Matthew 2:1-12
This reading from Matthew is familiar. Too familiar perhaps. It’s a story well-told. We hear it and our minds race to Christmas cards that we’ve received showing three elegantly clad kings on camels with a small city in the background with a bright star shining overhead. But let’s think seriously about this scripture for a moment. It’s one that deserves some attention.
We tend to conflate the two stories of Christmas, putting together Luke’s version of the angels’ appearance to the shepherds and with Matthew’s tale of the wise men coming to pay homage to the newborn king. Each story has a separate viewpoint and a separate lesson to tell.
Luke, for instance, brings the message of Jesus first and foremost to the poorest of the poor. Luke’s angels bypass the ruling hierarchy and the religious leaders of the day and go to the lowest members of the society at the time. God is concerned for the poor, Luke says. God comes for everyone, including and especially for those who are usually excluded.
Matthew has a different bent. Not that Matthew says that God came to earth only for the rich and powerful. Far from it. It would be wrong to state that Jesus’ concern for the poor is ever far from present in any stories about him.
But Matthew has a particular audience to think about. Matthew’s gospel, the scholars have reckoned, was written at the end of the 1st century. This is after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem by the occupying Roman forces.
There had been a great conflict throughout the first century between James and Paul. James and his followers wanted to keep the message of Christ for the Jews. James would have kept the followers of Jesus good practicing Jews.
By contrast, Paul felt that the message of Jesus was for a wider audience. He wanted to take the message beyond Jerusalem and Judea. He is famous for traveling to the Gentiles with this message of God’s love, redemption and grace through Jesus Christ.
This conflict did not end with the death of James and Paul around the year 60 either. In fact, some think the argument may have intensified.
Then in the year 72 the Temple was destroyed and the Jews were dispersed throughout the empire. Jerusalem was no longer the center of the worship of the Jewish faith. The synagogue took on more importance. And the earliest forms of Christianity followed along and through necessity spread into Gentile lands.
But in the meantime, Paul’s disciples continued to spread the gospel in Gentile lands also. And it was for these dispersed Jews and Gentile Christians that Matthew’s gospel was written.
And how does Matthew tell the story of Jesus’ birth? By bringing in outsiders—Gentiles—to worship the newborn baby. Matthew is putting his stamp of approval on non-Jews. By bringing in these visitors from outside Judea, Matthew is letting his original readers, as well as us, know that there is a wide world out there and God’s love is for all.
These days we’re hearing a lot about all of the world’s religions. Interreligious dialogue is occurring at many levels and we’re becoming accustomed to hearing more and more about Islam, Sufism, Buddhism, Hinduism and the other various religions that people on earth follow. In fact, when we became a congregation of The Center of Progressive Christianity, one of the 8 points we discussed was that “By calling ourselves progressive, we mean we are Christians who...Recognize the faithfulness of other people who have other names for the way to God's realm, and acknowledge that their ways are true for them, as our ways are true for us.”
The ones whom we remember today—the so-called Wise Men from the East—were not Christian and in fact, likely never became part of The Way or the earliest forms of the Christian church. But they worshipped the Jews’ God as found in a small baby born on earth almost 2000 years ago.
Matthew reminds us that there are other ways to worship God through this passage this morning. We are not alone in our worship of God. The way we worship the Almighty One may vary, in fact what we call the Holy One varies. But we worship the One who created us and loves us.
Unfortunately, lately, other religions have been getting a bad name. With the rise of Christian fundamentalism and the rise of Islamic fundamentalism, we are finding ourselves in the midst of a clash between these two religions. We’ve also seen signs of anti-Semitism and a linking of our culture with the Christian faith.
We are off course and moving away from Matthew’s gospel if we are to claim God as our own and try to keep God away from other faiths. God is bigger than one faith’s truth can contain. As humans, we have to recognize our limitations, which includes our faith’s limitations. This does not mean that we abandon our own Christian faith. God is revealed to us through the one named Jesus who was born in the tiny little town of Bethlehem. The same one that the Wise Men came seeking, following the star.
17 December 2006
061217ser
Zephaniah 3:14-20; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18
I found a story on the internet this week from Barry Robinson, the author of a website entitled “Keeping the Faith in Babylon” that is used in relation to our scripture readings. Robinson writes that one of his favorite stories is the legend of "How St. Francis Taught The People of Gubbio To Feed Their Wolf." It is a strangely humorous story with layer upon layer of meaning according to Robinson.
In a nutshell, the people of Gubbio have a problem. The bloody remains of some of their townsfolk start showing up on the streets of their beautiful city when people awake in the morning. Since the people of Gubbio are very proud people, they are convinced that "a stranger" passing through must be responsible for the terrible crime. Nevertheless, they begin to "lock" their doors at night. When more deaths follow, the same denial "that no one in Gubbio could be responsible for such a thing" is expressed over and over again.
And then, someone sees a wolf wandering the streets of Gubbio one night after everyone has retired; and the people of Gubbio realize that there is a wolf living in the dark woods on one side of Gubbio. Of course, this could not be their wolf; because they never asked this wolf to come to Gubbio. Immediately, they begin to find ways to dispatch this wolf.
After a number of futile attempts, the people get desperate enough to approach the holy man of Assisi who has a reputation for being able "to talk to animals".
St. Francis "speaks" to the wolf and gives the people what appears to be some strange and, not entirely, welcome advice.
He tells the people of Gubbio that they must "feed" their wolf.
At the first, the people are not impressed with this suggestion and begin to wonder why they ever approached the holy man in the first place. And, then, something miraculous happens. Bit by bit, people begin to leave food out for the wolf as he prowls the streets of Gubbio. The violent deaths cease and it is not long before every man, woman and child has learned how to "feed their wolf." As a result, the people of Gubbio are transformed.
They become more easy-going, less arrogant human beings.
Robinson says that people who hear this story for the first time have a variety of reactions to it.
Some are immediately amused by the story and identify with the proud people of Gubbio. They recognize that haughtiness that has to "blame it on strangers" when something goes wrong. The denial and avoidance of the townsfolk are all too familiar. In laughing at the people of Gubbio as they come to terms with their wolf, they realize that they themselves can find healing and freedom by embracing the negative aspects of themselves, their community and their church, that part of the story that is symbolized by the wonderfully vague image of "the wolf."
Other people, however, just don't get it. Or worse, they are offended by the suggestion of a self-identity that incorporates rather than excludes "their" wolf. They decline the invitation to befriend and feed that which they fear most in themselves and each other and miss the opportunity to come to a new and healthier understanding of themselves.
We get equally confounding advice from scripture this third week of Advent. This is Gaudete or Rejoice Sunday, a time when we stop the waiting and watching and preparing of advent and just rejoice.
Paul’s message to us this morning from Philippians is to “rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”
And from the ancient prophet Zephaniah we are told, “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!”
Those sound like appropriate Yuletide scriptures. Rejoicing and singing abound.
But then we reach the gospel lesson where John the Baptist preaches, “Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”
We’re reminded that God is not Santa Claus who knows whether we’re naughty or nice but Jesus who comes among us and calls us to turn around and follow him. Like the good folk of Gubbio, we need to recognize and feed our wolf. Feeding our wolf, means recognizing those parts that need to be chopped down and thrown into the fire so that we may properly rejoice.
Rejoicing requires that we are not afraid to face our own wolves and feed them so they don’t do further damage. It’s looking deep within ourselves and recognizing the wolf side of us that we don’t like to show in public.
Once we have faced and fed our wolf, we are ready to rejoice. We can then get on with the joy that is part of our lives. We can be like Paul, who writing from prison says that he is ready to rejoice and that in any situation he has learned to be happy.
The Good News of Advent is that God has come, is coming and will continue to come among us, calling us to repentance and to turning ourselves around, as John did among those first century crowds who came to him for baptism.
This advent, take time to rejoice. The waiting and preparing will continue but do so in joy. “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice!”
Zephaniah 3:14-20; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18
I found a story on the internet this week from Barry Robinson, the author of a website entitled “Keeping the Faith in Babylon” that is used in relation to our scripture readings. Robinson writes that one of his favorite stories is the legend of "How St. Francis Taught The People of Gubbio To Feed Their Wolf." It is a strangely humorous story with layer upon layer of meaning according to Robinson.
In a nutshell, the people of Gubbio have a problem. The bloody remains of some of their townsfolk start showing up on the streets of their beautiful city when people awake in the morning. Since the people of Gubbio are very proud people, they are convinced that "a stranger" passing through must be responsible for the terrible crime. Nevertheless, they begin to "lock" their doors at night. When more deaths follow, the same denial "that no one in Gubbio could be responsible for such a thing" is expressed over and over again.
And then, someone sees a wolf wandering the streets of Gubbio one night after everyone has retired; and the people of Gubbio realize that there is a wolf living in the dark woods on one side of Gubbio. Of course, this could not be their wolf; because they never asked this wolf to come to Gubbio. Immediately, they begin to find ways to dispatch this wolf.
After a number of futile attempts, the people get desperate enough to approach the holy man of Assisi who has a reputation for being able "to talk to animals".
St. Francis "speaks" to the wolf and gives the people what appears to be some strange and, not entirely, welcome advice.
He tells the people of Gubbio that they must "feed" their wolf.
At the first, the people are not impressed with this suggestion and begin to wonder why they ever approached the holy man in the first place. And, then, something miraculous happens. Bit by bit, people begin to leave food out for the wolf as he prowls the streets of Gubbio. The violent deaths cease and it is not long before every man, woman and child has learned how to "feed their wolf." As a result, the people of Gubbio are transformed.
They become more easy-going, less arrogant human beings.
Robinson says that people who hear this story for the first time have a variety of reactions to it.
Some are immediately amused by the story and identify with the proud people of Gubbio. They recognize that haughtiness that has to "blame it on strangers" when something goes wrong. The denial and avoidance of the townsfolk are all too familiar. In laughing at the people of Gubbio as they come to terms with their wolf, they realize that they themselves can find healing and freedom by embracing the negative aspects of themselves, their community and their church, that part of the story that is symbolized by the wonderfully vague image of "the wolf."
Other people, however, just don't get it. Or worse, they are offended by the suggestion of a self-identity that incorporates rather than excludes "their" wolf. They decline the invitation to befriend and feed that which they fear most in themselves and each other and miss the opportunity to come to a new and healthier understanding of themselves.
We get equally confounding advice from scripture this third week of Advent. This is Gaudete or Rejoice Sunday, a time when we stop the waiting and watching and preparing of advent and just rejoice.
Paul’s message to us this morning from Philippians is to “rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”
And from the ancient prophet Zephaniah we are told, “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!”
Those sound like appropriate Yuletide scriptures. Rejoicing and singing abound.
But then we reach the gospel lesson where John the Baptist preaches, “Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”
We’re reminded that God is not Santa Claus who knows whether we’re naughty or nice but Jesus who comes among us and calls us to turn around and follow him. Like the good folk of Gubbio, we need to recognize and feed our wolf. Feeding our wolf, means recognizing those parts that need to be chopped down and thrown into the fire so that we may properly rejoice.
Rejoicing requires that we are not afraid to face our own wolves and feed them so they don’t do further damage. It’s looking deep within ourselves and recognizing the wolf side of us that we don’t like to show in public.
Once we have faced and fed our wolf, we are ready to rejoice. We can then get on with the joy that is part of our lives. We can be like Paul, who writing from prison says that he is ready to rejoice and that in any situation he has learned to be happy.
The Good News of Advent is that God has come, is coming and will continue to come among us, calling us to repentance and to turning ourselves around, as John did among those first century crowds who came to him for baptism.
This advent, take time to rejoice. The waiting and preparing will continue but do so in joy. “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice!”
10 December 2006
Malachi 3:1-4; Luke 1:68-79; Luke 3:1-6
We get two views of John in our readings this morning so attention must be paid. First there is the song/prophesy that his father sings in the first reading from Luke upon the birth of John. And then secondly, there is the introduction to John’s ministry that we heard in the 2nd Luke reading.
As part of the nativity narratives, the birth of John is included. We’re told that Jesus and John are related. Mary and Elizabeth are cousins, likely. John is born late in life for Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah. They had previously been childless but in their later years John came along. And Zechariah knew that this was a special child from the beginning, thus his song that we read together this morning.
Then we get the introduction, a few chapters later, of John’s ministry: a ministry of preparing the way for Jesus. John was calling people to repentance and baptizing in the River Jordan out there in the wilderness. And people were flocking to him from everywhere. John was very popular.
But his was a ministry of preparation. A ministry in which he made the way plain for the one who was to come, that being Jesus, of course. Preparing the people for Jesus’ message.
We know a little about John. He was, as I said, the son of Elizabeth and Zechariah. As an adult, he took to the desert, living a rough life. He ate locusts and wild honey and wore a hair shirt, whether as a sign of his own repentance or whether it was just a sign of how rough his life was, I don’t know.
Luke places him in history with his introduction that lists Tiberius Caesar, Pontius Pilate, Herod, Philip, Lysanias, Annas and Caiaphas. These were real people, who ruled the lands where John did his ministry. Real people who are marked in the history books.
John is all about preparation: preparation for Jesus. So we too are on about preparation this advent. But how are we to prepare? It’s got to be more than just putting up Christmas decorations and making our houses look nice. It’s got to be more than baking and cooking and entertaining. It’s got to be more than shopping and buying and wrapping until our fingers are numb. It’s got to be more than all that.
Malachi gives us a hint of what we’re in for if we’re truly to prepare for Christ’s coming into our world. Preparing for the Messiah is not for the faint of heart. Malachi compares it to the refiner’s fire and the fuller’s soap. A refiner's fire is the forced-air, white-hot blaze that melts metallic ores and brings their impurities to the surface. Fullers' soap is the strong, lye-based soap used to bleach the impurities from cloth. Soap and fire, fire and soap. That’s what we use to prepare for the Messiah. Not just any fire and soap; super hot fire, super strong soap.
Our impurities are going to surface and be melted away leaving only the pure gold or silver that will shine. Our sins are to be scrubbed away leaving only the cleanest of cloths.
Preparation is not, as I said, for the faint of heart. It is something that is more than all our Christmas readyings and busyness. In fact, it’s quite antithetical. Those things can distract us from the real meaning of Advent. Advent is a time of purification and readying; readying ourselves for a meeting with Christ, with a meeting of Malachi’s Messiah, with the one who comes to save us and redeem us.
We’ve got to put aside the prettiness of Christmas for a moment and deal with hair-shirted John, who is going to level out our rough places and make plain those hills and valleys in our souls. We have to be ready for the refiner’s fire and the fuller’s soap both.
This is not a Currier and Ives Christmas card preparation. This is a down-on-the knees, soul-searching preparation that leaves us with tears on our cheeks and a shake in our step. This is a preparation that will leave us gasping for breath and weak in the knees. It’s not going to be simple nor will it be pretty. That’s the problem with Advent. We want it to be pretty. But neither refining ore nor lye soaping cloth are pretty.
Nor are they quick, easy processes. They bite and cause us to struggle and just want to get it over with. But both John and Malachi recognize that this is a process; a process that doesn’t end quickly. It is an ongoing and ever-present part of our life that is accentuated at this time of year as we work towards celebrating the birth of the one who would save us.
Yes, both John and Malachi, prophets separated by about 400 years, are making us ready for the Messiah; the world’s Messiah and our own personal Messiah. As a society we are not immune from this cultural preparation any more than we individually should try to escape it. But for our culture to prepare for the coming of the Christ, we each need to do our own preparation.
Prepare for the coming of the Christ-child into your world. Prepare for Christmas. But make sure you leave room for the true preparation that will require fire and soap and rough places made plain and the crooked made straight. It is difficult, but it is important. Make this your Advent of preparation.
We get two views of John in our readings this morning so attention must be paid. First there is the song/prophesy that his father sings in the first reading from Luke upon the birth of John. And then secondly, there is the introduction to John’s ministry that we heard in the 2nd Luke reading.
As part of the nativity narratives, the birth of John is included. We’re told that Jesus and John are related. Mary and Elizabeth are cousins, likely. John is born late in life for Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah. They had previously been childless but in their later years John came along. And Zechariah knew that this was a special child from the beginning, thus his song that we read together this morning.
Then we get the introduction, a few chapters later, of John’s ministry: a ministry of preparing the way for Jesus. John was calling people to repentance and baptizing in the River Jordan out there in the wilderness. And people were flocking to him from everywhere. John was very popular.
But his was a ministry of preparation. A ministry in which he made the way plain for the one who was to come, that being Jesus, of course. Preparing the people for Jesus’ message.
We know a little about John. He was, as I said, the son of Elizabeth and Zechariah. As an adult, he took to the desert, living a rough life. He ate locusts and wild honey and wore a hair shirt, whether as a sign of his own repentance or whether it was just a sign of how rough his life was, I don’t know.
Luke places him in history with his introduction that lists Tiberius Caesar, Pontius Pilate, Herod, Philip, Lysanias, Annas and Caiaphas. These were real people, who ruled the lands where John did his ministry. Real people who are marked in the history books.
John is all about preparation: preparation for Jesus. So we too are on about preparation this advent. But how are we to prepare? It’s got to be more than just putting up Christmas decorations and making our houses look nice. It’s got to be more than baking and cooking and entertaining. It’s got to be more than shopping and buying and wrapping until our fingers are numb. It’s got to be more than all that.
Malachi gives us a hint of what we’re in for if we’re truly to prepare for Christ’s coming into our world. Preparing for the Messiah is not for the faint of heart. Malachi compares it to the refiner’s fire and the fuller’s soap. A refiner's fire is the forced-air, white-hot blaze that melts metallic ores and brings their impurities to the surface. Fullers' soap is the strong, lye-based soap used to bleach the impurities from cloth. Soap and fire, fire and soap. That’s what we use to prepare for the Messiah. Not just any fire and soap; super hot fire, super strong soap.
Our impurities are going to surface and be melted away leaving only the pure gold or silver that will shine. Our sins are to be scrubbed away leaving only the cleanest of cloths.
Preparation is not, as I said, for the faint of heart. It is something that is more than all our Christmas readyings and busyness. In fact, it’s quite antithetical. Those things can distract us from the real meaning of Advent. Advent is a time of purification and readying; readying ourselves for a meeting with Christ, with a meeting of Malachi’s Messiah, with the one who comes to save us and redeem us.
We’ve got to put aside the prettiness of Christmas for a moment and deal with hair-shirted John, who is going to level out our rough places and make plain those hills and valleys in our souls. We have to be ready for the refiner’s fire and the fuller’s soap both.
This is not a Currier and Ives Christmas card preparation. This is a down-on-the knees, soul-searching preparation that leaves us with tears on our cheeks and a shake in our step. This is a preparation that will leave us gasping for breath and weak in the knees. It’s not going to be simple nor will it be pretty. That’s the problem with Advent. We want it to be pretty. But neither refining ore nor lye soaping cloth are pretty.
Nor are they quick, easy processes. They bite and cause us to struggle and just want to get it over with. But both John and Malachi recognize that this is a process; a process that doesn’t end quickly. It is an ongoing and ever-present part of our life that is accentuated at this time of year as we work towards celebrating the birth of the one who would save us.
Yes, both John and Malachi, prophets separated by about 400 years, are making us ready for the Messiah; the world’s Messiah and our own personal Messiah. As a society we are not immune from this cultural preparation any more than we individually should try to escape it. But for our culture to prepare for the coming of the Christ, we each need to do our own preparation.
Prepare for the coming of the Christ-child into your world. Prepare for Christmas. But make sure you leave room for the true preparation that will require fire and soap and rough places made plain and the crooked made straight. It is difficult, but it is important. Make this your Advent of preparation.
3 December 2006
Luke 21:25-36
A lot has been written about the end times. In fact, a whole series of extremely popular books, Left Behind, has been written about the apocalypse. I can’t say that I have read them. But I have heard enough about them to know they instill fear; fear about not being on the right side of the end times. There are tales, I hear, of war and of people disappearing into nothingness. Of course, I’m sure, I would be on the wrong side when the end times come according to the author. The right side of the end times is reserved for a very few, according to some.
Of course this is tied to Christ’s second coming; or his final coming as I prefer to think of it. Christ is coming to us on a daily basis. So we await his final coming at the end times, I would suggest.
Things needn’t be so frightening though. There doesn’t need to be all this fear instilled in people. Certainly the early church, the original hearers of our gospel passage this morning, were eagerly awaiting this final coming. It’s clear from the Luke passage that these final days are something to be watched for.
Luke’s gospel was written in the 8th or 9th decade of the 1st century: several decades after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection. Certainly by then, people were ready for Jesus to come back in glory. In fact, our gospel reading this morning states that it will happen within “this generation,” putting those words in Jesus’ mouth. Clearly, if it’s 60 years after the event of the crucifixion and resurrection and Jesus is quoted as saying these things will happen soon, then the hearers and author of this writing would be most expectant of Jesus showing up to take over the world.
And taking over the world was what was needed. The Roman Empire was typically fierce and oppressive. People lived in the hope that someone would come along and knock them off their high perch. Someone who would rule with justice and righteousness. Someone like Jesus, the Christ, the Messiah.
Perhaps this is why Christianity, this early break off of Judaism, spread so rapidly throughout the Roman Empire. It instilled hope for a peaceful takeover of the beast that was the Roman Empire. It brought the expectation that soon, very soon, something would happen to break the oppressive yoke of the tyranny.
Christianity offered hope: hope for a better world. Its teacher was about love and grace and justice. The early writings all pointed to Christ returning shortly. 1 & 2 Thessalonians, from which we also heard this morning, are among the oldest writings in the New Testament. They are filled with the same expectation of which Luke’s gospel spoke: that Jesus would be coming back soon.
So what are we to do, some 2,000 years later? We are not part of the generations of which Luke and Paul wrote. We aren’t just a few short decades away from Jesus’ ministry. Indeed, much water has flowed under the ecclesiastical bridge since Jesus walked the earth. What do we do with the predictions that Christ’s coming is soon? Ignore them? Say they didn’t happen then and they’re not going to come true now? Or do we go in the other direction and take the current events of the world as signs that the world is ending?
Indeed, the world may be ending, but I think that its demise will be more of a humanly-made event, brought about by our greed and ignorance rather than a triumphant return of Christ. Perhaps those two events will be simultaneous. I don’t know.
And that’s the point: none of us know. And that’s the point of Advent: reminding us that we live in expectation and hope. We truly are people living in darkness and looking for the light of Christ. But we’re called to the darkness right now.
For us in the northern hemisphere, of course, Advent comes at a time of lessening light. As Advent progresses, our light declines. The darkest time in our world arrives as Advent comes to a climax. And appropriately, we live in this darkness progressively lighting candles seeking the true light of our world.
But we stumble along, expecting that…well, expecting what? What do you really expect this Advent? Do you expect Christ to come for the final time to reign in triumph. Do you expect wars to cease and diseases to be cured? Is this a time to expect prisoners to be set free and oppression to end? Or are you just expecting to make it through Christmas?
In the darkness of our life, we are comfortable surrounded by God’s velvety darkness; a darkness in which we see little but know God’s presence and love. We may feel like we are groping our way through our faith at times in this darkness but we keep searching for the light of the Christ.
The waiting of Advent is waiting for justice and righteousness to prevail. But what are we to do in the meantime? Just sit and wait in expectation? I think we are called to work so that justice and righteousness will occur. We can’t just sit back and hope that things will get better. If we want wars to cease and oppression to end, there are things we can do. We can be involved in the work of justice. We can seek the end to oppressions such as racism and homophobia.
Our call is clear. This is Advent. A time of lengthening shadows and growing darkness. Out of the Advent darkness and shadows should be growing the light that we shine of Christ, coming again and again to renew our world.
A lot has been written about the end times. In fact, a whole series of extremely popular books, Left Behind, has been written about the apocalypse. I can’t say that I have read them. But I have heard enough about them to know they instill fear; fear about not being on the right side of the end times. There are tales, I hear, of war and of people disappearing into nothingness. Of course, I’m sure, I would be on the wrong side when the end times come according to the author. The right side of the end times is reserved for a very few, according to some.
Of course this is tied to Christ’s second coming; or his final coming as I prefer to think of it. Christ is coming to us on a daily basis. So we await his final coming at the end times, I would suggest.
Things needn’t be so frightening though. There doesn’t need to be all this fear instilled in people. Certainly the early church, the original hearers of our gospel passage this morning, were eagerly awaiting this final coming. It’s clear from the Luke passage that these final days are something to be watched for.
Luke’s gospel was written in the 8th or 9th decade of the 1st century: several decades after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection. Certainly by then, people were ready for Jesus to come back in glory. In fact, our gospel reading this morning states that it will happen within “this generation,” putting those words in Jesus’ mouth. Clearly, if it’s 60 years after the event of the crucifixion and resurrection and Jesus is quoted as saying these things will happen soon, then the hearers and author of this writing would be most expectant of Jesus showing up to take over the world.
And taking over the world was what was needed. The Roman Empire was typically fierce and oppressive. People lived in the hope that someone would come along and knock them off their high perch. Someone who would rule with justice and righteousness. Someone like Jesus, the Christ, the Messiah.
Perhaps this is why Christianity, this early break off of Judaism, spread so rapidly throughout the Roman Empire. It instilled hope for a peaceful takeover of the beast that was the Roman Empire. It brought the expectation that soon, very soon, something would happen to break the oppressive yoke of the tyranny.
Christianity offered hope: hope for a better world. Its teacher was about love and grace and justice. The early writings all pointed to Christ returning shortly. 1 & 2 Thessalonians, from which we also heard this morning, are among the oldest writings in the New Testament. They are filled with the same expectation of which Luke’s gospel spoke: that Jesus would be coming back soon.
So what are we to do, some 2,000 years later? We are not part of the generations of which Luke and Paul wrote. We aren’t just a few short decades away from Jesus’ ministry. Indeed, much water has flowed under the ecclesiastical bridge since Jesus walked the earth. What do we do with the predictions that Christ’s coming is soon? Ignore them? Say they didn’t happen then and they’re not going to come true now? Or do we go in the other direction and take the current events of the world as signs that the world is ending?
Indeed, the world may be ending, but I think that its demise will be more of a humanly-made event, brought about by our greed and ignorance rather than a triumphant return of Christ. Perhaps those two events will be simultaneous. I don’t know.
And that’s the point: none of us know. And that’s the point of Advent: reminding us that we live in expectation and hope. We truly are people living in darkness and looking for the light of Christ. But we’re called to the darkness right now.
For us in the northern hemisphere, of course, Advent comes at a time of lessening light. As Advent progresses, our light declines. The darkest time in our world arrives as Advent comes to a climax. And appropriately, we live in this darkness progressively lighting candles seeking the true light of our world.
But we stumble along, expecting that…well, expecting what? What do you really expect this Advent? Do you expect Christ to come for the final time to reign in triumph. Do you expect wars to cease and diseases to be cured? Is this a time to expect prisoners to be set free and oppression to end? Or are you just expecting to make it through Christmas?
In the darkness of our life, we are comfortable surrounded by God’s velvety darkness; a darkness in which we see little but know God’s presence and love. We may feel like we are groping our way through our faith at times in this darkness but we keep searching for the light of the Christ.
The waiting of Advent is waiting for justice and righteousness to prevail. But what are we to do in the meantime? Just sit and wait in expectation? I think we are called to work so that justice and righteousness will occur. We can’t just sit back and hope that things will get better. If we want wars to cease and oppression to end, there are things we can do. We can be involved in the work of justice. We can seek the end to oppressions such as racism and homophobia.
Our call is clear. This is Advent. A time of lengthening shadows and growing darkness. Out of the Advent darkness and shadows should be growing the light that we shine of Christ, coming again and again to renew our world.
26 November 2006
John 18:33-37
Reign of Christ Sunday
Pilate was in a fix. Torn as it were. Now don’t feel too sorry for him—he is known to have been a cruel and heartless ruler. He was the face of the Roman government in Judea; the envoy of Caesar, reporting directly to Caesar. And he ruled with a particularly heavy and fierce hand.
But on this day, the day we heard about in our gospel reading from John, Pilate faced two realms. He stood there between the realm of Jesus and the kingdom of Caesar. If you read the proceedings of the whole trial, as John puts it in his gospel starting at verse 28 up to verse 16 in the next chapter, you’ll notice that Pilate goes back and forth several times between the crowd outside and Jesus, whom he is interrogating.
He faces the two realms: the world, as played by the crowd, and the realm of God, as exemplified by Jesus. The world is particularly severe in their blood thirst that day. They cry out for Jesus’ crucifixion. Pilate in the meantime is trying to discover what it is about Jesus that warrants death.
Pilate is indeed caught in between the two. On one hand, he doesn’t want a riot on his hands from the crowd. Nor does he want angry letters from the Jewish leadership going back to his boss in Rome. But, on the other hand, he has a man here who seems innocent. And, maybe, just maybe, Pilate caught an ever-so-brief glimpse of Jesus’ realm; that realm of love and peace. Can a man like Pilate catch a glimpse such as that? I suppose so; the question is whether he cares enough about that glimpse to act.
But Pilate continued that day to face the two realms: the one of Caesar, the other of Jesus. Between these two realms, he hovered, sometimes touching down in the world, at other times facing the realm of God as represented by this itinerant Jewish teacher.
Between two worlds. How often do we find ourselves in that position? Facing the world and its enticements on the one hand while recognizing that God’s realm is beckoning us on the other. We stand, astride the two, like the ancient Colossus of Rhodes stood astride the Mediterranean in ancient Greece.
The kingdom of this world uses all its powers to lure us into its web. We just have to watch an hour of tv to find out that we’re not driving the right car, buying our kids the right toys or drinking the right beers. If only we’d buy the right car, all would be well in our world. Our kids would grow up to be the brightest and best with the correct toys. And of course, drinking the right beer gets us the most beautiful babes; or hunks, depending on what you’re looking for.
This world will beguile you with its methods. It’s easy to fall under the spell of this realm. We do it every day, when we ignore a homeless person at our feet; or when we react with contempt and perhaps rage when another driver somehow wrongs us. We are under the spell of this world’s realm when we buy more things to soothe our pain, or when we seek solace through material possessions.
This world’s realm was signified by Caesar in Pilate’s day but now I think that Fifth Avenue is a more likely candidate to represent the realm of our world today. We crave things because we’re bombarded constantly by messages that you’re not good enough until you own more.
I believe it was John D. Rockefeller who was asked how much money is enough and he was quoted as saying, “One more dollar.” We’re never quite there to enough.
We’re entering the time of our most rampant consumption for our culture. Indeed, with “Shopping Friday” already behind us, the time has come, in our culture and society, for us to buy, buy, buy. That is clearly a sign of our world’s realm.
Another sign of our world’s realm would be the wars and fighting that are going on. Christ’s realm doesn’t include war or fighting. Throughout the earth we have battles going on: in the Sudan, Northern Ireland, Afghanistan, Iraq and so many others. The world’s realm continues to be one of greed and fighting: fighting often in the name of greed.
As terrible as I’ve drawn it, we are more comfortable in this world’s realm. We walk a tightrope between the two realms, sometimes favoring one side, sometimes glancing at the other. But clearly we are part and parcel of the world’s realm, catching glimpses, maybe like Pilate, of the other realm; the realm of Jesus.
We, as professed Christians, need to keep Christ’s realm before us always. We need to keep in sight this kingdom of peace and joy. It’s available to us. But it is a decision that we have to make. We have to cast off this world and work for the coming of God’s realm in our time. A time when wars cease and no one, child or adult, goes to bed hungry or without a roof over their head. A time when our elected government doesn’t matter anymore and we are ruled by one whose word is trustworthy and immutable.
It is a balancing act: living in this world but keeping an eye on Christ’s realm. But viewing the beauty of that kingdom will leave us wanting more; it will leave us with an urge to work to bring it to full fruition; work that will take us to the places where God is needed most.
Reign of Christ Sunday
Pilate was in a fix. Torn as it were. Now don’t feel too sorry for him—he is known to have been a cruel and heartless ruler. He was the face of the Roman government in Judea; the envoy of Caesar, reporting directly to Caesar. And he ruled with a particularly heavy and fierce hand.
But on this day, the day we heard about in our gospel reading from John, Pilate faced two realms. He stood there between the realm of Jesus and the kingdom of Caesar. If you read the proceedings of the whole trial, as John puts it in his gospel starting at verse 28 up to verse 16 in the next chapter, you’ll notice that Pilate goes back and forth several times between the crowd outside and Jesus, whom he is interrogating.
He faces the two realms: the world, as played by the crowd, and the realm of God, as exemplified by Jesus. The world is particularly severe in their blood thirst that day. They cry out for Jesus’ crucifixion. Pilate in the meantime is trying to discover what it is about Jesus that warrants death.
Pilate is indeed caught in between the two. On one hand, he doesn’t want a riot on his hands from the crowd. Nor does he want angry letters from the Jewish leadership going back to his boss in Rome. But, on the other hand, he has a man here who seems innocent. And, maybe, just maybe, Pilate caught an ever-so-brief glimpse of Jesus’ realm; that realm of love and peace. Can a man like Pilate catch a glimpse such as that? I suppose so; the question is whether he cares enough about that glimpse to act.
But Pilate continued that day to face the two realms: the one of Caesar, the other of Jesus. Between these two realms, he hovered, sometimes touching down in the world, at other times facing the realm of God as represented by this itinerant Jewish teacher.
Between two worlds. How often do we find ourselves in that position? Facing the world and its enticements on the one hand while recognizing that God’s realm is beckoning us on the other. We stand, astride the two, like the ancient Colossus of Rhodes stood astride the Mediterranean in ancient Greece.
The kingdom of this world uses all its powers to lure us into its web. We just have to watch an hour of tv to find out that we’re not driving the right car, buying our kids the right toys or drinking the right beers. If only we’d buy the right car, all would be well in our world. Our kids would grow up to be the brightest and best with the correct toys. And of course, drinking the right beer gets us the most beautiful babes; or hunks, depending on what you’re looking for.
This world will beguile you with its methods. It’s easy to fall under the spell of this realm. We do it every day, when we ignore a homeless person at our feet; or when we react with contempt and perhaps rage when another driver somehow wrongs us. We are under the spell of this world’s realm when we buy more things to soothe our pain, or when we seek solace through material possessions.
This world’s realm was signified by Caesar in Pilate’s day but now I think that Fifth Avenue is a more likely candidate to represent the realm of our world today. We crave things because we’re bombarded constantly by messages that you’re not good enough until you own more.
I believe it was John D. Rockefeller who was asked how much money is enough and he was quoted as saying, “One more dollar.” We’re never quite there to enough.
We’re entering the time of our most rampant consumption for our culture. Indeed, with “Shopping Friday” already behind us, the time has come, in our culture and society, for us to buy, buy, buy. That is clearly a sign of our world’s realm.
Another sign of our world’s realm would be the wars and fighting that are going on. Christ’s realm doesn’t include war or fighting. Throughout the earth we have battles going on: in the Sudan, Northern Ireland, Afghanistan, Iraq and so many others. The world’s realm continues to be one of greed and fighting: fighting often in the name of greed.
As terrible as I’ve drawn it, we are more comfortable in this world’s realm. We walk a tightrope between the two realms, sometimes favoring one side, sometimes glancing at the other. But clearly we are part and parcel of the world’s realm, catching glimpses, maybe like Pilate, of the other realm; the realm of Jesus.
We, as professed Christians, need to keep Christ’s realm before us always. We need to keep in sight this kingdom of peace and joy. It’s available to us. But it is a decision that we have to make. We have to cast off this world and work for the coming of God’s realm in our time. A time when wars cease and no one, child or adult, goes to bed hungry or without a roof over their head. A time when our elected government doesn’t matter anymore and we are ruled by one whose word is trustworthy and immutable.
It is a balancing act: living in this world but keeping an eye on Christ’s realm. But viewing the beauty of that kingdom will leave us wanting more; it will leave us with an urge to work to bring it to full fruition; work that will take us to the places where God is needed most.
29 October 2006
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
We’ve been following the story of Job for the past three weeks in the lectionary. Today’s reading culminates the lectionary’s selections from Job. Job is part of the wisdom writings in the Hebrew Bible, which are those writings, like the Psalms, Proverbs and others, that don’t fit into the categories of the law and the prophets. Job is a story to remind us of God’s greatness and power. Today’s reading concludes the book of Job and gives it the happy ending we all want.
At the beginning of the book, we first heard how Job was a blameless and upright man: a man with whom God was pleased. But in a sort of bet with God, Satan gets to inflict sores all over Job’s body. Job’s wife wanted Job to just curse God and get it over with. But Job remained a good and righteous man—even through the itching and the scratching. In the process Job loses everything he has, including his family. Over the following two weeks we hear short selections of the 42 books of Job.
The parts that the lectionary left out are long discourses by friends of Job, who show up when they hear of Job’s suffering.. They come and sit in silence for seven days with Job. Just sitting there as he’s rubbing his sores. Maybe they’re stunned by Job’s misfortune. Perhaps they are planning what they’re going to say—because each of them has a lot to say.
The friends of Job basically have three things to say (since there’s three of them it makes sense). According to Anna Grant-Henderson, an Old Testament scholar in Australia, the friends come with three basic premises:
1 “Eliphaz comes with the basic premise that the innocent never suffer permanently. He believes that Job is essentially innocent and consequently his suffering will be over soon (Clines:1989, xl). But even the most innocent of humans must expect to suffer deservedly.
2 Bildad is even more convinced about the doctrine of retribution after seeing the demise of Job's family- they must have been very wicked. However, Job is still alive and there must be some hope for him
3 Zophar has no intention of trying to lessen the sin for Job. He is guilty because he is suffering and even worse, Job refuses to acknowledge it, therefore he is a far worse sinner than anyone could have imagined. Zophar offers little hope.” (http://oldtestamentlectionary.unitingchurch.org.au/2006/October/Pent21Job42_06.htm)
But none of them seem to hit the nail on the head as far as Job is concerned. They all far short. Job hasn’t sinned and Job doesn’t deserve any punishment.
Then, Job raises his voice in question to God, Godself. But he claims he doesn’t know where to find God. God seems to be absent in the midst of all this, Job says. “If only I could vanish in darkness, and thick darkness would cover my face,” Job says (23:17). I don’t think anyone us fault Job in the midst of all this. Who wouldn’t take his side? Where is God?
Well, God has a few things to say to Job, finally. We heard some of God’s words last week: “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements—surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?” (38:4-7) In other words, do you really think you’re significant enough to question me? God doesn’t really provide an answer to Job or the friends about Job’s suffering.
In today’s reading, as I said, we get the happy ending. Job answers back to God and basically says that he didn’t know what he was talking about and that God’s majesty is beyond human understanding. And then God restored the fortunes of Job, to twice what they were before.
An interesting side note that has scholars and others wondering is that oddly enough, Job’s daughters are named in the book: Jemimah, Keziah and Keren-happuch. But his sons are not named. And the author of Job further goes on to point out that Job included his daughters in his inheritance. This would truly be an unheard of thing during this time period. Did the author of Job want to emphasize how tremendously gracious God had been to Job and that Job was passing that on? We may never know.
The book of Job is all about suffering and God’s place in that suffering. I’m reminded, through all of this, of what I consider to be the worst funeral sermon I’ve ever heard in my life. It was at the funeral of my Uncle Gerald, who had died after a long, difficult and painful struggle with cancer. The preacher at the funeral said, trying to explain why my uncle’s life at the end had to be so difficult, that perhaps it was because of some small sin that he had committed in his childhood. That was not a satisfactory answer to most of my family there that day.
We try to explain suffering. We try to understand why some people suffer and others don’t. We try to attach suffering to actions or behaviors. But none of it makes the sufferer any less unhappy with his or her suffering. But what do we believe about suffering and where do we believe God is in the midst of suffering?
I don’t believe that some evil form personified, such as the devil, goes around and attacks people just to see how faithful they are to God. Nor does God inflict suffering so that God can see how faithful the sufferer remains. Nor do I believe that God metes out suffering to us according to our sinfulness.
We are just mere humans, as Job learned, who have no idea about God’s ultimate majesty. But I do believe that God suffers with us. As each human goes through suffering of whatever kind, God is there with them.
The book of Job is instructive to us. Not because it answers the big questions about suffering, but because it reminds us of God’s power and God’s majesty in the midst of suffering. This is not about justice—it is about God’s mercy. And God’s mercy is wider than we can imagine.
We’ve been following the story of Job for the past three weeks in the lectionary. Today’s reading culminates the lectionary’s selections from Job. Job is part of the wisdom writings in the Hebrew Bible, which are those writings, like the Psalms, Proverbs and others, that don’t fit into the categories of the law and the prophets. Job is a story to remind us of God’s greatness and power. Today’s reading concludes the book of Job and gives it the happy ending we all want.
At the beginning of the book, we first heard how Job was a blameless and upright man: a man with whom God was pleased. But in a sort of bet with God, Satan gets to inflict sores all over Job’s body. Job’s wife wanted Job to just curse God and get it over with. But Job remained a good and righteous man—even through the itching and the scratching. In the process Job loses everything he has, including his family. Over the following two weeks we hear short selections of the 42 books of Job.
The parts that the lectionary left out are long discourses by friends of Job, who show up when they hear of Job’s suffering.. They come and sit in silence for seven days with Job. Just sitting there as he’s rubbing his sores. Maybe they’re stunned by Job’s misfortune. Perhaps they are planning what they’re going to say—because each of them has a lot to say.
The friends of Job basically have three things to say (since there’s three of them it makes sense). According to Anna Grant-Henderson, an Old Testament scholar in Australia, the friends come with three basic premises:
1 “Eliphaz comes with the basic premise that the innocent never suffer permanently. He believes that Job is essentially innocent and consequently his suffering will be over soon (Clines:1989, xl). But even the most innocent of humans must expect to suffer deservedly.
2 Bildad is even more convinced about the doctrine of retribution after seeing the demise of Job's family- they must have been very wicked. However, Job is still alive and there must be some hope for him
3 Zophar has no intention of trying to lessen the sin for Job. He is guilty because he is suffering and even worse, Job refuses to acknowledge it, therefore he is a far worse sinner than anyone could have imagined. Zophar offers little hope.” (http://oldtestamentlectionary.unitingchurch.org.au/2006/October/Pent21Job42_06.htm)
But none of them seem to hit the nail on the head as far as Job is concerned. They all far short. Job hasn’t sinned and Job doesn’t deserve any punishment.
Then, Job raises his voice in question to God, Godself. But he claims he doesn’t know where to find God. God seems to be absent in the midst of all this, Job says. “If only I could vanish in darkness, and thick darkness would cover my face,” Job says (23:17). I don’t think anyone us fault Job in the midst of all this. Who wouldn’t take his side? Where is God?
Well, God has a few things to say to Job, finally. We heard some of God’s words last week: “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements—surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?” (38:4-7) In other words, do you really think you’re significant enough to question me? God doesn’t really provide an answer to Job or the friends about Job’s suffering.
In today’s reading, as I said, we get the happy ending. Job answers back to God and basically says that he didn’t know what he was talking about and that God’s majesty is beyond human understanding. And then God restored the fortunes of Job, to twice what they were before.
An interesting side note that has scholars and others wondering is that oddly enough, Job’s daughters are named in the book: Jemimah, Keziah and Keren-happuch. But his sons are not named. And the author of Job further goes on to point out that Job included his daughters in his inheritance. This would truly be an unheard of thing during this time period. Did the author of Job want to emphasize how tremendously gracious God had been to Job and that Job was passing that on? We may never know.
The book of Job is all about suffering and God’s place in that suffering. I’m reminded, through all of this, of what I consider to be the worst funeral sermon I’ve ever heard in my life. It was at the funeral of my Uncle Gerald, who had died after a long, difficult and painful struggle with cancer. The preacher at the funeral said, trying to explain why my uncle’s life at the end had to be so difficult, that perhaps it was because of some small sin that he had committed in his childhood. That was not a satisfactory answer to most of my family there that day.
We try to explain suffering. We try to understand why some people suffer and others don’t. We try to attach suffering to actions or behaviors. But none of it makes the sufferer any less unhappy with his or her suffering. But what do we believe about suffering and where do we believe God is in the midst of suffering?
I don’t believe that some evil form personified, such as the devil, goes around and attacks people just to see how faithful they are to God. Nor does God inflict suffering so that God can see how faithful the sufferer remains. Nor do I believe that God metes out suffering to us according to our sinfulness.
We are just mere humans, as Job learned, who have no idea about God’s ultimate majesty. But I do believe that God suffers with us. As each human goes through suffering of whatever kind, God is there with them.
The book of Job is instructive to us. Not because it answers the big questions about suffering, but because it reminds us of God’s power and God’s majesty in the midst of suffering. This is not about justice—it is about God’s mercy. And God’s mercy is wider than we can imagine.
22 October 2006
Mark 10: 35-45
James and John were not so off base in their request and Jesus knew it. That’s why his rebuke was softer than it could have been. James and John, as we know from the gospel reading this morning approached Jesus. Their first statement was not the actual request. It was a pre-request, similar to what a child might try with a parent. “Agree to give us whatever we want.” Just like that. Just agree to what we want and we’ll all be happy. Of course the reason they couched it like that was that they knew that Jesus would have problems with their request.
And Jesus, like a good parent, doesn’t agree to give them what they want, but instead just asks what it is that they are requesting. That’s when James and John have to show their hand. “We want to sit next to you, one on the right, one on the left, in glory.” They wanted the best seats in the house when Jesus gets to rule. They wanted the places of importance. Prime real estate.
Unfortunately, to our ears, we think of Jesus reigning in glory post-resurrection: Jesus, the eternal ruler, reigning in heaven. It’s unfortunate because we lose the actual request that James and John were making.
Of course, the disciples, in spite of Jesus’ predictions of his own death, were still counting on Jesus being an earthly ruler. There was still the expectation that Jesus would stride into Jerusalem and take over as ruler of Israel, expelling the outside oppressors and tumbling the corrupt religious rulers of the day. Then Jesus would hold court, with of course, James and John in seats of power, right next to him.
We think that James and John have the same viewpoint that we have—Jesus reigning in glory for all time and they want to be there with him. We miss out on the fact that they were watching for earthly power and glory.
They didn’t understand the suffering aspect of Jesus ascendance to glory. Even though he goes on to explain it. In fact, just prior to these verses which we heard this morning, Jesus predicts his own death. But the disciples can be pretty blind. They miss the references to death and suffering and continue to believe in the limited ruler—a Jesus who just has an earthly rule.
So we have it; James and John seeking, trying to get in before the rush of the other disciples, to get the good seats in the house. Sure, they said they could drink of the cup from which Jesus drinks and be baptized by the same baptism as Jesus, but they didn’t know really what that meant. It’s easy for us to read these words and know exactly what Jesus meant, but the disciples missed what was actually going to happen.
How much like the disciples are we? Especially like James & John? Even with our hindsight, how much do we miss in what Jesus is trying to communicate?
Each of us here would no doubt like a seat in glory next to Jesus. But are we ready to go through the needed steps to get there? Do we really know what we’re asking? Do we know what it means to be followers of Jesus? Do we understand the suffering? Have we got a good grasp on what it means to drink the cup and be baptized by Jesus’ baptism? Are we able to perceive the meaning of Jesus’ words when he tells us he doesn’t rule as earthly rulers rule?
The ten other disciples, we’re told were angry with James & John for their request, no doubt because each of them wanted to request the very same thing. Yet none of them understood what that meant any better than James & John did. No one seems to get Jesus. No one seems to grasp onto his message of serving and suffering on behalf of others.
Do we? Do we really get the message of Jesus when it comes to what we must do as followers? Or are we like the disciples who want the seats of power and glory without the difficult work to get there? Anyone who claims to want to follow Jesus without fear and trembling is missing the point.
What are you expecting of Jesus? Do you know what you’re asking for in your expectations? We put expectations on Jesus that may or may not be fulfilled. And the onus of dealing with those expectations falls on us.
We are more like the disciples than we care to admit. We want Jesus our way—whatever that may mean to each of us. But are we prepared for Jesus, Jesus’ way? We put so many expectations on Jesus, even though we have the benefit of hindsight that the original disciples didn’t have.
Jesus turns power on its head and reminds us that we must be servants to each other. Jesus’ followers, his disciples of whatever age, are set off and against the predominant culture. This is easier to remember for the earliest followers of The Way, as early Christians were called. The distinction between the earliest disciples and their culture was easier to see. But that distinction must be made by us today. We are to set ourselves against our culture. This means that we have to turn our culture on its head.
By doing so, we see that those whom we serve are those to whom Jesus calls us: the poor, the left out, the marginalized. Not those in power, those who rule with their money or those who are at the center of the culture’s celebrity fascination.
Following Jesus may not be easy. It may not be what we expect or want. We may be more like the disciples in our outlook. We may not have the correct expectations of Jesus and seek out perverse variations of Jesus’ power. But we can become true followers of Jesus by serving and preparing to suffer. Then we are truly drinking of the cup from which Jesus drank and sharing in his baptism.
James and John were not so off base in their request and Jesus knew it. That’s why his rebuke was softer than it could have been. James and John, as we know from the gospel reading this morning approached Jesus. Their first statement was not the actual request. It was a pre-request, similar to what a child might try with a parent. “Agree to give us whatever we want.” Just like that. Just agree to what we want and we’ll all be happy. Of course the reason they couched it like that was that they knew that Jesus would have problems with their request.
And Jesus, like a good parent, doesn’t agree to give them what they want, but instead just asks what it is that they are requesting. That’s when James and John have to show their hand. “We want to sit next to you, one on the right, one on the left, in glory.” They wanted the best seats in the house when Jesus gets to rule. They wanted the places of importance. Prime real estate.
Unfortunately, to our ears, we think of Jesus reigning in glory post-resurrection: Jesus, the eternal ruler, reigning in heaven. It’s unfortunate because we lose the actual request that James and John were making.
Of course, the disciples, in spite of Jesus’ predictions of his own death, were still counting on Jesus being an earthly ruler. There was still the expectation that Jesus would stride into Jerusalem and take over as ruler of Israel, expelling the outside oppressors and tumbling the corrupt religious rulers of the day. Then Jesus would hold court, with of course, James and John in seats of power, right next to him.
We think that James and John have the same viewpoint that we have—Jesus reigning in glory for all time and they want to be there with him. We miss out on the fact that they were watching for earthly power and glory.
They didn’t understand the suffering aspect of Jesus ascendance to glory. Even though he goes on to explain it. In fact, just prior to these verses which we heard this morning, Jesus predicts his own death. But the disciples can be pretty blind. They miss the references to death and suffering and continue to believe in the limited ruler—a Jesus who just has an earthly rule.
So we have it; James and John seeking, trying to get in before the rush of the other disciples, to get the good seats in the house. Sure, they said they could drink of the cup from which Jesus drinks and be baptized by the same baptism as Jesus, but they didn’t know really what that meant. It’s easy for us to read these words and know exactly what Jesus meant, but the disciples missed what was actually going to happen.
How much like the disciples are we? Especially like James & John? Even with our hindsight, how much do we miss in what Jesus is trying to communicate?
Each of us here would no doubt like a seat in glory next to Jesus. But are we ready to go through the needed steps to get there? Do we really know what we’re asking? Do we know what it means to be followers of Jesus? Do we understand the suffering? Have we got a good grasp on what it means to drink the cup and be baptized by Jesus’ baptism? Are we able to perceive the meaning of Jesus’ words when he tells us he doesn’t rule as earthly rulers rule?
The ten other disciples, we’re told were angry with James & John for their request, no doubt because each of them wanted to request the very same thing. Yet none of them understood what that meant any better than James & John did. No one seems to get Jesus. No one seems to grasp onto his message of serving and suffering on behalf of others.
Do we? Do we really get the message of Jesus when it comes to what we must do as followers? Or are we like the disciples who want the seats of power and glory without the difficult work to get there? Anyone who claims to want to follow Jesus without fear and trembling is missing the point.
What are you expecting of Jesus? Do you know what you’re asking for in your expectations? We put expectations on Jesus that may or may not be fulfilled. And the onus of dealing with those expectations falls on us.
We are more like the disciples than we care to admit. We want Jesus our way—whatever that may mean to each of us. But are we prepared for Jesus, Jesus’ way? We put so many expectations on Jesus, even though we have the benefit of hindsight that the original disciples didn’t have.
Jesus turns power on its head and reminds us that we must be servants to each other. Jesus’ followers, his disciples of whatever age, are set off and against the predominant culture. This is easier to remember for the earliest followers of The Way, as early Christians were called. The distinction between the earliest disciples and their culture was easier to see. But that distinction must be made by us today. We are to set ourselves against our culture. This means that we have to turn our culture on its head.
By doing so, we see that those whom we serve are those to whom Jesus calls us: the poor, the left out, the marginalized. Not those in power, those who rule with their money or those who are at the center of the culture’s celebrity fascination.
Following Jesus may not be easy. It may not be what we expect or want. We may be more like the disciples in our outlook. We may not have the correct expectations of Jesus and seek out perverse variations of Jesus’ power. But we can become true followers of Jesus by serving and preparing to suffer. Then we are truly drinking of the cup from which Jesus drank and sharing in his baptism.
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