Calling for the elders

            We’ve been traveling with brother James this past month in worship, trying on his "blue jeans" theology as we walk. Tell me, those of you who have been with us for some or all of this journey, how has the fit been? Have you felt comfortable with his down-to-earth, tell-it-like-it-is approach? Or on the other hand, has the material had a bit of a discomforting scratch to it, at times itching like heaven? Have you found it to be meddling at places, causing you to think about the things you say, as well as the things you do, wondering if the two walk hand-in-hand? If so, good. I think brother James accomplished some of his purpose, then, in writing this letter.

            Of course, we come to the end of the page and we wonder if this is, indeed, a letter. After all, it doesn’t really have an ending. No "Love, James" or any final greeting. No benediction, long or short. No "amen." It just sort of ends, as if the kids just got on the school bus late before we had a chance to say "goodbye, have a good day." Or, like at night when we climb into bed next to a snoring spouse, and haven’t had a sense of closure between us... Oh, well, the sun will rise tomorrow and we’ll get up and start another day together. Or the children will come home and we’ll take up where we left off. Life goes on.

            Indeed, this way of ending is fitting, for brother James is just talking as we walk, following Jesus, step by step, day by day. I think that’s why many of us like his words so much. This last passage reminds me of my wife after she makes sure the kids are tucked in at bedtime. "Did you lock the doors? Is the dishwasher started? Were the fish fed?" Brother James, in a like manner, asks - "Are any of you suffering? Are any cheerful? Are any sick? Have you paid attention to the back door of your fellowship?" These are everyday questions, with everyday answers: "pray, sing, anoint, confess, reach out ..." care.

            By saying these are everyday questions and answers, I don’t mean to imply that they are somehow less important than others. I think that sometimes, when it comes to matters of faith, we have a tendency to place the extraordinary in a different category from the everyday. Truly "spiritual" stuff happens, we believe, only once in a blue moon and to people "not like us." After all, doesn’t the earth have to move for faith to be significant? To be honest, earthquakes are few and far between (maybe we should thank God for this!). The mundane, the ordinary, the everyday - in other words, my life - is somehow not so important.

            Tell me, how do you hear the following statement from brother James? "The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective." (5:16b) As you hear it, does that sentence include you, or is it only about somebody else? Of course, "humility" (which is a virtue according to James) might lead us to downplay our righteousness. After all, as James himself said, "all of us make many mistakes" (3:2a). Furthermore, "who among us is truly wise and understanding?" (3:13a) But does this mean that the word "righteous" refers to someone else? The end result of thinking in this way is the failure to pray for somebody because our prayers won’t do any good - we’re not good enough. We’re not "righteous." Why would God listen to us?

            This attitude lies at the heart of the great reformer Martin Luther’s complaint against this letter of James. After struggling long and hard with not feeling "good enough" to be a follower of Christ, Luther came to the point of saying, "it’s not what I do that gets me anywhere with God. It’s what God has done through Jesus. In dying, Jesus made right my relationship with God. I am justified by faith in him, by faith alone - not by my works." We need to hear our brother Martin’s confession of faith, and allow it to color how we hear these words of brother James. After all, we have been given a virtual library in the Bible, which includes James, as well as Luther’s beloved apostle Paul. These words are in living conversation with one another, and together they are God’s Word.

            So, let me return to that statement from brother James, "the prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective." When we hear that, we are tempted to wonder - why would God listen to us when we pray, given that we all make so many mistakes, and often behave like fools? The simple truth is, however, God does listen - and not just to the extraordinary people. In reality, it’s the ordinary folks who make a difference in this world. If anything (and brother James has made this very clear, sometimes too clear for comfort), the people we think count for nothing in this world actually count for a great deal more in God’s eyes. "Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him?" That’s what James said (2:5). Jesus put it this way, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 5:3)

            When your children come to you with a heartfelt request, do you listen to them only through the ears of what they have or have not done? Is that love? Or does love lead you at times, regardless of whether they’ve been good or bad, to move mountains for them, just because of that bond between you? Do you think God’s love is less than your love? No, it goes beyond our wildest imagination. With God, "interesting" things happen.

            Now, Brethren have loved this passage of James, and have turned to it often for guidance. Out of it has come the down-to-earth practice of anointing. I could tell you story after story of persons who have requested to be anointed, and what happened. "Is anyone sick," brother James instructs, "let them call for the elders." When I hear those words, I don’t plug in a hierarchy of righteousness, as if my prayers (as a pastor) or the prayers of some elder or deacon will be more powerful and effective than everybody else’s. A thousand times, "No!" I hear those words as I believe James intended. This is a practical step - reaching out, asking others to care for you - folks who care about you.

            Think of that gospel story where a sick man’s friends cared enough about this fellow to carry him to Jesus. And when the crowds got in the way, they literally dug a hole in the roof where our Lord was, in order to lower their sick friend before Jesus. That’s what James means when he says, "call for the elders" - reach out to those who care about you in Christ. If the Spirit has poured upon anyone, as the good news says it has upon all of us, then these words of Jesus become their calling card, "love one another as I have loved you." (John 15:12) "Pray," instructs James, "anoint with oil in the name of the Lord." Nothing magic, just tangible, down-to-earth.

            Think of the woman, who remains nameless in the gospel - in some quarters hardly considered a righteous person, who came to Jesus and anointed his feet with her tears. Those tears, he said, prepared him for his next steps, as he walked toward the cross and lived out the title everyone wondered about, "was he the Messiah, the Christ?" And what does "Messiah" in Hebrew or "Christ" in Greek mean? "Anointed one."

            When Christians (anointed ones) gather around a sick brother or sister to pray, "interesting" things happen. Someone who may feel untouchable because of their condition is touched. And oil, which in the Old Testament was used to commission kings for their royal tasks, which was also poured out as an act of hospitality extended to a stranger upon welcoming them into your home - even someone going through dark valley times (Psalm 23:4-5); oil is something tangible with which we touch them as we pray. It serves as a reminder of who we are in Christ - we are royalty (heirs of the kingdom of God), even when we feel anything but royal amid our hurt. The oil also reminds us of God’s hospitality ("you prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows"). A hospital room, or wherever we are, becomes God’s house. And God’s people gathered in prayer around this person provide a felt touch which becomes (in part) the hands of the living God.

            Mind you, however, these are not extraordinary people who are somehow more righteous because of some superior virtue on their part. I trust that’s not how you see me, because I can’t fit that bill. No one can, but the One who has called us all into a right relationship with God. And speaking of a right relationship, brother James brings up "confession." That word, "confession," can be a loaded term, especially for those of us who come from a Catholic background.

            In his memoir, Angela’s Ashes, Frank McCourt tells of growing up in Ireland where the priests ruled with an iron fist. Confession was hardly a redemptive activity. Instead of being a gift from heaven, it was administered with the fire of hell. Needing to release the garbage from his tumultuous adolescence, Frank found no comfort in the church. He didn’t, that is, until his sixteenth birthday, when he found himself alone in church crying his heart out before a statue of his namesake, St. Francis of Assisi. Amid his tears, something "interesting" happens.

            "There is an arm around my shoulders, a brown robe, click of black rosary beads, a Franciscan priest. My child, my child, my child. I’m a child and I lean against him, little Frankie on his father’s lap... My child, sit here with me. Tell me what troubles you. Only if you want to. I am Father Gregory." And there and then, that priest became the hands of God, helping young Frank to let go of a lot of "junk" he had been carrying for too long - a healing scene. (p. 342)

            Confession walks hand-in-hand with healing, because so often, in order to receive from God what God wishes to give, we need to let go of the heavy burdens we carry. Our arms are too full to hold one more thing, even if that one more thing is the very thing we need above all else. True confession is a releasing of what gets between us and God. Now, as Protestants we believe that we can go directly to God in confession. We don’t need a "priest" to stand in the way. But, you know, it really helps to have that human touch, to allow another to be "as Christ to us." As brother Peter the disciple wrote, we are all "a royal priesthood" (1 Peter 2:9), those of us who love the Lord and who are called by him to "love one another as I have loved you."

            "Are any of you suffering?" brother James simply asks. "Are any cheerful? Are any sick? Have you paid attention to the back door of your fellowship?" Everyday questions, with everyday answers: "pray, sing, anoint, confess, reach out ..." care.

©2000 Peter L. Haynes

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