Sermon: Hope in Darkness

Lectionary: Advent 1(C)
Texts: Jeremiah 33:14-16; Luke 21:25-36

I recently saw someone observe that Thanksgiving should be moved to October, when Canada has their holiday of the same name. Why? It could help spread out the number of preparations and activities that too often collide together. We might get a bit more breathing room. Instead of many folks traveling twice with only a few short weeks between, it could ease the burden of travel.

Some might object that, “Well, Thanksgiving isn’t a real holiday.” And it often does seem that way. I’m old enough to recall that even in my own lifetime, Thanksgiving was treated as a proper holiday, even by major retailers. We would get newspapers stuffed with Thanksgiving sales.

But no more. First, who gets the massive Sunday newspapers with inches-high stack of ads? And businesses, especially conglomerates and big boxes, realized that Christmas is a much more effective motivator for people to open their wallets and take out plastic to tap and swipe. Thanksgiving has become a day of gorging and watching football (okay, I don’t watch, but I hear many do). And then it’s off to continue the frantic preparation for Christmas with Black Friday sales.

But enter Advent. The Season of Advent. It is not just a day. Not just a short extended weekend holiday. It is a season.

I grew up in the part of the Christian world that had no idea what Advent was. After Thanksgiving, it was suddenly Christmas. We would immediately switch to Christmas songs (which did include Advent songs, but we didn’t know that). Sermons were often a series on various Christmas topics.

In recent years, churches like I grew up in have learned that there are these four weeks called Advent, but frequently they are still treated more like a countdown to Christmas (like Advent calendars with treats inside), instead of what the Advent season is intended to convey.

Some of you know this about me, but others probably don’t. And that is, one of my hobbies is tabletop role-playing games, where a group of people come together and basically play a version of grown-up imagine and pretend.

Now, it might seem almost trite, but I think one way of better understanding and experiencing Advent is to imagine and pretend that we don’t know about Christmas. It hasn’t happened yet. On this first Sunday of Advent, the texts we read tell us that things in the world are not going so well. We have promises that they won’t go on forever, but we don’t know when God will appear. We live in the in-between time. What are we doing?

In this season between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it is too easy to skip over the difficulties of life and what is happening around the world, in this nation, in our communities, and in our families, and jump straight ahead to the miracle of Christmas. However, the season of Advent tells us to pause, wait, and think. It invites us in to take on the roles of those whose tomorrow is uncertain, who face food and housing insecurities, who might be unsure of their status with governing authorities, and who might be fearful of having their families torn apart by circumstances and policies outside of their control. We are invited to contemplate their fears and longing and empathize with them.

For most of us here, who live in relative comfort and security, I don’t think we fully understand what anticipation and hope for a better future means. I don’t think we fully appreciate what deliverance from this life means. For most of us, the status quo is not that bad. As we experience the Advent season, we are invited to imagine a life and an entire community that is uncertain, uncomfortable, and fearful. We are invited to read Advent texts. Do they offer something different than what we normally hear? Can we hear hope, deliverance, salvation, and assurance differently?

Hope, deliverance, salvation, and assurance are not merely spiritual longings. They are not primarily about individuals. It is not primarily about me, an individual person, being saved so that someday I can go to heaven. It is about what is happening in the larger community and the world.

On this first Sunday of Advent, our text includes,

²⁵ … On the earth, there will be dismay among nations in their confusion over the roaring of the sea and surging waves. ²⁶ The planets and other heavenly bodies will be shaken, causing people to faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world. (Luke 21:25-26 CEB)

We don’t commonly hear or use the word “foreboding”. Its definitions include “an omen, prediction, or presentiment especially of coming evil,” “a feeling that something very bad is going to happen soon,” and “a sense of evil to come.” This is the kind of time into which Advent speaks most clearly.

The reading continues, however,

²⁷ Then they will see the Human One coming on a cloud with power and great splendor. ²⁸ Now when these things begin to happen, stand up straight and raise your heads, because your redemption is near.” (Luke 21:27-28)

Verse 27 is often interpreted as the Second Coming event. But verse 28 indicates that whatever the Human One’s (or Son of Man’s) coming is, is still a sign for the future, a portent. Redemption is near, but it is not yet.

Jesus continues with a parable,

²⁹ … “Look at the fig tree and all the trees. ³⁰ When they sprout leaves, you can see for yourselves and know that summer is near. ³¹ In the same way, when you see these things happening, you know that God’s kingdom is near. ³² I assure you that this generation won’t pass away until everything has happened. ³³ Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will certainly not pass away. (Luke 21:29-33)

The season of Advent is a look back to Jesus’ time here on earth during the first century CE. It is also a look forward to Jesus’ anticipated return to earth at an unknown time in the future.

The readers and hearers of Jesus’ words in Luke would have thought most of it to have been fulfilled by the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple in 70 CE. The remaining piece would have been the return of Jesus, which they fully expected to occur in their lifetime. Yet here we are two-thousand years from that time.

The reading from Luke concluded with the following words from Jesus:

³⁴ “Take care that your hearts aren’t dulled by drinking parties, drunkenness, and the anxieties of day-to-day life. Don’t let that day fall upon you unexpectedly, ³⁵ like a trap. It will come upon everyone who lives on the face of the whole earth. ³⁶ Stay alert at all times, praying that you are strong enough to escape everything that is about to happen and to stand before the Human One.” (Luke 21:34-36)

The exhortation here is to remain alert and be prepared for Jesus to return.

Returning to my growing up years, one of the central theological themes driven home was “to be ready” and “be prepared.” Implied and emphasized, again, was for me as an individual to be personally ready through a personal relationship with Jesus. The repetition and emphasis gave rise to the sense that because the message was repeated, it must be difficult to get ready and remain prepared. An unspoken fear was always present with the question, “I am really prepared?” I’m sure invoking fear was not the intent, but that was what I experienced.

Now though, I realize that these words of Jesus were never directed to an individual person, but to a community of the faithful. There is something about having others to rely on, others to help keep watch, others to pick another up when one falls, that is heartening and hopeful. Being ready and prepared is not a solo effort; it is a team undertaking. I think that the modern idea of salvation as a solely individual decision, consumed with one’s personal relationship to Jesus, is a distortion of the good news of the kingdom of God. What I see in the Christian scriptures is salvation and life in Christ as teamwork, not an individual undertaking.

Therefore, Jesus speaks to his community. His admonition to his community is, one, to not become so comfortable with how the world carries on that we become dulled to the hope that is found in him. And two, conversely, don’t become so anxious about what is happening in the world that we lose hope that is fond in him. Together as a community, we can help one another remain alert yet not anxious.

Returning to the experience of role-playing games, when playing the game, it is often a bad idea to run off and try to face challenges alone. A few bad dice rolls and your character could fall, die, or experience some other bad thing from which they cannot return. But having other members of the group around you means they can resuscitate you, they can help take the hits so you aren’t taking all of them alone, they can fill in your weak areas with their strengths, they can take watch while you take some needed rest, and so on. It makes survival and achieving success much more likely.

Advent does lead to Christmas. And it leads to the return of Christ. Advent is a time of preparation. Yes, we can prepare to celebrate Christmas. But it is also a time when we as a community of believers take stock of the spiritual path we are on. It is time to review how we are doing together to manifest the kingdom of God among the community in which we live. Are we hopeful people? Do our actions reveal our hope? Do we express concerns about what is happening around us without succumbing to anxiety? Do we act upon these concerns, bringing people into the kingdom of God, and be a beacon of hope in the world?

The season of Advent is not just a countdown to Christmas. It is a time for us to be reminded that the world is not how things are supposed to be. The world is not the kingdom of God and never will be. The time is coming when the world will be recreated into something new. But we live in the in-between time. As a community, we prepare for that new kingdom by practicing what it will, at least partially, look like when the kingdom principles are lived out among us. In this in-between time we look forward to the kingdom by living hope. We live justice. We live righteousness. Not to be saved, but because we are already saved, delivered, and redeemed. We live a life that is both alert and awake to the realities of this world, yet not succumbing to anxiety and fear.

At the beginning of today’s worship, we lit the candle of hope. I believe that the light of hope is not a solitary flicker, but one that is meant to spread to all who are in community, as we walk the way of Christ together and encourage one another. We do not travel the journey of redemption and salvation as solo travelers. We do this in community with fellow travelers on the same journey.

May we be people of hope. May hope be not just spiritual aspiration, but a way of life that is seen by all around us. May that be the attraction to the kingdom and to Jesus Christ.

Sermon: Viticulture

Lectionary Year B, Fifth Sunday of Easter

Text: John 15:1-8

Introduction

This week, I learned how the word “Op-Ed” originated and what it means. First, the word is younger than I am, even if only by nine months. But more importantly, I had the wrong definition for it. Maybe I’m the only one here, but for my entire life, I thought “op-ed” was synonymous with “opinions and editorials.” But no. It is shorthand for “opposite the editorial page.” It originated with the New York Times, and in this week’s Opinion article explaining why they have chosen to retire, the piece begins:

The first Op-Ed page in The New York Times greeted the world on Sept. 21, 1970. It was so named because it appeared opposite the editorial page and not (as many still believe) because it would offer views contrary to the paper’s. Inevitably, it would do that, too, since its founders were putting out a welcome mat for ideas and arguments from many points on the political, social and cultural spectrums from outside the walls of The Times — to stimulate thought and provoke discussion of public problems.[1]

The Times made the decision to retire the term, because in the digital world, there is literally and physically, no longer an “opposite the editorial page.” Instead, they have switched to using “Guest Essays” for these signed pieces from authors outside the Times staff. It more accurately reflects what these pieces are and corrects the oft-mistaken idea that these opinion pieces are necessarily contrary to the editorial position.

This is just one personal example of an assumption that I made that was wrong. And its origin is younger than my own. So it shouldn’t be surprising that when we read texts in the Bible, we might make far more assumptions about them and they might not be entirely accurate.

I attended college in Napa County – where vineyards are everywhere, sometimes stretching as far as the eye can see. So you’d think I would have absorbed some ideas about how grapes are cultivated. But no.

You see, even though I saw the rather bare vines in the winter and very full vines by the end of summer, I had no idea about viticulture – the agriculture of growing grapes.

Part of it might have something to do with hearing many sermons and reading about the very text for this morning. I can’t recall specifics, but they all tended to focus on how we (as individuals) are the branches and that we need to keep connected to Christ so that we can bear fruit. And from that I assumed that the same branches were attached to the trunk year after year, and that the vinegrower merely pruned and trimmed the same branch year after year. I assumed that only when the branch, for whatever reason, stopped bearing fruit would it then be cut down.

I learned, however, that the branch that produces fruit is always in its second year, and that after producing fruit, it will never fruit again. Shoots, called canes, come out from the trunk and from the branches every season and some of these become branches for the next season when they become fruit-bearing branches. In order for the vine to produce the best and most fruit, most of the canes have to be pruned away and, depending on the type of viticulture, only a handful of canes are allowed to become branches. In some systems it may be as few as two canes. At the end of the fruiting season, after the harvest, all the second-year branches are cut down and discarded, often burned.

Discussion

As you might guess, this new knowledge dramatically altered the way in which I read today’s grape vine metaphor.

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower.”

Somehow, all this time I imagined that when Jesus said this, he meant that he was the trunk (and only the trunk), because if the rest of us are branches and we are to abide in him, he must be the trunk to which we are connected. But now I think that it is best to understand that Jesus is speaking of the entire grape vine plant as himself, the true vine.

“He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit.”

All the old branches that have already borne fruit gets removed. The branches are not a one-to-one correspondence to individual Christians. May I suggest that perhaps the branches might more aptly refer to methods, practices, and even some traditions?

“Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.”

Every branch that is entering the fruiting year will be trimmed of any extra, unnecessary growth, so that it can bear more fruit this year, and so that it can produce promising new canes for the following year on which more fruit will be borne.

I think that this may be closer to how the original audience of Jesus and John’s gospel would have understood this vine metaphor. None of the viticulture practices had to be explained to them, because they all knew it, and many had direct experience.

It may be likened to how fishing metaphors don’t have to be explained when used here, because most of us (even those of us who don’t fish) have observed and at least have cursory knowledge of how fishing in Southeast Alaska works. Whereas if you went to the middle of the Lower 48 and started telling a story using fishing metaphors that involved longlining, seining, gillnetting, your audience will probably be completely lost and make numerous assumptions based on their experience with fishing, which may be limited to lake and river sportfishing.

“You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you.”

More precisely, the word cleansed is the root of the word prunes found in the previous sentence. Also important to note is that when Jesus says “you” in this entire section, the word is a collective plural. Reading in context, I think that Jesus is not primarily referring to individuals but to the community as a whole.

“Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.”

Yes, part of abiding is each individual Christian’s connection with Christ. But in context, it seems more appropriate to interpret this as Jesus telling the entire community of faith that their collective effectiveness and fruitfulness depends on collectively abiding in him. What this abiding is, specifically in this part of Jesus’ speech, comes after today’s reading and is part of next week’s. Hint: it’s about love.

Although most of this section is addressed in the plural, verses 5 and 6 change to the singular form. The older RSV renders a more literal reading.

“I am the vine, you are the branches. [This is where the pronouns become singular.] He who abides in me, and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. If a man does not abide in me, he is cast forth as a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire and burned.”

A cursory reading might seem that this text does, in fact, equate the branch to an individual. But a more careful reading shows that a simile is used within the metaphor. Jesus says the one who does not abide “is cast forth as [or like] a branch…” Jesus does not say that the individual is a branch. I think that this is a subtle, but important distinction.

But even more, the original audiences probably would have heard or read this as a shaming and rebuke of their community’s collective failure. In the collectivist world, it is the responsibility of the community to care and nurture all their members. For one of them to somehow escape abiding in Christ, is a collective failure. When we read the text from a Western, individualistic perspective, we frequently end up reading our own culture into it and making it about individual responsibility.[2]

The pronouns return to the collective plural.

“If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.”

The reading concludes with a few of the results (or fruits) of the community abiding in Christ. It is not a blanket “yes” response to any request, but that the goals and desires of the church are so aligned with God’s that all the requests to be more loving witnesses, and to bear the fruit of love in the communities in which we are planted, will be answered.

Concluding Thoughts

One of the key changes to the grape vine metaphor that I now see is that the vine is never the same. It is always growing and changing. It is still the same plant, but the branches are in constant state of renewal and change. It is not any individual or groups that are specifically one branch or another, but collectively we are all a part of this ever-changing vine.

Even though the vine as a whole changes, there is a constant: the trunk that connects to the ground and draws up nutrients and water. There are a few unchanging elements of the Christian faith, and one specifically that next week’s reading makes more clear: God’s love. The implications of this will be discussed more thoroughly next Sunday.

In the meantime, if we take the approach of looking at the vine metaphor as encompassing the entire community, if we see this metaphor as one representing the lifecycle of birth, growth, maturity, death, and renewal, what does it mean for the church? I think that one of the aspects of Christ’s resurrection is the promise and power to meet the needs of every community in which Christ’s disciples are located. It also means that methods, ministries, and how we communicate needs to adapt and change to fit places, peoples, and times.

At one point in the lifecycle, it might mean spreading efforts broadly into many places. At other times it might mean paring back to strengthen the most promising efforts. As these mature, they bring a fruitful harvest of love. But then as times and people change, we must not be afraid to allow some things to die so that room may be made for better harvests in the future.

The New York Times is retiring the term “Op-Ed” that served it well for fifty years. But it no longer fits the context and is now a source of misunderstanding about the purpose of some of its content. It has changed the term for this content to “Guest Essays.”

In a similar manner, it may serve us as faith communities to look at how we do ministry – how we are currently attempting to fulfill Jesus’ command to abide in love and to love. Are there things we need to allow to die and for God to remove? Are there promising areas that could use some extra care and nurture? What is currently growing fruit where more concentrated effort could yield even more fruit?

John 12:24 records Jesus saying, “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” I think that the seed metaphor and the vine metaphor could be similar. Jesus’ resurrection is the firstfruit and an archetype of the resurrections that are supposed to be an ongoing part of the community that he birthed.

The one constant is God’s love for the world. As long as we abide in it, we should not be afraid of change and renewal that is inevitable and even, dare say, necessary everywhere else.

---

[1] Opinion | Why the New York Times's Opinion Redesign Drops 'Op-Ed' - The New York Times (nytimes.com)

[2] This interpretation based on application of collectivist responsibilities found in the parable of the Good Shepherd and the Prodigal as discussed in Misreading Scripture with Individualist Eyes: Patronage, Honor, and Shame in the Biblical World; E. Randolph Richards and Richard James.

Sermon: Justice Isn’t Fair

Text: Matthew 20:1-16

Lectionary Year A, Proper 20 

“That’s not fair!”  

Anyone who has spent any time around young children has probably heard that phrase leveled against the child’s playmates. And any parent who has had a teen has probably been on the receiving end of that very same phrase about something that the parent has done. 

 

That is also the same thing that the group of workers hired first in the day level against the landowner — the master — at the end of the day when they discover that their wages are exactly the same as those who worked less than they did, some considerably less. 

 

And if we are truly honest with ourselves, we too, find the actions of the master questionable in how he distributes the wages equally without regard to time worked and it would be reasonable to assume, effort made. This is a parable that offends our sensibilities and norms. Our sense and understandings of what is fair is violated. 

 

An easy “out” in interpreting this parable can take the form of limiting it to just the spiritual realm and turning it into an allegory of the Christian walk. In this interpretation, the wages given are grace and salvation. It is something given by God at the end of the age, when Jesus returns, when those who die in Christ receive their rewards. No matter how long or short their Christian life might have been on earth, or how easy or difficult their life may have been, the same grace and salvation is given to all. It still doesn’t seem entirely fair — think a deathbed conversion of someone who lived their life indulging their desires — but it somehow feels easier to accept this interpretation.

 

The immediate literary context where this parable is located might seem to support this spiritual interpretation. Matthew chapter 19 includes the story of the Rich Young Man who asked what he had to do to earn eternal life. Jesus’ response was that he must sell everything, give the proceeds to the poor, and follow Jesus. The Rich Man could not, Jesus told the parable of the camel and the eye of a needle, and the disciples were flabbergasted that anyone could be saved. 

 

Then Peter — who else? — declared that they, the disciples, had left everything to follow Jesus, so he asks what would be their reward? Jesus replies that they will receive authority, a return far greater than they had given up, and eternal life. 

 

Today’s parable follows immediately after this. 

 

But in the greater context of the entire gospel account by Matthew, I believe that there is more to the context than just a distant-future reward. 

 

Let’s take a look back at the Lord’s Prayer in chapter 6. We recite this every week, so I’m sure it is quite familiar. 

 

However, a number of New Testament scholars have suggested that the phrase “on earth as it is in heaven” found at the end of the third clause is in fact, implied at the end of each of the first three clauses. So the first part of the Lord’s Prayer should read, “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name on earth as it is in heaven. Your kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

The Lord’s Prayer talks about the kingdom of heaven as not something in the far distant future, or an entirely separate realm, but something that is breaking into and being established on the earth, during Jesus’ time, during the apostles’ time, and in our time. 

 

Thus, when we read a parable that begins, “For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who…,” we should read it not as a parable that is pointing only to a future eschaton, but talking about the here and now also. 

 

And that makes this parable difficult and uncomfortable. Because we read it and can’t see how the behavior of the master could work for any length of time in actual society. 

 

There are many themes that are found in this parable, but the one I’d like to bring out today is this: justice isn’t fair. Now, in colloquial, modern vernacular, justice and fairness are often interchangeable. But when Matthew talks about justice, especially God’s justice, it is quite different from fairness. It should also be noted that the concept of justice found in the gospel is closely related to, and could be considered synonymous with, righteousness. In other words, justice and righteousness is about doing as God would do, particularly in regards to the oppressed, the marginalized, the forgotten, and the powerless.

 

The master of the vineyard in the parable probably had regular employees, but perhaps this was harvest time and he needed extra workers. Day laborers who had no regular employment would come to the common, public area of their town or city, early in the morning and hope that they would be selected to work for the day. The master goes out and find some. He spells out the day’s wage and the first set of workers agree that this is a fair wage.

 

What is unexpected is that the master goes out multiple times after the early morning, to look for additional workers. Did he suddenly discover that there was more work than the hired hands could handle? Commentators suggest this is unlikely. It was rather, compassion, that led him back out. He knew that he didn’t hire all of them on the first round and so he goes out to see if they had all been hired by other employers, as would be expected. But he sees that there are still many workers waiting to be hired. The master does not need more hired hands, but he hires them anyway. He goes out three more times, and for these groups he promises that they will be paid what is “just.” 

 

The master goes out for the fifth time, late in the day, already evening, with just an hour left for any work to be done outside. He finds that there are still some waiting. Some have suggested that these were workers, who, perhaps being lazy, came later in the day. Certain English translation options might reinforce this idea. But commentators from cultures where day laborers are common protest that this would never be the case. All the workers have been there since early morning, waiting to be hired. 

 

The master, again out of compassion, hires them. He does not promise this group any pay, but they agree to work. The master could have just given them the wage he would have given anyway, but he doesn’t. Rather, he offers them the dignity of work, if even for just an hour, so that they can honorably return home to their families and report that they had worked. 

 

At the end of the day, in another surprising turn of events, the manager of the vineyard comes out to pay each of the hired hands. If the owner had a manager, why did he not simply send the manager to hire the day laborers? Because the master wanted to be directly involved with his hired labor, and as a result was moved by compassion to go out and hire more workers than there was work. 

In yet another surprising turn of events, the master directs the manager to begin paying the hired hands with the last ones hired and the first ones, last. He could have made everything easier and avoided conflict by paying in the expected, chronological order. But he does not. He wants those hired earlier to see what he does. Then he directs the manager to pay the last group hired “the wage,” meaning a full day’s pay. 

 

As each group gets the same pay, the ones in the first group get frustrated and then angry. They had worked all day, in the heat, and yet they get the same wage as the ones who only “worked” one hour? They are not just complaining. They are accusing the master of making the last group equal to the first. The master has treated all the groups identically, and it isn’t fair! 

 

It is important to note that no one in this parable is underpaid. And all were up early to seek employment. Even the first group, with all the complaints, was paid a fair wage. The master reminds them that they had agreed to this pay, up-front. They have no grounds for complaint. The master dismisses them and wants nothing more to do with them. 

 

Each of the other groups was paid what was “just.” And in the case of this landowner, to be “just” meant providing all his workers a wage that they could live on for the next day. We are reminded of the Lord’s Prayer where it reads, “Give us this day our daily bread.”

 

Some scholars suggest that “on earth as it is in heaven” continue to be extended to the three petitions at the end of the Prayer. So we could read, “Give us this day our daily bread, on earth as it is in heaven.” 

 

For some of us, this is our prayer. We do need our daily bread provided. But for some others of us, we are in positions to help answer this petition. What do we do about this parable and the ethical, and even potential economic issues it raises? 

 

Like most of Jesus’ parables, no clear answers are given. I think that we often do disservice to Jesus’ parables by turning them into allegories and giving them pat answers. I think that parables are meant to raise difficult questions and lead us into discomfort. So in that spirit I leave you with questions:

 

·       Is the parable too unrealistic in its ethical demands for justice from followers of Jesus? Especially if it means some kind of literal applications of what the master has done?

·       If we are employers or otherwise able to provide for others, what does a “justice” — meaning justice as God defines it — look like for those that we support?

·       For those of us who are wage earners: if we see a colleague receiving what we think is “more than fair,” does this parable challenge our assumptions and how we might work through the sense of unfairness? (As long as you aren’t being underpaid?)

·       If we, as followers of Christ, are to be implementing the new society, the kingdom of heaven, here on earth as it is in heaven, how do we implement the ethics of justice that this parable seems to demand of us?

 

Let us sit with these questions and wrestle with them. Let us see how God wants us to live out the counterintuitive principle that God’s justice is generous, but it is not fair. 

Sermon: You Give Them Something to Eat

Feeding the Five Thousand

Lectionary Year A, Proper 13

 

Matthew 14:13-23 (extending the traditional grouping of texts, because I think verses 22 and 23 are part if the inclusiothat properly closes the preceding section. It does also introduce the next passage.)

Sermon

Our gospel text begins with “When Jesus heard about John…” What was it that Jesus heard? In the section of text immediately before today’s reading, Jesus was given the grim news that his cousin, John the Baptist, had been murdered on the orders of Herod Antipas in order satisfy the wants of his wife, who hated John. This took place at a lavish and sordid banquet entertaining the wealthy and influential in the region of Galilee. Although Herod did not want to kill John, he also did not want to appear as going back on his word, so reluctantly gave the order. 

 

Who here has not experienced loss? For some of us, it may be quite recent where we’ve lost a dear friend or family member. For some others it may be a loss of something that used to define us: perhaps a job or other livelihood. And for pretty much all of us in 2020, we’ve lost a sense of what used to be. Even though these are different types of losses, our bodies and minds process them in the same way. We go through the same process of grief and grieving. 

 

Jesus gathers himself away from the crowds to try to be alone, to process this devastating news and, in modern parlance, do some self-care work. Jesus needs some time to work through his grief, his anger, and undoubtedly some fear at what awaits him should he continue with his divine mission. 

 

The text does not say if he got any time alone, but reading the text it seems as if as soon as the crowd learned that Jesus was crossing over on a boat, they hurriedly began their trek on foot. By the time Jesus arrives at his intended destination, the crowd is already there to greet him and press him with their needs.

 

It certainly would have been reasonable for Jesus to ask the crowd to wait a while, but Jesus instead is moved immediately by compassion and begins to heal (Gk., cure) the sick that are brought to him. A commentary I read noted that the text did not say that Jesus taught or preached, or gave the people systematic theology, but that he simply healed those who needed healing.

 

Perhaps a lesson here for us is to ask ourselves why we are Christ-followers in the first place? What motivates us to do what we do? Are we more inclined to disseminate knowledge, and perhaps to argue about beliefs? Or is our first response to relieve the needs that come to our attention? Do we do so out of compassion, or for some benefit that might accrue to us? 

 

The story continues. It appears Jesus spends the entire day ministering to the sick. As evening falls, the disciples clearly note another need: that everyone needs food. Their solution is to send the crowd away. It seems like a reasonable solution. Jesus has been working all day, and the disciples alongside. They are tired and the disciples know that Jesus hasn’t had the time alone that initially prompted this journey. Perhaps there’s a little bit of concern for Jesus mixed with the disciples’ own feelings of tiredness and exhaustion that prompts them to ask Jesus to send the crowd away. 

 

Jesus’ response catches them, and us, off guard: “There’s no need to send them away. You give them something to eat.”

 

Jesus is asking a group about the size that is assembled here to provide food for a crowd size that is larger than the entire Petersburg population! Just the numbered men approaches double our population. 

 

We would be taken aback and shocked if Jesus were here telling us to meet the needs of all of Petersburg and then some. Yet I would dare say that he is asking exactly that of us and of every one of his churches in this town today. 

 

The disciples’ response is probably given in stunned shock, “We only have five loaves of bread and two fish…” 

 

“This is all we have…” is the voiced part. The unspoken portion is, “And what do you expect us to do with this? Do you really expect us to feed the entire crowd with this?” 

 

We too, hear Jesus’ command for us to meet the needs of the people around us. But we too, are tired and our resources so meager. How in the world could Jesus even think that we could meet the needs of everyone around us? Maybe we could meet the needs of a handful of families here and there… 

 

Jesus commands his disciples to bring what they have to him.

 

In motions that foreshadow the Eucharist, the Communion Supper, Jesus has the crowd sit down and he raises the bread and the fish and offers a blessing to God. He then breaks the loaves and fish and hands them to the disciples. 

 

When we think about this story, the feeding of the five-thousand, I think we often imagine it as Jesus feeding the crowd miraculously. But the text doesn’t say that. It says that it was the disciples who took the bread and fish and it was they who distributed the food to the entire seated crowd. The text also does not specify how it was that everyone was given food. The “how” is unimportant to the story. Only the “what” matters in that everyone’s need was met. 

 

For those that are into geeking out with literary structures in the Bible, in this story the center is not the miraculous feeding, but it is where Jesus asks the disciples to provide food: where the disciples declare what they have, and where Jesus takes what is given to him by the disciples. This is the center of the story and where the primary theme is most likely to be found. (Next week’s gospel reading which immediately follows today’s also follows a similar structure. And to geek out even more, there are thematic and literary parallels between this story and next week’s.)

 

We’ll return to what I see as the primary theme, but first, let’s finish the story.

 

When everyone was given food and all had their fill, there were twelve large baskets of remainders. We aren’t told what happened with these. What is important about this is that what had seemed utterly insufficient had turned into something more than just merely sufficient. 

 

Now Jesus makes the disciples go back into their boat and go away while he dismisses the crowd. When the disciples wanted to have Jesus dismiss the crowd, Jesus said, “Not now.” But now that his work is done and the crowd’s needs are met, it is time for the crowd to be dismissed. 

 

Another lesson from this story for us may be that God will bring to our attention the needs around us. And it will be God who takes them away when the time is right. Our call is to meet the needs as long as they are in our midst. 

 

Finally Jesus gets the time to himself that he needs and longs for. But he does not merely relax, but he spends time in prayer, with God. Or perhaps that is Jesus’ way of de-stressing and restoring emotional balance: by entering into the presence of God. 

 

Now back to the center of the story and what I think is the key take away: 

·       We don’t do ministry on our own terms. Just as Jesus said to his disciples, “There’s no need to send them away,” God might bring needs to our attention that we frankly might not want to address or can’t imagine how we might. 

·       We are expected to be Christ’s hands and feet. Just as Jesus commanded his disciples, “You give them something to eat,” God asks us to be responsible for meeting the needs that are brought to us. Jesus did not directly feed each person in the crowd. He asked his disciples to do that, and the same is being asked of us.

·       We have resources. It may not be much — just a few bread and fish — but every follower of Christ, every congregation, the collaboration of churches, and the worldwide Church has resources. What resources do we have, however small and meager they might be, that could be used to meet the needs that we see? 

·       We must contribute what we have to God. Jesus asked his disciples to hand what they had to him. The disciples had no idea what was going to happen. In biblical hindsight we know what Jesus did and how the story ends, but the disciples didn’t have that benefit. They had never experienced a mass feeding from so little. So it would have been completely understandable if they had refused or expressed more reluctance. The most obvious use of the food was perhaps for Jesus himself to eat, or that it would be given to a few people with the most need. Likewise, we don’t know how God will use the resources that are contributed. Are we willing to contribute what we have, not always knowing exactly how they might be used? 

 

Ultimately, this story is about faith. For the most part the disciples don’t have a great degree of faith, but they trust Jesus enough to give to him all the provisions they had amongst themselves. And that faith might just be the greater miracle in the story. 

 

Later in Matthew’s gospel Jesus says, “I assure you that if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, ‘Go from here to there,’ and it will go. There will be nothing that you can’t do.” [Matthew 17:20b]

 

The disciples are frequently portrayed as lacking faith and are chastised for it. But at the same time, they have a tiny bit — just enough for God to work with them. And in that respect, I don’t think we are that much different from them. We waver between faith and doubt. We look at the world around us and our own lives. We see the mess that we make and we see messes that others make. We see and experience the random tragedies and disasters that pummel us. It might be easy to get discouraged and lose hope. We get tired. 

 

Jesus’ command to us remains the same. Come together in solidarity, with compassion; and in faith, contribute what you do have to God, and God will return to you what you need to be effective ministers in this community. 

Matthew 14:13-23Matthew 14:13-23Matthew 14:13-23

Sermon: The Fox and the Hen

Sermon: The Fox and the Hen
Lectionary: Year C, Lent 2
Text: Luke 13:31-35

“No good deed goes unpunished.”

If we were to summarize Jesus’ life in one sentence, that might be a strong candidate for consideration.

We might also say that Jesus was rather familiar with being misunderstood, with being falsely accused of acting improperly and out of wrong motivations, and even of being aligned with the devil.

When, after forty days in the wilderness, Jesus was tempted to take an easy way at the beginning of his public ministry, Jesus remains committed to his path and work. And later, as in today’s reading, he is warned to flee to save himself, Jesus still remains committed to his path and work.

Scholars have noted that the Luke’s gospel is headed toward Jerusalem from the very beginning. Jerusalem is the center of Jewish religion and devotion.  The journey is made explicit in chapter 9, verse 51 and the rest of the gospel is told within a framework of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem. Jerusalem is where Jesus was presented to God after his birth. Jerusalem is where Jesus went when he was twelve years old and found himself among the teachers in the temple. Jerusalem was the home of Jesus’ divine Father. But it would also be Jerusalem that would be responsible for killing Jesus.

It seems that those more politically connected understood where Jesus’ path would lead, if he chose to keep on it. Some Pharisees come to warn Jesus that he is rubbing the powers-to-be the wrong way. Those who hold power, and especially those who hold it tenuously, are threatened by what they perceive to be competitions and destabilizing forces. Herod Antipas, a son of Herod the Great, was a tetrarch (ruler of a quarter part) of Galilee and Perea. He was only there because only because the Romans allowed it. If they thought he was ineffective or worse, he could easily be replaced. Jesus, with his gospel of liberty and deeds of freeing people from oppression and disease, could easily become a destabilizing entity.

Whatever these Pharisees’ ultimate motivation was, they were correct that Herod was a legitimate threat to Jesus’ safety. The prudent thing would have been for Jesus to tone things down, accommodate the establishment, and perhaps move out of the area for a while, at least until Herod cooled down. After all, didn’t that work for Jesus and his parents when he was an infant, when they fled to Egypt from Herod the Great?

In the Bible, when individuals are faced with threats, sometimes the right decision is to flee. At other times, the correct decision is to stay the course. There is no single correct response. That’s where wisdom, through the Holy Sprit, enters and we are to use the brains God has given to evaluate the situation and come to what we believe is the best response.

In the case of Jesus, in today’s text, he stays the course. Jesus understands the risks.The costs of turning away are greater than costs that would be paid by his own safety and life. He also knows that leaving the region of Galilee will not change his ultimate destiny in Jerusalem. He also seems to understand and know that his life will not end until all the established powers – political, religious, Roman, and Jewish – feel threatened by him and come together to decide his fate. And that can only happen in Jerusalem.

Jesus sends his reply back to Herod, essentially telling him that as destructive (“fox”) as he is, he wields far less power than he thinks he has. Jesus will continue to exercise his power of freeing people from captivity to oppressive powers and physical ailments until he reaches Jerusalem. Jesus may also be indirectly telling Herod that he really should not be worrying about Jesus, because the nature of Jesus’ power is far different from the kind of power with which Herod is familiar. Yet the irony is that Jesus’ power, although not directly threatening worldly power, does undermine and eventually destroy it. For the power of inclusiveness, egalitarianism, and unconditional love ultimately destroys any kind of hierarchy and privilege that are the foundations of worldly power.

It’s about this point in the sermon where I’m supposed to begin talking about how and why all this is relevant to us today. But to be honest, I found it to be difficult to find a point in which to bring it into our context. After all, none of us are Jesus, and prophets are a rare occurrence. I doubt any of us are facing direct threat to life and safety from powerful people. I don’t think any of us are on such a defined and time-limited mission like Jesus was.

But maybe we are like the Pharisees in today’s text. When we encounter someone aggressively pushing against accepted power systems and structures, and forcefully calling for reform and justice, what is our response? We acknowledge to ourselves that their position is right, but also feel that their methods make us uncomfortable. And so, especially if they are close to us, like family or close friends, we advise toning down the rhetoric, perhaps suggest utilizing more traditionally acceptable actions for change, and so on. This wouldn’t be unprecedented: Jesus’ own family thought he had gone crazy and tried to have an intervention to try to get him to act more “normal.”

Maybe we need to ask ourselves why we (I) have such a difficult time with those who believe passionately about something and act accordingly. Is it because they challenge my complacency, or challenge the benefits I receive from being more accommodating and acceptable to societal norms? Am I afraid of what the disruption might result and being caught in any potential backlash?

Maybe we think that because things have always worked that way, whatever “that way” might be, that to try to change it is fruitless, or at least something that can only happen gradually. Maybe in our acquiescence of “how things are” we’ve lost the urgency that real people are suffering from oppression and injustice.

In a different gospel story, when Peter tried to dissuade Jesus from following the path set before him, Jesus rebuked Peter as an adversary. Peter had a vision of where Jesus and his movement would go, but when Jesus told him otherwise, Peter didn’t like it. Maybe we are like Peter more than we’d like — we want to advise a “safer” course when we encounter those who are passionately following the call to bring deliverance and healing to the world.

Could it be that in our desire to live quiet, peaceful lives, we’ve inadvertently become stumbling blocks to needed change? Have we advised caution when instead we should have been encouraging someone to follow their passion for helping people, however dangerous the path might have seemed?

But what if we are that person that is called? And really, in one way or another, aren’t we all? When we choose to take the Christian name and join the community of Christ, aren’t we agreeing to journey with Christ, wherever that may lead?

What kept Jesus on track and not dissuaded from the path he was on? Jesus understood who he was, what his task was, and what genuine power was.

Luke’s gospel is the only one that narrates Jesus’ Jerusalem visit at twelve years, but even at that point, Jesus was on his way to understanding his identity. He already knew his relationship to God. By the time he began his public ministry, even the devil could not sway Jesus from the path he had chosen.

Luke’s gospel also uses words in describing Jesus, in which they describe his developing and maturing understanding of his purpose. In today’s text, when Jesus says that “on the third day I finish my work,” the word “finish” indicates bringing to full maturity and completion. What this tells me is that Jesus’ understanding about where his mission would lead and how his life would end was not necessarily fully known to him from the beginning, but that it developed throughout his life. So when some Pharisees came to warn him, I believe it was a genuine temptation for Jesus to take a different path.

But Jesus also understood what his task was. Jesus came to reveal the truth about God, and that was through his work of bringing deliverance to the captives of the multitudes of demons of life and healing to the sick. Jesus’ relationship with God secured his identity and informed his knowledge about God.

Jesus understood that God’s power is not a power-over, that is power that coerces and controls, but rather, a power-with. Power-with is power that raises all to an equal footing; power that protects, just as a mother hen tries to protect her chicks from a marauding fox; power that will sacrifice itself so that others will have the opportunity to experience liberty and healing.

For Jesus to turn aside and follow a different path, a path of self-preservation, would have been to admit that God’s power was insufficient to heal the ills of this world and save it. It would have been acknowledgment that Caesar and Herod did, in fact, hold the reigns of true power. But just as Jesus did in the wilderness temptations  at the beginning of his public ministry, Jesus stood fast against the renewed temptation to follow a different path.

As we journey through the season of Lent, I suggest we reflect on a few things.

First, have we succumbed to the temptation to play it too safe when it comes to following Christ? Second, have we been stumbling blocks in the path of others trying to follow Christ by advising a “safer” course of action? Perhaps the sacrifice of Lent for some this season is to “give up” the default of choosing the path of apparent safety.

Third, do you know who you are in relation to God? What is your confidence in God? Fourth, do you know what your role is in God’s desire to reveal God’s nature to the world and bring all under God’s wings of protection? Fifth, and final point to reflect upon: are you clear on the nature of the types of power that exist and which one comes from God? Perhaps a spiritual discipline to take up this Lenten season is to reacquaint ourselves with the life of Jesus and relearn how he related to God and to the powers of this world – perhaps by reading through one of the gospel accounts.

Let us be willing to allow God to bring us under God’s wings. Let us be willing to allow God to reprioritize our lives and journeys. May we be among those who gladly say, when Christ returns, “Blessed is the one who ones in the name of the Lord.”

Sermon: God Among Us

Lectionary Year C, Epiphany 6
Luke 6:17-26

God Among Us

A lofty God is much easier to handle and live with. That’s the picture the Beatitudes recorded in Matthew gives us. In Matthew’s version, when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up a mountain and the disciples came up to see him. In response Jesus offers his disciples an idealistic, spiritual vision of his kingdom: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven… Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled…”

But Luke’s recording of the Beatitudes is different. Jesus is among the crowds and travels down with them to a level place. Jesus is not lifted above the crowd. Jesus is one among them. Jesus is approachable. Merely touching him brings forth healing power from him. And the way Luke begins the Beatitudes offers a hint into what Jesus was doing among the crowd.

Luke introduces the Beatitudes by writing, “Then he looked up at his disciples and said…” Not only was Jesus among the crowds on a level place, he appears to be stooping down to minister to those around him. Jesus is on the ground and physically below his disciples. He must raise his eyes to look up at his disciples. It is a complete reversal of the setting that is found in Matthew.

When Jesus does speak, Luke’s version of the Beatitudes does not attempt to spiritualized away the difficulties of life. In Luke’s recording Jesus says, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled…” In Matthew, the Beatitudes are lofty, idealistic philosophy — Jesus speaks in abstract, religious terms. In Luke, Jesus speaks directly to his disciples in immediate, physical terms.

Matthew’s Beatitudes read more comfortably. It read more like moral philosophy and something that we might strive toward, but we don’t necessarily expect a complete fulfillment until some distant future.

Luke’s Beatitudes are uncomfortable. Jesus is speaking to you — to me. And whereas Matthew omits any kind of woes, Luke carefully balances four blessings with countering four woes: “But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry…”

Luke’s Beatitudes are uncomfortable, because for most of us sitting here we identity more with the conditions that bring woe than with the blessings. How many of us are so destitute that we are begging for handouts on the streets? How many of us are so destitute that we would sell our own bodies or our children just to survive? How many of us are so hungry that we would search bags of garbage and dumpsters for a scrap of spoiled food? How many of us face the hopelessness and desperation of having the powers and structures of society turned against us? How many of us are recipients of public spite, exclusion, and slander for speaking out against injustices and standing with the desperate and marginalized?

On the other hand, how many of us live in relative comfort? How many of us worry about being homeless and out on the streets? How many of us had a good dinner last night? How many of us have full refrigerators and pantries? How many of us are generally living a good life, where despair and hopelessness are far from our thoughts? How many of us are respected members of community?

On balance, it seems that as individuals and as a faith community, we find ourselves on the “woe” side rather than on the “blessings” side of Luke’s formulation of the Beatitudes. It isn’t surprising that the more spiritualized Matthean version is the one we hear more. After all, all of us can honestly claim that we are “poor in spirit” and “hungry for righteousness.” But Luke doesn’t offer us that option, and so we must sit in the discomfort and with questions about what we are supposed to do with this text.

One possible interpretation is a very literal one. I point to a later section in this very same Lucan gospel where Jesus seems to advocate and praise such a literal application. In chapter 18 we read about the rich ruler:

18 A certain ruler asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” 19 Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. 20 You know the commandments: ‘You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; Honor your father and mother.’” 21 He replied, “I have kept all these since my youth.” 22 When Jesus heard this, he said to him, “There is still one thing lacking. Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” 23 But when he heard this, he became sad; for he was very rich. 24 Jesus looked at him and said, “How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God! 25 Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”

26 Those who heard it said, “Then who can be saved?” 27 He replied, “What is impossible for mortals is possible for God.”

28 Then Peter said, “Look, we have left our homes and followed you.” 29 And he said to them, “Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or wife or brothers or parents or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, 30 who will not get back very much more in this age, and in the age to come eternal life.”

A couple of the most notable examples who literally followed Jesus’ words just read include Francis and Clare of Assisi. Each was born into wealthy families but left their families and what they could have inherited and vowed themselves to severe poverty to serve the poor through service and prayer.

Again, we are forced to sit in discomfort as we ponder the Beatitudes of Jesus.

Another way to read this is to see it as time and culture bound. In other words, the words which Jesus spoke and Luke wrote down are specific to the historical period and people that is being addressed. Whether the early or later authorship dates of Luke are considered, both fall in periods during which followers of Jesus were at best seen as oddities and at worst seen as danger to the establishment. There may not have been prolonged and systematic persecution of the church, but they would have been targets of harassment and occasional persecution at the hands of both fellow Jews and Romans. The lengthy fourth blessing about being hated, excluded, and defamed seems to emphasize this historical circumstance about the audience community.

It should, therefore, not be surprising that the Beatitudes seek to bring comfort to those who are suffering and being slandered. It should not be surprising that woes are directed against those who are probably seen to be the instigators against Jesus’ followers, who laugh and mock them, and who are the respected citizenry and who hold power in society.

It would be easy to dismiss the Beatitudes as not that applicable to us. We live in very different circumstances from its original audience. Or we might say that it is applicable to present-day Christians who are experiencing the things described in the Beatitudes, but not to the rest of us. We could say that the words are meant to offer comfort and promise of divine attention, but it bears little practical relevance for most of us.

This too, is uncomfortable, because now we are dismissing an entire scripture passage as having little relevance to present-day life.

Maybe the discomfort is the point of this passage. The unease and tension that we feel as we wrestle with this difficult text may be the point. We prefer settled interpretations and answers, but instead the words of Jesus invite us into questions and dialogue. We are encouraged to approach the text from many angles.

A rhetorical, literary structural perspective offers a third way.

The carefully constructed parallelism between the blessings and the woes are patterned after prophetic utterances found in the Old Testament. As with the prophets of old, Jesus is portrayed by Luke as announcing a reversal of fortunes. Those who have been oppressed and marginalized, Jesus offers relief and comfort. To those who have lived in comfort, Jesus prophesies discomfort and ruin. Jesus tells his hearers that contrary to what is often believed, God is among the poor and hungry, rather than with the rich and full. God identifies with those who are reviled and rejected by society. Just as Jesus stopped down to care for the hurting and suffering, God is found among the despised and diseased.

Perhaps the questions to be asked of this passage is this: Where are we looking for God to show up? Among what kinds of people are we expecting to find God’s blessings?

What seems to be the case according to these Beatitudes is that the groups that we typically think of as “blessed,” the life circumstances that we often label a result of God’s “blessings,” are in fact, not. Instead, those who seem to be suffering the most are the recipient of God’s blessings. Those who are least in control of their own fates are the most blessed by God. In God’s economy, those who appear to have the least have the most, and those who appear to have the most don’t have anything. I think we’ve been trained to think about God’s kingdom as a better, more improved version of what we have now. But it is a complete reversal.

The Church is a manifestation and a breaking-in of the kingdom of God into this world. Since the kingdom of God is a reversal of the priorities and fortunes of this present world, what should the church look like? What should the church’s priorities be? What kinds of activities should the church be involved in? Where and among whom should we be spending our time?

Today’s text isn’t comfortable, and I don’t think it’s meant to be. It is there to wake us up and lead us to examine our priorities, both individually and corporately. Jesus has described whom God calls blessed. Where are we in relation to that? Are we God’s blessing to the world?

Whatever the verdict of our own self-examination, we can be sure that God can work through our sincere efforts. God’s grace and power is larger than any of our shortcomings and failings. We need new minds to even think about a world ordered completely upside down from what we know. That is the kind of “repentance” God desires in us – a completely new way of thinking. Through the words of today’s Beatitudes, let us begin to allow God to change our minds and thoughts.