Today we’re sticking with
Ephesians. I’ve always liked Ephesians,
and in my study of the book over the last couple weeks it has become more obvious
to me why that is. Ephesians is all
about making the connections between our worship lives and our discipleship,
our theology and our ethics. That is,
what we do “in the church” and what we do “in the world”. I believe very strongly in the cycle of
worship and ethics. I believe that what
we do here on Sunday mornings should frame how we think and live in the world,
and that the way we encounter the world should bring us back to worship with
new praises, lamentations, questions, affronts, doubts, and joys. We see these sorts of ideas developed over
the course of this epistle.
Today’s
reading is a prayer which marks the end of the first half of Ephesians. But before we get into that, let’s recap
where we’ve been. Our first week in
Ephesians we explored Paul’s view of the trinity and of salvation, learning how
they might give us endurance on days that seem ordinary. Last week we dug into Paul’s vision for the
church; we are to be a unified and reconciled church, built on Christ’s
peace. Both of these are the theological
bases for our worship. These are things
our worship is rooted in. These are
things that give us the ability to offer praise, to dance, in the face of the
things we encounter in daily life.
These
are the points Paul is referring to in the opening phrase of today’s lectionary
passage, “For this reason I bow my knees…”
While this is an admittedly awkward place to begin a reading, the
lead-in to today’s passage essentially states, “because of everything that has
come before I get on my knees and pray before God.”
So, this
is Paul’s prayer for the churches surrounding Ephesus: 1) that they be
strengthened internally by the Spirit, 2) that they be rooted in the love of
Christ, 3) and know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, and 4) that
they be filled with the fullness of God.
Now, if
you’re like me you were following along until we got to the third point. At the third point I came to a screeching
halt, “Wait a minute, Paul wants me to know that which surpasses
knowledge? What kind of nonsense is
that?” That, I think, is a very good
question.
How do
we know something that is unknowable to us?
It is by it’s very definition unknowable. We cannot do it. All of Paul’s focus thus far has been on God,
and that is the key here as well. When
Paul is talking about the unknowable, he’s talking about something is
beyond us, something that must be revealed to us. The knowing here is different than the way we
usually know things. But even the way we
usually know things is limited as humans.
Let’s think about how we as humans
develop knowledge. One way we humans
know things is by organizing our encounters into categories, which helps us to
more easily process our lives. We learn
to do this over the entire course of our lives, which helps broaden our
understanding of the world and makes our decision-making easier. We find patterns in behaviors and
similarities in things and create habitual responses to free our brains for
higher thought.
For example, we know how to drive a
car. When we get in we might notice a
manual transmission, but we don’t think, “Oh no! I only know how to drive a
blue 1995 Hyundai Elantra! How am I
going to drive this grey 2008 Ford Focus?”
It’s the same process for both cars.
Likewise, we don’t have trouble translating the skills we need to read a
book into the skills necessary for reading a billboard. We develop manners and social skills in order
to operate effortlessly in polite society.
Except, our knowledge is sometimes limited. Sometimes there are unknown unknowns. Sometimes the rules change and the things we
think we “know”, the categories we have, no longer work. Take your polite manners to another culture,
or flash a peace sign in the wrong part of the world…and see what happens. In the face of these unknown unknowns, we
realize how little we know.
Our knowledge is limited. Another way we try to know things is by their
name. We apply a word to something,
often based on our experience of it, and we think we know it. We think we own its meaning. If a thing has a name and a definition its
operation must be limited to that understanding. We call this an acorn. We know its properties. We know it becomes an oak. But what do we really know about the life of
that acorn or the life of the tree. Do
we really know it? Perhaps a better
example of this are these seeds. We know
“seeds”. We have a category for
“seeds”. We know what they do. But imagine someone has handed you some
seeds. You know “seeds”. What about these seeds. What do these seeds do? What will they become? What kind of fruit will they produce? We don’t know. Our knowledge is limited. The future of these seeds is only made known
to us as we plant them and the seeds reveal what they will become. Revelation is key to knowing that which is
beyond us. Revelation requires that we
trust and that we have faith.
As humans, we are used to being the
knowers. There’s power and security in
being the ones who know. But at some
point, our human knowledge breaks down. We
have a category for love. But the love
of Christ? Without some kind of
revelation, that love is beyond human knowledge. It is beyond our categorization. It cannot be contained if it is to be
understood.
And that is Paul’s point here. It is only by letting go of that security and
risking opening ourselves to something that is larger than what we can
comprehend that we can begin to understand the love of Christ. We have to be open and become vulnerable, to
welcome in the revelation of God’s love in our lives. In order for us to know the unknowable love
of Christ we have to be the one who is known rather than the one who manages
the knowledge. And it’s scary, because
we do not, cannot control it.
This sort of openness does not come
to us easily. There’s risk
involved. Have you ever willingly
exposed yourself, been vulnerable to something or someone in that way? Have you ever told someone the worst things
you thought about yourself, or the worst things you’d done and had that person
say to you, “That doesn’t change what I think of you. I love you anyway.” That kind of love is powerful. That kind of love fills the fault lines in
broken hearts and broken minds. That
kind of love changes lives and verges on miraculous. And that kind of love barely scratches the
surface of the love God has for us—God’s love has height, depth, width, and
breadth that we struggle to understand.
And though God’s love for us is
great, there’s risk involved when we open ourselves to God in this way. The risk is not that we will lose something
or that God isn’t trustworthy. When we
open ourselves to God we risk being changed.
We risk having our neatly ordered, comfortable lives upset. We risk being asked to put aside the things
we hold onto internally—things that take up space that God would rather fill
with love.
Whether
or not we choose to be open, the not so secret truth is that we are already
known to God. Just as with Adam and Eve
in the garden, we cannot hide from God.
The best and the worst of us is already open to God’s gaze. God knows the things that are planted in us,
waiting for the opportunity to bloom.
But God gives us the choice to open ourselves to God’s love, to allow
that love to water or to weed what is inside of us. We have the opportunity to be rooted and
grounded in love, but we must decide to do the work of opening our hearts to
allow that love in. And though there’s
risk, we know God is trustworthy. We
know God only desires the best for us.
If this
sounds mystical and touchy-feely that’s because some of it is. But sometimes the mystics of our Christian
tradition are on to something. I find
beauty in their ability to admit limitation, because it is so foreign to our
contemporary culture. In our culture so
many people derive their worth from their ability to know and understand, to
advance and climb ladders, to complete degrees.
We are driven to know. Further,
we torture ourselves when we refuse to accept that we have limits. We put ourselves through medical procedures
that likely will not extend or improve our quality of life. We refuse to sleep as we know we should. Sometimes we put our bodies through extreme
exercise and diet regimens, not looking for health, but looking for self-worth.
On the
other hand we have Cyril of Jerusalem, one of the early church fathers, bluntly
admitting limitation, saying, “For we explain not what God is but candidly
confess that we have not exact knowledge concerning Him. For in what concerns
God, to confess our ignorance is the best knowledge.”[1] Cyril is not suggesting that we throw up our
hands and go, “I give up. God is
whatever anybody says.” Cyril is saying
that we cannot encapsulate God with our exact knowledge.
This
could easily be an unsettling thought.
In fact, we’ve spent generations arguing about the nature of God. We may argue about who God is. We may even think that people have gone so
far astray from what God desires as to worry about them, but the reality is
that each of us only have a small understanding of the bigness and complexity
of God. Just as we try to encapsulate
words like “seed” and “love” our human understanding is not sufficient to
understand all of who God is. So God
reveals bits and pieces.
The
Bible is the story of how thousands of years of humans have experienced their
relationship with God. Some of the
stories don’t match others. Some of them
outright contradict one another. But the
overarching story is one of a god who wants his creation to dwell closely with
him. So, no matter how far they’ve gone
this god seeks out humanity, continually revealing his love and presence. Continually providing new revelation in the
hopes that they finally get it. That’s
who Jesus was. Humanity couldn’t get
it. The garden wasn’t enough. Angels weren’t enough. Manna in the desert wasn’t enough. The land wasn’t enough. A kingdom wasn’t enough. Prophets weren’t enough. Exile and return weren’t enough. So God came to earth in human form to say
“This is who I am and what I mean when I say I love you”. And sometimes we still struggle to
understand.
Whether or not we get it, the truth
is that the love of God is already around us.
We as Methodists understand this as prevenient grace, the grace that’s
present to us before we’re aware God is seeking us. Even as we become aware of God’s love and
grace and our need to do something with it, what we understand as justifying
grace, God’s love is present. And when
we decide to respond to God’s love and grace and move into the process of
transforming into the vision that God has for us, or sanctifying grace, God’s
love is present.
We
belong to God, and God loves and wants us.
God could have created anything, but God created us. God desires us to understand the bigness of
the love of Christ, the magnitude—the height, depth, width, and breadth—so that
we can be filled with God’s fullness.
This fullness is simply that we understand our value to God, value that
has God seeking us daily. Revealing
himself to us in our daily lives and daily encounters. This is what causes Paul to fall to his knees
in prayer. This is why we worship.
God
still seeks us. Still works to reveal to
us our worth. Where do we see God every
day? In whose face do we see God? When we head home from this place, when we
deliver meals this evening, when we welcome people into our building, when we
go to work tomorrow, when we play with friends we have the opportunity to look
for the action of God, the love of Christ, at work around us. God is willing to do this, and far more than
we can imagine, for us and in us. If
we’re willing to risk opening ourselves to the new, daily, ordinary revelation
of God’s love.
May we be willing to risk it.
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