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“What Do You Think?”
John the Baptist and Jesus start off saying the same thing. In Mark, Jesus emerges from his post-baptism sojourn in the desert and without any introduction, tells everyone right off to “repent.” He doesn’t tell any jokes to warm up the crowd. He simply proclaims that the Kingdom of God is near, so everyone better repent. John does the same. No stories. No acknowledgment of the dignitaries in the crowd. No one liners. He just says, “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near.” Where did these guys learn public speaking? In fact, there isn’t any more central theme in our Bible than the call to repentance. We have a problem, though. When we think of repentance, we usually think of someone saying, “Oh my goodness, I was WRONG! I’m a bad person. I’m no good. I messed up.” I think of a scene from an old Andy Griffith show when Otis, the town drunk, smuggled some of his favorite hooch into the jail and while Barney wasn’t looking, poured it into the courthouse water jar. Barney, disgusted at something else that has happened comes over to get a drink of water and while Otis looks on in silent surprise, drinks several cups of what he thinks is water. Soon, though, Barney is blasted out of his mind and when Andy comes in and discovers the mistake, Barney keeps saying through slurred speech, “Oh Andy, I’m just no good. You’re too good. I’m too bad for you.” And he starts whining and crying. Andy tells him to shut up and drink his coffee. Much of our repentance is like that. We don’t really know what’s going on and we tell God that we’re sorry we’re bad people and that we’ve made mistakes. Would he please forgive us? Well, the good news is that, yes, we’re flawed people and that God knows that and forgives us. God doesn’t hold that against us when we confess our shortcomings. It’s a central biblical message. But in many ways, I think God is like Andy and we’re like Barney and our religious situation is like that scene when Andy gives Barney a long string of cups of coffee to clear his mind so he can think through what the issue is for the purpose of getting to the bottom of the problem. Repentance is deeper than feeling sorry for messing up. Literally, repentance means “think again.” Repentance involves facing the ways in which we don’t measure up, but more than that, repentance involves examining what the conditions were that led to our failure and then doing what it takes to alter course. As Albert Einstein said, “The invention of the atomic bomb has changed everything but the way we think.” He then followed up by saying, “Our problems will not be solved by the same thinking that produced them.” The basic Greek word for repentance is metanoia. It comes from two Greek words, “meta” and “nous.” The word “meta” is a prefix placed on the front of all kinds of other simple nouns in the Greek language and it almost always indicates a strengthening change in the nature of the thing that the noun it’s attached to names. For instance, metamorphosis comes from two Greek words, meaning a change in bodily form. The metamorphosis that results in a butterfly has dramatically changed the caterpillar, but the butterfly was in the caterpillar the whole time. So, what about metanoia? It means a change in our basic mind. It’s a change in our most basic attitude. Metanoia means that we have stripped away as many of the cultural accretions that gather like barnacles on our souls and centered in that image of God at the center of who we are. “Have this mind in you that was in Christ Jesus,” Paul instructs. A friend of mine has a wonderful kitchen table. It’s an antique and I asked him about it as I admired it. He said that he’d found the table at a yard sale. It was just the size he wanted and he liked the shape, so he took it home with the idea of sanding down the chipped and gaudy color it had been painted, evidently, by hippies in the 60’s. But underneath the first coat he found another coat, then another coat. He kept stripping and kept stripping until he’d removed about twelve layers of paint. That’s when he discovered that the table was made of cherry. The natural wood was absolutely magnificent. So he found some natural finish and left it the way God had made the wood. That’s what we do in repentance. We don’t say, “Oh God, sorry for this awful color of chartreuse I’ve painted myself.” No, we say, “Lord what kind of wood have you used to make me? Let’s strip away everything else and let the way you created me shine through!” Repentance means that we ponder. We consider. We do research. We discuss. We measure results. We listen. We discuss and debate. We weigh the evidence and consider data. We dispense with ideas that do not measure up. In other words, repentance isn’t a one time thing: it’s a life long process. Repentance is actually a lifestyle, the direction we choose to go in. As Paul put it in Romans 12, “Do not conform to the patterns of the surrounding society, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds.” What are some ways in which we are challenged to re-think? The Bible does this by offering us stark contrasts. The prophet Isaiah uses impossible images. “The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf, the lion and the yearling together, and a little child will lead them.” Rethink what God’s will is, people. What we’ve always assumed is normal may not be what God has in mind at all. And “normal?” What’s so great about “normal?” When the norm that defines “normal” stands in absolute contrast to what the Bible describes, then might it be our call as people dedicated to God’s norm that we redefine what the norms are? As I was researching my Greek New Testament for the text underlying the passages for today, I decided to consult my Greek Grammar of the New Testament, written by the great Baptist scholar A.T. Robertson and published in 1934. It is still the most exhaustive manual available to discern the intricacies of the language in which the New Testament was written. I’ve already shared what Robertson says about “metanoia” but in the preface to the Grammar, Robertson says something about himself which caused me to experience what serious rethinking can do. This is what he says about himself: From one point of view a grammar of the Greek New Testament is an impossible task, if one has to be a specialist in the whole Greek language, in Latin, in Sanskrit, in Hebrew and the other Semitic tongues, in Church History, in the Talmud, in English, in psychology, in exegesis. I certainly lay no claim to omniscience. I am a linguist by profession and by love also, but I am not a specialist in the Semitic tongues, though I have a working knowledge of Hebrew and Aramaic, but not of Syriac and Arabic. The Coptic and the Sanskrit I can use. The Latin and the Greek, the French and German and Anglo-Saxon complete my modest linguistic equipment. I have, besides, a smattering of Assyrian, Dutch, Gothic and Italian. Who can read this paragraph and not immediately rethink? “Modest linguistic equipment?” This in an age when the difference between “can” and “may” has been lost on even English majors. Here is a biblical scholar, dedicated out of professional love, to the written word of the New Testament who lists at least 13 languages with which he is familiar, if not fluent. This equipment he calls “modest.” Admittedly, few people in this world can speak anything but their mother tongue. Quite a few resist learning anything else. I can speak German with relative fluency, can utter a few phrases in Spanish and French, can read Greek with a dictionary and grammar at my side, and decipher Latin. When I tell people this, they usually are impressed and I enjoy impressing people. But when I read about A.T. Robertson’s 13 languages, I have to rethink what it means to be a lover of languages. That’s what confronting new realities does for us: it forces us to place things in proper perspective. The calling of our faith in Christ calls us to do this; place things in proper perspective, confront the realities in front of us, and with those tools, construct a new reality based on God’s priorities. Repentance means learning God’s business. Down highway 1638 west of Muldraugh, Kentucky lies the town of New Brandenburg. It’s called “New Brandenburg” because the old Brandenburg got leveled by one the tornadoes that ravaged Ohio and central Kentucky back in the spring of 1974. Ken Tucker went to be the pastor of New Brandenburg Baptist Church about the same time I went to Mudraugh and Ken, another friend, and I would meet on a pretty regular basis to commiserate. One Sunday Ken asked the leader of his WMU how she was doing. “Pastor,” she said, “please pray for Luther. He always goes to Wilma’s instead of coming to church.” This distressed Ken. Was the husband of one of his most prominent church members having an affair? “May I ask, Wilma who?” The lady then laughed. “Oh, it’s not what you think. Don’t you know about Wilma’s Café?” Well, evidently he hadn’t learned yet. Wilma’s Café turned out to be the local diner and Ken quickly discovered that it was the best attended church in town. In fact during traditional meeting times, the café was always packed, and almost always with the husbands of the women who were in the churches. The café was also packed on the other days of the week, so Ken decided that he’d better acquaint himself with what evidently was a major New Brandenburg watering hole. You can picture the café. It would work in an Andy Griffith set. Those checkered table cloths and aluminum legs. The sign that says, “In God we trust: all others pay cash.” And tables packed with farmers and mechanics, local members of the sheriff’s department, and the occasional local banker. All were discussing the weather, crops, politics, and whether they’d get enough rain. When Ken walked in, folks recognized him and he soon met Luther sitting with a group of guys wearing John Deere and feed store hats. “You must be Luther,” Ken said in a friendly voice.” “Look pastor,” he said. “I work hard, I take care of my family, and I mind my own business. As far as I’m concerned, everything else is just fluff.” Ken was telling me and our mutual friend, Chuck Summers, about this encounter at our monthly coffee commiseration at the diner in Muldraugh. We all agreed that when someone announces that kind of attitude, you may as well just keep being civil and find something else to talk about. Fast-forward about one year. A series of thunderstorms had rolled through Meade County like they often do, blasting crops to shreds with golf-ball sized hail and spawning all kinds of tornadic activity. Ken and company had learned of a little community of folks whose houses had been badly damaged by the storms and needed help. Ken put together a group of people to go down and help rebuild. When the team got to work, they came to a construction problem that none of them could handle. “You know who’s the best at this that I know, pastor,” one of the men asked. “Luther Middleton.” So Ken went to Luther’s house and said, “Luther, I know you mind your own business, but we’ve come across a building problem that the guys say you’re the best at solving. Would you help us?” Luther reluctantly agreed and went with Ken. As Luther was sizing up the situation, looking at the sagging roof, the hole in the ceiling, the soggy floor and saw all the water stains on the wall, he became aware that a little boy was standing next to him. Luther looked down and the little boy looked up. Their eyes met. “Tommy, come back over here and let Mr. Luther do his work.” Luther followed the sound of the voice and saw the mother standing in the yard with two girls at her side. He immediately recognized her. “Hello, Sally,” he said, and looked at Ken. Under his breath he said, “I know that woman’s husband. Walter Reynolds is one of the best carpenters around. Why ain’t he here? This is his responsibility.” Ken cleared his throat. “Luther, don’t you listen to the news? Walter was one of the fatalities in the storms.” Luther looked back down at the little boy who hadn’t budged. “Sally, it’s okay. Little Tommy can help me.” And Luther told Tommy to come with him to his truck to get his tools. The next Sunday Ken was shocked when Luther came into the sanctuary with his wife. At the end of the service, Luther came forward and took Ken’s hand. “I wanna be baptized,” he said. Ken was overjoyed, as was the rest of the congregation. He did all the Baptist ritual, filled out forms and scheduled the dunking. After all the folks had filed past Luther and the hugging sessions were past, Ken said to Luther, “Luther, I can’t help but ask. You remember telling me that you mind your own business?” Luther smiled. “Yeah, I remember that.” “Well, what happened?” Luther looked down. “Pastor, as it turns out, I didn’t know then what my business was.” Now, that’s repentance.
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