sermonboy.com

Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Hebrews 12
18 You have not come to a mountain that can be touched and that is burning with fire; to darkness, gloom and storm; 19 to a trumpet blast or to such a voice speaking words that those who heard it begged that no further word be spoken to them, 20 because they could not bear what was commanded: “If even an animal touches the mountain, it must be stoned to death.”[a] 21 The sight was so terrifying that Moses said, “I am trembling with fear.”[b]
22 But you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, 23 to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God, the Judge of all, to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, 24 to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.
25 See to it that you do not refuse him who speaks. If they did not escape when they refused him who warned them on earth, how much less will we, if we turn away from him who warns us from heaven? 26 At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, “Once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens.”[c] 27 The words “once more” indicate the removing of what can be shaken—that is, created things—so that what cannot be shaken may remain.
28 Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, 29 for our “God is a consuming fire.”[d]

Nothing bolsters a good argument like a little Latin.

And nothing will impress quite like a little rhetorical analysis, breaking down your opponent’s words and saying “I see what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work on me.”

Take argumentum ad captandum for example, using words to capture the naive with an appeal to emotions rather than reason. If someone is suggesting they’re going to build a multi-billion dollar wall and get someone else to pay for it, you are hearing an ad captandum argument.

Or the well-worm argumentum ad populum, the appeal to the people. This lame argument suggests that simply because many people believe something, it must be true. When someone tweets “many people are saying” without specifying which people or exactly how many, they are making an ad populum argument.

Or the argumentum ad crumenam, Latin for the ‘argument of the purse,’ where people insist that someone is more clever or more profound simply because they are rich. No example is coming to mind just now.

And then there is the argumentum ad novitatem, the appeal to novelty. In this argument, if it’s new or novel, it must be better. If someone suggests banning an entire religious group from entering his country, and people yum up the idea because it’s new (though certainly illegal), they are falling for an ad novitatem argument.

Finally, there is the argumentum a fortiori, taking an existing belief and using it to strengthen a weaker point. An example would be a candidate that says something like “the last eight years have been a disaster, imagine what another four would be like.” This idea of a third term for Obama is an a fortiori argument, building on a firmly held belief to strengthen another idea.

So now you’re ready to answer all arguments, to pepper your Facebook replies with pretentious Latin phrases, and defeat even the most ardent supporters of a candidate I’d rather not name. And having had this tiny primer on rhetoric, you’re also ready to tackle the 12th chapter of Hebrews.

I don’t usually use Bible commentaries when preparing for Sunday, preferring to “trust the force” as Obi Wan might say, and let the passage speak for itself. When this fails, of course, I do have a quiver of resources, in this case an insightful study on Hebrews by Prof. Beverly Gaventa.

As she attempts to explain what seems rather opaque at first glance, she makes this observation: “Consistent with the style of argumentation throughout Hebrews, [this] passage makes use of an a fortiori argument. What was true of an earlier generation will be even more true of this last generation.” So how does this work?

Well, the passage begins with a reference that only Cecil B. DeMille would truly appreciate:

18 You have not come to a mountain that can be touched and that is burning with fire; to darkness, gloom and storm; 19 to a trumpet blast or to such a voice speaking words that those who heard it begged that no further word be spoken...the sight was so terrifying that Moses said, “I am trembling with fear.”

This is the weirdly glowing Charlton Heston, with the wild hair and the hipster beard. So this is the first image. The the author of Hebrews then shifts gears, taking us to the base of another mountain:

22 But you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, 23 to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven.

God is there, the judge and Most High, and Jesus is there, mediator of a new covenant, with a new message—a message you ought not ignore. So here comes the a fortiori argument: ‘If the Israelites ignored God’s words given on earth, how much more attentive will the church be to words spoke from heaven?’

Mostly, it’s a challenge to listen, a challenge to pay attention to the God in the absence of fires and darkness and gloom and a storm. It’s a challenge to acknowledge God’s presence through assemblies and songs—with nothing as dramatic as believers experienced long ago. ‘If the Israelites ignored God’s words given on earth, how much more attentive will the church be to words spoke from heaven?’

And the challenges only continue. We in the church are continually confronted by the same rhetorical arguments alive in the public arena. Ask your neighbour, or read your denominational magazine, or read the Star and you will hear these arguments.

There is an appeal to people to see the church only in terms of decline. This ad populum argument uses the “many people are saying” approach to suggest that we face certain death, rather than look at other cultures and countries and the overall state of the Christian church. Yes, our particular version of the church is struggling, but we’re a small part of the overall picture.

And then there is the argument of the purse, that churches with good cash flow are somehow more successful, and those that struggle must be doing something wrong. I think it’s the opposite, with more monies dedicated to outreach and community renewal being the real indicator of ‘success.’

And then there is the appeal to novelty, something that afflicts us in the United Church, and may cause our Presbyterian friends to sit back and feel all smug. Thirty years of working in the wider-church, and I can tell you that we’re endlessly distracted by whatever shiny object rolls by, especially if someone calls it restructuring. Even local churches can have this problem, distracted by the latest guru or trend that comes along.

Instead, we should take the wisdom of Hebrews, and the a fortiori argument the author is famous for, and apply it to our life together:

If churches can begin and grow in some of the smallest and most unsightly storefronts along our main streets, how much more can we do with our large churches that actually look like churches?

If people can spread the Word of God in countries like North Korea where it is illegal to have a Bible, how much more effective will we be with stacks of Bibles lying around?

If Christians can tend to each other in countries like Syria and South Sudan, how much more will we be able to do amid the peace and prosperity we enjoy?

If God is still speaking through the words we speak and the prayers we share, how much more do we have to learn from this talkative God?

And if Jesus is still among us in the meals we share, and the people we help, and the friends we meet, then how much more will we be able to accomplish in his name?

The answer is more, with how much more falling to us. May God continue to make the best arguments, so compelling we can’t turn away, now and always. Amen.

posted by michael jacob kooiman @ 4:54 AM