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Bible Study - ELCA Assembly 2001
REFLECTIONS ON ROMANS 12: 1-3
Brandon Morton

(A young man from Chicago, Illinois, led a Bible study last summer for a gathering of communicators from our synods and comes with strong affirmation from them.)

Tradition says that Paul is the writer of the book of Romans. We know by what is said in this letter and other writings by Paul that he had never been to Rome and that he did not play a role in the founding of the church that was established there. And so Paul's letter to the church of Rome, while deeply philosophical, reveals a basic human desire to go – or shall I say the desire to reach beyond the limits of home and discover a world beyond the world one already knows – in short, an engagement with Paul's letter to the church of Rome is an engagement with the power of human expectation.

And what is expectation, you ask?

A river searching a continent for tha ocean
climbing tha slippery slopes of mountains
creating waterfalls over tha rock's edge
carving itself through valleys
turning dirt roads into green pastures
great pastures into swamps
mosquitoes and dragonflies celebrate
fawns come to tha edge and drink
philosophers sit on its bank and think
painters discover background for their imaginations
Love again has added its Glorious touch upon creation ...

but tha river grows an undeniable thirst to find tha ocean

so through nightfall to midnight –
in darkness led by moonlight – a river must fight –
holding tha vision of an ocean –
when there is only dry land in sight –
rejoicing in tha songs of birds –
break'n tha dawn – which means another day –
tha Lord has graciously brought along –
a mile closer – but must briefly look back –
to remain faithfully strong –

a river that could have remained in a pond –
but thought about what it loved most –
greater waters – now it continues beyond –
allowing that spirit to intercede – knowing it
is God that worketh within – that's why it believes – in prayer –
stopping its flow – only to worship from its knees –
splashing a praise – as tha wind sways tha limbs of trees –
squirrels putting two hands in tha air –
when Christ arrives – freedom is nature's only care ...

Life is blessed in its waters
growing roots stretch for the outermost limits
and then – even farther

in its trail
are remnants of an unconditional Love
ahead awaits tha ocean
this is tha power of expectation
faith beyond arrival
from a lifetime of choosing God's love ...
first.

"I appeal to you brethren, by the mercy of God, to present your body as a living sacrifice which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." These words of Paul speak not only of his expectation to burst the bounds of provincial limits and the like – they speak of an even more pervasive hope – that hope being that it does not appear what we shall be. This is to suggest that Paul believes that human beings can be more than what they are so long as they remain in Christ. For, if the truth be told, to be called a Christian – or to call someone a Christian – is not so much to describe them as it is to ascribe to them what they can be. To say Christian is to set a goal – or to suggest an aim for human life in spite of all the failings that come along with being human.

When I was a boy I was very clumsy, and I would often break my mother's valuables. After she scolded me she would call me her little man – she would call me her big boy. By no means was she describing what I was, but in almost every way she was ascribing to me what I could be. The Bible calls the community of believers many things – we are named in Scripture in several ways – we are called a royal priesthood; in another place it is said that we are a holy nation and somewhere else we are called saints – and yet the truth of the matter is, we are sinners, saved by grace, who have been justified by grace through faith apart from works for the sake of Christ. But here again I remind you of what the Scripture says: that it does not yet appear what we shall be. We may indeed be sinners, but it does not yet appear what we shall be. We may be falling, we may be failing, we may be losing, we may be bleeding – we may even be defeated. But there is a name given to us in the midst of our failures to remind us of the power of God that worketh in us. It is a name given not to describe us – but given to awaken the last shread of hope that lingers – and the name is simply Christian.

This is why Paul is appealing to the church of Rome. He wants them to understand what they can be – by causing them to confront the price one must pay if one is to truly be something more. Paul says in the text, "present your bodies as a living sacrifice." This is to suggest that whereas with most sacrifices, the sacrifice is not complete until the thing being sacrificed dies. But here in Paul's case, the sacrifice is not complete until the thing being sacrificed lives. Presenting one's body as a living sacrifice is not about dying, it is about living – hence the term living sacrifice. For in Christ we need not die – or shall we say, we need not be consumed by the fear of finitude. In Christ, in his death, and in his resurrection, we are given license to live. Presenting one's self as a living sacrifice should be understood as a call for us to remember the price that was paid for our freedom. Paul is calling the church to remember, and in so doing he is lifting from beneath their weary feet a new standard and a new expectation. Present your bodies as a living sacrifice – and if this is true – or if this is possible – then the measure of our sacrifice – and the sacrifices we have made for the Gospel of Jesus Christ – will be known not by our deaths, but in the vitality of our living. Living sacrifices live each moment as if it were their last. living sacrifices see themselves through the refracted light of God's Grace. They remember the passion of his pain, the depth of his anguish, and the extent to which he was willing to endure – all that humanity and evil can hurl at him – so that we could be called the children of God.

Paul says present your bodies – not just your mind but even your body – as a living sacrifice. Because what the mind forgets, the body remembers. It is here that I am reminded of a man – a deacon who died one day on the cold forsaken floor of a stoning pit – and as he died he said he saw the light of God, the heavens open, and the son of God standing next to the Father. He died giving glory and thanks to the God of his salvation. He died with his eyes ablaze, and with his hands lifted – and his heart already well beyond the surly bonds of Earth. His name was Stephen, and even in death the fire of his expectation – the ever-present glare of his abiding home – could not be quenched. Stephen died as he had lived – with faith that there was something beyond the imemdiacy of here and now.

Well, there was someone else standing at the edge of that stoning pit that day – he held the coats of the men who murdered Steven – and as he stood there this young man saw what he had never seen before – he saw a man die as he had never seen a man die before. Paul saw in Stephen the power that comes uniquely from the power of expectation. It is what the Greeks called divine madness – or shall we say the refusal to believe that midnight will last forever. I am tempted to believe that as Paul writes this letter to the church of Rome, and as he is attempting to encourage them to remain steadfast in their faith and to be more than what they are – I am tempted to believe that the witness of Stephen lingers ever so still within the general intent of Paul's concern – the call to be a living sacrifice is at its core an invitation for us to be profoundly affected by the Gospel we profess – that is to say, our lives should in some way reflect the fact that we have enjoyed intimate communion with our Lord.

Our going out into the world should at the very least be conditioned by the fact that we have been with him in here – we do not leave this place today as those who have never heard his gentle voice. We do not face the trials and strife of life as those who know not the promise of his love. There is a voice echoing through the corridors of time telling every potential Peter to put up his sword – and it tells every potential Stephen that this is not the end. And so we say – as Paul said long years ago – do not be conformed to this world but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind. That is to say, because of the hope that is inherent in Jesus Christ, we dare not – we must not – we cannot see the world as others complacently do. Do not be conformed to this world, do not be satisfied with the limits of a language turned loveless, do not become paralyzed by the pervasive nature of human pessimism – but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind. Do not lose the power that comes only from expectation – and do not lose the expectation that comes only from God.

In Christ there is not only the power to renew our minds – there is in him the power to heal our brokenness – to bind our wounds and to make us conformable to the demands of his Grace. In Christ there is a power to go, as Maya Angelou once suggested, "from darkness to darkness – with hounds behind, along paths carpeted with fear – looking for that great gettin' up morning." For we come to him as empty pitchers before a full fountain with no merits of our own, and as James Weldon Johnson noted, "with our hearts beneath our knees and our knees in some lonesome valley." We come to him having been called everything but a child of God – having traveled up the rough side of many mountains – having teetered and tottered along the slippery steps of death. And to us he gives yet a simple promise: "Behold, I make all things new" – so that, when the world begins to rock beneath our feet and when the moon has lost its glow, and the sun refuses to shine – to us there is given a promise: "Behold, I make all things new," – your marriages, your love relationships, your dreams, your distant longings. Jesus says that by his power they are made new – they are renewed.

This is the great gift of the African to America, for not only did she teach America how to cry, she taught the nation how to cry and dance at the same time – that is to say, she re-taught the nation how to hope, how to live amid misery and laugh full of expectation. My forepeople knew something of what it was to cling to the last remaining shred of expectation; they told their children to hold on – to believe – and they told them that God would make a way out of no way ...

I would like to end this time of meditation, having already centered your minds on the theme of expectation, with a poem that not only captures the essence of expectation in general – it captures the particular expectation and expression of African-American expectation as well ...

Time slippin' away

How much longer do we have?
Time slipp'n away.
Wake up out' my sleep – suddenly my last day!

How much longer do we have?
Time.

I woke up following Harriet through the crossings of a river.
She turned around and said, "Hush now, boy –
In this here silence the devil can't slither.
Listen!
The beat o' your heart just a-jumpin' to that hip-hop rhythm.
I'm'a takin' your soul where that nodestar glistens.
Listen!"

I swallowed my voice and began to move onto the
dirt road of Harriet's choice.
She led me through the promise of another morning –
into the secret chambers of the underground –
away from the wretched blood of America we found –
a key to unlock slavery's cage.

She pulled that holy book from under her arm
and freedom began to call to us from a page.

How much longer do we have?
Time slipp'n away.
Wake up out' my sleep – suddenly my last day!

How much longer do we have?
Time.

Harriet was talkin' to Jesus as if he were actually there,
standing amongst the dense air.
She said, "Lordy, I'm ‘bout to bring another child to your house
and this one's got sump'n to share.
Git up li'l boy. Now do exac'ly as I say.
You'se gon' be free by nightfall,
but we's gots to hurry up on our way."

We began moving at a faster pace.
I became very uneasy
because distorted images were rapidly approaching my face –
alcoholic bottles, laughin',
filly blood slowly unwrappin',
marijuana bags floating on the wind,
beautiful ones and condoms sent to condemn.

But Harriet was still movin'.
She was up there hummin' one of them slave songs.
Harriet was up there groovin'
so I caught onto her groove and began to sing my own tune.

How much longer do we have?
Time slipp'n away.
Wake up out' my sleep – suddenly my last day!

How much longer do we have?
Time.

Harriet stopped. She grabbed my hand

and began to lead me between the pews of a church.
She walked me up to a pulpit.
She placed me just above a microphone.
She smiled, and then disappeared.

Now I stand somewhere between Tupac, a thug
and Jesus the Christ.
In the meantime, I'm a cultivating miracle
making a sacrifice –
looking into the humanness of your eyes
and begging for the attention span of your ears.
Freedom is more near than we've ever believed.

But just how long a moment will time need?

How much longer do we have?
Time slipp'n away.
Wake up out' my sleep – suddenly I found a way!

How much longer do we have?
Time.