Romans 8:37-39
Presented June 1, 2008, by J.D. Kline
The Third Sunday after Pentecost
One of my favorite presenters at the annual Festival of Homiletics I attend is Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann, who used the phrase, exuberant generosity, to describe God’s activity in the world. A key task of the church, asserts Brueggemann, is to reframe the narrative or story by which we live our lives. It is a matter of putting on a new perspective towards life—coming to live in the light of our Creator God’s exuberant generosity. It is a perspective that runs markedly counter to the framing story of the culture in which we live. The primary narrative, the dominant message, of the world around us is one of despair—despair that grows from the fear of scarcity. Not enough land and oil and water to sustain our way of living, not enough food to nourish all of the peoples of the world, not enough love and courage to envision anything other than what we presently know and experience. The result of this focus on scarcity is a lifestyle that in many ways is the polar opposite of exuberant generosity. Much of life is spent in clutching and hoarding—holding firmly onto what we have, constantly being wary and on guard, lest others grab from us what we have come to claim as rightfully ours.
The gospel story of Jesus, on the other hand, is grounded in a markedly different perspective towards life; rather than focusing on scarcity, the gospel assumes an abundance of gifts. Unlike the narrative of the dominant culture that seldom considers anything other than material gifts, the gospel story focuses on gifts of the Spirit. The gospel story literally sings with freshness, for it invites and challenges us to move beyond self-preoccupation to a life that reflects the values of Jesus, the beautiful Savior whose life and ministry and death and resurrection guide us along pathways of compassion, neighborliness, justice, peace, loving-kindness, forgiveness, community, generosity. The gospel narrative finds its grounding in a life of trust—trust in the exuberant generosity of a God who loves us with a love that will not let us go.
Surely this is what Brueggemann has in mind when writing in his book, The Word that Redescribes the World:
The recovery of the biblical text includes the daring, pervasive conviction that God’s fidelity outlasts every circumstance. In the face of every circumstance, it is assured in the faithfulness of God that, in the words of [14th century mystic] Julian of Norwich, in the end “all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” What an incredible mouthful!
An incredible mouthful, indeed—this conviction that our exuberantly generous God remains faithful through the ups and down, the challenges and struggles, the joys and frustrations of our lives. The ancient Israelites discovered this in a profoundly personal way in that defining moment of despair in their history—the experience of exile when Jerusalem, their beloved homeland, was destroyed and many of the people were forced to live in enemy territory in Babylon. It was an experience that called into question the very underpinnings of their faith, for the temple at Jerusalem, those ancient believers were convinced, was the place God chose as home, and with its destruction, it was as if God no longer had any power to touch the people’s lives. Perhaps you recall the agonizing lament of the exiled psalmist, “By the rivers of Babylon—there we sat down and wept when we remembered Zion . . . on the willows we hung up our harps. For there our captors asked us for songs . . . [But] how could we sing the Lord’s song in a [strange and] foreign land?” (Psalm 137:4).
It was as if the song had gone out of them. Yet even in their dark despair, the ancient Israelites clung to as much of their faith as they could, and in the very act of remembrance, the people’s faith begins to be restored. Wayne Muller has a book entitled How, Then, Shall We Live? in which he asserts,
The heart of most spiritual practice is simply this: Remember. Remember who you are. Remember what you love. Remember what is sacred. Remember what is true. Remember that you will die, and that this day is a gift. Remember how you wish to live.
As the ancient exiles remembered who they were, as they recalled the God of exuberant generosity, life was transformed. A song once again entered their hearts. Indeed, is not the power of music that it calls forth powerful memories, deep in our souls?
One of my favorite novels is Alan Paton’s Cry, the Beloved Country. Set in South Africa in the late 1940s, with the system of racial apartheid creating overwhelming injustice and despair among the native African population, the novel tells the story of an old South African pastor, Stephen Kumalo, who journeys from his home village to Johannesburg to find his son Jonathon. Once in Johannesburg, his heart is broken as he discovers that his son is in jail for killing a white lawyer named Arthur Jarvis who, in an ironic turn of events, was an outspoken critic of the apartheid system.
Pastor Kumalo comes face to face with Arthur’s father, a wealthy landowner whose home is not far from Kumalo’s village. Though the elder Jarvis had long been angered by his son’s outspokenness, in the days following Arthur’s death, he reads the manuscript of a book his son was in the process of writing, and the book touches the father’s heart. Pastor Kumalo finds a softened elder Jarvis, and eventually the landowner offers to make significant changes for the struggling village where drought is taking a drastic toll. Jarvis promises to build a dam for the village, providing a year-round water supply.
Word of Jarvis’ exuberant generosity makes its way through the village, and the very rumor of something new sends a shock wave of hope through the poor community. There will be water for irrigation, and adequate food for the children. Family and village life will be altered. No change has yet happened, writes Alan Paton, and yet, hope renews the village. Writes Paton, “Although nothing has come yet, something is here already.”
So it is when in the midst of our own times of struggle and despair, a song of hope and trust resurfaces in our hearts. Is this not the power of this morning’s lesson from Romans, chapter eight? Paul is writing to a community of Christians beginning to face persecution. But rather than succumbing to fear, the apostle offers words of hope that literally sing forth from the letter. “If God is for us, who can be against us?” “Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?” “No,” sings the apostle, “for I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:31, 35, 38-39).
Tom Wright in his commentary Paul for Everyone affirms that these final words of Romans 8 ought to be written in letters of fire on the living tablets of our hearts, so powerful are they. Words that remind us of the exuberant generosity of our God. Words that create a song of hope and renewed faith in our hearts. Words that remind us to keep our eyes stayed on Jesus, the one who embodies the very character of our generous God.