A Sermon for Passion Sunday Hebrews 9:11-15 by William Klock   I’d like to put our study of Ephesians on pause.  We reached a good stopping point last Sunday.  Now Easter is fast approaching and we need to switch gears for a few weeks.  It’s often the case that the lessons for the Sunday before a major feast day are meant to prepare us and to explain what’s about to come and that’s just what Passion Sunday does—not just for Easter, but for Palm Sunday and all of Holy Week.  That said, today’s Epistle from the book of Hebrews dovetails remarkably well with what we’ve been reading in the letter to the Ephesians.  In Ephesians, Paul’s been writing to a cluster of little churches in what today we call western Turkey.  The people in those churches were mostly gentiles—non-Jews.  They had been pagans who knew the world is not as it should be.  They longed for a way out.  Some of them, no doubt, had taken note of the Jewish diaspora communities in their cities and those communities had got their attention.  The Jews had a sense of holiness.  They kept themselves apart from the moral filth, from the sexual immorality, from the dog-eat-dog world of the Greeks and Romans.  The Jews had a sense of compassion, of love, of mercy that was foreign to the pagans.  Maybe most of all, they saw in these Jewish neighbours a sense of hope—that history wasn’t just going forever round and round, never changing, that their God actually cared for the world and for his people, and that one day he would do something to set the world to rights.  The God of Israel was a God who cared, who was faithful, who would one day wipe away the tears and deal with evil.  There was nothing and no one like that in the pagan world.  But that wasn’t their story.  The God of Israel wasn’t their god.  They had no right to it.  The best they could do was hang out on the fringe and hope maybe something of it would rub off.  If nothing else, it gave them at least a little hope to know that it was possible to be different.   And then Paul came along and he proclaimed the good news about Jesus, the Jewish Messiah, who was crucified, buried, and who rose to life.  Paul told them how the blood of Jesus—if they would only believe and submit themselves to him as creation’s true Lord—how the blood of Jesus would purify them from the stain of sin and of idolatry and of death.  And they did believe.  And in response, the God of Israel adopted them as sons and daughters.  He filled them with his Spirit—drawing near to them, just as he’d promised to draw near to his people Israel.  And so Paul wrote his letter to them to say that in all of this, they’ve become the new temple of God—the place where he has drawn near, the place where he dwells, the place where a renewed humanity—Jews and gentiles, rich and poor, slave and free, men and women—are all being brought together, the vanguard of God’s new creation in the midst of the old—a people to challenge the principalities and powers, the gods and kings of the old world with the Lordship of Jesus and the inauguration of new creation.   And Paul’s chief word for those gentile believers in Ephesus—so far as we’ve got in the letter to this point—is that this story that belonged to Israel is now fully their story.  Jesus and the Spirit have brought them into it.  The promises of the God of Israel are now their promises.  The hope of Israel is now their hope.   And then the book of Hebrews.  It takes the same themes and flips them around.  We don’t know who wrote it.  Possibly Paul.  Probably written in the mid-60s.  To Jewish believers, probably at Rome.  These were people who had been part of that story all along.  They were the natural sons and daughters.  They were the original branches of the olive tree—not gentile branches grafted in.  And, just like Paul, they were confronted with the risen Jesus and recognised that he was the long-promised and long-awaited Messiah who changed everything, who brought the old promises to fulfilment.  And they believed.  And they, too, became part of this community, this new Israel, purified by Jesus and filled with the Spirit.  They too became part of this new temple in which God had come to dwell.  But then persecution came, too.  And with the threat of persecution hanging over them, it was all too tempting to go back to their old ways.  The Jews had a long-standing arrangement with Caesar.  They would pray for him and he would let them worship and live in peace.  And so these Jewish Christians began to withdraw: back to their synagogues, back into their purity codes, away from their gentile brothers and sisters.  Hebrews was written to them—to remind them of the same things Paul wanted the Ephesians to be sure of.  That in Jesus and in the church, their hopes are being fulfilled, that God’s new creation is being born, and that there’s no going back.   In fact, this is just what Hebrews does: it reminds these Jewish believers—in case they’ve forgotten—that their old way of life fell short.  The tabernacle was wonderful, it was the sign of God’s presence with his people, but they couldn’t actually enter it.  The priests and the sacrifices they offered were great.  They purified the people from their impurity and from the stain of sin and death so that God could dwell in their midst, but despite being offered continually, they were never able to perfect the conscience of the people who came to worship.  No, all these things were good, but the writer of Hebrews repeatedly makes the point: The tabernacle, the priests, the sacrifices the torah itself, they were part of the promise.  Jesus and the Spirit are the fulfilment.  Again, you can’t go back.  This is where today’s Epistle picks up: Hebrews 9:11-15.   But when the Messiah arrived as high priest of the good things that were coming, he entered the greater and more perfect tabernacle, not made with hands (that is, not of this present creation), and not with the blood of goats and calves but with his own blood.  He entered, once and for all, into the holy place, accomplishing a redemption that lasts forever.  For if the blood of bulls and goats and the sprinkled ashes of a heifer, make people holy (in the sense of purifying their bodies) when they had been unclean, how much more will the blood of the Messiah, who offered himself to God through the eternal Spirit as a spotless sacrifice, cleanse our consciences from dead works to serve the living God!   When the Israelites built the tabernacle in the wilderness, on their way from Egypt to the promised land, it was a house for God to dwell in.  But it always pointed to more than that.  It’s very structure, layout, and design were meant to evoke the garden of Eden.  It reminded the Israelites what humanity had lost in our rebellion against God.  And it pointed forward to a future in which God would, someday and somehow, set the world to rights and once again dwell with his people.  Human beings were created to live in and to enjoy God’s presence, to receive life from him, and in turn to steward that life back to his creation.  But when we tried to become gods ourselves, when we sinned, we drove a wedge between ourselves and God, between earth and heaven.  We began to die and we brought death and chaos into the very world into which God had meant us to carry his life and his divine order.  But in the tabernacle, Israel saw the beginnings of restoration: God once again, dwelling in the midst of a people purified—albeit imperfectly and temporarily—from the stain of sin and death.   The tabernacle was a promise.  Its imperfection made this clear.  God was with his people, but not fully.  They camped around his presence and they could draw near, but there was a great veil that separated them from God.  Even the sacrifices that purified them couldn’t make them pure enough to pass that veil.  God had made them a holy people, but even a holy people could never enter the most holy place where God’s presence dwelled.  Sin and death still separated the people from God.  But that remaining separation—so close, but yet so far—drove home the promissory nature of the tabernacle and the priests and the sacrifices.  If God was going to all this trouble to draw his people this close now, then one day he would surely bring them fully into his presence.  One day he would fully heal the breach.   But as the centuries passed, Israel took the tabernacle (and later the temple) for granted.  The people forgot the promise.  Like the dog in the meme, sitting in the midst of a burning room, but contentedly sipping his coffee and saying, “This is fine,” Israel eventually just came to see the tabernacle and the priesthood and the sacrifices as the solution, the fix for sin.  Yes, God still had to deal with those wicked gentiles and one day he would smite them and put Israel on top of the political heap.  One day God’s presence would return to the temple.  But the priesthood and the sacrifices would go on and on.  That’s what it would mean for the world to be set to rights.  They stopped seeing the imagery in the temple that pointed forward to a day when Eden would be restored.  They forgot about the vocation God had given to Adam and Eve in the beginning.   I think we too often do the same sort of thing as Christians.  We come to the Lord’s Table and somehow it becomes hum-drum for us.  We no longer think of the end goal, of the great feast that awaits on the day when this work of new creation is finally done and the knowledge of the glory of God covers the earth as the waters cover the sea.  We just try to be good and we wait for Jesus to take us to heaven so we can escape the evils of the world.  We lose sight of the big picture, of God’s grand plan, of us and creation actually, somehow and someday, fully restored and set to rights.   This is what the writer of Hebrews is getting at when he talks about Jesus as our great high priest of the good things to come.  The tabernacle was a good thing, but it pointed to better things, just as the Lord’s Supper is a good thing, but points to something even better.  And Hebrews says, as our high priest, Jesus entered not in to the most holy place of the tabernacle.  Instead, at the cross Jesus entered into the immediate presence of his Father, laying down his life as the perfect sacrifice.  As he did that, the heavy veil in the temple, the one that closed off the most holy place, it was worn in two.  In Jesus, the way into God’s presence has been fully opened.   So, the first point here: the tabernacle pointed forward to a better day when God would be fully present with his people.  Then the second point: As the tabernacle points to the full presence of God with his people, so the priesthood of the old covenant points forward to the prefect priesthood and sacrifice of Jesus.   The tabernacle and, later, the temple saw perpetual sacrifices.  Day in and day out, all day long, animals were brought, killed, butchered, and burned.  The cloud of smoke rising from the altar never stopped.  Hebrews speaks here of the blood of bulls and goats and the ashes of a heifer.  Those were sacrifices for atonement, to purify the tabernacle and the people of their uncleanness and their sin.  The ashes of a heifer were used to purify those who had come in contact with death.  And those sacrifices were offered over and over and over.  People sin.  Impurity—not sinful itself—but ritual impurity was inevitable.  Even the great purifying sacrifice offered on the day of Atonement—when the blood of a bull and a goat was sprinkled in the most holy place to purify the nation and the tabernacle, to keep it and them a fit place for God to dwell—even that had to be done every year—year in and year out.  And, in that, they pointed to something greater.  Over the time, the people forgot.  But all along, the necessity for repeated sacrifices pointed to a day when God would provide an atonement that would last forever.   When Jesus made that once-for-all and perfect sacrifice with his own blood, it was hard for people to wrap their heads around.  Again, they’d forgotten that the whole system had been pointing to this.  But, too, no one ever expected the coming Messiah, the great high priest, to offer himself as that perfect sacrifice.  But the writer of Hebrews stresses: it was there, all along in Israel’s scriptures.   All those animal sacrifices reminded the people of the cost of sin and the impurity of death.  Because of their sin, Adam and Eve were cast out of the garden, cut off from the tree of life.  Brothers and Sisters, sin separates us from the presence of God. Sin separates us from the source of life.  Sinners die.  The only way back into the presence of our holy God is by the shedding of blood.  The sacrificial system taught Israel that redemption from sin requires the death of another in our place.  The animals sacrificed in the temple were costly sacrifices, but they were also imperfect sacrifices.  They were dumb and unwilling.  They served only until the next sin was committed.  And they brought the people only into the tabernacle or the temple.  For the people to be truly cleansed from sin, for the people to enter into the most holy place, into the presence of God, would require an even costlier sacrifice.   Those sacrifices pointed to Jesus.  In Jesus, God himself took up our flesh—he became one of his own people.  He did that so that he could represent them.  He became like a second Adam.  In that role, Jesus willingly gave his life for them—and for us.  He was the costly sacrifice—the spotless lamb, the best of the flock.  As our representative, he took on himself the death that we deserve.  This is why we can say, as we do in the Lord’s Supper, that by his one oblation of himself once offered, a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice for the sins of the whole world has been made.  This is why we can ask that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body and our souls washed through his most precious blood.  The blood of animal sacrifices gave a superficial cleanness to people who had been defiled by their sin, the ashes of the heifer purified them temporarily from the stain of death, but Jesus’ blood doesn’t just make us superficially clean.  It purifies us from the inside out.  And so we can also pray that as his body and blood make us clean, we may evermore dwell in him and he in us.  By his blood we can finally enter the Holy of Holies, we can finally be restored to the presence of our holy Creator.   And that gets at the third point made here—the third way in which Jesus’ sacrifice is better than the old sacrifices and the new covenant is better than the old.  The sacrifices of the old covenant were singposts pointing to the real sacrifice.  The most holy place in the temple was a signpost to the real holy of holies, not just the heavenly presence of the Father, but it looked forward to the day when creation will finally be set to rights, when heaven and earth will finally be joined together and humanity can once again live in God’s presence, just as Adam and Eve did before they sinned.  The cleanness and atonement offered by those old sacrifices was a shadow of the atonement and the cleanness offered by Jesus.  Jesus didn’t just enter the central room of the temple in Jerusalem to offer the blood of an animal on our behalf.  Jesus, who is both God himself and our perfect human representative, entered into the actual presence of his Father with his own blood shed at the cross.  In doing that he offers a sacrifice that washes us clean from sin to the very core of our being.  And his purifying sacrifice prepares us for the gift of God’s Spirit—the life of the age to come, a down payment on the resurrection of the dead, given to us today.   Somehow the perfect sacrifice of Jesus, Hebrews says, purifies our conscience from dead works so that we can serve the living God.  Brothers and Sisters, through Jesus and the Spirit we are transformed.  No longer just going through the motions of holiness, but purified from the inside out to be a people who desire holiness.  Jesus and the Spirit have given us a taste of the age to come, of new creation, of the world set to rights, of our tears wiped away, of our sins forgiven.  Jesus and the Spirit have made us the new temple, the place where God dwells, the place where the hope of the world is known, stewards of his grace and of the good news that brings this same grace and hope to the world.  Through Jesus and the Spirit, not only has God come to dwell with us, but we’ve been restored to our vocation—to be the priests of God’s temple and to steward his goodness, his faithfulness for the sake of the world—to make his glory known through all the earth.   And then verse 15:   For this reason, Jesus is the mediator of the new covenant.  The purpose was that those who are called should receive the promised inheritance of the age to come, since a death has occurred which provides redemption from transgressions committed under the first covenant.   Jesus is the mediator.  There’s no other way.  As persecution came, these Jewish believers were tempted to go back the old ways, the ways before Jesus.  Hebrews was written to remind them: the old ways, the tabernacle, the priesthood, the sacrifices, their days have passed.  The promise they pointed to has come.  In Jesus, God has established a new covenant and he is the sole mediator.   Every time I preach on this passage, I’m remined of the trip we made to Montréal in the winter.  On the bridge over the confluence of the St. Lawrence and Ottaway Rivers we saw a jeep speeding the opposite direction below us, on the frozen river.  Commonplace in Quebec and Ontario, but not for this California boy.  You can do that in the middle of a cold Québec winter, but when Spring comes the bridge is the only way across.  Try driving on the thawing ice and you’ll die.   Brothers and Sisters, in Jesus, Spring has come to the world.  In Jesus a bridge has been provided across the water.  The law was perfectly good in its time, just as the ice was safe to drive on if you wanted to cross the river in January, but the time has passed for that.  If you want to cross the river now the bridge Jesus provides is the only way.  Hebrews was written to people who feared persecution for following Jesus.  They were used to driving on the ice and despite the fact that it was now melting and thin, they were still tempted to keep driving on it.  Hebrews reminded them and it reminds us: The time for those old ways has passed.  Jesus offers something better and his way is now the only way.   Brothers and Sisters, do our lives demonstrate faith in Jesus as our sole mediator?  While you and I may not be tempted to go back to the law or the temple or the old covenant sacrifices, we have our own pasts to which we often hold more tightly than we may realise.  We profess faith in Jesus, but we still haven’t repented of all of our old loyalties, all of our old ways of doing things, all of our old sources of security.  We profess Jesus, but we still find satisfaction in sin and in self.  We say we trust Jesus, but we still look for security in work and in money.  We say we trust Jesus, but we often evaluate ourselves, not based on what he has done for us, but on what we think we’ve done for him.  Friends, it’s like giving people directions to the bridge, while we ourselves are sitting in our cars with the engine running, nosing our wheels into the water and thinking we’ll somehow get across the river.  Lent is a time for us to look around, to take stock, and to evaluate our situation.  Easter is only two weeks away.  It’s a reminder that in Jesus Spring has arrived.  The river isn’t frozen anymore.  We need to let go of the old ways of life and follow Jesus across the bridge.  Will there be challenges and sacrifices along the way?  Of course.  But Jesus and the Spirit have shown us the signs of God’s spring.  The flowers are breaking through the snow, the buds are forming on the tree.  God has provided all the signs of his goodness and faithfulness and the inevitability of spring.  Let us commit ourselves to the one who has given his life to restore life to us and let us give our lives that the whole world might know his glorious spring.   Let us pray: Almighty God, look with mercy on your people; that by your great goodness we may be always governed and preserved both in body and soul, through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.  Amen.

Infinitely More than We can Ask or Imagine Ephesians 3:14-21 by William Klock   Eugene Peterson, one of my seminary professors, used to tell the story of a little Haitian girl named Addie.  She was an orphan.  When she was five, she was adopted by an American family.  This man and woman travelled to Haiti to pick her up.  As they walked toward the plane to go home, little Addie reach up and slipped her hands into the hands of these two strangers she’d never met before. In that moment, they became Mom and Dad.  In that moment, this scared little girl put her fearless trust in these loving strangers.   That evening, back home, they all sat down to dinner.  There were heaps of pork chops and mashed potatoes and Addie watched, wide-eyed, as everyone dug in—and particularly as her two teenaged brothers dug in and dug in and dug in—until there was nothing left.  She’d never seen so much food before and she’d never seen people eat so much.  And when it was gone, Addie became very quiet.  Mom and Dad realized something was wrong.  And it occurred to Mom that it was the disappearing food.  This little girl had lived her whole life hungry.  When food was gone, it was gone and it might be a day or more before there was more.  And so she took Addie to the kitchen and she showed her the bread drawer, which was full of bread; and she showed her the refrigerator, which was full of milk and eggs and vegetables and meat; and she took her to the pantry and showed her bins full of potatoes and onion and shelves of canned goods.  She showed Addie that no matter how much her hungry teenage brothers ate, there would always be plenty of food and she would never go hungry again.  And notice, that Mother didn’t just tell Addie she’d never have to worry about going hungry again.  She showed her.  She named the meats in the fridge and the ice cream in the freezer; she let her handle the potatoes and the cans of soup.  She gave Addie confidence and reason to trust.[1]   Or as Paul has said to us in Ephesians 3, “confidence and access” (v. 12) to the “Messiah’s riches, riches no one could begin to count” (v. 8).  None of it was ours—or the Ephesians’—by birth.  We—and they—are gentiles.  The promises of God, the Messiah, those things belonged to Israel.  And yet, Paul has stressed over and over, the great mystery revealed in Jesus the Messiah is that through him, God has welcomed everyone—Jew and gentile alike—whoever believes—into the inheritance of Israel and into the vast riches of Israel’s God: forgiveness of sins and a promise of life, both for us, but also for the whole creation, one day to be renewed, made new, resurrected as Jesus has been, to be what God created it, created us to be in the beginning.  The world set to rights and us, living forever in fellowship with God.   That is good news.  And those gentile believers in Ephesus—and we—we’re captivated by that good news, by the promise, and we slip our grubby, sinful, idolatrous little hands into the hands of the Messiah and he washes us clean, he introduces us to his—now our—Father, and he begins to lead us home.  Not on an airplane for a short little hop across the Caribbean, but a lot more like Israel being led through the wilderness for forty years—only this time the promised land is God’s future, his new creation.  And maybe it’s because we didn’t see for ourselves the army of Pharaoh drowned in the sea, maybe it’s because we never experienced the manna in the wilderness, but when the journey gets difficult—Paul knew that times of persecution were coming—but when the journey gets difficult, it’s easy to worry whether God will come through—whether there will be enough.  It’s easy to hedge our bets and to compromise—trusting in the things of this world to see us through the hard times rather than trusting God and letting him lead us.  It’s even easy to let go of his hand altogether.  To just go back to Egypt—or in our case, to paganism, to the rule of the principalities and powers of the old wicked age.  Things are familiar there.  It might have been bad, but at least there was food.  Paul knew these Christians would one day face uncertainty, he knew they’d be tempted to compromise their faith and their allegiance to the King, and he knew that if they did that, they’d fail to be the church Jesus and the Spirit had made them.  They’d become just like the shabby and drab world around them instead of shining forth the Technicolor glory of the God who indwelt them and the wonders of his new creation.  So knowing that, what does Paul do?  Brothers and Sisters, he prays for them.  Look at Ephesians 3:14: “Because of this,” he writes, “I am kneeling down before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named.  My prayer is this: that through the riches of his glory, he may grant you to be strengthened with power, through his Spirit, in your inner being; that the Messiah may make his home in your hearts through faith; that you may be rooted and firmly founded in love; and that you may be fully able to grasp, with all the saints, the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the surpassing love of the Messiah, so that God may fill you with all his fullness.”   Maybe we should start at the end of the prayer—with the thing that Paul wants most for the Ephesians and for us—the thing that he’s praying all the other things will lead us to.  He prays that God will fill us with all his fullness.  Remember, that language of filling is temple language.  That’s what Paul’s been talking about all this time.  We are God’s temple.  The blood of Jesus has purified us from our idolatry and from the stain of sin and death so that God can come and dwell in us through his Spirit.  And just as God’s glory shone from the old temple on Mount Zion, revealing his presence with his people, just so God wants his glory to shine forth from us, from the church.  We don’t just proclaim the good news about renewal and new life and new creation and resurrection in Jesus.  Brother and Sisters, we’re to live it. We’re to be the beginning of God’s new creation in the midst of the old.   And Paul knows this won’t be easy.  It wasn’t easy for Israel on her journey and neither will it be easy for us.  So,, ack to verse 14: He gets on his knees and he prays.  We’d do well to do the same, probably even the kneeling part.   You can pray sitting or standing or walking or riding a bike, but this got me to thinking about kneeling. It’s not mandatory, but I wonder if it would do us well to kneel more often.  Our tradition is to kneel when we pray in church and I know we don’t do that here because we don’t have kneelers and, even if we did, God bless the Presbyterians who made our pews a hundred and fifty years ago, but they made them so that only a child’s feet can fit underneath them without major contortions.  But maybe we need to kneel—at least in our private prayers—more often.  I don’t often read Eugene Peterson.  I’m just not on his wavelength.  To quote Eugene Peterson again: “While on my knees I cannot run away.  I cannot assert myself.  I place myself in a position of willed submission…On my knees I am no longer in a position to flex my muscles, strut or cower, hide in the shadows or show off on stage…I set my agenda aside for a time and become still, present to God.”[2]   Prayer is the place where we come to the Father as adopted sons and daughters, reach up, and trustingly place our hands in his.  And maybe it would do us good, when we pray, to put ourselves in a posture where that’s all we can do, knowing just how prone we are to running away or cowering in fear or showing off.  As we kneel, we empty ourselves, and with Paul, we pray that God will fill us up.  Again, the point of our being filled is to shine forth God’s glory, but what we’re filled with to make that happen is God’s love.  In verse 15 Paul starts out appealing to God as Father—the one in whom every family in heaven and on earth is named.  In verse 17, it’s the love that fills our hearts, that is the root of the great tree, and the foundation of the temple itself.  I expect, if he wanted to, Paul could just keep piling metaphor on metaphor to describe the riches of God’s love, because he wants us to know that it’s in knowing God’s love that the church will find the power to be what God has called us to be.  Would that we would remember that.  How often have we put something else in the place of love?  There are all sorts of things that are important to our being the church.  There are all sorts of things that are even essential to being the church.  But without love at the centre, without love as our taproot, without love as our foundation, we will never be the church that Jesus and the Spirit want us to be.  Think of Paul’s exhortation to the Corinthians.  They were a church full of spiritual gifts.  The people were doing amazing and astounding things in the name of Jesus.  But Paul writes to them and says, “Without love, it’s nothing.  Without love, you might as well be a clanging cymbal, a bashing gong.”  You Canadians might say that the church in Corinth was a “gong show”, because it wasn’t built on love.  Without love as the root and foundation, it’s all for nought.  Without love, there is no glory.   This is what Paul’s getting at when he prays: “that through the riches of his glory, he may grant you to be strengthened with power, through his Spirit, in your inner being.”  Paul wants us to see the riches of God’s glory laid out for us.  Like little Addie going to the kitchen to look in the refrigerator and the pantry, to see the bacon, to see the ice cream, to see that big bag of potatoes, to handle the cans of soup.  To know those riches and to know that she has no reason to be afraid anymore.  To know not just that she’s been adopted into this family, but to know that its riches are now and fully her riches.  This is what Paul wants for us.  To see the riches of God’s love, to experience the riches of God’s Spirit, and to know that we belong to him.  We are his people, his family, his sons and daughters—and to know it in our inner being, deep down, where it shapes who we know ourselves to be.  Brothers and Sisters, to know that new creation is our inheritance.   And somehow, it’s in this community called the church, this community that brings together everyone, people who are different, Jews and gentiles, men and women, rich and poor, slave and free—Canadian and American, native and immigrant, Conservative and New Democrat, young and old, homebody and adventurer, Star Wars and Star Trek, Coke and Pepsi, Ford and Chevy, introvert and extrovert—somehow in this community in which we’re brought together, so different, and yet united in the Messiah, made one body, and our life together is dependent on these people so many of whom are so, so different from us, it’s here that we begin to plumb the unplumbable height and depths of God’s love.   Plumbing the heights and depths is an image that weaves its way from the Prophets all the way through to the end of the story in Revelation.  Think of the Prophet Zechariah, who exhorted the people of Judah to rebuild the temple after they returned to Jerusalem from their Babylonian exile.  But there was more to it than the earthly temple.  Zechariah had a vision in which a man was measuring the whole city and his measuring became a promise—a promise of a temple and a city even greater, one that no wall could contain, one in which the Lord would dwell with his people and become the wall himself.  Ezekiel has a similar—and much longer—vision in which he measures the new temple—a new temple larger and greater and more awesome than anything that had ever stood on Mount Zion and that image from Ezekiel is then picked up by John in Revelation.  To plumb the height and depth and width of God’s love is to know, to grow to understand God’s purposes for us as his new temple.   It’s interesting, because Paul has already written about this new temple as being full of the wisdom of God—like a storehouse for the nations, for new creation.  And that’s something Job talks about: the wisdom of God, longer than the earth and broader than the sea.  In Sirach, in the Apocrypha, the great sage envisions Wisdom herself, coming to live in the temple.  He knew the world is not as it should be; he knew his people, Israel, were not as they should be; they needed God’s wisdom to set them to rights—and it would start, it would flow forth from the temple as a show of God’s glory.  This is who God wants us to be, through the Messiah: people who know God’s wisdom, people who embody his new creation in the midst of the old.  A people full of light and life in the midst of darkness and death.  A people who will challenge the principalities and powers of the old age by our very existence.  A people who will proclaim God’s glory to the ends of the earth.   Think again of Paul’s line of thought so far.  One of the difficulties of peaching just a little piece or half a chapter of a letter like this week by week is that we lose sight of the bigger picture or bigger argument.  But remember back to Chapter 1.  I said last week, if we want to understand Ephesians, just look at the “tens”.  Chapter 1, verse 10, Paul stressed that it is—and always has been—God’s plan to unite heaven and earth.  That’s how he created the cosmos to be in the first place: heaven and earth overlapping; he and humans living together; he, sharing his love and his life with us.  And ever since we sinned and drove a wedge between ourselves and God, he’s been working to make us fit again for his presence.  And so he’s sent, he’s given his Messiah—to bring it all back together, to embody new creation himself: God and man, heaven and earth united in one person.  And then, in 1:23, Paul wrote that the church is the Messiah’s body and—it still amazes me to read it—the church is the fullness of the one who fills all in all.  Remember, that language of filling and being full of God’s presence, that’s temple language.  And then in 2:23, Paul told us that it’s through the gift of God’s Spirit who lives in us that God has begun to fulfil his promises to dwell with his people.  The church as God’s temple is the signpost that points forward to God’s future when that wedge will be completely withdrawn and heaven and earth, God and man restored to each other.   And this is why Paul stresses, why he says it’s so essential the church be filled with God’s fullness.  Our being the temple, our being filled with the presence and love and glory of God, is the witness to his promise to one day flood all of creation with the knowledge of his glory.  I think Paul wants us to hear Isaiah 11 echoing in his words here.  Remember we looked at Isaiah 11 back when we looked at Ephesians 1.  That was Isaiah’s prophecy of the coming King.  Under his wise rule the wolf and the lamb will lie down together at peace and the whole earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.  And so Paul prays that in our prayer, in our worship, in our life as the church, we may already know the reality of all this so that we might live, not just in hope of God’s future, but as people actively pulling God’s future into the here and now.   Now, think again of little Addie.  She’d never seen a refrigerator or a freezer or a pantry full of food.  That kind of plenty was beyond her imagination.  And that’s how God’s riches were for those gentile Ephesian believers.  They knew that the world is not as it should be.  We all know that in our bones.  Like Addie surely knew that it’s not good to be hungry.  But what’s the solution?  And, if God is going to set things to rights, what will that even look like?  We’ve had a glimpse.  We’ve known the gift that God has given us in his son, who has given his life to purify us from our sins.  We’ve known the gift of his Spirit, whom he’s poured into us to give us a taste of renewal and new creation and life together with him.  And if we’ve listened to the story of God and his people we’ve heard of the garden, heard of the temple in which his presence once dwelled, we’ve heard of the exodus and Pharaoh’s water-logged chariots, and the manna in the wilderness.  We’ve read John’s Revelation and had a glimpse of the end of the story, even if only in symbols and its full glory veiled.  We’ve seen the kitchen and the pantry stocked with food.  And yet that’s only the beginning.  It’s only a hint of what’s to come.  And so Paul prays again in verses 20 and 21: “To the one who is capable of doing far more than we can ask or imagine, granted the power which is working in us, to him be glory, in the church and in Messiah Jesus, to all generations, and to the ages of ages!  Amen.”   Brothers and Sisters, God’s glory isn’t just to be revealed in the future.  It’s here and it’s now and he means for it to be revealed in us, his church, in the same way he’s revealed it in Jesus.  Whatever vision we have of the church, Brothers and Sisters, God’s vision for us is bigger and wider and deeper and higher and greater than we can ever ask or imagine.  C. S. Lewis once preached a now famous sermon on the “weight of glory”.  That’s where he rebukes us saying that we are far too easily pleased.  We’re like children, happily making mud pies in a slum, when we’ve been offered a grand holiday at the sea.  “We are half-hearted creatures,” he says, “fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us.”  And maybe we’ve progressed a bit in the church, but we’re all too often still obsessed with politics or denominational divisions or even otherwise good things like theology.  But not love.  It’s funny how we can centre ourselves even on all the good things that revolve around the love God, but somehow miss the need ourselves to be centred on that gospel love.   We need to be captivated by the gospel, by Jesus, by his cross and by his resurrection and by his ascension.  We need to be captivated by the life of the Spirit into which we’ve been plunged.  We need to be captivated by the promise of new creation, even though we’ll forever struggle to envision it this side of eternity.  We need to be captivated by God’s glory, because he doesn’t just call us to be spectators to it.  No. He’s called us into the story.  He’s led us in our own exodus, from slavery to sin and death so that we—as fickle and confused and anxious as we often are—should live in the here and now, learning to be plumb the heights and depths of his love so that we might make his glory known in the earth.  As inadequate as we may feel, we are his poiema, his workmanship, his grand and glorious piece of art, painted with the blood of his son and shining forth the glory of his Spirit.   This what he’s saved us for.  To be the vanguard of new creation, making known his glory.  And if that’s scary or overwhelming, Paul reminds us that the very one who has saved us is capable of doing infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.  In other words, the fridge and the pantry are full of more food than we can ever imagine.  This is our God.  So come to the Lord’s Table this morning and as you join with your brothers and sisters to eat the bread and drink the wine, be reminded of the infinite riches of love in our Father’s house.  Look back to the cross and look forward to his promises, know the life of his Spirit, and in faith slip your hands into his and now that you are his son, you are his daughter, redeemed and renewed that you might know his love and shine forth his glory.   Let’s pray: Gracious Father, in our Collect today we acknowledged our sins and thanked you for the grace and mercy by which you have redeemed us and made us your own. Remind us always, we ask, of your great riches, that we might know the great height and depths and width of your unending love.  And not just know your love, but as we know it, that we might live it—to love you and to love each other and in doing so, to shine forth your glory and to make you known in the world. Through Jesus our Lord we pray.  Amen. [1] Practice Resurrection (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010, 159-60. [2] Ibid., 154.

Prisoner of Jesus the Messiah Ephesians 3:1-13 by  William Klock   Ask yourself what happens when the church is being faithful in its gospel calling and life. As we’ve worked through the first two chapter of Ephesians, Paul has explained that the church is God’s new temple. It’s a people purified by the blood of Jesus so that God can draw near in the person of his Spirit to dwell with us. That’s always been God’s plan for humanity and for creation. The garden was his temple and he placed us there to steward it well, on the one hand, and on the other, to dwell with him and to enjoy his presence—life with him.  And ever since we rejected that calling, God has been working to restore us to it.  And so the church, this people washed clean of sin and death by Jesus, and then filled with his Spirit, this new temple, we’re the working model of God’s coming new creation in the here and now.   And if we’re faithful in being that working model, what happens? The ideal, the hope is that people hear our proclamation of the kingdom and they see the first beginning of God’s new creation when they look at the church. In the midst of the darkness, the church should be light.  In the midst of death, the church should be life.  The church should be here to show a better way through the cross.  To prophetically wipe away the tears of the hurt and mourning and to confront the principalities and powers, the false lords and the corrupt systems of the world with the truth of the gospel and the lordship of Jesus.  And people do hear and see and experience the faithfulness of the church.  In us they meet the living God and the Lord who died for them and they encounter his glory and they kneel in faith and are, themselves washed by Jesus and filled with the Spirit. But our idea of the faithful church often stops there. Maybe that’s because we think of the church, not in terms of faithfulness, but in terms of success.  Butts in the pews. Money in the plate. Acclaim by the world.  And yet for the first Christians the opposite was true.  They were small.  They were poor.  They were persecuted and imprisoned and martyred by the world around them.   And that’s because, when the church is faithful in living and proclaiming and witnessing the presence of God’s new creation and the Lordship of Jesus, the principalities and powers—that was how Jews like Paul thought of the unseen powers, once placed by God to oversee peoples and nations, but now in rebellion against him—those principalities and powers, earthly kings, and the powerful people invested in those kingdoms and the corrupt systems that run them—Brothers and Sisters, if we’re doing our job showing that God’s new world is breaking in and that Jesus is setting things to rights, those powers will fight back.  They will try to shut us up or shut us down. They will throw us in prison.  They will kill us.  Or they will try to corrupt us. They’ll divide our loyalties: Sure you can worship Jesus, but you’ll also need to kneel to Caesar.  They’ll get us to adulterate the gospel with materialism and commercialism or politics.  They’ll convince us we can have one set of values in the church and another in business or in government.   With that in mind, look at Ephesians 3. Paul rites, “It is because of all this that I, Paul, the prisoner of Messiah Jesus on behalf of you gnetiles…”  Paul sort of interrupts himself there for rhetorical purposes, but we should pause here too.  Paul was in prison. Probably this is when he was in prison in Rome, but it could have been in Ephesus.  And for a lot of people in his word, that meant that Paul was out of favour with God.  How often do we hear that sort of thing today? There are parts of the church that have been corrupted and compromised by the idea that faith means health and wealth, happiness and prosperity.  That you can name it and, by faith, claim it.  And if you don’t get it, well, then you don’t have enough faith or you’re out of favour with God.  If we were to turn over to Second Corinthians we’d see that that’s how the Corinthians interpreted Paul’s imprisonment.  But this is pagan thinking.   But Paul knew better. In verse 13 he tells them, “Don’t lose heart because of my sufferings on your behalf. That’s your glory!”  In other words, he’s imprisoned because he’s been faithful to the calling God gave him.  He’s imprisoned because of his great faith.  He wants the Ephesians to understand the paradox of the cross: God’s power is made perfect in weakness.  We’re prone to forgetting this.  When we bail on a church because we think it’s too small, when we start adopting sales tactics as if the gospel is something to sell, when we cozy up to corrupt leaders and rulers looking for favour, when we think we have to project or pursue strength in order to win, we’ve lost the plot that is centred on the cross of Jesus.  You can’t adulterate God’s new creation with the old.  If we do, we lose our witness and we stop challenging the principalities and power of the old with the lordship of Jesus and the glory of the kingdom.   So Paul was in prison because he was being faithful, because he was establishing, just as God had called him to do, these little communities that were breaking the rules of the old order: bringing Jews and gentiles, men and women, slave and free together into a single family.  This was the family through which God will make his glory known throughout the earth.  Remember the priests mocking Jesus on the cross, to come down if he was really the son of God, then they would believe. But Paul knew—and the people in those little churches in Ephesus knew—it was because Jesus is the son of God that he had to stay on the cross.  It was through his weakness, through his death that the great enemy, death itself, would be defeated and the battle won.  Weakness is the powerful way of the cross.   Paul had got the attention of the powers of the present evil age and it landed him in prison, but instead of thinking that God had failed, Paul knew that this was actually the sign, the proof that the gospel and the Spirit were doing their work, that they were truly rising to challenge the old gods and kings.  So he goes on in verse 3, “I’m assuming, by the way, that you’ve heard about the plan of Gods’ grace that was given to me to pass on to you?  You know, the mystery that God revealed to me, as I wrote briefly just now.  Anyway…  When you read this you’ll be able to understand the special insight I have into the Messiah’s mystery.  This wasn’t made known to human beings in previous generations, but now it’s been revealed by the Spirit to God’s holy apostles and prophets.  The mystery is this, that, through the gospel, the gentiles are to share Israel’s inheritance.  They are to become fellow members of the body, along with them, and fellow sharers of the promise of Jesus the Messiah.”   God’s great mystery, his secret purpose that was there all along, promised to Abraham and to Moses, to David and to the Prophets, but missed by so many people in Israel—and of course totally unknown to the gentiles who did know about those promises—that mystery hit Paul like a ton of bricks the day he met the risen Jesus on the road to Damascus—or maybe it was three days later when Ananias prayed for him and his eyes were opened.  Paul started to rethink everything his Jewish Pharisee brain knew—and it knew the whole story—but suddenly he was looking it at through a new lens, through the reality that this Jesus who was crucified as a false Messiah had been raised and was, in fact, the Messiah after all.  And if that were true—well, that wall outside the temple, the one carved with the warning that gentile must not pass on pain of death—that wall was now irrelevant.  In fact, that whole temple had become irrelevant because of Jesus.  He’s said this back in 2:19 and now he says pretty much the same thing again, “The mystery is this, that through the gospel, the gentiles are to share in Israel’s inheritance.  They are to become fellow members of the body…fellow sharers of the promise in Messiah Jesus.”  In Greek he drives this point home with real force using three words that all begin with the prefix syn that means “with”.  The gentiles are with-inheritors, with-body, and with-partakers—to put it very literally in English.  For those in the Messiah, the distinction between the Jews and the rest of the world is gone.  And we often read right past it, but this was absolutely key, heart of the gospel stuff for Paul.   Israel’s story reached its climax and the promises were fulfilled in the Messiah and in his death for the sins of the whole world.  In that moment the whole sacrificial system, the whole system of purity and impurity, the temple itself became irrelevant for everyone—whether or Jew or gentile—for anyone who throws himself or herself at the feet of Jesus in faith and love to be purified once and for all and forever by his blood, to be filled by God’s Spirit, and thereby to become a part of God’s new temple.   When the scales fell from Paul’s eyes, he was the first to really grasp all this.  The other apostles back in Jerusalem were still debating whether gentile believers had to be circumcised or not.  So Jesus sent Paul to go announce to the gentiles that it’s not necessary.  There’s now a single people defined by faith in the risen Messiah.  Of course, Paul first went back to Jerusalem to make sure his fellow apostles understood this, too.  But his mission was to proclaim the good news to the nations.  I expect most of the his first converts were those gentiles who were already on the fringe.  The “god fearers” as the Jews called them.  Greeks and Romans who encountered Jewish society and saw something they’d never seen before.  In a world of moral filth, they saw in Israel a passion for holiness, a desire for justice, a hope of God setting the world to rights—a hope few in the gentile world had.  And they couldn’t go to the temple, but they could sit in the synagogues and hear the scriptures read and there they heard about the faithfulness of Israel’s God.  And so they hung around, on the fringe, longing for what this family had, but knowing it was not theirs and thinking it never could belong to them.  Hoping that maybe there could be a place for them, even if on the fringe, in this story of hope.  And Paul came to them excited, to announce that in Jesus, they were co-inheritors, fellow body-members, and fellow partakers of all those promises God had made to his people.  That in Jesus and the Spirit, the could actually become the temple of the living God…not on the fringe, but actually the temple in which he dwells.   Imagine the excitement those first gentile believers felt. Like children in an orphanage, waiting and longing for years to have a place in and the love of a family, now they were part of the family.  They’d escaped from the fickle gods and moral filth and hopelessness of paganism and were now sons and daughters of God.   So having made clear this point that is so central to everything, Paul goes on in verse 7: “This is the gospel that I was appointed to serve, in line with the free gift of God’s grace that was given to me.  It was backed up with the power through which God accomplishes his work.”  I have to think that Paul never ceased to marvel at this.  The guy who made it his career to round up Christians so they could be brought before the Jewish council—and stoned like Stephen—that evil guy was called and chosen by God to proclaim this good news.  Washed clean by the blood of Jesus and made an apostle.  If anyone understood grace, it was Paul.  If anyone knew the power of God made perfect in weakness, it was Paul.  And so he goes on in verse 8: “I am the very least of all God’s people.  However, he gave me this task as a gift: that I should be the one to tell the gentiles the good news of the Messiah’s riches, riches no one could begin to count. My job is to make clear to everyone just what the mystery is, the purpose that’s been hidden from the very beginning of the world in God who created all things.”   Paul, the least deserving of anyone having been such a great persecutor of Jesus and his church, has been given the grace to proclaim the riches of God, his immense wealth.  The riches of the Messiah.  Sonship in God’s family.  The inheritance of the word.  And one day that world set to rights and fellowship with the living God forever.  This is good news.  Not good advice, like, “Hey, let me tell you about Jesus. Try him out and see if he works for you and if not, oh well.”  No this is good news.  Sin and death are defeated, the corrupt principalities and powers are on borrowed time, God’s kingdom has come.  And those powers have heard the proclamation of Paul and his churches and they’re angry.  Maybe if it had just been all talk, maybe if they’d just proclaimed it as good advice, maybe if they’d let themselves be corrupted by the desire for strength and power, but no…the principalities and powers, the king and gods of the present age are angry, because they’ve seen this good news at work.  Caesar was the great peacemaker who had forged all the peoples of his vast empire into one with his sword and his armies.  But this crucified Messiah who came out of a weak and conquered people, whose missionaries had gathered a bunch of largely poor people, women, and slaves—their unity across all their difference brought about by a message of grace—that was a real threat to the order of the old world.  The Lord Jesus was the real deal.  Caesar was a cheap copy.  And while the Caesars of the world will one day be brought down, they won’t go down easily.  And yet, it’s in just this that the church has its greatest witness the power of God, the power of the cross, the power of the good news.  God’s power is made most manifest when we are at our weakest—laughed at, imprisoned, martyred.  Those things are proof of the power of the gospel.   And now Paul brings the first part of the chapter to its climax in verse 10: “This is it: that God’s wisdom, in all its rich variety, was to be made known to the principalities and powers in the heavenly places—through the church! This is God’s eternal purpose, and he’s accomplished it in Messiah Jesus our Lord.  We have confidence and access to God in him, in full assurance, through his faithfulness.”   I’ve heard and read Tom Wright say that if you want to understand what Paul is really getting at in this first half of Ephesians, look at the 10s: 1:10, 2:10, and 3:10.  In 1:10 we see God’s purpose to bring all things together in heaven and on earth in the Messiah. In 2:10 we see the church today, justified by grace through faith, called to have the vital role to play in God’s plan to bring everything together in the Messiah.  And here in 3:10 Paul reminds us that when the church is faithfully the church—that fellowship of people from every nation, tribe, and tongue who have given their allegiance to the Messiah, then the principalities and powers are put on notice and called to account.  As Paul says here: “God’s wisdom, in all its rich variety, was to be made known to the principalities and powers in the heavenly places—through the church!”  For two thousand years God’s promises to set creation and humanity rights was out there, but how was it going to happen?  Brothers and Sisters, it’s through the church being the church, with uncompromising allegiance to Jesus, living in the power of the Spirit, refusing to compromise, refusing to give an inch to evil men, to wicked systems, to the gods of the present age.  Not one inch.  Because, the resurrection and ascension of Jesus tell us, in those famous words of Abrham Kuyper, “there is not one inch in the whole domain of human existence over which Christ, who is sovereign over all, does not cry, Mine!”   And knowing that with full assurance, uncompromisingly living that out, we the church are, as Paul put it in Chapter 2, we’re God’s poiema, his beautiful, finely crafted handywork.  We put on display God’s wisdom in all its polypoikilos, the ESV translates it “manifold”.  I’m tempted to translate it a little more freely as something like “all the colours of the rainbow”.  Think of the vision of the church in Revelation 7—an uncountable multitude from every nation, tribe and tongue.  The church is meant to display the polychromed, Technicolor glory of God’s new creation and, in doing so, to reveal the shabby drabness of this wicked old age and its gods and kings.  But what the church has done instead is to fracture.  This colour here and that colour over there.  It’s to our shame.  And perhaps it’s because we ourselves have lost the glory of that Technicolor world the church is meant to represent, we seem to be perpetually drawn back to the shabby drabness of the present age and it’s cheap attempts to do what only Jesus and the Spirit can do.  Again, we treat the church and the gospel like commodities to marketed and to be bought and sold.  We try to divide our loyalty between Jesus and mammon or sex or power.  We become captivated by the ugliness of violence and war.  Or we sell our souls for a mess of political pottage, losing our vision of new creation and our passion for goodness, truth, and beauty and instead of trusting in the God who will bring it about, we trust in horses and chariots and chase after lesser evils instead of the good.  Brothers and Sisters, that what the principalities and powers, that’s what the devils want.  They want us to think that we can bring God’s kingdom by using the world’s ways.  But it won’t, it can’t work.  Because doing so simply paints the church with the same shabby drabnesss of their world and casts a veil over the glory of God and the goodness of the gospel.  It removes us as a threat to those powers.   But when we are faithful to being the church.  When we are uncompromising in our loyalty to Jesus.  When love one another and are truly one, instead of fracturing our witness to the unity of the people of God, that’s when the world and its rulers take notice.  They recognise that, as Paul wrote back in 2:6, we are already seated with God in the heavenly places in the Messiah.  That doesn’t mean we’re somehow above the mess.  Instead it means we’re right here in the midst of the mess, taking on the corrupt and evil powers of this age with power of the cross of Jesus for the sake of the people around us.  We’re here, with the authority of heaven, to shine the light of the gospel and to put on full display the Technicolor glory of God.  Even as the powers fight back.   We’ve all seen it.  It’s not always as obvious as Paul being in prison.  More often than not, it seems that when a church being faithful to preach God’s word and to live out the gospel and the life of the Spirit, all hell comes at us out of nowhere.  People start grumbling and creating divisions.  People leave over stupid things.  World or national events distract us from the gospel. or divisions become obstacles to faithfulness.  Those are times for prayer and to double-down on faithfulness to Jesus and the gospel when we’re tempted to give up or tempted to compromise.  But Paul would tell us to be prepared.  When you’re being faithful, when a church is putting on display the manifold wisdom of God—new creation—the enemies of the gospel will see, they’ll feel the threat, they will strike back.  That’s why Paul was in prison.  And he tells them, “That’s your glory.”   Think again back to the Solomon’s dedication of the temple.  That stunningly grand and beautiful building, skilfully and purposefully crafted so that the glorious presence of God could dwell with in it.  So that God could shine forth from it.  That was the glory of his people on display for the sake of the whole world.  And Solomon and all Israel watched as the cloud of glory descended and filled the temple.  I always struggle to visualize just how amazing that must have been.  But the key takeaway here is this, Brothers and Sisters: that glory now indwells us.  We are now God’s temple, his skilfully and purposefully crafted handiwork, purified by the blood of Jesus, so that he can dwell in us.  And if we, by his grace and sure of promises, are faithful to be what he has made, we will shine forth that glory: life in the midst of death, light in the midst of darkness, hope in the midst of despair, glorious Technicolour in the midst of dreary mud puddles, new creation in the midst of the hold.   Let’s pray: Almighty God, consider the heartfelt desires of your servants, we pray,  and stretch out the right hand of your majesty to defend us against all our enemies, through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.  Amen.

A Place Where God Will Live Ephesians 2:11-22 by William Klock   In today’s Old Testament lesson we hear King Solomon praying at the dedication of the temple.  The temple was finally completed and Solomon gathered the elders of Israel at the tabernacle, where they offered sacrifices too many to number.  Then with the priests leading them with the ark of the covenant, they processed up the mountain to the temple.  When they’d placed it in the holy of holies, the presence of the Lord, the shekinah, the cloud of his glory descended to fill the temple as it once had the tabernacle.  And Solomon prayed.  He prayed for the new temple and he prayed for his people.  He prayed that they would be faithful.  And then, our lesson today, he prayed for the foreigners, for the gentiles who might come to the Lord’s temple having heard of his great name, his mighty hand, and his outstretched arm—that coming to the temple, they would know his glory.  Solomon’s kingdom was, however imperfectly, a fulfilment of the Lord’s promise to Abraham to make Israel a light to the nations.  And the nations came to Israel and to Solomon, because they saw and because they heard of the Lord’s reputation.  Not only had he blessed his people, but in him they saw a god unlike their own.  And so they came, and they saw for themselves the goodness of the Lord, the God of Israel.  And Solomon knew, too, that they would come to the temple that he’d built.  So he prayed that when these foreigners came and prayed, that the Lord would answer them, that he would make himself known to them, so that “all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your people Israel.”  Again, this wasn’t some one-off prayer that Solomon came up with.  Solomon’s prayer is rooted in the promises of God and in the story of his people.  Solomon knew that the world is not as it should be; Solomon knew the Lord’s promises to set it to rights; and Solomon knew that God had given an integral role to his people to bring the fulfilment of those promises.  And Solomon great desire was for his people to be faithful to that calling, to that vocation—faithful to be a temple people.   Now, this imagery and idea of the temple wasn’t new with Israel; it goes all the way back to the beginning of the story.  The garden was God’s first temple.  And the man and woman he created—he created them—us—to bear his image.  That means to be his representatives in the temple, to serve him, and steward his goodness to the rest of creation.  We rejected that vocation and the story ever since has been about God restoring his temple and his people.  Two weeks ago, when we looked at Ephesians 2:1-10, we saw how Jesus—the one in whom God and humanity have come together—represents God’s work to restore his temple, but we also saw there that, as Paul stresses so much, what is true of Jesus is also true of those who are in him.  One day his people will be raised to be like him—heaven and earth people—but in the meantime, God has filled his church—filled us—with his Spirit as a foretaste and a down payment of that hope.  Brothers and Sisters, that means that we, purified by the blood of Jesus and filled with God’s Spirit, we’re now the temple—not a temple of bricks and mortar, but a temple of people filled with God’s presence.   Just as Solomon prayed that the nations would know the glorious reputation of the God of Israel through his people and come to meet him at his temple, our prayer, our desire, our commitment ought to be that the world will know God’s glorious reputation through us and come to meet him here.  What God promised to Adam and Eve, to Abraham, to Moses, to the people through the Prophets is now reality in us.  The promise isn’t completely fulfilled.  One day the knowledge of the glory of God will fill the earth.  On that day the new creation that began when Jesus rose from the dead will come to full fruit.  Creation and us with it will be made fully new.  God will wipe every last remaining bit of evil from the world and sin and death will be no more.  But, Brothers and Sisters, here’s the really important thing here: The church—you and I and everyone else who is in Jesus the Messiah—we are God’s vehicle to get the world to that point.  The church is God’s means of making his glory known until it fills the earth.  And that ought to get us reflecting on how faithful we are to our mission.  When the world looks at the Church, when it looks at Christians, does what we say and do and live declare the glory of God: his great name, his mighty hand, and his outstretched arm?  (To put it as Solomon did.)  Does what we say and do and live give the world a desire to come to the church to meet God?  Do we at least make the world constructively curious?  If not, we need to reflect on our priorities and on what we’re doing.   And this is true of everyone who is in Jesus the Messiah, but Paul, writing to the Ephesians who were mostly gentile believers, wants to stress to them just how significant it is that through Jesus and the Spirit they have been made a part of this temple people.  Brothers and Sisters, this is something that we don’t spend enough time talking about and reflecting on.  For Paul, the unification of Jews and gentiles in the Messiah was at the heart of the gospel.  It was the proof that God was fulfilling his promises.  This church, made up of Jews and gentiles, men and women, rich and poor, slave and free, all together, unified, one body was a testimony to the glory of God.  In fact, for Paul, it was the testimony of the gospel’s power.   And I don’t think it’s even on the radar for many of us today, because we’ve become so used to and even so complacent about divisions within the church.  Anglicans, Presbyterians, Methodists, Baptists, Lutherans, Mennonites, Romans, and Eastern Orthodox—and those are just some older divisions amongst us before we got really split-happy in the last century or two.  And it’s not just theology and polity.  I suspect Paul might have at least a little sympathy for those sorts of divisions, especially over serious, gospel-compromising theological matters.  But Paul would be furious to see how we divide over things like language and ethnicity.  The English are here and the Germans are at that Lutheran church and the Swedes at that other Lutheran church and the Italians and Spanish and Filipinos are at the Roman church and the Greeks at the Greek Orthodox, the Russians at the Russian Orthodox, the Ukrainians at the Ukrainian Orthodox, the Syrians at the Syrian Orthodox.  The Dutch are in their Reformed church and the Scots are in their Reformed church.  And there’s a church just for Chinese-speakers and another for Afrikaans and so on and on.  And you’ve got Messianic Jews forming their own synagogues.  And Paul would be shouting at us and asking, “Haven’t you read a single thing I’ve written to you?  Your divisions are undermining the very gospel you claim to preach!”   Paul did not want this to happen in the Ephesian churches, but even more than that, he wanted the people in those churches, especially he wanted them to appreciate just what God had done for them in Jesus and the Spirit, because if we understand what God has done to make us one, we’ll hopefully be far less likely to let it be undone.  So, Paul writes in Ephesians 2:11-12 and reminds them of what they used to be: “Therefore, remember this: In human terms—that is, in your ‘flesh’—you are ‘gentiles’.  You are the people whom the so-called circumcision refer to as the so-called uncircumcision—circumcision, of course, being something done by human hands to human flesh.  Well, once upon a time you were separated from the Messiah.  You were alienated from the community of Israel.  You were foreigners to the covenants of promise.  There you were in the world, with no hope and no God.”   You were gentiles.  Of course, Gentiles didn’t think of themselves that way.  They were just regular people; it was the Jews who were weird.  But the fact that Paul can say this to them, “You were gentiles” means that they’ve now been brought into the family of Israel.  And just in case they might have forgotten the significance of that, he describes them as having been outsiders with this string of descriptors that work up to a crescendo of alienation.   First, they were separated from the Messiah—from the rightful King.  The Messiah was some weird thing the Jews were into.  What would Greeks or Romans—who were oh, so superior—want to have to do with him?  And even if they did, the Messiah wasn’t part of their story.  Then second, Paul says that they were alienated from the community—the commonwealth as the King James puts it—of Israel.  They were foreigners.  Israel was not their nation and Israel’s God was not their God.  Even if they did see something attractive in Israel and went to the temple in Jerusalem—think of Solomon’s prayer for the foreign visitors who would come—there was a wall between the court of the gentiles and the court of the women.  In Paul’s day there was an inscription on that wall warning that foreigners passed it on pain of death.  Gentiles could look from a distance, but they were cut off from the living God.  And third, they were foreigners to the covenants of promise.  Most of them had never heard of Abraham or Moses, but if they had, that simply wasn’t their story and it certainly wasn’t their family.  They didn’t belong there.  Whatever promises the God of Israel had made, those promises were not for the gentiles.  And Paul then sums it all up and says: You were in the world without God and without hope.   I think Paul intends a bit of irony there.  When he says they were without God he uses a word that essentially means they were atheists.  And “atheist” is exactly what the gentiles called Jews and the first Christians.  Because Jews and Christians worshipped only one God and one God might as well have been no god to them with their vast pantheons.  And Jews and Christians refused to take part in the pagan worship and festivals that ran all through gentile life and society.  And so Paul flips it around.  “No, it was you gentiles, separated from the Messiah, alienated from Israel, foreigners to the covenant promises—it was you who were the atheists.  You were the ones without God.  And because of that you had no hope.  And if being called atheists didn’t make an impact, I have to think this would have.  Because it’s not that the Greeks and Romans didn’t understand the idea of hope; it’s that they had no reason, no grounds to live with hope.  No one in their world believed in progress the way people do today.  That idea is rooted in our biblical heritage.  They thought things just went round and round in cycles—forever stuck.  And while their philosophers might talk about life after death, it was all very vague and not hopeful at all.  Hesiod imprisoned hope in the bottom of Pandora’s box, lost forever.  Aristotle and others wrote about hope as fickle and treacherous—a foolish thing to trust in.  Things could go wrong just as easily as they could go right.  Hope just wasn’t a big deal for the Greeks.  But in stark contrast, hope was at the centre of the whole Jewish and early Christian worldview.  As I said last time, no one in the pagan world would have ever dreamed that the gods loved them or even really cared about them, so why would anyone in the pagan world have reason to hope?  So Paul sums it all up: Without God and without hope, the gentiles were alone and lost in the world.  Paul reminds them just how bleak things were for them before they were captured by the gospel.  I think it’s a good thing for us to reflect on this ourselves and if we did, I think we would have a greater appreciation for what God has done for us and for what he has made his church.   So after painting this bleak and pitiful picture of where these people were before Jesus, Paul cuts through the hopelessness and despair.  Like he did with that great, “But God!” in verse 3, now in verse 13 he practically shouts out, “But now!”   “But now, in Messiah Jesus, you who used to be far away have been brough near by the Messiah’s blood.  He is our peace, you see.  He has made the two to be one.  He has pulled down the barrier, the dividing wall, that turns us into enemies of each other.  He has done this in his flesh, by abolishing the law with its commands and instructions.”   Paul wrote about the Messiah’s blood back in Chapter 1.  Jesus’ blood is the means through which God has accomplished redemption and forgiveness.  This was the great, once-and-for-all-time sacrifice that the Old Testament sacrificial system was pointing to all along.  In the Old Testament, sacrificial blood was like a disinfectant.  It cleansed the tabernacle and later the temple; and it cleansed the people of Israel so that the holy God could come to his people and dwell with them.  Pagan sacrifices were all about killing valuable animals to placate the gods.  In Israel, the sacrifices were all about the blood—a symbol of God-given life—and that blood was shed to wash away the stain of sin and death so that God could come and dwell and fellowship with his people.  Brothers and Sisters, the blood of Jesus, shed at the cross, has fully accomplished once and for all and for everyone what the Old Testament sacrifices did partially and temporarily.  And in doing that, God has abolished the law.   You see, the law was the thing that set Israel apart from the rest of the world and Paul saw that wall in the court of the gentiles as symbolic of it.  The law, like that wall, kept the gentiles out of God’s people, out of his covenant, and out of his promises.  The law marked out the gentiles as idolaters and as unclean—unworthy of God’s presence.  But Jesus’ blood has washed us clean—Jew and gentile alike—making both the law and the wall that kept the gentiles out irrelevant.  In Jesus, God had brought these Greek believers into the family—fully and no longer aliens and foreigners.  And why?  Paul goes on in the second half of verse 15:   “The point of doing all this was to create, in him, one new humanity out of the two, so making peace.  God was reconciling  both of us to himself in a single body, through the cross, by killing the enmity in him.”   Do you remember the first thing the risen Jesus said to his disciples when he entered that locked-up house where they were hiding after he’d been crucified?  It was “Peace”.  Shalom.  Peace is what the world looks like set to rights.  And so it makes perfect sense that “Peace” would be the first thing Jesus would say to his disciples after rising from death and inaugurating God’s new creation.  He’d just begun the work of setting the world to rights.  And for Paul, this new humanity—Jews and gentiles, once divided by the law, but now brought together—this new humanity, the church, is the first sign of God’s peace breaking out into the world.  The church is the sign of the new age.  As I’ve said before, we are God’s working model of his new creation.  Jesus has killed the enmity that was once between us and he has reconciled both to God and, through that, to each other.  Jesus’ blood as washed us clean and Paul stresses regularly to his fellow Jews, this means there’s no longer any reason to consider gentile believers in Jesus to be unclean.  We gentiles, with hearts renewed by the Holy Spirit, have turned away from our idols to serve the living God and by the blood of Jesus he has washed us clean.  And if there’s any doubt, Paul would point to the fact that the same Spirit has come to fill the gentile believers who first filled the Jewish believers.  So he goes on in verse 17: “So the [he Messiah] came and proclaimed peace, to you who were far off and to those who were near.  Through him we both have access to the Father in one Spirit.”  Again, it’s all the fulfilment of God’s promises.  In Isaiah 57 God had promised that he would heal the broken and humble in spirit and give peace: peace for those far off and peace for those who are near.  He’s now done that in Jesus and the unity of the church—these people who were once separated, these people who once hated each other—their unity in the Messiah as one people is the proof, the testimony, the witness of God’s faithfulness and the power of the gospel.   And Paul, again, wants to drive this home.  Look at verses 19 to 22: “So then [—this is the result—] you are no longer foreigners and aliens.  No, you are fellow citizens with God’s holy people.  You are members of God’s household.  You are built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Messiah Jesus himself as the cornerstone.  In him the whole building is fitted together, and grows into a holy temple in the Lord.  You, too, are being built up together, in him, into a place where God will live by the Spirit.”   The point of all this is that through Jesus and the Spirit, the living God has welcomed us into this amazing story.  We’ve been adopted into a family that was not ours.  We were poor, dirty refugees without hope, but God has washed us clean in the blood of Jesus, he has made us welcome members of his family, and most importantly, he has come to dwell with us.  He has filled us—aliens, foreigners, strangers, gentiles—with his Spirit—the presence that he had promised to his own people and in doing that he has made us holy.  And just just because.  God has a purpose for us.  He always has.   And this is where Paul stops hinting at things with temple language and imagery and comes out and says it: God has done this in order to establish a new temple.  For centuries the Jews had been waiting for God’s presence to return to the temple, not that unlike the way so many Jews today go to the Western Wall and pray for a new temple and God’s return.  Brother and Sisters, Paul’s stressing that God has, in fact, returned, that he has built a new temple, and that he now dwells with his people.  But not in a stone building on the mountain above Jerusalem.  He has built is new temple and returned to live with his people through Jesus and the Spirit.   And, again, that means that we—the church—are God’s ongoing means of fulfilling his promises to set creation to rights.  God’s presence with us is the sign that one day his presence will fill all of creation.  We are the temple, the working model of new creation.  As we proclaim the gospel, we proclaim the glories of God to the world.  As we live the gospel, we put on display the glories of God to the world.  And our unity in Jesus and the Spirit—something we’ve often forgotten—is one of the most important ways we ought to be living out the gospel.  Just as there was one temple in Israel, there is only one church.  By our divisions and schism and arguments, by our elevating language and race and nation over the gospel, we’ve often obscured this reality, but Brothers and Sisters, there is but one church and the unity of that one church across our natural divisions of language and race—and class, and status, and every other way the world divides and separates us—that unity is meant to be a witness.  A witness to the power of the gospel.  A witness to the power of Jesus and the cleansing power of his blood.  A witness to the Holy Spirit who indwells every believer.  And most of all, witness to the faithfulness of God, who has been true to his promises.  And through that, our unity becomes a witness to a bleak and hopeless world of God’s coming new creation—not just of the world set to rights, but of humanity set to rights within it: one people, renewed and purified, in fellowship forever with the living God.   Let’s pray: Gracious Father, you have purified us by the blood of your Son and filled us with your Spirit to make us your temple.  Pour out your grace that we might be faithful stewards of the gifts you have given us.  Teach us to guard the unity of your church, so that the nations will see in us a witness to your mighty hand, your outstretched arm, and your great name.  And when they draw near, hear their prayers, we ask, that they might know your great name as we have, through your Son and through your Spirit.  Amen.

A Sermon for the First Sunday in Lent Ephesians 2:1-10 by The Rev’d Dr. Matthew Colvin             Week after week, I see Pastor Bill preaching the Bible to you on Sundays, and I want to commend him to you. I’m not sure you are aware how rare it is to have a pastor who does his own translation work in the Hebrew and Greek, and who attempts, with diligence and great effort, to read the text of the Bible anew, divide it up properly, and serve it to you. What matters to Pastor Bill in his preaching to you is what the Bible actually says — the actual point of the gospels’ stories, or the actual meaning of the prophecies of the prophets, or the actual meaning of Paul’s arguments in his letters — not what famous theologians have used the Bible to say, or what scholastic medieval philosophy says it can and cannot mean, or the way modern self-help gurus can use Bible verses out of context to tell a very different story. If you attend to the words delivered from this pulpit, you are being trained to understand the Bible on its own terms, rather than watching as a slick speaker uses the Bible to express his own ideas. The story needs to be your story; you are to think of yourself as a child of Abraham, as a sharer in Israel’s Messiah, as someone in covenant with Israel’s God. Since it is the first Sunday in Lent, we are confronted with the very first episode of Jesus’ public ministry after his baptism by John the Baptist. This story has much to teach us about Jesus’ work as the Messiah, the nature of his sufferings, and ultimately, the way we ought to think about God Himself. I want to start by thinking about what it means when the Messiah goes into the desert. In Acts 21, when Paul is arrested in Jerusalem, the Roman centurion is surprised that he knows Greek: “Are you not the Egyptian, then, who recently stirred up a revolt and led the four thousand men of the Assassins out into the wilderness?" -Acts 21:38 (I joke to my Greek students that knowing Greek is handy if you are ever suspected of being a terrorist.) In Acts 5, Gamaliel mentioned Judas of Galilee and Theudas, false messiahs who also started their rebellions against Rome by going out into the wilderness. Why do so many messiahs begin this way? Because they are attempting recapitulate of Israel’s story. And the true Messiah also relives the story of Israel, embodying it in the events that happen to him: he has already gone down to Egypt to escape a tyrannical attempt to kill all the baby boys in Bethlehem, much as Pharaoh tried to kill all the male Hebrew babies; he has already been baptized in the Jordan, as Paul says Israel was “baptized in the cloud and in the sea” of the Exodus; and now he goes into the Wilderness to be tempted for 40 days, as Israel was tempted for 40 years. Covenant history rhymes, as the saying goes. So that is why Jesus is in the desert. There remains explain why he is being tested, and how he resists that temptation, and what these things tell us about the Messiah and about God. We must recognize that Jesus resisted Satan’s temptation as true man, as a matter of his messianic office. Jesus’ self-understanding as the Messiah was in terms of the latter chapters of Isaiah, i.e. the suffering servant. This understanding of his calling is why he girded himself with a towel and washed his disciples’ feet at the Last Supper; it is why he set his face like flint to go to Jerusalem; it is why he undertakes to drink the cup of suffering, and sheds sweat like drops of blood falling to the ground during his agonized prayer in Gethsemane. Being this kind of Messiah involved contradicting the expectations that other men had about what the Messiah would be like. When Jesus is on trial, the Roman procurator Pontius Pilate, for instance, asks him — in a question whose statement-like word order indicates incredulity — “You are the king of the Jews?” (that is the word order, sarcastic or incredulous), and then puts over his head a sign reading “Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews,” in three languages, so that everyone could get the joke. Pilate mocks Jewish pretensions to even have a king. That is why he refused to change the sign to say only “He claimed to be the king of the Jews.”  It is also why he also brings out Barabbas and asks the Jews, “Whom do you want me to give to you? Barabbas, or the king of the Jews?” Pilate is operating with the standard pagan understanding of kingship: "You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them. It shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave, even as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." (Matthew 20:25-28) Pontius Pilate and the Romans were expecting someone taller, perhaps. Of course, Jesus could have met those expectations, as he told the soldiers who arrested him in Gethsemane: “Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?” (Matthew 26:53) It isn’t that he couldn’t just blow the Romans away with fire from heaven. But that is not his agenda. That is not what the Messiah has come to do. He has come “not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Jesus also has to correct the expectation of the Jews about what the Messiah is to be like — even the expectation of his own disciples! It is this self-understanding that makes Jesus tell his disciples in Mt 16:22-23 that “he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, "Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you.” But he turned and said to Peter, "Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man." Peter’s suggestion that Jesus could be the Mesiah without suffering and dying is so inimical to Jesus’ self-understanding and his mission that he calls Peter “Satan.” And rightly so, because what Peter is suggesting is pretty much of the same spirit as what Satan himself suggests in our gospel lesson this morning. So that is the background: Jesus as the true Israelite, the Messiah, is in the desert, not to lead a rebellion or a gang of terrorists, but to be tested as Israel was tested. Against all this background, we are ready to hear the words, both of Satan tempting, and of Jesus answering, and hear them with richer and fuller meaning — meaning not from Greek philosophy or self-help gurus or even systematic theologians, but rather, from the story of Israel. With his first temptation, Satan seeks to exploit Jesus’ hunger:   “The tempter came and said to him, "If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread." But he answered, "It is written,  "'Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.'" (Matthew 4:3-4)   Any of you who have ever been hangry know exactly why Satan is doing this. Jesus, no less than we, lived his earthly incarnate life in a body, and that body was subject to weakness. Jesus is not like Superman, so that bullets or nails would bounce off his skin. He was capable of suffering, and he did suffer. Satan is suggesting that Jesus should exploit his Messianic status — for that is what is meant by “If you are the Son of God” — and use it to avoid this suffering. Take your authority over all creation and use it to transform stones into bread. This is not a ridiculous suggestion. It is similar to Jesus’ first miracle in John’s gospel, where he turned water into wine for the wedding at Cana. But the aim of the action here would be quite different. Satan’s meaning is basically the same as Peter’s suggestion: “Suffer from hunger? Why put up with that? This shall never happen to you!” Jesus’ answer is a quotation from Deuteronomy 8:3. (In fact, all three of Jesus’ answers to Satan are from Deuteronomy. (Dt. 8:3, 6:16, and 6:13). That is, they are taken from Moses’ instructions to Israel about how to live with the Lord. Jesus is the one who follows Deuteronomy’s description of the faithful Israelite perfectly.) As so often, however, Jesus’ quotations of the Old Testament are metaleptic —a fancy Greek word that means “takes along with it.” The idea here is that if I say, “We stand on guard for thee,” it would be a mistake for someone to try to understand that utterance merely by using a dictionary to look up “stand” and “guard” and so forth. The meaning of that phrase is rather to be found in the larger context of the Canadian national anthem as a whole, because that is how everyone who hears it will immediately start thinking in their minds: all the other verses will come flooding into your minds; you will perhaps recall occasions when you sang it: in school, or at sporting events; or watching a Olympic medal ceremony. Just so, when Jesus quotes the Old Testament, every Israelite hearer will not just think of the words he quotes; he will think also of the surrounding context, the story in which those words first occurred. So when we look at Deuteronomy 8:3, we should also think about the immediately preceding verse:   "The whole commandment that I command you today you shall be careful to do, that you may live and multiply, and go in and possess the land that the LORD swore to give to your fathers. And you shall remember the whole way that the LORD your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep his commandments or not.” (Deuteronomy 8:1-2)   And then it goes on to say, in the very next verse, “And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.” (Deuteronomy 8:3) This is what Jesus has in mind: he has been in the wilderness for forty days, being humbled, being tested. He answers Satan from the very passage of Deuteronomy that has to do with his situation: it is about testing in the wilderness. He has been thinking about this verse for a while now.   The tempter’s second try is with a more showy possibility:   Then the devil took him to the holy city and set him on the pinnacle of the temple and said to him, "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written,  "'He will command his angels concerning you,'  and  "'On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone.'" -Matthew 4:6   This would be an impressive display! Who could fail to follow a Messiah who had made such a proof of divine power? Jesus had answered the first temptation by quoting Scripture. But the devil can quote Scripture for his purposes, so Satan appeals to lines from Psalm 91:11-12. And again, he knows what he is doing: at a time when Jesus feels alone, when he is in the desert, Satan tempts him with lines from that most comforting song: “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.” It is full of promises of God’s protection and deliverance: in battle, from wild animals, from dangerous diseases. And yet it is singularly inappropriate for Jesus’ messianic vocation: He has come to suffer and die. To avail himself of divine protection against these sufferings would be to deny his messiahship.   So Jesus replies with words from Deuteronomy again.   "Again it is written, 'You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.'" -Matthew 4:7   This is from Deuteronomy 6, that chapter which contains the Shema, the single verse of the Torah that could be called the creed of Israel: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.” It is the core chapter of the Torah about Israel’s relationship with God. He has rescued her from Egypt and taken her to Himself to be His bride; at Mount Sinai, he has married her.   But Israel was not faithful. She tested the Lord like a wife acting up to trying to make her husband angry. When there was no water to drink, Exodus 17 says, “Therefore the people quarreled with Moses and said, "Give us water to drink." And Moses said to them, "Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the LORD?" (Exodus 17:2) The verb used here, and also by Jesus in Matthew 4:7, is πειράζω.   Note well: Who was doing the testing in the wilderness for 40 years? Exodus and Deuteronomy say it clearly: Israel was testing YHWH. And thus, we may perceive some clever irony in Jesus’ answer to Satan here. For Satan is called “the tempter,” and in Greek, that is nothing other than a participle form of this same verb πειράζω, literally, “the testing one.” So on the one hand, Jesus’ quotation of Deuteronomy 6:16 could mean, “You are asking me to test God by throwing myself down from the Temple. I am not going to do it, because Moses warned Israel not to test God.” But it could also mean, “You are testing God, Satan.”   Satan doesn’t take the hint. He keeps on testing Jesus. There will be more attempts later, but the last temptation that Satan tries on Jesus in the wilderness is narrated like this:   Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory. And he said to him, "All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me." -Matthew 4:8-9   Why does Satan take him to a very high mountain? In the Bible, mountaintop scenes are real estate transactions. If I sell you this pen, it’s simple enough: you put money in my hand, and I put the pen in yours, and you carry it away with you. But houses and land don’t fit in your pocket. So we have other procedures. In our day, we get banks and notaries involved and sign a lot of documents. But in the ancient world, you took possession by inspecting the property after the transfer.  This is done in the case of Abram in Genesis 13:17: “Arise, walk in the land through its length and its width, for I give it to you.” The same thing happens when Moses is about to die; in one sense, Moses doesn’t get the promised land, because he dies before he can enter into it; but in another sense, God actually gives him the land, because he takes him up on a mountain and shows it to him, and this is the formal transfer of the land: “Go up this mountain of the Abarim, Mount Nebo, which is in the land of Moab, across from Jericho; view the land of Canaan, which I give to the children of Israel as a possession..” (Deuteronomy 32:49)   Satan is attempting to use the same convention in Matthew 4:8. He is trying to get Jesus to make a deal, offering the kingdoms of the world in exchange for worship. But Jesus has no need to make such a bargain, for God had already promised to give the Messiah everything Satan is offering, and Jesus, whose self-understanding as the Messiah is shaped by Isaiah’s description of the suffering servant, knows it very well from Isaiah 49:   The Lord says: "It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to bring back the preserved of Israel; I will make you as a light for the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth." (Isaiah 49:6)   He knows it also from Psalm 2:   I will tell of the decree: The LORD said to me, "You are my Son; today I have begotten you. Ask of me, and I will make the nations your heritage, and the ends of the earth your possession.   Ask of God. Not of Satan. The nations belong to the Lord, not to Satan. Jesus has no intention of making a bargain to purchase what Satan wrongly claims to own. In Matthew 12, after the Pharisees accuse Jesus of casting out demons by the power of Satan, Jesus replies that,   How can someone enter a strong man's house and plunder his goods, unless he first binds the strong man? Then indeed he may plunder his house. (Matthew 12:29)   And he does plunder it. We see the result in Revelation 20:   “And he seized the dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil and Satan, and bound him for a thousand years, and threw him into the pit, and shut it and sealed it over him, so that he might not deceive the nations any longer...” -Revelation 20:3   And as for the real estate deal Satan was trying to make, well, we see the end of that at the very end of Matthew’s gospel. For the Great Commission too takes place on a mountain, and this setting seems significant, especially in light of Jesus’ declaration that “all authority in heaven and earth” has been given to Him. This is a pointed contrast with Satan’s lying statement, "To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been delivered to me, and I give it to whom I will.” (Luke 4:6 NKJV) Quite the contrary, Jesus, having refused Satan’s bargain, and having bound him and plundered his goods, now bestows the kingdom on His disciples and takes possession of the nations by sending his disciples to teach and baptize them.   I want to end by correcting three misapprehensions that some people might have about this story, which may prevent them from grasping what it teaches us about God.   One mistake some have is that Jesus didn’t really suffer in the wilderness; that His divine nature was smirking and unbothered by Satan’s temptations aimed at his human nature; that all these things just rolled off of Jesus like water off a duck’s back. We know this was not the case. Recall Gethsemane again, where Jesus begged the Father to “take this cup from me,” and his sweat fell to the ground like drops of blood — drops of blood, not water off a duck’s back.   A second mistake would be to think that, yes, Jesus suffered, but that’s only because He is human. But that is not what the Bible says. It says that Jesus revealed the Father by his sufferings; that if you want to know what the Father is like, you should look at Jesus, for He who has seen Him has seen the Father. Greek philosophers say that God is an unmoved mover, and that God cannot suffer because he is perfect; but the Bible tells us that Jesus was “made perfect by sufferings.” (Heb. 5:9) Greek philosophers tell us that God cannot be afflicted; the Bible says that “in all their afflictions, He was afflicted.” (Isaiah 63:9) Greeks and Romans thought that suffering was miserable and degrading, and that if you are suffering, you must not have any glory or power; the Bible says that Jesus “humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore — not in spite of his sufferings, but because of them! — God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name.” (Philippians 2:8) There is no clearer picture of Israel’s God than the cross of Jesus Christ. That is where we finally see God fully revealed.   Finally, a third mistake would be to think that, yes, Jesus’ sufferings were powerful and important, but ours are not. The truth is exactly the opposite. As George MacDonald put it, “The Son of God suffered, not that we might not suffer, but that our sufferings might be like His.” And they are. “For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory...” (2 Corinthians 4:17) We are in the Messiah. His story, Israel’s story, is our story. In Him, we are faithful Israelites, true to Deuteronomy 6. In Him, we are the suffering servant of Isaiah’s prophecies. In Him, the kingdoms of the world belong to us. In Him, we too are victorious over Satan.   Let us pray. Lord Jesus Christ, for our sake you fasted forty days and forty nights: give us grace so to discipline ourselves that our flesh being subdued to the Spirit, we may always obey your will in righteousness and true holiness, to the honour and glory of your name; for you live and reign with the Father and Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.  Amen.

A Sermon for Ash Wednesday St. Matthew 6:16-21 by William Klock   “When you fast, don’t be gloomy like the hypocrites,” Jesus said.  “They make their faces quite unrecognisable, so that everyone can see they’re fasting.  I’m telling you the truth: thy have received their reward in full.”   Every year, when this lesson from Matthew comes around for Ash Wednesday, I find myself thinking that I’ve never actually met anyone who does this.  Fasting is kind of a lost discipline in our culture—even in the church.  I suspect most of us don’t even think about fasting until Lent comes around.  And what do we do?  We give up chocolate.  We give up Coke.  Last year in a clergy group we were discussing a bit of instruction on fasting that was going around.  It encouraged people to eat one normal meal and then to eat less for their two other meals so that those two other meals equal one normal meal.  A friend who was a missionary commented that the people he ministered to in Africa ate less than that all the time, so it wasn’t really much of a fast.  Maybe this is why we’re so often spiritually impoverished in our part of the world.  We’re rich.  We have too much and when you have too much, when you don’t know what it means to fast, well, we never really learn to trust God.  That’s why we need this discipline: to fast is to voluntarily put ourselves in a place of poverty, of need, of exile—a spiritual exercise to remind us what it means to trust in God.  That’s why prayer always goes hand-in-hand with fasting.  The more we learn our need to trust God, the more we’ll pray.   Brother and Sisters, that’s the point of Lent.  It’s not to look good in front of others.  It’s to remind us to look to the Lord.  So Jesus goes on and says, “No: when you fast, comb your hair and beard the way you normally do, and wash your face, so that others won’t notice you’re fasting—except your Father, privately.  Then your Father, who sees in private, will repay you.”   Jesus says the same thing about prayer immediately before this: “When you pray, you mustn’t be like the hypocrites.  They love to pray standing in the synagogues and on street corners, so that people will notice them.  I’m telling you the truth: they have received their reward in full.  No: when you pray, go into your own room, shut the door, and pray to your Father who is there in secret.  And your Father, who sees in secret, will repay you.”  But why?  This is where we really need to hear what Jesus says.   He says: “When you pray, don’t pile up a heap of words!  That’s what the gentiles do.”  Remember the gentiles worshipped fickle, capricious, unfaithful gods who never spoke—gods who weren’t worthy of any trust.  Jesus says, “The gentiles think that the more they say, the more likely they are to be heard.  So don’t be like them.  Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.  So this is how you should pray.”  Now, listen closely to what Jesus says.  We pray the Lord’s Prayer so often that we don’t even think about it.  So listen.  “This is how you should pray: ‘Our Father in heaven; may your name be honoured; may your kingdom come; may your will be done; as in heaven, so on earth.  Give us today the bread we need now; and forgive us the things we owe, as we too have forgiven what was owed to us.  And do not bring us into the great trial, but rescue us from evil.”   Notice how Jesus’ vision of God’s kingdom—of heaven coming down to earth—how it’s at the heart of everything he says.  But that’s the heart of our prayer.  On one hand prayer, like fasting, is simple, but there’s also a mystery to it.  Sometimes when I pray I feel like my prayers are bouncing off the ceiling, but then I remember what Jesus says here: You’re heavenly Father is with you in that secret place.  My prayers don’t have to get any further than the ceiling, because the Father is right there—right here—with me.  He sees and he hears and he knows what’s in my heart.  He hears the things I say and he hears the things I want to lay before him but struggle to put into words.   Over the years I’ve read quite a lot of books about prayer as I’ve tried to unravel the mystery, but none of them has ever really helped.  Instead, what has helped is simply to remember what Jesus says here.  And to pray the psalms.  To let Jesus and the inspired scriptures remind me that to pray is to remember that in him heaven and earth have come together and to pray is to recognise this reality, to put myself at the intersection of heaven and earth.   And if prayer is about heaven and earth overlapping in the here and now, it’s also about them coming together in the stuff of the world—and in the clay from which God has made us.  To pray is to claim—now think about how amazing this is—to pray is to claim that the living God, enthroned in heaven, is making his home with us—even in us.  And this is why Jesus says that to make a point of this, go into your room in secret and pray there.  By all means pray in church, pray with other people, pray when you’re out in nature, pray in the temple, but sometimes it helps to take God seriously and to shut yourself up in your room, here on earth, and know that heaven—that the Spirit, and Jesus, and his Father are here with and in you.   And if we do this.  When we pray and when we recall that in us, by the power of Jesus and the Spirit, that heaven and earth are meeting together—and if they’re meeting together in this little lump of clay that is me—or that is you—it’s going to transform me and it’s going to transform you.  It’s going to change us in a lot of ways, but Jesus stresses first and foremost that it’s going to make me and it’s going to make you forgivers.  This is where the kingdom begins.  With the cross of Jesus.  With the forgiveness of sinners.  And as Jesus forgives us, that forgiveness spills out of us.  We’ve all been hurt and wounded and sinned against by other people.  How much more have we done that to God?  But he hears us because, in Jesus he has poured out his grace on us, he has forgiven us, because in Jesus he has invited us into his presence where heaven and earth meet.  The privilege of prayer is a constant reminder that because we have been forgiven, we ought to forgive others—to let God’s grace pour from us as it has been poured from Jesus.  That’s the kingdom.  That’s “on earth as it is in heaven”.   And in that Jesus’ great prayer comes together.  So simple, but so powerful.  So simple we can pray it as children, but so powerful that we never stop—not even the holiest and wisest of saints stops praying these simple worlds.  Because we know that heaven isn’t far away; it’s where we meet the God whom we can address as “our Father”.  To whom we can bring our needs, knowing that if he has given his son for our sakes, he will surely give us the bread we need for today and rescue us from evil.   Brothers and Sisters, our fasting reminds us of our need for God and for a saviour.  In prayer we come to him with that need.  And in prayer we’re reminded that God is trustworthy and faithful.  That’s why, after Jesus warns us about hypocrisy and reminds us what real prayer and fasting are all about, he says, “Nobody can serve two masters.  Otherwise, they will either hate the first and love the second, or be devoted to the first and despise the second.  You can’t serve both God and wealth.”  The kingdom demands our all.  If we’re going to pray “on earth as in heaven”, we’d better remember what that means: that the things of the old, evil age are passing away and that the new age, God’s new creation, his kingdom is being borne today through the power of the gospel and the Spirit and that we would be fools to divide our loyalty between the two.   Think on that as we begin another season of Lent: that when we fast and when we pray, when we say “on earth as in heaven” we’re not just saying empty words, but we’re actually in the place where heaven and earth already meet, that we’re already in the presence of God, because we’ve been forgiven by Jesus’ death, raised to new life by his resurrection, and been plunged into the Spirit to be made his temple.  And then let us go out from our prayer and fasting to really be the heaven on earth people who fully trust in God, ready to carry his gracious mercy to everyone around us.  Amen.

But God! Ephesians 2:1-10 by William Klock   Earlier this week Veronica and I watched an episode of the X Files that unintentionally had some pretty sound theology embedded in the story.  Agents Mulder and Scully were called to investigate some strange goings-on in a small town—as usual.  As it turned out, a guy cleaning out an abandoned storage locker found a genie.  And the genie gave him three wishes.  As you would expect, it didn’t go well.  He wished to be able to make himself invisible so that he could spy on people.  And not being terribly bright, he prompted got killed crossing the street, because he was…invisible.  His brother claimed the genie and didn’t fare any better.  His wish ended up blowing up his house with him in it.  And so Mulder ended up, unexpectedly, with the genie and three wishes.  And he asked the genie why the wishing thing always ends in disaster and the genie told him that it’s because people are stupid and selfish.  So Mulder thought long and hard and in his best effort at altruism, he wished for world peace.  St. Paul would call it shalom.  And he went outside to discover that he was the only person left on earth.  Because the genie knew fallen human nature and getting rid of all of us was the only way to bring world peace.  Thankfully, Mulder had two more wishes so he could undo the first and set the genie free with the third.   And I thought that St. Paul would probably have a bit of a chuckle at that.  Because Paul knew the same thing the genie knew: we are all sinners, idolaters who worship anything and everything but the God who created us and loves us.  And, like Agent Mulder, but unlike the genie, Paul also knew that there is no shalom without human beings in our rightful place.  Creation groans in eager longing for the day God will finally set us to rights, he says in Romans, Creation waits for the day when God restores us to our position as his stewards, to rule creation and to serve him in his temple.  That, Brothers and Sisters, is shalom, peace.  Creation can never be complete without us in our proper place—filling the vocation God created us for in the first place.  That’s why God doesn’t just “Deal with evil” like so many people want him to.  Like the genie, he’d just have to remove us all from creation—and that’s not how creation is supposed to be.  This is why Paul practically shouts out ho de Theos, at the beginning of Ephesians 2:4: “But God!”  Because he knew that in setting creation to rights, God can and will, first, set us and our fallen, sinful hearts to rights—something no genie could ever do.   And so far, in Ephesians 1, Paul has begun with a great shout of praise for what God has done in Jesus the Messiah and then he’s told the Ephesians how he prays for them—that they would know, that they would understand this great story of redemption, the power behind it to renew creation, so that they can be part of this story that ends with the knowledge of the glory of God filling the earth.  Remember at the end of chapter one, closing his prayer for them, he wrote about the church, united with Jesus and full of the Spirit being the “fullness of the one who fills all in all.”  It’s a prayer that God, that Jesus, that the Spirit, that the scriptures would form and shape them and truly make them the church.  And while we might miss the significance of Paul’s language of filling and fullness and being all in all, it was not lost on the Ephesians.  This was temple language.   It’s the language of God coming to dwell with his people.  The way he did with Adam and Eve in the garden.  The story ever since has pointing in that direction.  The restoration of God’s temple, the return of his presence, and God dwelling with his people forever.  This is what the Exodus was all about.  God rescued and created a people, he gave them a law to make and to keep them pure and holy, so that he could take up his residence in their midst—so that he could tabernacle with them.  It wasn’t perfect.  The people needed to offer sacrifices repeatedly so that they could be purified by that blood.  A veil separated them from the direct presence of the Almighty.  But this model of new creation pointed forward to the day when God would set his people and his creation fully to rights.  The long exile, first from the promised land and the temple, then from the presence of God, primed Israel with hope for that coming day.  And now Paul’s ready to explain to the church that they—that we—are the beginning of that fulfilment.  In us, God has established a new temple.  By the blood of Jesus he has purified us.  Through the gift of his Spirit he has taken up his dwelling in us.  He has begun the work of setting our hearts to rights.  And in that, he has made us the working model of his new creation and stewards of his good news—that we might, to use the language he used with Adam and Eve, that we might be fruitful and multiply, spreading the gospel, until the earth is filled with the knowledge of his glory.   Brothers and Sisters, this is the story we need to inhabit.  Too often Christians have got it backwards.  We think the gospel story is a story of escape from creation—that in Jesus, God forgives our sins, so that someday he can take us away from earth and up to heaven to live with him.  But it’s really just the opposite.  Through the blood of Jesus he has purified us and made us fit to be his holy temple, so that he can dwell with us.  Jesus is the model, Immanuel, God with us.  This is the story Paul wants to get across in Ephesians 2.  Ideally we’d cover the whole chapter all at once, but we’ll have to break it into two halves.  This temple story will jump out at us in the second half.  The first half begins with our sin problem.   How did these mostly Gentile Christians in Ephesus find themselves in this oh so Jewish story?  He writes beginning at verse 1, “Well, you were dead because of your offenses and sins in which you used to walk, keeping in step with the world’s ‘present age’; in step, too, with the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit who is, even now, amongst the children of disobedience.”   “You”—he’s addressing them as Gentiles.  In verse 3 he’ll link them with “us”—the Jews.  You were dead.  Because you walked—there’s that great word peripateo again—you walked, you lived a life of offense and sin against God.  And we can’t hear these two words sin and death together without it taking us back to Genesis.  And if we go back to Genesis 3 and Adam and Eve’s choice to listen to the serpent’s lie, not just to disobey God, but to reject their vocation as priests of God’s temple and to try to become gods themselves, if go way back to the beginning of the story there, we should understand that sin and death aren’t about God just setting up a bunch of rules and then condemning the people who disobey them.  Sin, and especially “offence”, are what we call it when human beings, created to bear God’s image—that means to be his priests and his representatives in the temple, in creation—sin and offence are what we call it when we reject that vocation.  When we try to take the temple for ourselves.  And death is not an arbitrary punishment, but the natural result of turning away from the God who is the source of life.  That’s why the wages of sin is death.   And, of course, once humanity chose that path of disobedience and death it just snowballed.  Human culture and even those unseen powers that God had put in place to oversee the nations went horribly wrong.  The Jews called it the present evil age, because they lived in hope of the age to come when God would set creation to rights.  But the Gentiles had no hope.  They just went with the sinful flow.  We see it today as the world rejects Christianity.  Jeffrey Epstein and his cabal of degenerate, paedophile friends would have been right at home in pagan Greece or Rome and they’re exactly what you get when a people rejects God.  The devil didn’t just tempt the man and woman to reject God.  He and his cronies continue to steer and influence fallen humanity.  Paul will have more to say about this later when he writes about “principalities and powers”.  In our baptismal rite, we put this in terms of the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil.   All these forces work together to keep humanity lost in idolatry and sin.  And so far as this goes, Paul is just restating the standard Jewish analysis of the Gentiles.  But then in verse 3 Paul goes on and writes, “We all used to live this way, in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of flesh and mind.  We, too—he means he and his fellow Jews—were by nature children of wrath, just like everyone else.”  Paul recognised that even though his own people had the torah, God’s law, and were trying to live by it, they were suffering the same problem as the Gentiles.  The corrupt desires of flesh and mind had just as much a grip on Israel as they did the peoples of the nations.  The whole world, all of humanity was mired in darkness, Jew and gentile alike.   And this where, at the beginning of verse 4 Paul interjects this powerful, earth shattering: “But God!”  Into the darkness, into the hopelessness, into the condemnation, into the death, God intervenes to bring light, to bring hope, to bring deliverance, to bring life.  “But God,” Paul writes, who is rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, he took us at the very point where we were dead through our offenses, and made us alive together with the Messiah.  Yes, by grace you are saved!”   Israel knew about God’s mercy and love.  The story they told of their history with God was full of mercy and grace.  And occasionally some gentile would hear that story and be drawn to it, because the God of Israel was unlike any of the other gods.  Zeus and Poseidon and Hades, Aphrodite and Artemis, people might believe all sorts of things about them, but no one ever believed that the gods loved them.  The gods served themselves.  If they sometimes showed favour to this person or to that city, it wasn’t because of love; it was to further their own schemes and ambitions.  No Greek or Roman—no Egyptian or Persian, for that matter—would have ever said of their gods anything even remotely like what Paul says here of the God of Israel: that he is rich in mercy, that he loves us with a great love, or that he has shown us kindness.  Zeus and Hera, Osiris and Isis, they were all purely transactional.  If you did something good for them and you were lucky, they might do something nice for you.  We need to be careful, because Christians can fall into the same pagan way of thinking about God—making deals with him or treating him like a divine vending machine.  But Paul makes it clear that the God of Israel isn’t like that.  Instead, he’s full of mercy and love and kindness.  Yes, his purpose is to fill the earth with his glory, but he is glorious precisely because he is unlike the gods humans dream up.  He is full of mercy and love.   And Paul reminds the Ephesians: By his grace, God has taken what he did for Jesus when he raised him from death, and has made it true of us.  If we are “in the Messiah”, then we are alive together with him.  He goes on in verse 6: “He raised us up with him and made us sit with him, in the heavenly places in Messiah Jesus.  This was so that in the ages to come he could show just how unbelievably rich his grace is, the kindness he has shown us in Messiah Jesus.”  This is how God reveals his glory.  Not merely with a show of strength or power, but by showing his grace.   Again, what is true of Jesus is true of the church—of the Ephesians Christians, and of us.  And it’s not just Jesus’ resurrection, his being made alive again.  Paul has said that before.  But here he also stresses that Jesus’ ascension is somehow true of us too.  God didn’t just make us alive with Jesus the King; he’s made us alive in order to sit us with the Messiah, with the King in the heavenly places.  So Jesus ascended to sit at the right hand of his Father.  He’s the King and that’s what kings do: they take their thrones and they rule.  But Paul is saying that if we are “in the Messiah”, then we’re right there with him.   The resurrection part of that, the being made alive with Jesus probably isn’t too hard for us to wrap our heads around.  In Jesus, God has made us a promise.  Even though we’ll die, because we are in the Messiah, he will raise us to life again just as he did with Jesus.  If we have any doubts, Paul would remind us that God has filled us with his Spirit to give us a taste of and downpayment on resurrection life with him.  That part I think we can pretty well wrap our heads around.  But what does it mean to be seated with him in the heavenlies?   This is where we need to make sure we’ve got the story right.  Because if we understand the climax of the story as someday escaping from earth, as escaping our bodies, to live a sort of disembodied spiritual life forever in heaven, we’re going to miss Paul’s point.  Again, the story isn’t about us going up; it’s about God making us fit, through the death and resurrection of Jesus, to be his temple—so that he can come down—to us.   Consider: Jesus has already done this.  Remember the end of Chapter 1, where Paul said that Jesus is the one in whom heaven and earth—all of creation—are summed up, are brought together, are unified, the way it was in the beginning: heaven and earth overlapping, God and human beings dwelling together.  That’s how it began and that’s the ending towards which God is taking history—to set his broken, sin-sundered creation to rights.  Jesus is the prototype, the signpost who points us to, who shows us what God’s future will be like.  In him, God has joined our nature to his own.  In him, heaven and earth have been brought back together.  Think of that great Ascension Day hymns, “See the Conqueror Mounts in Triumph”: He has raised our human nature, on the clouds to God’s right hand; there we sit in heavenly places, there with him in glory stand.”  Brothers and Sisters, Jesus is the temple in person.  And Jesus is the whole of creation—heaven and earth—in miniature.   And what is true of him is equally true of those who are united with him by God’s grace.  As we’ll see in the second half of the chapter, the church—the Ephesian Christians and you and me—we are also that temple and if we have any doubts, all we need to remember is that God has come to dwell in us in the person of his Spirit.  And remember the goal, the one promised by the prophets so long before, the goal is for the knowledge of the glory of God to fill the earth.  The church is his means of making that happen.  He didn’t just send his son to be the on-earth-as-in-heaven man, through his son and through his Spirit he has created a whole community of on-earth-as-in-heaven people to do just that: to live out in our lives, in our relationships, in our community heaven on earth—to be a people who show the world God’s love and mercy and grace and kindness.  To be a working model of his new creation and to give the world a taste of that future right now.  To reveal the glory and the beauty and goodness of God in our lives and in our own proclamation so that everyone around us will know his glory and be drawn to him.   This is then what Paul gets at in verses 8-10.  He writes, “For you have been saved by grace, through faith. This is not of your own doing; it is God’s gift.  It isn’t on the basis of works, so no one is able to boast.  You see, we are his workmanship, created in Messiah Jesus for the good works that he prepared, ahead of time, so that we should walk in them.”  What does he mean?  Well, Paul’s reminding them that there was a time when Jews and gentiles were separated by the law, by torah.  God poured out his grace on Israel, set them apart with his law as a way to teach them how to love him and to love their neighbours, so that they could be a light to the gentiles—so they could make his glory known in the earth.  Israel failed in that mission, but God acted in grace again.  He gave his son to be the faithful Israelite and in Jesus, Israel’s mission to witness the grace and glory of God was fulfilled.  And now these gentile Ephesians who have encountered the risen Jesus, who have heard the gospel, and been filled with God’s Spirit—they’ve been united together with faithful Jews in Messiah Jesus.  In them, God’s promises—all the way back to Abraham and even to Adam—are being fulfilled.  In them, God’s glory is on display before the nations.  And there is no longer a need for the division that had been given by torah.  Now the Spirit is teaching them and enabling them to love God and to love each other for all the world to see.  In Jesus and the Spirit, God has made them a people who are fulfilling the very thing that torah was meant to do, not just because we keep a set of rules or live according to a certain moral code—there’s a sense in which we actually do do that—but because, through Jesus and the Spirit we actually live out and put on display the new creation, God’s future that is breaking into the world in the midst of the old.   Paul puts it beautifully, but in a way we might miss in English translation, when he says that we—the church—are God’s “workmanship”.  The Greek word is poiema.  We get our word “poem” from it.  The Greek word doesn’t mean “poem”—maybe we could almost say it means “artwork”.  In the Old Testament it’s often used to describe the creative work of God.  In other places it’s used to describe things that are carefully and meticulously crafted for his use, like the garments of the priests or the vessels of the tabernacle.  Brothers and Sisters, we—the church—are God’s carefully, purposefully, and wonderfully created masterpiece.  He’s given his son and he’s given his Spirit to craft, to create, to work us into something good—to restore his broken creation in us.  And, Paul sums up, God has done this work in us so that in our own lives and in the life of the church together, we can do such good work too.  Not doing good works to please him or to earn his favour.  That would be like going back to the pagan world of people doing things to manipulate the gods.  God is pleased by our good works, but he’s created and enabled us to do good works as a way of showing his new creation to the world, a way of fulfilling the law he had given to Israel, as a way of loving him and loving each other—ultimately as a way to restore us to that vocation as his image bearers, to be the priests of his temple who steward his goodness and his good rule for the sake of creation.   Brothers and Sisters, this is the story that God has written for us.  The story of our priesthood, reject and lost, but now restored through Jesus and the Spirit, a story of renewal and a story of hope—as it points us toward the day when God finishes his great work of bringing heaven and earth back together, of the day when he will return to dwell with us as he did in the beginning.  This the story that reminds what Jesus and the Spirit have made us.  It’s the story that reminds us of our vocation as the church—that we’re not just the people who long for things to be on earth as they are in heaven; we’re the people who find our very identity in Jesus, the heaven-and-earth Messiah, and who are, ourselves, called to be the heaven-on-earth people—a people who reflect back to the world God’s love and grace, his justice and goodness, who are by our very redemption witnesses of his faithfulness and, above all, his glory.  We are his workmanship.  May the world, by God’s grace, see his glory in us and in our life together.   Let’s pray: Heavenly Father, our Collect today reminded us that without love, nothing we do is worth anything.  Fill us with your grace, that we might truly love.  Love you.  Love our neighbours.  Making us the heaven-on-earth people you intend for us to be, so that the world may see your glory on display in your church.  Through Jesus we pray.  Amen.

A Sermon for Sexagesima Luke 8:4-15 by the Rev'd Dr. Matthew Colvin Inspired by Pastor Bill’s saga of his war against the churchmice, I will now confess my sins to you all in the matter of my backyard, with apologies to Isaiah the prophet. In 2021, we bought a house in Port Alberni. It met all my criteria: lots of room inside, an attractive appearance, a good view of the valley, and the tiniest yard of any house on the block. Because I am not a gardener. But when I moved in, I discovered that it has five fruit trees at the top of a very sloping yard. But did I dig around them or make a wall or a winepress or a tower, like the song of the Vineyard in Isaiah chapter 5? No, I neglected them and let a huge mass of Himalayan blackberry brambles grow up around them. And I let the pear tree get so heavy with fruit that one of its main branches snapped off in the wind. And I didn’t do a good job of picking the fruit, so that many apples and pears and plums fell down among the blackberries to become attractants for raccoons and bears. And what did I do instead? I bought solar panels for my house, and tile and hardwood floors, and a light-up number sign that doesn’t even work properly. Judge now, between me and my fruit trees. What more could have been done for them that I have not done? Well, quite a lot, actually, and Lord willing, this will be the year to eliminate the blackberries. I have sinned against heaven and against my fruit trees. Our gospel lesson this morning is the parable of the soils. The term parable is from the Greek παραβάλλω, to put side by side for comparison, to make an analogy. It is one of about forty that Jesus tells in his public ministry, and indeed, the telling of parables seems to have been Jesus’ signature or hallmark device. It is a form of speech that has its origins in situations where the teller needs to speak carefully because he faces danger from someone powerful. Aesop’s fables were originally devised as a way for a slave to speak to his master: “No, sir, I wasn’t talking about you and your slave. It was just a story about a lion and a fox.” Telling parables is therefore a valuable tool in Jesus’ toolbox as he is leading a kingdom movement that is an affront to the authorities. He has a fine line to walk: how to attract followers of his movement while not bringing the authorities down on him until his hour has come. Doing miracles is always somewhat risky for this reason: indeed, his first miracle at the wedding of Cana is wrung out of him by his mother, and he rebukes her with the words, “τι εμοι και σοι” — which is best translated, “What do you have against me?” Why are you trying to get me in trouble by making me reveal myself by doing a miracle. In order to launch his kingdom movement and win followers before laying down his life in Jerusalem, Jesus has to be careful and speak in such a way that he doesn’t give any rope to the spies that might hand him over to Herod and the Romans. So Telling parables is a way to do that. Notice that after he tells his parable of the sower, Jesus’ final words to the crowd are, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear” – a challenge to the listeners, implying that if you do not have understanding, it is because you are lacking “ears”, i.e. the ability to understand. It punctuates the parable with a finality and a challenge. It is rather similar to the challenge in the book of Daniel “Let the reader understand” – the astute reader, the gleg reader, the reader who can read between the lines. Now, to the parable. It is a parable about plants. Ever since the last chapter of the book of Jonah, plants have been a treasured object lesson for the people of God. There are many features that makes them an attractive metaphor: their slow growth, their dependence on their environment, the patient work with which they must be reared and cultivated, their greenness as a manifest index of their health, their relation to water and to soil, their ability to suffer cutting and burning, and above all, the fruit they bear. For plants are in many ways like human beings: both have the ability to flourish and to be productive, and that is the goal, the well-being, the health and salvation of both plant and human. In the Bible’s stories about fruit and crops, it is always God who figures as the farmer or gardener or landowner. He is the one who plants the vineyard, sows the seed, grafts wild branches, and prunes to encourage more fruit. And it is always Israel that is his “pleasant plant”, his field of wheat, his fig tree, his vine which he brought out of Egypt and planted, his trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord. In nearly every God-and-Israel plant image, there is a focus on the necessary and vital connection between Israel and her Lord. The righteous Israelite is like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf does not wither. You do not support the root, but the root supports you, says Paul in Romans 11. There is a theme in the Bible that runs from the garden of Eden with its four rivers and its tree of life, to the trees planted by the rivers in the New Jerusalem in Revelation 22, whose leaves are for the healing of the nations. The plant near the river - in Eden, in the New Jerusalem, in Psalm 1, in Jeremiah 17 - is Israel connected to her God, nourished on his kindness and hesed as a plant sucks up life-giving water with its roots. And the parable of the sower is another of these agricultural metaphors. But it is best understood in connection with three other parables — two others by Jesus (the Wheat and the tares and the parable of the Wicked Vinedressers), and one from the Old Testament, Isaiah 5’s song of the vineyard. To help you see the repreated pattern here, I’d like to show you some diagrams that express the plot of these stories. First, the parable of the soils from today’s gospel reading: farmer —->   fruit ——> himself                        | fertility —> seed <— various problems Next, the song of the vineyard from Isaiah 5: farmer —->   fruit ——> himself                        | tower, etc —> vineyard <— ??? In the parable of the wicked vinedressers, it is: farmer ——->    fruit ——> himself                                 | messengers —> tenants <— wickedness In the wheat and the tares, it is: farmer ——->    fruit (grain) ——> himself                                 | planting —> harvest <— weeds/tares Now, each of these stories has a different bottom row because there are various problems: enemies who sabotage the field by planting weeds, wicked tenants who try to keep the field and its harvest for themselves, vines that unaccountably bring forth wild grapes, or, in today’s reading, three different sets of problems – rocks, birds, shallow soil, thorns. And these different sets of problems change the meaning of the various stories, to make them reflect the different situations of God’s people that they are devised to illustrate. But I want you to notice that in all of these stories, the top line is identical: God desires to receive the fruit of His field or vineyard. That’s the goal: fruit. God wants a crop of holy people bearing fruit for him. Remember John the Baptist’s command? “Bear fruit in keeping with repentance.” Remember the fig tree that Jesus withered? He first went up to it and looked for fruit. The tree was Jerusalem, the fruit was what God always looks for: loyalty and obedience. That’s why he called Abraham in the first place; that’s why he planted the vineyard and cultivates it. That’s why the sower sows seed. What is preventing that in our parable? What’s the opponent? All kinds of things: the fact that many people never believe the gospel in the first place, and so never become members of God’s people and never grow in His grace and bear fruit for him. Or they believe, but not with the sort of faith that lasts to the end, and so they become Christians but when persecution or trouble comes into their life, they fall away. Gardening is a work of patience. He bears with us, tends us, prunes us, labouring that we may become mature and bear fruit, no matter how long it takes. He isn’t deterred by our wildness, our perversity, our sinful lives. He grafts us into His tree anyway, feeds us with the sap of the root of the covenant He made with the patriarchs, and which has been fulfilled in Christ. And he waits. Oh, he waits, years, decades, striving with us by His spirit to produce the fruit he desires. God also wants us to have patience, or endurance. And his tool for producing this quality in us is the trouble that comes our way in life. Not that he is the author of trouble, or that our troubles are from him, but that he uses them to produce patience. James 1:2 says: “count it all joy when you fall into various trials, 3 knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.” Testing produces patience when mixed with faith. Reliance on the gardener, trust in Him, unswerving allegiance even in the face of trouble — that is what is shown by those “who having heard the word with a noble and good heart, keep it and bear fruit with patience.” that is what Job showed, and God rewarded him for it. Let’s focus for a minute on verse 14, with the verse that touches us most nearly in modern North America, especially here in BC. These plants are choked — the Greek word means “strangled” by cares, riches, and pleasures of life. These are the Himalayan blackberries of North America. These are things that can interfere with our allegiance to God. It is easier for a camel to enter through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Paul tells Timothy in 1 Timothy 6, “But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and harmful lusts which drown men in destruction and perdition. 10 For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, for which some have strayed from the faith in their greediness, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.” And he goes on: “Command those who are rich in this present age not to be haughty, nor to trust in uncertain riches but in the living God, who gives us richly all things to enjoy. 18 Let them do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to give, willing to share, 19 storing up for themselves a good foundation for the time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal life.” Pleasure can interfere with our allegiance to God. Paul writes in 1 Timothy 5 about women who were widows, and advises Timothy to test them and make sure of their character before enrolling them to be supported by the charity of the Church: “Now she who is really a widow, and left alone, trusts in God and continues in supplications and prayers night and day. 6 But she who lives in pleasure is dead while she lives.” We live in an age where technology has given us more capacity for leisured pleasure than at any time in history. It is not that pleasure is in itself bad; C.S. Lewis has his devil Screwtape say that “Never forget that when we are dealing with any pleasure in its healthy and normal and satisfying form, we are, in a sense, on the Enemy's ground. I know we have won many a soul through pleasure. All the same, it is His invention, not ours. He made the pleasures: all our research so far has not enabled us to produce one. “All we can do is to encourage the humans to take the pleasures which our Enemy has produced, at times, or in ways, or in degrees, which He has forbidden.” Pleasure at times, or in ways that God has forbidden: that is when pleasure becomes a distraction from following God; when it chokes our faith and makes us unfruitful. Does this mean that this plant grew up and survived, but just didn’t bear any fruit — so maybe we can be carnal Christians and we’ll squeak by, alive, but fruitless? I don’t think that’s a possible interpretation. Jesus has another parable about plants like that, in Luke 13: “6 He also spoke this parable: “A certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came seeking fruit on it and found none. 7 Then he said to the keeper of his vineyard, ‘Look, for three years I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree and find none. Cut it down; why does it use up the ground?’ 8 But he answered and said to him, ‘Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and fertilize it. 9 And if it bears fruit, well. But if not, after that[a] you can cut it down.’” So there is no room for unfruitful plants in God’s vineyard or field. This is one of the few parables that Jesus explains in private to His disciples. Why? Because they are the core of the new Israel that he is planting by sowing the seed of the Word in their hearts. They are not the crowd; they have been given the knowledge of the mysteries — the hidden things being revealed — of the kingdom of God. See, Jesus is working a division in Israel, a gigantic pruning operation: he had been sent for the rising and falling of many in Israel; he did not come to bring peace, but a sword; he is chopping off the fig tree every unfruitful branch, and choosing out for himself fruitful branches that will survive to bear fruit. That is why he uses parables: they are a means of concealing the truth from those who are rejected: “so that” – that’s the purpose! – “So that seeing they may not see and hearing they may not understand.” They are culpable; the problem is with their ears, not with Jesus or His words. But Jesus’ inner group of disciples get the fuller explanation because He loves them and has welcomed them into intimate fellowship with Himself and thereby with God. We are in the position of these disciples: we have received the word; the mysteries have been explained to us; we have knowledge of the kingdom. But we are not to pat ourselves on the back and assume that “I’m elect, I can’t fall away.” For the parable of the soils is not a parable of different types of seeds. Nor is there a difference between the green shoots of the plant the springs up in the shallow, rocky soil, and that which sprouts in the good soil. And the parable does not say that you are the soil; it is not a parable about different types of people who hear the Word, or about how some of them have unregenerate hearts and others are elect; how some people can have faith, and others can’t, so don’t preach to them. No, throughout the Bible, God’s people are the plants, or the branches on the fig tree, or the shoots on the vine — they are supposed to bear fruit. The differences are circumstances, not ontology. It is not a parable about predestination, but about the preaching of the Word in history. We must have respect for the process. God is working on us, digging around us, watering us (perhaps through his ministers — remember Paul saying, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gives the increase). At the end, we are to be harvested. And then there will be a separation of the wheat from the tares, as in Jesus’ other parable. Then, it will be apparent who are members of the church in the resurrection, and who has fallen away in history — only after the pruning, watering, tending activity has taken place and had its effects. But in Luke 8, none of those later steps of caring for plants is depicted. Instead, the focus is only on the first step: sowing the seed. It is the most haphazard process: fire and forget, flinging seed indiscriminately on all sorts of ground. But to understand the meaning of sowing, we must attend to the OT. The seed, Jesus says, is the Word of God; that is what the sower sows. This is a detail that connects the parable of the sower to Isaiah 55: For as the rain and the snow come down from heave and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, 11  so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it. What is this thing for which God sends forth His word? Isaiah continues: 12  “For you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. 13  Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress; instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle; and it shall make a name for the Lord, an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.”  (Isaiah 55:10–13, ESV) Israel will be restored, brought back from exile, made to dwell with her God once again. In Jeremiah 16:16, God had promised to send forth many fishers who would fish disobedient Israel “out of the north country and out of all the countries where he had driven them” — Jesus had called them from their boats on the Sea of Galilee to make them “fishers of men.” The scattering of the seed is the preaching of the Word that serves to divide Israel into those who hear the Word of God and obey it (Jesus’ disciples), and those who disobey and are cut off. God knows those who are his. For that reason, the sowing is to all. “Every branch that does not bear fruit, my Father removes, and every branch that does bear fruit, he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in me will bear much fruit.” Let us, then, understand ourselves as God’s planting, to bear fruit for Him. Let us remember that He is the gardener, and a lot better one than I am; at the end of the day, God will not be content with a back yard full of invasive Himalayan blackberries. Quite the contrary: “Christ will have the prize for which He died: an inheritance of nations.”

To Know the Surpassing Greatness of his Power Ephesians 1:15-23 by William Klock   Do you ever wonder how I pray for you as your pastor?  You know I pray about the needs and concerns each of you shares with me, but I’m talking more generally about how I pray for you all as Living Word Church.  It occurred to me this week that in all my years in ministry no one has ever asked me that.  But I do pray for you and our text today from Ephesians—it’s 1:15-23 if you want to follow along—this text is one of my favourite prayers.  For you.  In fact, I have this printed sheet taped inside my prayer book.  And what’s on it is five prayers, all taken from Paul’s letters; prayers he prayed for the churches he cared for.  Prayers inspired by the Holy Spirit.  About fifteen years ago it struck me that I should pray these Spirit-inspired pastoral prayers for you.  And so I typed them up, tweaked the wording a bit to fit the form of a collect, printed them out, and stuck them inside the back cover of my prayer book.  And each day at Morning Prayer, I pray one of these prayers for you.  And this one is, I think, maybe the most important.   This prayer is still part of Paul’s introduction to his letter to the Ephesians.  Last week we read that long run-on sentence that’s all about the Father fulfilling his promises to Israel in Jesus; how we as Jesus’ people share in the inheritance that was promised to Abraham, to Jacob, and to David; and how God’s indwelling Spirit is the downpayment and guarantee of that inheritance.  And we heard that this inheritance is God’s new creation.  That long run-on sentence was sort of Paul’s opening shout of praise to God for what he’s done.   Starting with Chapter 2, Paul’s going to use the rest of the letter to unpack this great shout of praise, to preach it, and to explain how it applies to us—how it shapes the church.  But first, there’s this prayer.  Paul prays that his brothers and sisters in Ephesus will really and truly hear this message, that they’ll take it to heart, and that they will be transformed by it.  In short: Paul’s told them about the promised inheritance they have as the Messiah’s people, now he prays that the knowledge of that inheritance will transform them.   Before we get into Paul’s prayer, there are three Old Testament passages we need to be familiar with, because they’re what give shape to Paul’s vision of the Messiah and the church.  The first is Psalm 110.  Psalm 110 is one of those Old Testament passages it’s worth getting into your memory, because it echoes so powerfully throughout the whole New Testament.  It is, far and away, the most quoted Old Testament passage in the New.  This is the psalm, written by King David, that begins with the words, “The Lord said to my Lord, sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies your footstool.”  When the first Christians wanted to stress that Jesus isn’t just Saviour, but that he’s even more importantly Lord of all, the King of kings, this was their favourite Old Testament passage.   And then there’s Psalm 8.  It’s a close second behind Psalm 110.  It’s the psalm that begins, “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”  For Paul writing to the Ephesians, the really important part begins in verse 4, where David praises God for what he has made us as human beings.  David sings, “What is man that you are mindful of him?…You have made him a little lower than the angels and crowned him with glory and honour.  You have given him dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under his feet…O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth.”  The psalm echoes Genesis and God’s creation of human beings as his image bearers.  That means to be the priests and stewards of his garden-temple.  That’s what we were created to be and it’s the vocation we rejected when we, instead, chose sin—to try to be gods ourselves.  In Paul’s day many of the Jews saw not only the human vocation in Psalm 8, but they saw it as a prophecy of the Messiah who would be the truly human one—a new Adam who will get it right this time; a Messiah whom, according to Psalm 110, God would raise to his right hand to reign until he’s put all his enemies under his feet.   And then, what does the Messiah’s victory look like?  Isaiah, especially chapter 11, was a favourite of the early Christians.  “There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit.”  So Isaiah is talking about the king who will arise from the line of David.  “And the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and might, the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.”  That’s the Messiah.  And his kingdom?  It should sound familiar: “The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the young goat…the lion shall eat straw like an ox…and a little child shall lead them.”   This was the new world that Israel expected the Messiah, the great King from the line of David, this is what they expected him to usher in.  God’s Spirit would rest on him—That sounds like what happened at Jesus’ baptism, doesn’t it?—and through his wisdom and understanding, his counsel and power, his knowledge and the fear of the Lord, he will set this broken world to rights.  He will bring God’s justice to warring nations and hurting people.  Peace will reign and the knowledge of God’s glory will cover the earth as the waters cover the sea.  This was an incredibly important passage for Paul, because when Paul looked at the little churches that were popping up all over the Greco-Roman world, in pagan cities, right under Caesar’s nose, challenging the old gods, and most importantly bringing Jews and gentiles together in one family in the Messiah, Paul saw with absolute clarity the beginnings of the fulfilment of Isaiah’s prophecy.  Through the Messiah, in these churches where Jews and gentiles were becoming one, where they were worshipping together the God of Israel across their social, cultural, and ethnic boundaries, the wolf and the lamb were lying down together at peace.  In them, Paul saw a foretaste of what’s to come.   Putting all these layers together, we can sum up what the Messiah was to be and do in four points.  Israel expected the Messiah (1) to be the King who would defeat the powers of evil; (2) the King who would rescue God’s people from their bondage to those evil powers; (3) the King who would build a temple for God to dwell in; and (4) the King who would bring God’s justice or righteousness and his peace to the whole world.  That’s the Messiah.  And in doing those things, Jesus inaugurates the new creation.   But Paul also recognised that the Church, that we who are united with the Messiah by faith share in that messianic ministry begun by Jesus.  Filled with God’s Spirit, we are the temple Jesus built.  And we confront the powers with his victory and proclaim the liberating gospel to those in bondage.  We live out God’s justice and peace.  And most importantly in this passage here: As a people full of the knowledge of God and his purposes for creation, we anticipate that day when the whole earth will be full of “knowing-God” as the waters cover the sea.  The church is the beginning of God’s new creation in the midst of the old.   So now we’re ready to understand Paul’s prayer.  It begins at verse 15: “Because of all this and because having heard of your faithfulness to the Lord Jesus, and that you show love to all God’s saints, I never stop giving thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers.”   Now, they weren’t perfect Christians.  No one ever is.  They weren’t a perfect church.  No such thing exists this side of eternity.  But Paul had lived with these people.  He’d got to know them.  When he was away from them, he heard what other visitors had to say about them.  And he knew that, however imperfectly, they were faithful to the Lord Jesus.  Faithful.  What does that mean?  It means not just believing the right things about Jesus, but more importantly, committing yourself to him.  That’s probably why Paul calls him “Lord Jesus” here.  You can believe all the true things about Jesus you want, but what makes a Christian is when you give your loyalty, your allegiance to Jesus as creation’s true Lord.  When we repent and turn away from our sins and from our selfishness, when we stop trying to play at being gods and to write our stories for ourselves, and instead choose to live for him and to live in hope of his kingdom, his new creation, and not just as some thing in the distant future, but something we are beginning to live out here and now, Brothers and Sisters, that’s what a Christian is.  Paul saw these men and women doing that.  He saw how much it cost them.  They were shunned by their families because they’d stopped worshipping the old gods; losing their jobs, because their guilds kicked them out for the same reason; their fellow citizens considered them disloyal for not taking part in the civil religion of Ephesus and of Caesar; just waiting to take the blame for bringing down the wrath of the gods on the city should some natural disaster strike.  Faith in Jesus cost them something.  It cost a lot.  And Paul saw that they were willing to count that cost.  And, too, he saw their love for each other and for their brothers and sisters struggling in other places.  Poor as they were, they sent money to the even poorer Christians in Jerusalem.  They supported and cared for each other like family.  However imperfect their faith may have been, in them Paul saw clear evidence of the gospel’s power at work.  And he prayed for that power to continue to work in them   So he goes on in verse 16.  Here are the specifics of that prayer: “I pray that the God of Messiah Jesus our Lord, the Father of glory, would give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened.  Then you will know what the hope is that goes with God’s call; you will know the wealth of the glory of his inheritance in the saints; and you will know the surpassing greatness of his power toward us who are faithful, according to the working of his strength and power.”   Paul longs for them to be enlightened by the Spirit.  Wisdom and revelation.  Here’s what Paul means.  Wisdom and revelation are two facets of the same thing.  When you hear “wisdom” think of the book of Proverbs.  Wisdom is what you need if you want to truly live as a human being according to God’s design.  But thanks to King Solomon as the paragon of wisdom in Israel, wisdom is also a royal thing associated with kings.  Now remember Isaiah 11.  This is why Isaiah described the coming messianic king, the one who is truly human, the new Adam, Isaiah describes him as perfectly wise.  And Paul knows that the people who are in the Messiah, share in that wisdom, that “revelation”.  Think of “revelation” as “insight” into God’s design for living.  This broken world sorely lacks that wisdom and that insight, but it is ours in Jesus the Messiah.  In him we have the knowledge of God that the world lacks, the knowledge that will one day fill the earth.  The knowledge that, as the church lives it out in daily life, acts as the salt of the earth, as light in the darkness, that gives everyone around a anticipatory glimpse of creation set to rights.  Paul prays that their hearts will be opened to this knowledge.  He saw it happening already in their faith and in their love for each other, but he prayed that the Spirit would open their hearts more and more to the knowledge of God.  That the Spirit would clear away the fog that surrounds us.  Our world has its own ideas about wisdom—and they’re often wrong.  Think of how the world tells us to think about ourselves, our relationships, about work and vocation, about sex and money and power, about God.  All very different from what God, in his wisdom, says about all those things.  As Jesus’ people we need to take our cues and to glean our wisdom from God and from the scriptures, not the world, not worldly philosophies, not TV or movies, not social media, not motivational speakers, but from God.  As C. S. Lewis astutely pointed out in The Screwtape Letters, the devil doesn’t need to put wrong ideas into people’s heads; he just needs to keep the true ones out.  Brothers and Sisters, we need the eyes of our hearts opened to know God.   And Paul says here that this knowledge primarily consists of three things.  These all come from that picture of the Messiah in Isaiah 11.  Paul wants us to know the hope, the inheritance, and the power.  The hope is for Jesus’ victory at the cross and the empty tomb to change the whole world, bit by bit, here and there, wherever it’s needed, to bring creation under the rule of the Messiah.  The inheritance is the promise that the Messiah will inherit and will rule the nations—every square inch of creation.  And I think we often forget, but this shapes the mission of the church.  This is our vocation.  This is our way today of being fruitful and multiplying and filling the earth and wherever we go we bring the power of the gospel, the reign of the Messiah, and the reconciling peace of his kingdom.   And the power.  Brothers and Sisters, we forget the power of the gospel.  Verses 19 and 20 are a little difficult to translate into English because of the way Paul heaps up the words for power.  He literally says something like, “that you may know what is the surpassing greatness of his power for us who believe according to the energy of the might of his strength, which he worked out in the Messiah.”  Greatness, power, energy, might, strength.  Rooted in the resurrection of Jesus.  The living God raised Jesus from the dead.  The greatest display of his power in history.  It went out like a shockwave, pushing away the great stone from the tomb, and reverberating through creation.  New creation bursting into the old.  And, Brothers and Sisters, the church—we—are the working model of that new creation, of that power that is transforming the world as the good news of Jesus goes out and continues to reverberate through creation.   But there’s more to it than just Jesus’ resurrection.  Remember that “Messiah” means the “anointed King”.  Jesus is Lord.  That’s a big part of this picture too.  So Paul goes on in verse 20: “This is the power at work in the Messiah when God raised him from the dead and sat him at his right hand in the heavenlies, above all rule and authority and power and lordship, and above every name that is invoked, both in the present age and also in the age to come.  Yes, God has ‘put all things under his feet,’ and has given him to the church as the head over all.  The church is his body, the fullness of the one who fills all in all.”   Don’t forget Psalm 110.  There’s an echo here of Daniel 7, too.  The Messiah has been raised to sit at God’s right hand—to his throne as creation’s true Lord.  And the practical thing that means for the church is that no matter how things may look from our perspective here, Jesus sits above every authority, every CEO, every billionaire, every ruler, every king.  There is no name on earth that anyone can invoke that will trump the name of Jesus.  This was a jab at Caesar, whose cult was especially prominent in Ephesus, but it applies just as much to the kings and power-brokers of our own day.  Think of the names in the news.  Think of all the rivalries in business or in politics or in culture.  Brothers and Sisters, Jesus outranks them all.  And in this lies our vocation as the people of the Messiah.  A people, Paul says here, who is Jesus’ own body.  This sovereign power—a power rooted on the one hand in God’s power and glory and in the other in the love, mercy, and humility Jesus puts on display at the cross—this sovereign power is our vocation.  God created Adam and Eve to bear his image—to be good and wise stewards of his creation.  Remember we saw that in Psalm 8.  Paul’s prayer here is that we would recognise that Jesus is that truly good and wise human, now enthroned at God’s right hand and that through the gospel he is creating a people—you and me—to learn that godly wisdom, to learn that godly knowledge, and to share in his godly rule.  God has made Jesus the head of the church so that the church can now act, now live out that delegated authority as his body.  We’re called to be a community that embodies Psalm 110 and Psalm 8 and Isaiah 11.  Brothers and Sisters, the church is the fullness of the one who fills all in all.  We are God’s new creation, however small, however imperfect, however incomplete at the present, but still God’s new creation in the midst of the old, full of light and life and gospel power and authority, proclaiming the Lord Jesus and his kingdom and causing that Easter shockwave to continue to reverberate through creation until the knowledge of God’s glory fills the earth as the waters cover the sea.   And if that seems impossible, if it seems ridiculous, if it seems overwhelming, if makes you afraid, think how it must have seemed to the people in those little churches around Ephesus in a.d. 50.  A handful of churches, each with ten or fifteen or maybe thirty people.  Mostly poor, more women than men, more slaves than freemen.  They lived for Jesus in the midst of a hostile world permeated through and through with paganism.  Everyone thought they were weird and crazy, impious and disloyal.  In not too many years some of them would be rounded up, arrested, tortured, sent to the arena to be eaten by lions because of their faith in Jesus.  The emperor would burn others alive as human torches to light his garden parties.  These little churches had no programmes.  No Sunday school or youth group.  No bands or fog machines.  No ad campaigns.  They didn’t even have their own buildings.  They just studied and preached God’s word, they loved and cared for each other, and they taught the world what grace and mercy and true holiness looks like.  They had the good news about Jesus, crucified and risen, and in that was a power that outshone everything.  Imagine how ridiculous and impossible it might have seemed to them: this idea that Jesus is Lord and that the knowledge of God will one day fill the earth.  And then drop them into a modern-day city.  I found myself thinking of the view we had from the US Consulate in Montreal, up on the twentieth floor of a skyscraper, looking out over the city and the steeples every few blocks—more than I could count, as far as the eye could see.  Even in little woefully unchurched Courtenay, you don’t have to walk very far in any direction to find a church.  Brothers and Sisters, the power of the gospel is real.  Even though there’s so much more work to do, just look at how the gospel has transformed the world since the days Paul wrote to those little churches in Ephesus.  Jesus really is Lord and the fact that you and I are here today to worship the God of Israel instead of worshipping whatever pagan God’s our ancestors worshipped is proof of that power.  When someone tells me, “I’m leaving, this church is too small,” I pray Paul’s prayer here all the more for them and I pray it for all of you and for myself: that we would be full of the knowledge of God and the power of the gospel and that we would trust it and have faith in what God has promised it will accomplish through us.  The proof of Jesus’ reign and the power of the gospel is all around us.  May he open the eyes of our hearts to see it.   Let’s pray: Almighty God, Father of our Lord Jesus the Messiah, open the eyes of our hearts to the power of the knowledge of you.  Remind us of our calling in Jesus and the hope and inheritance we have in him.  Give us the faith and courage to be the people you have made us, to be the vanguard of your new creation as we live and proclaim your good news.  Give us a passion to see the knowledge of your glory covering the earth as the waters cover the sea.  Make us faithful stewards, we ask through Jesus our Lord we pray.  Amen.

To the Praise of his Glory Ephesians 1:3-14 by William Klock   We’ll be looking this morning at Ephesians 1:3-14.  It never ceases to amaze me the riches that come from simply slowing down as I read the Bible.  Over the last several months I’ve taken multiple occasions to just sit down with Ephesians, to read it slowly, to pay attention, and to be immersed in it.  To pay specific attention to Paul’s choice of words and his grammar.  To notice how his choices of words and phrases bring echoes of the Old Testament into his letter and to meditate on how what Paul says here fits into the great biblical story of Israel’s God and his people.  As I said last week, in Ephesians Paul gives us the view from the mountaintop.  He shows the whole panorama of the great story of redemption.   Verses 3-14 are an invitation into that story.  I think a lot of us—especially if you’re a theology nerd—a lot of us reading these verses easily lose the forest for the trees.  We see words like “election” and “predestined” and they stir up modern controversies over whether or not God chooses us or we choose him; over whether God elects specific people for eternal life or if he also positive elects others for damnation.  This is the fuel for heated arguments.  And, I suspect, were Paul to hear these arguments he’d ask something like, “Wait?  That’s what you got from what I wrote?”  Because I think the thing that Paul wants us to notice here, what he wants to centre us on, is the praise of God in light of that great story.  In fact, I’d never noticed before, but in Paul’s Greek, this whole section is one long sentence proclaiming the mighty and saving deeds of God.  It’s like Paul wanted us to hear one, beautiful, heart-stirring musical chord, or get a single amazing impression from a beautifully painted image, but since words and language don’t work like that, since you have to express them one at a time, Paul composed this as one, single rush of words meant to move us to praise.  Consider how be begins in verse 3, “Blessed be God, the Father of our Lord Jesus, the Messiah.”  Blessed be God.  It’s not meant to just be a factual statement that God is blessed.  To really get the sense of it in English it might be better to say, “Let us bless God.”  Because, Brothers and Sisters, that’s Paul’s real point here.   Pagans praised their gods.  But Jews did something more: they blessed the God of Israel.  In fact, the word that Paul uses is one that for the Greeks simply meant to speak good of someone, but the Jews gave it a much fuller and deeper meaning to translate their Hebrew words for bless and blessing.  To understand this takes us all the way back to the beginning of the story.  When God created the world and filled it with life, he blessed that life that it might be fruitful, that it might multiply, and that it might fill the earth.  The fish, the birds, and eventually the man and the woman.  God blessed them.  And in the Hebrew worldview, it was God’s blessing that brought human flourishing and that provided all that is good in creation.  And so, in return, the Jews blessed God.  Obviously, human beings don’t have the ability to grant the goodness and flourishing with our blessings that God can with his, and so to bless God took the form of praise and thanksgiving for his goodness, for his faithfulness, and most of all for his mighty and saving deeds in history.  And all that is summed up in those words, “blessed be God”.  To this day, Jewish prayer begins with the words Barukh Attah Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha-Olam, Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe.  But then when we unpack it, what we find is that at the heart of blessing God is telling his story, not just to rehearse for ourselves his greatness, but to proclaim it to everyone else.  Read through the Old Testament and you see God’s people praising him first and foremost by telling the story of his mighty deeds: sometimes what he’d done for the person giving the praise, but more often for his creation and his providence, and most of all for his recuse of Israel from their Egyptian slavery.  The Exodus was the great act of God in history that showed his blessing and for which his people blessed him in return.   When the people of Israel gathered together, they rehearsed what God had done, whether it was Israelites in the days of David, sitting around campfires and hearing those stories faithfully passed down from generation to generation, or the people of Paul’s day reading the scriptures in the synagogue, they told the mighty deeds of God as an act of praise.  Brothers and Sisters, the same goes for us.  I suspect a lot of us hardly ever think of it this way.  We read the Bible for knowledge.  We read the Bible to win arguments.  We read the Bible because we know it’s a good thing to do or because we hope God will speak to us.  But, first and foremost, we read the Bible—in public worship and in private worship—to rehearse the mighty and saving deeds of God as an act of praise and as a call to praise.  Just read the psalms and see how they proclaim the great story as an act of praise and a means of blessing God.  The modern trend in worship, I think, gets this precisely backward.  We begin our services with praise—I often hear people say it’s to get us in the right frame of mind—and then we hear scripture, then we receive the Lord’s Supper.  The biblical model is the other way round: To read and to hear scripture is the first act of praise, everything else follows in response.  Thomas Cranmer, the architect of our liturgy, understood this.  In Morning and Evening Prayer, we first hear the scriptures, and then we sing the canticles (which are themselves mostly scripture).  At the Communion, we hear the scriptures, we receive the Lord’s Supper, and after all that, we sing the Gloria in praise and thanksgiving.  So this is what Paul’s getting at in verse 3: “Blessed be God, the Father of our Lord Jesus the Messiah! He has blessed us in the Messiah with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms.”   But why?  Because, in Jesus, God has already blessed us.  With what?  With every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms.  That means, with the life of the Spirit, that foretaste of the age to come and the day when we, ourselves, will be resurrected to life with God just as Jesus has been.  Because, in Jesus and the Spirit, God has blessed us by making us heaven-on-earth people.  Through Jesus and the Spirit, God has begun the work of bringing heaven and earth, God and man, separated by sin, back together—in us.   But Paul doesn’t just leave it at that.  He tells the Jesus story, the church story, but he does it in a way that echoes the bigger story all the way back to creation.  He never mentions Adam or Abraham, the Exodus or the Exile.  Instead, he describes what God has done for us in the Messiah using the words and phrases that Israel typically used to tell those stories.   Now, because this whole passage is one long sentence and because it’s clear Paul wants us to hear it sort of like a music chord, let me read through the whole thing in one go starting with verse 4.  Here’s what he writes: “He chose us in him before the world was made, so as to be holy and without blemish before him.  In love, he foreordained us for himself, to be adopted as sons [and daughters] through Jesus the Messiah, according to the purpose of his will.  So that the glory of his grace, the grace he poured out on us in his beloved one, might receive its due praise.  In [the Messiah], through his blood, we have deliverance—the forgiveness of sins, through the riches of his grace, which he has lavished on us.  With all wisdom and insight he has made known to us the mystery of his purpose, just he wanted it to be and set it forward in him as a blueprint for when the time was ripe.  His plan was to sum up the whole cosmos in the Messiah, everything in heaven and on earth in him.  In him we have received the inheritance.  We were foreordained to this, according to the intention of the one who does all things in accordance with the counsel of his purpose.  This was so that we, we who first hoped in the Messiah, might live for the praise of his glory.  In him you too, who heard the word of truth, the good news of your salvation, and believed it—in him you were marked out with the Spirit of promise, the Holy One.  The Spirit is the guarantee of our inheritance, until the time when the people who are God’s special possession are finally reclaimed and freed.  This, too, is for the praise of his glory.”   So Paul begins with the language of having been chosen.  It’s almost like he’s rehearsing the Passover story.  Being chosen resonated with the Jews.  Their father, Abraha, had been chosen and called from the paganism of Ur.  In the Exodus, the Lord had declared Israel to be his chosen.  Paul wants that mighty act of God’s goodness and mercy to echo into our story—to hear the Lord declare to Pharaoh that Israel was his beloved, his firstborn son.  Paul writes in verse 5 that we’ve been marked out as sons and daughters of the Father because of his love for us—love poured out in Jesus, love poured out at the cross as he shed his blood—blood that has marked us out as holy and washed us clean of sin.  Blood that has united us with Jesus, his son, and made us his children by adoption.   And the language of deliverance and redemption in verse 7.  This is what Paul’s getting at.  Again, his choice of words is important.  The word he uses is the one used most often in the Greek translation of the Old Testament to refer to the deliverance, the redemption of his people from Egypt.  It’s a word that often carries the idea of buying a slave so that he can be set free and in the Bible it very often and more specifically recalls the image of Israel being redeemed from Pharaoh’s slave market and being set free by God—a freedom through which Israel was meant to proclaim and to live out God’s amazing and redeeming grace.  But there’s also an echo of Israel’s long-hoped for deliverance from exile—an exile the people were still living out when Jesus was born.  And, unlike the Exodus, the exile was the result of Israel’s sins.  And so the prophets, like Isaiah, had spoken of a new exodus, a deliverance from exile, but this time round it would be an exodus that had to address, that had to deal with Israel’s sins.   And that’s why Paul writes of blood.  The blood of the Passover lamb was for the purification of the people.  Somehow blood would have to be shed to purify Israel and to and the long exile, so they could once again live in his holy presence and so that they could once again be fit to serve his purpose as priests and stewards of his temple.  This is why Jesus so often did things that echoed the Passover theme.  He was calling to mind this doubled tradition: The first exodus, deliverance from slavery, but also the promised and hoped-for second exodus in which God would somehow redeem his people from their sins and from the effects of that sin.  So when Paul, in verses 7 and 8, writes of the blood through which we have deliverance and the forgiveness of sins, when he writes of the riches of God’s grace and how it’s been lavished so richly on us, he wants us to see these layers of the great story: of creation, of exodus, of exile, of forgiveness, of redemption.  He wants us to see the glorious cross of Jesus, but he also wants us to see how the whole story has been one act after another, one great drama unfolding through history that shows us who God is, that reveals his grace and mercy, his goodness and faithfulness that then find their full fruit, that explode in one great act of glory in the events of the new exodus.  All these notes coming together a beautiful, harmonious chord.   Why?  Because Paul knew that without this, we’re prone to forgetting our vocation, just as Israel had.  That’s why Paul goes on to talk about God making known the secret of his purpose—the great mystery—with all wisdom and insight.  In Paul’s day the Jews—many of them at any rate—associated the idea of torah—of Gods’ law—with the idea of God’s divine wisdom.  This fusion of torah and wisdom was God’s great design for life and for flourishing and not just that, but for life and flourishing that would cause his people to give him glory.  Brothers and Sisters, the gospel isn’t just the good news that we’ve been forgiven and promised eternal life.  The gospel is also about vocation—a vocation that goes all the way back to Israel—even to Adam and Eve.  It’s about being freed from our bondage to sin and death so that we might live to the glory of God as heaven-on-earth people, as the firstfruits of his new creation, as pockets of the age to come in the here and now.   And Paul reminds us in verse 10 that this was God’s plan, his blueprint all along, one that would be fulfilled in the “fullness of time”—when the time was right.  None of it was an accident.  What we so often take in as disconnected Bible stories, was all along one great drama, setting the scene, establishing the plot, so that at the cross and the empty tomb, God could reveal his glory by leading his people in a new exodus.  As Paul puts it here, the plan was to sum up the whole cosmos in the Messiah—everything in heaven and on earth in him.  Restoring the creation we see in Genesis, where heaven and earth and God and man were one.  Bringing to fruition the image evoked by the tabernacle at the end of Exodus: of God once gain dwelling in the midst of his redeemed people.  That image at the end of Exodus in which the people complete the construction of the tabernacle and the shekinah, the great cloud of God’s glory, descends to fill it is one of the  most powerful images in all of scripture—looking back to how things are supposed to be and looking forward to a day when human beings really are fully restored to live in God’s presence—no veil, no sacrifices, just life in his awesome presence.  This is what Paul describes as an act of praise, the climax of the great story, a new exodus, a Jesus-shaped Passover—all now to be at the heart of Christian praise.   But God’s presence entering the tabernacle wasn’t the end of the story.  Remember, once God had set apart his people and made them holy and taken up his presence in their midst, they were ready for him to lead them into the promised land—to receive the inheritance that he had promised to Abraham.  And in verses 11-14 Paul shows us how life in Jesus and the Spirit is the realisation of what that was pointing to all along.  Psalm 2, for example, was pointing this way all along.  That’s the psalm where God says, “You are my son and today I have begotten you.  Ask of me and I will make the nations your heritage and the ends of the earth your inheritance.”  The promise land and the promise of it was always pointing to something greater—to God’s claim on all of creation, on all the nations, on all the peoples.  The story proclaims: someday the entire earth will be God’s holy land.   And here in Ephesians, Paul is saying that in Jesus and the Spirit, God has now given us—given those who are in the Messiah—this inheritance.  “Everything belongs to you,” he says in First Corinthians.  And here he says that the gift of the Holy Spirit, the indwelling, the tabernacling presence of God in us is the earnest, the down payment, the guarantee of the full promised inheritance.  Sometimes it seems like we think of the Holy Spirit in every way except for the very thing Paul tells us over and over that he represents.  Brothers and Sisters, the gift of the Spirit is the guarantee that what Jesus began when he rose from the grave, he will surely one day finish.  It’s the guarantee that God’s work of renewal and new creation in Jesus will, without a doubt, put a final end to sin, to sorrow, to corruption, to decay, and even to death itself.  It is the guarantee that the reunion of God and man that began when God took up his residence in the tabernacle, and that went a step further at Pentecost when he took up his residence in his people, will be fulfilled in the ultimate tabernacle of a new heaven and earth.  It’s the guarantee that that the fellowship between God and human beings in the garden at the very beginning of the story will also be the end.   It’s easy to forget.  As Paul writes in Romans, the whole world is groaning under the weight of our mismanagement.  We still live with the effects of sin and corruption, of decay and death.  Like the Israelites when the spies returned from Canaan and warned that there were giants in the land and heavily fortified cities.  They gave up.  They became overwhelmed.  They forgot the promise.  They begged Moses to take them back to Egypt.  The things they feared were no joke.  But they forgot that the God who was with them is the God will one day dill the whole earth with his glory.  The tabernacle—God’s presence with them—was meant to remind them of that truth and that inheritance.  And, Brothers and Sisters, the Spirit in us serves the same function.  In him we have the full title deed, even if we don’t yet have the whole earth.  But that title deed, that earnest, that guarantee has been given to us by the Father to empower us to go out as his gospel people—to be heaven on earth, to bring his presence into the darkness, to challenge the corrupted principalities and powers of the old age, and to bring the light and life of new creation into the old.  And all, Paul finishes, the final notes in the chord, “is for the praise of his glory”.   Brothers and Sisters, to live in assurance and hope of God’s promise of life is to live a life of praise.  It’s to live a life that blesses God and that makes his glory known in the earth.  That means that if we want to know what the life of the Christian and what he life of the church should look like, maybe we should work backward from that goal.  We should be asking ourselves what it is that we can do that makes God’s glory known.  Asking ourselves what we can do that shows the world our sure and certain hope in the inheritance—the new creation—in which we live.  Not running back to Egypt in fear, but ready to march around Jericho and to blow our gospel trumpets and trust God to do what he’s promised.  I think if we work backwards from the goal of filling the earth with the knowledge of the glory of God, it becomes a lot easier to ask whether what we do, what we value, what we invest in, how we treat others displays our hope in God’s kingdom to the world around us.  So, Brothers and Sisters, let us bless God, the Father of our Lord Jesus, the Messiah.  Let our lives be one great shout of praise.  Rehearse and proclaim the great story of redemption that proclaims his glory.  And let this Passover-shaped, this cross-shaped, story of redemption and renewal transform you so that you—that we all—might live for the purpose of filling the earth with the knowledge of the glory of God—to the praise of his glory.   Let’s pray: Almighty God, Father of our Lord Jesus, the Messiah, through whose blood you have forgiven our sins, made us sons and daughters by adoption, and brought us into the great drama of your people, shape us, we pray, with your story.  Fill us with faith and assurance in the knowledge that, having plunged us into your Spirit, you have given us assurance of the promised inheritance that we might live faithfully in hope and to the praise of your glory.  Amen.