REVELATIONS ON REVELATION: PART I

There is no book in the Bible that has been more abused, misused and confused than the last one, the Book of Revelation.

When it comes to Revelation, there seem to be two extremes. On one hand there are those who hardly read, preach or teach from any other book—convinced that it’s kind of a crystal ball in which to see the future, if you know how to look, and they think they know how. Thus we find an endless stream of books and even movies—from Hal Lindsay’s The Late Great Planet Earth to the “Left Behind Series”—very popular fictional novels based on a particular interpretation of Revelation. Note that: a particular interpretation of Revelation.

On the opposite extreme are those who’ve given up completely on Revelation. They ignore it; they seldom if ever read or teach or preach from it. For them, it’s irrelevant, impossible to understand, a book that’s more trouble than it’s worth. They had just as soon it had never been made a part of the Bible. There are a number of persons throughout history who have felt the same way. The great reformer John Calvin, my favorite historical theologian, ignored it completely. It was the only book in the New Testament about which he never wrote anything (and, believe me, he wrote a lot).

I think most people are somewhere between these two extremes. We don’t feel obsessed with the book of Revelation nor would we ignore it altogether. We’re the “Huh?” people. We find it a mysterious, difficult-to-understand book—but it’s in the Bible, so we think it must have some value, some message for us. This is where I’ve found myself over the years and so I’ve done quite a bit of study on Revelation and other apocalyptic literature.

I also grew weary of leaving this book to persons who I don’t think really understand it at all and use it in ways it was never intended.

I’ve learned a few things that I would like to share with you in a series of posts. Over the centuries this mysterious book has, in fact, been of great comfort and help to millions of Christians, and I am convinced that it can be for us as well, that it has great relevance for our time, though not in the way it’s often portrayed in so many popular books and movies.

The first revelation on Revelation that I’d suggest to you is to read it for yourself. Don’t depend on TV preachers, best-selling writers or even me to do your thinking for you, especially without knowing what’s in it for yourself. It’s too bad that many Christians skip the book itself, replacing it with other books that claim to explain it. Without having first-hand knowledge of the book itself from having read it, then we don’t know if these books about it are accurate or make any sense. Maybe you aren’t biblical scholars, but you can read and think for yourselves. Don’t let others do the thinking for you. I fear that many persons who read such books as the “Left Behind” series have never read Revelation itself and so swallow hook, line and sinker what books like this say. I’m not saying at all that’s it bad to read other books, I’m just saying read the book of Revelation first!

Let me recommend that you do this—begin reading it. Get a solid modern translation like the New Revised Standard Version (please DON’T use the King James Version). Focus on the text itself. Or, if you wish a more modern, easy to read translation, use the Common English Bible or the Good News Bible. They both give a fresh rendering in today’s English. But the vital thing is to read the Book of Revelation itself.

There’s an even better way to do this. I’d recommend to you another book that I think is one of the best out there. It was written for non-scholars by Bruce Metzger and it’s entitled, Breaking the Code: Understanding the Book of Revelation. Then read portions of Revelation as Metzger covers them, reflect on what you read in the text itself, and then read what Metzger has to say about each section or chapter. Then re-read Revelation in light of Metzger’s insights. If you do this, the book of Revelation will begin to make more sense.

The second revelation on Revelation that I’ve discovered is that no one can rightly claim to fully understand all of it. Beware of anyone who claims otherwise!

Take a couple of examples. We’re told that the writer is named John; but which John? There are four “Johns” named in the Bible. Is it one of them or some other about whom we don’t know? The name “John” was very common in the first century, just as it is today. Tradition says it was John the Apostle of Jesus, the son of Zebedee. But nowhere is that stated and most scholars don’t think it was he. So, we don’t know for certain the identity of the author. He assumes that his readers know who he is. Besides, not knowing who he was does not keep us from getting a good deal of understanding of what he wrote.

The other example is the reference to “the seven spirits before the throne” in verse 4. Just about every commentary I’ve read has a different take on this. We can make some educated guesses. Are they angels? Is this a reference to the Holy Spirit? Is he talking about the pastors or key leaders of the seven churches to whom he writes? We can’t be certain. Revelation uses so many such references, symbols and numbers like this for which no one can say, “Oh, I know for sure what they all mean!”

So we all need to approach Revelation with humility, realizing that we know only in part.

The third revelation on Revelation has to do with why we really don’t understand all of Revelation or at least why we find it such a challenge to understand.

Most people today are familiar with—even if they don’t read it—the literary style called “science fiction.” Take “Star Wars,” for example. It’s about other planets, weird aliens from all over the galaxy, star ships, light sabers and Jedi Knights. These are not foreign to us because this style of writing has been a part of our culture for some time.

Now, let me ask you, if John or anyone in his day—the first century—came across a copy of “Star Wars,” do you think they would understand it? Not likely. Why? Because it’s not a kind of literary style of which they have ever seen. It would be as confusing and mysterious to them as the Book of Revelation is for us!

John was writing in a literary style that had been popular for several centuries. He understood it. His readers were familiar with it. It’s called “apocalyptic literature,” which flourished from about 200 B.C. to A.D. 100. Even the Greek title for this book is αποκαλυψις (The Apocalypse), meaning the unveiling, the uncovering of what God is doing and is about to do. John expected the things of which he wrote to happen very soon, that is, most likely within his lifetime and that of the persons to whom he was writing. This poses significant questions for those with their pull out time charts showing how Revelation was and is to be fulfilled over the last two thousand years! John didn’t have the distant future in mind. He was focused very much on his own time—as we will see. He had good reason to do so, for they were dark and desperate times. This isn’t to say that his words and visions have nothing to say to us. They do, and I hope to discover this with you, but we will find its meaning isn’t what it has so often been portrayed to be.

Anyway, the point for right now is that John is writing in a style that he and his readers were very familiar with. In fact, this style is found especially in the Old Testament books of Ezekiel and Daniel. Indeed, there are 404 verses in the 22 chapters of Revelation; 278 of those verses contain one or more allusions or even quotes from these two Old Testament books! John was steeped in this style of writing.

Apocalyptic literature uses highly symbolic language, which we can’t take literally or we will never understand it. Take for example, his use of numbers like 7, which he uses all the time—7 churches, 7 spirits, 7 seals, 7 angels, 7 trumpets, 7 bowls, etc. For John 7 was a holy, sacred number. Whenever you read it in Revelation, think of completeness, perfection, something holy and good. Likewise, the number 6 is an evil number (you know, the famous “666”) and I’ll talk more about that later. Suffice it to say that this isn’t so different than what we do when we have lucky numbers—like 7—and unlucky ones like 13.

Here’s another example. In Chapter 13, John talks about a “beast.” He describes it like a leopard with feet like a bear and a mouth like a lion. Elsewhere he speaks of a beast with many horns and eyes. These are terrifying descriptions. But they are symbolic. He’s talking about nations—mostly evil nations—especially Rome, which was acting every bit like a horrible beast to him and the early Christians to whom he’s writing. But this, too, isn’t so different from what we do today in comparing nations to animals. America is represented by what? An eagle. Russia? A bear. England? A lion and so forth. Why, even the major political parties are represented by animals—an elephant for the Republicans and a donkey for the Democrats!

So we know that John and his readers are using symbolic language. This is why it’s sometimes difficult for us to understand—we simply don’t know in all cases what he meant or intended. Yet we can understand the essential message he’s seeking to convey.

Let’s go back to “Star Wars.” John and his readers could understand some things about “Star Wars.” It’s a story of a galactic battle between the forces of evil and good. The evil is represented by the emperor and his general, Darth Vader, and their storm troopers, who are seeking to brutally conquer everyone. The good side is represented by Luke Skywalker, who is a messianic figure. Luke unites the Jedi Knights and others to do battle against the evil empire. There is a great battle and evil is defeated.

John and his readers would have understood this. Indeed, one of the themes in apocalyptic literature is a great cosmic struggle between the forces of good and evil. For them, the evil is Satan or the devil who is personified in another emperor, the head of the Roman Empire, along with his many generals and their own storm troopers, Roman legions stationed all over the empire. Together they were oppressing and persecuting Christians. The good side is represented by the Messiah, who is gathering his own Jedi Knights—angels. These two will clash and evil will be defeated. Rome will fall. Christ and his followers will be victorious in the end. It seems to me, in fact, that literature like “Star Wars” is really a kind-of modern version of apocalyptic literature with much the same themes, just using different language and symbols.

In conclusion, remember three things: First, start reading the text itself. Refer to Metzger’s book as you read. Second, don’t get discouraged when you come across things you just don’t understand. Even the most learned scholars can’t say they understand everything. Third, keep in mind this is a style of writing that uses highly symbolic language. John has specific persons and things in mind for everything he writes. So think symbolically as you read the text and Metzger will really help you do this, so I strongly urge you to get Metzger’s book.

In my next post, I’ll share some more “revelations on Revelation,” specifically, how important it is to ask this question: “What did it mean?” What was John trying to say in his own time? Only when we have understood something of what it meant can we rightly go on explore what it means for us.

Living In the Nonsense of the Resurrection

Have you ever taken careful note of the reaction to the women's story of the resurrection of Jesus on the part of those closest to him? Check out Luke 24:11: “Their words struck the apostles as nonsense, and they didn’t believe the women” (Common English Bible). 

What a fascinating thing for the writer of Luke to include in the resurrection story! Here we are, celebrating the greatest event in the history of the world. Here we are, come together to re-hear the greatest story ever told—that death has been defeated, that sin holds no power to destroy us, that the rule of God awaits us, that there can be new life now. Here we are, and what do we hear? We hear that those closest to Jesus during the three years of his ministry, those who heard him preach on hillside and beside water, those who had shared in miracles, those who had broken bread with him as only friends can in the intimacy of the upper room, those who had heard him teach with patience about the kingdom of God, now we hear that when they heard the amazing story of the empty tomb, they thought it was nonsense!

 Does that shake your faith a bit? It does mine. I have always had this image of the disciples—the true followers of Jesus. These were the eyewitnesses to Jesus' ministry. If they hadn't shared what they saw and heard, we wouldn't have the story of Jesus to tell. Here they are—these people of faith, the ones Jesus told about his new kingdom he was establishing. Here they are, the ones whom Jesus tried to tell about what would happen after three days—they thought it was nonsense then, too.

You know what? They were right! The story the women told them is nonsense. 

Who ever heard of someone regaining life after being declared dead for three days? Preposterous! Physiology tells us the brain cells would have died; the body would be decomposing. It is nonsense to think that someone who went through the agony of crucifixion and had the life, breath and blood squeezed out of him could suddenly have enough strength to walk out of a damp, dark tomb. And what about that huge stone rolled away from the tomb's entrance? Explain that! This whole resurrection story is so much nonsense—it defies medical explanation. It goes against rational thinking. It just isn't possible!

But the Bible says it happened! It makes no sense, but it happened.

I believe one of the biggest problems with Christianity is that people want to take the nonsense out of it. I've heard radio preachers and television evangelists and all manner of Christians try to tell me that Christianity makes sense—that it's the easiest, most natural thing in the world to believe in Christ. I've been told and preached to and almost convinced that being a follower of Jesus is simple, that the stories of miracles and healings and the accounts of Jesus' life—some of them incredible to me—are easy to accept. I've been told that it's logical to believe in someone who walked this earth almost 2,000 years ago in an obscure corner of the world, someone who performed miracles, who fed 5,000 people with a few loaves and fish, who raised a friend from death, who forgave the sins of a scorned woman at a well. Tell me, is it logical to believe in something that happened so long ago, so far away, something that defies medical, scientific, rational explanation?

I don't buy it. I'm in the camp with the disciples. It is nonsense. For me to believe any of this would be for me to accept what isn't possible. Believing in an event, in a story, that is so radical would have to change my perception of life. If I believe the women's story who ran from the tomb that first Easter morn, then I'm stuck with believing something so new, so different, so radical, that my life will have to change, to be new, different, radical as a result of the belief!

 I don't care what anybody says. It doesn't make sense to believe in Jesus Christ. It is nonsense, this story of resurrection. 

Here’s my point: It’s precisely because it is nonsense, precisely because it defies explanation, precisely because it is radical, that my life is dramatically changed by it.

Because Jesus Christ lives, I too can live—that's radical. Because of Jesus Christ, I can love my enemy; I can pray for those who persecute me; I can turn the other cheek when someone slaps me; I can give until I hurt when others hurt—that, my friends, is radical. It is not the way of the world. 

To be a Christian is not to be a rational, logical part of this world. To be a Christian means to live in the nonsense of the resurrection. It means living a radical new life because Jesus lives and is here now with us, in a way we can’t comprehend. Because of what he did, love can triumph over hate, goodness over evil, truth over lies, hope over despair.

We are new creatures—radical, nonsensical people who live, believing an incredible story. We are new creatures in our baptism into this Christ of the empty tomb. We are new creatures—with love to share, with a story of hope to tell, with forgiveness to embrace our neighbor, with hands and hearts that can reach out beyond our own selfish concerns to that person who needs us. We are new creatures living in the nonsense of the resurrection. 

I really like what Pope Francis I said in his Easter Vigil Homily:

Dear brothers and sisters, let us not be closed to the newness that God wants to bring into our lives! Are we often weary, disheartened and sad? Do we feel weighed down by our sins? Do we think that we won’t be able to cope? Let us not close our hearts, let us not lose confidence, let us never give up: there are no situations which God cannot change, there is no sin which he cannot forgive if only we open ourselves to him.

Let the risen Jesus enter your life, welcome him as a friend, with trust: he is life! If up till now you have kept him at a distance, step forward. He will receive you with open arms. If you have been indifferent, take a risk: you won’t be disappointed. If following him seems difficult, don’t be afraid, trust him, be confident that he is close to you, he is with you and he will give you the peace you are looking for and the strength to live as he would have you do.

May he make us men and women capable of remembering all that he has done in our own lives and in the history of our world. May he help us to feel his presence as the one who is alive and at work in our midst. And may he teach us each day not to look among the dead for the Living One.

Along with the pope, I assure you—Jesus lives! Therefore, so do we. We live radical new lives of faith and love. Jesus lives! So do we. We live changed lives filled with hope and joy. Jesus lives! So do we!

Good Friday: There's a Cross to Bridge the Great Divide

I love bridges. What I like most about them is their purpose—to connect things, to help bring things together that would stay separate without them.

Perhaps the greatest need in our world has always been for more bridges. I don't mean the ones made of concrete, steel or wood. It's just that even with all the bridges we have we are still isolated, separated, alienated from one another. We human beings spent far too much time and energy building barriers between us instead of bridges—digging new and wider trenches instead of filling up the old ones already here.

If we could see human society from God's perspective, I think we would see individuals, groups, and nations separated by wide canyons of mistrust, misunderstanding and hostility. We would feel God’s pain and sorrow.

But every now and then we see an amazing thing: two persons, two peoples, two nations, tired of separation, so they begin to build a bridge toward each other—a slow, fragile effort to cross the gulf that separates them. Sometimes they make it. Sometimes they don't, for the bridge burners are always with us, the saboteurs of peace and brotherhood.

You don’t need to be a sociologist or psychologist to realize that something's very wrong with our world, and within us. There is brokenness, disjointedness throughout human society. Ours is more a world of walls, chasms, barriers than bridges. But deep down we long for more bridges.

Why?

According to the Bible, all this brokenness comes because of the great divide between Creator and creation, between God and humanity. Human beings aren’t in right relationships with each other because they are not in a right relationship with their Creator. Sin has created this great divide. Sin is rebellion against God, disobedience to God's will, refusal to worship and serve the One who created us. It continues in every generation. Each of us in our own way has carved it deeper.

The great divide between humanity and God could not be crossed by a mere man—only by a very special man, a man both human and divine. Only God, taking the initiative through this man, could span the great divide. Not with steel or concrete, but with wood and flesh. What a strange, usual, bridge it was—a bridge made of wood in the shape of a cross, with a man hanging on it. God used such a cross to bridge the great divide, to open the way once again to the loving relationship with God for which were created.

Consider Matthew 27:50:

Jesus again gave a loud cry and breathed his last.

Then notice the very first thing that happened as a result of his death...

Vs. 51: Then the curtain of the Temple was torn in two from the top to the bottom...

This was the sixty foot tall curtain that separated the Holy of Holies in the Temple (which was the most sacred place of all). God's very presence was thought to dwell there. And only the high priest once a year could enter it to make a sacrifice for the sins of the people.

But now the curtain was destroyed—ripped from top to bottom by God's own hands through the death of his Son. You see, the way was open now back to God's presence for anyone, everyone. We could now see into the very heart of God; and what we saw there was…love!

There’s a song, done by a contemporary Christian group entitled, "The Great Divide." I borrowed from its lyrics the title for my post today. Here's a verse and the chorus:

Silence...

Trying to fathom the distance...

Looking out 'cross the canyon carved

by my hands...

God is gracious...

Sin would still separate us...

Were it not for the bridge His grace

has made us...

His love will carry me...

There's a bridge to cross the great divide...

A way was made to reach the other side...

The mercy of the Father, cost His Son

His life...

His love is deep, His love is wide...

There's a cross to bridge the great divide.

Maundy Thursday

Tradition tells us Jesus and his disciples gathered in a home—whose it was we aren’t sure—but there must have been a second floor. Otherwise, why the “upper” room?

They came together to take part in a Seder, one of the highlights of Passover week. The meal was a symbolic one, reminding Jews of the sufferings of their ancestors and the power of God's deliverance. The foods that were eaten were symbols to remind the Jews of their captivity in Egypt. A form of applesauce was eaten to remind them of brick mortar and the fact that they were forced to make bricks with no straw. A bitter herb like horseradish is eaten to remind them of the bitterness of their captivity.

It was toward the end of that Seder that Jesus added two more symbols. He took a loaf of bread and broke it and gave it to his disciples saying: “Take eat, this is my body, which is broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” Then he took a cup filled with wine. He drank from it and gave it to his disciples saying, “Drink from this cup, all of you, for this is my blood which is shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sin.” Thus was born our sacrament of the Lord's Supper, out of the experience of an ancient Jewish custom.

As we think of those disciples around the table, I wonder: can we see ourselves? To me, the disciples represent all that is good and bad about our humanity.

Maybe we can see ourselves in Matthew. Here was a man who was good with figures, but who initially used his talent for himself rather than God. He became a tax collector. It was his responsibility to collect tax money for the Romans—money that went to support the oppression of his own people. In a way, you could think of him as the Bernie Madoff of his day. He reminds us of just how far many people are willing to go to advance their personal ambition. But when Matthew came to Jesus he came all the way. Now he was using his mind to keep an account of the Master's teachings. Matthew reminds us that our talents are God-given, but we must chose to use our talents toward the right end, that is, to make this world a better place than when it was before we came into it.

Maybe we see ourselves in James and John. They remind us of the pride and the ego that is in us all. It was their mother who went to Jesus to do their bidding for them. She admonished the Master: “When you come into your Realm place my sons, one on your right hand, and one on your left hand.” Even on this, the occasion of their last night together, the disciples are arguing amongst themselves which one is the greatest and who deserved the seat of honor at the table. James and John remind us that if we’re to follow Jesus we must first surrender ego. We must decrease so that he might increase. We must remember the words of Jesus: whoever would be greatest among you, must be a servant.

Certainly we can see a part of ourselves in Thomas. Like Thomas, we long for something tangible we can cling to when our experience of God begins to fail. We live in a prove-it-to-me age. But Thomas would remind us that resurrection faith isn’t something that can be neatly wrapped in a package. We can never possess faith as one would possess a thing. To follow the Master we must be able to echo the words: Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.

There was Simon the Zealot. It embarrasses me to say that I see some of myself in this man, for he was one who hated with a passion. He reminds me that hate is an emotion that I also feel sometimes. The zealots were a political faction who wanted the Romans out and the Jews in, and they were more than willing to commit acts of violence and murder to accomplish their goal. They were terrorists. “The end justifies the means,” they said. Simon would remind us that if we’re to follow the Master we must look at his total message, even the parts that say: “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.”

Then, there’s Mary Magdalene. I don’t buy into the whole Da Vinci Code thing, but I think she was there. I believe she was one of Jesus’ most important followers. Some scholars think she may even have been “the beloved disciple.” However, she was edited out of the tradition because a male-dominated church couldn’t stand a woman with that much influence among our Lord’s followers. She represents all of those we’d like to “edit out” of the church. In the past it was African-Americans, divorced persons, and women. Many women still feel “edited out,” to a large extent. These days it’s lesbian and gay people. Some people in the church would like to edit them out. But Mary Magdalene reminds us that Jesus included all sorts of people among his companions—people who were “edited out” in his day too. Mary Magdalene reminds us that if we’re followers of our Lord, we can’t edit anyone out of the communion of God’s love without being edited out ourselves.

There was Judas. If we don’t see Judas in ourselves, maybe it’s because we aren’t looking closely enough. Judas was impatient with Jesus. Judas believed that Jesus really did have the power to bring about the reign of God, but he didn’t understand why Jesus kept waiting. Judas, therefore, contrived a situation in which Jesus would be forced to show his power. He would turn him over to the Jews and Romans. Judas would remind us that if we’re to follow Jesus we must remember that our schedule isn’t always God's schedule and that our means aren’t always God’s means. We see with the vision of the immediate. God sees with the vision of eternity. God knows; we only think we know.

Then there’s Simon Peter. How impetuous he was! Always willing to leap before he looked. When Jesus told the disciples they would all fall away, it was Simon Peter who roared, “Lord, though they all fall away, I will never leave your side!” But Simon Peter did fall away. He denied Jesus—not once but three times. He would remind us that to follow the master we must count the cost of discipleship.

Let’s confess before God that we’re all of the disciples, with all of their frailties and sinfulness. We’re also like them in our sincere desire to follow Christ. My prayer is that the power of God will remind us who we are—children of God, all of us.

On the Right Side of History

I'm on the right side of history, the side of love. I hope you are, too.

Still Seeking Donkeys

Bass Mitchell, a United Methodist pastor (I like many of his ideas and sometimes, with his permission, I borrow them), talks about an adult Sunday school class he was teaching. They happened to be studying the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. He read the story and then asked the class, "What really stood out to you?" 

The first person to respond was a young woman sitting in the back row, who hardly ever said anything.  "What spoke to me," she said, "is that Jesus needed that little donkey.  I know you guys aren't aware of it, but I have not always felt all that good about myself...kind-of like I don't have much to offer...kind-of donkey-like... what could I possibly offer this King...but when I heard just now that he had need of a little donkey, then the thought came to mind that he just might have need of me, too...if a small beast of burden could be of use to him, could help bear him, then surely I can too..." My friend Bass commented, “We could have had prayer and dismissed that class right then!!!”

When I read that story, I knew I had the main idea for my Palm Sunday sermon!

Luke 19:28–40 tells us that on the first Palm Sunday long ago, Jesus was looking for a donkey. He sent some of his disciples to get just the one he needed. He seemed to know right where that particular donkey would be. He chose a donkey, a lowly beast of burden on which to ride into Jerusalem that day.

Guess what? Jesus is still looking for donkeys! Jesus is still looking for people who will carry him into places where he is needed today. If Jesus knew where that donkey was so long ago, I am encouraged to believe that God also knows where to find me, indeed knows me by name, and you, and may even have something useful for me to do and for you, too.

This is what Paul is saying in Philippians 2:

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death - even death on a cross... (vv. 5-8).

To have the same mind as Christ is to have the mind and heart of a servant. It's to seek out ways that we might be donkeys for Christ. It means humbling ourselves, engaging in deeds and words of kindness and service whenever and wherever we can in his name. Being a servant wasn’t beneath Jesus. How can it be beneath us? Because he humbled himself, God exalted him. Jesus is Lord! Now he's looking for donkeys—persons like you and me to bear him, to bring him and his message of love, the only hope for the world, into the world.

He's still looking for donkeys.

One of my personal heroes—and one of the remarkable "donkeys" of our time—was former Iowa Governor and U.S. Senator Harold E. Hughes, from Ida Grove, Iowa (located close to Storm Lake, the northwest Iowa town where I grew up). Even though Governor Hughes was sober for mere than forty years, he always described himself as a "college dropout and a drunk with a jail record." He was a highly visible and much-loved and -respected force in the alcoholism and drug abuse field for close to half a century.

 Born into a poor farming family, Harold Hughes returned from combat service in World War II "a drinking but functioning alcoholic." A truck driver at the time, he continued to drink, trying to quit but succumbing to relapse time and time again. His wife tried to have him committed. While trying to kill himself in 1952, he experienced, in his own words, a "deep spiritual experience" that led to his eventual recovery from alcoholism. Harold Hughes went on to be a much beloved politician. As a recovering alcoholic Hughes went on to win three terms as Governor of Iowa. His prominent position didn’t stop him from openly talking about his alcoholism or working with others. In a 1964 debate Hughes stated "I am an alcoholic and will be until the day I die... But with God’s help I’ll never touch a drop of alcohol again." In 1969 Hughes became a U.S. Senator from Iowa and became known as "Mr. Addiction," pushing through the 1970 Hughes Act creating the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism (NIAAA).

Harold Hughes might not have been the first alcoholic Senator but he was the first one that openly acknowledged that he was a recovering alcoholic. Hughes is known as "The Father of the NIAAA" and is memorialized with the NIAAA annual Harold Hughes Award. After retiring from the Senate, Governor Hughes continued to work on behalf of alcoholics and other addicted persons, founding four centers for alcoholism treatment, among his many other accomplishments.

As a result of his own recovery, Governor Hughes understood that many alcoholics were hidden within society, and he knew that they could be helped. More important, Governor Hughes strongly believed that alcoholics and drug addicts should be helped. Thus began his quest in 1969 to focus national attention on alcohol abuse and alcoholism. His associations with researchers, clinicians, and recovering alcoholics in prominent national positions helped him to convene an extraordinary coalition of individuals to request that the Congress take action. His political acumen and his personal tenacity in achieving and maintaining recovery helped him to convince a reluctant public, who largely viewed alcoholism as a sin or sign of moral weakness, that Congress had done the right thing. Four years later, Governor Hughes' efforts resulted in the creation of what is now known as the National Institute on Drug Abuse.

Today’s alcohol research programs, which provide hope for people at risk for and affected by alcohol-related problems, were born of Governor Hughes' vision for the future. According to an article written about him in the May 1990 issue of Sober Times, Governor Hughes' motto was "All things are possible." Many alcoholics have recovered and many more have a chance for recovery because one man, Harold Hughes, believed that "all things are possible."

 Perhaps we can’t all be like Harold Hughes, but we can be ready when Christ needs a donkey—when some need arises, some ministry that we can take up in his name. We can be ready on a second's notice to bear him and his love into our homes, churches, communities, and places of work.

He's still looking for donkeys.

Once upon a time a small donkey woke early in the morning. He was still thinking about the events of the day before. It had been the most exciting day of his life. Never before had he felt such pleasure and pride.

He walked into town and found a group of people by a well. "I'll show myself to them," he thought. "They'll recognize me." But they didn't notice him. They went on drawing water and paid him no attention.

"Throw your garments down," he said crossly. "Don't you know who I am?" They just looked at him in amazement. Someone slapped him across the tail and ordered him to move.

"Miserable human beings!" he muttered to himself. "I'll go to the marketplace. The people there will surely remember me." But the same thing happened. No one paid any attention to the donkey as he strutted down the main street in front of the marketplace.

"The palm branches! Where are the palm branches!" he shouted. "Yesterday, you threw palm branches!" Confused and his feelings hurt, the small donkey returned home to his mother.

 "Foolish child," she said gently. "Don't you realize that without him, you are just an ordinary donkey?"

Joseph Bayly wrote a verse—a contemporary psalm, if you will—for Palm Sunday:

King Jesus

why did you choose

a lowly donkey

to carry you

to ride in your parade?

Had you no friend

who owned a horse

-- a royal mount with spirit

fit for a king to ride?

Why choose a donkey

small unassuming

beast of burden

trained to plow

not carry kings

King Jesus

why did you choose

me

a lowly unimportant person

to bear you

in my world today?

I'm poor and unimportant

trained to work

not carry kings

--let alone the King of kings

and yet you've chosen me

to carry you in triumph

in this world's parade.

King Jesus

keep me small

so all may see

how great you are

keep me humble

so all may say

Blessed is he who cometh in the name

of the Lord

not what a great donkey he  rides.

The Lord’s Prayer: The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory

For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours now and forever.

   
     This majestic ending of the Lord's Prayer, so familiar to all of us, is not part of the prayer as Jesus taught it. Luke shows no acquaintance with it, and the best manuscripts of Matthew omit it. It is an addition made by the early church. It was made very early: by the end of the first century Christians were praying the prayer in a form that is quite similar to the one that is traditional among us today.

     Roman Catholic piety bears appropriate testimony to the distinction between this ending and the rest of the prayer. The form prescribed for individual prayer ends with "Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." But the form prescribed for the assembled church in its liturgy ends with “For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours now and forever. Amen."

     The early church did not invent this closing praise out of thin air. They found it in scripture. It is clearly based on the prayer that the chronicler places in David's mouth as David finishes assembling all the materials for the great temple that his son Solomon will build:

Blessed are you, O LORD, the God of our ancestor Israel, forever and ever. Yours, O LORD, are the greatness, the power, the glory, the victory, and the majesty; for all that is in the heavens and on the earth is yours; yours is the kingdom, O LORD, and you are exalted as head above all (1 Chron. 29:10-11).

     Jesus taught this prayer before the triumph of the resurrection. According to Luke, he was on the way to Jerusalem, with the shadow of the cross falling across his face. Appropriately, he ended the prayer on a somber note: "Save us from the time of trial and deliver us from evil." But the early church, which had experienced the cross and the resurrection and the spread of the gospel under persecution and the glory of martyrdoms, felt compelled to add a note of triumph. "Save us from the time of trial" is a cry of anguish and "Deliver us from evil" is a final outburst. The early church was unwilling to leave it there.

     Should we, on the basis of the best manuscripts, knowing that Jesus did not teach this part of the prayer, leave it out when we pray it in worship? Or should we continue to accept the liturgical practice of the church all the way back to the first century? I would choose to leave it in. Only sheer ingratitude and historical ignorance would impel anyone to ban these words from the contemporary liturgies of the church.

     This part of the prayer is not a request. It’s an affirmation. The affirmation corresponds in an interesting way to the first three petitions. We pray "Hallowed be your name"; and we affirm "The glory…[is] yours." We pray "Your kingdom come"; and we affirm "The kingdom…[is] yours." We pray "Your will be done"; and we affirm "The power…[is] yours." We are saying that what we have asked for is present fact, already done. What we pray for is the ultimate truth about the universe. Our prayer has its answer as we make it. This goes along with the teaching of Jesus: “So I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours" (Mark 11:24).

     At the heart of biblical faith we do not find an airtight argument sealed with a therefore--all's right with the world, therefore let us have faith, therefore let us praise God. At the heart of biblical faith we find something that does not logically follow at all, sealed with a nevertheless. Much is wrong with the world; the mystery of evil is great, nevertheless let us have faith, nevertheless let us praise God.

     Herod is king and has slain the innocent children of Bethlehem. Nero is king and has burned Christians as torches for his garden party. In our century the rulers of the nations have ordered the death of more children than Herod ever dreamed of, of more Christians than existed in Nero's day. Today's rulers—including our own—still possess weapons capable of the destruction of the entire human race. Nevertheless, the kingdom is God’s! Herod has the power to make refugees of the poor. Pilate has the power of capital punishment. In our century there are refugees by the millions. Hundreds wait on death row. The powerful grow more powerful and get their will done ruthlessly. The powerless grow weaker and less able to get anything they want. When the church tries to play the power game, it loses its authority. God sides with the powerless and seems weak and foolish. Nevertheless, the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength (1 Cor. 1:25). Nevertheless, the power is God’s!

     Augustus reigns in glory; so do the rulers of this present age. Crowds still cheer the gladiators; in our day the glory belongs to the athletes and the entertainers and the TV comics. God's name is despised and dishonored. Nevertheless, the glory is God’s!

     Does the prayer end with a great self-deception? Are we saying that what is obviously not true is true after all? Not exactly. The Hebrew prophets used some unusual grammar. They spoke of the certain future in the present tense. What God says will be, already is! The end of our prayer declares that in spite of those who presently exercise the rule and the power and the glory, in spite of climate change and the weapons buildup and all else that threatens us, this is the world's future: God's name will be hallowed, God's kingdom will come, The will of God will be done! We cannot say how or when, but the promises of God stand sure. So we end our prayer by shouting in the grammar of the prophets, “Tomorrow is here!“ When we add this word of praise to the Lord's Prayer, along with the early church, we are leaping ahead, so to speak, to claim our places in the “Hallelujah Chorus” of the end-time.

     It’s the custom to stand for the "Hallelujah Chorus" when Handel's Messiah is performed? Why? Not just because a king of England stood long ago. Because that magnificent text from Revelation declares our wildest hopes to be present truth, and Handel found music that says, "Yes, it is true after all!"

     Quiet, now. Can you hear it above the wails of the ambulances, fire engines, and police cars? Above the whine of jets carrying death on their wings, the throbbing of submarines carrying death into the depths of the sea, the crash of falling bombs, the roar of helicopters, the rattle of small arms? Above the partisan debates in Congress? Above the relaxing sounds that numb our eardrums to the uglier noises of life? Do you hear it?

    The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord
    and of his Messiah,
    and he will reign forever and ever (Rev. 11:15).

To which we say, "Amen!" It is so. May it be so. And may we live now as though it were already so. Amen and amen.