The 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 27, 2009
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Esther 7: 1-6, 9-10, 9:20-22
Psalm 124
James 5: 13-20
Mark 9: 38-50 *
“With a child in your arms…”
--} I’ve been thinking a lot about “the children” these past few weeks. My time of “preparation” as a father—for the third time—is coming to an end. As Desiree’ is quick to remind me, even the “un-comfortableness” of pregnancy at its worst, is better than facing some of the realities of the child being born—and the needs becoming more immediate and external that WE must take care of. Our “preparation” journey as parents, this time, ends in a week.
So last Sunday, my imagining Jesus putting a child (to my mind, even an infant) amongst the disciples, came with some very real and vivid images. Holding that child for the first time in your arms… knowing, of course, that you hold all of that child’s precious life in your hands, is an awesome human experience.
So I began this week with a question for the text of Mark’s gospel lesson. John’s exhortation that the disciples had seen someone casting out demons in Jesus’ name, and that they had tried to stop him, seemed to me as an “interruption” in the flow of Mark’s story. So often, we consider that a “new paragraph” indicates a new or different setting—that the parcels of the story don’t flow together as one whole unit. But my question was, when Jesus begins to explain in verse 42, “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me,” is Jesus still talking about that child he took up in his arms and put among them? Is Jesus pointing to that child as our object lesson? Was Jesus still cuddling the “little one,” pronouncing, “it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea—for the sake of the child! This morning, I’m still not certain I know that answer. But Mark’s gospel offers me the opportunity to think about it, and here’s what I think is important for us to remember:
Today’s passage begins with what has to be a difficult admission for the disciples. Jesus is telling them that the Christ-following “club” is not exclusive. Though these where the individuals who seemed to be especially chosen for a Jesus-kind-of-life, they are clearly not the only ones who get to live it. Suddenly, even those who “do not believe IN Jesus” were able to “do” deeds of power in his name. [Shocking for believers who fancy themselves as being ‘special in the eyes of God’—“special” over and above other human beings!] Sometimes, that seems like a frightening or at least a threatening reality; so most of the time, I think John’s reaction to “stop it” seems natural to us. We think Jesus’ power ought to be reserved for those especially chosen, thus preserving the “chain of apostolic power” and insuring against abusive use, right? We don’t like the reality of Jesus giving his power away to people who won’t follow our rules; we prefer a clearer separation between believers and non-believers—as if it helps to remind us there are dire consequences. So that “believing” can indicate how we EARN our way to heaven; and people who don’t “believe” just don’t “get it” and can’t “get in.”
But it’s ironic, isn’t it, that the people who DON’T believe, are the people immediately invested with Jesus’ power; and the disciples not only can’t replicate Jesus power very consistently at this point, but also try to make sure that others can’t either. And as John speaks up for the other disciples, it’s interesting to watch as he seem to try and keep the use of Jesus’ power “limited”—acting as if he’s protecting his own turf, his own ministry, or his own self. How typical for human beings! But Jesus responds as if he had that child in his hands—firstly, declaring that the one doing the deeds of power “will not lose his reward”—someone who doesn’t even believe! And then, secondarily, Jesus would seemingly teach disciples, [pointing to the child in his arms…] “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea.” Jesus has something to protect—it’s just not what we think it is.
While John clearly seems to have eyes for his own self interest, his own ministry, perhaps; Jesus has eyes for what matters most—protecting the “littlest one” among them. The contrast is staggering, isn’t it? We worry about OURSELVES, and Jesus worries about the one who is “the least of these.”
Those of us who’ve ever held a child or an infant in our arms know how unnerving it is to suddenly have “the whole person”—in our hands. The “innocent one” who knows nothing of having to protect herself, who is completely and utterly reliant on “us” to protect him and provide for her needs. For me, I “see” Jesus, infant in hand, pulling away from the disciples or pushing them back, “protecting” the one cradled in his arms, holding on to him for dear life!
And as strange as it sounds, it appears Jesus would put us on notice. Don’t bother protecting yourselves; your job is protecting “the weakest ones.” Your task is keeping save the weakest ones; and your only hope, is your ability to accommodate yourselves to sticking up for the one who can’t stick up for herself. Which is why I say that “sticking up only for ourselves” in this great health-care wrestling match is wrong. Or looking out just for our personal interests in life, causing others to suffer, is wrong. Trying to protect what we have earned, or holding on to what we believe is “ours” by right or inheritance, or keeping things always the same for our sake, demanding that what’s good enough for us is good enough for others, too—is wrong. Jesus, with a child in his arms, again offers us an object lesson, pointing to the weakest among us, and directing us to protect HER.
Just an observation: It’s hard to protect someone else’s interests when we’re busy protecting our own. If we’re enmeshed in “self-interest,” we will always fail at doing what Jesus did—no matter how noble our intentions. We will not be “Christ-followers;” we might even risk being “Christ-failures.”
I believe Jesus tells us—in order that we can fight the constant urging to look out for ourselves and what we have or may have “earned” for our enjoyment—that the pathway of suffering is safer for eternal life than the pathway of personal merit. “If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell; …if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life lame than to have two feet and to be thrown into hell; …if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell.”
What Jesus says to us, when we imagine that child in his arms, has to do stumbling. The Greek word is [Skandalidzo]—which sounds a lot like “scandalize,” and actually that isn’t a bad translation. We should not “scandalize” them, as if “to scandalize” has to do with causing another to sin or to “fall away from faith.” The true sense of this verb suggests that “one becomes so horrified that one simply cannot remain or go forward along the path;” it’s an act or an event that serves to divert one away from one’s faith or discipleship. So think in terms of our human greed that would teach us the life of discipleship “costs” too much and gives back too little; one “scandal” being that worldly living teaches us to pursue “comfortableness” and not “sacrifice;” or another “scandal” being our perpetual “unhappiness” when life doesn’t serve us fully in the ways we think we’d life—where we teach human gain rather than pursuing loving neighbor at our own cost.
In the mean time, Jesus tells us—ironically—that this “little one” in his arms, BELIEVES. No attachment to Jesus is necessary, no personal profession of “accepting Jesus into his or her heart;” it’s as if “ belief” or “faith” comes already installed. [What a gift for us all, by the way!] Yet Jesus would make us not only the protector of these “little ones,” but also to lead by example in “holding him or her.” The way we live our lives, in fact, has the ability to “scandalize.” And I believe most poignantly, Jesus would point to our ever-present desire to PROTECT OURSELVES and what we have, rather than our acting to PROTECT OTHERS.
To put ourselves ahead of our neighbor is to deny the second great commandment. It may be why the rich man who comes to Jesus asking about eternal life actually leaves brokenhearted—the truth may be, following the basic commands of God’s law—loving God and our neighbor as ourselves truly does run counter to our ‘instinct’ to protect ourselves and our own interests! And if that’s what we “teach by example” to our children, or to the “little ones,” it is “scandalous!”
If we teach bad examples, of course, we deserve to be cut off. If we protect only ourselves and our own selfish interests; if we “scandalously” take faith away, by living in a way that is not a following of Christ—we deserve the millstone. If we seek our own way and think not about the consequences, we become “Christ-failures.” Because whether we believe or not, we’re called to act like we have a “child” in our hands.
--+ AMEN.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Link to the audio file for my sermon from September 27th
Here's the link to the audio file for my sermon from Sunday, September 27th, 2009. If you're used to looking at the manuscript, you'll notice that this week I "add-libed" the ending, rewriting on the fly.
http://www.box.net/shared/tp33emy017
As always, thanks for checking it out. Next Sunday is World Communion Sunday, my last Sunday in the pulpit before taking a couple of weeks off.
http://www.box.net/shared/tp33emy017
As always, thanks for checking it out. Next Sunday is World Communion Sunday, my last Sunday in the pulpit before taking a couple of weeks off.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Text of my sermon from Sunday, September 20th
The 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 20, 2009
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Proverbs 31: 10-31
Psalm 1
James 3: 13 – 4:3, 7-8a
Mark 9: 30-37 *
“Learning the Embrace”
--} Today’s gospel reading begins a second time with Jesus “TEACHING” his disciples: “the Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” Mark tells us that the disciples “didn’t understand” and “were afraid to ask;” instead, the “context” reminds us that the disciples had been arguing about “who was the greatest,” while Jesus was trying to TEACH them about being betrayed, killed, and raised. And that’s when “it” happens.
Jesus calls the disciples over, explaining AGAIN that “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then, “Jesus took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” It’s an “object lesson.”
All at the same time, Jesus seems to be talking about a lot of things, because of the Greek word, {devcomai}. The best, easiest, simplest translation of, {devcomai} is “to take” or “to receive”—as in “taking” a cup in one’s hand, or “receiving” someone or something—as in a “guest” or a “gift.” When Jesus “took [the] little child” to “put it among them,” the word is another Greek word that means to “take one in one’s arms”—a more explicit image implying a kind of embrace where one’s arms first surround and then hold the child. THEN, {devcomai}is the word most translations offer as “welcome.”
For me, there are three actions here. Jesus “takes the child,” as in—“in his arms”—THEN, Jesus places the child among the disciples, saying, “whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” So there’s, “taking,” “placing,” and THEN, an act of “welcoming” or “receiving” that I believe Jesus “demonstrates.” It’s an object lesson—or, “here’s how you do it.
If we unpack these actions a bit, what Jesus seems to be saying is that when you {devcomai} a child, you {devcomai} Jesus; but your {devcomai} is not just for Jesus, because in doing it, you’re REALLY {devcomai}—ing God. “To receive,” or “welcome” are generally the appropriate terms to translate, {devcomai}; Jesus is saying, when you receive me, you receive God; when you welcome another, you welcome God. But “receiving” and “welcome” alone don’t connote everything I believe Jesus is implying. The word {devcomai} historically is used to imply “receiving”—especially in the sense of “hospitality” that was everywhere honored and held sacred in the ancient world. We see this in the Hebrew tradition, even to the extent that one can “receive God”—like Abraham “welcoming” visitors or Moses “receiving God’s word” in the burning bush. {devcomai} is the word Mark uses earlier in the gospel story to describe Jesus’ instructions for the disciples who are “sent out.” Where the disciples are “received”—or not—indicates a “receiving”—or not—of Jesus himself. If a community “receives” the disciples, they are to stay there and don’t have to “shake the dust from their feet.” Such “hospitality” is not just for the disciples, but for the one who “sent them.”
I’m sure this basic argument is why many translations of Mark 9:37 use the word, “welcome.” But here’s the problem. If we’re welcoming a “guest,” shall we say, there’s a protocol. We speak words of greeting, there are gestures like hand-shaking or hugging, we open our home, we prepare a meal—such is a “welcome” for friend or even foe. Actually, we have rule books like “Mrs. Manners” or official State Department Protocols that define how “welcome” is to be done. But just how do you “welcome” a child? Particularly a small or smallest child?—one who may yet be an infant?
Mark carefully describes the scene where Jesus takes this child in his arms, then places her among his disciples. The child, requiring first to be “taken in his arms,” seems small enough to imply an infant; but perhaps more importantly in the context, one that surely CONTRASTS the disciples presumptions about “greatness.” So I think Jesus takes an infant—an example of absolute human weakness—and puts it amongst the disciples as if saying, “this one is the greatest.” It’s an object lesson: “power, made perfect in weakness”—which seems to be Jesus’ point in teaching about being betrayed, killed, and raised.
So first, I believe we’re dealing with an infant. Then, the question becomes, “how do you ‘welcome’ or ‘receive’ an infant?” You can’t talk to him, or at least she can’t really talk back to you in the right “protocol” for a visitor. So, how do you welcome an infant? And I think some slightly different language would help us to complete the picture.
You can’t really “welcome” or “receive” an “infant” just by looking at her or talking to him; it requires—almost by necessity, when we do it rightly—an “embrace.” You have to literally—carefully take that “littlest one” in your arms and sort of cuddle it. Don’t you? Your “holding it” means your hands, your arms, your body must speak where your lips, mouth, and brain will be inadequate. It’s far more physical, I suppose, than not—like the meaning implied by the word, “embrace”—a kind of “demonstrative action.”
Jesus says, when you “embrace” one such infant, you are “embracing” God. When you “embrace” one such as an infant—weak, helpless, unable to defend himself or speak for herself, one whose behavior isn’t controlled by emotion or manners or rules about protocol, one who is frighteningly vulnerable, one who is almost alien to us as adults because we often live in more “adult ways” in an “adult world”—just ask any mother who needs some “adult time” to balance the days and nights spent at home with infants! So Jesus says first, “God’s embrace of us” FEELS, just like it does to us when we are “embracing” an infant; but it’s much more than that, isn’t?
Jesus invites his disciples to “embrace” the weakest one as if she were the “greatest.” Try that on for a bit. Before we ask “how,” we might need to know, “who”—are the “weakest” among us. And we could point to an infant, but we know it goes farther than that. Look at all the people Jesus talks to, treats with respect, heals, and restores—in his ministry. Jesus is TEACHING “FOLLOWERS” to treat “THEM” as we would treat an infant—to embrace them, care for them, hold them, love them, restore them. Yet, when we do that, we’re wrapping our hearts and hands and HEADS not just around some weak ones, or even Jesus, but around God himself!
Some people’s “image” of God is like “a doting grandfather.” Jesus says when we act the part of the doting Grandfather or Grandmother, we are in fact, then embracing God. But to do that , we must first “REVERSE” our image of God—finding God not in the greatest or best position (the grandparent), but instead as the weakest and most forlorn. It’s an “object lesson;” Jesus teaching us to believe and understand that we are only as “strong” as our “weakest one.”
Take that to this great healthcare yelling-match! I’ve come across people screaming only about what’s right for them; people who express vehemently their dissatisfaction at any kind of “public option,” presuming it will work out that they’ll have to be paying for the healthcare for people who “eat at McDonalds,” “smoke,” “don’t exercise enough,” or who otherwise “don’t take care of themselves.” Some people really want to believe we should pay for “health insurance” like “care insurance”—so that those who “drive like a maniac,” would rightfully pay more! But they fail to consider that some people drive WITHOUT insurance, and we ALL pay for that—more than we might if we ALL had coverage; or, that if people had access to health-care, there are demonstrated ways of helping people live “healthier” and in the long run that REDUCES costs for everyone—just like good driving would. By the way, regardless of which side wins or loses or how much WE get to pay for it, there will ALWAYS be too many vulnerable children—or weak ones—left out or uncovered. Perhaps Jesus would teach “followers” to be sure to stand up for “them”—the “weak ones”—before we stand up for ourselves.
In that way, this passage carries us beyond simple acts of kindness or justice. Because to “receive” God, is more than just giving God a hug. The other side of the word {devcomai} is to receive a teaching—to hear what one is saying, reacting positively toward a message given. So let’s say, for example, that we all ran out today and found someone “weaker” to “embrace,” and that in “embracing” that other person we are “embracing” God. In that “embrace” we offer, is God’s “embrace” of us, and with it, God’s “using us” because we have “embraced” what is God’s desire and made it our own. It’s not all self-serving from our side; it’s God being served in God’s ability to be within and among us, and for God ultimately to have God’s way because we have {devcomai}ed.
If the disciples wanted to know “who was the greatest,” Jesus tells them, “it’s the weakest one.”
If we are wanting to know how it is that we can “receive” Jesus and understand his teaching better than the disciples who “didn’t,” it means not looking for the greatest, but finding the weakest one and embracing him or her.
Because when we “embrace” the “weakest one,” we are “embracing” Jesus—receiving him, hearing his teaching, following his example. But we’re not just “{devcomai}--ing” Jesus either; when we “embrace” the weakest one, we are hugging—and being hugged back by—God.
--+ AMEN.
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Proverbs 31: 10-31
Psalm 1
James 3: 13 – 4:3, 7-8a
Mark 9: 30-37 *
“Learning the Embrace”
--} Today’s gospel reading begins a second time with Jesus “TEACHING” his disciples: “the Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” Mark tells us that the disciples “didn’t understand” and “were afraid to ask;” instead, the “context” reminds us that the disciples had been arguing about “who was the greatest,” while Jesus was trying to TEACH them about being betrayed, killed, and raised. And that’s when “it” happens.
All at the same time, Jesus seems to be talking about a lot of things, because of the Greek word, {devcomai}. The best, easiest, simplest translation of, {devcomai} is “to take” or “to receive”—as in “taking” a cup in one’s hand, or “receiving” someone or something—as in a “guest” or a “gift.” When Jesus “took [the] little child” to “put it among them,” the word is another Greek word that means to “take one in one’s arms”—a more explicit image implying a kind of embrace where one’s arms first surround and then hold the child. THEN, {devcomai}is the word most translations offer as “welcome.”
For me, there are three actions here. Jesus “takes the child,” as in—“in his arms”—THEN, Jesus places the child among the disciples, saying, “whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” So there’s, “taking,” “placing,” and THEN, an act of “welcoming” or “receiving” that I believe Jesus “demonstrates.” It’s an object lesson—or, “here’s how you do it.
If we unpack these actions a bit, what Jesus seems to be saying is that when you {devcomai} a child, you {devcomai} Jesus; but your {devcomai} is not just for Jesus, because in doing it, you’re REALLY {devcomai}—ing God. “To receive,” or “welcome” are generally the appropriate terms to translate, {devcomai}; Jesus is saying, when you receive me, you receive God; when you welcome another, you welcome God. But “receiving” and “welcome” alone don’t connote everything I believe Jesus is implying. The word {devcomai} historically is used to imply “receiving”—especially in the sense of “hospitality” that was everywhere honored and held sacred in the ancient world. We see this in the Hebrew tradition, even to the extent that one can “receive God”—like Abraham “welcoming” visitors or Moses “receiving God’s word” in the burning bush. {devcomai} is the word Mark uses earlier in the gospel story to describe Jesus’ instructions for the disciples who are “sent out.” Where the disciples are “received”—or not—indicates a “receiving”—or not—of Jesus himself. If a community “receives” the disciples, they are to stay there and don’t have to “shake the dust from their feet.” Such “hospitality” is not just for the disciples, but for the one who “sent them.”
I’m sure this basic argument is why many translations of Mark 9:37 use the word, “welcome.” But here’s the problem. If we’re welcoming a “guest,” shall we say, there’s a protocol. We speak words of greeting, there are gestures like hand-shaking or hugging, we open our home, we prepare a meal—such is a “welcome” for friend or even foe. Actually, we have rule books like “Mrs. Manners” or official State Department Protocols that define how “welcome” is to be done. But just how do you “welcome” a child? Particularly a small or smallest child?—one who may yet be an infant?
Mark carefully describes the scene where Jesus takes this child in his arms, then places her among his disciples. The child, requiring first to be “taken in his arms,” seems small enough to imply an infant; but perhaps more importantly in the context, one that surely CONTRASTS the disciples presumptions about “greatness.” So I think Jesus takes an infant—an example of absolute human weakness—and puts it amongst the disciples as if saying, “this one is the greatest.” It’s an object lesson: “power, made perfect in weakness”—which seems to be Jesus’ point in teaching about being betrayed, killed, and raised.
So first, I believe we’re dealing with an infant. Then, the question becomes, “how do you ‘welcome’ or ‘receive’ an infant?” You can’t talk to him, or at least she can’t really talk back to you in the right “protocol” for a visitor. So, how do you welcome an infant? And I think some slightly different language would help us to complete the picture.
You can’t really “welcome” or “receive” an “infant” just by looking at her or talking to him; it requires—almost by necessity, when we do it rightly—an “embrace.” You have to literally—carefully take that “littlest one” in your arms and sort of cuddle it. Don’t you? Your “holding it” means your hands, your arms, your body must speak where your lips, mouth, and brain will be inadequate. It’s far more physical, I suppose, than not—like the meaning implied by the word, “embrace”—a kind of “demonstrative action.”
Jesus says, when you “embrace” one such infant, you are “embracing” God. When you “embrace” one such as an infant—weak, helpless, unable to defend himself or speak for herself, one whose behavior isn’t controlled by emotion or manners or rules about protocol, one who is frighteningly vulnerable, one who is almost alien to us as adults because we often live in more “adult ways” in an “adult world”—just ask any mother who needs some “adult time” to balance the days and nights spent at home with infants! So Jesus says first, “God’s embrace of us” FEELS, just like it does to us when we are “embracing” an infant; but it’s much more than that, isn’t?
Jesus invites his disciples to “embrace” the weakest one as if she were the “greatest.” Try that on for a bit. Before we ask “how,” we might need to know, “who”—are the “weakest” among us. And we could point to an infant, but we know it goes farther than that. Look at all the people Jesus talks to, treats with respect, heals, and restores—in his ministry. Jesus is TEACHING “FOLLOWERS” to treat “THEM” as we would treat an infant—to embrace them, care for them, hold them, love them, restore them. Yet, when we do that, we’re wrapping our hearts and hands and HEADS not just around some weak ones, or even Jesus, but around God himself!
Some people’s “image” of God is like “a doting grandfather.” Jesus says when we act the part of the doting Grandfather or Grandmother, we are in fact, then embracing God. But to do that , we must first “REVERSE” our image of God—finding God not in the greatest or best position (the grandparent), but instead as the weakest and most forlorn. It’s an “object lesson;” Jesus teaching us to believe and understand that we are only as “strong” as our “weakest one.”
Take that to this great healthcare yelling-match! I’ve come across people screaming only about what’s right for them; people who express vehemently their dissatisfaction at any kind of “public option,” presuming it will work out that they’ll have to be paying for the healthcare for people who “eat at McDonalds,” “smoke,” “don’t exercise enough,” or who otherwise “don’t take care of themselves.” Some people really want to believe we should pay for “health insurance” like “care insurance”—so that those who “drive like a maniac,” would rightfully pay more! But they fail to consider that some people drive WITHOUT insurance, and we ALL pay for that—more than we might if we ALL had coverage; or, that if people had access to health-care, there are demonstrated ways of helping people live “healthier” and in the long run that REDUCES costs for everyone—just like good driving would. By the way, regardless of which side wins or loses or how much WE get to pay for it, there will ALWAYS be too many vulnerable children—or weak ones—left out or uncovered. Perhaps Jesus would teach “followers” to be sure to stand up for “them”—the “weak ones”—before we stand up for ourselves.
In that way, this passage carries us beyond simple acts of kindness or justice. Because to “receive” God, is more than just giving God a hug. The other side of the word {devcomai} is to receive a teaching—to hear what one is saying, reacting positively toward a message given. So let’s say, for example, that we all ran out today and found someone “weaker” to “embrace,” and that in “embracing” that other person we are “embracing” God. In that “embrace” we offer, is God’s “embrace” of us, and with it, God’s “using us” because we have “embraced” what is God’s desire and made it our own. It’s not all self-serving from our side; it’s God being served in God’s ability to be within and among us, and for God ultimately to have God’s way because we have {devcomai}ed.
If the disciples wanted to know “who was the greatest,” Jesus tells them, “it’s the weakest one.”
If we are wanting to know how it is that we can “receive” Jesus and understand his teaching better than the disciples who “didn’t,” it means not looking for the greatest, but finding the weakest one and embracing him or her.
Because when we “embrace” the “weakest one,” we are “embracing” Jesus—receiving him, hearing his teaching, following his example. But we’re not just “{devcomai}--ing” Jesus either; when we “embrace” the weakest one, we are hugging—and being hugged back by—God.
--+ AMEN.
Link to the audio file for my sermon from September 20th
Here's the link to the audio file for my sermon from Sunday, September 20th, 2009--Theological Education Sunday in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). So, I added a little piece about the Theological Education Fund and the contributions of our 10 PC(USA) Seminaries to the work of our whole church.
http://www.box.net/shared/kc4ecnzfpv
As always, thanks for checking it out :)
http://www.box.net/shared/kc4ecnzfpv
As always, thanks for checking it out :)
Monday, September 14, 2009
Text of my sermon from Sunday, September 13th
The 24th Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 13, 2009
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Proverbs 1: 20-33
Psalm 19
James 3: 1-12
Mark 8: 27-38 *
“Jesus Christ, Peter Satan, Men and Women Christians”
--} In our day and age, “Christ”—is our word for the Greek, "Cristos," that appears in today’s passage. Yet we most often understand it simply as Jesus’ last name. Who are you? First name: Jesus. Last name: Christ. Jesus Christ. But the truth is that "Cristos," is a word more closely associated with “Messiah” because "Cristos," means “anointed,” or “anointed one”—and it’s a LOADED term.
As one of my colleagues pointed out this week, Jesus doesn’t exactly give check marks or X’s for the disciples answers when Jesus asks, “who do people say that I am, who do YOU say that I am.” And while it’s not a “multiple guess” exam, we still get a variety of responses—John the Baptist, Elijah, one of the Prophets, even “Cristos,” “Messiah;” but there’s no indication for which is right, wrong, or whatever. But what I think we should know is that when Peter offers, “Cristos”—he’s probably not saying what WE think he’s saying.
"Cristos" is a word that describes, “anointing;” a word that resonates with a newly installed officer given power and authority. The Hebrew Bible speaks prominently about the “anointing” of Kings and Prophets who serve as substantial leaders of God’s people. And while Jesus fits this kind of mould, it also seems painfully true in today’s passage that Jesus intends to exercise a very different kind of power. While we can debate what "Cristos" would have meant to Mark’s original audience, I think undoubtedly the vision was more than a “name,” more even than the “title” we ascribe to the word, “Christ.”
Where we see and hear, “Jesus Christ,” when Peter is offering, “Cristos,” in response to Jesus’ question, he’s telling us something very different. Peter is telling Jesus, in effect, “I tell people you are the “Cristos”; and by it, he is revealing Jesus’ identity in a context that we don’t rightly understand. And while it’s hard for us to say exactly what Peter would have meant, it’s definitely accurate to suggest his vision was different from ours. For Peter, Jesus is the one anointed with kingly reign and heavenly power; and his point suggests that Jesus is the one rightfully entitled to a kind of “enthroned power.” And while we find it hard to disagree, such seems diametrically opposed to the power Jesus seeks to exhibit. When Peter answers, Jesus is quick to respond—“don’t tell anybody.”
But turn to verse 31 and we see Jesus proposing something very different from Peter. The power Jesus would have is power defined by “great suffering, …being rejected, …being killed, …and being raised.” None of that, fits the description implied by the word, “Cristos,” because “Anointed one,” “Messiah,” or “Christ” all imply one who’s rightfully entitled to deserve “enthroned power.” The Hebrew scriptures and tradition, offered such a person, one in the royal line of Davidic power, promised to “relieve” the suffering of God’s people. Import that idea into the conflict with the Romans and you’ve got a handy-dandy recipe for social and national revolt. The “messianic” figure offered the promise of bringing God’s power to bear on the earth, and it’d been tried several times already. In short, the best guess may be that Peter is offering Jesus in a traditional visioning of “Cristos;” but my hunch is, Mark is using this opportunity to REDEFINE what “Cristos” really means—for followers like Peter, and followers like us.
The way Mark tells us this story is interesting, too. While Jesus would “teach” disciples and followers that he must suffer, be rejected, killed, and raised,” Peter presumes to treat Jesus not as “teacher,” but as equal. Peter takes Jesus aside and “rebukes” him, as if they were on the same level; just as Jesus will “rebuke” Peter. Same words. Which explains why Jesus would re-orient Peter’s assumptions, telling him plainly—at face value—“get behind me.” Christ-Followers aren’t “equals;” Christ-followers must follow. We don’t get to pick and choose for ourselves; we’re called to “follow.”
And just as we “name” Jesus, “Christ,” Jesus “names” Peter—“Satan”. Again, our language tends to obscure what Mark may have meant, since our “Satan” and Mark’s “Satan” seem decidedly different. There are only 4 references to “Satan” in all of Mark’s gospel. “Satan” is first the “tempter” who appears with Jesus in the wilderness following Jesus’ baptism. In fact, “tempter” might be a better way of describing “Satan” rather than a demonic figure. Satan’s only power is temptation; and in today’s passage, the reference seems to function similarly. If the language is meant to be the same, Jesus paints Peter as a “temptation.”
Because isn’t it always “tempting” to see Jesus as one who could assume the kind of power Peter is suggesting? To see Jesus has having not only a truly Prophetic office, but one that gives him authority on a national level—even a worldly level? He could “replace” the collaborators of his day who preserved their religious “power” by serving Roman aims rather than God’s aims exclusively. He could set the world straight, as we all imagine Jesus should. And how “tempting,” too, for Jesus, who could have another path aside from “suffering, rejection, and death.” But Jesus won’t have it. His insistence in offering another model of leadership is scandalous to us—one that proclaims the value of the less and least by teaching us that life come out of death. Jesus appears as a kind of “re-constructionist” sent to help make people whole again, to restore the lost, to put down demons, illness, and death. Jesus’ vision is enabling people to live the life of the Kingdom of God; but Peter’s vision is that all the power of the Kingdom should reside in Jesus. Jesus would have us believe that the power of the Kingdom of God is “lived out” in all of us as he teaches us by example how to live by the Kingdom’s rules.
Because Jesus has said and continues to say: “follow me.” Actually, what Jesus says in today’s reading is “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” What Jesus says to Peter and the crowd with his disciples is, “follow me.” At least that’s what seems to be meant by, “get behind me,” isn’t it? Jesus’ invitation was “follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” But when the lure of temptation offers us a glimpse of a better life, a different kind of life, one free of risk, one with promised wealth and gain,” Jesus says—in order for us to fight that temptation—“get behind me.”
“Get behind me”—to put it bluntly—means look at my backside. And “follow me,” means “do what I do!” Jesus says, “get behind me; do what I do.” But that’s the trouble with this passage, isn’t it? If we DO what Jesus DOES, don’t we have to hear the hardest part: “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, …will save it.” “Winning” means “loosing;” “living” means “dying”—or as Jesus puts it, we “must undergo great suffering, be rejected, be killed, and rise again.” Jesus says, “get behind me!” “Don’t tempt me with something else!”
And here, the kind of “kingdom power” Jesus brings to bear isn’t the royal power of privilege and prestige; quite the contrary. Jesus doesn’t protect his own interests, but categorically gives them up. The power we witness here, is the same power that Jesus brought to the ground in Galilee: where people were healed, lives were restored to community, demons that had hindered health and wholeness are put away, sins were forgiven, meals happened where people were fed who otherwise wouldn’t have eaten, fears were addressed, storms were calmed—all the while, the voice of Jesus beckoning, “come, follow me.”
Today’s reading marks a great transition in Mark’s gospel. Chapter nine begins Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem where he’ll meet “great suffering, rejection, death, and resurrection.” In some respects, what Jesus says at the end of chapter 8 could be considered his swan-song. While these aren’t the last words Jesus will ever utter, these words—or these kinds of words—seem very much to be the central, authoritative point of Mark’s gospel. God’s re-construction of God’s world-view in Jesus means our “getting behind Jesus” and “following him.” It means choosing to emulate him in caring for the poor and disadvantaged, restoring wholeness and community, and together beating back illness and death. And Jesus tells us it isn’t the Kingdom’s power established from on high, it’s simply the kingdom’s power established on earth—the kingdom’s power that first we see resident in Jesus—but then is formed for all of us when we get behind and follow!
Today, men and women routinely take the name, “Cristos”—in calling themselves “Christian.” And while we take that to mean some kind of “Christ-follower,” we know we often take the name, but seldom the complete mission. Jesus is determined to lead from the underside; and all of us are pretty good examples of the more well-to-do-side. Always, our temptation is look out for ourselves, to protect what we have—what we’ve earned, to hold on to what is OURS. And what’s so scandalous, is that Jesus walks away from that, as surely as Jesus walked away from Satan in the wilderness. What it means for you and I—men and women—to take on the name of “Cristos” as “followers BEHIND Jesus” is to learn to live with suffering, rejection, death, and resurrection—because Jesus shows us that living the way he does is the only way to live by the rules of the Kingdom of God.
We spout all the time the importance of “following Jesus.” But how often do we check and see how closely behind we really are—or aren’t.
The scandal here, isn’t that Jesus calls Peter, “Satan;” it’s not that Peter calls Jesus “Cristov",” meaning some kind of Messianic kick-butt Jewish authoritarian determined to throw the Romans out of Israel. The scandal here, is that Mark asks believers to live up to Jesus’ name that we all-too-easily claim for ourselves. To live like Jesus, to follow Jesus, is to live in a way that invites great suffering, rejection, and ultimately to give ourselves completely for the life of the Kingdom of God. Jesus says, “get behind me—follow me,” and shows us the way. And if we’re not-so-willing, perhaps we’re not entitled to the name.
For us, “Cristos,” should be more than a title or a name. “Cristos,” means recognizing that the Kingdom’s power is made resident on the earth—not just in Jesus, but in all of us in as much as we are willing to “get behind” and “follow.” Yet it must dare us to fulfill the promise of great suffering, rejection, death, and being raised: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, …will save it.”
--+ AMEN.
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Proverbs 1: 20-33
Psalm 19
James 3: 1-12
Mark 8: 27-38 *
“Jesus Christ, Peter Satan, Men and Women Christians”
--} In our day and age, “Christ”—is our word for the Greek, "Cristos," that appears in today’s passage. Yet we most often understand it simply as Jesus’ last name. Who are you? First name: Jesus. Last name: Christ. Jesus Christ. But the truth is that "Cristos," is a word more closely associated with “Messiah” because "Cristos," means “anointed,” or “anointed one”—and it’s a LOADED term.
As one of my colleagues pointed out this week, Jesus doesn’t exactly give check marks or X’s for the disciples answers when Jesus asks, “who do people say that I am, who do YOU say that I am.” And while it’s not a “multiple guess” exam, we still get a variety of responses—John the Baptist, Elijah, one of the Prophets, even “Cristos,” “Messiah;” but there’s no indication for which is right, wrong, or whatever. But what I think we should know is that when Peter offers, “Cristos”—he’s probably not saying what WE think he’s saying.
"Cristos" is a word that describes, “anointing;” a word that resonates with a newly installed officer given power and authority. The Hebrew Bible speaks prominently about the “anointing” of Kings and Prophets who serve as substantial leaders of God’s people. And while Jesus fits this kind of mould, it also seems painfully true in today’s passage that Jesus intends to exercise a very different kind of power. While we can debate what "Cristos" would have meant to Mark’s original audience, I think undoubtedly the vision was more than a “name,” more even than the “title” we ascribe to the word, “Christ.”
Where we see and hear, “Jesus Christ,” when Peter is offering, “Cristos,” in response to Jesus’ question, he’s telling us something very different. Peter is telling Jesus, in effect, “I tell people you are the “Cristos”; and by it, he is revealing Jesus’ identity in a context that we don’t rightly understand. And while it’s hard for us to say exactly what Peter would have meant, it’s definitely accurate to suggest his vision was different from ours. For Peter, Jesus is the one anointed with kingly reign and heavenly power; and his point suggests that Jesus is the one rightfully entitled to a kind of “enthroned power.” And while we find it hard to disagree, such seems diametrically opposed to the power Jesus seeks to exhibit. When Peter answers, Jesus is quick to respond—“don’t tell anybody.”
But turn to verse 31 and we see Jesus proposing something very different from Peter. The power Jesus would have is power defined by “great suffering, …being rejected, …being killed, …and being raised.” None of that, fits the description implied by the word, “Cristos,” because “Anointed one,” “Messiah,” or “Christ” all imply one who’s rightfully entitled to deserve “enthroned power.” The Hebrew scriptures and tradition, offered such a person, one in the royal line of Davidic power, promised to “relieve” the suffering of God’s people. Import that idea into the conflict with the Romans and you’ve got a handy-dandy recipe for social and national revolt. The “messianic” figure offered the promise of bringing God’s power to bear on the earth, and it’d been tried several times already. In short, the best guess may be that Peter is offering Jesus in a traditional visioning of “Cristos;” but my hunch is, Mark is using this opportunity to REDEFINE what “Cristos” really means—for followers like Peter, and followers like us.
The way Mark tells us this story is interesting, too. While Jesus would “teach” disciples and followers that he must suffer, be rejected, killed, and raised,” Peter presumes to treat Jesus not as “teacher,” but as equal. Peter takes Jesus aside and “rebukes” him, as if they were on the same level; just as Jesus will “rebuke” Peter. Same words. Which explains why Jesus would re-orient Peter’s assumptions, telling him plainly—at face value—“get behind me.” Christ-Followers aren’t “equals;” Christ-followers must follow. We don’t get to pick and choose for ourselves; we’re called to “follow.”
And just as we “name” Jesus, “Christ,” Jesus “names” Peter—“Satan”. Again, our language tends to obscure what Mark may have meant, since our “Satan” and Mark’s “Satan” seem decidedly different. There are only 4 references to “Satan” in all of Mark’s gospel. “Satan” is first the “tempter” who appears with Jesus in the wilderness following Jesus’ baptism. In fact, “tempter” might be a better way of describing “Satan” rather than a demonic figure. Satan’s only power is temptation; and in today’s passage, the reference seems to function similarly. If the language is meant to be the same, Jesus paints Peter as a “temptation.”
Because isn’t it always “tempting” to see Jesus as one who could assume the kind of power Peter is suggesting? To see Jesus has having not only a truly Prophetic office, but one that gives him authority on a national level—even a worldly level? He could “replace” the collaborators of his day who preserved their religious “power” by serving Roman aims rather than God’s aims exclusively. He could set the world straight, as we all imagine Jesus should. And how “tempting,” too, for Jesus, who could have another path aside from “suffering, rejection, and death.” But Jesus won’t have it. His insistence in offering another model of leadership is scandalous to us—one that proclaims the value of the less and least by teaching us that life come out of death. Jesus appears as a kind of “re-constructionist” sent to help make people whole again, to restore the lost, to put down demons, illness, and death. Jesus’ vision is enabling people to live the life of the Kingdom of God; but Peter’s vision is that all the power of the Kingdom should reside in Jesus. Jesus would have us believe that the power of the Kingdom of God is “lived out” in all of us as he teaches us by example how to live by the Kingdom’s rules.
Because Jesus has said and continues to say: “follow me.” Actually, what Jesus says in today’s reading is “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” What Jesus says to Peter and the crowd with his disciples is, “follow me.” At least that’s what seems to be meant by, “get behind me,” isn’t it? Jesus’ invitation was “follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” But when the lure of temptation offers us a glimpse of a better life, a different kind of life, one free of risk, one with promised wealth and gain,” Jesus says—in order for us to fight that temptation—“get behind me.”
“Get behind me”—to put it bluntly—means look at my backside. And “follow me,” means “do what I do!” Jesus says, “get behind me; do what I do.” But that’s the trouble with this passage, isn’t it? If we DO what Jesus DOES, don’t we have to hear the hardest part: “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, …will save it.” “Winning” means “loosing;” “living” means “dying”—or as Jesus puts it, we “must undergo great suffering, be rejected, be killed, and rise again.” Jesus says, “get behind me!” “Don’t tempt me with something else!”
And here, the kind of “kingdom power” Jesus brings to bear isn’t the royal power of privilege and prestige; quite the contrary. Jesus doesn’t protect his own interests, but categorically gives them up. The power we witness here, is the same power that Jesus brought to the ground in Galilee: where people were healed, lives were restored to community, demons that had hindered health and wholeness are put away, sins were forgiven, meals happened where people were fed who otherwise wouldn’t have eaten, fears were addressed, storms were calmed—all the while, the voice of Jesus beckoning, “come, follow me.”
Today’s reading marks a great transition in Mark’s gospel. Chapter nine begins Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem where he’ll meet “great suffering, rejection, death, and resurrection.” In some respects, what Jesus says at the end of chapter 8 could be considered his swan-song. While these aren’t the last words Jesus will ever utter, these words—or these kinds of words—seem very much to be the central, authoritative point of Mark’s gospel. God’s re-construction of God’s world-view in Jesus means our “getting behind Jesus” and “following him.” It means choosing to emulate him in caring for the poor and disadvantaged, restoring wholeness and community, and together beating back illness and death. And Jesus tells us it isn’t the Kingdom’s power established from on high, it’s simply the kingdom’s power established on earth—the kingdom’s power that first we see resident in Jesus—but then is formed for all of us when we get behind and follow!
Today, men and women routinely take the name, “Cristos”—in calling themselves “Christian.” And while we take that to mean some kind of “Christ-follower,” we know we often take the name, but seldom the complete mission. Jesus is determined to lead from the underside; and all of us are pretty good examples of the more well-to-do-side. Always, our temptation is look out for ourselves, to protect what we have—what we’ve earned, to hold on to what is OURS. And what’s so scandalous, is that Jesus walks away from that, as surely as Jesus walked away from Satan in the wilderness. What it means for you and I—men and women—to take on the name of “Cristos” as “followers BEHIND Jesus” is to learn to live with suffering, rejection, death, and resurrection—because Jesus shows us that living the way he does is the only way to live by the rules of the Kingdom of God.
We spout all the time the importance of “following Jesus.” But how often do we check and see how closely behind we really are—or aren’t.
The scandal here, isn’t that Jesus calls Peter, “Satan;” it’s not that Peter calls Jesus “Cristov",” meaning some kind of Messianic kick-butt Jewish authoritarian determined to throw the Romans out of Israel. The scandal here, is that Mark asks believers to live up to Jesus’ name that we all-too-easily claim for ourselves. To live like Jesus, to follow Jesus, is to live in a way that invites great suffering, rejection, and ultimately to give ourselves completely for the life of the Kingdom of God. Jesus says, “get behind me—follow me,” and shows us the way. And if we’re not-so-willing, perhaps we’re not entitled to the name.
For us, “Cristos,” should be more than a title or a name. “Cristos,” means recognizing that the Kingdom’s power is made resident on the earth—not just in Jesus, but in all of us in as much as we are willing to “get behind” and “follow.” Yet it must dare us to fulfill the promise of great suffering, rejection, death, and being raised: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, …will save it.”
--+ AMEN.
Link to the audio file for my sermon from September 13th
Here's the link to the audio file for my Sermon from Sunday, September 13th, 2009.
http://www.box.net/shared/lkjskv3q0p
Thanks for checking it out!
http://www.box.net/shared/lkjskv3q0p
Thanks for checking it out!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
The Text of my sermon from Sunday, September 6th, 2009
The 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 06, 2009
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Proverbs 22: 1-2, 8-9, 22-23
Psalm 125
James 2: 1-10 (11-13) 14-17
Mark 7: 24-31 *
“Jesus the bigot, an exploding Kingdom of God, and the Royal Law of Love”
--} In today’s gospel lesson Mark tells us that Jesus is finishing his summer vacation, too—leaving familiar “Jewish” territory behind in favor of the far off region of Tyre (along the Mediterranean coast). In Mark’s words, “[Jesus] did not want anyone to know he was there;” and despite efforts at “hidden-ness,” Jesus couldn’t escape “discovery.” In “foreign parts,” undoubtedly, Jesus’ skin, dress, or accent could have given him away; and even lacking any U-Tube videos or internet pictures by which to identify him, an otherwise strange woman in what should have been “unknowing” territory manages to pick Jesus—out of the crowds. But what happens next in Mark’s story, is almost unthinkable for us.
Despite our belief in a kind, gracious, giving and forgiving Jesus, Mark shows us a side of Jesus that’s almost unforgiveable. By any count, at the least, Jesus calls this woman, a Gentile foreigner (in her own territory), a “dog.” Feel free to insert your best “Americanized slang” terminology if you like—it’s meant by Mark to be a rather nasty exchange. And I can say that because we know that when Jesus WANTS to respond graciously and generously, he doesn’t hesitate. Consider the similar story in Mark 5 where Jesus is approached by the synagogue leader whose daughter was dying; Jesus without question or rebuttal goes immediately to tend to the girl’s aid. Here, however, Jesus is brutally disrespectful, refusing even the slightest hint at grace. The food of God’s people is not to be taken and given to the dogs! And if we’re not offended, we should be!
It’s fair to say this story really messes with much of what we believe—and want to believe—about Jesus. Surely, Mark must have gotten this story wrong! However, even this doesn’t mean the story can’t be redemptive! So for me, the better question isn’t, “what’s wrong with Jesus?”; rather, it’s “why does Mark tell us this story?” What does it demonstrate, and why is it important? To answer these questions we have to look at lot deeper than just what Jesus says to the woman, and a lot farther than the fact that her daughter is freed of the demon. We have to endeavor to see what Mark’s community would have been seeing, and admittedly, that’s hard for us.
While we think “faith” should offer a different explanation, scholars actually believe that in Jesus’ response to this woman we see a genuine first-century, male dominated, culturally insensitive world-view; a very human picture of Jesus as a product of his own time and place—here holding on to old pharisaical beliefs that God’s particularly chosen “Jewish” people come first. While it’s “surprising” coming from the mouth of Jesus, it’s still accurate, to say Jesus is exhibiting a particularly bigoted, sexist, insensitive, unenlightened perspective—and yet, the Kingdom of God refuses to be denied!
Though odd-sounding to OUR ears, I believe this story would have been particularly aspiring news to Mark’s Christian Community. Remember, in the aftermath of Jesus’ life and ministry, the Roman-Jewish conflict ratcheted upwards. Mark’s community witnessed the ever-increasing domination of the Romans; the Temple in Jerusalem being destroyed; the Jewish leadership that so opposed Jesus comes to a time of transition; and now there are Jewish-Christian conflicts. Perhaps Mark speaks to some temptation among Jesus-believers to return to a more Jewish-centered world view—in light of Jesus’ death and world events. But in that environment especially, however, Mark’s gospel seems to speak to the efficacy of the Jesus movement—clearly demonstrating that the Kingdom of God has no boundaries on the earth. That Jesus’ ministry was just as effective “inside” Jewish boundaries as well as “outside” of them. Clearly for Jesus, the Kingdom of God was beyond the vision of Jerusalem’s Jewish leadership; his life and work meant God’s kingdom “exploded” not only in Galilee, but even beyond the bounds of traditional “Jewish territory”—working just as effectively. It’s as if the Kingdom of God knows many places, but isn’t centered in any one place!
If you recall, facing the story of the woman with hemorrhages being healed and the synagogue leader’s daughter being “saved,” I argued that “faith” wasn’t about how much or “what” we believed in or about Jesus. Rather, “faith” seemed to be presented as God’s mechanism for changing human beings to make US more Christ-like in our behavior. And if we take that concept and lay it over today’s story about this woman who doggedly pursues Jesus to cast the demon out of her daughter, the principle seems to hold—but in a surprisingly new way.
Like unclean persons weren’t allowed to be in public (the hemorrhaging woman or the father wanting Jesus to touch a dying girl), women throughout middle eastern culture in Jesus’ day typically weren’t ever allowed to address men in public. We get that this woman is desperate enough to risk death in order to save her daughter, but Mark describes her standing firm not just in inviting a healing, but recognizing that the Kingdom of God can be enacted by mere crumbs. She suddenly appears as the one “changed” and made more Christ-like, clearly enacting the behavior we previously recognized in Jesus. Jesus is forced to take on a reverse-role, demonstrating the Kingdom of God’s ability to explode anywhere and everywhere in our word, despite the views of some who would try and keep it under wraps. You can’t put the Genie back in the bottle—the Kingdom of God on earth simply will not be denied!
While it seems strange to us that this woman has to act over and against Jesus—who previously has always acted as the representative of God’s Kingdom coming near, what we witness here is that even when worldly cultural patterns of resistance try to deny it, the Kingdom of God cannot be shut down. And whether it’s Jesus’ own resistance, or others who would claim to be like him, saying, “this woman isn’t worthy to receive what is not intended for her!”—what we witness is that the Kingdom of God overpowers human cultural pressures. It’s not so much Jesus as the Son of God that’s bested here; it’s Jesus the representative of only one group of human beings—Jesus who would be for some and not for all, Jesus who would hold back part of the kingdom for those “deserving,” while denying others, Jesus who would seek to hide from human need rather than meet it.
Instead, Mark offers us a vision of the Kingdom of God that moves well beyond the person and work of Jesus—into the world where even Jesus doesn’t have to be rightfully welcomed. And the response of the world—unlike that of the Jewish Pharisees—is that “Jesus has done everything well.” Mark’s story serves to explode the old bigoted conflict between the Jews and everyone else, leaving no doubt that the realm of God is in all the world, and that Jesus-people can’t hide from it. This is not a “peaceful” Jesus—but a radically inclusive, progressive, bold servant of God’s kingdom at work in the world—whose influence cannot be denied, no matter how hard the world’s forces might try. And my question for us as twenty-first century Jesus-people, is what does this tell us about our own life and ministry in Jesus’ name?
Name your current social, religious, or political conflict—and maybe this model holds true for us, as well. God’s kingdom seems far more radically inclusive than we will ever feel comfortable with. On so many fronts, the “fight” seems to be about keeping what we believe is rightfully ours; as if we believed ourselves to be the first, the best, or the most deserving.
It’s why—I’m told—we don’t want to reform health-care. People of means, don’t want to have to foot the bill for people who are poor, and perceived to be lazy bums, people less deserving. Read the gospel story lately? That undeserving bum of a gentile woman simply would not be denied!
It’s why—I’m told—that people don’t like same-sex marriage. We wouldn’t want to consider some people, who appear to have different habits, equally. And hard as we try to find a way to make it possible to treat some human beings different from other human beings based on appearance or habits or preferences—the gospel seems to say that the Kingdom of God cannot be denied!
It’s why—I’m told—that people seldom talk religion in public. We like holding on to our personal prejudices, our beliefs that certain people must be more “special”—or deserving. And it’s funny how “those people” always look a lot like ourselves. But that if we really believed what we claimed we believe when we come to church, our lives would have to be different. So instead of being outspoken about our “faith,” we try and hide it. Like Jesus, “who didn’t want anyone to know he was there.” But the gospel of Jesus Christ, is that God’s ways in the world will not be denied—in spite of Jesus even!
Mark’s story serves to challenge all of us who would claim to be Jesus-people. Like Mark’s first-century believers, you and I represent a new community of God’s people in our own time and place. It’s not just that we’re bad sinful people in serious need of reform, it’s that despite the cultural norms of our own time and place, the Kingdom of God should not be denied. Mark forces us to deal with a Kingdom that is bigger than any of us as human beings, and bigger than the morals and norms we’ve been taught should be normative. Instead, Mark is hoping that his community and ours will recognize that the commitment to God’s Kingdom requires us to step outside our own cultural world-view and live in new ways. Even Jesus. So much more-so, all of us.
The Kingdom of God doesn’t wait for you or I to enact its vision; God’s Kingdom has already been exploded among us in the person and work of Jesus. What seems to be the point is that rather than just waiting for the kingdom to come, like “waiting to die,” we should instead embrace its new vision, celebrate its boldness, and enable it’s furthering. By faith, we have been and continue to be “changed” and made to be more Christ-like. And in this story, the expression of God’s ultimate royal love in Jesus--"loving our neighbor as ourselves"--is forced to be more open. Maybe we don’t want to change… it’s just that the Kingdom isn’t going to stand around and wait on us. As Jesus himself discovers, the radically inclusive, progressive, culturally sensitive, bold Kingdom of God will not be denied! And perhaps, even when we don't want to change, we ought to be able to proclaim, "thank God for that!"
--+ AMEN.
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Proverbs 22: 1-2, 8-9, 22-23
Psalm 125
James 2: 1-10 (11-13) 14-17
Mark 7: 24-31 *
“Jesus the bigot, an exploding Kingdom of God, and the Royal Law of Love”
--} In today’s gospel lesson Mark tells us that Jesus is finishing his summer vacation, too—leaving familiar “Jewish” territory behind in favor of the far off region of Tyre (along the Mediterranean coast). In Mark’s words, “[Jesus] did not want anyone to know he was there;” and despite efforts at “hidden-ness,” Jesus couldn’t escape “discovery.” In “foreign parts,” undoubtedly, Jesus’ skin, dress, or accent could have given him away; and even lacking any U-Tube videos or internet pictures by which to identify him, an otherwise strange woman in what should have been “unknowing” territory manages to pick Jesus—out of the crowds. But what happens next in Mark’s story, is almost unthinkable for us.
Despite our belief in a kind, gracious, giving and forgiving Jesus, Mark shows us a side of Jesus that’s almost unforgiveable. By any count, at the least, Jesus calls this woman, a Gentile foreigner (in her own territory), a “dog.” Feel free to insert your best “Americanized slang” terminology if you like—it’s meant by Mark to be a rather nasty exchange. And I can say that because we know that when Jesus WANTS to respond graciously and generously, he doesn’t hesitate. Consider the similar story in Mark 5 where Jesus is approached by the synagogue leader whose daughter was dying; Jesus without question or rebuttal goes immediately to tend to the girl’s aid. Here, however, Jesus is brutally disrespectful, refusing even the slightest hint at grace. The food of God’s people is not to be taken and given to the dogs! And if we’re not offended, we should be!
It’s fair to say this story really messes with much of what we believe—and want to believe—about Jesus. Surely, Mark must have gotten this story wrong! However, even this doesn’t mean the story can’t be redemptive! So for me, the better question isn’t, “what’s wrong with Jesus?”; rather, it’s “why does Mark tell us this story?” What does it demonstrate, and why is it important? To answer these questions we have to look at lot deeper than just what Jesus says to the woman, and a lot farther than the fact that her daughter is freed of the demon. We have to endeavor to see what Mark’s community would have been seeing, and admittedly, that’s hard for us.
While we think “faith” should offer a different explanation, scholars actually believe that in Jesus’ response to this woman we see a genuine first-century, male dominated, culturally insensitive world-view; a very human picture of Jesus as a product of his own time and place—here holding on to old pharisaical beliefs that God’s particularly chosen “Jewish” people come first. While it’s “surprising” coming from the mouth of Jesus, it’s still accurate, to say Jesus is exhibiting a particularly bigoted, sexist, insensitive, unenlightened perspective—and yet, the Kingdom of God refuses to be denied!
Though odd-sounding to OUR ears, I believe this story would have been particularly aspiring news to Mark’s Christian Community. Remember, in the aftermath of Jesus’ life and ministry, the Roman-Jewish conflict ratcheted upwards. Mark’s community witnessed the ever-increasing domination of the Romans; the Temple in Jerusalem being destroyed; the Jewish leadership that so opposed Jesus comes to a time of transition; and now there are Jewish-Christian conflicts. Perhaps Mark speaks to some temptation among Jesus-believers to return to a more Jewish-centered world view—in light of Jesus’ death and world events. But in that environment especially, however, Mark’s gospel seems to speak to the efficacy of the Jesus movement—clearly demonstrating that the Kingdom of God has no boundaries on the earth. That Jesus’ ministry was just as effective “inside” Jewish boundaries as well as “outside” of them. Clearly for Jesus, the Kingdom of God was beyond the vision of Jerusalem’s Jewish leadership; his life and work meant God’s kingdom “exploded” not only in Galilee, but even beyond the bounds of traditional “Jewish territory”—working just as effectively. It’s as if the Kingdom of God knows many places, but isn’t centered in any one place!
If you recall, facing the story of the woman with hemorrhages being healed and the synagogue leader’s daughter being “saved,” I argued that “faith” wasn’t about how much or “what” we believed in or about Jesus. Rather, “faith” seemed to be presented as God’s mechanism for changing human beings to make US more Christ-like in our behavior. And if we take that concept and lay it over today’s story about this woman who doggedly pursues Jesus to cast the demon out of her daughter, the principle seems to hold—but in a surprisingly new way.
Like unclean persons weren’t allowed to be in public (the hemorrhaging woman or the father wanting Jesus to touch a dying girl), women throughout middle eastern culture in Jesus’ day typically weren’t ever allowed to address men in public. We get that this woman is desperate enough to risk death in order to save her daughter, but Mark describes her standing firm not just in inviting a healing, but recognizing that the Kingdom of God can be enacted by mere crumbs. She suddenly appears as the one “changed” and made more Christ-like, clearly enacting the behavior we previously recognized in Jesus. Jesus is forced to take on a reverse-role, demonstrating the Kingdom of God’s ability to explode anywhere and everywhere in our word, despite the views of some who would try and keep it under wraps. You can’t put the Genie back in the bottle—the Kingdom of God on earth simply will not be denied!
While it seems strange to us that this woman has to act over and against Jesus—who previously has always acted as the representative of God’s Kingdom coming near, what we witness here is that even when worldly cultural patterns of resistance try to deny it, the Kingdom of God cannot be shut down. And whether it’s Jesus’ own resistance, or others who would claim to be like him, saying, “this woman isn’t worthy to receive what is not intended for her!”—what we witness is that the Kingdom of God overpowers human cultural pressures. It’s not so much Jesus as the Son of God that’s bested here; it’s Jesus the representative of only one group of human beings—Jesus who would be for some and not for all, Jesus who would hold back part of the kingdom for those “deserving,” while denying others, Jesus who would seek to hide from human need rather than meet it.
Instead, Mark offers us a vision of the Kingdom of God that moves well beyond the person and work of Jesus—into the world where even Jesus doesn’t have to be rightfully welcomed. And the response of the world—unlike that of the Jewish Pharisees—is that “Jesus has done everything well.” Mark’s story serves to explode the old bigoted conflict between the Jews and everyone else, leaving no doubt that the realm of God is in all the world, and that Jesus-people can’t hide from it. This is not a “peaceful” Jesus—but a radically inclusive, progressive, bold servant of God’s kingdom at work in the world—whose influence cannot be denied, no matter how hard the world’s forces might try. And my question for us as twenty-first century Jesus-people, is what does this tell us about our own life and ministry in Jesus’ name?
Name your current social, religious, or political conflict—and maybe this model holds true for us, as well. God’s kingdom seems far more radically inclusive than we will ever feel comfortable with. On so many fronts, the “fight” seems to be about keeping what we believe is rightfully ours; as if we believed ourselves to be the first, the best, or the most deserving.
It’s why—I’m told—we don’t want to reform health-care. People of means, don’t want to have to foot the bill for people who are poor, and perceived to be lazy bums, people less deserving. Read the gospel story lately? That undeserving bum of a gentile woman simply would not be denied!
It’s why—I’m told—that people don’t like same-sex marriage. We wouldn’t want to consider some people, who appear to have different habits, equally. And hard as we try to find a way to make it possible to treat some human beings different from other human beings based on appearance or habits or preferences—the gospel seems to say that the Kingdom of God cannot be denied!
It’s why—I’m told—that people seldom talk religion in public. We like holding on to our personal prejudices, our beliefs that certain people must be more “special”—or deserving. And it’s funny how “those people” always look a lot like ourselves. But that if we really believed what we claimed we believe when we come to church, our lives would have to be different. So instead of being outspoken about our “faith,” we try and hide it. Like Jesus, “who didn’t want anyone to know he was there.” But the gospel of Jesus Christ, is that God’s ways in the world will not be denied—in spite of Jesus even!
Mark’s story serves to challenge all of us who would claim to be Jesus-people. Like Mark’s first-century believers, you and I represent a new community of God’s people in our own time and place. It’s not just that we’re bad sinful people in serious need of reform, it’s that despite the cultural norms of our own time and place, the Kingdom of God should not be denied. Mark forces us to deal with a Kingdom that is bigger than any of us as human beings, and bigger than the morals and norms we’ve been taught should be normative. Instead, Mark is hoping that his community and ours will recognize that the commitment to God’s Kingdom requires us to step outside our own cultural world-view and live in new ways. Even Jesus. So much more-so, all of us.
The Kingdom of God doesn’t wait for you or I to enact its vision; God’s Kingdom has already been exploded among us in the person and work of Jesus. What seems to be the point is that rather than just waiting for the kingdom to come, like “waiting to die,” we should instead embrace its new vision, celebrate its boldness, and enable it’s furthering. By faith, we have been and continue to be “changed” and made to be more Christ-like. And in this story, the expression of God’s ultimate royal love in Jesus--"loving our neighbor as ourselves"--is forced to be more open. Maybe we don’t want to change… it’s just that the Kingdom isn’t going to stand around and wait on us. As Jesus himself discovers, the radically inclusive, progressive, culturally sensitive, bold Kingdom of God will not be denied! And perhaps, even when we don't want to change, we ought to be able to proclaim, "thank God for that!"
--+ AMEN.
Link to the audio file for my sermon from September 6th
Here's the link to the Audio File for my sermon from Sunday, September 6th, 2009.
http://www.box.net/shared/jc0uoczhgt
Thanks for checking it out!
http://www.box.net/shared/jc0uoczhgt
Thanks for checking it out!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
The 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 30, 2009
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Song of Solomon 2: 8-13
Psalm 45: 1-2, 6-9
James 1: 17-27
Mark 7: 1-8, 14-15, 21-23 *
“A New Way to Meet God’s Welcome”
--} Because Jesus takes a serious swipe at human “traditions” in this morning’s gospel reading, it seems appropriate that we’re departing from so much of our Sunday “tradition” this morning—for worship in the park. Our worship order is different, our responses are different, we’re in a different “location;” so maybe, just maybe we can meet Jesus where he is this morning.
In our gospel reading, we find Jesus across the Sea of Galilee in Gennesaret where he’s been healing the people who were brought to him or laid in the marketplaces. And it seems so “out of place” when some Pharisees and scribes—from Jerusalem—show up. I think these would have been pretty “strange looking cats”—in you know what I mean. They’re reported as “representatives of Jerusalem—institutional headquarters. They probably wore fancy suits and hats or the like, while Jesus and his friends were peasants, down-on-their-luck sort of folks who probably didn’t have nice clothes as it was hard enough just putting food on the table. And the people Jesus was meeting were the sick and injured—even less likely to have nice clothes or “look proper.”
Up to this point, Jesus has been doing all kinds of strange things—going by the “law.” He touched sick people or actually allowed them to touch him! He was healing and teaching and preaching and claiming authority that came from God! This isn’t the first time Jesus has run into folks who thought he was “unorthodox”; but this seems like more of an official review—a kind of spot inspection with note-taking. And the first things these “suits” from Jerusalem notice is that Jesus’ disciples (the disciples, not Jesus himself, mind you) are eating with “defiled hands.”
Now I happen to believe that we’re talking more about “ritual defilement” rather than the fact that the disciples are eating with “dirty hands” because they haven’t washed. The “suits” from the city are perhaps rightfully appalled, because the setting is the Sea of Galilee, an area known for fishing and such; the disciples were former fishermen (some of them), and hard working types who pause for lunch and think nothing of grabbing a sandwich without carefully removing all the working “grime” from their hands or under their fingernails. It’s the difference between the factory floor-worker and upper management; or the officer’s mess and the dining hall for the troops. The bottom line is that these Pharisaical “suits” from Jerusalem charge that Jesus’ disciples aren’t keeping the letter of the law—they’re eating with defiled hands and fouling up the whole world!
But this isn’t really about washing hands! When the “suits” ask Jesus “why his disciples don’t “walk” according to the proper tradition” he throws the prophet Isaiah in their face.
This isn’t about “washing hands,” it’s about keeping God’s commands. Ritual cleanliness was all about being made clean or acceptable for the presence of God. The “suits” are charging a kind of lax liturgical practice, rather than a lack of “effective” hand-washing—lax practice because it’s not done according to the official rule book published in Jerusalem. It’s kind of like the difference between baptism by emersion and baptism by sprinking. One “appears” as more effective in making one “clean,” but in the case of the “suits” I’m convinced they’re trying to argue that you’re “more clean” if you only “sprinkle.” Like this.
[Demonstrate washing techniques at the basin—inviting the kids to join in. ]
Instead, Jesus is emphatic—the rules of the kingdom of God demand a different way of life than the one the Pharisees “keep” and live with their human-made traditions. The “suits” use the law and its many embedded loopholes to keep people “in” or “out.” “Keeping the law” is a really good way to institute class loyalty. Rituals are for people who can “afford” them, and it’s one of the ways the “Suits” could have both their power and keep the people in line. They, too, demand their own form of “tribute” from the people, turning God’s “rules to live by” back into human chaos. So Jesus calls them on it, suggesting that they keep human traditions at the expense of God’s intentions.
“Corban,” for example, could be an especially nefarious use of the law. “Corban” was a way of making a gift to God, by which one’s property and money could be “given to God” so that it couldn’t rightfully be used for another purpose. An especially nice way to avoid bankruptcy or losing your lease on family heritage. In exchange for ritually “giving it to God” the Pharisaical “suits” often allowed people to retain the use of the property or money, but kept them from sharing it. So if you have a nice house, great; you can live in it, you just can’t let your mother-in-law whose a part of the rif-raff live there, too. Jesus saw that not only was the mother-in-law left to suffer, but it was an elaborate “gift to God?” What about God’s gift of the law that dictated “taking care of widows and orphans,” and “leaving some of the harvest for those who didn’t own it!” Which is the better demonstration: Ceremonial/Ritual law, that lets people do terrible things in the name of religion? Or the real intention of God, which is caring for one another as human beings.
And so Jesus, fed up with the suits, “declares all foods clean,” removing them from the ritual purification rules altogether. And while the “suits” will collectively have to pick their jaws up off the floor, after all—who can do that but God himself, right!—Jesus is celebrating a meal with his friends in the name of the Kingdom of Heaven!
The rules about “food” go way back. It’s one of the ways that God’s people are set apart as “unique” to God, because of the foods they’re allowed to eat or not eat. So this comes as a serious swipe at the institutional authority of the “suits” from Jerusalem. It sounds to them like a swipe at God; but Jesus is simply trying to associate or re-associate God’s rightful place at the center of life—with nothing between us, not even the Law. It’s not about “clean” or “unclean,” it’s not about washing your hands with a few droplets of water before you eat and saying the right prayer. It’s whether we’re truly welcoming the Spirit of God to reside in us and what we do in relationship to one another. “Clean” in the sight of God, is being free to do and be the things God intends and has proclaimed “good.” Caring for widows and orphans, tending to the needs of the sick, sharing food and celebration with the people around us. And the “terms” aren’t supposed to be brokered by the ways we wash our hands, but the love we share together in the image of God’s kingdom.
This is not about how we wash our hands; it is about how we treat one another. And it is about how we welcome Jesus/God into our midst. Is it by wrote prayers that obligate us to care very little for others—or is it found in our caring for one another that we meet our living Lord present among us—as near to us as the breaking of bread, whether our hands are clean or not.
--+ AMEN.
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Song of Solomon 2: 8-13
Psalm 45: 1-2, 6-9
James 1: 17-27
Mark 7: 1-8, 14-15, 21-23 *
“A New Way to Meet God’s Welcome”
--} Because Jesus takes a serious swipe at human “traditions” in this morning’s gospel reading, it seems appropriate that we’re departing from so much of our Sunday “tradition” this morning—for worship in the park. Our worship order is different, our responses are different, we’re in a different “location;” so maybe, just maybe we can meet Jesus where he is this morning.
In our gospel reading, we find Jesus across the Sea of Galilee in Gennesaret where he’s been healing the people who were brought to him or laid in the marketplaces. And it seems so “out of place” when some Pharisees and scribes—from Jerusalem—show up. I think these would have been pretty “strange looking cats”—in you know what I mean. They’re reported as “representatives of Jerusalem—institutional headquarters. They probably wore fancy suits and hats or the like, while Jesus and his friends were peasants, down-on-their-luck sort of folks who probably didn’t have nice clothes as it was hard enough just putting food on the table. And the people Jesus was meeting were the sick and injured—even less likely to have nice clothes or “look proper.”
Up to this point, Jesus has been doing all kinds of strange things—going by the “law.” He touched sick people or actually allowed them to touch him! He was healing and teaching and preaching and claiming authority that came from God! This isn’t the first time Jesus has run into folks who thought he was “unorthodox”; but this seems like more of an official review—a kind of spot inspection with note-taking. And the first things these “suits” from Jerusalem notice is that Jesus’ disciples (the disciples, not Jesus himself, mind you) are eating with “defiled hands.”
Now I happen to believe that we’re talking more about “ritual defilement” rather than the fact that the disciples are eating with “dirty hands” because they haven’t washed. The “suits” from the city are perhaps rightfully appalled, because the setting is the Sea of Galilee, an area known for fishing and such; the disciples were former fishermen (some of them), and hard working types who pause for lunch and think nothing of grabbing a sandwich without carefully removing all the working “grime” from their hands or under their fingernails. It’s the difference between the factory floor-worker and upper management; or the officer’s mess and the dining hall for the troops. The bottom line is that these Pharisaical “suits” from Jerusalem charge that Jesus’ disciples aren’t keeping the letter of the law—they’re eating with defiled hands and fouling up the whole world!
But this isn’t really about washing hands! When the “suits” ask Jesus “why his disciples don’t “walk” according to the proper tradition” he throws the prophet Isaiah in their face.
“The Lord said: Because these people draw near with their mouths and honor me with their lips, while their hearts are far from me, and their worship of me is a human commandment learned by rote.”
This isn’t about “washing hands,” it’s about keeping God’s commands. Ritual cleanliness was all about being made clean or acceptable for the presence of God. The “suits” are charging a kind of lax liturgical practice, rather than a lack of “effective” hand-washing—lax practice because it’s not done according to the official rule book published in Jerusalem. It’s kind of like the difference between baptism by emersion and baptism by sprinking. One “appears” as more effective in making one “clean,” but in the case of the “suits” I’m convinced they’re trying to argue that you’re “more clean” if you only “sprinkle.” Like this.
[Demonstrate washing techniques at the basin—inviting the kids to join in. ]
- If you’re going to “wash” your hands for “washing’s” sake, you want them in the water, getting them clean.
- But the ritualized practice, was more like taking the smaller vessel and “dripping” water to demonstrate clean intention rather than actual “cleanness.”
- Do we want our children to do effective hand-washing, or just have a few droplets of water poured on them and call it good?
But Jesus really isn’t about washing hands. Because “washing hands” doesn’t get rid of ritual impurity from touching someone whose sick or been sick, someone who’s died or is dying; ritual impurity comes from the friends you make and keep and sticks to you forever—unless you follow every jot and tittle of the law. The Pharisaical “suits” just didn’t SEE Jesus with these other folks, or surely they’d already filed a complaint with the home office. It’s not that they’re bad-mouthing Jesus, so much as they’re bad-mouthing Jesus’ friends. And what does that tell you! The Pharisees like their “suits” and they like the status quo. They’re interested in their power and “importance” as an institution. And the truth is, most of them have consorted with the Romans to keep their power, if they’ll in turn keep the Jewish people in line. So their “religious power” is really about the power of the empire. And Jesus isn’t buying it.
Instead, Jesus is emphatic—the rules of the kingdom of God demand a different way of life than the one the Pharisees “keep” and live with their human-made traditions. The “suits” use the law and its many embedded loopholes to keep people “in” or “out.” “Keeping the law” is a really good way to institute class loyalty. Rituals are for people who can “afford” them, and it’s one of the ways the “Suits” could have both their power and keep the people in line. They, too, demand their own form of “tribute” from the people, turning God’s “rules to live by” back into human chaos. So Jesus calls them on it, suggesting that they keep human traditions at the expense of God’s intentions.
“Corban,” for example, could be an especially nefarious use of the law. “Corban” was a way of making a gift to God, by which one’s property and money could be “given to God” so that it couldn’t rightfully be used for another purpose. An especially nice way to avoid bankruptcy or losing your lease on family heritage. In exchange for ritually “giving it to God” the Pharisaical “suits” often allowed people to retain the use of the property or money, but kept them from sharing it. So if you have a nice house, great; you can live in it, you just can’t let your mother-in-law whose a part of the rif-raff live there, too. Jesus saw that not only was the mother-in-law left to suffer, but it was an elaborate “gift to God?” What about God’s gift of the law that dictated “taking care of widows and orphans,” and “leaving some of the harvest for those who didn’t own it!” Which is the better demonstration: Ceremonial/Ritual law, that lets people do terrible things in the name of religion? Or the real intention of God, which is caring for one another as human beings.
And so Jesus, fed up with the suits, “declares all foods clean,” removing them from the ritual purification rules altogether. And while the “suits” will collectively have to pick their jaws up off the floor, after all—who can do that but God himself, right!—Jesus is celebrating a meal with his friends in the name of the Kingdom of Heaven!
The rules about “food” go way back. It’s one of the ways that God’s people are set apart as “unique” to God, because of the foods they’re allowed to eat or not eat. So this comes as a serious swipe at the institutional authority of the “suits” from Jerusalem. It sounds to them like a swipe at God; but Jesus is simply trying to associate or re-associate God’s rightful place at the center of life—with nothing between us, not even the Law. It’s not about “clean” or “unclean,” it’s not about washing your hands with a few droplets of water before you eat and saying the right prayer. It’s whether we’re truly welcoming the Spirit of God to reside in us and what we do in relationship to one another. “Clean” in the sight of God, is being free to do and be the things God intends and has proclaimed “good.” Caring for widows and orphans, tending to the needs of the sick, sharing food and celebration with the people around us. And the “terms” aren’t supposed to be brokered by the ways we wash our hands, but the love we share together in the image of God’s kingdom.
This is not about how we wash our hands; it is about how we treat one another. And it is about how we welcome Jesus/God into our midst. Is it by wrote prayers that obligate us to care very little for others—or is it found in our caring for one another that we meet our living Lord present among us—as near to us as the breaking of bread, whether our hands are clean or not.
--+ AMEN.
Link to the audio file for my sermon from August 30th
Sunday, August 30th, Park Avenue Presbyterian Church worshipped "in the park." It was our week for "Worship in the Park," and so we skipped out on the audio. I'll still put up the manuscript.
Thanks for checking up!
Thanks for checking up!
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