ followers are ignorant of the fact. They do not think of themselves as ministers. And if you tell them that good news, they are liable to object: “I cannot be a minister. I don’t know enough. I don’t have a degree. I could never get up in front of people.”

We need a more complete (and biblical) understanding of ministry. The men who were chosen to distribute food to Christian widows in Acts 6 were ministers. So were the people who devoted themselves to God’s word and to prayer. The collection of money to provide for Jerusalem’s poor is described as a “ministry.” In the Bible, offering hospitality, leading, teaching, and offering encouragement all fall under that heading.

To minister is simply to serve. Ancient Greeks thought that serving others was demeaning, which is why the Sophist asked, “How can a man be happy when he has to serve someone?” But Christians believed that serving others was a mark of greatness (see Mark 10:35). An ancient Greek would be mortified by the necessity of becoming “a minister,” but an ancient Christian would be grateful for the opportunity.

To minister is to serve another person at their point of need. A preacher can do that by providing biblically true and spiritually nourishing sermons. A preschool teacher can do that by loving a frenetic three-year-old. Driving an elderly person to a doctor’s appointment is certainly the work of a minister. Ministry doesn’t just happen on Sunday mornings. Whenever a Christ-follower serves someone else at the point of their need, he or she is a minister.

I’ve engaged in many forms of ministry over the years. I’ve preached, visited the sick, washed dishes, mowed grass, vacuumed carpets, taught youth group, played basketball, and a hundred other things that could qualify as ministry.

One unusual ministry I’ve had is playing (and losing at) cards. On three occasions, I have played cards with terminally ill people who were nearing the end of life in this age. My wife and I just did so last week with a couple from church. The husband told me the previous Sunday that “it wouldn’t be long” before he is gone. We had a great time, and I think they did too. Giving people who are going through a tough time something to enjoy can be ministry.

I once played Euchre with a man who was literally on his death bed. In a few hours, he would pass away. This excellent card player, who was wearing morphine patches and taking additional narcotics for pain, was having trouble following suit and remembering trump. When the game was over, he had to ask his wife, “Did I trounce the pastor?” She smiled, and said, “Yes,” and he laid his head on the pillow content.

That too was ministry.

Because every Christ follower is called to be a minister, it is important to find ways to serve people at their point of their need. This may mean teaching a junior high Sunday School class, or playing Euchre with someone who is terminally ill, or hosting a painting class, teaching piano, power washing playground equipment—who knows? Look for God-given opportunities in the church and in the community to serve people in the name of Jesus, go for it, and be a minister.

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If Only (John 11)

We’ve all done things we regret. We’ve experienced things we wish had never happened. What can even God do about our sorrows and regrets?

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Seven-Storied World: The Stories that Compose Literature

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The English journalist Christopher Booker published The Seven Basic Plots: Why We Tell Stories in 2004. He argues – some would say unsuccessfully – that all the stories we know belong to one of seven plot types. These types can be classified as follows: “Overcoming the Monster” (think Beowulf); “The Quest” (Lord of the Rings); “Voyage and Return” (The Time Machine); “Rebirth” (A Christmas Carol); “Rags to Riches” (Jane Eyre); “Comedy” (A Midsummer Night’s Dream); “Tragedy” (Macbeth).

Critics argue that Booker’s categories exclude works by Kafka, for example, and Joyce. I’m not sure the Kafka I’ve read could not be folded into one or more of these categories, and I have never known what to do with Joyce. But for the sake of argument, let us assume that Booker was right: there are only seven basic stories.

If every human life could be told as a story, which of the seven basic plot lines would best fit your life? I, for my part, have certainly been on a quest. I have had to overcome the monster—most often the monster within me. I have experienced rebirth and been different because of it. The one category that does not fit my life is tragedy. Don’t get me wrong: I have known sorrow, as have all of us, but my life will not end in calamity, meaninglessness, or regret. No, my life is a comedy: everything will come out right in the end.

The Bible itself tells a long, often complicated story, which can (following Booker’s “Rule of Three”) be told in three acts: Creation, Fall, and Redemption. (It could also be told in more than three acts, depending on how finely one wants to divide it.) The Bible contains monsters (Goliath), rebirths (Zaccheus), takes us on a voyage and return journey (Nebuchadnezzar), a quest (Jesus) and celebrates rags to riches (Esther). It certainly contains tragedies (King Saul), but the Bible as a whole is not a tragedy; it is a comedy, as Revelation 21 and 22 make clear. If someone were writing a book review of the Bible, they could summarize it in the words the Lord Jesus spoke to the Lady Julian: “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

I have previously tried to think of a plot structure that does not fit into Booker’s seven. One might go to Proust, but to my mind, the reason Proust does not fit into the plot structure categories is because he is unstructured. (I realize that serious scholars of his work would take me to task.) But for arguments sake, let’s imagine that Booker’s seven categories cover all narrative works, even Proust’s. When the world we know comes to an end, and an almost endless variety of stories have been told, they will all fit into the seven basic plots.

Humans know themselves and understand the reality around them in terms of story. Story is essential not only to art but to science. Copernicus made up a story that explained why the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Einstein told himself a story that explained the apparent contradictions between Maxwell’s electromagnetism (as it touches on the speed of light) and Newton’s mechanics. That story is the basis for the Theory of Special Relativity and might be classified as “Overcoming the Monster” or as “Voyage and Return” (those familiar with Einstein will see the connection).

We know ourselves through the stories we tell, but we are more than we know. If we are ever to understand ourselves, much less understand God (to the degree our finite minds make possible), we need new stories, new plots, that fit under entirely new categories.

St. John says that “what we will be has not yet been made known” (I John 3:2) We will need new stories, new categories of stories to understand a glorified humanity in the presence of the glorious God. For someone who loves story, the prospect of a new story plot, one that comes from beyond the horizon of our understanding, is exhilarating.

What stories shall we tell? What story shall we be? The answers to those questions lies beyond us, but one thing we know: It will not be a tragedy.

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My wife, who proofreads and edits my articles, called this one “a stream of consciousness” piece. And I call Proust unstructured?

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Kingdom Come (Mark 1:14-15)

In Mark 1:14-15, Jesus announces the nearness of the kingdom for which people had so long waited.

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