The Widow's Mite Revisited

My whole life I've seen the widow's mite as a story in which Jesus praises the widow for giving up her last two cents to God. As I studied the passage earlier this November, I was pulled in a completely different direction. This sermon was given on November 11th, 2012. The text is Mark 12:38-44. (If you're curious or interested in where I came to this interpretation, take a look at the footnotes. If you can't find something, email me at rev.drew.harrison (at symbol) gmail.com and I can send it to you)

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Growing up in my family, if you asked what’s for dinner, the answer was always the same.  No matter what smells were coming from the kitchen, Dad would always gear up and sing, “We’re having Beefaroni, it’s beef and macaroni, Beefaroni’s fun to eat, Beefaroni’s really neat, Hooray! for Beefaroni!”  As a kid, it drove me up the wall that I could never get a straight answer. But as a camp counselor, I began to understand why Dad never answered that question.

It was my first week as a camp counselor, and already I was tired of answering the same questions over and over. What are we doing next? When are we leaving? Why do we have to leave now? What are we going to do when we get there? Are we there yet? What are we doing next? One by one every camper would go through the same questions, almost like they’d gotten together and formed a plan to drive me bananas. I had suddenly developed a real appreciation for the beefaroni song

On the second day, my patience cracked. After breakfast, we were walking from our cabins to the main building to make our lunches for the day, and one of the kids asked me, “Are we going to have lunch?” and I gave him a smart alec answer. “Nope, I said. “Not Today. Lunch and Dinner only happen on Wednesdays and Fridays. All we get for the rest of the day is half a cookie and a little bit of water.” While I thought my little joke was funny, the campers took it with deadly seriousness. They wondered how they were going to survive. They were already feeling the beginning pangs of hunger, and half a cookie would never be enough.

One girl was so upset at the thought that she began to hold her stomach and moan that she could never survive. And something incredibly sweet happened. Another girl saw her in distress, and offered what little she had. “You can have half of my half of the cookie.” It was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen. She didn’t worry about what she would have to eat, she saw that someone was in need and moved to fill it. Even with as little as she thought she had, she shared it, without concern that she might not have enough. Rarely do you get to observe such kindness in nature, and when you do, it warms your heart. 

On the surface, the story of the widow’s mite is another example of genuine generosity found in nature.  A widow gives two tiny coins to the treasury, and Jesus, who is standing by watching says that she gave more than any of those who dropped big pouches of gold, because she gave all that she had to live on. If we focus on this part of the story, like my little camper who would share her last meal with a stranger, it’s beautiful and romantic, a tale of self-sacrifice and devotion.

Students of the Bible will note that widows are often standbys for the weakest and most vulnerable in society. They have no one to care for them, and no means to care for themselves. But this woman, in spite of how little she had, was willing to give everything to the Temple treasury. She didn’t hold anything back for tomorrow. She saved nothing for a rainy day. Maybe she had heard Jesus’ teaching that we should consider the lilies of the field, and trust that God will clothe us as beautifully as God clothes all of Creation. Or maybe she just held on to God’s promise that any who call out to God will be cared for. In any case, she gave her everything, and put her trust in God to provide.

When we talk about faith, we are often talking about what we believe. But saying that we believe that God will care for us is a very different thing from putting our last two coins in the offering plate. That is faith. Faith is belief put into action. There is no doubt that had she tried, this woman, with her faith, could have moved mountains. She didn’t worry about herself, she knew that God would care for her and that would be enough. She just wanted to care for others. I hope that each of us can find this kind of faith.  That we can find the faith to say, God, I don’t know what tomorrow will look like, but I will give my everything to you today. I hope each of us can give, even when we feel like we don’t have enough, and put our trust in the promises that God will provide.

As much as this narrative is beautiful, if we pan out for a moment, the tone of the story changes. Our passage begins today with a warning about the scribes, men of the cloth who enjoy great respect and honor. Jesus says they devour widow’s houses and say long prayers for the sake of appearance. It’s unclear what Jesus means by devouring widow’s houses. Scholars suggest that it may have been encouraging widows to give beyond their means, paying themselves lavish salaries while mismanaging property donated by widows to support the Temple, or sponging off the hospitality of those who have so little to give.[1] We don’t really know. What we do know is this: On one hand we have religious leaders who devour widow’s houses. And on the other hand, we have a widow whose house has been devoured. And in this moment, the widow is giving her very last coins to the Temple.  

When I think about my generous camper, who would share her last piece of food with someone she’d only met, the taste in my mouth isn’t sweet, but bitter. I’m amazed at the genuine kindness of this girl, but I’m also reminded that it was my pettiness and impatience that made that sort of sacrifice necessary.  Here was a little girl willing to share what little she had for the needs of a girl she’d only met the day before, all because I thought it would be funny to tell them they wouldn’t’ have anything to eat. I was put in charge of my campers, who were powerless to control what their day would look like. How could I have abused that responsibility? How could I make cruel jokes instead of reassuring them that everything would be alright.

Traditionally preachers have zoomed in on the widow and the amazing faith that she shows. But if we pan out, Jesus comment moves from praise to lament.[2] It is suddenly a shame that these men, who wear long robes and have an appreciation for the finer things in life would ask this poor woman to give up everything for their support. They have devoured her house and still they ask for more. How could they ask so much from someone who has so little? How could one praise her devotion without lamenting the need that she experiences?  Over and over again God’s prophets tell us to care for the widow and the orphan, to protect the weakest and most vulnerable. But these scribes had turned it on its head! Instead of supporting the widow, they have asked her to support them!

The funny part about my story, is that it all happened just a few feet from the camp dining hall. And sitting in the dining hall, a feast had been prepared. Bread and meat and cheese and peanut butter and jelly were laid out for sandwiches. Apples and oranges and bananas, and little bags of chips and cookies were all laid out for us to make our lunches from.

The shameful thing about the reality of the scribes’ world, the reality of our world, is that there is a banquet prepared for us. There is enough for all. No one needs to go hungry because of our selfishness or fear. No one needs put their last two cents in the offering plate so that we can wear long robes and read long prayers. The widow’s story is a story of a woman who had faith that we should all envy, but need we should never allow.

The good news for us is that a feast has been prepared for us. The Lord has prepared a banquet, and everyone is invited, even those who do not deserve it. Let us, in our daily lives, never forget that God has provided a feast for us. Never think that we are running low on blessing without remembering that there is more where that came from. Let us not obscure the reality of God’s bounty to the people who need it most. Let us give with generous hearts, as the widow did. But let us never let the generous hearts of those who need us most go empty.

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[1] See Smith, Geoffrey. “A Closer Look at the Widow’s Offering: Mark 12:41-44” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society vol. 40 no. 1 (March 1997): 27-36. for a rundown of the various scholarly hypotheses concerning Jesus meaning in that phrase.

[2] for the scholarship behind this interpretation of Mk 13:38-44, look to Wright, Addison G. "The Widow's Mites: Praise or Lament? A matter of Context." Catholic Biblical Quarterly Washington, DC 44, no. 2 (1982): 256-265.

What Have We to Do to Become Saints?

This was my sermon from November 4th, 2012. We celebrated All Saints Sunday, which is not something I grew up celebrating, but this year something I felt particularly called to do, largely because I lost a former student this year, and have been struggling with how to say goodbye. The sermon is a reminder that as Christians we receive a promise that when our life ends, it is not death that awaits us, but life. Through Christ's sacrifice we are sanctified and engrafted onto Christ that we might experience life through Him. The text for this Sunday was Mark 12:28-34. The story that I used came from a Youtube video I listened to of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach telling this story. Here's the link. If you liked it, I'm pretty sure that it came from this album, and here is where you can buy it, or the story: http://www.mostlymusic.com/shlomos-greatest-stories-volume-4.html.
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What Must We Do to Become Saints?

At this point in the Gospel of Mark Jesus is in Jerusalem. And the powers that be, the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders have been trying to trap him with questions. A scribe who overheard Jesus talking with the Sadduccees is impressed with his answers, and so he asks Jesus another question,“Which commandment is first of all?”

This is a question about the essence of faith. The scribe is asking Jesus to simplify the Gospel, boil it down, distill it into one sentence. In short, he asks, what does faith ask of us? What does it take to be a good person?

This Sunday we celebrate good people. Today is All Saints Sunday. For the Catholics, All Saints Day is a day in which they celebrate those who have been declared by the Catholic church to be particularly holy, saints like St. Francis of Assissi.[1] But Presbyterians use the word “saint” in a different way. We focus on the ongoing sanctification of the whole people of God, and celebrate the lives of ordinary believers . Paul called the Corinithians “those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints.” We are each sanctified, made holy, by Christ and called to be saints. So taking an All Saints Sunday view of the question, we might say that the scribe asks Jesus , “What does it take for us to become saints? What does it take to earn our place among the cloud of witnesses forever proclaiming the glory of God?

Now if I were asked this question, I would probably say something about being good, following the rules, being nice to other people. Or I might just pick one of the Ten Commandments that seems particularly hefty, and declare that the first commandment to follow above all, is to take no other Gods but God. But Jesus goes in a different direction. He quotes Deuteronomy 6:5, “Hear of Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” This is called the Shema, and it is the opening of the foundational covenant in Judaism. It’s proclaimed every week in the synagogue and its written on the doorpost of a Jewish home. The Ultra-Orthodox even write it out, place it in little boxes and strap it to their foreheads and arms as the bible commands in Deuteronomy 6:8.

Jesus’ answer  calls to mind the words of another saint, a saint in the Catholic tradition, Theodoré Guerin, who said, “What have we to do to become saints? Nothing more than we do every day. Only do it for the love of God.”

A friend of mine who went to Jewish Theological Seminary, across the street from Union introduced me to the music of  Shlomo Carlebach, he said he revolutionized sacred music for Judaism. He was loved by orthodox Jews in Brooklyn, hippies on communes in San Francisco, soldiers in Israel. He wasn’t trained to be a rabbi, but everywhere he went, he would play music and he would tell stories that helped people understand their faith, and so he was called Rabbi Shlomo.  This last week I came across this story he used to tell…he said it was one of the greatest  stories of his life.

It was during the Yom Kippur War in Israel in 1973, Rabbi Shlomo gave a concert for the soldiers. It was a beautiful concert, he said, the Spirit of God was high in that place, and thousands were there, pouring out their hearts to God . And after the soldiers had left, the officers stuck around for a little get-together, and an officer came up to him and said, “I have to tell you my story.”

He said, “I am from a left-wing kibbutz, {a kibbutz is a sort of commune, a farm that people lived and worked on in the days before Israel was a nation, and even today some still exist} So he said, “I am from a left-wing kibbutz. I don’t believe in God. I told my children religious people are fakes, they’re living in a world of lies. I told them we Jewish people are just like everybody else. I told them Israel is as holy as Tokyo…When the war began, I found myself fighting next to an officer who was from a very religious kibbutz. And the moment the fighting begins, early in the morning, he’s yelling, “Shema Yisroel, Hashem Melcheinu HaShem Echad” {This roughly translates to the beginning of the Shema, Hear O Israel, The Lord is King, the Lord is One}. The whole time, he’s yelling at the top of his lungs. I said to him, ‘Listen, my friend, I like you, but you’re getting on my nerves. You know the way I feel about God. I can’t stand it, all day long yelling God is one. I know you believe in God, and I appreciate it, but please, you’re making me nervous. He says to me, ‘You fight your way, I fight my way.’  This goes on all the time.[2] He was telling this to Rabbi Shlomo on the night of the concert, and then he said:

“I want you to know Thursday morning, early at dawn the fighting begins, and when he usually would yell HaShem Echad, God is One. He didn’t yell. I look on the ground. My friend is dying, He was shot. Suddenly, it was clear to me. I wished I could die for him. So precious. I fell to the ground, I took his dying hand and I said, ‘My sweetest friend, please let me die for you. Is there anything I can do for you?’ And this is what he said; ‘I want you to swear to me that you will yell HaShem Echad, God is One. Instead of me.”

Oh, the officer was crying, he said, “I swear to you, my friend I swear to you, I swear by the living God. My whole life, my whole life, I will yell HaShem Echad, God is One. And I will tell my children they should also yell Hashem Echad as long as they are alive.”

And he said to Rabbi Shlomo on that night at the concert, “You know the strangest thing. I absolutely did not believe in God. But that moment God opened all the gates of heaven for me. It was not that I believed in God. I saw God. It was clear to me that there is one God.”

So what does this story tell us about what we must do to become saints? I think the answer is clear. For the martyrs who died with God’s name on their lips, and for the people who lived ordinary, faithful lives that touched ours in some way. For all the faithful who have gone before us, we have to yell. We have to yell our love of God. To anyone who will listen to us and even when no one will listen to us, we must proclaim our love of God with all our heart, and with all our soul and with all our might and with all our strength. And joining our voices with the great cloud of witnesses which surrounds us, with the faithful of every time and every place, we proclaim the Lord’s resurrection until he comes in glory.

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[1] The Catholic Chuch commemorates those who have died in the past year on the next day, Nov. 2^nd. It is called All Souls’ Day.

[2] Excerpted from Carlebach, Shlomo. “Shlomo’s Greatest Stories,” Shlomo Carlebach, Aderet Music Corp, CD, 1996.

The Call of Bartimaeus

This is my sermon from October 28th, 2012. It's on the story of Bartimaeus, which is found in Mark 10:46-52. Paul Achtemeier's observance that this story is more of a call story really struck me, and I was very interested to learn that this is the only person in Mark's gospel that Jesus heals who has a name. For the first time we're asked not only to see what's going on with Jesus in this story, but what's going on for Bartimaeus.

 

The Call of Bartimaeus

So Jesus and his disciples, along with a large crowd of people, are on their way out of Jerusalem. And on the side of the road is a beggar, a blind man, named Bartimaeus. And when Bartimaeus hears that its Jesus of Nazareth passing by, he stands and shouts, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

And the people in the crowd are a little ticked off. They’re trying to listen to Jesus, and he’s over here making a big scene. They tell him to be quiet. They say, “C’mon man, sit down.”

But Bartimaeus won’t have it. He keeps hollering, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” He knows that there is something more for him, if he can just call out so that Jesus might hear. His call to Jesus is the most basic form of prayer there is: “Jesus, have mercy on me….” When you are out of tears and out of words and out of answers, here is a prayer that saves. But be careful with that prayer. When you find the strength to pray it, like Bartimaeus, you should expect transformation.

Finally, all this noise he’s making reaches Jesus and Jesus says, “Bring him here.” Some people in the crowd pass the word to Bartimaeus. They tell him, “Good news, Jesus has heard your cry, and he is calling you.” When Bartimaeus hears he jumps up and he throws off his cloak and he starts pushing through the crowd to the front. And when he finally gets there Jesus says, “What do you want?” And Bartimaeus says, “Teacher, let me see again.” Bartimaeus wants restoration. He wants restoration of his sight, but story isn’t just about his eyes. He wants restoration to the community, so that he’s no longer an object of pity. He wants restoration of his agency, so he is no longer bound by his weakness but living into the fullness of life.

And Jesus’ response is short. He just says, “Go, your faith has made you well.” It’s funny how this works, in the story. Jesus is trying to tell his disciples that he is the Messiah, and that he will be betrayed, killed, and rise again in three days. And they don’t see, and they don’t see, and they don’t see, and then they pass by this blind man, all he knows is rumor, he didn’t get the private instruction that the disciples got, but right away, he does see. He shows faith where the disciples have only shown cowardice, pride, and selfishness.

And when Jesus says those words, immediately, his sight is returned to him. Now with his sight, Bartimaeus is free. He can go anywhere he wants, and do anything he wants. Note what Jesus says, “Go, your faith has made you well.” Do what you want. Bartimaeus knows that having experienced this fullness, this restoration, he can’t go back to Jericho. He leaves his cloak behind and follows Jesus.

Paul Achtemeier says this isn’t a miracle story, or a healing story, it is a call story[1]. The point of the story isn’t to tell us how Jesus healed another blind man, but how Jesus called Bartimaeus. It’s not like the story of the hemorrhaging woman or Jairus’s daughter so much as it’s like the story of the burning bush, or Ezekiel eating the scroll. Bartimaeus has experienced something that changed his life. So I want us to think about this story not as another healing that proves that Jesus can do miracles, but a story about how Jesus calls his disciples, and consider what it means for how Jesus calls us today.

I want us to focus on a few key moments in this story. The first is Bartimaeus’ decision to call out to Jesus for healing. I don’t think we realize how much of a risk this is for him. There’s an old story about two blind men. Since they can’t work, they have to go from town to town and beg for money and food. And one day they come upon a famous surgeon, and he sees that they are blind and he says “You know, I might be able to restore your sight if you want to try.” And they say, “Yes, of course.” And so he takes one of them into his operating room and he works, and they come out, and the man takes the bandages off of his eyes and he says, “Oh, I can see! How wonderful this is! I can see!” And then he has this realization and says, “Doc, I can see. I can’t beg anymore. What am I going to do?” And the doctor explains that he will have to live by his labor, and learn a trade and work for his living the way other people do, isn’t that better? And he says, yeah, yeah, it is. And he invites the other man into the operating room and he says, “Doctor, if it’s all right with you, I’d rather not have the operation.” He’s afraid of being healed. The very act of asking for healing is a great act of courage. 

Even when our lives are miserable, we can be afraid to change them. That fear of change can hold us back, it can keep us from reaching out for something better.  Is there something in your life that you’re afraid to ask for? Is there a change for the better that you’re afraid to make? Don’t hold yourself back because you’ve become used to your problems. Believe that there is something better out there for you, and don’t be afraid to ask for it.

The second thing I want to point out is the way Bartimaeus interacts with the crowd. When Bartimaeus stands up and calls out to Jesus to heal him, some people in the crowd are upset. The change that Bartimaeus seeks threatens them. Bartimaeus is saying, “Come, Jesus, take my life, and make me something new. Proclaim the kingdom through me!” And the folks around him are saying, “Please, man, we are afraid of what might happen to us if Jesus comes to you.” Have you ever had this happen to you? You have an experience with God, a faith-defining moment, maybe on a retreat somewhere or maybe on your back porch, and you’re so excited, and you’re telling a friend about this, and they look at you and say, “You’re not gonna get all crazy are you?” The subtext of that is of course, “You’re not going to do something with your faith that makes me uncomfortable, are you?” Let me tell you these folks in Jericho would have been a lot more comfortable if Bartimaeus would just sit back down on the side of the road and go back to beggind for handouts.

But let’s not forget that there are others in the crowd who hear Jesus’ words to Bartimaeus, and hold on to them, and pass them on to him, to make sure that Jesus’ call doesn’t get lost. This too is worth noticing. It’s like when we lose a loved one, and our faith shatters, and we can’t hear God’s promise of resurrection, we can’t even bring ourselves to hear God. And our friends, and our family don’t condemn us or turn their backs, they hold those promises in trust for us, until we are ready to hear them. In the same way we pass on God’s promises to our kids, over and over again to make sure they hear them, so that Jesus’ offer of healing to them does not get lost in the crowd.

The third moment I would like to focus on is what happens when Bartimaeus learns that Jesus has called him forward. He immediately throws off his cloak, and comes forward. Jesus tells us that if you have an old cloak you don’t try to patch it with new, unshrunk cloth (Mk 2:21). If you do, it will tear and your cloak will be even worse off than before. Another time Jesus tells them that when the time comes, if you’ve left it behind, you should not try to go back and get it (Mk 13:16). When Bartimaeus jumps up, he leaves his old cloak behind, and with it he leaves his old life. When you come to follow Jesus, you have to leave your old life behind. Simon and Andrew leave their nets behind. James and John leave their father standing in the boat. But many people try to follow Jesus, but can’t seem to let go of their cloaks. The rich young man wants to follow Jesus, but he can’t let go of his wealth. Another man wants to follow, but insists on taking care of his dead father before he goes. We have to make sure that we don’t become so tied up in carrying our dead with us that we don’t follow Jesus when he calls, or become so used to creature comforts that we are not ready to suffer for Christ.

Over and over again we sit on the side of the road and let Jesus pass us by. Sometimes we are too afraid of leaving our comfortable infirmity to cry out, “Have mercy on me, Jesus.” Other times we cry out, but the people around us tell us the changes we’re making are too strange, we’re upsetting people with our faith, making a scene. And so we sit back down. Other times we want to go so badly, but we are not ready to leave behind the things that tie us down and hold us back. But what we learn from the story today is that it begins with a simple, but courageous act: asking for help. “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.” That act is enough.

The book of Hebrews tells us that “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen.” Bartimaeus has faith. He has the courage to speak up, the willingness to ask for something more.[2] If you open your heart and ask Jesus to come into it your life will be transformed. It opens our eyes to good news, and it restores us to freedom from weakness and dependence. It isn’t easy, the people around you will try to push you back down and fit us back into the slots that they’ve made for you. And you’ll have to let go of some of the things you’ve been hanging on to for a long time. But what we learn today is that wherever there is someone willing to cry out for help, wherever there is faith, wherever Jesus Christ is Lord of all, there is new power and new possibility.

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[1] Achtemeier, Paul. “And He Followed Him: Miracles and Discipleship in Mark 10:46-52” Semeia no. 11 1978. p. 115

[2] Walter Brueggemann says that “Faith is the courage to speak, to announce for oneself a new possibility.” Brueggemann, Walter. “Theological Education: Healing the Blind Beggar” The Christian Century vol 103 no. 5 F 5-12, 1986. p. 115.

Without a Doubt

This sermon was preached on October 14th, 2012. It is based on two texts, Mark 10:17-31 and Hebrews 4:12-16. It's the first time I've really talked about Hannah in a sermon, and she took it very gracefully. She was a total champ. It's also the first time I've returned to preach on a text that I've preached before (I did a first-person perspective sermon on this in seminary), and I found that I saw the text in a completely different way. That's a relief for me, because goodness knows what would happen if I discovered that after going through the lectionary once I didn't have anything else to say.
 

Without a Doubt

At this point in the book of Mark, Jesus is beginning the next stage in his journey towards Jerusalem. And while he’s getting ready, a young man runs up to him, and kneels down before him. Now this rich young man is the kind of guy who has it all figured out.

First of all, he’s rich (we learn that from Luke’s version of this story). Not only does that make life a little easier, at the time it was widely regarded as evidence of your piety, that you had earned God’s blessings. He’s also well-educated and well-bred. He knows the laws and has kept them since childhood. In other words, he is exactly what you’d think of when you think of a righteous and successful man. He is on the board of several important industry organizations, runs three fundraisers a year for the Make-a-Wish foundation, all while expanding his small business and cooking sumptuous and healthy dinners every night for his family. He comes to Jesus, and he kneels down in a great show of piety, and he says, “Good teacher {never hurts to lay it on a little thick} What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

I think we know the answer he was looking for: “What, you? With the number of charity golf tournaments you’ve played in, your salvation is assured!” He has heard that there is a new holy man on the block, and has come to seek his approval, he is looking for confirmation of his goodness. It’s strange how you can have everything and still be looking for something, and perhaps stranger still how often we go off looking for the wrong thing.

It’s easy to find ourselves in this position. To get caught up in our own righteousness, making sure that no good deed goes unseen by our neigbors. To talk about all the good things we’ve done instead of listening for the good things God is calling us to do. We all do it, those of us who regularly attend church perhaps worst of all. And Jesus looks at the young man, loves him, and says something the man did not want to hear, “You lack one thing: go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and then you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” The young man is shocked. He has nothing to say, and he walks away grieving. Jesus has seen right through him. Instead of his praising him, Jesus challenges him to store up his treasure in heaven instead of seeking the adoration of people on earth. His grief tells us everything. He has been exposed, his real motives are laid out for everyone to see.

The book of Hebrews tells us that this is what the word of God does. It is sharper than a two-edged sword. It pierces us, and our real motives and intentions are laid bare before the Lord.  When the author talks about the word of God, he isn’t just talking about the scriptures, but the real, living word of God that still calls to us today. A couple of years ago the UCC denomination launched an ad campaign, with bulletin boards, print ads and commercials, that said, “God is still speaking.” Its easy for us to forget that revelation did not end with the book of Revelation and that the word of God has not been silenced, but still speaks to us today, if we are willing to hear it.

The problem, of course, is that the Word of God is often hard for us to hear. Even when we do manage to hear that still, small voice over the noise of all the loud, shouting ones, we don’t always get the word that we want to hear. We walk away grieving, like the rich man, for we don’t receive the comfort and approval that we were hoping for. Instead, we are exposed for what we truly are. We are hoping for comforting truths, but the truth is rarely comfortable. As Georges Bernanos wrote, “Truth is meant to save you first, and the comfort comes afterwards.”[1]

True to this pattern, our passage from Hebrews does not leave us naked and pierced, but delivers good news. Christ has promised to intercede on our behalf, like the high priest who offered sacrifices on the behalf of the people. But Christ is no ordinary priest. He went through everything that we go through, all of the trials and temptations, the pain and misery of human life, and yet he remained perfect. His pedigree is impeccable, no fault can be found with him for he took on our weakness, but remained perfect. And he has chosen to clothe us in his perfection, because he loves us.

This is hard to believe. I mean, really believe. We can talk about God’s love being unconditional, because this is what we’ve always been taught, but it’s hard to shake the idea that we’ve earned it by being good. It’s hard to avoid thinking that we deserve God’s love. The danger here is that if we begin to believe that we can earn God’s love by being good, we might also believe that we can lose it by not being good enough. And that is a lie and a scandal to the true gospel of Jesus Christ.

I remember when it finally clicked for me: Hannah and I were chatting on the computer. This was back in the day when you had to walk all the way across the house to talk to  your girlfriend, you couldn’t just pull a cell phone out of your pocket. We had been dating a while, and we’d reached the point in our relationship where you can no longer get away with always presenting your best self, and you have to acknowledge your flaws and failures, and mine were beginning to show a little bit too clearly. I was embarrassed and uncomfortable, exposed that way. But she told me, “I love you absolutely. With all of your weirdness and wounds, and without any doubts.” I can’t tell you how high I was in that moment. I realized that I was far too late to hide my failures. She knew them. And she loved me anyway. And I remember staring at the computer screen, and realizing for the first time, this is what it means that God loves me unconditionally. That before God, all my selfishness and sin is right out in the open. And I’m loved anyway. Grace. I never got it, until that moment.

When the rich young man came before Jesus, Jesus saw right through him. His real self, was laid bare before Jesus eyes. Let me tell you again what Mark says about this moment “Jesus, looking at him, loved him.” Jesus sees us and he understands and he loves us anyway. He knows our weaknesses because he took them on when he took on flesh. And he gave up his life that we might be forgiven. Because of that we can approach God’s throne with boldness, without being afraid that we aren’t good enough, without trying to hide who we are or put our best foot forward. The ransom has already been paid. God’s promise has already been made. We are loved with all our weirdness and our wounds, and without a doubt.

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[1] Bernanos, George. The Diary of a Country Priest. New York: Carroll and Graf, 1983. p. 54

Wrestling with God

This is my sermon from October 7th, 2012. It's on my favorite Bible story (and the namesake for this blog! See that post here). The story is Jacob wrestling with God at Peniel, and it's found in Genesis 32:22-31.
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Wrestling with God

In our story for today, Esau has come out to meet Jacob, and Jacob is afraid. Jacob has not done right by Esau. He bought Esau’s birthright for a bowl of soup, and stole his blessing with sheepskin on his arms. He took everything that was Esau’s through manipulation and trickery, and the last he saw Esau, Esau was angry and trying to kill him. Years had passed, and now Esau was coming out to meet him, and had with him 400 men, the makings of an army. Jacob feared for his life.

There are two versions of this story within the text. In one, Jacob splits his family into two groups, so that if Esau’s army attacks one, the other might flee and escape. In the other, he sends his family ahead of him, perhaps hoping that it will soften Esau’s heart, or that Esau might pass them by to get to him. In both, Jacob is left on the other side of the river Jabbok from his family, spending the night alone and afraid. Somehow, during the night, he finds himself wrestling with a stranger. They wrestle all night. When the stranger saw that he could not defeat Jacob, he strikes him on the hip. Jacob is wounded, but he refused to let go. They at it like this until daybreak, when the stranger demands that Jacob let him go, because dawn is coming. But Jacob will not go. “I will not let you go, unless you bless me,” he says.

Then the stranger gives Jacob a new name, Israel, which means, “God strives,” or “one who strives with God.” Jacob asks the strangers name, but the volleys back with another question, “Why is it that you ask my name?” and then blesses him. Once more, Jacob has received a blessing through his own striving.

When the man leaves, Jacob realizes that this being with which he wrestled, was no man, but God. He renames the place Peni-el, the face of God, for, he says, “I have seen God face to face; and yet my life is preserved.” He walks away from the encounter blessed, but with a limp.

This is my favorite story in the Bible. I love it. If you’ve seen my sermon blog, or twitter handle, or a number of other online identities I hold, you know. I use atthejabbok as my name online a lot. And the reason I love this story so much is that I think it is emblematic of what it means for us to be the people of God.

Jacob is a foundational figure for the people of Israel. The twelve tribes of Israel take their names from Jacob’s sons and see Jacob as their common ancestor. It is through him that they find their unity and identity. And this story is where Jacob finds his identity. Jacob, whose name previously meant “heel” but had connotations of supplanting and trickery, is given a new name, Israel, which means, “one who strives with God.” Jacob works with God in a different way from the one we’re often taught. He bargains. He negotiates. He demands. He begs. He struggles to believe. He acts with confidence in God’s blessing. His new name Israel is apt, for Jacob has spent his whole life wrestling with God.  I think one of the reasons I like this so much is that my faith has been defined by this wrestling. For belief, for understanding, for strength, courage, and confidence that I am loved.

This isn’t just a story about Jacob, it is an origin story for the people of God. This is the first time that the word Israel appears in the Bible. The name that comes to refer to the community of God comes from this story of wrestling with God. And the fact that Israel traces its roots to this story tells us that to be the community of Israel is to wrestle with God. And since we are the heirs of Jacob, the nation of Israel, we too are called to wrestle with God. We’re not called into the faith of easy answers or cheap grace, we’re called to be a part of a community that struggles with what it means to be the people of God.

Communities are messy places, full of disagreement and difficulty, but communities are also the places where God's grace is most evident, in forgiveness, in collaboration, and in sharing with one other in suffering and celebration. Being a part of a community of faith pushes us to great heights and pulls us into closeness with God.

We’re called into a faith that seeks interaction with the divine, one that will transform us into new people. Like the faith of the father in our passage from Mark, who cries out to Jesus “I believe! Help my unbelief!” God calls us into a dynamic, challenging relationship that requires much more than just obedience. It calls for us to struggle with our beliefs and with each other, to question and challenge what we are told, and strive to follow God wherever God leads us. And it is in the wrestling that we find ourselves face to face with God.

But wrestling with God is not a safe activity. We cannot expect to come out of it in the same shape that we came in. We might note that Jacob is a different person after his encounter at the Jabbok River.  He makes peace with his brother Esau, seeks reconciliation with his neighbors, and condemns his sons when they are deceitful and violent. He moves from a person who struggles against other people to one who struggles with God, concerned not with his own gain but God’s will. For us too, participation in God’s community involves transformation. To wrestle with God is to allow ourselves to be marked as God’s. It calls us into the very dangerous work of loving those who barely love themselves. It calls us to reach out in support, even when we might be wounded in return. It calls us to be peacemakers, even when others might see us as weak. Wrestling with God involves opening ourselves up enough to become vulnerable to the piercing words of God’s truth. In other words, when you put yourself in real, honest relationship with God, do not expect to walk away without a limp.

But Jacob, in spite of his wounds, refuses to let go. Jacob is not the type to give up because he didn’t get the answer he wanted. Even when he’s hurt and cannot win, he will not let go. There are times in our lives when wrestling with God seems to be more than we can bear. When it’s easier to keep holding onto the faith of our childhood rather than braving the tough questions that adult life brings. When we find ourselves living a life so isolated that we cannot imagine what good a relationship with God could bring. But in Jacob we see that, as the Psalmist says, “Joy comes in the morning.” Jacob holds on tightly in this moment when he is at his most vulnerable, afraid of losing his family. Alone and set upon by a stranger, he hangs on through the darkest hours of the night, and is rewarded at dawn with God’s blessing for his perseverance.

All too often we Christians come to faith looking for solutions and easy answers, for comfort without obligation, or justification for our behavior. We don’t come to wrestle with God, but to use God, to manipulate things to our advantage. But this story implies that being God’s people means more than some otherworldly reward and punishment system. When Jacob wrestles with God he finds himself pulled into a challenging relationship, wounded but transformed, and finally and most significantly, blessed. He looks back on that night with newfound wisdom, the realization that he has seen God face to face. When we come to God with openness, seeking relationship, not justification for our actions, we too will find ourselves transformed and blessed. Transformed, because you cannot open your heart to God without being led to a deeper and more fulfilling understanding of what it means to be God’s. Blessed, because if you hold on through the night you will receive God’s favor and grace.

If we open ourselves to God and engage deeply with the questions on our hearts and the worries on our minds, dispensing of the platitudes so common in faith and searching for a deep and fulfilling relationship with God made flesh, Christ, that even though now we see only in a mirror dimly, we shall come to see God face to face. And when we do, we cannot expect to walk away from the encounter anything but transformed, and we should remember, to never let go without a blessing.

Think Little

This was the sermon for September 23rd, 2012. It's on Mark 9:30-37. Hope that you enjoy what it has to say.

Think Little

I watch a lot of college football, and since I watch a lot of football, I end up watching a lot of commercials. It sort of comes with the territory. And this early in the season, every time, I watch it thinking: “Wow, this is the commercial that I will be seeing over and over again for the next six months.” So I try (sometimes) to find ways to appreciate some of the commercials that I’m going to have to watch every Saturday until January.

One particular commercial, is for a little chicken sandwich, and it’s set in an office. The boss walks in with a big announcement. “Little news everyone!!!” he says, “The little wigs down at corporate are coming in, so I want everyone to think little!!” It goes on like this, wherever you’d expect him to say big, again he says little. “You want to be a little shot?” he asks. “Step it up!”

The text we have this week, Jesus is telling us to think little. That doesn’t mean think as little as possible. One of the great thing about the Presbyterian Church is that it has always encouraged thinking. We encourage people to think, to ask questions, and to always seek to learn more. That’s why there are so many Presbyterian colleges and universities.

What Jesus is telling us is that if we want to follow him, we can’t be thinking about how to make ourselves bigger. We have to humble ourselves and choose to make others bigger in our lives instead. In other words, if you want to be big, think little. This reversal is one of the major themes of the Gospel. Where you’d expect weakness, there is power. Where you’d expect power, there is weakness. God lifts David over Goliath. Hebrew slaves over their Egyptian masters. And, in the greatest example, the Almighty comes down, not in strength, but in human vulnerability, and lays himself down that we may know the way to true greatness. This is what Jesus has been explaining to the disciples as they made their way to Capernaum.

The disciples, on the other hand, are thinking big. When Jesus tells them that the son of Man will be betrayed, die, and be raised, they are afraid to ask what he means. No one wants to look small by admitting that they don’t understand. Instead, they remain silent. And as soon as Jesus has turned his back on them, they begin to argue over who is the greatest.

In today’s success driven world we’re always thinking, a little bit, about our own greatness. Wondering what other people think of us. Measuring ourselves against our neighbors, coworkers and friends. We drive by our neighbor’s house, and we wonder, “Is their house bigger than ours? I bet their electricity bill is through the roof.” We go to a funeral and we think, “What will they say about me?” When someone says that their grandchild has learned his ABC’s in record time, we find a way to casually slip into the conversation that our granddaughter was walking way before the age the experts say is normal.

And in the midst of all this posturing and positioning, all these comparisons to see who fits where in the pecking order, Jesus asks his disciples, “What were you arguing about on the way?” and the disciples are caught up short. They are silent once again, this time because they are ashamed.

This is a question that pulls me up short as well. I try not to be too much of a worrier. The lesson in my family has always been, if it’s something you can do something about, do your best, and don’t leave anything behind. But there’s no use worrying about things you don’t have any control over. So when it comes to the afterlife, I decided a long time ago that I was going to give myself up to God, and do my best to be who God wants me to be, and to love like God wants me to love, and if I do my best, worrying won’t do me any good. But even so, I worry, that when Christ comes in glory, and I stand before him, he will ask me, “What were you arguing about on the way?” Why did you spend so much time fighting when you could have been feeding my sheep? Why did you spend so much time trying to look impressive and strong when I came down to earth in weakness and vulnerability?  And I too, will remain silent. And I too, will be ashamed.

Now we should spend a little extra time on this phrase, “on the way” because Mark is not just talking about where they were going right then, but about where we are all going. “The Way” was one of the earliest phrases used to describe Christianity, and “on the way” is Mark’s shorthand for choosing to follow Jesus. It’s repeated several times in this section of his gospel. To follow Jesus is to be on the way. Not, as the disciples think, on the way to greatness, but on the way to Jerusalem. Jesus has a different way from the ways of the world, from the rat race, the competition for status and respect, the desire to be the biggest, the greatest, and the smartest. Jesus wants us to think little.

“Who ever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Jesus said. And then he takes a child in his arms. And he says that “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”  Now we like to interpret this using our modern eyes, and in our modern eyes, children are just absolutely precious. They are adorable, and they say the darndest things, and we think that there is wisdom in their innocence and simplicity. We celebrate the idea of looking at things with a child’s eyes. But if we were to put on our first century glasses, we would see something different.

It’s not that people in the ancient world hated children, it’s just that they were, well, sort of useless. A liability at best. They would eventually, when they grew up, become adults in the household, and share in its support and in its improvement, but until then, they were just another mouth to feed. There was a good chance that they would contract an illness and die. The care of children was largely pushed onto that other marginalized group that Jesus cared about, women, and they were largely held from view, lest they do something embarrassing.

So if we leave our first century glasses on, but put our eyes back onto our society, we’re forced to wonder, who fits that description now? Who are the people in our world who are considered liabilities, who don’t matter, who have little value, and are best kept out of view lest they do something embarrassing. I can think of a few groups of people who might fit these qualifications, a few who we might be able to welcome just as Jesus welcomes this little child.

Millard Fuller was a remarkably successful businessman. He started a marketing firm with a friend while he was still in college at Auburn, and by age 29, he was a millionaire. He and his wife owned nice cars, a huge house, and lots of land. They had just about anything that money could buy.

Except . . . well, they weren’t happy. They looked around at everything they had, and they thought that there just must be something more to life than what they were getting.

One of their friends suggested that they turn to God, and so they tried reading the Bible and praying with other Christians, and eventually were led to a place called Koinonia Farms, where people were trying to find practical ways to apply Christ’s teachings.

They heard from these Christians that there was more to life than what success could bring, and they became determined to find out what it was. They decided to give away their wealth. They sold their cars, their house, the land, the cattle, everything. And they gave it all away. For the next five years, they worked in missions. At Koinonia they worked to set up low-cost housing for people in Georgia. Later, they took this program to Zaire, and built a hundred low-cost units to house people there. Eventually, they decided that God was calling them to implement this vision here in the United States. They started Habitat for Humanity, which has at this point built more than half a million houses on five continents which house more than 1.75 million people.

Millard was a remarkable innovator, and with his success at a young age, he likely could have built one of the world’s greatest fortunes, but instead, he chose a different path. Instead of choosing to build himself up, Millard and his wife chose to lift others up. They chose to make themselves servants, and in doing so, they finally found the fulfillment and happiness that they had sought.

In spite of the worldly vision that we can lift ourselves up into greatness, into bigness, and then we will be happy, Jesus offers us another way. He says if you want to be first, you must put yourself last. If you want to be big, think little. If you want the King of Kings in your life, you must make yourself the servant of servants. You must welcome the lowly and the insignificant and the worthless in His name, and in doing so you will be welcoming Him into your heart. In lifting others up over yourself you will find much more joy than all of the greatness in the world can give you. As Rev. James Freeman Clarke says, “See you do good, and you will find that happiness will run after you.”

The way is neither easy nor safe. It calls us to give ourselves up for others, and not just those who would do the same for us, but for those who have nothing to give in return. But though we might lose everything, even our lives, we have the world to gain. If we just put our trust in God and think little, something big will come our way.

Mamaw's Prayer

This was my sermon from September 30th. The sermon is on James 5:13-20. I've used a story from my family that's pretty important to me and to my faith. (Trigger warning: this story references an electrical accident and makes brief mention of suicide. Here's an escape route.)

Mamaw’s Prayer

When my mother was about six, my granddad was in a terrible electrical accident. He was an electrician, and while working on a telephone pole, was electrocuted. He had burns all over his body, especially his chest and arms. When they brought him to the hospital, and the doctors told my grandmother there was no hope. They flat out refused to treat him, because they said he was a waste of effort,  a lost cause. Now my grandmother was a teacher, and the daughter of a preacher. She believed fervently in the power of prayer, and she certainly needed it then. She had three children, two young boys and my mom, the youngest, a little girl. She got down on her knees, and this was her prayer, “Lord, please don’t leave me alone here. Keep him alive, to help me raise the children.”

In our reading from the book of James, James writes to us about prayer. His advice is to give everything to God. Listen to his words to us:

Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise. Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven. (James 5:13-15)

He tells us that the prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective, and uses the example of Elijah, whose prayers shut the heavens for three and a half years, and then opened them again, delivering rain to a parched land. James encourages us to confess our sins and ask forgiveness, that our prayers, whatever they might be, would be answered.

James’ words echo other stories in the scriptures about answered prayers. The Gospel of Matthew tells us that everyone who asks receives and everyone who searches finds (Matthew 7:8). In the Gospel of John, Jesus says, “If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.” (John 15:7). And stories of answered prayers abound. The Hebrew slaves cried out to God for deliverance, and God lifted up Moses to lead them to the Promised Land. Hannah was barren, and prayed for many years for a child of her own. God blessed her with Samuel, who grew up to be a great prophet and judge of Israel. When Nathan confronted David about his adultery with Bathsheba he falls to his knees to beg forgiveness, and it is granted.

The reader would be forgiven for thinking that the intent of this passage is to tell us that if we are good people, God will do whatever we say. But anyone who has lived in the real world for any period of time has seen too much to take it at face value. Tragedy falls on believers and unbelievers alike, and some prayers remain unanswered. There are men and women who feel called to be parents, but their prayers for a child are never answered. There are children who pray each day that they might find enough to eat, but as often as not lay their heads to rest with nothing in their bellies. This is acknowledged even in the scriptures. The author of Ecclesiastes acknowledges this reality when he writes “there are righteous people who perish in their righteousness, and there are wicked people who prolong their life in their evil doing.”

            And though the scriptures often record answered prayers, they also tell us of prayers that were not answered.  The Psalms include both “I love the Lord, who heard my cry,” and “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.” Elijah, who is given as an example of answered prayer, goes off into the woods, and says, “O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors,” but the Lord has other plans. Even Jesus offers up prayers that go unanswered. On the final night of his life, he prays in the garden of Gethsemane, “Father, he says, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet not what I want, but what you want.” Even though Jesus is the epitome of human perfect, and none were more righteous than he, but he too, experienced the disappointment of unanswered prayer.

            But let’s push a little further, and ask: what would happen if God really did answer every prayer? If God did answer every prayer, it would be a perversion of what we proclaim when we say that God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, is our Lord. For if God answered every prayer, our prayers would no longer be petitions, but commands. God would not be our Lord and master, but a genie, who we could use to get what we want. God is not Santa Claus, who gives every good boy and girl exactly what they want, he is the Creator and Lord of all. As much as we would like it, God is not under our control, or tame. God is a wild, relentless power, who speaks to us out of the whirlwind, saying, “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?” (Job 38:4)

Some would say that God answers all our prayers, if only we pray the right way. They declare that if our motives are pure and good, and we have repented of our sin and are in right relationship with God, and our timing is correct, and our request is consistent with what God wants, then our prayers will be answered in good time. Now these are all excellent spiritual disciplines and true, especially that last part, that if our request is consistent with what God wants it will be granted. But saying it this way implies once again that we can control whether our prayers are answered, if only we pray just right. Also, it implies that prayers that go unanswered are somehow wrong, and forgets prayer’s value for helping us express grief and pain, learn and grow, and experience closeness with God.

James doesn’t limit the value of prayer to the answers we receive, but tells us that no matter what our situation is, we should cling to and glorify God within it. In life and in death, in sickness, and in health, we belong to God, who has taken us as his own, enfolded us into his sheepfold, and called us by name.

James then uses the phrase, “The prayer of faith.” Now in today’s Christianity, heavily influenced by Luther’s “salvation by faith alone” we often conflate faith with belief. But the book of James has emphasized that faith does not exist outside of our actions, outside of our behavior. In this sense, faith is less about belief, and more about trust. To have faith in something is to believe that something is true, whether or not that belief is ever tested. But to trust is to act on your belief, to put yourself in the position of being dependent. 

So when James talks about the prayer of faith, he is not telling us that if we just ask the right way, or really and truly believe it in our hearts, then our answer is guaranteed. James is talking about trust in God. The prayer of faith is an act of trust that God will fulfill God’s promises and God’s will revealed in scripture.  The prayer of faith declares, as Jesus did, “not what I want, but what you want.” James tells us not to trust in our own hopes and dreams, but to put our trust that God’s will for us is right, though we may not understand it. As Philip Yancey puts it, “ I have learned that faith is trusting in advance what will only make sense in reverse.” To pray in faith is to acknowledge an utter dependence on God’s will, even though to do so might lead to results we don’t understand, because we know that what God wants is best.

Now I don’t know what my grandmother was thinking when she offered up her prayer in that hospital. When she said, “Lord, let him live, to help me raise the children.” I cannot say is she spoke with the confidence of one who is assured of success, or with the nagging doubts that can plague us, or even without hope at all. But what I do know is that when her family experienced tragedy, she clung to God as tightly as she could. 

Eventually they found a doctor who was willing to operate.  The family held their breaths. Finally, after hours of waiting, they were given the news. He had lost more than 20 feet of intestines and both of his arms, but somehow he had survived

Papaw lived twelve more years. He learned to use prosthetic arms. My mom says he got so good with those hooks that he could pick up a piece of cigarette ash. Recently I stumbled across a bunch of old pictures, and saw a couple of him holding two smallmouth bass he’d caught. He loved to go fishing, Mom tells me. While Mamaw taught, making money for the family, he stayed home and took care of the children. I guess he was a stay at home dad way before it was cool.

When my mother was eighteen, Papaw died. He died of depression by way of his own hand. Suicide is no easy thing for a family to go through. The loss is painful, and it is made more so because your anger is pointed in the same direction. They come together in a tornado of emotion that seeks to consume you. But in the midst of that suffering and pain, the family remembered Mamaw’s prayer. God kept him alive until all the children were raised. And they clung all the more tightly to God.

The scriptures don’t tell us that God will give us everything we want, or give us a clear set of steps to guarantee getting our way in the world.  What they do tell us, is that God loves us, and promises to be with us through everything that we do. And that the God we have, is a God worth putting our trust in.