God
is not the kind of God to do things in stereotypical, boring ways. So often
when God enters the picture the rules of the universe bend; sometimes they are
altogether shattered. And when God decides to do something radical—and I don’t
mean sort of, kind of, just a little radical—but truly radical—when God changes
the rules of the game and turns the world upside down—when God puts the divine
foot down and makes a single moment in time into a game-changer for the history
of the world; in those moments, God looks for strange people to get the work
done. Have you ever noticed that? If any of us were going to go about altering
the course of history our natural inclination would be to look for help from the
important people—people who have money, influence, political power, fame. These
are our game-changers, but that’s not how God does it.
In
fact, whenever God enters into history to really change the world’s priorities he
does so from the margins. Sometimes it’s the poor, the outcast, the oppressed,
the racial or cultural minority. Always it’s the apparent loser. Robert Farrar
Capon has said that God is interested in “the least, the last, the lost, the
lowly, the little, and the dead.” That’s it. It’s not that God doesn’t care
about you if you don’t fit into those categories; it’s just that for the
world-changing moments of history he’s going to look for somebody else,
somebody forgotten, belittled and seemingly unimportant. The world changes from
the margins.
Look
at Moses, a member of the oppressed with a fear of public speaking.
Or
Esther, forced to hide her identity to help save the Jewish people.
Or
Daniel, Elijah, countless other prophets; David, the least likely of many
brothers; then there’s John the Baptist (eating locusts is a pretty good
indication of living at the margins); Jesus, born in a stable; the woman at the
well; the woman who anoints Jesus’ feet who is labeled only a “sinner”… it goes
on and on.
The
margins are where history is made.
And
nobody lives as close to the margins as Abraham.
Think
about it. For ninety-nine years the only important thing that happened in
Abraham’s life is that he saved his nephew, Lot,
from some warring eastern kings and he fooled around with Sarah’s slave-girl,
Hagar. If that were the end of the story, Abraham would fade into obscurity with
a rather unremarkable legacy.
That’s when God
snaps him up.
Abraham
wasn’t marginal in the way we often recognize. When I say “marginal” we tend to
think people who are poor, or poor, or poor. We have a pretty small idea of the
margins, which is pretty much exclusively concerned with wealth. That’s human
beings for you. God uses people from all sorts of margins, and Abraham was marginal
in two critical ways: he was old and he was childless. God could have picked
anybody to be heir to the covenant—he could even have picked Abraham at a younger
age—and still he waited on the ninety-nine year old, ancient Father Abraham,
and he waited on Sarah, at the age of ninety, to bear the child who would be
the antecedent of the promised people.
It
makes a person wonder: Either God is incredibly slow, or there’s a secondary
moral to this story.
Maybe
we shouldn’t be surprised. Time and again scripture tells us that age is a
human concern. Our fear of getting old is blinding, preventing us from seeing
how God works through the old and the young alike. At no time in the history of
the world have people tried so desperately to continue to look young as we do
now. Age is taboo. Nobody likes to get old. But here we have a God that doesn’t
care if you are nine of ninety-nine. God has no regard for how many cycles you
have gone around the big ball of gas we call the sun. You are never too
young—or too old—to be of use. In fact, God picks out the young and the old—the
ones that society has rejected—and to them he gives the opportunity to change
the world. It is the young and the old who are on the margins and therefore on
the cutting edge of history.
This
kind of thinking is sadly absent from church politics. There’s this myth you
hear sometimes that the church needs to get younger or, conversely, that the
church will die without the older generation. With that kind of thinking, it’s
easy to pit generations against one another. The world is always changing; parents
have always experienced the world differently from their children, and those different
experiences make it easy to fracture. No one generation has ever been better at
being the church than others, though every generation has thought they have had
the key to the kingdom. Yet, remember that God’s work comes from the margins.
God changes us not through the dominant culture that thinks we have it right; rather,
God speaks to us through those who have no voice—the ones we glossed over in
our haste down the “right” path. That’s the strange way that the kingdom of God works. It’s also frightening to a
people of comfort; because the moment you feel at ease is the moment you can be
certain that God is working not through you but through somebody else.
Nevertheless,
there is something reassuring about God’s methodology. The oppressed of this
world are uplifted again and again by a promise: they are the ones with the
Gospel on their lips. Whether the least and the lost are the poor or the
elderly, or the young or the forgotten, God not only remembers them; they are
also the hands and feet of God’s work in the world.
This has some
pretty awesome ramifications for our church. It means that God’s church is
always progressing. It can never stay the same, since the forgotten and the
lost are reforming it every day. The Reformed tradition got it right when it
says that the church is “semper reformanda” (always reforming). We can give up
the idea of looking backward at some idyllic age. A church impacted by the
margins is in some sense never stable; it has to embrace chaos because, out of
that chaos, comes new prophetic voices.
If embracing the
margins sounds a bit frightening that’s probably because it is. This is really
an awful business model. Large-scale economies are interested in stable growth,
but the church economy is looking for something else: it’s not looking for
growth or stability or safety; the church economy is looking for resurrection. It’s
looking for everything that Isaac embodies: joy, laughter, chaos, and finally promise.
Isaac is the big promise embodied.
Out
of the margins comes this word of promise: things will never be the same.
Comfort? Overrated. Stability? An illusion. Change? Inevitable. There is
nothing scarier than standing at the margins. Abraham knew that. His legacy was
nonexistent until he was faced with the most frightening prospect of all: meeting
God face-to-face. Then, from the unlikeliest of places grew a promise big
enough to encompass the whole world. The margins reframed history; they did for
Abraham and they do today. The margins, whether of the church or our society,
are where history is made.