“On Being Adopted”
A sermon by Sid Burgess for Edgewood PC, Birmingham, AL
Trinity Sunday, June 07, 2009
Text: Romans 8:12-17
As the parents of two wonderful adopted daughters my wife Melissa and I have done extensive reading on the subject of adoption: open adoption, foreign adoption, special needs adoption, parenting adopted children, challenges faced by adopted children and teenagers, and eventually adult adoption.
Of all the reading the most memorable story features a four-year-old boy. This child’s adopting parents, following expert advice, wanted him to know of adoption from the outset. Beginning in infancy, the couple repeatedly told the child, “You’re adopted, you’re adopted.” When the little fellow reached kindergarten he proudly told his teachers, “I’m a doctor; I’m a doctor.”
Quite by contrast, I did not find out about my adoption until I was a 40-year-old, second-career seminary student. This long-hidden family secret was revealed to me by none other than St. Paul: “For all who are led by the Spirit of God are adopted children of God”(vv. 14,15). Turns out that I am an adopted child of God, and so are you! Elsewhere, the New Testament exclaims: “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God”(1 John 3.1).
Perhaps this is new information for you, as it was for me. How can we be certain of our adoption? We’ve no official papers, no legal decrees. St. Paul cites two signs of our status: the children of God are led by God’s spirit; and the children of God cry, “Abba, Father.”
Those who are “led by the Spirit” are present and accounted for right here, right now! So pervasive is our sinful nature, Calvin would say, that we could not even make it into the sanctuary of God’s presence--could not even make it to Church--were it not for the leading of the Spirit. What’s more, those who are “led by Spirit” know who they are because they have given up “focus on the flesh;” that is, “endless preoccupation with self.” Of course, anyone who claims to have fully achieved this exalted status-- to have given up all selfish desires--is surely deluded. We are children of God, but we are not divine. Therein lies the rub. “The tension of living in the flesh,” says Anglican theologian Barney Hawkins. . . . “The tension of living in the flesh yet longing for the Spirit of God is at the center of what Paul means by suffering with Christ.” Hawkins continues, “We are children of God, not because of a decision we make about the flesh or the Spirit, but because in Christ we are God’s adopted children.”
Fred Craddock, a retired professor of preaching at Emory, tells an unforgettable story about an encounter with a former governor of the State of Tennessee. Many years ago, Fred and his wife were in a restaurant eating dinner when they noticed a distinguished looking, white-haired man moving from table to table, visiting guests. Craddock whispered to his wife, "I hope he doesn't come over here." He didn't want the fellow to intrude on their privacy. But the man did come by his table, making the usual inquires. Where are you from? Where are you headed? What do you do for a living?
"Oh, so you teach preachers, do you,” said the man. “ Well, I've got a story I want to tell you." And with that the elderly gentleman pulled up a chair and sat down at the table. Dr. Craddock said he groaned inwardly: ‘Oh no, here comes another preacher story. It seems everyone has one.’
The man stuck out his hand. “I'm Ben Hooper. I was born not far from here across the mountains. My mother wasn't married when I was born so I had a hard time.” Today, an unwed mother is as much the norm as not. Birth to a single Mom today has none of the shame, little of the stigma of ages past. So the Craddock’s impromptu dinner guest explains what is was like, way back then in a small Tennessee town where everyone knew everyone.
“When I started to school my classmates had a name for me, and it wasn't a very nice name. I used to go off by myself at recess and during lunch-time because the taunts of my playmates cut so deeply. What was worse was going downtown on Saturday afternoon and feeling every eye burning a hole through you. They were all wondering just who my real father was. When I was about 12 years old a new preacher came to our church. I would always go in late and slip out early. But one day the preacher said the benediction so fast I got caught and had to walk out with the crowd. I could feel every eye in church on me. Just about the time I got to the door I felt a big hand on my shoulder. I looked up and the preacher was looking right at me. ‘Who are you, son? Whose boy are you?' I felt the old weight come on me. It was like a big black cloud. Even the preacher was putting me down. But as he looked down at me, studying my face, he began to smile a big smile of recognition. Wait a minute,’ he said, ‘I know who you are. I see the family resemblance. You are a son of God.’ With that he slapped me across the rump and said, ‘Boy you've got a great inheritance. Go and claim it.’
The old man looked across the table at the Craddocks and said, "That was the most important conversation I ever had, and I had not uttered a word." With that he smiled, shook the hands of Craddock and his wife, and moved on to another table to greet old friends. Suddenly, Fred Craddock remembered. On two occasions the people of Tennessee had elected an illegitimate son to be their governor. One of them was Ben Hooper.
My friends, I know who you are. You know who I am. And together we share the extraordinary knowledge--the revelation-- that we are adopted children of God. The Risen Christ is our brother. The Holy Spirit, bringing us together, is God’s gift to us.
Well, Mr. Preacher, sounds just too good to be true. It may be true for “them,” but you just don’t know where I have come from. You just don’t know how worthless I was made to feel as a child, how deeply events in my childhood have scarred me. How lonely my life has been. You just don’t know the rejection, the pain, the grief I have suffered. No, I don’t, but I have heard you call out, “Abba, Father.” I have heard you pray, “Our Father, who art in heaven . . . .” So I know you are a beloved daughter, a much-loved son of God, even when your cry to God is made without a biblically authorized script.
Joan Brown Campbell, former general secretary of the National Council of Churches, tells this story about her young son, Jim, a medical doctor. While doing his OB/GYN training he was assigned to a wise old Roman Catholic doctor who had many years of experience. As Jim came to the day when he was to deliver his first baby, the mature physician was at his side. The mother, surrounded by her husband, her mother and random family members, began the journey toward birthing a child. As the pain deepened, Jim was in and out of her room many times. Finally, the wise old doctor said, "Jim, you're making her very nervous. Just sit quietly and listen to her. She'll tell you when she is ready." Minutes went by and suddenly she called out for her husband. Jim jumped up. The doctor sat him down saying, "She's far from ready." A bit later she called out in audible pain for her mother. Again, Jim got to his feet, but again the teacher said, "Not yet. She'll tell you when she's ready." Sure enough, in a bit, amidst the groaning and pushing she cried out, "Jesus! Mother Mary!" And the wise man at Jim's side said, "Now, son. Now she's ready." Later, the good doctor explained, "When the pain becomes unbearable, they inevitably cry out for the Deity by whatever name."
Joan Campbell concludes: “Out of the groaning and the pain comes new life, new possibilities. Hope is born anew and in many a birthing room the unspoken prayer is, ‘Thank God.’ The rewards for suffering are not always so joyful—so clear—so concrete. God's presence is not just in the result but in the suffering itself. It is often in the encounter with hopelessness that hope itself comes to light. To be sure, God is in the heights above--“Glory to God in the highest”-- but God is also in the valley, in the depths below.
Many of you have been to that valley: “The valley of the shadow of death.” The valley of disappointment, pain, illness, and grief. The valley of an economy gone sour, jobs lost, credit cards maxed out, and bill collectors on the prowl. Perhaps you thought no one else could hear when you whispered, “Oh my God.” Perhaps you knew, surely, that none of us could miss your shout, “Oh, my God.” In either case, how little did you know that in your cry of anguish you have just confirmed your status as a member of the family of God.
When we cry, “Abba! Father!” (says St. Paul)
16 it is that very Spirit bearing witness
with our spirit that we are children of God.
To the God of all grace, who calls you to share God's eternal
glory
in union with Christ, be the power forever! 1 Peter 5:10,11
Amen