I
Peter 2:2-10
In the ancient world, people
attached a great deal of importance to their ethnicity. We do that, too, probably far more than we
realize. I don’t just mean that some
folks insist on wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day and some insist on calling
spaghetti sauce “gravy”. We are
incredibly, almost unconsciously American in ways we hardly recognize. It hit me once in a way that I remember
clearly. I was living in the Virgin
Islands and flew to Puerto Rico every month for a regular meeting. Since we were arriving from an American
territory, we never had to go through customs, but were just waved
through. Then one day, as one of Puerto
Rico’s periodic discussions about whether to seek independence or territorial
status or to remain a commonwealth was going on, we were suddenly lined up to
go through customs. I got to the front
of the line and found myself face-to-face with a customs agent who must have
had his own opinions on the subject, because when he asked my nationality and I
answered, “American,” he said, “North American?
Central American? South
American?” and (here is where I discovered something about myself) I answered,
“American. Like you.” He checked my driver’s license for anything
he could find for the past ten years before he let me through.
Now, that’s bad. In the ancient world it was worse. People identified their ethnicity with God’s view of them. If you were born into a given nation or
tribe, you were born with a relationship to the divine. In the case of the pagans, that meant the tribal
gods. In the case of the Jews, that
meant the One God who had established his covenant with Abraham and his family
forever.
What do you do, then, when you have
come to have faith in this God, but you are on the outside? How much of your own character comes from the
customs you grew up with and how much is universally human? How much of you is something God-given and
how much is socially conditioned? Take
it to the extreme, and you ask how much of yourself is worthwhile.
The
complicated question of a person values herself or himself is posed by one of
the characters in “SpongeBob Squarepants” named Squidward. For those who don’t follow the cartoon world
so closely, he is a squid, SpongeBob’s next-door neighbor, and here’s how the
Nickelodeon people describe him:
“Squidward is a whiny stick-in-the-mud; a self-centered snob
who imagines himself to be sophisticated and talented, but he's rather average
and untalented. He's jealous, especially of his classy and successful nemesis,
Squilliam Fancyson. He's quick to anger and just about everything annoys him.
The Krusty Krab annoys him. Mr. Krabs annoys him. But most of all, SpongeBob
annoys him, almost 24 hours a day. Besides working side by side with SpongeBob
at the Krusty Krab, Squidward is SpongeBob's next-door neighbor. If it weren't
for the fact that SpongeBob is the only one who appreciates his clarinet
playing, modern dance routines, and artistic abilities, Squidward would have
nothing to do with him. SpongeBob finds Squidward's grumpiness part of his
charm, knowing that deep down Squid's got a good heart and likes to have fun,
Squidward just doesn't know it!”[1]
Maybe
you know someone like him. They don’t
all live at the bottom of the sea. On
the one hand, Squidward wants everyone to know how great he is, but on the
other hand it’s because deep down inside he doesn’t believe that himself.
The writer of I Peter has two things
to say about who we are. The first is
that it isn’t our birthplace that gives us our worth, or what family we come
from, or our social standing. What gives
us our worth is the calling of God.
“But you are a chosen race, a royal
priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people,” [I Peter 2:9a]
as we read, and again,
“Once you were not a people, but now you
are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received
mercy.” [I Peter 2:10]
But it also says that we are offered that gift for a
reason:
“in order that you may proclaim the mighty
acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.” [I
Peter 2:9b]
It’s not ourselves that we are
supposed to put forward, whether by playing the clarinet and doing modern
dance, or by holding ourselves up as models of virtue, or by speaking in subtle
or not-so-subtle ways about our own greatness.
There was an article in The New
York Times this week that talked about how it has become fashionable on
social media to use the word “blessed” to try to sound humble while, in fact,
bragging. Jessica Bennett (a fashion
columnist, of all people!) observed,
“God has, in fact, recently blessed my network with
dazzling job promotions, coveted speaking gigs, the most wonderful fiancés
ever, front row seats at Fashion Week, and nominations for many a ‘30 under 30’
list. And, blessings aren’t limited to the little people, either. S(he) blessed
Macklemore with a wardrobe designer (thanks for the heads up, Instagram!) and
Jamie Lynn Spears with an engagement ring (‘#blessed #blessed #blessed!’ she
wrote on Twitter). S(he)’s been known to bless Kanye West and Kim Kardashian
with exotic getaways and expensive bottles of Champagne, overlooking sunsets of
biblical proportion (naturally).
… calling something ‘blessed’ has become the go-to term
for those who want to boast about an accomplishment while pretending to be
humble, fish for a compliment, acknowledge a success (without sounding too
conceited), or purposely elicit envy. Blessed, ‘divine or supremely favored,’
is now used to explain that coveted Ted talk invite as well as to celebrate
your grandmother’s 91st birthday.”[2]
We’re
supposed to bear witness, simply and honestly, to what God has done for us, not
in the extent of our possessions or in pride of place or achievement, but in
calling us out of darkness into light.
That means being able to say about ourselves that
“God proves his love for us in that while we
still were sinners Christ died for us.” [Romans 5:8]
It’s kind of a strange thought, but
true, that we don’t exist for ourselves, but to be in communion with God. Human beings are here, you and I are here, just
to be loved by God. The rest of it is
extra. The language of the Westminster
Catechism is old-fashioned and tries to teach the faith in a way that doesn’t
work too well anymore: it gives questions and feeds students the one right
answer word-for-word to memorize. It
begins with a profound recognition, though:
“What is the chief end
of man?
Man’s chief end is to
glorify God and to enjoy him forever.”
If
only the Squidwards of the world, which is each of us, could let that sink in,
we would do a far better job of being who God wants us to be, and really and
truly being blessed.
“Like newborn infants, long for the pure,
spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow into salvation — if indeed you have tasted that the
Lord is good.” [I Peter 2:2-3]
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