Since when do Pharisees warn Jesus? I mean, if we can’t count on their adversarial interactions with Jesus, how is the Gospel supposed to move along? I have to admit, that reading this passage makes me wonder about the whole nature of their relationship.
Sure there were some Pharisees who were secret disciples of Jesus—Nicodemus, for example. But what about this passage? Jesus and the Pharisees are supposed to be at odds—that’s the way things are supposed to work. The Pharisees are the stodgy religious elite, and Jesus is the Messiah who puts them in their place. That’s what gives us such satisfaction in reading these stories. I don’t know the whole protagonist/foil thing just seems threatened.
But in all seriousness, what we see in the usual behavior of the Pharisees is a mark of who they are—their people concerned with the preservation of their way of life. Jesus happens to be a person who continually challenges the ‘heart’ of that ‘way of life’ and is at continual odds with them. That being said, we should stop and take a second look at this interaction. Because whether Jesus eats dinner with some of them or not, they still don’t get along all that well. But, here we have a group of Pharisees warning Jesus about the threat of Herod.
We can trust that the threat is real, because the Herod that they’re referring to was Herod Antipas, the ruler of Galilee. It was Herod the Great, the father of Herod Antipas, who tried to have Jesus killed in his infancy. And, as we probably remember, this Herod Antipas was the one who had John the Baptist beheaded to impress a woman. He is the ruler of Galilee, but we know the real power is Rome, so all of Herod’s authority is borrowed. All the same he doesn’t come from a particularly nice family.
Being well aware of the kind of person Herod Antipas was, the Pharisees seem to act with true concern for Jesus and we could probably agree that the sooner he leaves Galilee, the better. But this is where the tables turn. When Jesus responds, he threatens to upset the power structure by making it very clear who holds true power over his life, and it isn’t Herod.
Jesus says to the Pharisees “go tell that fox”, that caricature of a puppet king—tell him that he doesn’t get to have me. Jesus says that he is casting our demons and performing cures—he was doing it that day, and he would be doing the next day and the next day after that. He hints that his mission will inevitably be completed by his death. But he assures them also that he will not die anywhere but Jerusalem—and he will not be the victim of some random act of violence.
Jesus already knows that he must go to Jerusalem. I suppose that after the conversation he had with Moses and Elijah on the mountain of Transfiguration, he had a pretty good idea of what awaited him. And rather than falling victim to the anxiety of the Pharisees, Jesus uses this moment to drive his point home—Herod has no power, certainly not over him, and certainly not above the will of God. After all, everything was happening according to God’s plan. Each person played a role in moving Jesus closer to the purpose of his work. The Pharisees were the status quo that needed to be challenged, the people that Jesus met along the way were people who needed to hear the message of hope that is promised in the Kingdom of God—but this threat by Herod is one which attempts to disrupt Jesus’ mission. So we see in today’s reading these assumed roles changing slightly so that we can see that the Messiah’s work would not be stalled by anyone. By being obedient to no one but God, Jesus takes the power away from Herod, and sets his sights upon Jerusalem.
Where I think this translates for us is that each of can think of places where we allow others to have power over us. This isn’t the same as allowing certain people to have authority, or how we withhold some of our own rights so that we can avoid anarchy. What I’m talking about are systems which are only maintained by fear.
The easiest examples of this can be seen in our government. We watch as certain things are legislated which may be unconstitutional, but we make allowances based on perceived threats of terrorism.
We could also think a little closer to home, and our finances. We know that there is need now in Chile, Haiti, and much of the world. All the same, it seems impossible for us to give to organizations which offer aid to these countries, because money is just that tight right now.
I don’t want to diminish the importance of these things—I understand not having money, and I understand that there really are people who want to harm us. These threats really do have teeth, just like Herod Antipas. But the question is what do we allow to rule us? To what do we give power over us? Will it be our financial security? Will it be our perceived safety? In the end all of that is perpetuated by fear.
The good news is that we don’t have to be ruled by that fear—we don’t have to let it own us. Instead, Jesus stands as the only true authority in life. Not only does he take the power away from Herod, in our lives he takes away the power of fear and anxiety—in whatever form they may take. The question is, will we allow him? Will be open enough to trust in God, and allow God to dissipate the immobilizing effects of fear? Because only by giving up our fear can its power over us be taken away—and then, with that fear pushed aside, we can begin to see the one who has the true power in our lives—Jesus Christ, our Lord.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Trinity Sunday Year C
It’s always an interesting exercise to think about our image of God. Certainly we can consider this on a number of levels. There are our emotional strata: “Who is God to me?” Perhaps we might even think about how it is that we experience God, recounting ‘God moments’, so to speak.
It’s an interesting exercise which never fails to engage people, even people who’ve been in church their entire lives. Because for all of the rich symbols and sacramental signs of God in the Church, there are a lot of us who have either never really thought about our image of God, or we are limited in our scope. Perhaps we can’t get beyond seeing God only as the “Old Man” in the clouds with a long white beard, or something. Whatever the case, there are almost always reasons for the ideas and images we have of God—and they’re probably more commonly held than we might think.
But for all of the thoughts and familiar images of God that give us comfort, there is still a subject which often confounds, namely the Trinity.
Apparently unless you are in a systematic theology class or in a heated debate with a Jehovah’s Witness, this important part of our theology doesn’t seem relevant. And if we do get around to it, either no one wants to hear about it, or the apparent complexity of explaining it makes heads spin. It’s really kind of sad that one of the foundational theological statements of our faith seems so convoluted that we’d rather just avoid it…
I suppose there might be the fear that in discussing the Trinity, we could unwittingly lapse into some heresy. Maybe that’s why we don’t really talk about it that much. Maybe we’re all too worried about going too far off the orthodox reservation—then again, I could just be completely out of touch with what people really talk about. Either way, the subject of Trinitarian theology is not as freely discussed as the weather or sports.
It makes perfect sense, really, for a multitude of reasons. Especially if we consider how it is that we derive our images of God—through personal experiences, for example—it makes sense that we would not really have a framework for understanding the Trinity. I mean, when was your last “Trinity moment”, and what was it like? It’s hard to place, because honestly we experience ‘God’ in a multitude of ways through the Three Persons of the Trinity, as each one speaks to different parts of our lives. But then, luckily today is Trinity Sunday, and what better day to try to sort it all out?
Scripture commends to us the oneness of God, (“Hear O Israel, the Lord your God is One.”) and the Church affirms this as it has been commended to us. We say that we believe in One God who creates all that is—the God of the Old Testament; the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; and the Father of Jesus Christ. The Old Testament tells us of how this God continually called humanity back from our destructive tendencies. Prophets who were called by God to deliver the message came and went. Overall, we weren’t very good at listening or about returning to God.
Then, as a fulfillment to God’s message through the prophets, God joined us in human life, by sending Jesus Christ, the Incarnation of the Living God. What this meant for us was that not only did we finally have God with us to demonstrate all the stuff we had been hearing, but God also experienced what it meant to live as a creature in an intimate way.
But Jesus had to return to God so that the Holy Spirit could then come and fill the world with God’s Presence. While this meant a kind of “goodbye” for Jesus’ disciples, it meant hopeful news for the Church that they left behind. This is because Jesus is no longer limited by his location and is with us always in spirit. So there is no need for believers to hop a plane to find Jesus the way that we would were he still here in a bodily way.
Finally, as promised by prophets, and Jesus at his Ascension, the Holy Spirit was poured out on the world. We may only understand this in the way that a fish understands that it’s wet—because we’re a people who have never been without God’s Holy Spirit in the world. This is the same Spirit which God used to empower Moses to lead Israel out of Egypt. This is the same Spirit which even communicated God’s message of redemption through all of the prophets. Now, this is the same Spirit which lives in all of us.
The Holy Spirit helps us to pray, and urges us to pray when we need to. The Holy Spirit helps us to read and understand what God is telling us in Scripture, and then helps us to try to live that message in our daily lives. Most importantly, the Holy Spirit is the Presence of God, and because the Holy Spirit is within us, we can never be far from God.
Now, I know that none of this is really new information to many of you. We say the Nicene Creed which covers all of the same information; our collects normally reflect some Trinitarian theology and even the Eucharistic prayers model it. But for all of that, how can we conceptualize the Trinity as Three in One—and more importantly, what does it matter to any of us in our daily lives?
Well, as much as I’m sure that you all would enjoy hearing me read from the Capadocian Fathers, or even other theologians who are more qualified to talk about all of this—instead, I’d like to ask you to try to use your imagination with me.
Now, if you would, imagine three people. This would be the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, in this kind of ‘dance.’ This is a movement which the Patristics (a group of Early Christian writers) called ‘perichoresis,’ which is a Greek term which has the same root as the word choreography—dancing.
This dance is a kind of intricate procession that unifies these three, and by their shared love, and the movement and sharing of spirit they are somehow one being. What’s great about them being “Three Persons” is that they are able to share in their love, but in such a way that allows others to be part of that love—it’s not a one-to-one thing, but a community thing. After all, that is what Jesus hopes for all of us in his High Priestly prayer; that we all could be one. Yet these Three Persons are somehow perfectly one.
Where this affects us, and all of Creation for that matter, is that the Father who calls us to be in community, sends the Son to teach us how to live in loving community, and the Holy Spirit then draws us ever closer to God, and invites us to be part of a much greater community than we could ever imagine. It is a thing which is far greater than any individual because, of course it’s in this community of faith that we learn who we truly are.
Now, I understand that I haven’t unraveled for you the mysteries of the Trinity. But, for what it’s worth, I can offer what this mystery of the Trinity means for me—perhaps something of it will resonate for some of you, as well. My Trinitarian God Image, if you will.
In the Trinity, I find that God is one who calls us to be in community in a more perfect way. I see a God who creates us as creative beings who seek to mirror and know our Creator. This same God empties himself and becomes one of us just to be near us. Above all, I see a God who is holy beyond knowing, but still finds a home in our sometimes hardened hearts, and will stop at nothing to remind us of unconditional, self-giving love. It’s that same love and spirit which unify the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, and which calls to us to be in communion with God. The good news here is not only that there is acceptance, but also the promise that in and among these three, there is infinite room for all of us to find our place.
If nothing else, I hope that all of us hear and understand this particular point: it is God’s very nature to love, and accept. This, I think, beyond theological rightness, is reason enough not to miss the powerful meaning of God as Trinity.
It’s an interesting exercise which never fails to engage people, even people who’ve been in church their entire lives. Because for all of the rich symbols and sacramental signs of God in the Church, there are a lot of us who have either never really thought about our image of God, or we are limited in our scope. Perhaps we can’t get beyond seeing God only as the “Old Man” in the clouds with a long white beard, or something. Whatever the case, there are almost always reasons for the ideas and images we have of God—and they’re probably more commonly held than we might think.
But for all of the thoughts and familiar images of God that give us comfort, there is still a subject which often confounds, namely the Trinity.
Apparently unless you are in a systematic theology class or in a heated debate with a Jehovah’s Witness, this important part of our theology doesn’t seem relevant. And if we do get around to it, either no one wants to hear about it, or the apparent complexity of explaining it makes heads spin. It’s really kind of sad that one of the foundational theological statements of our faith seems so convoluted that we’d rather just avoid it…
I suppose there might be the fear that in discussing the Trinity, we could unwittingly lapse into some heresy. Maybe that’s why we don’t really talk about it that much. Maybe we’re all too worried about going too far off the orthodox reservation—then again, I could just be completely out of touch with what people really talk about. Either way, the subject of Trinitarian theology is not as freely discussed as the weather or sports.
It makes perfect sense, really, for a multitude of reasons. Especially if we consider how it is that we derive our images of God—through personal experiences, for example—it makes sense that we would not really have a framework for understanding the Trinity. I mean, when was your last “Trinity moment”, and what was it like? It’s hard to place, because honestly we experience ‘God’ in a multitude of ways through the Three Persons of the Trinity, as each one speaks to different parts of our lives. But then, luckily today is Trinity Sunday, and what better day to try to sort it all out?
Scripture commends to us the oneness of God, (“Hear O Israel, the Lord your God is One.”) and the Church affirms this as it has been commended to us. We say that we believe in One God who creates all that is—the God of the Old Testament; the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; and the Father of Jesus Christ. The Old Testament tells us of how this God continually called humanity back from our destructive tendencies. Prophets who were called by God to deliver the message came and went. Overall, we weren’t very good at listening or about returning to God.
Then, as a fulfillment to God’s message through the prophets, God joined us in human life, by sending Jesus Christ, the Incarnation of the Living God. What this meant for us was that not only did we finally have God with us to demonstrate all the stuff we had been hearing, but God also experienced what it meant to live as a creature in an intimate way.
But Jesus had to return to God so that the Holy Spirit could then come and fill the world with God’s Presence. While this meant a kind of “goodbye” for Jesus’ disciples, it meant hopeful news for the Church that they left behind. This is because Jesus is no longer limited by his location and is with us always in spirit. So there is no need for believers to hop a plane to find Jesus the way that we would were he still here in a bodily way.
Finally, as promised by prophets, and Jesus at his Ascension, the Holy Spirit was poured out on the world. We may only understand this in the way that a fish understands that it’s wet—because we’re a people who have never been without God’s Holy Spirit in the world. This is the same Spirit which God used to empower Moses to lead Israel out of Egypt. This is the same Spirit which even communicated God’s message of redemption through all of the prophets. Now, this is the same Spirit which lives in all of us.
The Holy Spirit helps us to pray, and urges us to pray when we need to. The Holy Spirit helps us to read and understand what God is telling us in Scripture, and then helps us to try to live that message in our daily lives. Most importantly, the Holy Spirit is the Presence of God, and because the Holy Spirit is within us, we can never be far from God.
Now, I know that none of this is really new information to many of you. We say the Nicene Creed which covers all of the same information; our collects normally reflect some Trinitarian theology and even the Eucharistic prayers model it. But for all of that, how can we conceptualize the Trinity as Three in One—and more importantly, what does it matter to any of us in our daily lives?
Well, as much as I’m sure that you all would enjoy hearing me read from the Capadocian Fathers, or even other theologians who are more qualified to talk about all of this—instead, I’d like to ask you to try to use your imagination with me.
Now, if you would, imagine three people. This would be the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, in this kind of ‘dance.’ This is a movement which the Patristics (a group of Early Christian writers) called ‘perichoresis,’ which is a Greek term which has the same root as the word choreography—dancing.
This dance is a kind of intricate procession that unifies these three, and by their shared love, and the movement and sharing of spirit they are somehow one being. What’s great about them being “Three Persons” is that they are able to share in their love, but in such a way that allows others to be part of that love—it’s not a one-to-one thing, but a community thing. After all, that is what Jesus hopes for all of us in his High Priestly prayer; that we all could be one. Yet these Three Persons are somehow perfectly one.
Where this affects us, and all of Creation for that matter, is that the Father who calls us to be in community, sends the Son to teach us how to live in loving community, and the Holy Spirit then draws us ever closer to God, and invites us to be part of a much greater community than we could ever imagine. It is a thing which is far greater than any individual because, of course it’s in this community of faith that we learn who we truly are.
Now, I understand that I haven’t unraveled for you the mysteries of the Trinity. But, for what it’s worth, I can offer what this mystery of the Trinity means for me—perhaps something of it will resonate for some of you, as well. My Trinitarian God Image, if you will.
In the Trinity, I find that God is one who calls us to be in community in a more perfect way. I see a God who creates us as creative beings who seek to mirror and know our Creator. This same God empties himself and becomes one of us just to be near us. Above all, I see a God who is holy beyond knowing, but still finds a home in our sometimes hardened hearts, and will stop at nothing to remind us of unconditional, self-giving love. It’s that same love and spirit which unify the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, and which calls to us to be in communion with God. The good news here is not only that there is acceptance, but also the promise that in and among these three, there is infinite room for all of us to find our place.
If nothing else, I hope that all of us hear and understand this particular point: it is God’s very nature to love, and accept. This, I think, beyond theological rightness, is reason enough not to miss the powerful meaning of God as Trinity.
Feast of St. Leo the Great
So, what does “Great” mean exactly? Perhaps I could blame it on our culture, or even a certain kind of cynicism which lingers on in my generation. But for whatever the reason, I find that I have a hard time not so much with the veneration of Leo as saint, or even Pope for that matter—but I find myself stumbling when I get to the “Great” part of his title.
I mean, it’s not hard for us to rattle off a list of all of the things which have come to be called great. After all there is The Great Gatsby, The Great Muppet Caper, or even the Great Pumpkin…you get my point. It just seems that what it means to be great is lost in a culture where we like all our heroes to be morally gray, mixed bags.
However, what we find when we look at the life and witness of Leo the Great, is a life which actually defies modern pessimism—which is really no small thing.
History along with Church History remembers Leo in the Episcopal see of Rome—in a power vacuum left behind after the empire’s capital was moved to Constantinople. Along with the successful consolidation of ecclesiastical power, Leo held secular power as well, and was one of three ambassadors sent by Emperor Valentinian III to dissuade Attila the Hun from sacking Rome.
Pope Leo was also integral to the Early Church clearly defining its belief about the nature of Jesus Christ as both fully human and fully divine. His letter, known as the “Tome”, speaks of the importance of this dual nature as a necessary part of God’s participation in human life, and is therefore the means by which humanity is made new. This was a statement which opposed some of the popular beliefs circulating at the time. However, unlike many of those popular beliefs, in Leo’s teaching, we find a God who is no longer distant from us, but one who chooses to live among us.
If anything, what I think we see in the life of Leo the Great, is not just greatness, but the very stuff of what Jesus spoke about in the Gospel reading for today: salt and light.
In his discussion of this very reading, priest and writer Sam Portaro talks about some of the properties of salt. He mentions that salt is used as a preserving agent, and of course a seasoning. What he also says is that when a thing has a bitter taste, salt may be used to make it sweet. So for instance, coca is cut with a bit of salt to make sweet chocolate. He also points out that our bodies need salt to operate in a healthy way, especially after strenuous activity or exercise.
Of course this just adds to an already strong metaphor used by Jesus. But in using such an image, Jesus was preparing his disciples to go into a world of bitterness which needed salt to make it sweeter—a world which would always sort of be on the verge of collapse, and needed some agent of preservation.
In taking to heart his own ‘salt’ nature, Leo became that preserving element in his time as he fought to hold together a ‘toddler Church.’ He worked diligently to maintain some sweet social order in the midst of bitter conflicts. And while the challenges he faced were unimaginable to many of us, we find that it was because Leo was first salt and light that he came to be called great.
In our own Christian vocation, we also hear the words of Jesus to us that we are salt and light. In this life we’re to be agents of preservation and illumination in a world which can be terribly dark and bitter. But like Leo, we are being raised up and called out daily to be a glow to see by and a savor to enliven the faith of one another.
In the Church today, we face what seem like insurmountable obstacles and challenges. We see young people taking their own lives because they just didn’t have enough light to see another way out. We become anxious because we do not see the economic recovery that we all hoped for—and some of us become bitter.
But deep in our hearts we know there is something more. Because what we find in the life of Leo the Great, and countless other saints is a promise. It is the promise that God will continue to call faithful servants to illuminate the way. And while our own call is not necessarily to greatness, if we begin at being salt and light, we find that we can do great things by God’s Holy Spirit.
Jesus said, “You are the salt of the earth…you are the light of the world.” So, today and tomorrow and the day after that; go into the world, not so much to be great. As I’ve already said ‘great’ isn’t what it used to be. Instead be salt. Be light. And if we can all hold on to that, this could be a bright, sweet world. Amen.
Proper 25, 2010
There is always a temptation I suppose to say a whole lot more in sermons than is actually necessary. This isn’t to say that there aren’t passages which really do need some breaking down. But then there are Gospel readings like today’s which are pretty clear in their intention.
In today’s reading we find Jesus in a crowd of people. Now, these people, we’re told, trusted in themselves, and despised others… A modern equivalent to these people might be what are known as jerks by today’s standard.
We can only guess at how Jesus got into this situation, but recognizing this as a teachable moment, he offered the group a parable. There were two men, Jesus says, who went up to the Temple to pray. One happened to be a Pharisee who prayed out loud, and took the opportunity to make known his piety. And in case everyone wasn’t clear about how wonderful he was, the Pharisee points out how glad he is that he isn’t like other people: thieves, rogues, and adulterers—and even this nasty dirty tax collector who stood nearby. It’s actually not a really hard list to beat when you think about it.
But what about this tax collector? It’s true that as a tax collector he was guilty of stealing, fraud, extortion and a whole host of other bad, nasty things. All of it sort of came with the job, and, incidentally, it was a job given by the Roman government. So, not only was this man a party to dishonest dealings, but he also worked for the conquerors and oppressors of his own people. Jesus said that he wouldn’t even lift his eyes to heaven when he prayed. This man stood far off beating his chest asking for God’s mercy. Just as we might assume, it’s the tax collector who returns home justified.
It’s a pretty straight forward parable, and the lesson doesn’t take too much abstract thought to get at the meaning. Jesus comes through loud and clear. Basically, don’t be a jerk. Right? Amen…
Except, to end there would be just a gloss over the surface. Because there’s more here than just what we get on the surface. What Jesus sets up in this parable is not just about a person’s behavior, but as usual is a matter of the heart.
Jesus begins this parable by telling the crowd that two men went up to the temple to pray. Most likely this would have been one of the appointed times for sacrifice in the temple—and the people that Jesus spoke to would have gotten this piece. This sacrifice was offered twice a day as atonement for the sins of the people, and people might come to the temple to offer prayers that God would accept the sacrifice on behalf of their own personal sins.
However, the Pharisee, much like the crowd to whom Jesus is speaking, cannot see how much he also needs God’s grace—he doesn’t seem to get that even he needs to be reconciled to God. Because like all of us, he needs God’s as much as any tax collector.
One of the things that initially attracted me to the Episcopal church was that all of our services have a confession built in to them. In college, this was a point of contention for my more Evangelical counter-parts, as they saw this as a license to do whatever one wanted because there was always the assurance of confession and absolution.
What I had been taught to understand it as, however, was not so much that I had been given free license, rather whenever it was that I said the confessions, I knew I needed it. Because like the Pharisee, and the tax collector, none of us is perfect. And rather than pretend that our short-comings are not the subject of polite society, and so we ignore them—instead, our tradition helps us to have every opportunity to confront and be freed from them.
Something that we can learn from 12 step programs is that one is always in recovery, and this is why the saying “One day at a time” is so poignant. Because it is a statement that presupposes that we are still always susceptible to the old patterns and ways which draw us away from God. In our spiritual lives, one thing that we know all too well is that we’re never immune to driving a wedge between us and God. Whether it’s an unkind word, an attitude or how we choose to treat another person, what we know is that at the center of our negative behavior is a matter of the heart. And we know that we’re never really ever completely free from falling into those same traps.
What’s more, even if we may have already been forgiven of the hurts caused by our actions, sometimes it’s the guilt of the action that lingers. Sometimes that’s enough by itself to keep us from returning to loving relationship with God and God’s people.
In Baptism we say “whenever we fall into sin” that we will return to the Lord. This isn’t an act of hedging our bets, instead it is part of the acknowledgement that we can return “with God’s help.” And like the saying “One Day at a Time”, we admit that all of our healing and reconciliation is a continued and daily process. Not because we’re such miserable people that we have to always be in a state of repentance, but because God understands how lost and abandoned we feel when we are at odds with ourselves and God.
So, as it turns out, today’s reading isn’t just about not being a jerk. While that’s not a bad place to start, it isn’t the end. Because as people called by Jesus Christ to be in community, we know that at the core of relationship to God and others, there is a matter of heart. And like the tax collector, we offer our personal prayers of penitence, believing that the sacrifice that was offered in Jesus Christ is more than sufficient to reconcile us once more to God and one another.
Today as we turn our hearts to the altar of God, and remember the sacrifice of Christ in our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, remember that we’ve been given another opportunity to make the slate clean. And whatever it is that we might be carrying with us in our hearts, I would remind you that this is the place to leave it. Because if we’re willing to trust in God and not ourselves, we will leave this place justified not by our own righteousness, but by the work of Jesus Christ.
In today’s reading we find Jesus in a crowd of people. Now, these people, we’re told, trusted in themselves, and despised others… A modern equivalent to these people might be what are known as jerks by today’s standard.
We can only guess at how Jesus got into this situation, but recognizing this as a teachable moment, he offered the group a parable. There were two men, Jesus says, who went up to the Temple to pray. One happened to be a Pharisee who prayed out loud, and took the opportunity to make known his piety. And in case everyone wasn’t clear about how wonderful he was, the Pharisee points out how glad he is that he isn’t like other people: thieves, rogues, and adulterers—and even this nasty dirty tax collector who stood nearby. It’s actually not a really hard list to beat when you think about it.
But what about this tax collector? It’s true that as a tax collector he was guilty of stealing, fraud, extortion and a whole host of other bad, nasty things. All of it sort of came with the job, and, incidentally, it was a job given by the Roman government. So, not only was this man a party to dishonest dealings, but he also worked for the conquerors and oppressors of his own people. Jesus said that he wouldn’t even lift his eyes to heaven when he prayed. This man stood far off beating his chest asking for God’s mercy. Just as we might assume, it’s the tax collector who returns home justified.
It’s a pretty straight forward parable, and the lesson doesn’t take too much abstract thought to get at the meaning. Jesus comes through loud and clear. Basically, don’t be a jerk. Right? Amen…
Except, to end there would be just a gloss over the surface. Because there’s more here than just what we get on the surface. What Jesus sets up in this parable is not just about a person’s behavior, but as usual is a matter of the heart.
Jesus begins this parable by telling the crowd that two men went up to the temple to pray. Most likely this would have been one of the appointed times for sacrifice in the temple—and the people that Jesus spoke to would have gotten this piece. This sacrifice was offered twice a day as atonement for the sins of the people, and people might come to the temple to offer prayers that God would accept the sacrifice on behalf of their own personal sins.
However, the Pharisee, much like the crowd to whom Jesus is speaking, cannot see how much he also needs God’s grace—he doesn’t seem to get that even he needs to be reconciled to God. Because like all of us, he needs God’s as much as any tax collector.
One of the things that initially attracted me to the Episcopal church was that all of our services have a confession built in to them. In college, this was a point of contention for my more Evangelical counter-parts, as they saw this as a license to do whatever one wanted because there was always the assurance of confession and absolution.
What I had been taught to understand it as, however, was not so much that I had been given free license, rather whenever it was that I said the confessions, I knew I needed it. Because like the Pharisee, and the tax collector, none of us is perfect. And rather than pretend that our short-comings are not the subject of polite society, and so we ignore them—instead, our tradition helps us to have every opportunity to confront and be freed from them.
Something that we can learn from 12 step programs is that one is always in recovery, and this is why the saying “One day at a time” is so poignant. Because it is a statement that presupposes that we are still always susceptible to the old patterns and ways which draw us away from God. In our spiritual lives, one thing that we know all too well is that we’re never immune to driving a wedge between us and God. Whether it’s an unkind word, an attitude or how we choose to treat another person, what we know is that at the center of our negative behavior is a matter of the heart. And we know that we’re never really ever completely free from falling into those same traps.
What’s more, even if we may have already been forgiven of the hurts caused by our actions, sometimes it’s the guilt of the action that lingers. Sometimes that’s enough by itself to keep us from returning to loving relationship with God and God’s people.
In Baptism we say “whenever we fall into sin” that we will return to the Lord. This isn’t an act of hedging our bets, instead it is part of the acknowledgement that we can return “with God’s help.” And like the saying “One Day at a Time”, we admit that all of our healing and reconciliation is a continued and daily process. Not because we’re such miserable people that we have to always be in a state of repentance, but because God understands how lost and abandoned we feel when we are at odds with ourselves and God.
So, as it turns out, today’s reading isn’t just about not being a jerk. While that’s not a bad place to start, it isn’t the end. Because as people called by Jesus Christ to be in community, we know that at the core of relationship to God and others, there is a matter of heart. And like the tax collector, we offer our personal prayers of penitence, believing that the sacrifice that was offered in Jesus Christ is more than sufficient to reconcile us once more to God and one another.
Today as we turn our hearts to the altar of God, and remember the sacrifice of Christ in our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, remember that we’ve been given another opportunity to make the slate clean. And whatever it is that we might be carrying with us in our hearts, I would remind you that this is the place to leave it. Because if we’re willing to trust in God and not ourselves, we will leave this place justified not by our own righteousness, but by the work of Jesus Christ.
Proper 23, 2010
One of the things that never ceases to amaze me is how church people can behave at restaurants… I say this both as a fellow customer-turned-spectator, but also as someone who worked in a restaurant busing tables once upon a time. Whether it’s being rude and demanding of the server, or leaving poor tips, it’s something that happens too often.
I hate to admit that I’ve been with church people who behaved badly in this way, and I always feel like crawling under the table in those moments. But if I’m sharing a table with them, or watching them from across the room, I still find no justification for that kind of behavior.
And Sundays are really the worst, because they come in groups after their respective worship services. So there’s really very little anonymity… Anyway, they come in, act out, and it’s as if all of the goodness that should have been conferred to them in their worship of God just evaporates. And I can’t help but wonder why it happens.
Anyway I started thinking about all of this while working on my sermon for today—it seemed to fit with a question that came up for me about the Gospel reading. Is it that the people who should know better—specifically, those of us who have known God’s grace—do we just choose to forget that grace, or do we get so comfortable with it that we just forget to be thankful?
In today’s Gospel reading the section begins by telling us that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem—this is to signal to us that he has moved from his broader ministry, and is moving closer to the culmination of his work on the cross in Jerusalem.
As he and his disciples passed through an area between Samaria and Galilee, we’re told that Jesus met 10 lepers. Now this doesn’t necessarily mean that they had Hansen’s disease the form of leprosy we’re most familiar with. But in Scripture the term leprosy included a number of skin conditions. All the same, Levitical Law did not allow them to be part of society, and often such people were treated quite badly—so if the disease didn’t make them suffer, society certainly did. What’s also interesting is that they are a mixed group—we find out later that there was a ‘foreigner’ among them. This could be in part to the fact that they were near Samaria, which was not considered part of Jewish territory, or simply because they found commonality in their condition.
In the end, it is only this foreigner who returns to Jesus to offer any kind of thanks. This is something that would have astounded the religious elite in the First Century. However, the readers of Luke’s Gospel should not be so surprised. After all only 7 chapters prior, Jesus was telling the parable of the Good Samaritan. You’ll remember that the significance of the story wasn’t just that the Samaritan offered help to a man near death, lying on the roadside. The true resonance of the story comes from the fact that the hero in the story was from a culture considered disreputable by the Jewish people. So the fact that it was a Samaritan who acted honorably was meant to stir up those who considered themselves pious.
Our reading today echoes this lesson. Jesus had no more than sent these men to present themselves to the priests, (something required of them by Levitical Law) and yet only this guy of unknown nationality is said to have praised God and returned to thank Jesus.
Once again it’s underlined for us by the Gospel Writer that this one who wouldn’t be expected to respond appropriately to the situation, is the one who got it exactly right. On the other hand, those who should have known better have not.
To be fair, the response of the nine—or even the lack thereof, may not have been negligence, or even ingratitude. Perhaps they felt that by going on to the see the priests they were doing what they were supposed to do… Or maybe they just didn’t think to turn around and thank Jesus—maybe it’s just not their personalities. There really may have been some legitimate reasons, except that we already know by their willingness to follow the rules about presenting themselves to the priests that should have known better. So for all of the possible reasons, these nine who have been given the equivalent of new life miraculously have received it cheaply like a hand out.
As Christians, we seek to give thanks and praise to God through our worship. We do this not only because we are recipients of God’s grace in Jesus Christ, but also for all of the other gifts we’ve been given. We also know that our thankfulness doesn’t begin and end at the church doors, and being thankful should teach us to never undervalue, or become desensitized in our to gratitude to God.
But if we can hold on to an attitude of thankfulness to God, we find that it changes us. We find that we can appreciate even the small things in life, and see how they give us meaning. We also recognize the importance of people in our lives, and even the value of those people put in our paths along the way. What becomes apparent is that there is really nothing good in life for which we cannot give thanks to God for—so how could we not be changed? And perhaps if we’re willing to allow that change to occur, we’ll find that our gratitude is not only present while we’re in church, but more importantly we’ll find it present even in the places we decide to have lunch after church.
I hate to admit that I’ve been with church people who behaved badly in this way, and I always feel like crawling under the table in those moments. But if I’m sharing a table with them, or watching them from across the room, I still find no justification for that kind of behavior.
And Sundays are really the worst, because they come in groups after their respective worship services. So there’s really very little anonymity… Anyway, they come in, act out, and it’s as if all of the goodness that should have been conferred to them in their worship of God just evaporates. And I can’t help but wonder why it happens.
Anyway I started thinking about all of this while working on my sermon for today—it seemed to fit with a question that came up for me about the Gospel reading. Is it that the people who should know better—specifically, those of us who have known God’s grace—do we just choose to forget that grace, or do we get so comfortable with it that we just forget to be thankful?
In today’s Gospel reading the section begins by telling us that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem—this is to signal to us that he has moved from his broader ministry, and is moving closer to the culmination of his work on the cross in Jerusalem.
As he and his disciples passed through an area between Samaria and Galilee, we’re told that Jesus met 10 lepers. Now this doesn’t necessarily mean that they had Hansen’s disease the form of leprosy we’re most familiar with. But in Scripture the term leprosy included a number of skin conditions. All the same, Levitical Law did not allow them to be part of society, and often such people were treated quite badly—so if the disease didn’t make them suffer, society certainly did. What’s also interesting is that they are a mixed group—we find out later that there was a ‘foreigner’ among them. This could be in part to the fact that they were near Samaria, which was not considered part of Jewish territory, or simply because they found commonality in their condition.
In the end, it is only this foreigner who returns to Jesus to offer any kind of thanks. This is something that would have astounded the religious elite in the First Century. However, the readers of Luke’s Gospel should not be so surprised. After all only 7 chapters prior, Jesus was telling the parable of the Good Samaritan. You’ll remember that the significance of the story wasn’t just that the Samaritan offered help to a man near death, lying on the roadside. The true resonance of the story comes from the fact that the hero in the story was from a culture considered disreputable by the Jewish people. So the fact that it was a Samaritan who acted honorably was meant to stir up those who considered themselves pious.
Our reading today echoes this lesson. Jesus had no more than sent these men to present themselves to the priests, (something required of them by Levitical Law) and yet only this guy of unknown nationality is said to have praised God and returned to thank Jesus.
Once again it’s underlined for us by the Gospel Writer that this one who wouldn’t be expected to respond appropriately to the situation, is the one who got it exactly right. On the other hand, those who should have known better have not.
To be fair, the response of the nine—or even the lack thereof, may not have been negligence, or even ingratitude. Perhaps they felt that by going on to the see the priests they were doing what they were supposed to do… Or maybe they just didn’t think to turn around and thank Jesus—maybe it’s just not their personalities. There really may have been some legitimate reasons, except that we already know by their willingness to follow the rules about presenting themselves to the priests that should have known better. So for all of the possible reasons, these nine who have been given the equivalent of new life miraculously have received it cheaply like a hand out.
As Christians, we seek to give thanks and praise to God through our worship. We do this not only because we are recipients of God’s grace in Jesus Christ, but also for all of the other gifts we’ve been given. We also know that our thankfulness doesn’t begin and end at the church doors, and being thankful should teach us to never undervalue, or become desensitized in our to gratitude to God.
But if we can hold on to an attitude of thankfulness to God, we find that it changes us. We find that we can appreciate even the small things in life, and see how they give us meaning. We also recognize the importance of people in our lives, and even the value of those people put in our paths along the way. What becomes apparent is that there is really nothing good in life for which we cannot give thanks to God for—so how could we not be changed? And perhaps if we’re willing to allow that change to occur, we’ll find that our gratitude is not only present while we’re in church, but more importantly we’ll find it present even in the places we decide to have lunch after church.
Proper 22, 2010 Feast of St. Francis of Assisi
It was said that in the village of Gubbio that there was a wolf which consistently came into town and terrorized not only the livestock, but even injured and killed the people. Day after day the people of Gubbio would check to see that their flocks were safe in the morning, and at night, they would tuck their children into bed. whispering prayers that the wolf wouldn’t come. This wolf, it was said, was so fierce, that when people would go into the countryside, they armed themselves like soldiers going to war…but even then none of them were safe from this ferocious creature…
Well, one day while little brother Francis was passing by the village of Gubbio, he heard the reports of this wolf that held this village in the grip of fear. He talked with the villagers and confirmed all that had been said about the wolf, and in that instant, Francis decided that he would address this issue.
Francis said to the people, “I will go and talk to this wolf, and I will tell him in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ that he must not behave in this way—especially as our brother…”
As you can imagine, the people’s reaction was a whole lot like yours—“Who is this guy that he plans to go off and confront the beast? I bet he doesn’t get a mile out of town before it eats him up! But, look at how he’s dressed, he’s just some silly fool and beggar…”
Well, along with these people who doubted, there were some who were very concerned about Francis. They had heard about his kindness, and how he had preached to the birds, and had shared the joy and love that God has for all of us with everyone he met… They also knew that the reason that Francis dressed like a beggar was because he wanted to live just like Jesus—a simple man.
As he headed out of the village, the doubters yelled and made jokes about Francis. Others kept asking Francis if he was certain that he should go and face this terrible wolf without a spear or a sword. Francis reminded them that he was going in the name of God and that would keep him safe.
Francis walked out of the village, beyond even the places where the people could still see him from the village. He walked for a little while longer when he heard a howl in the distance. It was the wolf. And if it had anyone else, they would have turned around and ran back to the village as fast as they could. But not Francis, instead he went right in the direction of the howl.
Francis walked for a while longer before he stopped in an open field, with only a few trees, and nowhere to hide. Suddenly Francis heard a low growl, and he saw the wolf coming toward him. This wolf was apparently pretty large, and as it walked toward Francis it snarled and drooled and licked its chops.
Francis wasn’t afraid. He made the Sign of the Cross toward the wolf, and he said, “Brother Wolf, you have done great harm in this region, and you have committed horrible crimes by destroying God’s creatures without any mercy. You have been destroying not only other animals, but in your arrogance, you’ve even eaten people who are made in the Image of God. Because you’ve been so horrible, you should be put to death. You act like a robber and a murderer.” He said, “The people of this village are right to despise you and fear you as an enemy. But, Brother Wolf, I want peace between you and them, so that they will not be harmed by you anymore. And, after they have forgiven you all your past crimes, no one will come after you.”
Well, while this was happening, some people from the town had gathered around. They wondered what might have happened to Francis after he’d left the village. After hearing the saint’s words to the wolf, all of them watched silently as the wolf lowered its head toward Francis.
Little Brother Francis then said, “Brother Wolf, I want you to show me that you promise to change your ways, so that I may believe you.” At this, the wolf raised his paw and placed it into Francis’ hand. Francis said, “Brother Wolf, I order you, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ to come with me now to the town to make peace with the people there…”
In the end, the people made peace with the wolf, and St. Francis made the people promise that they would feed the wolf everyday, and the wolf was to keep his peace with the people. And, all of them lived happily together until the wolf finally died years later. Even today there is a bas relief commemorating this story, and it apparently is near a church a bit south of Brother Wolf Street.
St. Francis apparently wasn’t very tall. Thomas of Celano, his earliest biographer, and Franciscan writes that he was handsome, and of slight build with a sparse beard and dark eyes. We’re told that he was someone who preached to animals, and bowed to children. He lived simply, dressed in a brown habit tied with a rope cincture. While such clothing would have been common enough for a beggar in his time, to us the image is unmistakable as the saint from Assisi. What is so amazing is that for all of his simplicity, and all of the incredible stories of his life, St. Francis of Assisi still continues to confound us and capture our imaginations.
I suppose it’s not just one thing in particular about the man that attracts us. But what we do know is that when we hear the stories of Francis, or any of the saints, really, we are inspired by their lives of faith. This is because they remind us of what Christian life could look like, and how that can change the world around us forever.
Francis is a great example of this, because what we see and admire in St. Francis is not some idyllic and unattainable existence. Instead what we look for in Francis is our own need to be freed from our possessions and our reliance upon creature comforts which…as it turns out are fleeting anyway.
We see in him a strength and love of God that can only be the mark of true sainthood. But what we tend to miss is that his life and ministry is a call to the whole Church to come out—to no longer be ruled by the illusions of security and safety that we think we have, and instead to step into the real life of God’s love.
When the disciples asked Jesus to “increase their faith”, his response was ironic. He says if they had faith like a mustard seed, they could tell a tree to be uprooted… But he teaches them that to germinate even that kind of faith, one must do more than what is simply required…
When God called Francis, it was in a broken down chapel somewhere along the road to the Crusades. The call was simple, “Francis, Rebuild my House.” A thing he did almost immediately. After raising money from selling bolts of fabric from his father’s store, Francis fixed the little chapel. But Francis wasn’t finished, because his true ministry was only beginning, and he needed to do more than simply what was expected of him—which we know he did.
St. Francis, did this by confounding the conventions of this life. Like Jesus he refused to allow the social and economic rules of society define how he must live out his life of devotion to God. And following Jesus’ example, Francis laid aside all that his father’s wealth entitled him to and chose to live a life wholly devoted, with and for the greatest and the least. And it’s because of this humility, that we find Francis so very approachable, even loveable.
We remember him for these traits, but even more, we hold Francis up because his very life is a life radically shaped by the Gospel. St. Francis is an epitome of a life so powerfully remade and rearranged by the Holy Spirit that at times we may have trouble even believing the stories about him. But what we also find is that we still need to hear those stories just to be reminded that God still calls saints—in times of war, God still calls saints. In times of economic hardship, God still calls saints. When the cynicism of the world makes it hard to see where God is calling any of us, God still calls saints. And what it is that we need from the lives of the saints are not only examples of faithful lives and great stories, but also the challenge to live just a little less carefully when it comes to our faith. Not that I’m recommending that any of us go out and find wolves to tame, but maybe if we could learn to trust in God the way that the saints in light have, we might yet be surprised at what God may do through us as his saints on earth.
Well, one day while little brother Francis was passing by the village of Gubbio, he heard the reports of this wolf that held this village in the grip of fear. He talked with the villagers and confirmed all that had been said about the wolf, and in that instant, Francis decided that he would address this issue.
Francis said to the people, “I will go and talk to this wolf, and I will tell him in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ that he must not behave in this way—especially as our brother…”
As you can imagine, the people’s reaction was a whole lot like yours—“Who is this guy that he plans to go off and confront the beast? I bet he doesn’t get a mile out of town before it eats him up! But, look at how he’s dressed, he’s just some silly fool and beggar…”
Well, along with these people who doubted, there were some who were very concerned about Francis. They had heard about his kindness, and how he had preached to the birds, and had shared the joy and love that God has for all of us with everyone he met… They also knew that the reason that Francis dressed like a beggar was because he wanted to live just like Jesus—a simple man.
As he headed out of the village, the doubters yelled and made jokes about Francis. Others kept asking Francis if he was certain that he should go and face this terrible wolf without a spear or a sword. Francis reminded them that he was going in the name of God and that would keep him safe.
Francis walked out of the village, beyond even the places where the people could still see him from the village. He walked for a little while longer when he heard a howl in the distance. It was the wolf. And if it had anyone else, they would have turned around and ran back to the village as fast as they could. But not Francis, instead he went right in the direction of the howl.
Francis walked for a while longer before he stopped in an open field, with only a few trees, and nowhere to hide. Suddenly Francis heard a low growl, and he saw the wolf coming toward him. This wolf was apparently pretty large, and as it walked toward Francis it snarled and drooled and licked its chops.
Francis wasn’t afraid. He made the Sign of the Cross toward the wolf, and he said, “Brother Wolf, you have done great harm in this region, and you have committed horrible crimes by destroying God’s creatures without any mercy. You have been destroying not only other animals, but in your arrogance, you’ve even eaten people who are made in the Image of God. Because you’ve been so horrible, you should be put to death. You act like a robber and a murderer.” He said, “The people of this village are right to despise you and fear you as an enemy. But, Brother Wolf, I want peace between you and them, so that they will not be harmed by you anymore. And, after they have forgiven you all your past crimes, no one will come after you.”
Well, while this was happening, some people from the town had gathered around. They wondered what might have happened to Francis after he’d left the village. After hearing the saint’s words to the wolf, all of them watched silently as the wolf lowered its head toward Francis.
Little Brother Francis then said, “Brother Wolf, I want you to show me that you promise to change your ways, so that I may believe you.” At this, the wolf raised his paw and placed it into Francis’ hand. Francis said, “Brother Wolf, I order you, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ to come with me now to the town to make peace with the people there…”
In the end, the people made peace with the wolf, and St. Francis made the people promise that they would feed the wolf everyday, and the wolf was to keep his peace with the people. And, all of them lived happily together until the wolf finally died years later. Even today there is a bas relief commemorating this story, and it apparently is near a church a bit south of Brother Wolf Street.
St. Francis apparently wasn’t very tall. Thomas of Celano, his earliest biographer, and Franciscan writes that he was handsome, and of slight build with a sparse beard and dark eyes. We’re told that he was someone who preached to animals, and bowed to children. He lived simply, dressed in a brown habit tied with a rope cincture. While such clothing would have been common enough for a beggar in his time, to us the image is unmistakable as the saint from Assisi. What is so amazing is that for all of his simplicity, and all of the incredible stories of his life, St. Francis of Assisi still continues to confound us and capture our imaginations.
I suppose it’s not just one thing in particular about the man that attracts us. But what we do know is that when we hear the stories of Francis, or any of the saints, really, we are inspired by their lives of faith. This is because they remind us of what Christian life could look like, and how that can change the world around us forever.
Francis is a great example of this, because what we see and admire in St. Francis is not some idyllic and unattainable existence. Instead what we look for in Francis is our own need to be freed from our possessions and our reliance upon creature comforts which…as it turns out are fleeting anyway.
We see in him a strength and love of God that can only be the mark of true sainthood. But what we tend to miss is that his life and ministry is a call to the whole Church to come out—to no longer be ruled by the illusions of security and safety that we think we have, and instead to step into the real life of God’s love.
When the disciples asked Jesus to “increase their faith”, his response was ironic. He says if they had faith like a mustard seed, they could tell a tree to be uprooted… But he teaches them that to germinate even that kind of faith, one must do more than what is simply required…
When God called Francis, it was in a broken down chapel somewhere along the road to the Crusades. The call was simple, “Francis, Rebuild my House.” A thing he did almost immediately. After raising money from selling bolts of fabric from his father’s store, Francis fixed the little chapel. But Francis wasn’t finished, because his true ministry was only beginning, and he needed to do more than simply what was expected of him—which we know he did.
St. Francis, did this by confounding the conventions of this life. Like Jesus he refused to allow the social and economic rules of society define how he must live out his life of devotion to God. And following Jesus’ example, Francis laid aside all that his father’s wealth entitled him to and chose to live a life wholly devoted, with and for the greatest and the least. And it’s because of this humility, that we find Francis so very approachable, even loveable.
We remember him for these traits, but even more, we hold Francis up because his very life is a life radically shaped by the Gospel. St. Francis is an epitome of a life so powerfully remade and rearranged by the Holy Spirit that at times we may have trouble even believing the stories about him. But what we also find is that we still need to hear those stories just to be reminded that God still calls saints—in times of war, God still calls saints. In times of economic hardship, God still calls saints. When the cynicism of the world makes it hard to see where God is calling any of us, God still calls saints. And what it is that we need from the lives of the saints are not only examples of faithful lives and great stories, but also the challenge to live just a little less carefully when it comes to our faith. Not that I’m recommending that any of us go out and find wolves to tame, but maybe if we could learn to trust in God the way that the saints in light have, we might yet be surprised at what God may do through us as his saints on earth.
Proper 20, 2010
So what can I say about today’s Gospel reading other than I have no idea what to do with it. A couple of weeks ago I had to write the reflection for the St. Paul’s newsletter which we write a couple weeks ahead, and it’s preferred that we write with the week’s Lectionary readings in mind.
And whether you can believe it or not, I actually do research the passages and read commentary before I write my sermons and reflections.
Unfortunately none of my sources really had anything clear to say this time… Last Tuesday I began again the monthly Fresh Start group for newly ordained and clergy new to the diocese. As is the norm, we discussed this Gospel passage during our morning worship…none of us really had anything clear to say…
Obviously there is a temptation to look at this passage and immediately decide to preach on the Collect for the Day. Some of us might even begin our explanation with the words “What Jesus meant to say…” But the easiest solution by far is just to ignore it…except that the Lectionary of the Church doesn’t allow us.
The truth is, I do believe this to be a teaching of Jesus, whether we are talking about how a teaching like this is missing from other Gospels, or if we want to make a case for the specific arrangements preferred by the respective Gospel Writers—the point is, for all of its difficulty, I personally believe this teaching belongs.
Now when we consider the whole of Jesus’ teachings, it’s hard to place just where it fits…I mean, who wants to hear “make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth…” especially if we’re talking about the Gospel being hope for the poor.
What emerged from my own research and discussion with other clergy is that there are a couple of ways in which we can begin to approach this reading. First, we may begin by considering that this particular lesson may have such deeply cultural connections that it is hard for us to relate fully. What we may be seeing is a kind of worldly wisdom lesson that better fits with wisdom tradition—and wisdom tradition, as we know from the Book of Proverbs has no trouble borrowing from secular wisdom.
Another piece to this reading is that it is broken into a few distinct parts. We begin hearing about the dishonest steward, who proves his worth through cheating, and the whole thing ends by talking about how believers need to be more wise to the ways of dishonest wealth—but, with the caveat that we cannot serve both God and wealth. In some scholarly circles this is identified as interpolation, and would indicate that the writer, or later revisionists added a sort of internal commentary to try to make the lesson clearer. However, it seems no clearer for all of that effort. But I suppose there is consolation in knowing that even they didn’t know what to do with this teaching.
There is also the issue of trying to work through the meaning of the parable. If we’re tempted to plug-in the usual characters into the usual slots, where do we put God? Does God become the Master, while Jesus is the dishonest steward? Certainly Jesus does more than forgive a part of what we owe to God because of our sin—but this falls apart when we think about how the steward was doing what he did because he was afraid to be thrown out of his cushy position. Suddenly this sounds nothing like God the Father and God the Son.
We could try to work in the world’s economic system… Perhaps the steward is like J.P. Morgan Chase, and is forgiving debts for the betterment of the whole economy. The only problem here is that that Master and steward become the same person in a way.
A more traditional way of interpreting is to note that the steward forgives debts based on the interest that would have been charged (obviously this master was not an orthodox Jewish business man, otherwise he would be forbidden to charge interest). However, the steward, by forgiving these debts shows a kind of partiality which would need to be repaid. So, in effect, the steward will not need to dig ditches or beg. He also puts the master in a position which makes him look generous, but also keeps him from offering any retribution against the steward because then the master would lose face in society.
This works, but I can’t imagine how this is at all good spiritual advice. It explains the actions, but we’re still no closer to understanding the whole lesson.
Anyway, you can see that I’ve had a lot of time to really stew about all of this. But through all of that stewing, I’ve had opportunity to see another side to this reading.
This past week I had the opportunity to go to a follow-up meeting for IAF, the Industrial Areas Foundation. This is the oldest community organizing group in America, and they specialize in helping post-industrialized cities recover (There are some information packets on the back table, and it’s something that I think St. Alban’s should be involved in). Anyway, I went to this meeting with St. Paul’s and I was amazed at the turn-out for this meeting. It was held at Fairmount Temple (Anshe Chesed), and there were different brands of evangelicals; there was us; there were Universalist Unitarians, different brands of Judaism, and even a Muslim congregation. Honestly this was just to name a few…
We were each one given a number which corresponded to a table which we were invited to discuss with others certain issues that we felt were important to our families and our community. Of course, all of them were very similar, and each table reported 4 things which they believed to be important. These would later be compiled and a simplified list will be made and the group then will begin the process of addressing these things.
The way that this is done is by inviting public officials to a meeting in which representatives show up from these various religious groups. And basically we ask them questions and hold them accountable… Anyway, what I’m getting at is that like in the Gospel reading, we recognize that there is a system in the world that does not function as the Kingdom of God does, and while we’re told not be taken by this system, we’re no less told to learn it and learn how to live in it. This is something different from what we might expect to hear—often we’re reminded to let go of everything and turn away from the corrupt world. Well, this teaching doesn’t necessarily stand in opposition, because as St. Paul reminds Timothy, we are to pray for those in civil authority as much as we pray for ourselves. But because we hold dual citizenship in the Kingdom of God and the world, we are tasked with the responsibility to hold those in this world’s authority accountable that they may lead justly and honorably for the good of all people. Effectively we use Kingdom principles to work through a dishonest system to bring forth more equality in the world, and that is most certainly the Church’s business.
I suppose if we’re to consider the lesson in this way, suddenly there is quite a lot of responsibility placed on us as believers. We’re no longer allowed to take pot-shots at an unjust governmental system, or even consider ourselves so sacrosanct that we cannot be bothered to enter into the troubles and tribulations of national life. But then, where would we be if Jesus believed that? Perhaps in seeing how mixed-up the whole world was, he had every right to not join us in human life…
The point is, he did join us, and because we’re called to be his Body we are also supposed to learn and live in the system. And today before we leave, we’ll receive God’s blessing, but then we’ll go out with our rallying cry to “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”
Making friends of dishonest wealth and still living as one who is dead to the world…it’s as easy as walking a razor’s edge. But in a world system that must be changed from within, it becomes the responsibility of God’s people to be the soul of that system; to pray for our leaders and hold them accountable. And if we can be faithful in that, perhaps we’ll yet see the change in the world that we all hope for…if nothing else, we can do a lot of good in our little part of the world if we’re willing to try.
And whether you can believe it or not, I actually do research the passages and read commentary before I write my sermons and reflections.
Unfortunately none of my sources really had anything clear to say this time… Last Tuesday I began again the monthly Fresh Start group for newly ordained and clergy new to the diocese. As is the norm, we discussed this Gospel passage during our morning worship…none of us really had anything clear to say…
Obviously there is a temptation to look at this passage and immediately decide to preach on the Collect for the Day. Some of us might even begin our explanation with the words “What Jesus meant to say…” But the easiest solution by far is just to ignore it…except that the Lectionary of the Church doesn’t allow us.
The truth is, I do believe this to be a teaching of Jesus, whether we are talking about how a teaching like this is missing from other Gospels, or if we want to make a case for the specific arrangements preferred by the respective Gospel Writers—the point is, for all of its difficulty, I personally believe this teaching belongs.
Now when we consider the whole of Jesus’ teachings, it’s hard to place just where it fits…I mean, who wants to hear “make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth…” especially if we’re talking about the Gospel being hope for the poor.
What emerged from my own research and discussion with other clergy is that there are a couple of ways in which we can begin to approach this reading. First, we may begin by considering that this particular lesson may have such deeply cultural connections that it is hard for us to relate fully. What we may be seeing is a kind of worldly wisdom lesson that better fits with wisdom tradition—and wisdom tradition, as we know from the Book of Proverbs has no trouble borrowing from secular wisdom.
Another piece to this reading is that it is broken into a few distinct parts. We begin hearing about the dishonest steward, who proves his worth through cheating, and the whole thing ends by talking about how believers need to be more wise to the ways of dishonest wealth—but, with the caveat that we cannot serve both God and wealth. In some scholarly circles this is identified as interpolation, and would indicate that the writer, or later revisionists added a sort of internal commentary to try to make the lesson clearer. However, it seems no clearer for all of that effort. But I suppose there is consolation in knowing that even they didn’t know what to do with this teaching.
There is also the issue of trying to work through the meaning of the parable. If we’re tempted to plug-in the usual characters into the usual slots, where do we put God? Does God become the Master, while Jesus is the dishonest steward? Certainly Jesus does more than forgive a part of what we owe to God because of our sin—but this falls apart when we think about how the steward was doing what he did because he was afraid to be thrown out of his cushy position. Suddenly this sounds nothing like God the Father and God the Son.
We could try to work in the world’s economic system… Perhaps the steward is like J.P. Morgan Chase, and is forgiving debts for the betterment of the whole economy. The only problem here is that that Master and steward become the same person in a way.
A more traditional way of interpreting is to note that the steward forgives debts based on the interest that would have been charged (obviously this master was not an orthodox Jewish business man, otherwise he would be forbidden to charge interest). However, the steward, by forgiving these debts shows a kind of partiality which would need to be repaid. So, in effect, the steward will not need to dig ditches or beg. He also puts the master in a position which makes him look generous, but also keeps him from offering any retribution against the steward because then the master would lose face in society.
This works, but I can’t imagine how this is at all good spiritual advice. It explains the actions, but we’re still no closer to understanding the whole lesson.
Anyway, you can see that I’ve had a lot of time to really stew about all of this. But through all of that stewing, I’ve had opportunity to see another side to this reading.
This past week I had the opportunity to go to a follow-up meeting for IAF, the Industrial Areas Foundation. This is the oldest community organizing group in America, and they specialize in helping post-industrialized cities recover (There are some information packets on the back table, and it’s something that I think St. Alban’s should be involved in). Anyway, I went to this meeting with St. Paul’s and I was amazed at the turn-out for this meeting. It was held at Fairmount Temple (Anshe Chesed), and there were different brands of evangelicals; there was us; there were Universalist Unitarians, different brands of Judaism, and even a Muslim congregation. Honestly this was just to name a few…
We were each one given a number which corresponded to a table which we were invited to discuss with others certain issues that we felt were important to our families and our community. Of course, all of them were very similar, and each table reported 4 things which they believed to be important. These would later be compiled and a simplified list will be made and the group then will begin the process of addressing these things.
The way that this is done is by inviting public officials to a meeting in which representatives show up from these various religious groups. And basically we ask them questions and hold them accountable… Anyway, what I’m getting at is that like in the Gospel reading, we recognize that there is a system in the world that does not function as the Kingdom of God does, and while we’re told not be taken by this system, we’re no less told to learn it and learn how to live in it. This is something different from what we might expect to hear—often we’re reminded to let go of everything and turn away from the corrupt world. Well, this teaching doesn’t necessarily stand in opposition, because as St. Paul reminds Timothy, we are to pray for those in civil authority as much as we pray for ourselves. But because we hold dual citizenship in the Kingdom of God and the world, we are tasked with the responsibility to hold those in this world’s authority accountable that they may lead justly and honorably for the good of all people. Effectively we use Kingdom principles to work through a dishonest system to bring forth more equality in the world, and that is most certainly the Church’s business.
I suppose if we’re to consider the lesson in this way, suddenly there is quite a lot of responsibility placed on us as believers. We’re no longer allowed to take pot-shots at an unjust governmental system, or even consider ourselves so sacrosanct that we cannot be bothered to enter into the troubles and tribulations of national life. But then, where would we be if Jesus believed that? Perhaps in seeing how mixed-up the whole world was, he had every right to not join us in human life…
The point is, he did join us, and because we’re called to be his Body we are also supposed to learn and live in the system. And today before we leave, we’ll receive God’s blessing, but then we’ll go out with our rallying cry to “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”
Making friends of dishonest wealth and still living as one who is dead to the world…it’s as easy as walking a razor’s edge. But in a world system that must be changed from within, it becomes the responsibility of God’s people to be the soul of that system; to pray for our leaders and hold them accountable. And if we can be faithful in that, perhaps we’ll yet see the change in the world that we all hope for…if nothing else, we can do a lot of good in our little part of the world if we’re willing to try.
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