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
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
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).
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Sermon for Feb. 22, 2009 -- Transfiguration Day
A Crisis of Fear
Mark 9:2-9
Some of you may have heard the name Clarence Jordan. He was a prophet for racial integration in the South. In 1942, after receiving his doctorate in Greek from Southern Baptist Seminary, he returned to his native Georgia and established a place called Koinonia farm. It was an experiment in Christian interracial community living, a concept that was not widely accepted in the 40’s by the general public. Koinonia Farm eventually became the inspiration for Habitat for Humanity. However, at the time, Jordon was often persecuted for his vision of what the church should be. It’s told that at one time, when Jordon was being harassed, he asked his lawyer brother for legal help. His brother had political aspirations. He realized that helping such a radical cause would jeopardize his future career. And so, he refused to help. Clarence challenged his brother to go back to the rural church where they had both walked down the aisle to accept Christ and explain something to the folks there. Clarence said, “Tell them what you really meant to say was that you admire Jesus, not that you want to follow him.”
Jordan’s comment raises a question that I constantly ask myself. Do I admirefollow him? We Christian are good at saying the right words and performing the bare minimum requirements that we think will secure our place in God’s favor. But do we really follow Jesus? Do we back up our words with actions that demonstrate we are followers of the God of suffering love? This morning we will look to Mark’s account of the transfiguration as we think about these questions.
Six days later Jesus took Peter, James, and John, and led them up a high mountain to be alone. As the men watched, Jesus’ appearance was transformed, and his clothes became dazzling white, far whiter than any earthly bleach could ever make them. Then Elijah and Moses appeared and began talking with Jesus. Peter exclaimed, “Rabbi, it’s wonderful for us to be here! Let’s make three shelters as memorials — one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He said this because he didn’t really know what else to say, for they were all terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my dearly loved Son. Listen to him.” Suddenly, when they looked around, Moses and Elijah were gone, and they saw only Jesus with them. As they went back down the mountain, he told them not to tell anyone what they had seen until the Son of Man had risen from the dead.
Mark’s gospel gives the reader some honest details that the other gospel writers leave out. Mark depicts the disciples as colossal failures. As you read Mark’s gospel, you will notice that at every key moment in Jesus’ life, the disciples fail to understand the significance of his actions. Mark has a great way of describing this. He says that the disciples were afraid. When Jesus heals a demon-possessed Gentile, the disciples were afraid. When Jesus walks on water, the Greek indicates that the disciples were shaken to their souls with fear. At the empty tomb, the women tremble with astonishment. Most New Testament scholars agree that Mark intended his gospel to end with the words “they were afraid.” With this in mind, we come to Mark’s story of the transfiguration of Jesus.
Did you notice how Mark described the disciple’s reactions when Jesus starts glowing and talking to dead prophets? The Greek indicates that they are frightened out of their wits. For Mark, fear is an indication to us, the readers, that something has gone wrong. The disciples consistently fail to see who Jesus is, what he has come to do, and what he asks them to do. They are so terrified that they become ineffective disciples. It is truly a crisis of fear.
Have you ever felt like a failed disciple? Have you ever felt ineffective because you were afraid of what Jesus may ask you to do? I’ve heard people express their fears in many ways:
“What happens if I get serious about following Jesus? Will I lose control of my life? Will God ask me to do things that I don’t want to do?” Let’s explore some ways in which today’s text can teach us how to overcome our fears and become the disciples we are called to be.
This account begins with the words, “After six days.” Less than one week before this event, Jesus asked the disciples to tell him the local gossip. Word on the street said that Jesus was a reincarnation of John the Baptist, or Elijah returned to earth, or both. Remember Elijah – we heard about him in our first reading from 2 Kings? Jesus then asks another question: “If that’s what people are saying, what do you think? Who do you say I am?” Peter courageously answers, “You are the Christ.” Now, less than one week later, Peter is so scared at the sight of Jesus, he addresses Jesus not as Christ but as Rabbi, the word for teacher. Peter’s use of the word Rabbi or teacher here seems strange. It’s as if Peter is still thinks of Jesus as a teacher of the law, not as the Messiah.
The mount of transfiguration is a place where the heavens burst open and confront humankind with the glory of God. The realm of God breaks into human affairs and astounds us with the reality of who Jesus is. Jesus is more than a great prophet or teacher. He is God’s beloved Son who boldly stands beside trembling disciples in the presence of God.
I think that if we want to overcome fear and be better disciples, then we need to see Jesus for who he really is. Who is Jesus for you today? A prophet? A teacher? A great historical figure or a superhuman being? Or, is Jesus the glorified Son of God and Savior? When we can see Jesus for who is really is, we are changed. (1 John 3:2-3). Our journey of discipleship begins on the mountaintop where we come face-to-face with the terrifying yet glorious presence of God. We climb the mountain and see Jesus for who he really is. We allow ourselves to be transformed by his compassionate love.
I wish I could end this sermon on the mountaintop, but it would be deceptive to tell you that we could stay there, nervously basking in the glory of God. Some say that Peter’s biggest mistake is that he wants to make this mountaintop experience permanent. He offers to build shelters for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah to commemorate the event. But, seeing the glory of God is only part of the experience. Jesus and the three disciples can’t stay on the mountaintop. They must come down and deal with the reality that awaits them. It’s no mistake that Mark sandwiches the story of the transfiguration between two predictions of Jesus’ upcoming agony and death. From this point on, Jesus will preach a message of suffering, the cross, and death. It’s a future that he and anyone who wishes to follow him must endure. The glorious vision may be what the disciples want to see, but it’s the message of suffering that all must hear. Even in his terror, Peter seems willing to be impressed by a transformed Jesus, but he seems unwilling to accept the word of suffering that Jesus preaches. The realm of God is not the result of seeing Jesus’ glowing garments. It is the result descending the mountain and practicing Jesus’ central definition of discipleship. “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow me” (8:34).
I don’t know about you, but this is the point where I start to get afraid. What happens when we follow Jesus down the mountain and put these words into practice? We know what happens to the disciples. By the end of Mark’s Gospel, those who claim to follow Jesus will not be able to follow him to the cross. They will take to their heels and run away in fear. To be better disciples, we need to put dreams of glory aside and walk in the steps of the suffering Christ.
One more point. Becoming better disciples involves listening. You may not want to listen to me at this point, but hang in there. This is where the good part comes in. Let’s go back to the mountain for a moment and pay attention to the action. After Peter panics, a cloud covers the mountain and a voice declares, “This is my dearly loved Son. Listen to him.” The cloud represents the presence of God. The voice repeats the words we’ve already heard at Jesus’ baptism (1:11) and then commands the disciples to listen. In response, the next words out of Jesus’ mouth are about suffering. The problem with the disciples is that they never get it. Even after hearing a divine voice, they never truly listen and understand.
For those of us who are afraid, for those who lack courage to take up the cross and follow, Scripture encourages us with two words: Fear not! The Bible is stubborn on this affirmation. When confronted with terror, God says, “Fear not.” I must admit, on my more cynical days I say, “Year, right. If I went on a backpacking trip with Jesus and he transformed before my eyes and shined like the bright morning sun, and then the most famous prophets of history appeared to shoot the breeze, and then a thick cloud smothered me and I heard a voice talking to me from within the water vapor, and then it all instantly disappeared and Jesus said, ‘I’m going to die, and by the way, let’s just keep all this between you and me,’ I would be stricken with fear and confusion.” And then Jesus says, “Fear not!?”
God’s antidote to fear is courage. We can hear the words “fear not” because Jesus is able to sympathize with our weaknesses in every way. We can hear the words “fear not” because God can transform our fear into faith and give us the strength to follow Jesus.
Do you just admire Jesus, or are you ready to follow him? Our path to better discipleship begin when we can answer these three questions:
1. Who is Jesus to you?
2. What is Jesus asking you to do as his follower?
3. Are you afraid to do it? If so, hear the word of the Lord. “Fear not!”
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Sermon for February 15, 2009
Be Clean!
Mark 1:40-45
We learned at an early age to make snap judgments about people. We divide people into groups all the time: Those we like and those we don't; those who are “my kind of people,” and those who aren't. In the process, we shut out many people who we could come to have close friendships with. If only we'd get beyond those mental boundaries that have shut them out.
Too often we're like the children of The Secret Society of 9. Harpers magazine once published the rules of their club:
We put fences up all around us. They give us some comfort. Fences keep danger out. Fences protect those who dwell within them. In her book Odd Girl Out, Rachel Simmons researched incidences of girls who exclude one another in school and social circles. She found that the practice of exclusion among young girls was extremely common. Simmons tells the story of Jenny. Jenny moved from San Diego to Wyoming during her seventh grade year. Two popular girls, who felt threatened by her arrival, made a point to force all the other girls in that grade sign a pledge to call Jenny a secret nasty code name, to exclude her from all activities and to torment her in ways that would not be recognized by the teachers. Jenny spent an entire school year afraid to walk in the halls of her new school. On the outside of the circle looking in, she was the leper of her seventh grade Wyoming class. Many women remember similar incidents, from their childhoods. They have experienced the feeling of being excluded from human society. Many men also remember being the victim of the class bully. For some reason the bully picks them out as the victim, and through verbal and physical abuse isolates them from the social structure.
In today’s gospel reading, Jesus obliterates fences that have put up to contain and exclude God’s people. When approached by a man with leprosy, Jesus touches the man and says “Be Clean.” The leper is instantly cured. I don’t know if we really understand how bold Jesus was. We can’t fathom the risks he took in order to break down the fences that keep people from entering fully into relationship with God and one another.
In Jesus’ day, the term leprosy embraced a wide range of disorders including rashes, acne, eczema and other forms of dermatitis. There was no treatment. Because of the fear of infection, lepers were banned from all contact with other people. They lived in isolated bands, begging at a distance for food. It is hard to imagine a more miserable and hopeless group of outcasts. To make matters worse, it was commonly believed that lepers were suffering for their sins. Lepers were seen as sinners who were abandoned by God to the powers of evil. Leprosy caused fear and repulsion. It marks its victim as morally repugnant. When the leper approaches Jesus, he probably shouts “Unclean! Unclean!” to warn the crowds away from danger. Nobody wanted to be polluted by his presence, either physically or spiritually. In a sense, lepers had to carry their fences around with them. The only hope for a cure was from a holy person.
Jesus does not run away. He responds to the person who has been pushed to the margins of society. According to one set of ancient manuscripts, when the leper approaches Jesus and begs for healing, Jesus is moved with pity. Out of compassion, Jesus touches him and proclaims him clean. That is what we heard in today’s reading.
Another translation follows a different reading found in a second set of ancient manuscripts. According to this set, when the leper approaches Jesus and begs for healing, Jesus is moved by anger. With a snort of rage, Jesus touches him and proclaims him clean.
So, which set of manuscripts reflects Mark’s original intent? Was Mark depicting a sympathetic, compassionate Jesus moved by the leper’s suffering to heal him? Or was Mark depicting an angry Jesus with a bad temper?
I can see where both emotions, compassion and anger, would have been appropriate. Jesus shows compassion to a person forced to live on the edges or boundaries of society. Jesus shows a grunt of anger at the wickedness of a system that labels a person as a sinner because of a skin rash. Jesus decided to do something about it. He healed this leper by touching him directly. By doing so, Jesus made a clear statement that this man was not impure -- that he could be touched without fear of infection -- that he ought not to have been cast out. In one bold action, Jesus restores this man. His health returns. More than that, he is allowed to reenter society. With a touch, with a word, Jesus knocks over the fence. The limits are gone.
People of God, be careful where you draw lines. Whenever you draw a line that marks who is in and who is outside of the fence, remember -- Jesus is always on the other side of the line!
One of the great stories of compassion that has the mark of Jesus all over it involves an elderly crippled lady who lived in Missouri during World War II. She spent most days lying on a day bed, knitting socks and other garments for her church’s thrift shop. Her husband was a small-town newspaper publisher. He came home one day and told her that the son of a friend of theirs had been killed on the battlefields of Europe. She asked him, “What can I do for his mother? I pray for the soldiers, but I want to do more.” His response was, “You have a compassionate spirit. Write his mother a note and let her know how much you love her and that her son is in the arms of Jesus.” She did just that. In fact, for the next three years she wrote more than 300 notes to mothers who had sons killed in the war. She showed her compassion by touching the lives of hurting people. She was a servant of the grace of Jesus.
That woman reminds me of Jesus’ vision of the Realm of God. God’s world is one of inclusive wholeness. Jesus restores people’s humanity and life. He invites people to grasp new opportunities to rejoin the community. We miss the point if we insist this story is about a supernatural curing that depends on the intervention of God. We can be the hands that touch a wounded soul. We can express the words that soothe a wounded spirit. We can be the arms that hold and hug a person who may be dying. We can be the friends who sit and listen and love another because we see a child of God in need. We reach out in prayer, with a touch, with a word.
The God of Jesus, is a God of graciousness and goodness who accepts everyone and brings about justice and well-being for everyone . . .without exception. That’s worth celebrating.
And where it is denied, that’s worth getting angry about!
Mark 1:40-45
A man with leprosy came and knelt in front of Jesus, begging to be healed. “If you are willing, you can heal me and make me clean,” he said. Moved with compassion, Jesus reached out and touched him. “I am willing,” he said. “Be healed!” Instantly the leprosy disappeared, and the man was healed. Then Jesus sent him on his way with a stern warning: “Don’t tell anyone about this. Instead, go to the priest and let him examine you. Take along the offering required in the law of Moses for those who have been healed of leprosy. This will be a public testimony that you have been cleansed.” But the man went and spread the word, proclaiming to everyone what had happened. As a result, large crowds soon surrounded Jesus, and he couldn’t publicly enter a town anywhere. He had to stay out in the secluded places, but people from everywhere kept coming to him.When I was growing up, in the high school cafeteria the kids you sat down with to eat your lunch were always the same people. Woe unto you if you dared to sit at the table of the popular kids, or the geeks, or the jocks! You had to be with your group. How many of you went back to your 20th reunion, years later, to find that the same old factions were still there? People still sat at tables with the same old groups, and there was no attempt to cross those old invisible boundaries that divided us all.
We learned at an early age to make snap judgments about people. We divide people into groups all the time: Those we like and those we don't; those who are “my kind of people,” and those who aren't. In the process, we shut out many people who we could come to have close friendships with. If only we'd get beyond those mental boundaries that have shut them out.
Too often we're like the children of The Secret Society of 9. Harpers magazine once published the rules of their club:
- Do not tell a white lie, unless necessary.
- Do not hurt anyone in any way.
- Do not hit anyone-- except Ronny.
- Do not use words worse than "brat"
- Do not curse at all.
- Do not make faces, except at Ronny.
- Do not be selfish.
- Do not make a hog or a pig of yourself.
- Do not tattle, except on Ronny.
- Do not steal, except from Ronny.
- Do not destroy other people's property, except Ronny's.
- Do not be a sneak.
- Do not be grumpy, except to Ronny
- Do not answer back, except to Ronny
We put fences up all around us. They give us some comfort. Fences keep danger out. Fences protect those who dwell within them. In her book Odd Girl Out, Rachel Simmons researched incidences of girls who exclude one another in school and social circles. She found that the practice of exclusion among young girls was extremely common. Simmons tells the story of Jenny. Jenny moved from San Diego to Wyoming during her seventh grade year. Two popular girls, who felt threatened by her arrival, made a point to force all the other girls in that grade sign a pledge to call Jenny a secret nasty code name, to exclude her from all activities and to torment her in ways that would not be recognized by the teachers. Jenny spent an entire school year afraid to walk in the halls of her new school. On the outside of the circle looking in, she was the leper of her seventh grade Wyoming class. Many women remember similar incidents, from their childhoods. They have experienced the feeling of being excluded from human society. Many men also remember being the victim of the class bully. For some reason the bully picks them out as the victim, and through verbal and physical abuse isolates them from the social structure.
In today’s gospel reading, Jesus obliterates fences that have put up to contain and exclude God’s people. When approached by a man with leprosy, Jesus touches the man and says “Be Clean.” The leper is instantly cured. I don’t know if we really understand how bold Jesus was. We can’t fathom the risks he took in order to break down the fences that keep people from entering fully into relationship with God and one another.
In Jesus’ day, the term leprosy embraced a wide range of disorders including rashes, acne, eczema and other forms of dermatitis. There was no treatment. Because of the fear of infection, lepers were banned from all contact with other people. They lived in isolated bands, begging at a distance for food. It is hard to imagine a more miserable and hopeless group of outcasts. To make matters worse, it was commonly believed that lepers were suffering for their sins. Lepers were seen as sinners who were abandoned by God to the powers of evil. Leprosy caused fear and repulsion. It marks its victim as morally repugnant. When the leper approaches Jesus, he probably shouts “Unclean! Unclean!” to warn the crowds away from danger. Nobody wanted to be polluted by his presence, either physically or spiritually. In a sense, lepers had to carry their fences around with them. The only hope for a cure was from a holy person.
Jesus does not run away. He responds to the person who has been pushed to the margins of society. According to one set of ancient manuscripts, when the leper approaches Jesus and begs for healing, Jesus is moved with pity. Out of compassion, Jesus touches him and proclaims him clean. That is what we heard in today’s reading.
Another translation follows a different reading found in a second set of ancient manuscripts. According to this set, when the leper approaches Jesus and begs for healing, Jesus is moved by anger. With a snort of rage, Jesus touches him and proclaims him clean.
So, which set of manuscripts reflects Mark’s original intent? Was Mark depicting a sympathetic, compassionate Jesus moved by the leper’s suffering to heal him? Or was Mark depicting an angry Jesus with a bad temper?
I can see where both emotions, compassion and anger, would have been appropriate. Jesus shows compassion to a person forced to live on the edges or boundaries of society. Jesus shows a grunt of anger at the wickedness of a system that labels a person as a sinner because of a skin rash. Jesus decided to do something about it. He healed this leper by touching him directly. By doing so, Jesus made a clear statement that this man was not impure -- that he could be touched without fear of infection -- that he ought not to have been cast out. In one bold action, Jesus restores this man. His health returns. More than that, he is allowed to reenter society. With a touch, with a word, Jesus knocks over the fence. The limits are gone.
People of God, be careful where you draw lines. Whenever you draw a line that marks who is in and who is outside of the fence, remember -- Jesus is always on the other side of the line!
One of the great stories of compassion that has the mark of Jesus all over it involves an elderly crippled lady who lived in Missouri during World War II. She spent most days lying on a day bed, knitting socks and other garments for her church’s thrift shop. Her husband was a small-town newspaper publisher. He came home one day and told her that the son of a friend of theirs had been killed on the battlefields of Europe. She asked him, “What can I do for his mother? I pray for the soldiers, but I want to do more.” His response was, “You have a compassionate spirit. Write his mother a note and let her know how much you love her and that her son is in the arms of Jesus.” She did just that. In fact, for the next three years she wrote more than 300 notes to mothers who had sons killed in the war. She showed her compassion by touching the lives of hurting people. She was a servant of the grace of Jesus.
That woman reminds me of Jesus’ vision of the Realm of God. God’s world is one of inclusive wholeness. Jesus restores people’s humanity and life. He invites people to grasp new opportunities to rejoin the community. We miss the point if we insist this story is about a supernatural curing that depends on the intervention of God. We can be the hands that touch a wounded soul. We can express the words that soothe a wounded spirit. We can be the arms that hold and hug a person who may be dying. We can be the friends who sit and listen and love another because we see a child of God in need. We reach out in prayer, with a touch, with a word.
The God of Jesus, is a God of graciousness and goodness who accepts everyone and brings about justice and well-being for everyone . . .without exception. That’s worth celebrating.
And where it is denied, that’s worth getting angry about!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Sermon for February 8, 2009
The Demands of Discipleship
Mark 1:29-39
February 8, 2008
After Jesus left the synagogue with James and John, they went to Simon and Andrew’s home. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was sick in bed with a high fever. They told Jesus about her right away. So he went to her bedside, took her by the hand, and helped her sit up. Then the fever left her, and she prepared a meal for them. That evening after sunset, many sick and demon-possessed people were brought to Jesus. The whole town gathered at the door to watch. So Jesus healed many people who were sick with various diseases, and he cast out many demons. But because the demons knew who he was, he did not allow them to speak. Before daybreak the next morning, Jesus got up and went out to an isolated place to pray. Later Simon and the others went out to find him. When they found him, they said, “Everyone is looking for you.” But Jesus replied, “We must go on to other towns as well, and I will preach to them, too. That is why I came.” So he traveled throughout the region of Galilee, preaching in the synagogues and casting out demons.
The previous day had been quite demanding for Jesus. The new one promises to be the same. The previous day he taught in the synagogue in Capernaum. He called the demons out of a possessed man. Now the people will not leave him alone. News about him spreads quickly over the whole region of Galilee. The people press upon him with their problems, bringing him their diseased to be healed.
It was for this reason that Jesus came to us. His mission was to meet the needs of humankind, but there were so many of them. How would Jesus them all? Given his own humanity, where would he get the strength to keep up the pace, to continually face the crowd with the fresh new teaching that they desperately needed, to keep on giving of himself in limitless ways?
Sound familiar? If Jesus needed help, what about you and me? Given the demands placed upon our time, our energies, our resources that are simply a part of living from day to day, how do we find the time and energy to be faithful followers of God. Everyday there are needs to be met, decisions to be made, business to be attended to. Everyday there are people to relate to, conflicts to be resolved, actions that require more than we in our own strength alone can achieve. If Jesus needed help, what about you and me?
Here’s how Jesus did it, “Before daybreak Jesus got up and went out to an isolated place to pray.”
Jesus knew he needed help. He knew that he could not live in this world without God. If he was going to spend himself for others, he must spend time spiritually refreshing himself. Jesus knew that it was not humanly possible to accomplish all that he needed to complete every day of his life by his own strength alone. He also knew that he didn't have to. Not when his loving Father was ever present, ready to provide, whatever he needed, whenever he needed it, however he needed it. All he had to do was ask. Remember, the Bible says we have not because we ask not. If we ask, we will receive.
Jesus didn't leave his meeting with God to chance. It appears from this text that he had an appointed time and place. His favorite time for his meeting with God was early morning. It takes discipline to get up in the morning for anything, and yet Jesus felt it was important enough. Some of us wouldn’t think of starting our day without a cup of coffee, but we start the day without God. We wouldn’t dare leave the house without a shower, but we leave without a serious time of prayer. My question is, can we manage not to? We already know that tomorrow will be a busy day. The demands put upon us will drain our energy and put our knowledge and talents to use. But what does our discipleship demand? How can we meet the needs around us without being filled with the energy and authority that only God can give?
That’s why we pray. Prayer is coming to God. Prayer is seeking God. Prayer is the appeal of the soul to God. Prayer is standing before God as “an empty pitcher before a full fountain.” Prayer is connecting with God who is the power source. Prayer is opening ourselves up to God for nourishment, as the flowers and trees open up to their environment: the air, the sunlight, and the rain. Prayer is communing with God. Prayer is living an intimate relationship with God. In prayer, we surrender all that we are to all that God is. In prayer, Jesus sought the strength that only communion with God could provide. If Jesus needed this in his life, what about you and me?
Prayer is everything. It’s what we do on Sunday, and what we do on Monday. Prayer is life. Prayer is an inner journey, and a relationship with a lover or friend. Prayer is practice and reflection. Prayer is silence and sound. Prayer is union and communion. Prayer is protest and passion. Prayer is intimacy and obedience. Prayer is everything.
Let’s be honest, shall we? Most of our meetings with God are not planned. Our prayers are occasional, spontaneous, spur of the moment prayers. If we meet with God, it’s usually an emergency or a crisis. Our backs are up against the wall, bills are due, a child is sick, it’s the end of the semester and there are exams to take, too many papers to write, too many proposals to get in, we need help. “I know what I’ll do,” we say, “I’ll ask God for help.” If the truth be told, we have tried everything else, now we will try God.
Is that the way to carry on a relationship with the lover of our souls? Is that how we should approach the one who loves us above all else – the one whom we say we love with heart, soul, mind, and strength? If you love God, why not take time to talk to God and let God talk to you?
In the Christian mystic tradition, there is a spiritual discipline called “practicing the presence of God.” It means really believing what we learned in Sunday School classes, confirmation sessions, and what we hear in sermons is actually true —God exists; God is always with us; God always loves us; God always helps us even when we don’t understand what God is doing. God is doing something new, even when we fear that God is doing nothing at all. “Practicing the presence of God,” means trusting that God are loves us fully and eternally. There is not a single moment in time when God is not with us. There is not a single experience in which God is absent.
Prayer grows out of the awareness that God is everywhere and in everything we do. Mary Oliver expresses this awareness in her poem “The Summer Day”:
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
We practice the presence of God as we go about our daily tasks. Routine chores take on a sacred dimension when we practice the presence of God while doing them. Something as simple as eating has the power to make us sensitive to God’s presence. This form of praying is one of the easiest ways to pray. All in requires is that you accept the reality of God’s presence with you. Because of God’s presence, every thing we do, every movement we make, has a spiritual, a sacred dimension to it.
I think that some of us have a hard time with this because we don’t know what to say. We want to pray, but our minds go blank. We are like the child who accompanied his father to run some errands. When lunchtime arrived, the two of them went to a diner for a sandwich. The father sat down on one of the stools at the counter and lifted the boy up to the seat beside him. They ordered lunch, and when the waiter brought the food, the father said, “Son, we’ll just have a silent prayer.” Dad got through praying first and waited for the boy to finish his prayer, but he just sat with his head bowed for an unusually long time. When he finally looked up, his father asked him, “What in the world were you praying about all that time?” With the innocence and honesty of a child, he replied, “How do I know? It was a silent prayer.”
So, let me give you some words to try out. When you are about to begin a job or task, pause and offer up a prayer like this:
First we will see Christ. Rather than looking for seeing sinners and unclean folk, we will see the world through what one church father called “grace-healed eyes.” We will look at the poor, the downtrodden, and the outcasts of society and see none other than the very image of the Son of God. This day I will not look for an enemy. In prayer, I see the potential for new relationships as I look at others with grace-healed eyes. When we practice the presence of God, we will see Christ.
Not only that, when we practice the presence of God, we will become like Christ. That’s the goal of our faith, isn’t it? We begin to take on the character traits of Jesus. His voice is my voice. His love is my love. His heart is my heart. His anger is my anger. His suffering for the world is mine. His involvement with the outcast is mine. His emphasis on the weightier matters will be mine. His impatience with religious squabbles that hurt people will be implanted in my own heart.
I think we will find something else begin to happen. We will find strength to be disciples. We will face the demands around us with energy, intelligence, imagination and love. The presence of God will refresh us. Our relationship with God will renew us. And you will begin to live in a spirit of prayer.
Mark 1:29-39
February 8, 2008
After Jesus left the synagogue with James and John, they went to Simon and Andrew’s home. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was sick in bed with a high fever. They told Jesus about her right away. So he went to her bedside, took her by the hand, and helped her sit up. Then the fever left her, and she prepared a meal for them. That evening after sunset, many sick and demon-possessed people were brought to Jesus. The whole town gathered at the door to watch. So Jesus healed many people who were sick with various diseases, and he cast out many demons. But because the demons knew who he was, he did not allow them to speak. Before daybreak the next morning, Jesus got up and went out to an isolated place to pray. Later Simon and the others went out to find him. When they found him, they said, “Everyone is looking for you.” But Jesus replied, “We must go on to other towns as well, and I will preach to them, too. That is why I came.” So he traveled throughout the region of Galilee, preaching in the synagogues and casting out demons.
The previous day had been quite demanding for Jesus. The new one promises to be the same. The previous day he taught in the synagogue in Capernaum. He called the demons out of a possessed man. Now the people will not leave him alone. News about him spreads quickly over the whole region of Galilee. The people press upon him with their problems, bringing him their diseased to be healed.
It was for this reason that Jesus came to us. His mission was to meet the needs of humankind, but there were so many of them. How would Jesus them all? Given his own humanity, where would he get the strength to keep up the pace, to continually face the crowd with the fresh new teaching that they desperately needed, to keep on giving of himself in limitless ways?
Sound familiar? If Jesus needed help, what about you and me? Given the demands placed upon our time, our energies, our resources that are simply a part of living from day to day, how do we find the time and energy to be faithful followers of God. Everyday there are needs to be met, decisions to be made, business to be attended to. Everyday there are people to relate to, conflicts to be resolved, actions that require more than we in our own strength alone can achieve. If Jesus needed help, what about you and me?
Here’s how Jesus did it, “Before daybreak Jesus got up and went out to an isolated place to pray.”
Jesus knew he needed help. He knew that he could not live in this world without God. If he was going to spend himself for others, he must spend time spiritually refreshing himself. Jesus knew that it was not humanly possible to accomplish all that he needed to complete every day of his life by his own strength alone. He also knew that he didn't have to. Not when his loving Father was ever present, ready to provide, whatever he needed, whenever he needed it, however he needed it. All he had to do was ask. Remember, the Bible says we have not because we ask not. If we ask, we will receive.
Jesus didn't leave his meeting with God to chance. It appears from this text that he had an appointed time and place. His favorite time for his meeting with God was early morning. It takes discipline to get up in the morning for anything, and yet Jesus felt it was important enough. Some of us wouldn’t think of starting our day without a cup of coffee, but we start the day without God. We wouldn’t dare leave the house without a shower, but we leave without a serious time of prayer. My question is, can we manage not to? We already know that tomorrow will be a busy day. The demands put upon us will drain our energy and put our knowledge and talents to use. But what does our discipleship demand? How can we meet the needs around us without being filled with the energy and authority that only God can give?
That’s why we pray. Prayer is coming to God. Prayer is seeking God. Prayer is the appeal of the soul to God. Prayer is standing before God as “an empty pitcher before a full fountain.” Prayer is connecting with God who is the power source. Prayer is opening ourselves up to God for nourishment, as the flowers and trees open up to their environment: the air, the sunlight, and the rain. Prayer is communing with God. Prayer is living an intimate relationship with God. In prayer, we surrender all that we are to all that God is. In prayer, Jesus sought the strength that only communion with God could provide. If Jesus needed this in his life, what about you and me?
Prayer is everything. It’s what we do on Sunday, and what we do on Monday. Prayer is life. Prayer is an inner journey, and a relationship with a lover or friend. Prayer is practice and reflection. Prayer is silence and sound. Prayer is union and communion. Prayer is protest and passion. Prayer is intimacy and obedience. Prayer is everything.
Let’s be honest, shall we? Most of our meetings with God are not planned. Our prayers are occasional, spontaneous, spur of the moment prayers. If we meet with God, it’s usually an emergency or a crisis. Our backs are up against the wall, bills are due, a child is sick, it’s the end of the semester and there are exams to take, too many papers to write, too many proposals to get in, we need help. “I know what I’ll do,” we say, “I’ll ask God for help.” If the truth be told, we have tried everything else, now we will try God.
Is that the way to carry on a relationship with the lover of our souls? Is that how we should approach the one who loves us above all else – the one whom we say we love with heart, soul, mind, and strength? If you love God, why not take time to talk to God and let God talk to you?
In the Christian mystic tradition, there is a spiritual discipline called “practicing the presence of God.” It means really believing what we learned in Sunday School classes, confirmation sessions, and what we hear in sermons is actually true —God exists; God is always with us; God always loves us; God always helps us even when we don’t understand what God is doing. God is doing something new, even when we fear that God is doing nothing at all. “Practicing the presence of God,” means trusting that God are loves us fully and eternally. There is not a single moment in time when God is not with us. There is not a single experience in which God is absent.
Prayer grows out of the awareness that God is everywhere and in everything we do. Mary Oliver expresses this awareness in her poem “The Summer Day”:
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
We practice the presence of God as we go about our daily tasks. Routine chores take on a sacred dimension when we practice the presence of God while doing them. Something as simple as eating has the power to make us sensitive to God’s presence. This form of praying is one of the easiest ways to pray. All in requires is that you accept the reality of God’s presence with you. Because of God’s presence, every thing we do, every movement we make, has a spiritual, a sacred dimension to it.
I think that some of us have a hard time with this because we don’t know what to say. We want to pray, but our minds go blank. We are like the child who accompanied his father to run some errands. When lunchtime arrived, the two of them went to a diner for a sandwich. The father sat down on one of the stools at the counter and lifted the boy up to the seat beside him. They ordered lunch, and when the waiter brought the food, the father said, “Son, we’ll just have a silent prayer.” Dad got through praying first and waited for the boy to finish his prayer, but he just sat with his head bowed for an unusually long time. When he finally looked up, his father asked him, “What in the world were you praying about all that time?” With the innocence and honesty of a child, he replied, “How do I know? It was a silent prayer.”
So, let me give you some words to try out. When you are about to begin a job or task, pause and offer up a prayer like this:
You, O God, are the creator of the whole world and of everything that is in it. You are found, not in lofty words or elaborate plans, but here, in the simple moments of life. Help me to know your presence, no matter what tasks lays before me. Use my heart and my hands for your glory. Amen.Try it. Say something like this throughout your day, every day. Image what will happen inside of you, within your family, within our church if we began to pray like this. I think a few things will begin to happen.
First we will see Christ. Rather than looking for seeing sinners and unclean folk, we will see the world through what one church father called “grace-healed eyes.” We will look at the poor, the downtrodden, and the outcasts of society and see none other than the very image of the Son of God. This day I will not look for an enemy. In prayer, I see the potential for new relationships as I look at others with grace-healed eyes. When we practice the presence of God, we will see Christ.
Not only that, when we practice the presence of God, we will become like Christ. That’s the goal of our faith, isn’t it? We begin to take on the character traits of Jesus. His voice is my voice. His love is my love. His heart is my heart. His anger is my anger. His suffering for the world is mine. His involvement with the outcast is mine. His emphasis on the weightier matters will be mine. His impatience with religious squabbles that hurt people will be implanted in my own heart.
I think we will find something else begin to happen. We will find strength to be disciples. We will face the demands around us with energy, intelligence, imagination and love. The presence of God will refresh us. Our relationship with God will renew us. And you will begin to live in a spirit of prayer.
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