A Tale of Two Parades
Mark11:1-11
April 5, 2009 / Palm Sunday
Based on “All This Joy, All this Sorrow,” A Sermon Preached by Peter Ilgenfritz and “Which way will be our way?” A sermon by Joe Hoffman
Two parades enter Jerusalem. From the West, Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, rides through the city gates on a grand war horse at the head of a majestic procession of imperial soldiers on horseback. From the East, Jesus rides a borrowed donkey down to the city gate from the Mount of Olives. From the West, drowning out all other sound from the markets and streets is the marching of feet, the beating of drums, the creak of leather and the crack of whips. From the East, if we draw enough, we might hear a band of voices singing “Hosanna!” “Save Us!” “Blessed is the one who comes!”
All parades use symbols. The Trumbull Memorial Day parade, for instance, has every volunteer and civic organization in town marching down the road, complete with flags, a military fly over, and street venders overcharging for balloons. Its symbolism is perfect for our area. When I lived in Western New York, the parades were all fire trucks and farm equipment — perfect for a small agriculturally-based village. Pilate’s parade has banners, armor, helmets, weapons, and gold eagles mounted on poles — perfect symbolism for the power, authority, might and wealth of the Roman Empire — a fitting tribute to the Roman Emperor whom they call “Son of God”, “Lord” and “Savior”.
Jesus rides in on a donkey. Those in the crowd who know the scriptures catch the symbolism from the prophet Zechariah, “Tell the daughter of Zion, look, your king is coming to you, humble and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” (Zechariah 9:9) The rest of Zechariah goes on to say exactly what kind of king he will be: “He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war-horse from Jerusalem; and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations.” (Zechariah 9:10)
In the West, no one on the street asks who is this. Everyone knows it is Pontius Pilate processing from his palace on the Mediterranean coast to Jerusalem for the feast of Passover. He has not come to Jerusalem out of respect for the religious devotion of his Jewish subjects. He rides to make sure that no trouble breaks out on this holiday when pilgrims swell the city and the Jews remember the story of their liberation from another empire in Egypt.
In the East, a few people stop and ask, “Who is that?” And someone says, “It’s Jesus, whom they call a prophet. He comes from up north in Nazareth in the region of Galilee.”
If you were there on the streets of Jerusalem, which parade would you be drawn to?
Pilate’s parade has huge appeal. It’s noisy. It’s big. It stands for all the things that were valued in society. It is power, strength, authority, and wealth. It is a brawny and dominant symbol of the Empire’s potency. Pilate’s parade offers control, leadership and security. And let’s be honest, it leaves us with our mouths gaping wide. Pilate’s parade is not mentioned in any of the scriptures, but this parade forms the background of Jesus’ Palm Sunday parade. Jesus’ parade only makes sense when we know that Pilate had another parade going at the same time. Jesus’ parade is clearly a caricature of Pilate’s parade. It is laughable. It is ridiculous. A grand leader decked in gold on horseback versus a peasant riding a borrowed donkey? Jesus’ parade wants to make us wake up, to pay attention, to laugh at the Empire, to think about who really is in charge of the land of Israel and the nations of the world.
Much in my life draws me to Pilate’s parade. Big and powerful things have allure. I want to be around people who can make me feel strong and influential. All of us are drawn to that which makes us feel important and admired in the hopes that it might rub off on us. And yet, something keeps calling me back to Jesus’ parade. The past couple of weeks I have been puzzling over what that is. Why do I feel anxious when I drift away from Jesus’ parade to Pilate’s? What is so enticing about Pilate, even when I know in my head his parade does not represent my values? I was puzzling over this when I heard a song. It’s called “Chariot” by a band called Page France. It’s a song with a simple melody and steady, moving beat. I heard this song and thought, “This is it. This is what draws me to Jesus’ parade. Something in this song.” I’m going to play a little bit for you, with the understanding that music is like love. You can’t always explain why you love something. You just do. This song moves me. It makes me feel.
When I listen to a song like this, I remember that Jesus does not ride in order to subdue and punish me. He is does not ride to inspire fear and make me behave. Jesus rides to let me know that he is one of us. He breaks the bread for us and sings. Something about him that makes us want to play a little – to wave some palms and have a giggle in the face of warring madness. Jesus rides so we can become a happy ending.
Pilate’s parade attracts us. It inspires feelings of importance and status. But there’s a cost. We have give up parts of ourselves to be in Pilate’s parade. We need to bring our strength but cannot bring our need. We need to bring our devotion, but we cannot bring our longing, doubting selves. Pilate’s parade offers us status, but to earn this status we have to be willing to march in time with Pilate’s relentless marching beat. We have to become who Pilate wants us to be.
Jesus’ parade is different. Jesus’ parade invites us to hold all parts of our life together. The joy and the sorrow. The promise and the pain. In his parade, we do not march in time with one strict beat. We walk with Jesus. His parade wants us to remember the truth of our humanity. Here is Jesus, confronting a grand parade of status and power, inviting us to walk a very human parade of humility — a parade that proclaims a power that comes not from following God, not human strength and weaponry.
Here is Jesus, riding to the Temple where he will topple the money changers’ tables, calling us to be aware of the practices we take part in without thinking; calling us back from blind materialism, consumption, consumerism, to our true humanity. Jesus rides to the place where people give in to fear and resort to violence to solve their problems. He calls us to reach out in love to those who came to greet us with hatred.
Here is Jesus, riding to on Good Friday and the cross. In a world that denies suffering and death, here is Jesus not denying pain but embracing it, calling us back to our humanity to feel the truth that is pain and suffering. Only in facing it can such pain and suffering be transformed.
Jesus rides to Easter. The Good News of Easter is not that we wait for a leader on a white horse to come into town to save us. The message of Easter is what we will celebrate when we come to the table: “This is my body broken for you.” It is here, in and between us — a broken, longing, hoping people — that Christ rises. Here in this body. In this place and time. Restoring us to life, Spirit and love.
Holy Week is our week to reflect prayerfully and passionately on our faith. It is our time to ask which way of life we will follow. We decide and then we bring all of our heart and soul to living that way.
There were two processions that day. And the people had to decide in which one they would participate. That’s still the decision we all must make. Which world order will we help to bring forth: The domination of the empire that uses violence, coercion and the taking advantage of the poor and marginalized to maintain control and order: to maintain the power structure that benefits a few at the cost of the masses? Or, will we help bring forth the world that embraces each life, that values the power of community in relationship, that trusts in the power of love and the possibility of peace— the one where we can be truly free. Which procession will we participate in?
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Community Lenten Worship at TCC
Reflecting the Image of God
April 1, 2009 / 6th Week of Lent
Based on a sermon by Ian Lawton, Christ Community Church
In a large temple north of Thailand’s ancient capital, Sukothai, there once stood an enormous and ancient clay Buddha. Over a period of five hundred years, violent storms, changes of government, and invading armies had come and gone, but the statue endured. At one point, however, the monks who tended the temple noticed that the statue had begun to crack. It would soon be in need of repair and repainting. After a stretch of particularly hot, dry weather, one of the cracks became so wide that a curious monk took a light and peered inside. What shone back at him was a flash of brilliant gold! Inside this plain old statue, the temple residents discovered one of the largest and most luminous gold images of Buddha ever created in Southeast Asia. Now uncovered, the golden Buddha draws throngs of devoted pilgrims from all over Thailand. The monks believe that this shining work of art had been covered in plaster and clay to protect it during times of conflict and unrest.
What might happen if we trained ourselves to see beyond our cracks to the shimmering beauty that lies beneath? Paul describes this experience in 2 Corinthians 4 as “treasures in clay jars.” He says the treasures are in clay jars so that you won’t get attached to pride. You will keep a proper and restrained view of yourself. We won’t treasure a particular version of yourself that might not be true — for example, the self who stops traffic with youthful good looks, or the self who fascinates the world with middle aged charm, or the self who dazzles the world with senior wisdom. These stories we tell about ourselves are not reliable measures of self worth. These various “selves” we masquerade aren’t so unique. We are all just slight variations on a theme. The real measure of worth is what Paul describes as “the all surpassing power of God” — treasures in jars of clay. I like to think about it as beauty beneath the cracks.
You won’t ever see the beauty beneath the cracks in others or in the world, until you accept the cracks in yourself. You won’t learn to see the image of God in others until you learn to see it in yourself. Think of yourself in a new way. Do not be conformed any longer to the patterns of this world, especially what the media or other people tell you about yourself. Think of your body in a new way. Look at the wrinkles on your face and see only character lines. Look at your spare tires and see bay windows with a panoramic view of life. Look at the stretch marks and see a road map that tells the story of your journey. Look at the extra flab on your arms and see wings that can soar like eagles. Learn to recognize the image of God in yourself, and then you will be ready to see it in others.
I once heard a story about a young kid named Jake who always wanted to be just like Billy Widdledon. He walked like Billy walked and talked like Billy talked. But then Billy Widdledon began to hang out around Herby Vandeman. He walked like Herb, and talked like Herb. It messed with Jake’s head. He was walking and talking like Bill Widdledon, who was walking and talking like Herby Vandeman. Then it dawned on Jake that Herb Vandeman walked and talked just like Joey Haverlin, and Joey Haverlin walked and talked just like Corky Sabinson. Jake thought to himself — here I am walking and talking like Billy Widdledon’s imitation of Herby Vandeman’s version of Joey Haverlin, trying to walk and talk like Corky Sabinson. And who do you think Corky Sabinson is always walking and talking like? Of all people, Dopey Wellington - that guy who walks and talks just like me!
A lot of us, myself included, fall for the trap of seeking change at the surface and then feeling surprised that we don’t feel any better at a deeper level. If you want to lose weight, but start from the assumption that your extra weight is an imperfection, then you are bound for disappointment. If you use Botox, but start from the assumption that your blemished skin is ugly, then you are bound for disappointment. If you begin a workout regime but start from the assumption that you are not good enough without it, then you are bound for disappointment. If you die your hair, but start from the assumption that your natural color is not adequate, then you are bound for disappointment. Now, here is a liberating truth. If you have come to see the constant and beautiful image of God within, the masterpiece that is you, then you can work at changing the surface effects with freedom. You can celebrate the lost weight, the toned arms, the smooth skin, the died hair, with a great sense of achievement, but all the time knowing that this too will pass and when it does you are no less of a person.
Here’s a Lenten practice for us: giving up self-loathing. Put aside everything you see in yourself that you hate. Seek the image of God first, then worry about smoothing out the wrinkles, if it even matters to you anymore. Maybe once we see the image of God, we will spend our time and money elsewhere.
Maybe you have a head full of impossible goals. Maybe they have been in your head since you were a child. The media creates an image of what beauty looks like, and it is an impossible image, reflected by none other than those touched up and photo shopped into perfection. The media’s beauty myth is particularly devastating for women. It is said that only 2% of women in the world believe that they are beautiful. About 10 years ago, I read this account about actress Michelle Pfeiffer. She appeared on the cover of a magazine with the caption “What Michele Pfeiffer Needs Is . . .Absolutely Nothing!” It was later discovered by a reporter, however, that Michelle Pfeiffer did need something after all. She needed more than $1,500 worth of touch-up work on that cover photo. From the touch-up artist’s bill, here is a partial list of things that were done to make Michelle Pfeiffer look beautiful: Clean up complexion, soften eye lines, soften smile line, add color to lips, trim chin, remove neck lines, soften line under earlobe, add highlights to earrings, add blush to cheek, clean up neckline, remove stray hair, remove hair strands on dress, adjust color and add hair on top of head, add dress on side to create better line, add forehead, add dress on shoulder, soften neck muscle a bit, clean up and smooth dress folds under arm, and create one seam on image on right side. Total price: $1,525.00
Imagine if beauty was measured according to the image of God. What percentage of people in the world recognize the image of God within, no matter how they define or experience that image of God? Don’t fall for the beauty myth. You are so much more valuable than the media would have you believe.
I came across a beautiful article on the beauty myth, written by a blind man. The man describes the way he experiences beauty:
I think that when we realize that we are created in the image of God, cracks and all, we can experience atonement. The idea of atonement rests on the notion that there is a rupture between God and us. We live in the world of the rupture, where every creature walks alone, feeling split off from the Whole, cut off from holiness and goodness, severed from the Source of life and power. Where is this the all-surpassing power of God that Paul talks about? Let’s listen a little earlier in 2 Corinthians. Paul writes these words:
“For the Lord is the Spirit, and wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image” (3:18)
The Greek translation of the word image is eikon. The atonement is designed by God to restore cracked eikons into glory-producing eikons. To be saved is to be renewed in the true image of God, as women and men in Christ. To be saved is to have our relationships restored between God, others, and the self. We are free to be new creations – people who sparkle and shine, and reflect God’s glory. And don’t you worry. God shines through you. Through cracks and wrinkles, through spare tires and stretch marks, through faults mistakes and regrets, God shines through you.
So get rid of some self-loathing this Lent. Seek God. Look beyond the masks and the false images of your Self that you think will win admiration from others. Look beyond the beauty myths and ridiculously unreachable standards. Look beyond any poor estimations of yourself. You may be surprised to find God in a place where you never thought God would be. You might just see the image of God shining in you. Then you will also be able to see the image of God in the world around you.
Sources:
· Reflecting the Image of God.
· A 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul
· The Washington Post.
· Austin Garrett Ward.
April 1, 2009 / 6th Week of Lent
Based on a sermon by Ian Lawton, Christ Community Church
We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves. We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies.— 2 Corinthians 4:7-10
In a large temple north of Thailand’s ancient capital, Sukothai, there once stood an enormous and ancient clay Buddha. Over a period of five hundred years, violent storms, changes of government, and invading armies had come and gone, but the statue endured. At one point, however, the monks who tended the temple noticed that the statue had begun to crack. It would soon be in need of repair and repainting. After a stretch of particularly hot, dry weather, one of the cracks became so wide that a curious monk took a light and peered inside. What shone back at him was a flash of brilliant gold! Inside this plain old statue, the temple residents discovered one of the largest and most luminous gold images of Buddha ever created in Southeast Asia. Now uncovered, the golden Buddha draws throngs of devoted pilgrims from all over Thailand. The monks believe that this shining work of art had been covered in plaster and clay to protect it during times of conflict and unrest.
What might happen if we trained ourselves to see beyond our cracks to the shimmering beauty that lies beneath? Paul describes this experience in 2 Corinthians 4 as “treasures in clay jars.” He says the treasures are in clay jars so that you won’t get attached to pride. You will keep a proper and restrained view of yourself. We won’t treasure a particular version of yourself that might not be true — for example, the self who stops traffic with youthful good looks, or the self who fascinates the world with middle aged charm, or the self who dazzles the world with senior wisdom. These stories we tell about ourselves are not reliable measures of self worth. These various “selves” we masquerade aren’t so unique. We are all just slight variations on a theme. The real measure of worth is what Paul describes as “the all surpassing power of God” — treasures in jars of clay. I like to think about it as beauty beneath the cracks.
You won’t ever see the beauty beneath the cracks in others or in the world, until you accept the cracks in yourself. You won’t learn to see the image of God in others until you learn to see it in yourself. Think of yourself in a new way. Do not be conformed any longer to the patterns of this world, especially what the media or other people tell you about yourself. Think of your body in a new way. Look at the wrinkles on your face and see only character lines. Look at your spare tires and see bay windows with a panoramic view of life. Look at the stretch marks and see a road map that tells the story of your journey. Look at the extra flab on your arms and see wings that can soar like eagles. Learn to recognize the image of God in yourself, and then you will be ready to see it in others.
I once heard a story about a young kid named Jake who always wanted to be just like Billy Widdledon. He walked like Billy walked and talked like Billy talked. But then Billy Widdledon began to hang out around Herby Vandeman. He walked like Herb, and talked like Herb. It messed with Jake’s head. He was walking and talking like Bill Widdledon, who was walking and talking like Herby Vandeman. Then it dawned on Jake that Herb Vandeman walked and talked just like Joey Haverlin, and Joey Haverlin walked and talked just like Corky Sabinson. Jake thought to himself — here I am walking and talking like Billy Widdledon’s imitation of Herby Vandeman’s version of Joey Haverlin, trying to walk and talk like Corky Sabinson. And who do you think Corky Sabinson is always walking and talking like? Of all people, Dopey Wellington - that guy who walks and talks just like me!
A lot of us, myself included, fall for the trap of seeking change at the surface and then feeling surprised that we don’t feel any better at a deeper level. If you want to lose weight, but start from the assumption that your extra weight is an imperfection, then you are bound for disappointment. If you use Botox, but start from the assumption that your blemished skin is ugly, then you are bound for disappointment. If you begin a workout regime but start from the assumption that you are not good enough without it, then you are bound for disappointment. If you die your hair, but start from the assumption that your natural color is not adequate, then you are bound for disappointment. Now, here is a liberating truth. If you have come to see the constant and beautiful image of God within, the masterpiece that is you, then you can work at changing the surface effects with freedom. You can celebrate the lost weight, the toned arms, the smooth skin, the died hair, with a great sense of achievement, but all the time knowing that this too will pass and when it does you are no less of a person.
Here’s a Lenten practice for us: giving up self-loathing. Put aside everything you see in yourself that you hate. Seek the image of God first, then worry about smoothing out the wrinkles, if it even matters to you anymore. Maybe once we see the image of God, we will spend our time and money elsewhere.
Maybe you have a head full of impossible goals. Maybe they have been in your head since you were a child. The media creates an image of what beauty looks like, and it is an impossible image, reflected by none other than those touched up and photo shopped into perfection. The media’s beauty myth is particularly devastating for women. It is said that only 2% of women in the world believe that they are beautiful. About 10 years ago, I read this account about actress Michelle Pfeiffer. She appeared on the cover of a magazine with the caption “What Michele Pfeiffer Needs Is . . .Absolutely Nothing!” It was later discovered by a reporter, however, that Michelle Pfeiffer did need something after all. She needed more than $1,500 worth of touch-up work on that cover photo. From the touch-up artist’s bill, here is a partial list of things that were done to make Michelle Pfeiffer look beautiful: Clean up complexion, soften eye lines, soften smile line, add color to lips, trim chin, remove neck lines, soften line under earlobe, add highlights to earrings, add blush to cheek, clean up neckline, remove stray hair, remove hair strands on dress, adjust color and add hair on top of head, add dress on side to create better line, add forehead, add dress on shoulder, soften neck muscle a bit, clean up and smooth dress folds under arm, and create one seam on image on right side. Total price: $1,525.00
Imagine if beauty was measured according to the image of God. What percentage of people in the world recognize the image of God within, no matter how they define or experience that image of God? Don’t fall for the beauty myth. You are so much more valuable than the media would have you believe.
I came across a beautiful article on the beauty myth, written by a blind man. The man describes the way he experiences beauty:
Occasionally, I allow myself to imagine that I see the inestimable and charged faces that we all suspect lie just below the surface. But in any event, I know you differently than do your hand mirrors or photographs. One thing I won’t know is whether you are, in the ocular sense of the word, beautiful. It’s not that I’m inured to beauty. Imagine that you’re talking to a woman who is sitting across a table from you. When you look at her, all you see is a shimmering cloud of light. On the one hand, you are able to observe people as mystical emanations of divine radiance. On the other hand, you don’t know what this woman looks like. So you pour some pinot grigio, and you listen. She’s talking about hats: late 19th-century “Gibson girl” hats with the flowers and jaunty brims. She’s talking about the first great era of catalogue fashion and a new kind of innocent loveliness. A sighted person might have trouble believing this, but if you’re having a nice time in a cloud of light, and you’re talking about beauty, the person opposite you is, in fact, beautiful.”Isn’t that marvelous? He senses “mystical emanations of divine radiance.
I think that when we realize that we are created in the image of God, cracks and all, we can experience atonement. The idea of atonement rests on the notion that there is a rupture between God and us. We live in the world of the rupture, where every creature walks alone, feeling split off from the Whole, cut off from holiness and goodness, severed from the Source of life and power. Where is this the all-surpassing power of God that Paul talks about? Let’s listen a little earlier in 2 Corinthians. Paul writes these words:
“For the Lord is the Spirit, and wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image” (3:18)
The Greek translation of the word image is eikon. The atonement is designed by God to restore cracked eikons into glory-producing eikons. To be saved is to be renewed in the true image of God, as women and men in Christ. To be saved is to have our relationships restored between God, others, and the self. We are free to be new creations – people who sparkle and shine, and reflect God’s glory. And don’t you worry. God shines through you. Through cracks and wrinkles, through spare tires and stretch marks, through faults mistakes and regrets, God shines through you.
So get rid of some self-loathing this Lent. Seek God. Look beyond the masks and the false images of your Self that you think will win admiration from others. Look beyond the beauty myths and ridiculously unreachable standards. Look beyond any poor estimations of yourself. You may be surprised to find God in a place where you never thought God would be. You might just see the image of God shining in you. Then you will also be able to see the image of God in the world around you.
Sources:
· Reflecting the Image of God.
· A 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul
· The Washington Post.
· Austin Garrett Ward.
Sermon for March 29 2009, Lent V
The Cross and the Tomb
I’ve finally been reading The Shack. I’ve been avoiding it for a while, but it’s due back at the library on Thursday and I told someone I’d read it. The novel revolves around Mack Philips, whose daughter, Missy, is abducted during a family vacation. Though her body is never found, evidence in an abandoned shack proves that she was brutally murdered. After receiving a mysterious invitation to visits the scene of the crime, Mack goes back to the shack, walking back into his darkest nightmare and experiencing a weekend-long encounter with God. Much of the book deals with the question of why God allows bad things to happen. The Holy Spirit is personified as a stunning, ethereal Asian woman named Sarayu. At one point, Mack asks Sarayu “What am I supposed to think? I just don’t understand how God could love Missy and let her go through that horror. She was innocent. She didn’t do anything to deserve that.”
I hear similar questions all the time. “Where is God?” Everyone’s life is sprinkled with moments of evil and suffering. At some point, tragedy, or great suffering, or some unexplained pain will grip each of our lives. “Where is God?” Sometimes people ask the question because they feel abandoned by God when they needed God the most. People come to me and want to know why God didn’t protect them from the abusive father, the molesting uncle, the bullying mother, the merciless teacher. They want to know why God would allow such things to go on — The woman who was beaten as a child for something as senseless as spilling her milk; the little boy who was scared to death of his alcohol-crazed father, the family who lost a loved one to suicide, or cancer, or a fatal accident.
Anguished voices echo across the centuries back to the days of Jesus and before...back to humans’ first awareness of death. And we always ask the same question...WHY? It might be the hardest question that has ever been asked. I ask it every time I listen to the news. Just pick up the evening newspaper and its all there...terrorism, wars, starvation, population-killing diseases, unsustainable climate change, worldwide economic meltdown, and on it goes. So why won’t a loving God do something about all of this mess? Didn’t God become incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth to make things better . . . to redeem us from our sin and restore us to the loving arms of God?
Try to imagine the scene that Mark depicts in today’s gospel lesson. It is a Friday. Darkness covers the land for three hours. It’s Mark’s way of describing the shadows that invade our world. Deserted and betrayed by his disciples, rejected and condemned by the nation’s leaders, taunted by the crowds, publicly humiliated and punished as a political insurrectionist, Jesus now experiences utter despair. At this moment, Jesus is fully one with us. At this moment, Jesus faces evil, pain, and death, and shares our human despair to the fullest. It’s as if Jesus is crying out with us, “God, WHY? Where are you when I need you?” And with a final cry of anguish, Jesus dies. Then something amazing happens. A Roman centurion–one of the executioners looks at the dead man and says, “Surely this man was the Son of God.” In Mark’s Gospel, no human being utters these words until this point. Caesar is the only one who is called God’s son. Now, a Roman soldier, and symbol of state terrorism, recognizes Jesus as God’s Son..
Here’s the point. Jesus knows all about suffering from evil and pain. He tells us that we will face violence. But he also tells us that we won’t be alone when evil abounds. Jesus knows what it’s like to feel abandoned by God. The way he suffers reveals his true nature. Jesus won’t idly stand by when our hearts break. Where is God when evil abounds? Where is God when tragedy strikes? Where is God when death looms, when we are scared senseless, when we are confused by the pain in the world and in our hearts? God is with us, reminding us that Jesus came to fill our suffering with God’s presence.
Every time I think about the passion accounts, the behavior of the disciples shocks me. When darkness comes, they run away. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. In times of darkness, we are tempted to pull back from others and hide. Some people think that we are becoming more isolated from one another. A study in 2006 showed that Americans are more socially isolated today than they we were two decades ago. A growing number of people say they have no one in whom they can confide. A quarter of Americans say they have no one with whom they can discuss personal troubles. Overall, the number of people Americans have in their closest circle of confidants has dropped from three to two. Some argue that social networking Internet sites like Facebook increase a person’s social connections. However, a recent study maintains that social networking sites play a significant role in making people become more isolated. While social networking sites should allow us to enhance our social lives, some research suggests that the number of hours people spend interacting face-to-face has fallen dramatically since 1987 as the use of electronic media has increased. There is actually an evolutionary benefit to us being together geographically. Much of it isn’t understood, but there does seem to be a difference between real presence and the virtual variety.
Any time we separate from each other, evil has an opportunity to abound. But there is another way – the way of Christ. Facing evil can lead us to become peacemakers. Peacemakers are people who heal by pulling close instead of tearing apart. Peacemakers are people who an get in touch with their own pain and disappointment with God and reach out to others who suffer. Peacemakers are those who have suffered with Christ, just like Christ as suffered with us. Because of their connection with the suffering of Christ, they have compassion, humility, and the desire to root out the weeds of evil.
Let me tell you about a peacemaker I recently met. You may have read in the paper that one of the Lost Boys of the Sudan has been in the area. The Lost Boys of Sudan are more than 27,000 boys who were displaced or orphaned during the Sudanese Civil War in which about 2 million people were killed. In a mass exodus from the country, tens of thousands of children fled Sudan on foot – a four-month journey across the country to refugee camps in Ethiopia and Kenya. Over half were killed or captured. In 2001, about 3800 Lost Boys arrived in the United States. No longer boys, these Sudenese men currently pursue their educations. They maintain a strong sense of community and work to support themselves. They are dedicated to helping rebuild their villages and their country now that a peace agreement has been signed. I had the opportunity hear Gabriel Bol Deng, one of the Lost Boys, speak at Hillcrest School on Friday. When he was 10 years old, Gabriel ran from a militia attack on his village. He swam crocodile-infested rivers and walked endless deserts. Crossing the Sahara, he recalls: “We were always thirsty. We tried to lick the dew on the sparse Savannah grass but it did not quench the thirst. Some people died of dehydration. We had no food supplies ... so we ate the leaves off the trees.” In 2001, Gabriel came to the United States. He resettled in Syracuse. He has since graduated from Le Moyne College in Syracuse, having received their “Distinguished Student Teacher of the Year” award in 2006. Gabriel has thrived in the United States and is now working to help his village enhance their education by building, maintaining and raising money for the Ariang Primary School. His commitment to education is strong and his belief that education is key to his village’s success has not waived. Gabriel is a peacemaker. In the face of the worst humanity has to offer, he survived and makes a way for peace through education. He tells students to always stay positive and focus on their learning. His ultimate message is that having hope and perseverance can enable people to overcome adversity. This from a man who, when he was 10 years old, lost his parents, was shot at, walked across the Sahara, lived nine years in a refugee camp, and survived.
Peacemakers are spiritual activists. They turn the world upside down by radically living out the Good News that God has not abandoned us. They do crazy things like forgive others. They allow themselves to mourn. They stand up for justice, and compassion and equality. They do it with humility, and sacrifice, and grace.
There are many peacemakers around us today. Can you be one of them? Peacemakers learn to love those with whom we are in conflict. This is a challenge for most of us. First, we need to love, forgive and accept ourselves before we feel good enough to love our neighbors and our enemies. I really believe that a mind full of love cannot hold fear and anger at the same time. Perform a small, loving act toward an adversary. Act with compassion even if you feel rejected or offended.
Peacemakers see the image of God in everyone.
Peacemakers pray. They pray for ourselves for strength, patience and intelligence. They pray for guidance and wisdom to say and do the right thing as we walk on this path. They pray for each other, our leaders, our nation, all life, and the planet. They pray for our adversaries. Holding negative thoughts about others is counterproductive. It leads to division and isolation. Peacemakers pray for the well being of all. They pray for guidance and a positive resolution to any differences between people with whom they differ.
Peacemakers stay alert for fearful or angry images that others want us to focus on. We can transform our consciousness by lifting our thoughts out of fear, anger and negativity by affirming the highest God-given qualities and virtues for ourselves and others.
Peacemakers let go of the obsession to dominate and always be right. They focus on the issues rather than attacking the opposition.
Peacemakers are not isolated from the pain and suffering of the world. As we let the pain in, we become transformed, compassionate and motivated to action.
Peacemakers commit to non-violent, direct action as an appropriate way to protest harmful and unjust practices. When evil abounds, peacemakers affirm that God has not abandoned us —that God can be found among those who establish the values of God’s Reign — love, peace, kindness, gentleness, and forgiveness.
Where is God when evil abounds? God is with us because God has faced the darkness has shown us the way to the light. God is with the peacemakers, for they are the children of God. Our hearts go out to those who have lost much, and we pray the comfort that friends and a suffering Christ can provide.
Sources:
Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week
“Online networking 'harms health'” at http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7898510.stm
“Social Isolation Growing in U.S., Study Says” at http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/06/22/AR2006062201763_2.html
“Hope for Ariang” at http://david-morse.com/hopeforariang/gbd/
This all happened on Friday, the day of preparation, the day before the Sabbath. As evening approached, Joseph of Arimathea took a risk and went to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body. (Joseph was an honored member of the high council, and he was waiting for the Kingdom of God to come.) Pilate couldn’t believe that Jesus was already dead, so he called for the Roman officer and asked if he had died yet. The officer confirmed that Jesus was dead, so Pilate told Joseph he could have the body. Joseph bought a long sheet of linen cloth. Then he took Jesus’ body down from the cross, wrapped it in the cloth, and laid it in a tomb that had been carved out of the rock. Then he rolled a stone in front of the entrance. Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joseph saw where Jesus’ body was laid.—Mark 15:21-47
I’ve finally been reading The Shack. I’ve been avoiding it for a while, but it’s due back at the library on Thursday and I told someone I’d read it. The novel revolves around Mack Philips, whose daughter, Missy, is abducted during a family vacation. Though her body is never found, evidence in an abandoned shack proves that she was brutally murdered. After receiving a mysterious invitation to visits the scene of the crime, Mack goes back to the shack, walking back into his darkest nightmare and experiencing a weekend-long encounter with God. Much of the book deals with the question of why God allows bad things to happen. The Holy Spirit is personified as a stunning, ethereal Asian woman named Sarayu. At one point, Mack asks Sarayu “What am I supposed to think? I just don’t understand how God could love Missy and let her go through that horror. She was innocent. She didn’t do anything to deserve that.”
I hear similar questions all the time. “Where is God?” Everyone’s life is sprinkled with moments of evil and suffering. At some point, tragedy, or great suffering, or some unexplained pain will grip each of our lives. “Where is God?” Sometimes people ask the question because they feel abandoned by God when they needed God the most. People come to me and want to know why God didn’t protect them from the abusive father, the molesting uncle, the bullying mother, the merciless teacher. They want to know why God would allow such things to go on — The woman who was beaten as a child for something as senseless as spilling her milk; the little boy who was scared to death of his alcohol-crazed father, the family who lost a loved one to suicide, or cancer, or a fatal accident.
Anguished voices echo across the centuries back to the days of Jesus and before...back to humans’ first awareness of death. And we always ask the same question...WHY? It might be the hardest question that has ever been asked. I ask it every time I listen to the news. Just pick up the evening newspaper and its all there...terrorism, wars, starvation, population-killing diseases, unsustainable climate change, worldwide economic meltdown, and on it goes. So why won’t a loving God do something about all of this mess? Didn’t God become incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth to make things better . . . to redeem us from our sin and restore us to the loving arms of God?
Try to imagine the scene that Mark depicts in today’s gospel lesson. It is a Friday. Darkness covers the land for three hours. It’s Mark’s way of describing the shadows that invade our world. Deserted and betrayed by his disciples, rejected and condemned by the nation’s leaders, taunted by the crowds, publicly humiliated and punished as a political insurrectionist, Jesus now experiences utter despair. At this moment, Jesus is fully one with us. At this moment, Jesus faces evil, pain, and death, and shares our human despair to the fullest. It’s as if Jesus is crying out with us, “God, WHY? Where are you when I need you?” And with a final cry of anguish, Jesus dies. Then something amazing happens. A Roman centurion–one of the executioners looks at the dead man and says, “Surely this man was the Son of God.” In Mark’s Gospel, no human being utters these words until this point. Caesar is the only one who is called God’s son. Now, a Roman soldier, and symbol of state terrorism, recognizes Jesus as God’s Son..
Here’s the point. Jesus knows all about suffering from evil and pain. He tells us that we will face violence. But he also tells us that we won’t be alone when evil abounds. Jesus knows what it’s like to feel abandoned by God. The way he suffers reveals his true nature. Jesus won’t idly stand by when our hearts break. Where is God when evil abounds? Where is God when tragedy strikes? Where is God when death looms, when we are scared senseless, when we are confused by the pain in the world and in our hearts? God is with us, reminding us that Jesus came to fill our suffering with God’s presence.
Every time I think about the passion accounts, the behavior of the disciples shocks me. When darkness comes, they run away. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. In times of darkness, we are tempted to pull back from others and hide. Some people think that we are becoming more isolated from one another. A study in 2006 showed that Americans are more socially isolated today than they we were two decades ago. A growing number of people say they have no one in whom they can confide. A quarter of Americans say they have no one with whom they can discuss personal troubles. Overall, the number of people Americans have in their closest circle of confidants has dropped from three to two. Some argue that social networking Internet sites like Facebook increase a person’s social connections. However, a recent study maintains that social networking sites play a significant role in making people become more isolated. While social networking sites should allow us to enhance our social lives, some research suggests that the number of hours people spend interacting face-to-face has fallen dramatically since 1987 as the use of electronic media has increased. There is actually an evolutionary benefit to us being together geographically. Much of it isn’t understood, but there does seem to be a difference between real presence and the virtual variety.
Any time we separate from each other, evil has an opportunity to abound. But there is another way – the way of Christ. Facing evil can lead us to become peacemakers. Peacemakers are people who heal by pulling close instead of tearing apart. Peacemakers are people who an get in touch with their own pain and disappointment with God and reach out to others who suffer. Peacemakers are those who have suffered with Christ, just like Christ as suffered with us. Because of their connection with the suffering of Christ, they have compassion, humility, and the desire to root out the weeds of evil.
Let me tell you about a peacemaker I recently met. You may have read in the paper that one of the Lost Boys of the Sudan has been in the area. The Lost Boys of Sudan are more than 27,000 boys who were displaced or orphaned during the Sudanese Civil War in which about 2 million people were killed. In a mass exodus from the country, tens of thousands of children fled Sudan on foot – a four-month journey across the country to refugee camps in Ethiopia and Kenya. Over half were killed or captured. In 2001, about 3800 Lost Boys arrived in the United States. No longer boys, these Sudenese men currently pursue their educations. They maintain a strong sense of community and work to support themselves. They are dedicated to helping rebuild their villages and their country now that a peace agreement has been signed. I had the opportunity hear Gabriel Bol Deng, one of the Lost Boys, speak at Hillcrest School on Friday. When he was 10 years old, Gabriel ran from a militia attack on his village. He swam crocodile-infested rivers and walked endless deserts. Crossing the Sahara, he recalls: “We were always thirsty. We tried to lick the dew on the sparse Savannah grass but it did not quench the thirst. Some people died of dehydration. We had no food supplies ... so we ate the leaves off the trees.” In 2001, Gabriel came to the United States. He resettled in Syracuse. He has since graduated from Le Moyne College in Syracuse, having received their “Distinguished Student Teacher of the Year” award in 2006. Gabriel has thrived in the United States and is now working to help his village enhance their education by building, maintaining and raising money for the Ariang Primary School. His commitment to education is strong and his belief that education is key to his village’s success has not waived. Gabriel is a peacemaker. In the face of the worst humanity has to offer, he survived and makes a way for peace through education. He tells students to always stay positive and focus on their learning. His ultimate message is that having hope and perseverance can enable people to overcome adversity. This from a man who, when he was 10 years old, lost his parents, was shot at, walked across the Sahara, lived nine years in a refugee camp, and survived.
Peacemakers are spiritual activists. They turn the world upside down by radically living out the Good News that God has not abandoned us. They do crazy things like forgive others. They allow themselves to mourn. They stand up for justice, and compassion and equality. They do it with humility, and sacrifice, and grace.
There are many peacemakers around us today. Can you be one of them? Peacemakers learn to love those with whom we are in conflict. This is a challenge for most of us. First, we need to love, forgive and accept ourselves before we feel good enough to love our neighbors and our enemies. I really believe that a mind full of love cannot hold fear and anger at the same time. Perform a small, loving act toward an adversary. Act with compassion even if you feel rejected or offended.
Peacemakers see the image of God in everyone.
Peacemakers pray. They pray for ourselves for strength, patience and intelligence. They pray for guidance and wisdom to say and do the right thing as we walk on this path. They pray for each other, our leaders, our nation, all life, and the planet. They pray for our adversaries. Holding negative thoughts about others is counterproductive. It leads to division and isolation. Peacemakers pray for the well being of all. They pray for guidance and a positive resolution to any differences between people with whom they differ.
Peacemakers stay alert for fearful or angry images that others want us to focus on. We can transform our consciousness by lifting our thoughts out of fear, anger and negativity by affirming the highest God-given qualities and virtues for ourselves and others.
Peacemakers let go of the obsession to dominate and always be right. They focus on the issues rather than attacking the opposition.
Peacemakers are not isolated from the pain and suffering of the world. As we let the pain in, we become transformed, compassionate and motivated to action.
Peacemakers commit to non-violent, direct action as an appropriate way to protest harmful and unjust practices. When evil abounds, peacemakers affirm that God has not abandoned us —that God can be found among those who establish the values of God’s Reign — love, peace, kindness, gentleness, and forgiveness.
Where is God when evil abounds? God is with us because God has faced the darkness has shown us the way to the light. God is with the peacemakers, for they are the children of God. Our hearts go out to those who have lost much, and we pray the comfort that friends and a suffering Christ can provide.
Sources:
Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week
“Online networking 'harms health'” at http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7898510.stm
“Social Isolation Growing in U.S., Study Says” at http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/06/22/AR2006062201763_2.html
“Hope for Ariang” at http://david-morse.com/hopeforariang/gbd/
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sermon for March 22, Lent IV
The Longest Night
Mark 14:32-51
It is late at night in the city. The twisting streets are deserted. The households, for the most part, are silent. The city sleeps. The moonlight illumines a small band of men as they move into a space between two houses, then they are lost to sight as they walk into the shadow of another building. They are the closest followers of Jesus. Jerusalem has an ominous air. It’s a night of passion and betrayal, of armed guards and treachery. It’s a night that they will remember for the rest of their lives. They leave Jerusalem, circling below the walls of the ancient city, until they reach the Jericho road. From there, they turn up the steep slope leading to the Mount of Olives, until they come to the Garden of Gethsemane. Gethsemane means “olive press.” It’s a peaceful garden among a grove of ancient olive trees. The walls of the Temple are within view, but tonight, the Garden feels like a place of safety.
At the garden wall, Jesus leaves eight of his disciples behind. Only Peter, James and John are allowed to go with him into the recesses of Gethsemane. Here the trees are closer, and here, in the sanctuary of the lovely garden, Jesus wrestles with his destiny.
Jesus plunges into a sinkhole of dreadful agony. He tells his closest friends, “My soul is crushed with grief to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” Jesus disappears into the deepest glade of the Garden, falls upon his knees, and prays aloud to God. In the garden, only we the listener hear the desperate agony of a son talking to his daddy. “Abba Father, everything is possible with you. Takes this cup from me.” As Jesus continues to pray, the large storm begins to show the first signs of its impending arrival. Clouds begin to obscure the brilliant moon, and the branches of the olive trees begin to shift in the wind. Jesus is in deep prayer to God, “Abba Father, not what I will, but what you will.”
Even though Jesus prayed alone, I believe he also craved human companionship during his time of spiritual agony. The three disciples are within earshot to keep vigil with Jesus. But the strain of the past week takes its toll. The bone-weary disciples close their eyes for a few seconds of rest. Jesus returns an hour later to find his closest friends sound asleep. He gazes down at the huddled, sleeping forms. Jesus is utterly alone. The disappointment in his heart breaks through as his voice breaking the silence. “Simon, are you asleep?” And to the three, “Could you not keep watch for one hour?”
Have you ever felt that kind of deep loneliness?
I remember reading the soul-anguished comments of an anonymous mother and housewife. Her remarks could express the cry of many of us here She wrote:
I am so tired from trying to keep going. Sometimes I feel that I could get sick and die, then God would have to take care of these kids and I wouldn’t have to worry anymore. I cry every night and pray myself to sleep. I have always tried to be a good person and cannot understand why this is happening. Oh, God, I just need a reason to go on. It’s getting dark, God, I’m afraid. I hurt; inside I am screaming. I do not want this. One by one, You have taken away the people I depended on. Now only you are left. I do not want to trust you-- you who have taken away all that mattered. But I am too tired to fight you anymore. Would you hold my hand, please, Lord? It’s getting darker. It’s hard to accept this blackness for that long. But I guess You’re not asking me to. Only to accept it for now, this present minute. It’s just that these minutes run together ‘til I can hardly remember a time before them . .
Loneliness is defined as a state of unhappiness that results from being without the companionship of others. I think this is part of what Jesus felt in the garden, as he looked at his sleeping disciples during his time of immense trial. Isolated. Afraid. Alone. Yet, Jesus didn’t react to his loneliness like we do. We will see how Jesus handled it in a moment. But let’s take some time to examine ourselves. We are lonely people, too. Loneliness is a horrible, and it is far more pervasive than we can imagine. When we are lonely we always think we're the only ones. But loneliness is not confined to those who live alone. Loneliness plagues married and partnered people, families with and without children, people with lots of friends. Young, old, middle-aged -- loneliness runs the gamut. Loneliness saps our vitality. It makes us feel scared and insecure, vulnerable and unloved. Or worse, unlovable.
Being alone for any length of time inevitably brings us face to face with the void. With that series of questions and fears that we don't want to entertain. The fear that we are unloved. The fear that we are alone. The fear of that great loneliness called death. The suspicion that we secretly harbor but rarely utter, that there may be no real rhyme or reason to our life. No purpose or meaning to our being here. In short, loneliness can be terrifying. Many people desperately spend their lives in a drawn-out pursuit of company and companionship, and in the accumulation of too much food, sex, and physical pleasure, to fill their painful sense of emptiness and isolation. Studies say that Baby Boomers are headed toward a crisis of loneliness.
Therapists confirm that it is the most frequently cited reason that people seek professional counseling. Psychologists even talk about new categories of loneliness. One that interested me the most is called LTL or Living Together Loneliness. The typical LTL sufferer is a woman between the ages of 33 and 46, married and living a comfortable life. She may have children. She blames her husband or live-in partner for her loneliness. Often he’s critical, demanding and uncommunicative. The typical LTL woman realizes she is becoming obsessed with her bitterness and is often in counseling for depression or anxiety. She is frequently isolated and feels some estrangement from other people, even close friends. Sometimes she will have a fantasy about her partner dying, believing that her loneliness will end if that man is out of her life.
This is not to mention male loneliness, crowded loneliness, and the good old-fashioned loneliness of single shy people with no friends. Today loneliness is seen as an epidemic social problem that sets a chilling scene for the future of our relationships. Think of your lonely times. . . the times you sat next to your spouse or partner and you wanted to talk about your inner feelings, but you couldn’t. . .the painful loneliness of partners who keep secrets from each other for years. . .the feelings you have when you are separated from the comfort of your loved ones. . .the cruel loneliness of a family that sits for hours in front of the television without speaking a word among themselves. We live in a difficult time. Like Jesus, we go to our Gesthemenes, waiting for God to speak to us in our lonely anguish.
Let’s go back to the garden where Jesus prays. After waking up his three disciples, Jesus returns to the still shadows of the sheltering trees. When he’s done, he rises and returns to the clearing where the disciples have fallen asleep, for the THIRD TIME. As Jesus stands watching his sleeping friends, he can also see the slopes of Jerusalem before him. Then suddenly the darkness of the night is broken. As Jesus continues to survey the scene, looking out through a crude arch created by the huge twisted trunks of the olive trees, he sees torches moving slowly through the gateway in the wall. The temple guard is approaching to arrest him. They advance down the slope from the city, across the valley, coming toward the Mount of Olives. The doom that Jesus had been dreading is at hand.
Remember that Jesus Himself suffered the pain of loneliness. He ran up against the traditions of his own people and felt rejected. Others insisted on bringing up his illegitimate birth and throwing it in his face. People put him down because of where he was born. He was mistreated and made fun of because of his parent’s lowly status and his lack of education. They questioned his motives. In the Garden of Gethsemane, he suffered the intense pain of loneliness. His closest friends deserted him. Falsely accused he died a death de didn’t deserve. Jesus knows our loneliness and understands us when we go through dark valley. We may feel lonely, unloved, weak, rejected, and even abandoned, but God understands our situation intimately.
Jesus demonstrated a different reaction to his loneliness than we might. He didn’t complain. He didn’t escape. He didn’t blame anyone else. He didn’t run off and have an affair, or try to ease his pain by going to the market and shopping for needless toys. He could have, but he didn’t. Instead, Jesus showed humble obedience. “God, not what I will, but what you will.” Jesus allowed his loneliness to focus him on his relationship with God.
A lot of our modern loneliness is about excessive self-love and self-protection. We worry about the future. We worry about what others think. We protect our reputations, even at the cost of alienating others. We desire to be with God, yet at the last minute we find an escape route and run away. God never tires of seeking us out, reminding us of the divine presence in our sufferings and in our joys, in our mistakes and in our victories.
In our loneliness, we can learn to hear what is most important. In our loneliness, we can find direction to where God leads us. The way of the Lord is narrow, uphill, demanding, lonely, but it is also the way of salvation, as Christ himself showed us.
Where is God when I feel alone? God is there. God promises never to leave us or forsake us. The trick is getting past or fears, our feelings of betrayal, or hurt feelings and wounded pride, in order to know God’s presence with us. We call that faith. We also call it obedience. “God, not what I will, but what you will.” When we can seek God in loneliness, the loneliness transforms us. We may just gain a healthy focus on the One who calls us, saves us, and presses us onward to our destiny.
Sources:
Kerby Anderson, “Loneliness,” http://www.probe.org/docs/lonely.html
Monk Moses, “The Community of the Desert and the Loneliness of the Cities,”
http://www.goarch.org/en/ourfaith/articles/article8158.asp
Henry Ernst, “The Drama of the Passion: The Garden of Gethsemane,” http://www.bbumc.org/sermon_01 03 18.html
Kelley Kelsey, “The Gift of Loneliness,” http ://quicksitemaker.com/members/prayer/lonely.html
Robert Hardies, “From Loneliness to Solitude,” http://languageisavirus.com/may-sarton/writing_from_loneliness_to_solitude_unitarian_sermon.php
Mark 14:32-51
It is late at night in the city. The twisting streets are deserted. The households, for the most part, are silent. The city sleeps. The moonlight illumines a small band of men as they move into a space between two houses, then they are lost to sight as they walk into the shadow of another building. They are the closest followers of Jesus. Jerusalem has an ominous air. It’s a night of passion and betrayal, of armed guards and treachery. It’s a night that they will remember for the rest of their lives. They leave Jerusalem, circling below the walls of the ancient city, until they reach the Jericho road. From there, they turn up the steep slope leading to the Mount of Olives, until they come to the Garden of Gethsemane. Gethsemane means “olive press.” It’s a peaceful garden among a grove of ancient olive trees. The walls of the Temple are within view, but tonight, the Garden feels like a place of safety.
At the garden wall, Jesus leaves eight of his disciples behind. Only Peter, James and John are allowed to go with him into the recesses of Gethsemane. Here the trees are closer, and here, in the sanctuary of the lovely garden, Jesus wrestles with his destiny.
Jesus plunges into a sinkhole of dreadful agony. He tells his closest friends, “My soul is crushed with grief to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” Jesus disappears into the deepest glade of the Garden, falls upon his knees, and prays aloud to God. In the garden, only we the listener hear the desperate agony of a son talking to his daddy. “Abba Father, everything is possible with you. Takes this cup from me.” As Jesus continues to pray, the large storm begins to show the first signs of its impending arrival. Clouds begin to obscure the brilliant moon, and the branches of the olive trees begin to shift in the wind. Jesus is in deep prayer to God, “Abba Father, not what I will, but what you will.”
Even though Jesus prayed alone, I believe he also craved human companionship during his time of spiritual agony. The three disciples are within earshot to keep vigil with Jesus. But the strain of the past week takes its toll. The bone-weary disciples close their eyes for a few seconds of rest. Jesus returns an hour later to find his closest friends sound asleep. He gazes down at the huddled, sleeping forms. Jesus is utterly alone. The disappointment in his heart breaks through as his voice breaking the silence. “Simon, are you asleep?” And to the three, “Could you not keep watch for one hour?”
Have you ever felt that kind of deep loneliness?
I remember reading the soul-anguished comments of an anonymous mother and housewife. Her remarks could express the cry of many of us here She wrote:
I am so tired from trying to keep going. Sometimes I feel that I could get sick and die, then God would have to take care of these kids and I wouldn’t have to worry anymore. I cry every night and pray myself to sleep. I have always tried to be a good person and cannot understand why this is happening. Oh, God, I just need a reason to go on. It’s getting dark, God, I’m afraid. I hurt; inside I am screaming. I do not want this. One by one, You have taken away the people I depended on. Now only you are left. I do not want to trust you-- you who have taken away all that mattered. But I am too tired to fight you anymore. Would you hold my hand, please, Lord? It’s getting darker. It’s hard to accept this blackness for that long. But I guess You’re not asking me to. Only to accept it for now, this present minute. It’s just that these minutes run together ‘til I can hardly remember a time before them . .
Loneliness is defined as a state of unhappiness that results from being without the companionship of others. I think this is part of what Jesus felt in the garden, as he looked at his sleeping disciples during his time of immense trial. Isolated. Afraid. Alone. Yet, Jesus didn’t react to his loneliness like we do. We will see how Jesus handled it in a moment. But let’s take some time to examine ourselves. We are lonely people, too. Loneliness is a horrible, and it is far more pervasive than we can imagine. When we are lonely we always think we're the only ones. But loneliness is not confined to those who live alone. Loneliness plagues married and partnered people, families with and without children, people with lots of friends. Young, old, middle-aged -- loneliness runs the gamut. Loneliness saps our vitality. It makes us feel scared and insecure, vulnerable and unloved. Or worse, unlovable.
Being alone for any length of time inevitably brings us face to face with the void. With that series of questions and fears that we don't want to entertain. The fear that we are unloved. The fear that we are alone. The fear of that great loneliness called death. The suspicion that we secretly harbor but rarely utter, that there may be no real rhyme or reason to our life. No purpose or meaning to our being here. In short, loneliness can be terrifying. Many people desperately spend their lives in a drawn-out pursuit of company and companionship, and in the accumulation of too much food, sex, and physical pleasure, to fill their painful sense of emptiness and isolation. Studies say that Baby Boomers are headed toward a crisis of loneliness.
Therapists confirm that it is the most frequently cited reason that people seek professional counseling. Psychologists even talk about new categories of loneliness. One that interested me the most is called LTL or Living Together Loneliness. The typical LTL sufferer is a woman between the ages of 33 and 46, married and living a comfortable life. She may have children. She blames her husband or live-in partner for her loneliness. Often he’s critical, demanding and uncommunicative. The typical LTL woman realizes she is becoming obsessed with her bitterness and is often in counseling for depression or anxiety. She is frequently isolated and feels some estrangement from other people, even close friends. Sometimes she will have a fantasy about her partner dying, believing that her loneliness will end if that man is out of her life.
This is not to mention male loneliness, crowded loneliness, and the good old-fashioned loneliness of single shy people with no friends. Today loneliness is seen as an epidemic social problem that sets a chilling scene for the future of our relationships. Think of your lonely times. . . the times you sat next to your spouse or partner and you wanted to talk about your inner feelings, but you couldn’t. . .the painful loneliness of partners who keep secrets from each other for years. . .the feelings you have when you are separated from the comfort of your loved ones. . .the cruel loneliness of a family that sits for hours in front of the television without speaking a word among themselves. We live in a difficult time. Like Jesus, we go to our Gesthemenes, waiting for God to speak to us in our lonely anguish.
Let’s go back to the garden where Jesus prays. After waking up his three disciples, Jesus returns to the still shadows of the sheltering trees. When he’s done, he rises and returns to the clearing where the disciples have fallen asleep, for the THIRD TIME. As Jesus stands watching his sleeping friends, he can also see the slopes of Jerusalem before him. Then suddenly the darkness of the night is broken. As Jesus continues to survey the scene, looking out through a crude arch created by the huge twisted trunks of the olive trees, he sees torches moving slowly through the gateway in the wall. The temple guard is approaching to arrest him. They advance down the slope from the city, across the valley, coming toward the Mount of Olives. The doom that Jesus had been dreading is at hand.
Remember that Jesus Himself suffered the pain of loneliness. He ran up against the traditions of his own people and felt rejected. Others insisted on bringing up his illegitimate birth and throwing it in his face. People put him down because of where he was born. He was mistreated and made fun of because of his parent’s lowly status and his lack of education. They questioned his motives. In the Garden of Gethsemane, he suffered the intense pain of loneliness. His closest friends deserted him. Falsely accused he died a death de didn’t deserve. Jesus knows our loneliness and understands us when we go through dark valley. We may feel lonely, unloved, weak, rejected, and even abandoned, but God understands our situation intimately.
Jesus demonstrated a different reaction to his loneliness than we might. He didn’t complain. He didn’t escape. He didn’t blame anyone else. He didn’t run off and have an affair, or try to ease his pain by going to the market and shopping for needless toys. He could have, but he didn’t. Instead, Jesus showed humble obedience. “God, not what I will, but what you will.” Jesus allowed his loneliness to focus him on his relationship with God.
A lot of our modern loneliness is about excessive self-love and self-protection. We worry about the future. We worry about what others think. We protect our reputations, even at the cost of alienating others. We desire to be with God, yet at the last minute we find an escape route and run away. God never tires of seeking us out, reminding us of the divine presence in our sufferings and in our joys, in our mistakes and in our victories.
In our loneliness, we can learn to hear what is most important. In our loneliness, we can find direction to where God leads us. The way of the Lord is narrow, uphill, demanding, lonely, but it is also the way of salvation, as Christ himself showed us.
Where is God when I feel alone? God is there. God promises never to leave us or forsake us. The trick is getting past or fears, our feelings of betrayal, or hurt feelings and wounded pride, in order to know God’s presence with us. We call that faith. We also call it obedience. “God, not what I will, but what you will.” When we can seek God in loneliness, the loneliness transforms us. We may just gain a healthy focus on the One who calls us, saves us, and presses us onward to our destiny.
Sources:
Kerby Anderson, “Loneliness,” http://www.probe.org/docs/lonely.html
Monk Moses, “The Community of the Desert and the Loneliness of the Cities,”
http://www.goarch.org/en/ourfaith/articles/article8158.asp
Henry Ernst, “The Drama of the Passion: The Garden of Gethsemane,” http://www.bbumc.org/sermon_01 03 18.html
Kelley Kelsey, “The Gift of Loneliness,” http ://quicksitemaker.com/members/prayer/lonely.html
Robert Hardies, “From Loneliness to Solitude,” http://languageisavirus.com/may-sarton/writing_from_loneliness_to_solitude_unitarian_sermon.php
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Sermon for March 15 -- Lent III
The Traitor
March 15, 2009 / Lent III
Mark 14:1-10
Now the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread were only two days away, and the chief priests and the teachers of the law were looking for some sly way to arrest Jesus and kill him. “But not during the Feast,” they said, “or the people may riot.” While he was in Bethany, reclining at the table in the home of a man known as Simon the Leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, made of pure nard. She broke the jar and poured the perfume on his head. Some of those present were saying indignantly to one another, “Why this waste of perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money given to the poor.” And they rebuked her harshly. “Leave her alone,” said Jesus. “Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me. She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial. I tell you the truth, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.” Then Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, went to the chief priests to betray Jesus to them.
Why did Judas do it? Why take the money? Why betray his friend? Some argue that Judas was a paid informant of Jerusalem’s collaborationist government. Novelist Reynold Price wonders whether Judas was a gay man who could not quite figure out what it meant to love completely. Remember when The Gospel of Judas made a big stir a few years ago? The Gospel of Judas claims that Jesus’ asked Judas to turn him in. Judas was actually the only one of the twelve to understand Jesus’ mission and so he was the one that Jesus chose for this important task. We shouldn’t be surprised that in a scroll called The Gospel of Judas, Judas is actually Jesus’ most intimate friend. Even the gospels can’t agree on their stories. Luke says that Judas betrayed Jesus because Satan entered him. John wants us to think that Judas was a greedy thief who did it for the money.
Why did Judas do it? I have excavated another document, allegedly written by Judas, that adds to the speculation. Let’s listen and search for God’s wisdom.
For 2,000 years, people have slandered my name. My name is Judas Iscariot. As you know, I am a Jew. You have probably read some things about my ancestors: Moses, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Isaiah, and Jeremiah, to name a few. You probably know very little about others like Habakkuk and Joel, Micah and Zephaniah, Hannah and Deborah. All of these men and women had a great love and respect for God. We were all taught the same things as children: Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. My ancestors tried, but sometimes their nationalism got the best of them. They would do anything to keep their race pure and to keep other religious and cultural beliefs from creeping in.
One of my ancestors, Nehemiah, wrote about what happened when he found out that some of his fellow citizens married foreign women. He wrote: “In those days also I saw the Jews who had married women of [other nations] . . . So I confronted them and called down curses on them. I beat some of them and pulled out their hair. I made them swear in the name of God that they would not let their children intermarry with the pagan people of the land.” The point of all of this is that my people loved Israel. They that God had a special hand in carving it from among the lands of all the peoples of the earth. They would sin, then repent, and then sin again. But they kept trying to be God’s people.
The claw of Rome took control of my country’s government about 150 years before I was born. Rome’s grasp crushed the hopes of many of our people. But not all. A group of Jews remembered God’s promises: the promise to bless all people through Abraham; the promise to lead a group of Israelite slaves into their own land with Moses; the promise to be their God if they would be his people. This certain group of Jews never forgot those promises, even when the hated foreigners came in and took over.
One family, the Maccabees, was the best known of the leaders of the Jewish resistance movement. The Maccabees managed to expel the tyrants and cleanse our sacred temple.
But, the revolt did not last. The hated oppressors regained control. By the time I was born, the Romans had a firm grasp of everything relating to my beloved country. They bled us with taxes, and regulated every single part of our lives. How we hated them and how we hated those Jews who were friendly to them, especially the tax-collectors who set up their home base right inside the Temple. How could God let this happen?” I wondered. “How can the promises of God come true?”
We always believed that God would send a Messiah to set the people free. I wondered when and how it would happen. Every night I would pray that God would send his Messiah,
and that the Romans would be cursed! While I was still a little boy, a man named Judas of Galilee organized a group of guerrilla fighters committed to getting rid of the Romans. These men were called Zealots. They led a failed revolt and 2,000 of them were captured. The Romans crucified all of them along the roads of Judea -- 2000 men hung on crosses as an example to anyone else who might try to defeat Rome. I remembered those men, and when I was a young man, I became a Zealot. I’m not proud of everything we did. My name, Iscariot, means dagger-man. We carried small daggers under our cloaks. In large crowds, we would stab Roman sympathizers and then blend into the mob by pretending we were one of the frightened onlookers. But the Zealots were true believers. We believed in God, and in Israel. We believed that these things were worth dying for.
The problem was that we had no leader. We thought that John the Baptist might join us, but he did not. Then we heard about a man named Jesus. He was from Nazareth, and the people told stories about his teaching and healing. I found this Jesus and listened carefully to what he had to say. How the hope inside of me burned brightly when he spoke. I just knew that he could be our leader in overthrowing Rome. Then an incredible thing happened. Jesus asked me to become a disciple, to join his inner circle of friends. I could hardly believe it at first. I had gone looking for him but he acted as if he had sought me out. He had a way of doing that with everyone, of making them feel that he was searching for them and wouldn’t rest until he found them.
What a man Jesus was! I can still remember how he taught the crowds and scolded us disciples for not understanding everything he said. I came to realize that this man could be God’s Messiah. He could lead us in a successful revolt against Rome. So I waited. I tried to be patient until the time was right. A year passed, then two. Jesus sounded less and less like a revolutionary. He told us to love our enemies and to do good to them who spitefully used us. Those were indeed hard sayings to take.
We traveled much in those days. Jesus kept teaching; we kept listening. But I always wondered, “When will Jesus turn against Rome?” The end climaxed quickly, for him ... for us ... for me. The time came when he made up his mind to go to Jerusalem. It was during the time of Passover. “Perfect,” I thought. “He is going to declare himself to be the Messiah, and the people will join him in driving out the tyrants.” That’s all I ever wanted. The people greeted Jesus with jubilant excitement. They spread palm branches and leaves out before him. I was so excited I could hardly stand it! “Now,” I thought, “now he is going to revolt.” It started out so well, too. Jesus went into the temple with a whip and drove out all of the crooked tax gatherers and moneychangers. I laughed until I cried with anticipation. The temple had enough money to raise an army. Then Jesus stopped. He didn’t even try to raise an army. He just kept talking and debating. He was doing nothing to start a war with Rome. Then, like a heavy fog, the truth came in upon me. I knew what I had to do if we were to overthrow the Roman rulers.
Now this is where you come in. You already have your minds made up about me. You think you know why I did what I did. You think I was a greedy little coward who would betray his own mother for the right price. Before you judge, maybe you want to consider that my motives were as pure as any you have.
When I was a little boy growing up in Judea my mother used to tell me stories at night. I remember one about a horse and a donkey walking down the road together. The donkey was so loaded with cargo that he could hardly walk. He asked the horse to take some of the load. The horse laughed and refused. A short while later the donkey fell beneath his heavy load and died. The owner of the animals took all of the cargo from the dead donkey and loaded it on the horse. Then he took the carcass of the donkey and heaved it onto the back of the horse. The horse wobbled down the road thinking, “If only I had carried my fair share I wouldn’t have to carry all the cargo and dead weight besides.”
I was determined to carry my share of the weight of responsibility. I decided to make Jesus act, to make him lead a revolt. If I could cause a confrontation Jesus would have to defend himself. I went to the chief priests and pretended to turn Jesus in. The priests even gave me money, so I took it to make the betrayal look real. At the end of the Passover meal, I met with the chief priests and soldiers. Together we went to Gethsemane. I saw Jesus and embraced him. The mob came. They arrested him. And I thought, “This is the beginning of the end. Now Jesus will have to defend himself and the revolution will begin.”
But he didn’t. He didn’t resist. He didn’t fight at all. Jesus simply went with them, chained like a common criminal. My plan had backfired. It lead to one more death instead of a final victory. And now, I’m accused of betraying Jesus for 30 pieces of silver.
Before you judge me, I need to ask: Have you ever dreamed passionately about the future, only to see your dream hurt others when it comes true? Have you ever felt so committed to your ideals, only to see them crush those who love you? Have you ever been blinded by white-hot zeal, only to realize to late that the fire was fueled by hatred, by shame, by contempt, by morality, by everything other than the fire of love? Have you ever made a mistake – a grave, tragic mistake?
My biographers claim that I felt no remorse for what I did. The question is, would I do it differently if I had another chance? My question is, will you?
Sources:
The Last Week by Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan
A Serious Way of Wondering by Reynolds Price
“Why I Did It, A Sermon by Judas Iscariot”
March 15, 2009 / Lent III
Mark 14:1-10
Now the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread were only two days away, and the chief priests and the teachers of the law were looking for some sly way to arrest Jesus and kill him. “But not during the Feast,” they said, “or the people may riot.” While he was in Bethany, reclining at the table in the home of a man known as Simon the Leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, made of pure nard. She broke the jar and poured the perfume on his head. Some of those present were saying indignantly to one another, “Why this waste of perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money given to the poor.” And they rebuked her harshly. “Leave her alone,” said Jesus. “Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me. She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial. I tell you the truth, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.” Then Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, went to the chief priests to betray Jesus to them.
Why did Judas do it? Why take the money? Why betray his friend? Some argue that Judas was a paid informant of Jerusalem’s collaborationist government. Novelist Reynold Price wonders whether Judas was a gay man who could not quite figure out what it meant to love completely. Remember when The Gospel of Judas made a big stir a few years ago? The Gospel of Judas claims that Jesus’ asked Judas to turn him in. Judas was actually the only one of the twelve to understand Jesus’ mission and so he was the one that Jesus chose for this important task. We shouldn’t be surprised that in a scroll called The Gospel of Judas, Judas is actually Jesus’ most intimate friend. Even the gospels can’t agree on their stories. Luke says that Judas betrayed Jesus because Satan entered him. John wants us to think that Judas was a greedy thief who did it for the money.
Why did Judas do it? I have excavated another document, allegedly written by Judas, that adds to the speculation. Let’s listen and search for God’s wisdom.
For 2,000 years, people have slandered my name. My name is Judas Iscariot. As you know, I am a Jew. You have probably read some things about my ancestors: Moses, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Isaiah, and Jeremiah, to name a few. You probably know very little about others like Habakkuk and Joel, Micah and Zephaniah, Hannah and Deborah. All of these men and women had a great love and respect for God. We were all taught the same things as children: Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. My ancestors tried, but sometimes their nationalism got the best of them. They would do anything to keep their race pure and to keep other religious and cultural beliefs from creeping in.
One of my ancestors, Nehemiah, wrote about what happened when he found out that some of his fellow citizens married foreign women. He wrote: “In those days also I saw the Jews who had married women of [other nations] . . . So I confronted them and called down curses on them. I beat some of them and pulled out their hair. I made them swear in the name of God that they would not let their children intermarry with the pagan people of the land.” The point of all of this is that my people loved Israel. They that God had a special hand in carving it from among the lands of all the peoples of the earth. They would sin, then repent, and then sin again. But they kept trying to be God’s people.
The claw of Rome took control of my country’s government about 150 years before I was born. Rome’s grasp crushed the hopes of many of our people. But not all. A group of Jews remembered God’s promises: the promise to bless all people through Abraham; the promise to lead a group of Israelite slaves into their own land with Moses; the promise to be their God if they would be his people. This certain group of Jews never forgot those promises, even when the hated foreigners came in and took over.
One family, the Maccabees, was the best known of the leaders of the Jewish resistance movement. The Maccabees managed to expel the tyrants and cleanse our sacred temple.
But, the revolt did not last. The hated oppressors regained control. By the time I was born, the Romans had a firm grasp of everything relating to my beloved country. They bled us with taxes, and regulated every single part of our lives. How we hated them and how we hated those Jews who were friendly to them, especially the tax-collectors who set up their home base right inside the Temple. How could God let this happen?” I wondered. “How can the promises of God come true?”
We always believed that God would send a Messiah to set the people free. I wondered when and how it would happen. Every night I would pray that God would send his Messiah,
and that the Romans would be cursed! While I was still a little boy, a man named Judas of Galilee organized a group of guerrilla fighters committed to getting rid of the Romans. These men were called Zealots. They led a failed revolt and 2,000 of them were captured. The Romans crucified all of them along the roads of Judea -- 2000 men hung on crosses as an example to anyone else who might try to defeat Rome. I remembered those men, and when I was a young man, I became a Zealot. I’m not proud of everything we did. My name, Iscariot, means dagger-man. We carried small daggers under our cloaks. In large crowds, we would stab Roman sympathizers and then blend into the mob by pretending we were one of the frightened onlookers. But the Zealots were true believers. We believed in God, and in Israel. We believed that these things were worth dying for.
The problem was that we had no leader. We thought that John the Baptist might join us, but he did not. Then we heard about a man named Jesus. He was from Nazareth, and the people told stories about his teaching and healing. I found this Jesus and listened carefully to what he had to say. How the hope inside of me burned brightly when he spoke. I just knew that he could be our leader in overthrowing Rome. Then an incredible thing happened. Jesus asked me to become a disciple, to join his inner circle of friends. I could hardly believe it at first. I had gone looking for him but he acted as if he had sought me out. He had a way of doing that with everyone, of making them feel that he was searching for them and wouldn’t rest until he found them.
What a man Jesus was! I can still remember how he taught the crowds and scolded us disciples for not understanding everything he said. I came to realize that this man could be God’s Messiah. He could lead us in a successful revolt against Rome. So I waited. I tried to be patient until the time was right. A year passed, then two. Jesus sounded less and less like a revolutionary. He told us to love our enemies and to do good to them who spitefully used us. Those were indeed hard sayings to take.
We traveled much in those days. Jesus kept teaching; we kept listening. But I always wondered, “When will Jesus turn against Rome?” The end climaxed quickly, for him ... for us ... for me. The time came when he made up his mind to go to Jerusalem. It was during the time of Passover. “Perfect,” I thought. “He is going to declare himself to be the Messiah, and the people will join him in driving out the tyrants.” That’s all I ever wanted. The people greeted Jesus with jubilant excitement. They spread palm branches and leaves out before him. I was so excited I could hardly stand it! “Now,” I thought, “now he is going to revolt.” It started out so well, too. Jesus went into the temple with a whip and drove out all of the crooked tax gatherers and moneychangers. I laughed until I cried with anticipation. The temple had enough money to raise an army. Then Jesus stopped. He didn’t even try to raise an army. He just kept talking and debating. He was doing nothing to start a war with Rome. Then, like a heavy fog, the truth came in upon me. I knew what I had to do if we were to overthrow the Roman rulers.
Now this is where you come in. You already have your minds made up about me. You think you know why I did what I did. You think I was a greedy little coward who would betray his own mother for the right price. Before you judge, maybe you want to consider that my motives were as pure as any you have.
When I was a little boy growing up in Judea my mother used to tell me stories at night. I remember one about a horse and a donkey walking down the road together. The donkey was so loaded with cargo that he could hardly walk. He asked the horse to take some of the load. The horse laughed and refused. A short while later the donkey fell beneath his heavy load and died. The owner of the animals took all of the cargo from the dead donkey and loaded it on the horse. Then he took the carcass of the donkey and heaved it onto the back of the horse. The horse wobbled down the road thinking, “If only I had carried my fair share I wouldn’t have to carry all the cargo and dead weight besides.”
I was determined to carry my share of the weight of responsibility. I decided to make Jesus act, to make him lead a revolt. If I could cause a confrontation Jesus would have to defend himself. I went to the chief priests and pretended to turn Jesus in. The priests even gave me money, so I took it to make the betrayal look real. At the end of the Passover meal, I met with the chief priests and soldiers. Together we went to Gethsemane. I saw Jesus and embraced him. The mob came. They arrested him. And I thought, “This is the beginning of the end. Now Jesus will have to defend himself and the revolution will begin.”
But he didn’t. He didn’t resist. He didn’t fight at all. Jesus simply went with them, chained like a common criminal. My plan had backfired. It lead to one more death instead of a final victory. And now, I’m accused of betraying Jesus for 30 pieces of silver.
Before you judge me, I need to ask: Have you ever dreamed passionately about the future, only to see your dream hurt others when it comes true? Have you ever felt so committed to your ideals, only to see them crush those who love you? Have you ever been blinded by white-hot zeal, only to realize to late that the fire was fueled by hatred, by shame, by contempt, by morality, by everything other than the fire of love? Have you ever made a mistake – a grave, tragic mistake?
My biographers claim that I felt no remorse for what I did. The question is, would I do it differently if I had another chance? My question is, will you?
Sources:
The Last Week by Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan
A Serious Way of Wondering by Reynolds Price
“Why I Did It, A Sermon by Judas Iscariot”
Friday, March 13, 2009
Sermon for March 8, 2009 -- Lent II
Conflict and Crisis
Mark 12:13-17; 28-34
A friend of mine posted some old Superbowl ads for his friends on Facebook. In one ad, a man is preparing a romantic dinner. He chops vegetables with a large knife, while tomato sauce simmers on the stove. A white cat jumps on to the counter, knocks the pan of sauce onto the floor and then falls in to the mess. Just as the man picks up his tomato-splattered cat, his wife opens the door. She sees him holding a cat dripping with red sauce in one hand and a large knife in the other. You can image what the scene looks like to her. Things aren’t always as they first appear – even when we’re sure that there couldn’t be another possibility. Sometimes we assume we know the right answers to questions. But our assumptions can betray us. Let’s try a little exercise to get our ears, minds, and hearts ready to hear in a new way today. It’s a story about a man named Mullah Nasrudin. Nasrudin is a favorite character in stories throughout all of the Middle East and Central Asia. Children in Afghanistan hear Nasruddin stories just as American children hear Mother Goose rhymes and folktales. Here is one tale:
When we read the stories of Jesus we also need to be in touch with our assumptions. Today’s gospel readings are a case in point. In our first reading, we heard Jesus teach that what belongs to Caesar, give to Caesar, and what belongs to God, give to God. With that episode in mind, I invite us to listen to another story from Mark 12:28-34.
Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and render to God the things that are God’s. In our history, people in authority have manipulated this message to demand compliance from their followers . Hitler used these words, commanding German Christians to give absolute obedience to the state. Monarchs used these words to legitimate their authority. American Christians used these words during the civil rights era to criticize acts of civil disobedience. Some argued that we are to be obedient to civil authority, even when we want to modify its laws. The thinking is always the same: religious obligation and political obligation are separate realms. Navigating these two worlds should be like putting food on a fussy child’s plate: don’t let the peas touch the potatoes. Everything has its place.
But, let’s question our theological assumptions. All theology serves someone. The question is whom does it serve? Who benefits and at whose expense? When we are finished cooking up our interpretations of the text, who reigns and who suffers? Who profits and who gets pushed to the margins?
Let’s think about another interpretation of these verses that puts them in context of the action, as narrated by Mark. It is Tuesday -- the day after Jesus gets angry and cleanses the Temple. He goes right back to the place where he caused such a ruckus the day before. Jesus is angry that the supreme religious authorities conspire with Rome. A few people rule at the top of the local government – the temple authorities headed by the High Priest and some local aristocrats. Mark calls them “the chief priests, elders, and scribes.” Their primary obligation to Rome is loyalty and collaboration. They make sure that the annual taxes are paid to Rome. And since Rome does not want rebellions, the local leaders must maintain domestic order. The Temple is the central symbol of this domination system. The Temple is the place that gives theological legitimacy to the domination system. The message preached by the ruling authorities is if you love God, you will be a good citizen and pay your taxes. This is how God wants it.
On the Tuesday before Easter, Jesus returns to the Temple. He goes straight back to the place where worshippers change their money into shekels to pay the annual temple tax. They buy animals to be sacrificed on the altar and spend time in the temple in prayer. Jesus plants himself in one of the large open-air courts where worship-traffic is heavy. Then he begins to teach. As you might expect, a crowd gathers. And you know how quickly bad news travels! In no time, the temple authorities elbow their way to the front of the crowd. They have already identified Jesus as a troublemaker, but because he is so popular with the crowds, they decide to try a new strategy with him. They try to trick him. They try to make him look like a fool in front of the crowds. “Jesus should we pay taxes to the Emperor or not?”
It’s a hot question. Roman taxation is burdensome. It also symbolizes the fact that the Jews do not govern themselves. The trap is skillfully set. If Jesus answers no, he will be guilty of undermining Rome’s authority. If he says yes, he loses his credibility with the crowd. Jesus asks for a denarius - -a silver coin equal to a day’s wage. He holds it up and asks, “Whose head is on this, and whose title?” We all know the answer: The Emperor’s. At that moment, Jesus instantly discredits Rome’s puppet government. There were two types of coins in circulation at the time. Jewish coins had no human images on it. Roman coins had Caesar’s image along with an idolatrous inscription heralding the Emperor as the Son of God. Jesus holds up the Roman coin and says, “Give to God the things that are God’s.” For Jesus, the real question is: What belongs to Caesar and what belongs to God? And for Jesus, everything belongs to God. Israel belongs to God – not to the local oppressors, not to Rome. The whole earth belongs to God. What belongs to Caesar? In the end, nothing.
Ever play monopoly? There are two types of monopoly players. Those who put their money and real estate into a big sloppy pile, not sure of what they have until the end of the game. Then there are those who know precisely where everything goes – each denomination of currency, the houses and hotels, the cards of Chance and the Community Chest, the dice, the deeds to the property, and the tokens. These people don’t want $10 bills to mix in with the $100 bills. They are horrified to find the Baltic and Mediterranean property mixed in with Park Place and Boardwalk.
In my peaceable kingdom, my closet is ordered like that. In my opinion, there is a divinely-ordained place for white shirts, a supremely-ordered location for blue shirts, and a providentially-designed place for striped shirts. I’m uneasy when I find a pair of black pants mixed in with the khakis. It infringes on my state of serenity.
There are those of us who profess Christ who, either carelessly or unintentionally, relegate Christianity to some small, ordained place in the closet of our lives. Sometimes we think of our lives like that monopoly board. Everything has a place and a purpose. Work is for certain times. Family life is ordained for certain times. Expression of faith are reserved for Sundays, Easter and Christmas Eve. What happens when we compartmentalize our faith? What happens when we consign our faith to Sundays, but refuse to let it permeate our lives the rest of the week? What happens when we reduce our religion to some antiquated tradition but deny its power?
A compartmentalized faith becomes like an addendum to a book or a postscript to a letter. It’s like a side street rather than a major highway, a strip mall rather than a downtown shopping district, a pinch hitter rather than the starting line-up, the appetizer rather than the main course. When Christians fail to integrate their faith into the whole of their lives -- when we think that faith has no place in the neighborhood, the school campus, the factory, and the marketplace – we run the risk of allowing faith to become an entertaining sideshow rather than the main act of life. True spirituality is incredibly practical, robust, and workable no matter where you dwell or what you do.
We need to question our assumptions about faith and life. There should be no separation of our devotions. Everything we have, all that we are, all that we hope to be belongs to God. Give to God what is God’s. Jesus sums it all up by reminding his listeners of the greatest commandment. Love God with heart, soul, mind, and strength. There’s a follow up commandment, too. Love your neighbor and love yourself.
Would you try a little experiment with me this week? Sometime, this week, when you are not doing church stuff, will you pray and ask God to bring to your mind one area where your faith and life intersect. Will you ask God how an ordinary person can get to the root of what it means to love? Will you ask God to show you how we made such a mess of the world and how an ordinary person can help restore it? Will you ask God to give you an idea about you’re your faith can bring some more peace, some more interdependence, some more peace, and some more sanity into our fragile world and our fractured relationships? For a few moments, will you pray, and ask God to show you where you have allowed your faith to become a diversion? Will you listen to God, and allow your faith to become a gentle whisper that influences all parts of your life? Will you give to God the things that are God’s? Will you ask God to help you love with all your hearts, soul, mind and strength? Will you ask God to help you love your neighbor and love yourself?
Mark 12:13-17; 28-34
A friend of mine posted some old Superbowl ads for his friends on Facebook. In one ad, a man is preparing a romantic dinner. He chops vegetables with a large knife, while tomato sauce simmers on the stove. A white cat jumps on to the counter, knocks the pan of sauce onto the floor and then falls in to the mess. Just as the man picks up his tomato-splattered cat, his wife opens the door. She sees him holding a cat dripping with red sauce in one hand and a large knife in the other. You can image what the scene looks like to her. Things aren’t always as they first appear – even when we’re sure that there couldn’t be another possibility. Sometimes we assume we know the right answers to questions. But our assumptions can betray us. Let’s try a little exercise to get our ears, minds, and hearts ready to hear in a new way today. It’s a story about a man named Mullah Nasrudin. Nasrudin is a favorite character in stories throughout all of the Middle East and Central Asia. Children in Afghanistan hear Nasruddin stories just as American children hear Mother Goose rhymes and folktales. Here is one tale:
As Nasruddin emerged from the mosque after prayers, he ran into a beggar sitting on the street. The following conversation followed: “Are you extravagant?” asked Nasruddin. “Yes Nasruddin,” replied the beggar. “Do you like sitting around drinking coffee and smoking?” asked Nasruddin. “Yes.” replied the beggar. “I suppose you like to go to the baths everyday and maybe amuse yourself by drinking with friends?” asked Nasruddin. “Yes I like all those things,” replied the beggar. Nasruddin clucked his tongue and gave him a gold piece. A few yards farther on, another beggar who had overheard the conversation also begged alms. “Are you extravagant?” asked Nasruddin. “No,” replied the beggar. “Do you like sitting around drinking coffee and smoking?” asked Nasruddin. “No.” replied the beggar. “I suppose you like to go to the baths everyday and maybe amuse yourself by drinking with friends?” asked Nasruddin “No, I want to only live meagerly and to pray.,” replied second beggar, whereupon Nasruddin gave him a small copper coin. The second beggar wailed, “Why, do you give me, an thrifty and pious man, a penny, when you give that extravagant fellow a gold coin?” “Ah my friend,” replied Nasruddin, “his needs are greater than yours.What if I told you that there is a valuable life lesson in this story. How would you interpret it? Who represents God? Who is foolish and who is wise? Is Nasruddin a troublemaker or a sage? To whom is God’s will served? To interpret the story, you need to reference your assumptions—what you know about the character of God and the nature of humanity. Given time, I bet you all could come up with a great interpretation of the story that compares it to our modern lives.
When we read the stories of Jesus we also need to be in touch with our assumptions. Today’s gospel readings are a case in point. In our first reading, we heard Jesus teach that what belongs to Caesar, give to Caesar, and what belongs to God, give to God. With that episode in mind, I invite us to listen to another story from Mark 12:28-34.
One of the teachers of religious law was standing there listening to the debate. He realized that Jesus had answered well, so he asked, “Of all the commandments, which is the most important?” Jesus replied, “The most important commandment is this: ‘Listen, O Israel! The LORD our God is the one and only LORD. And you must love the LORD your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength.’ The second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ No other commandment is greater than these.” The teacher of religious law replied, “Well said, Teacher. You have spoken the truth by saying that there is only one God and no other. And I know it is important to love him with all my heart and all my understanding and all my strength, and to love my neighbor as myself. This is more important than to offer all of the burnt offerings and sacrifices required in the law.” Realizing how much the man understood, Jesus said to him, “You are not far from the Kingdom of God.” And after that, no one dared to ask him any more questions.As often happens when we read the Bible, we have a habituated way of interpreting these passages that gets in the way really understanding its meaning. Consider our first reading. In the centuries after the gospels became sacred scripture, this passage was often used as a divine pronouncement about how all Christians should live their lives. Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and render to God the things that are God’s. Jesus’ words became a solemn statement about the relationship between church and state. These words have been interpreted to mean that there are two separate realms to human life. One is religious and one is political. There are things we give to God and things we give to our government.
Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and render to God the things that are God’s. In our history, people in authority have manipulated this message to demand compliance from their followers . Hitler used these words, commanding German Christians to give absolute obedience to the state. Monarchs used these words to legitimate their authority. American Christians used these words during the civil rights era to criticize acts of civil disobedience. Some argued that we are to be obedient to civil authority, even when we want to modify its laws. The thinking is always the same: religious obligation and political obligation are separate realms. Navigating these two worlds should be like putting food on a fussy child’s plate: don’t let the peas touch the potatoes. Everything has its place.
But, let’s question our theological assumptions. All theology serves someone. The question is whom does it serve? Who benefits and at whose expense? When we are finished cooking up our interpretations of the text, who reigns and who suffers? Who profits and who gets pushed to the margins?
Let’s think about another interpretation of these verses that puts them in context of the action, as narrated by Mark. It is Tuesday -- the day after Jesus gets angry and cleanses the Temple. He goes right back to the place where he caused such a ruckus the day before. Jesus is angry that the supreme religious authorities conspire with Rome. A few people rule at the top of the local government – the temple authorities headed by the High Priest and some local aristocrats. Mark calls them “the chief priests, elders, and scribes.” Their primary obligation to Rome is loyalty and collaboration. They make sure that the annual taxes are paid to Rome. And since Rome does not want rebellions, the local leaders must maintain domestic order. The Temple is the central symbol of this domination system. The Temple is the place that gives theological legitimacy to the domination system. The message preached by the ruling authorities is if you love God, you will be a good citizen and pay your taxes. This is how God wants it.
On the Tuesday before Easter, Jesus returns to the Temple. He goes straight back to the place where worshippers change their money into shekels to pay the annual temple tax. They buy animals to be sacrificed on the altar and spend time in the temple in prayer. Jesus plants himself in one of the large open-air courts where worship-traffic is heavy. Then he begins to teach. As you might expect, a crowd gathers. And you know how quickly bad news travels! In no time, the temple authorities elbow their way to the front of the crowd. They have already identified Jesus as a troublemaker, but because he is so popular with the crowds, they decide to try a new strategy with him. They try to trick him. They try to make him look like a fool in front of the crowds. “Jesus should we pay taxes to the Emperor or not?”
It’s a hot question. Roman taxation is burdensome. It also symbolizes the fact that the Jews do not govern themselves. The trap is skillfully set. If Jesus answers no, he will be guilty of undermining Rome’s authority. If he says yes, he loses his credibility with the crowd. Jesus asks for a denarius - -a silver coin equal to a day’s wage. He holds it up and asks, “Whose head is on this, and whose title?” We all know the answer: The Emperor’s. At that moment, Jesus instantly discredits Rome’s puppet government. There were two types of coins in circulation at the time. Jewish coins had no human images on it. Roman coins had Caesar’s image along with an idolatrous inscription heralding the Emperor as the Son of God. Jesus holds up the Roman coin and says, “Give to God the things that are God’s.” For Jesus, the real question is: What belongs to Caesar and what belongs to God? And for Jesus, everything belongs to God. Israel belongs to God – not to the local oppressors, not to Rome. The whole earth belongs to God. What belongs to Caesar? In the end, nothing.
Ever play monopoly? There are two types of monopoly players. Those who put their money and real estate into a big sloppy pile, not sure of what they have until the end of the game. Then there are those who know precisely where everything goes – each denomination of currency, the houses and hotels, the cards of Chance and the Community Chest, the dice, the deeds to the property, and the tokens. These people don’t want $10 bills to mix in with the $100 bills. They are horrified to find the Baltic and Mediterranean property mixed in with Park Place and Boardwalk.
In my peaceable kingdom, my closet is ordered like that. In my opinion, there is a divinely-ordained place for white shirts, a supremely-ordered location for blue shirts, and a providentially-designed place for striped shirts. I’m uneasy when I find a pair of black pants mixed in with the khakis. It infringes on my state of serenity.
There are those of us who profess Christ who, either carelessly or unintentionally, relegate Christianity to some small, ordained place in the closet of our lives. Sometimes we think of our lives like that monopoly board. Everything has a place and a purpose. Work is for certain times. Family life is ordained for certain times. Expression of faith are reserved for Sundays, Easter and Christmas Eve. What happens when we compartmentalize our faith? What happens when we consign our faith to Sundays, but refuse to let it permeate our lives the rest of the week? What happens when we reduce our religion to some antiquated tradition but deny its power?
A compartmentalized faith becomes like an addendum to a book or a postscript to a letter. It’s like a side street rather than a major highway, a strip mall rather than a downtown shopping district, a pinch hitter rather than the starting line-up, the appetizer rather than the main course. When Christians fail to integrate their faith into the whole of their lives -- when we think that faith has no place in the neighborhood, the school campus, the factory, and the marketplace – we run the risk of allowing faith to become an entertaining sideshow rather than the main act of life. True spirituality is incredibly practical, robust, and workable no matter where you dwell or what you do.
We need to question our assumptions about faith and life. There should be no separation of our devotions. Everything we have, all that we are, all that we hope to be belongs to God. Give to God what is God’s. Jesus sums it all up by reminding his listeners of the greatest commandment. Love God with heart, soul, mind, and strength. There’s a follow up commandment, too. Love your neighbor and love yourself.
Would you try a little experiment with me this week? Sometime, this week, when you are not doing church stuff, will you pray and ask God to bring to your mind one area where your faith and life intersect. Will you ask God how an ordinary person can get to the root of what it means to love? Will you ask God to show you how we made such a mess of the world and how an ordinary person can help restore it? Will you ask God to give you an idea about you’re your faith can bring some more peace, some more interdependence, some more peace, and some more sanity into our fragile world and our fractured relationships? For a few moments, will you pray, and ask God to show you where you have allowed your faith to become a diversion? Will you listen to God, and allow your faith to become a gentle whisper that influences all parts of your life? Will you give to God the things that are God’s? Will you ask God to help you love with all your hearts, soul, mind and strength? Will you ask God to help you love your neighbor and love yourself?
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
First Sunday in Lent -- March 1, 2009
Turning the Tables
Mark 11:12-19; 27-33
Again they entered Jerusalem. As Jesus was walking through the Temple area, the leading priests, the teachers of religious law, and the elders came up to him. They demanded, “By what authority are you doing all these things? Who gave you the right to do them?” “I’ll tell you by what authority I do these things if you answer one question,” Jesus replied. “Did John’s authority to baptize come from heaven, or was it merely human? Answer me!” They talked it over among themselves. “If we say it was from heaven, he will ask why we didn’t believe John. But do we dare say it was merely human?” For they were afraid of what the people would do, because everyone believed that John was a prophet. So they finally replied, “We don’t know.” And Jesus responded, “Then I won’t tell you by what authority I do these things.”
Jesus was mad. Furious. Each of the gospels tells this story – sometimes called “the cleansing of the temple.” In each gospel, it has a central significance in the plot. It was a pivotal event for Jesus and for those who would follow him, as well as for those who would oppose him. This was the moment of conflict.
Is any one here mad this morning? It’s OK to be honest. We get angry all the time. Angry about our jobs. Angry about something someone said to you. Angry about changes happening that are outside your control. Angry about a medical diagnosis. Angry about a war and a situation seemingly spinning out of control. There is a lot to be angry about. It would not take much probing to find out most every one of us gets mad about something in our lives at some point. I think the reason viewers get into reality shows or watch Jerry Springer or Judge Judy is because they feel better than those crazy guests who become extremely angry with little provocation. It can help us avoid some self-examination.
Every once in a while, we meet someone who is REALLY angry. I remember cutting someone off in traffic when I lived in Boston. If you’ve ever driven in Boston, you know that cutting people off and being cut off is a matter of survival. But this was a close call, even by Boston standards. The driver not only laid on his horn in anger, he followed me to my destination. When we parked, he ran out of his car while it was still rolling, came over to my humble maroon Ford Taurus station wagon, and began pounding on the roof of the car, swearing and shouting. He was out of control. There was no way I was getting out of my car.
Imagine this scene with me. It’s Christmas in New York City. Mid town is packed tightly with tourists who want to see the tree at Rockefeller Center, maybe wait in line for three days to skate on the tiny ice rink. People of all races, colors, languages and ages shuffle along with the crowds, gazing at the sites. Imagine that same day, people decide to launch massive protests and counter-protests over every conceivable issue from a newly enacted smoking ban to the ban on trans-saturated fats; from gay marriage to immigration proposals. It is all happening at the same time. Tourists, protesters, residents, workers, chaos.
That is what it was like in Jerusalem at Passover. But add imperial troops, revolutionary resistance, and a local puppet government that represents the distant Empire. Attendance at the temple is mandatory. So the staff had been working extra hard that week: recruiting volunteers, preparing bulletins, training rookies ushers, updating the sign and the webpage, polishing the brass. It was a big event. Everyone wanted a meaningful spiritual holy week with great music and preaching and worshipers in their finest dress.
The temple was not just a big sanctuary with quiet organ prelude music. It is a frenzied place, especially on high holy days. At the Temple, worshipers go to exchange table to turn their Roman money into Jewish money. Merchants supply offerings, incense, cloth, and vessels and basins for cooking and sacrifice. Worshipers need the right quantity of unblemished sacrificial offerings. It’s much easier to buy the offerings of grain, small animals like doves, and larger animals like sheep and cattle near the temple. Buying on site avoids the risk of having the animals damaged in route. Highly trained butchers turn the animals into sacrifices. The temple is smelly and loud with different dialects mingling together and people trying to be heard.
Then Jesus enters the temple. And he is mad. He throws tables upside down. He pours out pots of coins. And makes a whip from some cords, and herds people, and sheep, and doves, and cattle right out of the temple. “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” Jesus screams over the bedlam.
What is going on here? This is not just a bad day. Don’t dismiss this as a temper tantrum on Jesus’ part. Jesus is not making a statement against Judaism or the temple. This is not an animal rights protest, either. It goes much deeper than that.
Remember that Jesus was a Jew. And as a Jew, he had a passionate concern for what loyalty to the God of Judaism required. Remember that Jerusalem was an occupied city. About ninety years before Jesus died, Rome invaded and overthrew the Jewish monarchy. Initially Rome ruled through the high priest, the temple, and a local wealthy aristocracy. As long as they were loyal to Rome, sent in the hefty tax money, and maintained order, Rome was happy. But then power struggles consumed the local aristocracy. Rome appointed a strong man to rule – Herod the Great. After Herod died, his sons ruled ineffectively. In response, Rome appointed governors based in Jerusalem. Rome decided that the temple in Jerusalem would serve as their new center of rule. The temple authorities had the responsibility for collecting and paying the annual tribute due to Rome in addition to collecting tithes. And get this, records of debt were stored in the temple. So, the high priest and temple authorities were in a tough spot. They had to make sure Rome was paid and happy. They also had to maintain domestic peace and order. Meanwhile the policies of Rome kept demanding more and more money. The people went deeper and deeper into debt, and the temple was where all these tensions centered.
Jesus walks into the temple and he is mad. His conflict is not just with the priests. He’s not mad about animal sacrifice and money changers. Priests, animals and moneychangers were all supposed to be there. His protest was against a political system that used the temple and the name of God to dominate the people. His protest was against a dominion that was radically different from the kingdom of God.
Quoting prophets and mad as can be, Jesus created a scene right there in the temple -- overthrowing the money tables, driving them all out with his whip and his righteous anger. How dare the temple be used not as a sacred place but a place of oppression and domination! How dare the temple be used for something other than worship! How dare the people he loved be treated as pawns in an Empire based on the fear and power games! Jesus represents God’s kingdom in which members are given dignity. They take part in God’s love and justice and truth.
One day, Jesus walks into the temple and he is mad. The Empire would strike back, of course. The Roman rulers and the local collaborators could not allow someone like Jesus to just walk in and turn everything upside down. The plot to kill him started before the last coin hit the ground. I think Jesus knew that, even as he walked through the temple doors. There would be a cost to his actions. There would be a cost to his holy anger.
Lent is a season to recommit ourselves as disciples of Jesus, the One who came proclaiming that the kingdom of God had drawn near. Lent is a time to remember the full range of his teachings and actions. His compassion for those who needed healing. His teachings that inspire and amaze us. His meals that brought together tax collectors and sinners of all kinds. His anger one day in the temple. This is the One we follow and this is the One who points us to the love and passion of God.
The season of Lent is a time to pray that when the going gets tough, we will follow Jesus. This season of Lent is a time to promise again, with boldness and open eyes about where he may lead, that we do want Jesus to walk with us.
“Anybody can become angry — that is easy,” said Aristotle, “But to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.” A famous minister named Dale Turner reminds us of this one certainty in life: “Were anger and moral indignation to die out of the world, society would swiftly rot to extinction. It is possible to be good — and at the same time — be angry. God both wills and encourages it.” There are still things that still make God angry in this world. There are still things in this world that make God weep. Injustice, aching poverty, discrimination and systematic oppression. God is still angry, and we should be too. We can commit to doing things about them. The important thing is that we be angry about the right things, and express it in appropriate ways. Be angry, but let our anger be the anger of Jesus, under the control of the Holy Spirit. May our anger be directed to constructive ends so that God’s kingdom may grow, and all people may know the God of love, justice and peace.
Sources
· Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week. Harper: SanFrancisco, 2006.
· E.P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice & Belief 63 BCE – 66 CE. Philadelphia: Trinity Press International.
· “Mad Jesus” Sermon Preached by David D. Colby, Central Presbyterian Church (April 2, 2006).
Mark 11:12-19; 27-33
Again they entered Jerusalem. As Jesus was walking through the Temple area, the leading priests, the teachers of religious law, and the elders came up to him. They demanded, “By what authority are you doing all these things? Who gave you the right to do them?” “I’ll tell you by what authority I do these things if you answer one question,” Jesus replied. “Did John’s authority to baptize come from heaven, or was it merely human? Answer me!” They talked it over among themselves. “If we say it was from heaven, he will ask why we didn’t believe John. But do we dare say it was merely human?” For they were afraid of what the people would do, because everyone believed that John was a prophet. So they finally replied, “We don’t know.” And Jesus responded, “Then I won’t tell you by what authority I do these things.”
Jesus was mad. Furious. Each of the gospels tells this story – sometimes called “the cleansing of the temple.” In each gospel, it has a central significance in the plot. It was a pivotal event for Jesus and for those who would follow him, as well as for those who would oppose him. This was the moment of conflict.
Is any one here mad this morning? It’s OK to be honest. We get angry all the time. Angry about our jobs. Angry about something someone said to you. Angry about changes happening that are outside your control. Angry about a medical diagnosis. Angry about a war and a situation seemingly spinning out of control. There is a lot to be angry about. It would not take much probing to find out most every one of us gets mad about something in our lives at some point. I think the reason viewers get into reality shows or watch Jerry Springer or Judge Judy is because they feel better than those crazy guests who become extremely angry with little provocation. It can help us avoid some self-examination.
Every once in a while, we meet someone who is REALLY angry. I remember cutting someone off in traffic when I lived in Boston. If you’ve ever driven in Boston, you know that cutting people off and being cut off is a matter of survival. But this was a close call, even by Boston standards. The driver not only laid on his horn in anger, he followed me to my destination. When we parked, he ran out of his car while it was still rolling, came over to my humble maroon Ford Taurus station wagon, and began pounding on the roof of the car, swearing and shouting. He was out of control. There was no way I was getting out of my car.
Imagine this scene with me. It’s Christmas in New York City. Mid town is packed tightly with tourists who want to see the tree at Rockefeller Center, maybe wait in line for three days to skate on the tiny ice rink. People of all races, colors, languages and ages shuffle along with the crowds, gazing at the sites. Imagine that same day, people decide to launch massive protests and counter-protests over every conceivable issue from a newly enacted smoking ban to the ban on trans-saturated fats; from gay marriage to immigration proposals. It is all happening at the same time. Tourists, protesters, residents, workers, chaos.
That is what it was like in Jerusalem at Passover. But add imperial troops, revolutionary resistance, and a local puppet government that represents the distant Empire. Attendance at the temple is mandatory. So the staff had been working extra hard that week: recruiting volunteers, preparing bulletins, training rookies ushers, updating the sign and the webpage, polishing the brass. It was a big event. Everyone wanted a meaningful spiritual holy week with great music and preaching and worshipers in their finest dress.
The temple was not just a big sanctuary with quiet organ prelude music. It is a frenzied place, especially on high holy days. At the Temple, worshipers go to exchange table to turn their Roman money into Jewish money. Merchants supply offerings, incense, cloth, and vessels and basins for cooking and sacrifice. Worshipers need the right quantity of unblemished sacrificial offerings. It’s much easier to buy the offerings of grain, small animals like doves, and larger animals like sheep and cattle near the temple. Buying on site avoids the risk of having the animals damaged in route. Highly trained butchers turn the animals into sacrifices. The temple is smelly and loud with different dialects mingling together and people trying to be heard.
Then Jesus enters the temple. And he is mad. He throws tables upside down. He pours out pots of coins. And makes a whip from some cords, and herds people, and sheep, and doves, and cattle right out of the temple. “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” Jesus screams over the bedlam.
What is going on here? This is not just a bad day. Don’t dismiss this as a temper tantrum on Jesus’ part. Jesus is not making a statement against Judaism or the temple. This is not an animal rights protest, either. It goes much deeper than that.
Remember that Jesus was a Jew. And as a Jew, he had a passionate concern for what loyalty to the God of Judaism required. Remember that Jerusalem was an occupied city. About ninety years before Jesus died, Rome invaded and overthrew the Jewish monarchy. Initially Rome ruled through the high priest, the temple, and a local wealthy aristocracy. As long as they were loyal to Rome, sent in the hefty tax money, and maintained order, Rome was happy. But then power struggles consumed the local aristocracy. Rome appointed a strong man to rule – Herod the Great. After Herod died, his sons ruled ineffectively. In response, Rome appointed governors based in Jerusalem. Rome decided that the temple in Jerusalem would serve as their new center of rule. The temple authorities had the responsibility for collecting and paying the annual tribute due to Rome in addition to collecting tithes. And get this, records of debt were stored in the temple. So, the high priest and temple authorities were in a tough spot. They had to make sure Rome was paid and happy. They also had to maintain domestic peace and order. Meanwhile the policies of Rome kept demanding more and more money. The people went deeper and deeper into debt, and the temple was where all these tensions centered.
Jesus walks into the temple and he is mad. His conflict is not just with the priests. He’s not mad about animal sacrifice and money changers. Priests, animals and moneychangers were all supposed to be there. His protest was against a political system that used the temple and the name of God to dominate the people. His protest was against a dominion that was radically different from the kingdom of God.
Quoting prophets and mad as can be, Jesus created a scene right there in the temple -- overthrowing the money tables, driving them all out with his whip and his righteous anger. How dare the temple be used not as a sacred place but a place of oppression and domination! How dare the temple be used for something other than worship! How dare the people he loved be treated as pawns in an Empire based on the fear and power games! Jesus represents God’s kingdom in which members are given dignity. They take part in God’s love and justice and truth.
One day, Jesus walks into the temple and he is mad. The Empire would strike back, of course. The Roman rulers and the local collaborators could not allow someone like Jesus to just walk in and turn everything upside down. The plot to kill him started before the last coin hit the ground. I think Jesus knew that, even as he walked through the temple doors. There would be a cost to his actions. There would be a cost to his holy anger.
Lent is a season to recommit ourselves as disciples of Jesus, the One who came proclaiming that the kingdom of God had drawn near. Lent is a time to remember the full range of his teachings and actions. His compassion for those who needed healing. His teachings that inspire and amaze us. His meals that brought together tax collectors and sinners of all kinds. His anger one day in the temple. This is the One we follow and this is the One who points us to the love and passion of God.
The season of Lent is a time to pray that when the going gets tough, we will follow Jesus. This season of Lent is a time to promise again, with boldness and open eyes about where he may lead, that we do want Jesus to walk with us.
“Anybody can become angry — that is easy,” said Aristotle, “But to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.” A famous minister named Dale Turner reminds us of this one certainty in life: “Were anger and moral indignation to die out of the world, society would swiftly rot to extinction. It is possible to be good — and at the same time — be angry. God both wills and encourages it.” There are still things that still make God angry in this world. There are still things in this world that make God weep. Injustice, aching poverty, discrimination and systematic oppression. God is still angry, and we should be too. We can commit to doing things about them. The important thing is that we be angry about the right things, and express it in appropriate ways. Be angry, but let our anger be the anger of Jesus, under the control of the Holy Spirit. May our anger be directed to constructive ends so that God’s kingdom may grow, and all people may know the God of love, justice and peace.
Sources
· Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week. Harper: SanFrancisco, 2006.
· E.P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice & Belief 63 BCE – 66 CE. Philadelphia: Trinity Press International.
· “Mad Jesus” Sermon Preached by David D. Colby, Central Presbyterian Church (April 2, 2006).
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