The World and Jesus

The striking thing about this familiar verse is the juxtaposition of “the world” and “the son, the only son.” How quickly the thought of the verse moves from everything to something, from everybody to somebody, from all of that to just one of us, Jesus. In one moment, the gospel has the whole universe in mind: all of history, all of creation, and all of the human race; and the next moment, it has only one person in mind: sometimes that is Jesus, sometimes that is you, and sometimes that is me. This perception of things struck me forcefully during my days in Spain and Portugal. We landed in Seville, in the southwest corner of Spain. Seville is a one-hour drive from the port of Huelva, on the Gulf of Cadiz. This is part of the Atlantic Ocean west of the Rock of Gibraltar. The coastline goes straight west, along southern Spain and southern Portugal until it reaches a sharp point, then abruptly changes direction to go due north until it gives way to the massive harbor of the great city of Lisbon. From the neighboring and modest harbors of Seville to the impressive, natural harbor of Lisbon, the great ships of Spain and Portugal explored the world. It is a land distance of less than 400 miles, from one end of that coastline to the other, from the small harbors of Spain to the grand river of Lisbon. From this stretch of coast land, Portuguese captains and their brave crews took on the world. Famously, Christopher Columbus reaching the islands of North America in 1492, Vasco de Gama, rounding the southern tip of Africa, the Cape of Good Hope, in 1499, and Ferdinand Magellan, circumventing the globe in 1522. Portuguese explorers, all of them. From these cliffs and ports, they eyed the mysterious horizon and set sail into all that was unknown. Modern exploration of the solar system is a poor comparison to their incredible achievements. Jan and I stood at the tip of that coastline, where it turns from East to West and heads South to North. There is a lighthouse on the rugged coast just outside of Sagres, part of what was once a convent of the Catholic Church. The cliffs fall straight down, perhaps a hundred feet, to the deep, blue sea. The horizon to the west and south is out there, as far as the eye can see. On our day, the sky was blue, the sun was bright, and the sea was calm. It is not always like that, the guides told us. Sometimes, the sea rages and the clouds converge to cover the sky in an ominous blanket of fog. Out there is the horizon, the end of something known and also the beginning of all yet to be discovered. We stood there a long time and took pictures and talked and looked at the distant horizon. It was exactly what those explorers, 500 years ago, saw and felt. It was the edge of everything, the opening to the world as we know it now, the gateway to the future. The horizon. We walked to the makeshift market, vendors selling the one thing we needed: sweaters. I bought one, and you will see it when the weather gets bad here in Carolina. Handmade, they said, and I believe them still; not like the Italian art we bought ten years ago in the openair markets of Rome, only to discover later they were mass produced in China. The coastline of the Atlantic and the distant horizon reminded me of the large vision of the world that we need. It is what God gives us in the Bible and in the gospel. The Bible begins with the big picture, the wide-angle lens, the horizon of all things: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” How much wider, higher, deeper can you get? The Psalmist picked up this vision of everything. “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim your handiwork.” that is Psalm 19, but it could have been Psalm 8: “When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars which you have set in place….” Remember the magi from the east? They saw the star in the heavens. And how does the Bible end? With a vision of the whole thing: bigger, and longer, and grander than we can imagine. New Jerusalem coming down out of heaven, with the river of life flowing in the midst of the city. On both sides of the river is the Tree of Life. Its leaves are for the healing of the nations. (Revelation 21-22) From beginning to end and everywhere in between, it is the grand vision, the larger scope of creation, the ends of the world, the horizon of all things. Those explorers of a half millennia ago were seeing with the eyes of God. They were gazing at the big picture, the vast expanse, the whole ball of wax. God so loved the world…all of it…everything…from horizon to horizon and beyond. Always, the gospel pushes us to see everything, to lift our eyes up and out, to take it all in. Always the gospel demands that we have the larger, inclusive vision of the work and purpose of God. God is reaching to the horizons and so must we. God is contemplating what lies beyond the horizon, and so must we. God has a plan for all there is, and so must we. This is the gospel of God. But how quickly, the wide-angle lens tightens to the close-up. “God so loved the world, that God gave to us the one and only Son, even Jesus our Lord.” (John 3:16) How fast the narrative moves from the unknown horizon to the neighbor, the companion, to the self. From all there is and will be, to this one thing, this one person, this one moment. From creation, to you and to me and to us. From there to here. From the vast unknown to this very moment of my life, your life, our life together. From the mystery of it all to the mess around us. The cosmic star was overhead, and the heavenly chorus filled the horizon with music, but it was the one solitary soul, that baby, the Jesus of Bethlehem that soon took center stage. All of this, and yet one person. Think about those last visions of the Bible. They are expansive. They are so big and brash that we cannot comprehend any of it. We hardly know how to handle all that was seen and heard. But that Revelation narrative opens with the focus on one man, John, faithful disciple of Jesus, persecuted for righteousness, banished to the Isle of Patmos in the Mediterranean Sea, alone on the Lord’s Day, in worship. One man. Faithful to the end. Open to the Word. Giving gospel balance to the visions of everything. That wide-angle look into the purpose of God finally narrows on the one person, in worship, on an island away from everything. That is the gospel, the good news. God made all of it, but it is you that is the focus on God’s care and creativity. Yes, God is doing something in history and in creation, but God is also doing something in you. God is at work in your life, in your circumstances, in your deep need. God the creator of all that lies over the horizon is bringing to fulfillment something good for you. God began a good work in you, we read last year in the Letter to the Philippians, and God will complete that good work (1:6). Our last stop on the two-week tour of these Atlantic coastlines brought us to Porto, a wonderful, smaller city north of Lisbon. It is a popular place, and we know why. Thousands of tourists were there with us, eating in the open-air cafes, riding in the colorful Tuk Tuks, and gathering on hillsides to watch the sun set over the city. I got up on Sunday morning, last week, and walked three blocks down Avenue da Boavista to the magnificent plaza of the 19th century Portuguese general Mouzinho of Albuquerque. The round-about features the Performing Arts Center and, two blocks further, Tabernacle Baptista. It imitates the famous Metropolitan Tabernacle of London, England, whose 19th century pastor was the famous Charles Haddon Spurgeon. This tabernacle is home to the First Baptist Church of Porto. Tarsila met me at the front door. She is the greeter, speaks excellent English, and is the daughter of the pastor. Sunday School was underway, so I asked for a tour of the facilities. She walked me around three floors of the typical classes for children, youth, couples, and adults. When time came for worship, I took a seat at the edge of the second pew. The high ceiling gave plenty of space for the texts of Scriptures to fill the walls: Romans 3:23, John 3:16, and others. A praise band started the music: keyboard, two guitars, and a drummer. We sang two contemporary songs, then new words set to a familiar tune. It was all in Portuguese, on the screen. Before the worship began, a young couple sat down beside me. Nico and Julia Vicente they introduced themselves. Occasionally during the service, Nico would lean toward me and explain what was being said. The sermon was taken from Ecclesiastes and focused on the vanity of much of the world. Afterwards, they introduced me to the pastor. I invited the young couple to lunch. We went to a nearby food court and ate pasta. They told me their story. She is from Brazil, and he is from Maryland. He went on a mission trip to Brazil where he met her. They fell in love and got married eight months after meeting. They decided to move to Porto. “We found a home in the church,” they explained. They ride the bus to church twice on Sunday.  She is a nurse, and he aspires to either teach in the public schools or serve as minister in a church. We talked a long time. “Living expenses are high and wages are low,” they said. “We rent one room in a three-bedroom apartment. We share the apartment with a couple from Asia and a pair from Africa.” I listened as they talked. I listened to their words and to their heart. It was a gospel moment. My mind was drawn from the horizons of the sea to the hopes of this one, young couple. From thinking about the possibilities of the world, I listened to the promise and the problems facing these sweet young people. I encouraged them, especially his musical interests. I paid for their lunch and before we parted, gave them all I had, 20 euros. I wished I had more.  They needed it more than I did. It is this way everywhere, including here. Our minds and hearts oscillate between the horizon of possibilities that faces each person, every couple and family, and this church and the hurts and hopes of the people we meet, the people who walk into our sanctuary like I did last Sunday, the people who share our meal on Sunday afternoon, even the people who tune into our broadcast each Sunday morning. I want to dream about the future of this wonderful, powerful congregation, of the horizons of gospel work that appear in every direction. I want to dream big, but I also want to devote myself to the people, to you and those who sit on your pew. I want to see the big picture and think of all that God can do in us and among us. I also want to see each person in all your grit and glory. I want to do what I can as a pastor, a preacher, and a friend to help you be the person God calls you to be. Remember Psalm 8 I quoted a few minutes ago? “When I consider the heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars which you have set in place,” the poem continues, “what are we that you even think about us? What are any of us that you are mindful of us…. You have made us a bit lower than the angels and crowned us with glory and honor…. Lord our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth.” God so loved the creation and everything in it, the whole world here and beyond every horizon, that God send the one and only son of God, even Jesus of Nazareth, that when you and I believe in Jesus and through Jesus and with Jesus, we receive life eternal, life everlasting, life abundant, life in Christ, life with one another, life in the kingdom of God. We receive Life, where we sing for joy and live with hope. Thank you, Jesus. Make it happen. Amen.