Proverbs 1:20-3, Psalm 19, James 3:1-12, Mark 8:27-38
What is wisdom? Can we define it or do you know it when you see it? Good judgment, counsel, insight, discernment, far-sightedness, deep empathy.
Wisdom can be a gift—some people just have it, but it’s also a discipline—you can get wisdom, you can gain in wisdom. If you listen more than you speak, if you control your tongue, if you have self-control in general, you can be wise. If you learn your limits and your shortcomings, and if you fear the Lord, you can be wise.
Is wisdom always good? Can wisdom be evil? We know that discernment and insight and even self-discipline be used for wrong instead of right. Conventional wisdom can be all wrong. In the gospel lesson the disciple Peter demonstrated insight and understanding, but the Lord Jesus had to rebuke him anyway.
Just so the Epistle of James gives a general warning to all of us who are teachers and talkers by profession. I’m thinking of all the talking heads and experts on radio and cable. All this babbling that passes for insight. I’m thinking of myself as well—I do have things to say, but my speech is my most frequent fault, and I think to myself, what a fool I am, and I pray for wisdom.
From Proverbs we learn that wisdom is not just inside ourselves, it’s out there, larger than ourselves. It’s not just a personal gift or a discipline to gain, it’s a force in itself, a spirit from God. In the Bible it’s always feminine. She gets personified as an elegant woman who calls out to us in the public square, but who also laments our foolishness and mocks our pretensions. She teaches us and judges us. We are drawn to her and we feel ashamed before her.
In Psalm 19, wisdom is not personified but is presented as the yield and substance of the Law of God. By Law we mean not just the Commandments nor just the Torah but also the laws of nature that are the speech of God, the gift of God for ordering the universe. The wisdom that directs the universe is the constant repetition of the words of God by every element and energy.
Scientists remark on the fine-tuning of the universe. The Bible teaches the underlying harmony and integrity of nature. It’s not that everything is predictable, but that the God who made it and sustains it is a faithful God. Yes, creation has terrors, yes, the laws of nature can be deadly in their effect, and even science encounters unending surprises and insoluble mysteries, but not from the world being capricious. There are causes and effects. Laws have consequences. This is the foundation of science, and science, aware of it or not, depends upon the faithfulness of God.
Speaking biblically, the wisdom that we seek does not run counter to the grain of the universe. Biblical wisdom offers integration with the world around us. We can even gain wisdom from dogs and elephants! The Christian faith is not against learning, not against study, not against science, and it was in the Christian universities that modern science began to flourish, however much the clergy typically feared it. It’s no wonder that the first public schools and the first public hospitals in most of the world were founded by Christian missionaries.
I am calling this the wisdom of the Law, the wisdom we gain by patient discipline, the wisdom of the good life.
There is another kind of wisdom, though, the wisdom of the Gospel, that contradicts the wisdom of the Law. This is the wisdom that you cannot gain upon your own, no matter how firm your discipline or how profound your humility. This is the wisdom that comes from the message you could not have known unless it were revealed to you in the good news of Jesus Christ. This is the wisdom that contradicts the laws of cause and effect. This is the wisdom that defies the consequences of the Law. This is the wisdom of pure grace.
The wisdom of the Gospel is the deeper faithfulness of God that science and philosophy cannot discover. This is the wisdom of the cross and resurrection. This is the wisdom that God loved us while we were yet sinners. This is the wisdom that God still loves you even in your foolishness and fallenness. It is the foolishness of God, that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected, and be killed, and after three days rise again.
The wisdom of the gospel is foolishness to the world. It is foolish to deny yourself. It is foolish to take up your cross and be a loser. It is foolish to lose your life in order to save it. It may be foolish but it’s the wisdom of the gospel. It is good news because by the wisdom of the law we all fall short. Nature itself condemns us as the only species that destroys the world.. It is unnatural for God to save us, but the cross of Jesus reveals to us the deepest nature of God.
I plan to say more about this unconventional wisdom next week. But let me summarize today by saying that the Wisdom of the Law is good and moral and edifying and you need it for good works, and for good work in your job and decent life at home and living well in general. The wisdom of the law is why the Christian faith is interested in education and medicine and schools and hospitals and labor law and witnessing to politics.
But the wisdom of the Gospel is the hope for the fallen world, for fallen humanity, the wisdom of sheer grace, undeserved, the wisdom of forgiveness and mercy and reconciliation, the wisdom of welcoming back the prodigal son and setting free the prisoners, not just some of them but all of them, the passionate faithfulness of God. And this is why we always come back to the gospel foolishness of Jesus Christ, the scandal of Jesus, even in Park Slope.
Today we start again our Sunday School. The thing about children is that they see no contradiction between these two kinds of wisdom. That’s why I like teaching Sunday School, to get back into that space, the mind of children, who take it as a whole. Their hearts and minds are still so flexible and open, and they don’t make the same divisions between foolishness and wisdom. We can learn from them. Sunday School is not just for the benefit of the kids, but for the benefit of the whole church.
So let me close with this poem by the Pulitzer Prize winning poet Stephen Dunn, it’s called At the Smithville Methodist Church. It’s about secular parents letting their young daughter go to the local Vacation Bible School:
It was supposed to be Arts & Crafts for a week,
but when she came home
with the “Jesus Saves” button, we knew what art
was up, what ancient craft.
She liked her little friends. She liked the songs
they sang when they weren’t
twisting and folding paper into dolls.
What could be so bad?
Jesus had been a good man, and putting faith
in good men was what
we had to do to stay this side of cynicism,
that other sadness.
OK, we said, One week. But when she came home
singing “Jesus loves me,
the Bible tells me so,” it was time to talk.
Could we say Jesus
doesn’t love you? Could I tell her the Bible
is a great book certain people use
to make you feel bad? We sent her back
without a word.
It had been so long since we believed, so long
since we needed Jesus
as our nemesis and friend, that we thought he was
sufficiently dead,
that our children would think of him like Lincoln
or Thomas Jefferson.
Soon it became clear to us:
you can’t teach disbelief
to a child,
only wonderful stories, and we hadn’t a story
nearly as good.
On parents’ night there were the Arts & Crafts
all spread out
like appetizers. Then we took our seats
in the church
and the children sang a song about the Ark,
and Hallelujah
and one in which they had to jump up and down
for Jesus.
I can’t remember ever feeling so uncertain
about what’s comic, what’s serious.
Evolution is magical but devoid of heroes.
You can’t say to your child
“Evolution loves you.” The story stinks
of extinction and nothing
exciting happens for centuries. I didn’t have
a wonderful story for my child
and she was beaming. All the way home in the car
she sang the songs,
occasionally standing up for Jesus.
There was nothing to do
but drive, ride it out, sing along
in silence.
Copyright © 2018, by Daniel James Meeter, all rights reserved.
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