Making Hard Work of Religion
1MAKING HARD WORK OF RELIGION
07/3l/83
L. J. Start
First Baptist Kalamazoo
It is a truism to say that we often make hard work of a job because we don’t understand how to go about it. If we don’t have the expertise to do a proper job, and it requires special skills, then great efforts simply make things worse. For example, I work hard trying to repair an antique chair and finally give it to E. C. Christensen to do a proper job. But sometimes we make hard work of a job because we want to make it more complicated than it really is. I suspect this is the case in trying to learn by elaborate instructions what should essentially be natural, like driving a golf ball or singing. I want to suggest this morning that there is such a thing as making hard work of religion, an activity which really should be as natural as breathing or believing. And we do this because of our misconceptions of what is involved — misconceptions concerning how God should operate, what we should do, and how we communicate in the religious relation.
This is nicely illustrated in that marvelous Old Testament story of Naaman read in the scripture lesson. Incidentally, this story was the subject of last Sunday’s adult class following church, and some of you will recognize this morning some ideas we developed then. But today I want to focus more on Naaman as someone who was making hard work of religion.
Let us recall the incident. Namaan, a mighty general, is also a leper. The mightiest is flawed. He hears about a prophet in Samaria through an Israeli girl serving as his wife’s maid who says the prophet can cure him. Naaman’s king and friend sends him to the king of Israel with treasure and a note commanding he be cured. The king is understandably upset. This is beyond his powers. Surely the king is trying to cause trouble. But Elisha somehow hears of the encounter and sends a message to the king of Israel to have Naaman come to him, Elisha, to see that there is a prophet in Israel. Naaman goes, but instead of seeing the great prophet, he receives only a message from Elisha to wash seven times in the river Jordan. Angry and frustrated — after all, he is an important general — muttering about other better waters back home, Naaman is ready to call it quits. But his servants advise him to obey. Though they are humbler, they are wiser and they prevail. Naaman swallows his injured pride, bathes in the river, and is healed. He then goes back to Elisha in gratitude, announcing there is no God in all the earth but in Israel.
There are so many themes in this packed story: how the mightiest has a flaw requiring the help of God; how major roles can be played by minor players in God’s plans (see how important the Hebrew maid and Naaman’s servants are); the impotence of material power (the irrelevance of the treasure); the peril of pride in Naaman’s almost missing out; the river Jordan and other waters; and the punny seminary joke — seven ducks in a muddy river.
But I want to focus on the theme of making hard work of religion — how Naaman, for all his need, perhaps because of it, made hard work of religion. And how we tend to do the same thing.
First of all, Naaman had a misconception of how God and the prophet of God should operate. When Elisha sends him the message to wash in Jordan seven times, he becomes angry and says, “I thought he at least would come out to me and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and wave his hand over the place, ans so rid me of the disease. And aren’t the rivers of Damascus better than all the rivers of Israel? Can’t I wash in them and be clean?” And he went away in a rage.
And so with us so often. We have preconceived ideas of what should happen, how God should respond to our needs, and we are angry, disappointed, grieved when things don’t go as we expect they should. We pray and nothing happens, or the wrong thing happens. We pray — but so often that our will be done and not God’s, and thereby block effective action of God’s will. We expect some spiritual hand to wave, and everything will be OK.
But maybe God doesn’t work that way.
At the Baccalaureate service at K College this spring, the preacher, a young theologian from Colgate-Rochester, told a story that nicely illustrated this. There was a very pious man in the South who bought a house by the river. His neighbors warned him that it was dangerous when the river flooded, but he told them he knew God would always take care of him. As predicted, the next spring unusually heavy rain made the river rise. His neighbors warned him to get out, but he refused, saying, “God will take care of me”. But the river kept rising. It surrounded the house, reaching the front porch. A rowboat came by with help, but the man said, “Don’t worry. God will take care of me.” A little later the water reached the second floor. Another boat came by, a larger one. Again he was urged to get in and be saved. Again he refused, saying, “I know God will take care of me.” Finally the flood reached the roof. A helicopter loomed into view and dropped a line to the poor man now clinging to the ridge of the roof. “Grab the line and we’ll pull you in” someone yelled. But the man waved them away and said, “God will take care of me.” But the flood rose faster, the poor man was swept away and after a brief struggle, the poor man drowned. The next thing he knew, he was at the pearly gates, where a really pious man should be. And St. Peter at the gate said, “What are you doing here? You aren’t supposed to be here now.” And the man replied, “There was this terrible flood, but I don’t understand it either. I thought God would surely take care of me.” And St. Peter replied, “We know all about the flood, but we sent you two boats and a helicopter.”
It’s hard to imagine being that foolish. But sometimes we are so sure God must act in a certain way that we miss what He is really doing through others. We have so often preconceptions, misconceptions of what God should do, how He must operate. I remember a saintly old woman who was unhappy because for all her piety she never had achieved a vision of God. But I knew another person who claimed to have seen several visions — he came under psychiatric care. These are extreme cases. The beatific vision is by all accounts a rare event. But so often we make hard work of religion by thinking if God really cared, then such and such should happen. Or more commonly, taking the responsibility on ourselves, say, if we really tried harder, prayed more, believed with greater intensity, then what we hoped might happen would happen. But perhaps not all things are possible this way; rather in all things God is operating to bring about that which is good to those who love Him. We make hard work of religion because of our fixed ideas of what God should do — and when there is no magical wave of the hand, we suffer disappointment. We should be more sensitive to His presence in all things, in the storms of life not just the sunny hours, and realize that God’s ways are not necessarily our ways.
This leads to a second misconception. We make hard work of religion because we think it requires some Herculean effort. To be a Christian is somehow to surpass the labors of Hercules. And so with Naaman. His servants were perceptive and wise when they said, “If the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much more, then, when he says to you, wash and be clean.” Perhaps we do make hard work of religion by our focus on earnest commitments and the example of the suffering servant. How much of the history of religion is filled with great efforts to move God by penances, sacrifices, fasts, sufferings of all kinds — the agony of the medieval crusades with their mixed motives was, after all, seeking an empty tomb. Unredemptive suffering is hard work and in itself has no merit and makes for no great goal. Suffering for the sake of suffering is meaningless. It is a primitive, not a Christian, impulse to show reverence for what causes pain. Rather, it is the overcoming of the evil of suffering, the transforming of it, victory over it through sharing, that Christianity celebrates. And this is God’s work. “In the world you will have tribula-tions,” said Jesus, “but be of good cheer for I have overcome the world.”
Back to Naaman. He really was ready to work on his cure. And he was prepared to pay. The money alone in his treasure gift would be worth $100,000. No effort was spared. But he couldn’t buy God or Elisha with it. Instead he was advised, wash and be clean. It seemed such a little thing, a puny thing to do. How can this be a way to salvation? And so he fumed. After all, there are other waters, better ways he might try. But then the wiser, cooler heads in his company prevailed — and he washed and was clean. What happened? And what does it mean for us?
He suddenly was humbled. He realized he needed help. He realized he wasn’t going to do anything great. What was to happen would come through the power of God. It was as if someone were to say, “Relax. Wash away your pride, your sense of omnipotence, and be whole again.”
And so with us. We feel we must do everything, must forget there is a grace of God. There is a God in Israel. “Be not anxious,” says Jesus. “God knows what you need. Be not gloomy.” The gospel is good news. Christianity is the religion of joy, victory. The church should never be associated with gloom and doom. But if we act as if everything depends on our efforts and are impressed and depressed by the evils of the world, we are bound to make hard work of religion. There is a God in Israel. In all things God is at work to redeem. And if we focus on the suffering of the cross alone, we will miss the whole point of God’s redemptive power. We do find tribulations in the world, no mistake about that. “But be of good cheer,” says Jesus, “I have overcome the world.” We need somehow to learn Naaman’s lesson –not some Herculean effort, but simply wash and be clean.
Underlying the misconceptions of what God should do and of what we should do — when we make hard work of religion — is, I think, a failure of communication, misconceptions of how we are to relate to God. See all the failures of communication in the story of Naaman. What starts as a simple girl’s message, the promise of the power of the prophet of God, is transformed into a beaurocratic nightmare. After all, Naaman is important — the king has to be involved. Then orders to the king of Israel who misunderstands the real intent of the orders and panics. But Elisha hears, being in contact with God, and he delivers the message that will cure Naaman. Yet because it did not come in the manner expected, at first Naaman can not understand or heed it. Again we make hard work of religion when we forget how natural it is — how natural to see God in the world about us, to respond to His grace, to be open to the beauty of holiness and the holiness of beauty. A child senses it. And how natural for the old reprobate, when things go wrong, to curse in God’s name. How much more, then, to praise God for all His benefits to the children of men.
Think of Naaman again. How he changed when he really understood how he was to be restored. He wasn’t doing it. His was the need. God’s power was at work. He washed away the seven sins of pride, was receptive to the word of God through His prophet — and was clean. Now he turned to God through His prophet in gratitude and proclaimed his recognition of and allegiance to the one God of Israel.
Remember, pride takes many forms. It can be the spirit of a great general like Naaman who isn’t used to asking for help. But it can also be the feeling that we must find our own strength and go it alone. What a relief to Naaman when broken communications finally gave way to a sense of being restored by God and with God. Thus his genuine thanksgiving and pledge of devotion. His need is met. And so with us. We all need to be healed.
This suggests also the grace of gratitude for God’s gifts, being thankful for all the good things we enjoy. The goodness of God we have experienced gives us confidence for that which we have not experienced. This does not mean, of course, that we just sit on our hands and wait for God. We can’t be like that man in the story who knew God would take care of him.
There comes a time when we must think of religion not as something we do alone but as something God does. There comes a time when we must respond to the love and grace of God to sense the power of the spirit — God’s spirit, not ours. There comes a time when, as the Quakers say, in tenderness of heart one senses God. This suggests sensitivity, openness, trust, confidence that there is a God in Israel, and that He loves the world. This suggests also the grace of gratitude — thankfulness for all we enjoy. We must learn to relax at times, wash away the tensions caused by our trying to play God by feeling we alone are responsible for everything, and be clean with some sense of relief that God’s in His heaven. If all’s not quite right with the world, remember we are co-workers with God, not alone.
We are shown by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount how to practice religion. There is, of course, a basic rule to follow — to show to others the love He shows us. But this is a redemptive love and it is a reflection and extension of God’s love. Beyond this, He tells us, be not anxious. Consider the birds of the air, the flowers of the field. God cares for them. How much more, then, for you. Be not anxious about all those material concerns we have. Trust in and be receptive to the spirit and will of God. Seek first His kingdom and all these things shall be added unto you.
We make hard work of religion when we lose touch with the redemptive power and love of God. But He is ever present. Watch and pray.