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 New Covenant—3 November 2024 (was 1 Nov 2020)

1 Thessalonians 2

9 Surely you remember, brothers and sisters, our toil and hardship; we worked night and day in order not to be a burden to anyone while we preached the gospel of God to you. 10 You are witnesses, and so is God, of how holy, righteous and blameless we were among you who believed. 11 For you know that we dealt with each of you as a father deals with his own children, 12 encouraging, comforting and urging you to live lives worthy of God, who calls you into his kingdom and glory.

13 And we also thank God continually because, when you received the word of God, which you heard from us, you accepted it not as a human word, but as it actually is, the word of God, which is indeed at work in you who believe.

I suspect my mother was a secret Catholic.

And while my evidence may be vague and a little flimsy, it remains a question in my mind.  My suspicion began with the purchase of a late 70s Corolla, used, brown in colour with a beige vinyl roof.  Already you find this story troubling, and that’s before you sit inside.  For there, in the middle of the dashboard, was a small ornament, like a little coin on a pedestal.

So I say: Mother, what is that?

Mother: That’s St. Christopher, patron saint of travellers.

Me: But you’re not Catholic.

Mother: I know, but he’s the patron saint of travellers.

Me: You’re just gonna leave it there, aren’t you?

Mother: Of course.

It was only later that I learned that St. Christopher had been demoted—maybe reassigned—within the list of Catholic saints.  I can’t imagine that this information would have any bearing on the shiny metal object in the middle of the dash, since leaving it there was more about avoiding bad luck.  In other words, she was not-so-secretly superstitious rather than secretly Catholic.

If you are currently looking at the St. Christopher medal on your keychain, I do not mean to offend.  He’s an interesting case, and represents an important step in the evolution of the idea of sainthood.  His story mirrors numerous saints who emerged in the Middle Ages and became increasingly popular.  St. Christopher, like his colleagues St. Nicholas and St. George, appeared with the kernel of a story that was embellished over the centuries.

The name Christopher means Christ-bearer, and he is said to have carried a young child across a river, only to discover that he was carrying Christ.  In this sense, he blesses travellers, as he was blessed.  He becomes the embodiment of “entertaining angels unawares” (Hebrews 13) or serving Christ in the form of the “least of these.” (Matthew 25)

This, of course, was not enough to keep him on the formal list of saints.  Church reform in the 1960s demanded that saints who were more legend than fact be removed from the primary calendar of commemoration.  They were never fully omitted, just placed in a new category.  This allowed the church to emphasize saints that were recognized through the highly organized process of canonization.

Over here in the Protestant church, we’ve taken a different approach.  Our Anglican friends continue to commemorate pre-Reformation saints, but have shifted focus to “saints and heroes” of the faith.  On the west front of Westminster Abbey you will find statues of Martin Luther King Jr. and Óscar Romero, modern saints and heroes—just two examples.  Methodists have taken a similar approach, never praying to saints, but lifting them up as examples to follow.

The phrase “heroes of the faith” is helpful, since the common definition of sainthood is to display “heroic virtue.”  Beginning in the Middle Ages, this meant demonstrating the four cardinal virtues (prudence, justice, fortitude and temperance) along with the three theological virtues: faith, hope, and charity.  If these three sound familiar, it may relate to the many weddings you have attended.  St. Paul commends faith, hope, and charity in 1 Corinthians, though we usually flatter the bride and groom by using the alternate translation, “faith, hope, and love.”

In many ways, Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians is an expanded version of faith, hope, and charity.  The letter is less concerned with matters of doctrine, and more about living together as believers.  The passage that I shared is like a letter inside the letter, giving us the gist of the matter:

For you know that we dealt with each of you as a father deals with his own children, encouraging, comforting and urging you to live lives worthy of God, who calls you into his kingdom and glory.

Paul is keen to remind them that he was trying to set an example, demonstrating “faith, hope, and charity” at Thessalonica, and urging them to do likewise.  In some ways it sounds immodest, reminding them that he and his helpers were “holy, righteous, and blameless” while with them, but it strengthens his point.  By living lives worthy of God, we practise the ultimate form of devotion, the greatest gift we can give.

His words are not fully without doctrine, because he shares an important principle in the next section:

And we also thank God continually because, when you received the word of God, which you heard from us, you accepted it not as a human word, but as it actually is, the word of God, which is indeed at work in you who believe.

“You accepted…the word of God, which is indeed at work in you…”

I’m going to be bold and suggest that what Paul is giving us is a summary of sainthood, a summary that includes virtue (in the word of God) and the abiding sense that God is at work in us.  Consider it: when we follow the word, we take it on, we embody it—then we take it into the world.  Without us, there is a risk that the word of God will simply be words on a page.  But when we live it, when we personify the word, then God is working in us and through us.

Let me share one more story: My mother liked to tell us about the time she was an enumerator, visiting homes throughout East Gwillimbury, adding people to the voter’s list.  She and her co-worker were met at the door by a potential voter with a less-than-welcoming look.  When informed about the purpose of the visit, the person was quick to say “I’ll not be registering to vote—you see, I’m voting for God.”  My mother’s co-worker, without missing a beat, said “I see, ma’am, but God’s not on the ballot.”

There’s something magical about having just the right comeback at just the right moment.  I think we all wish we were as quick-on-our-feet as my mother’s co-worker that day.  But setting aside the power of a good comeback, I’m left puzzling over the response, and the extent to which religious people vote for God.

If we could track down this anonymous non-voter, she might tell us that there should be a strict separation between church and state, and that those most actively involved in a life of faith should focus on that realm alone.  Most Amish, for example, choose not to vote, believing that politics is too worldly and pits “brother against brother.”  Or, perhaps her motive related to our “fallenness,” the idea that humans are too corrupt to govern themselves. It was Billy Connolly who said “The desire to be a politician should bar you for life from ever becoming one.”  I’m not sure this person in the wilds of East Gwillimbury was channelling the great Scottish comedian, but the impulse is the same.

Whatever her reasons, I’m left with the question ‘how can we cast our ballot and vote for God at the same time?’  And the answer (as expected) can be found in scripture.  (I should note that when I say “we cast our ballot” I mean “you cast your ballot” for obvious reasons).  

Turning, then, to scripture, it provides comfort and hope, inspiration and direction, but it also reminds us of the many ways we can allow God to work in us.  Think about some of your favourite passages, and then consider the mandate of allowing God to “work in us and others.”  Think of Micah 6, for example: “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”  Then there’s “Love your neighbour as yourself.” (Matthew 22) Or “be perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect.” (Matthew 5) Now we’re veering back to sainthood.  

Recall: when we follow the word, we take it on, we embody it—then we take it into the world.  We’re voting for God when we allow God to work through us, to translate the “words on a page” found in scripture into something tangible, redeemable, and worthy of the Most High.  

Overall, by living lives worthy of God, we practise the ultimate form of devotion, the greatest gift we can give.  We may not achieve the “heroic virtue” required for sainthood, but we can make “faith, hope, and charity” our theme, inching toward the “saints in light” we remember today.  Amen. 

posted by michael jacob kooiman @ 5:54 AM