More and more dead to sin; more and more alive to God

 

For several years, my daily devotions, morning and evening, have been guided by a wonderful resource compiled by a friend and colleague, the Rev. Dr. Steve Manskar.  His book, A Disciple's Journal, combines lectionary scripture readings with a relevant "word" from John Wesley, portions of a hymn from Charles Wesley, and a pattern for charting one's acts of compassion, justice, devotion, and worship -- works of mercy and works of piety.  For at least six years, this has been my primary, though not my only daily companion for prayer and reflection.

This week's "word" from John Wesley comes from his sermon entitled "The Scripture Way of Salvation," one of the most succinct expositions of his theology and thought, particularly with regard to his understanding of justifying and sanctifying grace and the assurance that we receive when the Spirit witnesses with our spirit that we are children of God.  It's one that seminary students tend to be somewhat familiar with for that very reason.  

I have read it many times, but I have found with Wesley's writings and with Charles Wesley's hymns that, just as with scripture, we find new insights and new treasures every single time we turn to them.  Like that old saying that one never steps in the same river twice, we never hear the same message in quite the same way when we immerse ourselves in the richness of Wesley's sermons.  If you are familiar with lectio divina, the meditative way of feasting on a few verses of scripture that invites you to let the Holy Spirit guide you to a particular word or phrase, you may not be surprised to find that reading the Wesleys can function much the same way.  

This week, as I read the following passage from "The Scripture Way of Salvation," I found myself returning again and again to one sentence, the one from which this post takes its title.

From the time of our being "born again" the gradual work of sanctification takes place. We are enabled "by the Spirit" to "mortify the deeds of the body," of our evil nature. And as we are more and more dead to sin, we are more and more alive to God. We go on from grace to grace, while we are careful to "abstain from all appearance of evil," and are "zealous of good works," "as we have opportunity doing good to all men;" while we walk in all his ordinances blameless, therein worshiping him in spirit and in truth; while we take up our cross and deny ourselves every pleasure that does not lead us to God.

That sentence leapt out at me every single time I read this excerpt -- And as we are more and more dead to sin, we are more and more alive to God.  I love the parallelism of it, the balancing of our increasing death to the forces of sin and evil with the increase of our "aliveness" to God and subsequent growth in grace.  It's a satisfying way of expressing a profound truth, for we cannot wallow in sin and increase in grace.  It's simply not possible.  We must crucify the passions of the flesh in order to receive new and abundant life in and through Christ.  As we leave behind our old ways of thinking and behaving and being, we are drawn ever closer to becoming the people we were intended to be, created in the divine image, only a little lower than the angels.  Being alive to God implies a real change within, a change that is reflected without.  If we are born anew, born again, born from above, it will inevitably show in the lives we lead through the words we speak, the ways in which we interact with other people, and the expressions of love and service that we joyfully offer in obedience to Jesus's command that we love one another.  We will consecrate the work of our hands in gratitude and love to the One who creates, redeems, sustains, and cares for us even before we know anything of it.

I fall short of this life of holiness every day, and yet I cling to that promise inherent in the words of Christ in the Sermon on the Mount -- "be perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect."  Jesus wouldn't have said for us to do it if it weren't possible, and so every day, I rededicate myself to the goal of becoming more and more dead to sin and therefore more and more alive to God.  I know I won't be able to do it on my own, but as I live a life filled with those works of mercy and piety, I believe that I will indeed go on from grace to grace, as the divine potter continues to shape and mold me into a holy vessel.  

My new life and ministry in England is teaching me new things every single day, and it's a little overwhelming sometimes.  I don't always know what I don't know, if you see what I mean.  I'm afraid that I will forget or that I will get it wrong or that I will somehow not be the minister I want to be, yet I am assured of that wonderful reality of dying to sin and living to God.  I hope that you can examine your life and say the same, and if not, what might you do to enable yourself to die more and more to sin in order to live more and more to God?  None of us does it alone, so surround yourself with good influences, with companions who will encourage and support you even as you support them in their Christian journey.  That is my hope and my prayer for myself, for you, and for all who are called by Christ's name.  May it be so!   

On Pleasing All Men (and Presumably Women)

Well, as the corona-times drag on, we are facing a second wave here in the UK, and new restrictions are coming back into play.  People are trying to stay positive, but the numbers of the jobless are increasing, the sight of disheartened workers is pervasive, the loneliness and fear of the elderly and vulnerable is palpable, and the pressure on healthcare workers as well as food banks and other safety nets is apparent. The toll the pandemic is taking on people's mental health is evident, even though most people understand that the preventive measures are still necessary in the face of so much illness and so many deaths. Those of us who are clergy are seeking ways of nurturing connection, especially for those without expertise in current technology like Zoom, and we are trying to be encouraging, to help people remain hopeful even when there seems to be no end in sight.  It's not easy. In fact, it's possibly the toughest season of ministry many of us have ever faced.  The pressure is immense.

Of course, disease and death and fear are nothing new. Scripture recounts stories of famine, of loss, of oppression, and of despair. But it also tells of a God whose love is wider and whose grace is deeper than we can even imagine.  It lifts up the broken-hearted, brings comfort to the despairing, and transforms the grimness of death itself into life abundant and free.

John Wesley lived in the turbulent 18th century, a time when scientific knowledge was increasing, intellectual curiosity was sparking, and religious revival was sweeping the length and breadth of Great Britain. At the same time, war and poverty and disease and social ills like alcoholism were ever present threats.  The early Methodists lived cheek and jowl with all that misery and desperation, and the preachers sought to bring strength and encouragement to people by helping them learn to trust in God's goodness and the unconditional love of Christ. 

Wesley knew that sometimes, there just were no words that could make things better, and he counseled his Methodists to take the following practical yet loving approach: 

Weep with them that weep. If you can do no more, at least mix your tears with theirs; and give them healing words, such as may calm their minds, and mitigate their sorrows. But if you can, if you are able to give them actual assistance, let it not be wanting. Be as eyes to the blind, as feet to the lame, a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. This will greatly tend to conciliate the affection, and to give a profitable pleasure, not only to those who are immediate objects of your compassion, but to others likewise that 'see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven'.  (On Pleasing All Men)

If we are struggling to minister to people in their need because we feel we have nothing to offer, we would do well to take those words to heart and put them into practice as we incarnate the love of Christ to our neighbours.  In ourselves we may have nothing to offer, but we don't come trusting in our own abilities but instead, we offer them Christ, who knows our sorrows and carries them as he walks alongside us.  Listening to their griefs, weeping with them as they mourn, and speaking to them with compassion -- these are acts of love that promote the dignity and worth of everyone, and they are gifts we can joyfully share.  In these uncertain days, how will you and I commit to do this? What can we do to bring light into someone's darkness? It might even be as simple as sharing a cup of tea...

Unspeakable

 

John Wesley's commentary on Exodus 34:6 is positively lyrical.  He wrote:  "The springs of mercy are always full, the streams of mercy always flowing; there is mercy enough in God, enough for all, enough for each, enough for ever."  The first time I read those words, I was deeply moved, and they still make me catch my breath.  I didn't grow up being afraid of God, but I didn't start to realize the depth of God's grace and the wideness of divine mercy until I began to really delve into Wesley's theology when I was at Duke Divinity School.  There is something immensely appealing about the belief that grace surrounds us every moment of our lives, even before we know anything about it and that it continues throughout, as the nudges of the Holy Spirit lead us beyond justification into sanctification and finally towards Christian perfection.

Not quite a month ago, I fulfilled a long-time dream and moved to England to serve in the British Methodist Church.  I spent the first two weeks (or fortnight, as they usually say here), in quarantine, and it was an interesting experience. I devoted myself to winnowing out the books that had been left by the former minister, learning to cook on a gas stove, figuring out the dishwasher and other appliances, and starting to get to know the people of the three churches that are my primary pastoral charges, of necessity mainly via telephone and Zoom.  I have been greeted with excitement, with curiosity, and with great hospitality, and the collegiality of the other ministers in the circuit along with the help and encouragement of the superintendents and circuit officers have made this first part of the transition an occasion of grace even as I miss my husband and the familiar things of home.  Someone asked me what I expected to find or experience coming here, and without even thinking, I responded, "Grace.  I expect to find grace as we learn to be church together in a time of pandemic and with all the changes that the corona-times have brought to every aspect of life."  

Today as I joined my clergy colleagues of the North Carolina Annual Conference for the Clergy Session via Zoom, I didn't expect the surge of emotion that engulfed me as I saw familiar faces and heard voices of people I have known and loved for years.  I mourned the loss of being able to be physically present with each other, and I felt the thousands of miles between us in a particularly sharp way.  Unable to talk with my usual support network, I was surprised by grace as new colleagues here in England surrounded me with kindness, understanding, and support. Person after person offered me encouragement, phone calls, and face-to-face tea dates.  I am filled with such gratitude for the beauty of the Wesleyan Connexion that binds all of us together, British Methodists and United Methodists, and all the other branches of the family, the heirs of the revival that emphasized the flowing streams of God's mercy and what Charles Wesley called the "unspeakable gift," the grace that is beyond the power of  human words to describe.  I don't know where this adventure will take me next, but I rejoice in the springs of mercy that are refreshing my soul each and every day.

     

Poems on Subjects Never Before Handled

 

If you have been following this blog or my Travels With Wesley Facebook page, you already know that I recently finished writing a book called Mothers in Israel:  Methodist Beginnings Through the Eyes of Women and that it's due to be published in December and will be available through Cokesbury, the Upper Room bookstores, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.  In it, Susanna Wesley gets an entire chapter to herself as the Mother of Methodism because of her lasting theological and devotional influence on her sons and because she was a powerful example of a faithful and bold Christian woman and leader.  She is an interesting, complex person, and I love to talk about her and to share some of her writings with people who have only a nodding acquaintance with her.  I am, however, far less likely to talk about her husband, the father of the Wesleys, the Rev. Samuel Wesley.

Samuel Wesley was devout, intelligent, conscientious, and loving, but he was also stubborn, easily angered, autocratic, and moody.  Reading some of the letters between him and his children as well as letters written to and from Susanna reveal a man who was slow to forgive and quick to take offense, though he was affectionate, honest, and sincere.  He, too, is an interesting, complex person.  His climb up the ministerial ladder stalled early on, and though he considered himself an excellent scholar and poet who deserved a plum position in the Church of England, he lived out most of his life and ministry in the market town of Epworth and even smaller village of Wroot.  

Interestingly, he wrote a collection of poems in 1685 entitled Maggots, or Poems on Subjects Never Before Handled.  Supposedly, he wrote this poetry in order to demonstrate that poetic language could transform even the most revolting subject into a thing of beauty.  Well, I must confess that I haven't read any of the poems, but after witnessing a squirming mass of the title creatures in my rubbish bin (Hey, I'm living in England now, so I'm going to inevitably use some of their expressions), I'm not convinced that lofty words and flamboyant expressions can ever transform wiggly little nasties into something sublime.  

What I have read of Samuel Wesley's poetry has done nothing to change my mind.  Daughter Hetty and son Charles were the gifted poets in that family, though some of John Wesley's hymns are lovely, too.  But it got me thinking, seeing the icky maggots nibbling their way through the oh, so fragrant trash.  Maybe Samuel was onto something deeper than he himself even intended.  Maybe his musings on the grunting of a hog and the aforementioned insect larvae provide a metaphor from the natural world that has application to our spiritual lives.  The Apostle Paul called his own attempts at righteousness "dung and dross," which is hardly any more appetizing than maggots, and he did so in order to point to the unspeakable gift of grace that is poured out on us even before we know anything of it.  He considered himself the chief of sinners, a phrase not unfamiliar to the Brothers Wesley, and after his Damascus Road experience, he became the apostle to the Gentiles, joyfully and obediently spending and being spent in the work of the gospel.  Those rags of his former attempts at living a holy life became the wedding garment, if you will, as he allowed himself to be an instrument of God, led and guided by the Spirit.

The challenge you and I face during these corona-times is how best to offer our gifts of time, talent, and treasure in a landscape that has so suddenly become alien and downright weird.  The same old, same old simply doesn't work in this new and strange land of Covid-19, and many (most?) of us don't feel quite adequate for the task, yet the same God who can make human beings from the dust of the earth, forming them into the divine image, is the One who is with us in our stumbling attempts to pivot and be creative in the ways in which we glorify Christ and love our neighbors.  Maybe Samuel was onto something after all.  Maybe the 2020 maggots we have been given can be turned to good use, leading us towards a new way of being the Church and of sharing the beauty of our God with the world.  Are you willing to trust the Spirit's nudging?  Will you come along and see?