This sermon was preached on April 17, 2016 for the Fourth Sunday after Easter. The texts for this sermon were: Acts 9:36-43, Revelation 7:9-17, John 10:22-30, and Psalm 23.
When it came to playing games with his children, my dad’s philosophy was always to play the exact same way against us as he would against adult opponents, regardless of our age or the game. He’d patiently answer any questions we asked about rules or strategies, but he’d stop short of leveling the playing field or changing his own strategy in any way. The immediate consequences of this philosophy, of course, was that my sisters and I lost a lot. And like most kids, I hated losing. But in the end, I’m grateful for the long-term consequences of this parenting strategy. My father used playing cards, Scrabble tiles, and little plastic cannons to teach us two vital life lessons. First, how to lose gracefully, over and over, and still keep playing. And second, that winning is never the most important thing. Instead, the true victory was that we had tried our hardest, refused to cheat, and persevered when we fell far behind. We learned that we didn’t have to automatically accept what society said winning meant, especially when life was unfair or stacked against us.
The unfortunately named Biblical scholar, M. Eugene Boring, considers this very lesson to be an essential piece of the Christian identity, solidified in the first century after Jesus’s death, as the Book of Revelation was being written. At that time, Roman authorities were arresting Christians, putting them on trial, and executing them if they refused to proclaim the Roman Emperor as Lord. John, the author of the Book of Revelation, was afraid the persecution of Christian was about to get much, much worse. Take heart what is written here, John writes in the beginning of his evocative letter to the early Christian churches. A time of great suffering is near and does his best to prepare them for it.
To John and those early Christian churches, it must have felt like Christianity was losing--like all they did anymore was lose. Or maybe that’s all Christians had ever done since the beginning—after all, we worship a loser who got captured by the enemy, not a your typical hero. Since the inception of the fledgling movement, Christians had been at the bottom rung of the socio-economic ladder. Now, more than ever, they were mistrusted, oppressed at every turn, even named as scapegoats for the Great Fire of Rome. It’s understandable if the Christian community was turning to itself and asking, Why don’t we win anymore? When will WE get to win?
In response, John’s explores whether the truer question might really be, what does it mean to win as a Christian? In John’s vision, the victorious Lamb on the throne is a Slaughtered Lamb. We are shown that Christ’s death on the cross has redefined winning for all of us forever--and not because Jesus rose again. Christ’s self-sacrifice of love IS what it means to win. His victory is not his survival and escape from ordeal, but his brave death itself. For John, the proper response to the early Christians’ persecution is obvious when they look to the example of Christ. To win as a Christian is to stand before the unjust judge and speak truth to power. To win as a Christian choose to affirm our faith despite the cost.
When it came to playing games with his children, my dad’s philosophy was always to play the exact same way against us as he would against adult opponents, regardless of our age or the game. He’d patiently answer any questions we asked about rules or strategies, but he’d stop short of leveling the playing field or changing his own strategy in any way. The immediate consequences of this philosophy, of course, was that my sisters and I lost a lot. And like most kids, I hated losing. But in the end, I’m grateful for the long-term consequences of this parenting strategy. My father used playing cards, Scrabble tiles, and little plastic cannons to teach us two vital life lessons. First, how to lose gracefully, over and over, and still keep playing. And second, that winning is never the most important thing. Instead, the true victory was that we had tried our hardest, refused to cheat, and persevered when we fell far behind. We learned that we didn’t have to automatically accept what society said winning meant, especially when life was unfair or stacked against us.
The unfortunately named Biblical scholar, M. Eugene Boring, considers this very lesson to be an essential piece of the Christian identity, solidified in the first century after Jesus’s death, as the Book of Revelation was being written. At that time, Roman authorities were arresting Christians, putting them on trial, and executing them if they refused to proclaim the Roman Emperor as Lord. John, the author of the Book of Revelation, was afraid the persecution of Christian was about to get much, much worse. Take heart what is written here, John writes in the beginning of his evocative letter to the early Christian churches. A time of great suffering is near and does his best to prepare them for it.
To John and those early Christian churches, it must have felt like Christianity was losing--like all they did anymore was lose. Or maybe that’s all Christians had ever done since the beginning—after all, we worship a loser who got captured by the enemy, not a your typical hero. Since the inception of the fledgling movement, Christians had been at the bottom rung of the socio-economic ladder. Now, more than ever, they were mistrusted, oppressed at every turn, even named as scapegoats for the Great Fire of Rome. It’s understandable if the Christian community was turning to itself and asking, Why don’t we win anymore? When will WE get to win?
In response, John’s explores whether the truer question might really be, what does it mean to win as a Christian? In John’s vision, the victorious Lamb on the throne is a Slaughtered Lamb. We are shown that Christ’s death on the cross has redefined winning for all of us forever--and not because Jesus rose again. Christ’s self-sacrifice of love IS what it means to win. His victory is not his survival and escape from ordeal, but his brave death itself. For John, the proper response to the early Christians’ persecution is obvious when they look to the example of Christ. To win as a Christian is to stand before the unjust judge and speak truth to power. To win as a Christian choose to affirm our faith despite the cost.
In the piece of John’s dream we read today, a great multitude stands before the throne of God, comprised of all peoples from every nation, from all tribes and ethnicities and languages. The robes they wear are a gleaming white, washed clean by the blood of the Lamb. They have come out of the great ordeal, the elders proclaim to John, not by surviving, avoiding or even by being divinely protected from persecution. They have come out of the ordeal, they have won, by dying. In affirming their faith and accepting the cost, Christ’s victory becomes their own.
We can see Christ’s redefinition of winning all over the Bible, once we look for it. I hear it today in the 23rd Psalm we just read. Winning doesn’t mean that we don’t ever have to walk through the valley of the shadow of death. It doesn’t mean that evil isn’t present in our lives. I don’t think it even means that we are protected from evil overwhelming us, taking everything we have, or killing us. The Christian promise, the promise of Easter and the cross, is that we get to choose faith over fear. We get to choose to say, I shall fear no evil.
We can see Christ’s redefinition of winning all over the Bible, once we look for it. I hear it today in the 23rd Psalm we just read. Winning doesn’t mean that we don’t ever have to walk through the valley of the shadow of death. It doesn’t mean that evil isn’t present in our lives. I don’t think it even means that we are protected from evil overwhelming us, taking everything we have, or killing us. The Christian promise, the promise of Easter and the cross, is that we get to choose faith over fear. We get to choose to say, I shall fear no evil.
And that’s not all John’s letter has to say about winning. Today’s passage isn’t located at the end of the story. It happens in the middle of his revelation. In fact, this passage occurs just before the last seal holding back the apocalypse is broken and more tragedy and anguish and terrible beasts are released onto the world. Here we see that we do not have to wait until the ultimate triumph of Christ’s second coming to find our victory. The refreshing waters, the green pastures and the springs--we find them in the middle of the valley of death. We sit at a table with all those who trouble us--in the midst of mine enemies--and discover that our cups overflow. Victory is ours here and now, with us today, even as we suffer. The promise of cross is that suffering and death is inevitable. The promise of Easter is that the choice to look evil in the face without fear, to stay true to our faith and character despite the cost, that choice is ours. That victory is ours.
I’ll close with a story I heard in a sermon seven years ago that’s stuck with me ever since. It’s the story of Sara Tucholsky and Mallory Holtman, two American college softball players, opponents, facing off during their regional Conference Championships. Sara was a senior, so this was to be her last season. Tiny and short, Sara had never hit a home-run in her entire career. But in this game, in the second inning, with two runners already on base, Sara’s ball flew over the back wall. A triple-run home-run. The small stadium erupted in cheers, but as she rounded the bases, Sara fell, injuring her knee badly. Her team, watched, helpless, as she struggled to crawl to the first base and collapsed again. Sara’s coaches knew that if she didn’t touch all the bases herself, Sara’s first and only home-run wouldn’t count. And if any of her teammates even touched her, she’d have to forfeit as well.
That’s when a player on the rival team, Mallory Holtman, stepped up and asked Sara’s coach if she and a teammate could help Sara. And they did, lifting Sara between them, dipping to touch her left foot to all four bases. Carrying her home.
When the TV reports told the story, they focused on its Hollywood ending. How the injured player’s home-run helped her team win the championship. How the underdog triumphed in the end. But I believe the true victory, the Christian victory, lies not in Sara’s team’s win but in Mallory’s willingness to lose because something else was more important. “It was the right thing to do,” Mallory says when asked why she did what she did. The choice was obvious.
To John, the choice before the early Christians was obvious. They should not lie about who they are, or adjust their beliefs about the world, or fight violence with violence to the bitter end. They should stand firm and lose peacefully, just like their leader. This was their victory, and God’s promise to his people.
John’s imagery and language of dragons, beasts, and crowns may not resonate today, but this question, and his powerful answer, certainly does. The Easter choice lies before us every day. How will we let our faith, not the world, define what it means to win?
I’ll close with a story I heard in a sermon seven years ago that’s stuck with me ever since. It’s the story of Sara Tucholsky and Mallory Holtman, two American college softball players, opponents, facing off during their regional Conference Championships. Sara was a senior, so this was to be her last season. Tiny and short, Sara had never hit a home-run in her entire career. But in this game, in the second inning, with two runners already on base, Sara’s ball flew over the back wall. A triple-run home-run. The small stadium erupted in cheers, but as she rounded the bases, Sara fell, injuring her knee badly. Her team, watched, helpless, as she struggled to crawl to the first base and collapsed again. Sara’s coaches knew that if she didn’t touch all the bases herself, Sara’s first and only home-run wouldn’t count. And if any of her teammates even touched her, she’d have to forfeit as well.
That’s when a player on the rival team, Mallory Holtman, stepped up and asked Sara’s coach if she and a teammate could help Sara. And they did, lifting Sara between them, dipping to touch her left foot to all four bases. Carrying her home.
When the TV reports told the story, they focused on its Hollywood ending. How the injured player’s home-run helped her team win the championship. How the underdog triumphed in the end. But I believe the true victory, the Christian victory, lies not in Sara’s team’s win but in Mallory’s willingness to lose because something else was more important. “It was the right thing to do,” Mallory says when asked why she did what she did. The choice was obvious.
To John, the choice before the early Christians was obvious. They should not lie about who they are, or adjust their beliefs about the world, or fight violence with violence to the bitter end. They should stand firm and lose peacefully, just like their leader. This was their victory, and God’s promise to his people.
John’s imagery and language of dragons, beasts, and crowns may not resonate today, but this question, and his powerful answer, certainly does. The Easter choice lies before us every day. How will we let our faith, not the world, define what it means to win?
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