Lester Start’s Works

1CAN WE BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?

06/29/80

L. J. Start

First Baptist Kalamazoo

The question posed by the sermon title is a difficult one, particularly for those of us brought up in the liberal religious tradition. We are brought up to believe in a world of natural law, where physical effects are understood in terms of physical causes, and so the Biblical world of wonders where a prophet is fed by ravens, where the waters of a sea are parted, where a virgin gives birth, and where prayer is said to move mountains strikes one as unacceptable, impossible. We understand a miracle, you see, generally as an event that happens contrary to nature, as a violation of the law of nature, and then we are taught that nothing can happen contrary to natural law. There is a whole tradition of liberal Biblical criticism inspired by scientific rationalism that either rejected miracles entirely as pious fabrications, or understood them as imaginative myths; or accepted only some, such as some of Jesus’ healings as consistent with what we now know about psychosomatic ills and their cures. But in general they make us uneasy and in spite of the fact that they take up no small part of the scripture tradition, we tend to ignore them, rarely preach about them, and in general leave the miracles, even the healing miracles, to the Christian Scientists, the Pentacostals, the cults of the TV church.

I think this is a mistake on many grounds. First, I think a miracle cannot be defined as something contrary to nature. Second, I think our view of natural law may be unduly restrictive, reductionist. Third, I think we are not sensitive enough to the Biblical meaning of the miracle and the good news of the way God breaks into our world and our lives to act as a redeeming, saving power.

First point. A miracle cannot be defined simply as an event contrary to nature, or as a violation of a law of nature. Augustine had a modification that many would approve: he defined a miracle as an occurrence which is contrary to what is known of nature. This formula has the merit of humility, theological and scientific. It suggests we may not know all there is to know about the laws of nature, and thus expresses some scientific humility about the possibility of extending the laws of nature beyond the physical level of cause and effect to include the area of psychic powers, for example. But this formula suggests theological humility as well, because it would be prepared to surrender belief in a particular miracle if it should turn out to be a natural occurrence, after all.

I think, though, that this improved formula, as stated, is still inadequate, to say that the miracle is an event contrary to what is known of nature. I am convinced that a merely inexplicable event, an event that seems to occur contrary to any known causal explanation, is a puzzle at best and simply an accident at worst, not a miracle.

The miracle makes a kind of sense — it shows a rational connection between faith and its consequence, or virtue and its reward that has more of an appeal to our primal sense of logic than the fortuitous connections of causal processes in nature. The miracle illustrates moral forces and purposes while a causal mechanical law of nature is only a record of the usual but reasonless order of change. Thus, a merely inexplicable event, showing no purpose, would be no miracle. What surprises us in the miracle is that contrary to what is usually the case, we see a particular purpose, a real and a just reason for it. As Luke says with respect to Jesus’ miracles, by the finger of God He cast out devils. It is the finger-of-God revealed religious purpose that makes a miracle a miracle.

For example, as Santayana has said in his book Reason in Religion, if the water of the shrine at Lourdes bottled and sold by druggists cured most disease, this would be no miracle, but an impressive pharmaceutical discovery. But note we would know no more why we were cured than we now know why we were born or why aspirin works as it does. But if the believer in taking the water believes the effect morally conditioned; if he interprets any favorable result as an answer to his faith or prayers, then the cure becomes miraculous and intelligible also as manifesting the obedience of nature to the exigencies of the spirit.

It is in this way, I think, that we must understand the Biblical tradition of miracles — not as isolated wonders contradicting the laws of nature, but as signs of the purpose and power of God. We must remember the Bible knows nothing of nature as a closed system of law. Nature is an un-Biblical term, even. The world is God’s creation. God puts plants in the ground, causes rain to fall on the just and unjust, weaves us in our mother’s wombs, as the Psalmist says, so that we are indeed wondrously made. God appoints the times of seedtime and harvest, sets the seasons by the sun and moon. He is in the sea and storm as well as the green valleys and vineyards.

God is in nature. But more importantly, God works through nature in the realm of history, working out His purposes for man. Here He intervenes, sometimes forcibly, sometimes with wonders, sometimes in the still small voice. These extraordinary interventions are called miracles, not because they are uniformly violations of laws of nature — some are not — but because they are startling evidence of the power and purpose of God. They are not acts of God — in the insurance company’s sense of the word, as when we call in God because there is no other explanation available — but acts of God as recognized by the eye of faith, signs of His Presence at work in our world, signs of the world obedient to His purpose.

In this sense there is one basic miracle in the Bible — the miracle of God operating in the world in history. It is expressed in two stages: the Old Testament miracle of the Exodus recalled by Joshua in the scripture lesson as the basis for the believer’s loyalty to God; and the New Testament miracle of the Incarnation — what more vivid expression of God in history could be imagined! Christ’s redemptive work as Savior of man is the miracle as seen symbolically by John as he recounts the miracle of the wine at the wedding feast in Cana.

Each of these supreme miracle events is accompanied by other lesser miracles to call attention to the special meaning of God’s redemptive powers. There were the plagues of Egypt, the parting of the waters, the manna in the wilderness — all contributing to the theme of escape to freedom under God. And the miracles of Jesus, especially healings and exorcisms, are preliminary indications of the final struggle with evil and the victory in the final revelation of the glory of God. As John reports of the miracle in Cana, “This beginning of His signs did Jesus in Cana, and manifested forth His glory; and His disciples believed on Him.” And ever since those who have believed on Him have found the glory of God reflected in the ongoing life of the church, and His miraculous power at work in the life of the believer.

Incidentally, there are several words for “miracle” in the Bible. The most common term, used both in Exodus and John, is the word “sign”. A miracle is a sign of God’s power and purpose. The synoptic gospels seem a bit wary of the term sign. Jesus is portrayed as uneasy about those who were simply looking for signs as a kind of proof. The problem was that wonder working can be of the devil, as opposed to the signs of God’s redemptive love. And Jesus resisted the temptation to magic, we know. Would that all His followers today could sense the difference. But in the gospels the most important word is “mighty work”, again suggesting a power of God that is able, not a secret magical power of the individual.

Can we believe in miracles? As we see what the miracle means in Biblical tradition, it would seem that as believers, as Christians, we must. We must accept the major miracle of God’s redemptive power in our world and His creative love in our lives, for this is what is meant by the miracle — evidence of God’s extraordinary power and purpose. It need not be a prodigy, a wondrous, strange event — such words in reference to the miracle are rare in scripture and are pagan. One can speak as the Psalmist did of the miracle of human birth and life, the miracle of the new day and new life, and still inhabit and believe in an orderly world of nature. We can believe in miracle as evidence of the purpose of God and still believe in an orderly world of nature. There are causes and purposes. The larger spirit of God and man is moved by purpose. This intervenes on the system of causality. The world is more than a closed causal system.

And this is the second point I wish to make — not in as great length, but none the less it is important. That is we tend to exaggerate our knowledge of and control over nature as a closed system of physical law. We thereby cut off the possibility of finding more fundamental meanings and active purposes. For example, we assert the dogma that physical effects must have physical causes, and refuse to countenance or accept evidence of psychic phenomena Psychologists who explore psychic powers are relegated to departments of parapsychology in our universities. The Para prefix means, as in paramedics, not quite a real scientist, expert, professional — not to be taken as authoritative. We ignore or explain away evidence of miracles in our own times, our own lives. We are suspicious of faith healings, for example. Perhaps we have tied the noose of law too tightly. Perhaps there is much that escapes it. Perhaps we want to be too sure of things, really know what to believe and what we can reject — so that we don’t have to wonder about the unknown.

Our systems of natural law may well be simply our way of interpreting the world for our own control. And just as we can draw a figure which can look now like a rabbit and now like a duck, we can make a picture of our world that looks now like a mechanical system and now like a great cosmic moral purpose and now like an order of beauty.

The point is we may have imposed too narrow an order. We may have defined God out of the picture. We may have a view of God that is too small. There is so much we don’t know. All the prognosis of knowledge in medicine can point in a certain direction for a patient, and yet a different and unexpected result can ensue. Norman Cousins was suffering from a chronic and it would appear terminal disease of the spine. And yet he managed to effect a cure — I say “he”. He directed his therapy, part of which was to watch old films of the Marx brothers. Laughter was part of the therapy. There is a theory that the brain can manufacture agents that fight disease — and laughter stimulates the procedure. I don’t know how to take all this. I do know he was a remarkable healthy-looking Commencement speaker, and he is now teaching at a medical school. And I do know that one’s psychic attitude, his depression or optimism, his sense of tragedy or sense of humor can make an enormous difference in his outlook toward life, in facing problems. There is a power of the spirit. Thinking does make it so in many cases, as William James said. Your world will be exciting or boring, friendly or hostile, an occasion for creative activity or defeat, valuable or meaningless — largely depending on the kind of spirit with which you face life. I think our worst problem is the tendency to try to play it safe, find security, keep control, defining reality in terms of laws we can understand at the risk of losing the possibilities of a richer, freer, more creative existence.

A pathetic example of this on TV a couple of weeks ago was a documentary, “Choosing Suicide”. It consisted of a series of conversations with and artist, Jo Roman, suffering from inoperable cancer who was planning to take her own life before she had to suffer a minute of pain. It was, she kept insisting, the rational thing to do. But it was as a psychiatrist commented in a follow-up discussion — after her suicide — as if she had to remain in control in a rational way and couldn’t imagine giving up, letting go. Of course, the pathetic thing, I think, is that she really didn’t control anything and gave up any determination of her future. We cannot ever have total charge. We cannot reduce life to rational laws of nature and take control of things.

The Biblical doctrine of the miracle gives us an answer to this dilemma. It tells us that we are not caught in a meaningless cycle of natural forces and natural laws. Just as we as centers of purpose and action can make a meaning and build a world out of the neutral forces of nature, so the purposes of God can break through and liberate man caught in the world of time and sense. There are spiritual forces at work, divine purposes, psychic energies at hand. We should be open to the possibilities of their power in our lives. They are there in answered prayer in renewed confidence, in opening ourselves to God. Perhaps laughter is so good for us and real grief can be so therapeutic, because we let ourselves go, lose control and abandon our sense of tight control to be aware of, and to find, a larger purpose and peace.

The miracle at Cana is a beautiful symbol of what I have been trying to say. Christ comes to the wedding feast — joins us in our joys. And when the wine fails, he provides for our needs. The six waterpots symbolize the failure of the Jewish law. The wine — in enormous quantities — symbolizes the new spirit of God’s redemptive power more than sufficient to our needs. The oblique references to the fact that His hour is not come, and the concluding reference to the revelation of His glory shows this miracle at the beginning of His ministry as an earnest of the new spirit of His incarnate love at hand in the conduct of life, richly at hand for our lives, as an indwelling spirit.

We can believe in miracles. When I think back over the last several months in the life of our church, it is certainly beyond normal expectation what this congregation has done. But this is the miracle of our Christian faith. God can use us singly, together, in the spirit of Christ, to heal, to strengthen, to proclaim His purpose, and to gain a richer life for us all. This is the miracle — surely the Lord is in this place. May His presence continue in our midst.

1THE SHEPHERD’S STORY

June 22, 1980

First Baptist, Kalamazoo

A mile and a half, or it may be two miles, southeast of Bethlehem there is a plain separated from the town by an intervening swell of the mountain. This plain is not of much use for agriculture; the ground is too stony and poor. But it does produce good grazing land for sheep, and for centuries shepherds have tended flocks of sheep in this place. In fact it was in just such a place that the shepherds who were watching their flocks by night almost twenty centuries ago learned first of the birth of the infant Jesus the Prince of Peace. It is interesting to think back on that occasion and speculate upon the thoughts and feelings of these shepherds on that great event in the world’s history. That is why this morning we are going to think back in our imaginations nearly nineteen centuries and imagine ourselves visiting a tiny shepherd’s cottage in these hills; we are going to visit the owner of this tiny one roomed house, an aged shepherd, and listen to him as he tells the Christmas story to his young grandson, for this old man was tending sheep as a little boy on that night when Christ was born.

We can picture the tiny cottage in our minds with skins strewn on the floor showing that a shepherd lives there. In the corner the old grandmother and her daughter are weaving; the grandfather sits musing in his chair staring into the fire, and the little boy, tugs impatiently at his sleeve, saying, “Tell me the story, grandfather; you promised you would tell the story of Jesus to me tonight.” The old man reaches out a gnarled hand and gently pats the boy’s head as he continues staring silently into the fire. But the boy is now quiet for he knows that his grandfather will tell him the story as he promised as soon as he finds the words and the inspiration. The little boy is old enough to know that shepherds are trained in patience and are not to be hurried. And so he sits beside his grandfather staring into the fire and trying to see what he is imagining in the glowing coals, and waiting for the story to begin.

At last, the old man’s voice begins, softly and quietly as if he were thinking thoughts that were far away from that tiny room, ideas that could hardly be caught with mere words; and as the low voice speaks on, the little boy follows with his imagination, and by staring hard into the fire he can almost see the story happen as it is told, for shepherds soon learn to use their imaginations for they have little else to entertain themselves with in the long watches. “It was on just such a night as this,” the old man began. “It was cold and clear, one of those nights in the fields when it seemed as if you could almost touch the stars if you stood on your tiptoes. The stars were like glistening diamonds on a black velvet cloth, and I remember that the shepherds kept watching them, for they had never seemed so bright before. We were watching the sheep over by that bluff on the south side of the plain, just about the same place where your father is tending the flocks tonight. We had the sheep there so that they would find some protection from the bitter cold.

“I was just about your age, as I remember; I had just turned eight. It was pretty cold for a lad that young to be out, but I had teased my father to let me come and he finally said yes. I would have been awfully cold in spite of the skins if it were not for the baby lamb I had. That was the real reason I wanted to be out anyway. My pet lamb that my father had given me would be out in the cold, and I wanted to take care of her. While I was lying there that night under the stars, I held the little lamb close to me under the skins, and her white fleece kept me warm; I must have kept her warm too, for she didn’t want to run away from me.

“I don’t know when it was that I first knew something strange and wonderful was happening. I must have been asleep, as were all the men except the watchman, when something awoke me. Perhaps it was the lamb’s muzzle against my face. At any rate the first thing I remember was wondering why she was trembling in my arms. And then I noticed a white light breaking around about us, soft and white, like the moon’s, not at all like the red glow of the campfire. 1 sat up quickly and saw that the light was growing brighter than the brightest moon. I noticed Stephanus who was standing that watch looking up into the heavens, a look of amazement and astonishment on his face. And then I heard the dogs barking and howling, and the flocks began to stir uneasily. Finally Stephanus found his tongue and shouted: ‘Awake! Awake!’ and the men clambered to their feet reaching for their weapons. And all the while the light was growing whiter and brighter.”

“Weren’t you afraid, grandfather?” whispered the little boy excitedly as he stared into the fire with shining eyes. “I was, my boy; more afraid than I had ever been in my whole life before. I thought my heart would stop beating. And all I could do was hold on to the little lamb, and I clutched her so hard that she began to bleat. But the others were afraid too, even the grown men. I heard Stephanus cry out in terror, ‘The sky is on fire!’ but there was a chill in the air, a chill of fear, for this was not like the light from a fire; it was too white, too pure a light. At last it grew so bright that it dazzled our eyes and I fell to the ground holding my hands over my eyes to shield them. And then we heard a voice, a voice I had never heard before, a deep voice like the sound of thunder in the distance call out: ‘Fear not.’ Some of the-men said later that they saw an angel standing on a level place in the plain, standing there tall and majestic and beautiful beyond the power of words to describe. But the light was so bright that I saw nothing I only heard the words; and glorious words they were. ‘Be not afraid,’ the voice said, ‘for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David, a Savior, which is Messiah, the King. And this is the sign unto you. Ye shall find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.’

“And then before anyone could make a reply, but everyone was too amazed to say aught anyway, the light grew even brighter, and the voice sang out in a louder tone the first strain of the great song, ‘Glory to God in the highest’ And then we heard the phrase repeated again and again as if there were a heavenly choir of angels singing over our heads. And I heard them sing ‘Peace on earth, good will toward men’ in tones of joy and triumph. I knew then what the prophet must have meant when he said that all the mountains and the hills would break forth into singing, and the Psalmist when he said the trees would clap their hands, for it was as if the whole heavens and earth were singing for joy. And the song re-echoed in our ears, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward men’, just as in a thunder storm in these hills, the thunder is re-echoed from hill to hill.”

“But you didn’t see the choir of angels, grandfather?” asked the little boy. “I’m sure I would have looked.” “It was too dazzling to the eyes, my lad, then anyway. But soon the echoes died away and the light turned a rosy color, like a sunrise in reverse; I looked then, but there was nothing to see, only the shadows lengthening in the field over the startled sheep, as the color burned out in the sky leaving the darkness, and the stars.

“My father was the first to speak. ‘Come,’ he said solemnly, ‘we must go to Bethlehem and see this thing which has come to pass, which the Lord hath made known to us.’ And so the men quickly gathered the sheep into the fold and we set out, not knowing where to look except that the angel told us to look for a babe in swaddling clothes lying in a manger. ‘Bring thy lamb,’ said my father, ‘that we may offer it to Him if we really find the Messiah.’ I was puzzled about what all this meant. I had heard my father speaking with the other men nights in the fields about the troubles of our people living under the Roman bondage. And they often spoke of a Messiah, a leader who would come to deliver us. But I could not understand how such as he could be a little babe. But I went along with the others puzzling it out in my mind, and as we went the men were praying. I wanted to pray too, for my heart was filled with a wonder and awe and love that I had never felt before. But I was young and being in the fields so much I had not learned many prayers in the synagogue; and the ones I knew did not say what I felt. And so I began to recite the alphabet until the men wondered at what I was doing. I knew that God could put the letters together, and spell out the things my heart was trying to say, even if I couldn’t.

“I don’t know what made us look at the inn the first thing when we came to Bethlehem; the angel must still have been with us directing our steps. But I remember the lantern swinging at the gate, the shouts and laughter from the crowds making merry inside, the many beasts of burden in the courtyard showing how crowded the inn was that night. You see, that was the day of the tax and census, and the town was full of people. That is why the carpenter and his wife had to stay in the stable.”

“And the stable, grandfather, you found him there? What did He look like?” “I can never forget what He looked like, my son, even though I live another three score year. When we came to the stable there was the child lying in the manger, and never will mortal eyes behold a more beautiful sight than He. There were oxen and asses standing and lying about quietly, but even they seemed to be watching Him. Leaning on a staff over the manger was a grave, young man the carpenter, watching the child with an air of wonder. And the beautiful young mother was lying close beside the manger watching with glowing eyes the wonderful Child as His hands reached out to touch his mother’s lips. All the men kneeled down and worshipped Him; but I wanted to come nearer to Him. I was no longer afraid, for I had seen into His eyes, and found a tender love and welcome mirrored there. I wanted to show Him my lamb and give her to Him, too. When my father had first suggested my bringing my pet lamb, I must confess my heart was heavy within me, for I did not want to lose her; she was the most precious thing I had. But when I saw the Child, I thought of nothing else but that she should be put at His feet. I knew He would love and care for her. I remember walking toward the manger, holding the lamb. He saw her and stretched out His hands to me. I looked at the mother to see if it was all right and when she smiled at me so sweetly, I quickly ran up and laid the fleecy lamb at his feet in the manger. I still remember His face, as He reached with his rosy hands toward her white fleece. He always loved little lambs so.”

The voice trailed off in the silence, as the- old man sat looking in the fire, wiping his eyes with his rough hand. The little boy sat quietly thinking of his words, his lamb, waiting. The fire snapped and a spark jumped out on the hearth. He pushed it back with his foot, and said softly, “That was a beautiful gift, grandfather.” And then the voice went on, stronger now. “It wasn’t the finest gift he received, I suppose, but I like to think of it as the one he liked best. I remember while we were still there three strangers arrived at the inn. My father could tell from their dress that they had come from some far-off eastern country. I only knew that they were not of our people or like the Romans either. I could tell that they were important people though, because they wore costly cloth and jewels, and the inn people treated them with great respect. They were not interested in the inn, however, but came straight to the manger and bowed down and worshipped with the rest. They brought fine gifts with them, frankincense, and myrrh, and rich gold, and laid them at his feet. But He still held on to the 1amb. I remember marveling at this and wondering how those three had found this place. I learned later that they had followed a sign, a great star that appeared to them and directed them to where He was lying.”

“Did you ever see Him again, grandfather?” “That I did, lad, years later, when He had grown to manhood and was traveling around teaching the people a wonderful new doctrine about a God we could call Father, a God who loved his people and cared for them even as a shepherd cares for his flocks. I heard Him preach once on a high hill where he spoke to great multitudes of people who had followed him there. I wanted to get close to Him and touch Him, but the throngs were too great, but I heard His voice, and never will man hear such teachings. His voice was gentle and low, but somehow it carried over all the people so that all could hear. I still remember what he said: ‘Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. Ye are the light of the world; let your light shine before men so that they may see your good works; love your enemies and pray fcr them that despitefully use you; lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven; ye cannot serve God and mammon; seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness.’ Hard sayings some of these, but he always spoke in parables so that we all could understand him, and knew that he was right. And he went about healing people too; my cousin’s wife was healed when she touched his coat. He was indeed King but we did not know then of what sort He was. Healings character opposition]

“We found that out later. If I had known that day in Jerusalem what I know now, my heart would have been spared much suffering and sorrow. It was not too long after I had heard him teaching that I was going to Jerusalem to sell some sheep. On the way into the town I saw a procession coming out of the gate. Well I knew what it was as soon as I came near for I saw the crosses and knew that some poor people were to be executed that day. But when I looked and saw Him among them, my heart was sick within me. I remember rushing out to try to stop them but the soldiers threw me back. I could only stand there in anguish wringing my hands while the horrible scene went on. And the people whom he had helped scoffed at Him! I called for the Lord on high to strike them dead and save Him, but all He said was ‘forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.” [scoffing centurions] And I watched biting my hands in anguish until the blood ran, but there was nothing I could do. And soon he was dead, and I wandered home in a daze, wishing that I were dead too. I don’t remember much about the next few days as I nursed my grief; I must have been almost out of my mind with sorrow. But then the great news began to spread around and I heard it and knew that it was true. The tomb where he had been laid was empty; He had appeared again to Mary and to His disciples; He was not dead but lived. And then I knew what kind of a King he was; then I saw that He was the Son of God in truth, and understood why He had to carry the Cross. And my heart became joyous within me, and I felt a new power of God, and understood who He was because I had seen Him in His Son And then I began to remember what the angel had said on that first night when He was born, and understood how in spite of everything they could sing ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward men’, for with Him we have found the power of God, which the prophets dreamed about and He lived.”

The old man sat quietly, staring again into the fire, his eyes lighted by a fire that was not reflected from the hearth. The story was over, and the little boy sighs, “Grandfather, that’s the most wonderful story in the whole world.” “That it is, lad, wonderful and beautiful,” comes the measured answer. “And not because I saw some of it happen, is it so wonderful to me and so precious; but because it lives in my heart. It must live in your heart, too, boy; and your son’s and his sons and in your friends’ and their friends’ as long as there are sheep in the fields and shepherds to tend them, until the whole world lives with the Christmas story in its heart. Then, my son, we will have the answer to the prayer we pray, Thy kingdom come; and find peace on earth, good will toward men.

[no bitterness no condemnation so with us what it means - suffering x (good vs evil) going down - holding up another]

1THE SPIRITUAL LAW OF COMPENSATION

06/22/80

L. J. START

First Baptist Kalamazoo

Charles Beard, the eminent historian, was once asked what he had learned as a result of a lifetime spent in the study of history. He replied that he could sum it all up in four sentences:

1. When darkness comes, the stars appear.

2. The bee fertilizes the flower it robs of its nectar.

3. Those whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad

with power.

4. The mills of the gods grind slowly, but they grind exceed-

ingly fine.

The words of wisdom were recalled by Norman Cousins last week when he gave the commencement address at Kalamazoo College. And he went on to quote some other world figures he had interviewed on what wisdom they had learned — including Kruschev’s advice, “Never turn your back”. I don’t want to pursue this. I would like to use these words of Beard to introduce the theme of what I think is the basic law of life — what might be called the spiritual law of compensation. It’s not my discovery. Emerson wrote a famous essay on compensation; the philosopher Hegel gave it its most profound interpretation; but it is as old as the Greeks. It is found in ancient China. And it is found in the Bible in the Christian doctrine of salvation.

The law of compensation recognizes that there are polar forces in the world — oppositions; but that somehow these oppositions work together and are reconciled in the ongoing growth of life, course of nature.

The ancient Chinese viewed the world as a dynamic process of the opposition of two cosmic principles, one called Yang, the other Yin. Yang is an active force; Yang is masculine. It is symbolized by the mountain, the sun, light, the dry. Yin is a passive force; it is feminine. It is symbolized by the valley, the earth, the darkness, the moist. These two forces come together to generate the ongoing processes of nature and life. The two forces working together in harmony was called the Way of the Tao. It was symbolized by a sphere divided by a wavy line, half light, half dark; and in each half was a tiny circle of the other color to indicate the interplay of forces. The Tao represented the cosmic harmony of the polar forces of day and night, winter and summer, life and death. It represented the moral order to follow and served as a guide to all of life. Chinese medicine was based on it; acupuncture is aimed at stimulating and balancing vital energies. Even Chinese cooking is affected — the balance of sweet and sour in flavors, for example.

The early Greeks had a similar idea of polar opposites, but they tended to emphasize the oppositions between them. Strife is the law of life, says Heraclitus. Homer was wrong when he said, “Would that strife would disappear from the world of gods and men”, for without strife, in the sense of the tension of opposites, there would be no life. Tension of opposite forces of bow and string makes possible the strength of the bow to shoot the arrow; and tension of strings against the frame makes possible the harmony of the lyre. Everything is a polarity of forces.

And the more one looks, the more evidence one finds of the polar forces of the world. In the physical world: for every action there is a reaction; darkness and light; heat and cold; breathing in and breathing out; male and female; centrifugal and centripetal force; north and south; one pole of a magnet induces its opposite. A dualism bisects nature and each side needs the other to become whole.

This is what is expressed in the cosmic law of compensation. The law is that there must be a balance. When the balance is disrupted, there must be a swing in the other direction. The Chinese express this by saying, “Reversal is the way of the Tao”: everything turns to its opposite. At noon it is becoming dark. It is darkest before dawn. Life is a movement toward death. And the death of winter moves into the life of spring. In prosperity prepare for adversity; in times of despair look forward in hope. Never fall prey to excessive moods, either joy or sorrow. When the pendulum swings to one side, it must swing to the other. Fair and foul weather ultimately must balance in the cosmic scheme.

The Greeks carried this even further in their concentration on moderation as the guide of life. Excessive action carries its own punishment. There is a Nemesis that keeps watch and lets no offense go unchastised. Their stories are full of examples like the jealous rival who tried to pull down the statue erected to the victor of the games. He finally succeeded in loosening it from its pedestal, but as it fell, he was crushed to death beneath it. The world of fable and legend is full of such stories.

And the world of proverbs gives similar witness. There is a balance to be preserved or restored. There is a cosmic law of compensation. Tit for tat; eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; measure for measure. Give and it shall be given you. He that casteth bread on the waters shall find it after many days. If you forge a chain around a slave, the other end binds you. Curses recoil on those who hurl them.

This moral law of compensation is rooted in the Bible as well. The cosmic forces are basically moral: good against evil; Jehovah against the Baals; the righteous against the wicked. And the Old Testament is full of stories of the battles of the Lord against the unrighteous. When the children of Israel rise up in pride and forget their relation to, their covenant with God, then they are punished for their iniquity. The forces of history God uses even against the chosen ones, to restore the balance of moral justice. The book of Proverbs with its collection of words of wisdom has as its focus this same law of compensation and warns against forgetting the wonder and power of God in a sense of one’s own wit and might. There is a swing to the cosmic pendulum of God’s moral order. Pride goeth before a fall; we swell in pride to be punctured in penitence. Classic tragedy shows the inevitability of events as consequences of excessive acts of will and conflicting loyalties. And comedy rests on the puncturing of the pretensions of man. The pompous person suffers an undignified fall. The bad guy gets his comeuppance. This is the stuff that life, as well as drama, is made of.

It is this law of compensation that is found wherever we look. The four truths with which I began, which Charles Beard said formed the quintessence of the wisdom he had learned, are but picturesque expressions of the same principle. When darkness comes, the stars appear. There is always the gleam of hope to light the deepest darkness. One might add, in the same vein although it is not nearly as impressive, when dawn comes, the darkness fades; it is just as true. The bee fertilizes the flower it robs of its nectar. There is a recompense to the flower for the loss of the nectar. Without the bee’s invasion, the flower would remain sterile. On the other side, I suppose one could say, the bee is compensated for the function she serves. Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad with power. It is the excessive love of power with its consequent repression of others which always leads to the tyrant’s destruction. Finally, the mills of the gods grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly fine suggests that there is no slippage in this cosmic law. Nothing is forgotten; justice ultimately triumphs.

I would like to suggest that this cosmic law of compensation recognized so widely is incomplete until we see how it operates in the context of the Christian doctrine of redemption. Here we have the basic conflict of opposites not so much balanced as reconciled. And instead of an alternation of opposites, there is a creative unity of them. This is expressed in Paul’s teaching of God reconciling man to Himself through Christ.

It is Hegel, the great 19th century thinker, who most clearly worked this out. He developed the important notion of the dialectic which has so greatly influenced contemporary thought. The tern is a Greek word which means literally “talking something through”. We would say “talking it out”. It referred to Socrates’ famous teaching method which consisted in trying to clarify a definition of a key concept by making objections to a given definition, then redefining the term by taking care of the objections. The pattern is to show that there is a contradiction or opposition to the concept, but that in another form, the opposition can be taken care of. Illustrations best clarify the method. The concept “mine” immediately suggests the opposing concept “not mine” or “yours”. This is a conflict of opposites as anyone watching two kids with one toy can see. But it need not remain at this level of conflict. The opposition can be overcome in the concept “ours”, just as the struggle with the toy can be overcome with the idea to share. Something mysterious happens here. The opposition is still there. There is still a sense of mine and yours in the notion of ours — but the opposition, the exclusiveness, is overcome because it is reconciled, included in a higher level. Another example: the most abstract concept we can imagine is the concept of that which is — being. But being, sheer being devoid of all particular character, slides into the notion of nothing at all. Being and nothingness form the basic contradiction: to be or not to be. One cannot think them together. But by the dialectic one can. Being and nothingness are reconciled in the notion of becoming, the very concept which describes the process of reality. Because when something is becoming, as when we say the boy is becoming a man, we mean that he is and he is not at the same time in a sense a man.

There is evidence that Hegel developed his theory of the dialectic as a result of his early theological studies in his struggle to understand the Christian doctrine of redemption. What is clear is that Hegel sees the great drama of redemption in dialectical terms. There is the opposition between heaven and earth, God and man, reconciled through Christ. The opposition and reconciliation are reflected in the Trinity. God the Father is set in opposition to sinful man and the world. But God so loved the world that He gave His Son in the form of man for sin. As Paul wrote to the church in Corinth: God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not imputing their trespasses to them, and hath committed to us the word of reconciliation…

God the Son stands in the place of man in opposition to God for the sins of man. And by the wonder of the great drama of salvation enacted on Calvary and the miracle of God’s dialectic, man is reconciled to God, unified with Him in God as the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit Hegel understands as the Holy Community which in its visible form is the ideal institution of the Church. As the Holy Spirit, God is in His world, while remaining as God the Father and God the Son.

The theme of the dialectic transforms the earlier cosmic law of compensation. There is now more than a balancing of opposites, of good against evil, righteousness battling wickedness, the saved and the damned. For the law of God is the law of love, and love has the dialectical power of overcoming opposition, reconciling opposites, overcoming evil, creating a new spirit of love. The old image of the swinging pendulum is too static for God’s spiritual law. A divine purpose transforms the opposites and creates something new: a new heaven, a new earth. As Paul said, “If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature; old things are passed away: behold, all things are become new.”

The older pattern in ethics set up opposites of the righteous against the wicked, virtue against sin, redeemed versus reprobate. It warned of the opposition of desires and duties. Desires are of the flesh; duties of the spirit — and as Emerson complained, popular religion seemed to suggest that the wicked who live by desires are happier than the virtuous who live by duty. But the true pattern is to take seriously God’s reconciling act, and to recognize that desire and duty are reconciled in love. For love is the desire to do what duty requires, and love brings the happiness of satisfied desire as well and the blessedness now. To live in love is to live in joy in the spirit of God.

The spiritual law of compensation is not complete until we see God’s action in taking on the consequences of man’s sin, in compensating for them by His act of redemptive love. And the law for man is to follow God’s law of love. It is love which reconciles opposites in the creative purposes of God.

There is a natural temptation to think in terms of confrontation. Man is confronted with an alien and sometimes hostile world. He has to come to terms with his world which seems to stand outside his consciousness as something unfriendly. He can do this only by creatively engaging in the world, transforming it, finding his freedom and identity in coming to terms with it. And, all too often, confrontation, the adversary spirit, is the style of our human relations. We view others as opposing centers of action and so we draw lines of walls about us.

It is the law of love, the spiritual law of compensation, which shows us how to break down walls and draw others into a circle of creative love and unity in the spirit of God. God so loved the world. May the whole world be so redeemed by the spiritual law of love. And may we be instruments of that same love.

1MAGIC AND RELIGION

06/09/80

L. J. Start

First Baptist Kalamazoo

The religious situation in America today presents a strange paradox. On the one hand recent surveys indicate that religious interest is at an all-time high. Church membership has reached a new record, church building programs are growing, and books on religious themes remain high on the best seller lists. But at the same time those same surveys indicate that there is little evidence of an improved morality on the part of the American people, and little indication of any profound depths of religious feeling. The fact of renewed interest in religion as seen by recent statistical studies is a strong note of encouragement, but at the same time serious questions can be raised about the depth of the movement and the motives for such a renewed religious interest.

It is difficult to assess such a nebulous thing as the motives for religious interest, and certainly it is dangerous to impugn them. Nevertheless, from the evidence we have of religious expression as found in popular books and sermons, the utilitarian motive seems dominant. To be sure, the confusions of our chaotic times provide the conditions in which the religious interest thrives, but the cause of the movement, the basic motive, seems to be utility, the desire to use religion as another method of solving problems. This has been well stated by the editor of the Christian Century who describes the current religious interest as a “Cult of Reassurance”. Religion becomes a technique by means of which one’s personality problems are resolved, worries dispersed and confidence renewed. It becomes a kind of psychological technique for personal success after the pattern of Dale Carnegie’s famous salesmanship program.

This kind of interest in religion is in keeping with the pragmatic spirit of America. Pragmatism, the philosophy which teaches that things are measured by their consequences, that a value is good in so far as it works, has been called the typically American philosophy. And there is no question about its deep influence upon popular thought. What is more natural than the query, “What good is religion unless you can use it?” And with our preoccupation with advertising methods, it is not strange to hear people say, “Why not try God?”, as if He were a new product to be used, if not for whiter teeth, at least for a wider smile.

If this is the motive behind the current religious interest, there is grave cause for concern. The pragmatic, utilitarian motive is the motive behind magic, not profound religion. It may well be that we are becoming unable to distinguish the two. In thinking of God as a kind of celestial bell-boy who can be called upon to solve our problems, we are confusing true religion with magic. Magic and sentimentalized religion may well be confused in our minds, if the current signs of religious interest including the superficial popular songs on religious themes are a fair indication.

This is not a new problem for our age. There is evidence from the New Testament that Jesus faced the same difficulty in His ministry. In the story of the temptations, when He is presented with the suggestions that He use His power to change stones into bread or to hurl Himself from the tower of the temple and not be injured, He rejects the proposals as demonic. Clearly this symbolizes a rejection of the working of wonders as a basis of His ministry. And again, according to the Gospel of Mark, after He had performed His first healings in Capernaum and many had come to be healed, He arose early the next day to pray by Himself. And when Simon told Him that the crowds were seeking Him, He said, “Let us go on to the next towns, that I may preach there also; for that is why I came out.” (Mark l:38) Throughout His ministry, Jesus seemed concerned lest the people think of His gospel as a kind of wonder-working power rather than the prophetic religion of one who is impelled by the love of God. The feeding of the five thousand marks in a sense the culmination of Jesus’ ministry. After this episode He retires to the north and remains secluded with His disciples. The Gospel of John gives an interesting explanation. When the people seek Jesus again, He says, “You seek me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.” (John 6:26) Surely this marks a clear distinction between true religion and the magical interest in using divine powers for our own use. To make it all the clearer, Jesus goes on to warn about laboring for the food which perishes rather than that which endures to eternal life.

This is not a new problem. All religions, even the greatest ones, have some admixture of magical interest. The reasons for this are clear. There are certain similarities. Both are attempts to deal with forces beyond human powers. It is clear from studies in anthropology and sociology that magic is a strong element in primitive religion. James Frazer in his great study of primitive religion defines it as “a propitiation or conciliation of powers superior to man which are believed to direct and control the course of nature and of human life”. It is essentially practical, having the same aim as magic, the fulfilling of human wishes. Religion comes from magic, broadened by the addition of the concept of personal forces behind the universe. But it is still essentially practical, and with the development of man’s knowledge and control of nature, it will end with science.

Magic, religion and science seem thus to be related, and may well be confused in our minds. Perhaps the religious motive is confused with magic masquerading as science, and so religion becomes a pseudo-science, a kind of psychological technique. Faust, the prototype of modern man, is portrayed by Goethe as rejecting at the beginning of his adventures the study of philosophy and theology, saying, “It is magic which has ravished my soul.” Magic, in the Baconian spirit which teaches that “knowledge is power”, has ravished the soul of modern man. It is not to be wondered at that it has infected the spirit of religion.

But surely there are distinctions to be drawn between religion and magic. If the current interest in religion is to be profound and vital, these distinctions must be drawn. There is a difference between magic and religion, an ancient conflict and antipathy between the priest and the sorcerer which is not due to any simple rivalry. The distinction has been clearly drawn by a famous anthropologist, Branislaw Malinowski. He writes:

“religion refers to the fundamental issues of human

existence, while magic always turns around specific,

concrete, and detailed problems. Religion is con-

cerned with death and immortality, with the worship of

natural forces in an integral general manner, with

the tuning up of man to the rulings of Providence…”

When we use religion as a means for gaining specific ends and solving specific problems, when we forget the larger religious interest, “the tuning up of man to the rulings of Providence”, we are following a magical, rather than a religious, interest. This is why it is dangerous to pray for the specific, and why there is such a world of difference between the rain-making ritual of the American Indian and the prayer of the Psalmist, “Search me, O God, and know my heart! . . . and lead me in the way everlasting”.

There is another important difference between magic and religion. Magic deals with impersonal forces. As such it is a kind of rudimentary science. The sorcerer, by his knowledge of charms, spells and incantations, makes use of the powers inherent in nature to his own ends. Religion, on the other hand, deals with personal powers, with a being akin to man whose will can be made known. The religious belief in God is much more than the conviction that God exists. The religious belief in God involves a commitment to God in a personal relationship which Martin Buber calls the “I-Thou” relationship. To treat religion as a compendium of important psychological truths, as is so popular today in the psychological usage of religion, is to destroy the mystical God-relationship and change religion into a technique of manipulation, different in its development but no different in its motivation from magic.

The difference may perhaps be best summarized in this way. Magic is interest in using God for one’s own ends; religion is interest in being used by God for the highest ends. The current uneasiness about the depth of the prevailing religious interest rests upon an awareness of this distinction. If the interest is an interest in using religion for our own purposes, the spirit of true religion will be destroyed. The high religious interest is illustrated by Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane, “Thy will be done”. It is illustrated also by a story about Abraham Lincoln. In the dark days of the Civil War, a friend tried to cheer him by saying, “Anyway, Mr. President, we know that God is on our side.” And Lincoln replied, “It is my fervent prayer that we be on God’s side.”

Religion in its deepest sense means devotion to the highest. When we lower our sights, and seek specific ends by using religion, instead of being used by it, we turn it into a monstrous travesty of itself. This is the danger today. It is not that religion will die out in the modern world. The danger is that it will change into magic. The great temptation is to live by faith in less than the highest. And when we do so, we turn religion into a magic technique or at worst into a worship of power for its own sake, as found in the modern religions of the nation-state, fascism, and communism.

The separation of the religious interest from the magical has been clearly made by Jesus. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and all these things will be added unto you.”

1THE USES OF MEMORY

06/01/80

L. J. Start

First Baptist Kalamazoo

The uses of memory are manifold. We like to travel down memory lane — set aside special days in memory, whether it be a national memorial day or a family celebration of birthdays. But have you ever considered how important memory is in the life of our religion? The older sabbath service was changed to Sunday –the Lord’s day — to remember the Savior of all, and the communion was served regularly according to the injunction, “This do in remembrance of me.” But throughout the scripture there are reminders to remember — remember how God has helped His people in the past, saved them from slavery in Egypt, starvation in the wilderness. Remember all the way, says Deuteronomy, remember all the long way that God has led you, lest you forget who it is who gives strength and life and the victory of the spirit.

Let us meditate on some of the uses of memory, especially as they relate to the life of religion. First of all, memory develops appreciations of things we may take for granted — like the new day — which the Lord has made. “Let us rejoice and be glad in it,” says the Psalmist. In Thornton Wilder’s play, OUR TOWN, there is the poignant scene of the young girl Emily reliving events long since past and realizing how much she missed in appreciation at the time. How important it is to remember and cherish the good things we take for granted: our appreciations grow and as they do, memory helps us to develop the grace of gratitude for all the good things we have enjoyed. Count your blessings, we say; remember the goodness of God in the land of the living. Giving thanks is the first act of prayer, and giving thanks is the basic meaning of the Greek word for the communion service — the Eucharist. “Eucharizein” means to think well, akin to rejoice. The Eucharist is the occasion for giving thanks to God for His creation and redemption. It is the recollection of the good things we have enjoyed that helps us to face the disappointments and pains of sorrow that are a part of life, too. It is the Psalmist in Psalm 42 who says, “O my God, my soul is cast down within me”. And then immediately adds, “Therefore I will remember Thee from the land of Jordan.” It is precisely when our souls are sunk in misery that we must say, “Therefore will I remember Thee, O God.” The Lord makes His unfailing love shine forth alike by day and night.

We must remember and give thanks in all things. This we find hard to do; we tend to be like the motto on the sundial: “I record only the sunny hours”. But as Deuteronomy reminds us, God was in the wilderness with the children of Israel in the midst of their hardships to humble them, to test them, to try their courage and faithfulness. And it is indeed good to remember the struggles, the problems, even the losses, the defeats, the embarrassments, the terrible times of failure when we said, “I thought I’d die” — but didn’t and somehow survived a stronger person, helped by some inner resource which comes from the love of God, to find even these dark times of distress occasions for growth and development. There is that marvelous story of Jacob’s ladder: Jacob lay down to sleep in the wilderness and in a dream saw a ladder stretching from earth to heaven and angels of God ascending and descending upon it. And Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I knew it not.” Surely God is to be found in so many of life’s experiences, but we are unaware. Sometimes, too, there is a real struggle with God — as when Jacob was wrestling with an angel and was wounded in the struggle — and we are wounded in our pride, our values, our hopes; but God is in these experiences as well to bring about something better. It is good to remember these events as well. Remember all the way.

Memory, you see, develops appreciations and gratitude for life’s experiences, the bad as well as the good, for when we remember all the way and see how God is in all things, we develop a sense of faith and courage and commitment through the love of God to face life with the confidence of those who trust in God. Love endures all things; love never faileth; and with a sense of that love we can bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, endure all things. Instead of finding danger in every experience or opportunity, the courage of faith finds opportunity in every danger. It is the spirit of Paul who dared great things, did great things because, as he said, the love of Christ constrained him. This we remember in the Communion.

These are some of the uses of memory, and I am sure you can think of others and other applications. We should be aware, however, that there are some abuses of memory as well. There is, for example, the temptation to live in the past, forgetting the present, because we are caught in the past. Perhaps some vain regret, some wrong choice, some past sorrow or injury has seized the focus of our spirits. The past has passed. What its meaning really is, is to be determined by our attitude here and now. If someone has injured us, we can hold the memory and nurture its rankling poison, or we can see this in the larger perspective of a positive on-going present, and as we say, forgive and forget. As the Stoic sage counseled, if your brother has offended you, remember not that he has offended you, but that he is your brother. Everything has two handles, one of which you can carry it by. And the most terrible experiences can be refined and removed by the alchemy of a forward-looking present. It is like the King in ALICE THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS: “That was such a dreadful experience,” he said, ” that I shall never forget it as long as I live!” “Yes, you will,” answered the Queen, “unless you make a memorandum of it.” It is an abuse of memory to make memos of every injury, every dreadful experience, so we will not forget.

What of the uses of memory in the service of Communion? “This do in remembrance of me,” said Jesus. Whatever one can say is incomplete. The full meaning is caught up in one’s personal experience. But some things can be said. God is a God of history who made a covenant with His people to lead them, redeem them, a God of love to share in their trials and triumphs. That is why we should remember all the way that God has led us, all the long road we have traveled; and we must remember the new covenant celebrated by the Communion. What better evidence of a God of history than God made flesh in Jesus Christ — what better evidence of a God of creative love than the great drama of redemption on Calvary? God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son. And the mystery of the Communion is that this creative love cannot die, that whosoever believes in this redemptive love will inherit eternal life, that by the power of God, suffering is transformed, and sorrow turned to joy. But this love of God must be lived by righteousness and service in our lives as well.

“This do in remembrance of me.” This is not remembrance of some past event, but a present reality. Above all, what we remember is a new relationship to God through Christ. By the spirit of truth, the spirit of the risen Lord, the Comforter Jesus promised, we have fellowship with God in Christ. We remember His love, we are recipients of His love, we are the beneficiaries of His

sacrificial love. And we remember, too, that His love requires and inspires a responsive love in us so that we show His love in the lives our lives must touch.

“Remember all the way,” says Deuteronomy; remember all the way that God has led you, helped you, prospered you; forget not the Lord God by not keeping His commandments.

“This do in remembrance of me,” says Jesus. “Do you love me?” Jesus asked Peter. “Then feed my sheep. If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” And the commandment of Jesus is love.