I was in a conversation yesterday with one of my travel partners. (I am on my way to Chicago for the National Campus Ministry Conference.) She spoke of an older brother and sister-in-law who have come to the conclusion that the Church has nothing to offer them. It isn’t that they have no appreciation for God, rather that the community which bears witness to Jesus does not (in their experience) accurately reflect God’s Word.
The conversation continued to two levels: First is care for the conversation partner. Regardless of what the siblings might think, believe, or do – the conversation is about her feelings. That is all we really know and share. Second, there is the discussion about the nature of the Church and the realities of the Church.
All of this was rumbling around in my head as I turned to the lessons appointed for this day. The Epistle reading is Acts 1:1-14. How appropriate, that yesterday’s conversation, and the immanent start of our year together would be matched with readings from the book in the Bible which traces the establishment of the Church.
I will have opportunity, in the weeks to come, to share insights from this book. For today, let me simply say that the honesty of Acts acknowledges that the Church has always struggled with being the community which bears the name of Christ. This is a difficult name to live up to. It isn’t that the Church has it right, rather that the members of the Church understand our need for one another. That need includes having others to guide us into the way of truth, having others assist us in our discipleship, and being open to the critique of those who observe our actions. The Church assures us that we aren’t going off on our own, thinking thoughts and saying things which are inconsistent with scripture.
Of course, opportunities for correcting only arise when there are missteps. And those missteps, when committed by others, are disappointing.
The first followers of Jesus came to the conviction that they needed others to accompany them in their journey. Those of us who feel the same way continue to gather in the Church established by those early believers. While it can be disappointing, it more often proves helpful.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Devotion - Tuesday, August 10
It is common knowledge, though not always noted, that St. Paul did not write the letters attributed to him. Paul suffered some sort of an infirmity. It is never identified, but it makes his handwriting illegible. At the end of one letter he scribbles a few words, commenting on how large the letters are. Someone else does the “writing”.
At the end of Romans, the person who did the writing for Paul inserts his own well wishes. He pens, “I Tertius, the writer of this letter, greet you in the Lord.”
The rules regarding plagiarism (something taken very serious in the academic community) would allow that the person dictating the letter is the “writer.” So, my earlier comment that Paul did not “write” these letters may be technically correct, but misleading. I apologize; it was intended to be an attention getter. I resorted to such a cheap trick in order to draw attention to this morning’s thought – even St. Paul needed someone’s help in order to tell the story of Jesus.
Who are the people in your life who have helped you? Who are the persons who did the technical work which has allowed you to reflect on matters of faith?
You may be preparing to separate yourself from some of those folks. They may be the family you say good-bye to as you move to Clemson. They might be the Sunday Church School teachers who met with you week after week. Or what of the youth group leaders who planned and prepared for your outings?
None of us come to faith without the aid of so many persons. None of us are able to continue in the faith without the words and encouragement of those who understand what we are still trying to comprehend. Offer prayers for those persons, and if your day allows make one more stop before leaving home to say “Thank you” to that person who has written so much of your faith story.
Tertius isn’t a name I recall. But without his witness, the words of Paul’s letter to the church in Rome would not be available to me. May God help me to be aware of all those who, like Tertius, have faithfully served.
At the end of Romans, the person who did the writing for Paul inserts his own well wishes. He pens, “I Tertius, the writer of this letter, greet you in the Lord.”
The rules regarding plagiarism (something taken very serious in the academic community) would allow that the person dictating the letter is the “writer.” So, my earlier comment that Paul did not “write” these letters may be technically correct, but misleading. I apologize; it was intended to be an attention getter. I resorted to such a cheap trick in order to draw attention to this morning’s thought – even St. Paul needed someone’s help in order to tell the story of Jesus.
Who are the people in your life who have helped you? Who are the persons who did the technical work which has allowed you to reflect on matters of faith?
You may be preparing to separate yourself from some of those folks. They may be the family you say good-bye to as you move to Clemson. They might be the Sunday Church School teachers who met with you week after week. Or what of the youth group leaders who planned and prepared for your outings?
None of us come to faith without the aid of so many persons. None of us are able to continue in the faith without the words and encouragement of those who understand what we are still trying to comprehend. Offer prayers for those persons, and if your day allows make one more stop before leaving home to say “Thank you” to that person who has written so much of your faith story.
Tertius isn’t a name I recall. But without his witness, the words of Paul’s letter to the church in Rome would not be available to me. May God help me to be aware of all those who, like Tertius, have faithfully served.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Devotion - Monday, August 8
Paul’s letter to the church in Rome is sometimes referred to as his greatest theological work. (Others would make this claim for Corinthians – which is the book we will be studying this fall in LCM’s Sunday morning Bible Study.) There are many wonderful thoughts and insights in Romans, but the portion assigned for this day are from the concluding chapter. I was struck with the appropriateness of this, as I renew these electronic reflections.
Somewhere, in the mix of wonderful ideas, we must never lose our grasp on the role played by the community which holds those ideas to be important.
This is true for the academic community. If there were no benefit to being among those who are excited by mathematics, we would all simply enroll in one of those on-line-universities. If the community of those devoted to nursing had nothing to share those preparing for this profession we would read all the textbooks, take the exam, and begin to practice our trade.
This is true for the community of Christ. It isn’t simply a matter of knowing things about Jesus; it is learning to live as Jesus lived. We don’t come to believe certain things about God, we see what it means to have faith in God.
That collection of wonderful ideas is transmitted from one to another. They are passed from practitioner to convert; they are handed down from one who has come to trust in their validity to another who is only beginning to explore.
Romans is an important book in the life of the Church. It allows us to see Paul’s logic with regard to faith. It also reminds us that the community which believes these things is essential to the transmission of these ideas.
Somewhere, in the mix of wonderful ideas, we must never lose our grasp on the role played by the community which holds those ideas to be important.
This is true for the academic community. If there were no benefit to being among those who are excited by mathematics, we would all simply enroll in one of those on-line-universities. If the community of those devoted to nursing had nothing to share those preparing for this profession we would read all the textbooks, take the exam, and begin to practice our trade.
This is true for the community of Christ. It isn’t simply a matter of knowing things about Jesus; it is learning to live as Jesus lived. We don’t come to believe certain things about God, we see what it means to have faith in God.
That collection of wonderful ideas is transmitted from one to another. They are passed from practitioner to convert; they are handed down from one who has come to trust in their validity to another who is only beginning to explore.
Romans is an important book in the life of the Church. It allows us to see Paul’s logic with regard to faith. It also reminds us that the community which believes these things is essential to the transmission of these ideas.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Sermon - July 25, 2010
9th Sunday after Pentecost – Year C
Luke 1:1-11
“Teach us to Pray”
This past Thursday, I needed to travel to Atlanta to meet the newly appointed campus pastor at GA Tech. The cut-backs in campus ministry budget have reduced the church-wide staff from eight down to two and one half. Duties once taken on by these folks have been passed to local staff – like me. So on Thursday, I traveled to Atlanta to meet the new staff person who will be heading up our work at Tech, GA State, and Agnes Scott.
I was very impressed, and pleased, and am confident that in a few years he will build a strong program and be the one visiting me, to share insights. But for now, I am clearly the senior, and no matter how hard I tried to tell him that I was there to lay the foundation for a long and supportive collegial relationship, there remained strong overtones of “authority come to town.”
I had anticipated some of this. So I had built in a safety valve. Since I was going to be in Atlanta anyway, and since Kat’s Father’s Day gift to me were a couple of tickets to see the Braves, I called Ben Edge to see if he might want to sit patiently and wait for me to finish the meeting, then go with me to the game. He did. The Braves won. And I had the perfect antidote to a morning filled with cautioned conversation. Whereas I needed to think about each comment to be made to my new colleague, with an ole friend I could speak freely and comfortably. (Sorry, did that sound like I called Ben “old?” I didn’t mean to. I meant to refer to a friend with whom enough time and interaction had been shared as to allow one to feel at home and at ease.)
Communications experts teach us that interactions between such individuals are honest, mutually enhancing, and productive. We all seek such interactions. But getting there isn’t as easy as taking a course on communications; it comes as a result of the work done in building up the relationship. It unfolds when we have become comfortable and at ease with our conversation partner.
This is the approach taken to interpreting today’s Gospel lesson in an article recently published by Pastor Peter Marty. His writing helped me to realize that for most of my twenty-seven years of preaching, I have looked at Luke 11:1-11 and tried to explain how Jesus’ prayer, the one he taught the disciples to pray, is good instruction. Drawing on the works of Martin Luther, I would expose the nuances of Jesus’ prayer, explaining the depth and insight of each petition. I won’t insist that the position taken in this recent article is the only legitimate sermon to be preached, but I do have to say that he made a believer out of me. It may just be the case that when the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray, they weren’t looking for the correct words to speak, so much as begging him to help them transform their words to God from the guarded, cautious words of a newbie into the deep, honest expression of a well established and mutually appreciated relationship.
“Lord, teach us to pray.” Is the request the disciples make of Jesus. They had observed his prayer life; they had seen the ease with which he spoke to God and listened for God. This ease of interaction is what they were seeking; this is what they wanted. The limitations of language leave open the potential for misunderstanding. And, particularly for those who struggle with prayer, it is tempting to seek words or technique which might overcome a lack of intimacy. But learning to pray begins with learning to be at ease with the One whom we are addressing.
“Lord, teach us to pray.”
Let me acknowledge how difficult it is to talk, honestly, about this topic. What caught my eye about the article from Pastor Marty was his honesty in acknowledging his own struggles with prayer. Doing so is tough. It is revealing. It can be disastrous. I remember on internship being one of only two pastors present for a study of the upcoming Sunday’s texts. With an honesty that impressed me, my colleague talked about prayer, concluding with “If the people in my parish knew how much I struggled with this it would be all over.”
Early on, my spiritual director helped to realize that one’s prayer life is deeply intimate and not something that we easily talk about. The only things less likely to be discussed with members of the congregation are their finances. My experiences in ministry have bore this out. I have lots of pastoral conversations about concepts and ideas; fewer about prayer life or spiritual direction.
It is tough to talk about how we talk to God.
Now, if one is looking for a model, of what to say to God, then Luke 11 is your answer. There is a reason why we repeat this prayer every Sunday, and at most of the Church’s other gatherings. It captures well what it is that needs to be included in the content of our prayers. At some point, in the not so distant future, every one of us should review Martin Luther’s Small Catechism for support of this prayer as a form to be followed. Each petition is ripe with content.
But all of that content starts with the simplest of reminders that whenever we speak to God, we speak to one who loves us more than we could ever love back. Jesus instructs his disciples that all communication between us and God should be framed with an understanding that the exchange is between a loving parent and a devoted child. “When you pray, (begin your prayer by acknowledging God as) Father.”
Let me throw in an acknowledgment that not all father-child, or for that matter parent-child, relationships are as they should be. A group of us have been meeting on Sunday mornings to discuss Young’s novel The Shack. In that book, God appears to the main character as a woman. We are told, in the novel, that God does this as a way of avoiding the hurt and harm associated with the main character’s relationship with his biological father. Not all relationships with “fathers” or “mothers,” has been ideal. But, never-the-less, we ought to be able to understand the form such relationships ought to take. When lived out as God would hope, these relationships are the prime place where we experience unconditional love.
Jesus tells his disciples to approach God with such expectations. Jesus tells us to begin our prayer to God with the address used to talk to a loving parent. All the content in the world; everything that could possibly follow is eclipsed with the simple acknowledgment that our talk with God is not of the forced and strained variety, but rather the casual and comfortable exchanges which take place between persons who are deeply appreciative of each others person and their presence.
“When you pray, say: Father.”
You aren’t trying to talk God out of something that God doesn’t want you to have. You are not trying to hide from God all the things that God already knows. You are speaking with the one person in the whole of the cosmos who most wants you to be happy, and healthy, and whole. This is what parents do for us. This is why their blessing and their support is so important. And, when parenting wasn’t done in this way, why the children in such households have such difficulties throughout the rest of their lives. (There are other reasons why children can have extreme difficulties. No parent, no matter how loving can avoid them all. But when the children don’t have this unquestioned love, their battle is even more of an uphill struggle.)
“When you pray, say: Father.”
Prayer will (probably) always be difficult. It isn’t easy. It exposes us. And we have been taught, carefully taught, not to ever seem vulnerable or weak. Prayer is one of those topics we find it embarrassing to address. And seldom do we find ourselves in a relationship where we are comfortable sharing the details. God knows this; Jesus knew it. And while he may have wanted to be as helpful to his disciples as John was to those who followed him, Jesus realized that neither technique nor formula would enable his followers to overcome the obstacles. The only reason they would want to spend time talking and listen was if they first came to understand the relationship God is inviting them to enter.
“When you pray, say: Father.” And if you can’t think of anything more to say, you may have said enough.
Amen.
Luke 1:1-11
“Teach us to Pray”
This past Thursday, I needed to travel to Atlanta to meet the newly appointed campus pastor at GA Tech. The cut-backs in campus ministry budget have reduced the church-wide staff from eight down to two and one half. Duties once taken on by these folks have been passed to local staff – like me. So on Thursday, I traveled to Atlanta to meet the new staff person who will be heading up our work at Tech, GA State, and Agnes Scott.
I was very impressed, and pleased, and am confident that in a few years he will build a strong program and be the one visiting me, to share insights. But for now, I am clearly the senior, and no matter how hard I tried to tell him that I was there to lay the foundation for a long and supportive collegial relationship, there remained strong overtones of “authority come to town.”
I had anticipated some of this. So I had built in a safety valve. Since I was going to be in Atlanta anyway, and since Kat’s Father’s Day gift to me were a couple of tickets to see the Braves, I called Ben Edge to see if he might want to sit patiently and wait for me to finish the meeting, then go with me to the game. He did. The Braves won. And I had the perfect antidote to a morning filled with cautioned conversation. Whereas I needed to think about each comment to be made to my new colleague, with an ole friend I could speak freely and comfortably. (Sorry, did that sound like I called Ben “old?” I didn’t mean to. I meant to refer to a friend with whom enough time and interaction had been shared as to allow one to feel at home and at ease.)
Communications experts teach us that interactions between such individuals are honest, mutually enhancing, and productive. We all seek such interactions. But getting there isn’t as easy as taking a course on communications; it comes as a result of the work done in building up the relationship. It unfolds when we have become comfortable and at ease with our conversation partner.
This is the approach taken to interpreting today’s Gospel lesson in an article recently published by Pastor Peter Marty. His writing helped me to realize that for most of my twenty-seven years of preaching, I have looked at Luke 11:1-11 and tried to explain how Jesus’ prayer, the one he taught the disciples to pray, is good instruction. Drawing on the works of Martin Luther, I would expose the nuances of Jesus’ prayer, explaining the depth and insight of each petition. I won’t insist that the position taken in this recent article is the only legitimate sermon to be preached, but I do have to say that he made a believer out of me. It may just be the case that when the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray, they weren’t looking for the correct words to speak, so much as begging him to help them transform their words to God from the guarded, cautious words of a newbie into the deep, honest expression of a well established and mutually appreciated relationship.
“Lord, teach us to pray.” Is the request the disciples make of Jesus. They had observed his prayer life; they had seen the ease with which he spoke to God and listened for God. This ease of interaction is what they were seeking; this is what they wanted. The limitations of language leave open the potential for misunderstanding. And, particularly for those who struggle with prayer, it is tempting to seek words or technique which might overcome a lack of intimacy. But learning to pray begins with learning to be at ease with the One whom we are addressing.
“Lord, teach us to pray.”
Let me acknowledge how difficult it is to talk, honestly, about this topic. What caught my eye about the article from Pastor Marty was his honesty in acknowledging his own struggles with prayer. Doing so is tough. It is revealing. It can be disastrous. I remember on internship being one of only two pastors present for a study of the upcoming Sunday’s texts. With an honesty that impressed me, my colleague talked about prayer, concluding with “If the people in my parish knew how much I struggled with this it would be all over.”
Early on, my spiritual director helped to realize that one’s prayer life is deeply intimate and not something that we easily talk about. The only things less likely to be discussed with members of the congregation are their finances. My experiences in ministry have bore this out. I have lots of pastoral conversations about concepts and ideas; fewer about prayer life or spiritual direction.
It is tough to talk about how we talk to God.
Now, if one is looking for a model, of what to say to God, then Luke 11 is your answer. There is a reason why we repeat this prayer every Sunday, and at most of the Church’s other gatherings. It captures well what it is that needs to be included in the content of our prayers. At some point, in the not so distant future, every one of us should review Martin Luther’s Small Catechism for support of this prayer as a form to be followed. Each petition is ripe with content.
But all of that content starts with the simplest of reminders that whenever we speak to God, we speak to one who loves us more than we could ever love back. Jesus instructs his disciples that all communication between us and God should be framed with an understanding that the exchange is between a loving parent and a devoted child. “When you pray, (begin your prayer by acknowledging God as) Father.”
Let me throw in an acknowledgment that not all father-child, or for that matter parent-child, relationships are as they should be. A group of us have been meeting on Sunday mornings to discuss Young’s novel The Shack. In that book, God appears to the main character as a woman. We are told, in the novel, that God does this as a way of avoiding the hurt and harm associated with the main character’s relationship with his biological father. Not all relationships with “fathers” or “mothers,” has been ideal. But, never-the-less, we ought to be able to understand the form such relationships ought to take. When lived out as God would hope, these relationships are the prime place where we experience unconditional love.
Jesus tells his disciples to approach God with such expectations. Jesus tells us to begin our prayer to God with the address used to talk to a loving parent. All the content in the world; everything that could possibly follow is eclipsed with the simple acknowledgment that our talk with God is not of the forced and strained variety, but rather the casual and comfortable exchanges which take place between persons who are deeply appreciative of each others person and their presence.
“When you pray, say: Father.”
You aren’t trying to talk God out of something that God doesn’t want you to have. You are not trying to hide from God all the things that God already knows. You are speaking with the one person in the whole of the cosmos who most wants you to be happy, and healthy, and whole. This is what parents do for us. This is why their blessing and their support is so important. And, when parenting wasn’t done in this way, why the children in such households have such difficulties throughout the rest of their lives. (There are other reasons why children can have extreme difficulties. No parent, no matter how loving can avoid them all. But when the children don’t have this unquestioned love, their battle is even more of an uphill struggle.)
“When you pray, say: Father.”
Prayer will (probably) always be difficult. It isn’t easy. It exposes us. And we have been taught, carefully taught, not to ever seem vulnerable or weak. Prayer is one of those topics we find it embarrassing to address. And seldom do we find ourselves in a relationship where we are comfortable sharing the details. God knows this; Jesus knew it. And while he may have wanted to be as helpful to his disciples as John was to those who followed him, Jesus realized that neither technique nor formula would enable his followers to overcome the obstacles. The only reason they would want to spend time talking and listen was if they first came to understand the relationship God is inviting them to enter.
“When you pray, say: Father.” And if you can’t think of anything more to say, you may have said enough.
Amen.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Sermon - July 11, 2010
Eighth Sunday after Pentecost - Year C
Luke 10:25-37
Guilt or Grateful
In the retelling of any story, things differ greatly depending upon the character with whom we identify. Typically, we refer to this reading from Luke 10 as the Parable of the Good Samaritan. It could just as easily be called the parable of the man who fell among robbers; or the parable of the preoccupied Priest; or the ritualistically pure Levite. In naming the story, we might be suggesting with whom it is that we want others to identify.
The “good Samaritan” is the one to whom the Church most often points. He becomes the model of Christian goodness and compassion. He is the model of what it means to care for others. He is the neighbor, assured of eternal life. Telling the story, with him as the focal point, makes it easy for a preacher to wrap things up neatly by saying, “Go and do likewise.”
And, we should – go and do likewise. We need to set aside our own agendas, fears, and apprehension long enough to be concerned about the other. It is important that we ask and do the thing which preserves life. If some story about an outcast doing the right thing can guilt us into do it too, so be it.
But I do wonder if guilt is the only, or even best, motivator. What happens if we see the story from the perspective of the man who is beaten? How do we experience the story when we identify not with the persons who have a choice of whether or not they will respond, but when we are the one who is lying in the ditch, dying.
With a little encouragement, I think we might be able to see the similarities between that poor, bloody individual and ourselves.
This man falls victim to the evil plot of others. He does nothing to deserve what happens to him. He is going down to Jericho, from Jerusalem. He falls, Jesus tells us, into the hands of robbers. Maybe he could have been more street smart; maybe he should have been packing a weapon; maybe he should have recognized the trap before it is sprung and made a McGuiver style escape. Maybe. But Jesus says that he “fell” into the hands of robbers - a phrase which could allow us to understand that he was not deserving of what happen, he is merely its victim. He didn’t deserve what happens to him.
Among us, there are those who do deserve what they get – there are some. But many more – most in fact – don’t. Evil happens. Bad things occur. And while some will find elaborate ways to construct a theory of just retribution, seldom do such attempts at logic hold water. I thought of Bob Bock, whose care-taking of Ruth was cut short by the mysterious sequence of events which took his life. Or what of Judy Morrison and her continuing problems with the leg; cared for by Roger, still recovering from his own heart surgery. Marylyn Thompson, whose fall caused so many problems, first it was the bruise to the head, then the constant pain from injuries to her lower back. It would be inconsiderate of me to name the examples of emotional distress or chemical addition – shared with me in pastoral care conversations – but you are aware of these and understand how dark it can be and you know that such suffering is surely undeserved.
We are the man who fell among robbers. We are the one who lies in the ditch, hoping someone will notice us and take pity on us.
This is the interpretation of the story favored by Augustine and Martin Luther. In re-telling this parable, Luther identified the Good Samaritan with Jesus and assigned the other roles accordingly. With such an interpretation, those in the ditch can take heart. There is hope; there is reason to believe that we will be noticed. Christ has seen us and will come to us, bind up our wounds, and provide for our care.
As undeservedly as is the calamity which befell us, so also is there no reason to take credit for the rescue which follows. The man does nothing to deserve it. It simply comes his way. The good Samaritan (Jesus) finds us.
I think this may be a helpful way to understand the story. The lengths to which we will go in order to preserve the notion of things happening for a reason and as a result of what one deserves also come into play when we move into discussions of those who receive aid. All too often we continue the mistaken notion that those who receive assistance did something or do something which makes them rise to the top. The parable of Luke 10 instructs us that this simply is not the case.
If receiving mercy depends upon doing the right thing then it would have been the priest or the Levite who would have responded to this man. A parable is short, by design, and many details are left to one’s imagination. The assumption is safe that the man who fell among robbers is himself a member of the Temple, of the people of Yahweh. He may have been known, in his pre-victim existence, by the Priest or the Levite. Jesus dispels the notion that we are wounded because we deserve it and he breaks the impression that we are aided because we deserve it by making the one who reaches out to the man a lowly, despised Samaritan.
Samaritans were half-breeds. Despised by the Jews, they were considered unclean and unworthy of entering the Temple. There is at least the possibility that the man who lies in the ditch shared the racist attitudes of Jesus’ hearers – that he might have also recoiled at the notion of being touched by someone who is an infidel.
And yet, this is the man who comes to his aid. This is the messenger of God who does the right thing.
Lying in the ditch, bleeding to death, all our prejudices are open for re-evaluation. Lying in the ditch, bleeding to death, we cannot afford to hold on to the mistaken notion that everyone gets what they deserve. Lying there, we understand what grace is all about.
God comes to us; God sends his messengers to us without merit or action on our part. God reaches out to us and cares for us, regardless of our ability to reach out to Him.
For most of our lives, we are like the Priest or the Levite – we are the ones capable of deciding what course of action will be taken. But isn’t it comforting to know that when things are beyond our control and we become the helpless victim lying in the ditch that God’s grace is there in plentiful supply.
Amen.
Luke 10:25-37
Guilt or Grateful
In the retelling of any story, things differ greatly depending upon the character with whom we identify. Typically, we refer to this reading from Luke 10 as the Parable of the Good Samaritan. It could just as easily be called the parable of the man who fell among robbers; or the parable of the preoccupied Priest; or the ritualistically pure Levite. In naming the story, we might be suggesting with whom it is that we want others to identify.
The “good Samaritan” is the one to whom the Church most often points. He becomes the model of Christian goodness and compassion. He is the model of what it means to care for others. He is the neighbor, assured of eternal life. Telling the story, with him as the focal point, makes it easy for a preacher to wrap things up neatly by saying, “Go and do likewise.”
And, we should – go and do likewise. We need to set aside our own agendas, fears, and apprehension long enough to be concerned about the other. It is important that we ask and do the thing which preserves life. If some story about an outcast doing the right thing can guilt us into do it too, so be it.
But I do wonder if guilt is the only, or even best, motivator. What happens if we see the story from the perspective of the man who is beaten? How do we experience the story when we identify not with the persons who have a choice of whether or not they will respond, but when we are the one who is lying in the ditch, dying.
With a little encouragement, I think we might be able to see the similarities between that poor, bloody individual and ourselves.
This man falls victim to the evil plot of others. He does nothing to deserve what happens to him. He is going down to Jericho, from Jerusalem. He falls, Jesus tells us, into the hands of robbers. Maybe he could have been more street smart; maybe he should have been packing a weapon; maybe he should have recognized the trap before it is sprung and made a McGuiver style escape. Maybe. But Jesus says that he “fell” into the hands of robbers - a phrase which could allow us to understand that he was not deserving of what happen, he is merely its victim. He didn’t deserve what happens to him.
Among us, there are those who do deserve what they get – there are some. But many more – most in fact – don’t. Evil happens. Bad things occur. And while some will find elaborate ways to construct a theory of just retribution, seldom do such attempts at logic hold water. I thought of Bob Bock, whose care-taking of Ruth was cut short by the mysterious sequence of events which took his life. Or what of Judy Morrison and her continuing problems with the leg; cared for by Roger, still recovering from his own heart surgery. Marylyn Thompson, whose fall caused so many problems, first it was the bruise to the head, then the constant pain from injuries to her lower back. It would be inconsiderate of me to name the examples of emotional distress or chemical addition – shared with me in pastoral care conversations – but you are aware of these and understand how dark it can be and you know that such suffering is surely undeserved.
We are the man who fell among robbers. We are the one who lies in the ditch, hoping someone will notice us and take pity on us.
This is the interpretation of the story favored by Augustine and Martin Luther. In re-telling this parable, Luther identified the Good Samaritan with Jesus and assigned the other roles accordingly. With such an interpretation, those in the ditch can take heart. There is hope; there is reason to believe that we will be noticed. Christ has seen us and will come to us, bind up our wounds, and provide for our care.
As undeservedly as is the calamity which befell us, so also is there no reason to take credit for the rescue which follows. The man does nothing to deserve it. It simply comes his way. The good Samaritan (Jesus) finds us.
I think this may be a helpful way to understand the story. The lengths to which we will go in order to preserve the notion of things happening for a reason and as a result of what one deserves also come into play when we move into discussions of those who receive aid. All too often we continue the mistaken notion that those who receive assistance did something or do something which makes them rise to the top. The parable of Luke 10 instructs us that this simply is not the case.
If receiving mercy depends upon doing the right thing then it would have been the priest or the Levite who would have responded to this man. A parable is short, by design, and many details are left to one’s imagination. The assumption is safe that the man who fell among robbers is himself a member of the Temple, of the people of Yahweh. He may have been known, in his pre-victim existence, by the Priest or the Levite. Jesus dispels the notion that we are wounded because we deserve it and he breaks the impression that we are aided because we deserve it by making the one who reaches out to the man a lowly, despised Samaritan.
Samaritans were half-breeds. Despised by the Jews, they were considered unclean and unworthy of entering the Temple. There is at least the possibility that the man who lies in the ditch shared the racist attitudes of Jesus’ hearers – that he might have also recoiled at the notion of being touched by someone who is an infidel.
And yet, this is the man who comes to his aid. This is the messenger of God who does the right thing.
Lying in the ditch, bleeding to death, all our prejudices are open for re-evaluation. Lying in the ditch, bleeding to death, we cannot afford to hold on to the mistaken notion that everyone gets what they deserve. Lying there, we understand what grace is all about.
God comes to us; God sends his messengers to us without merit or action on our part. God reaches out to us and cares for us, regardless of our ability to reach out to Him.
For most of our lives, we are like the Priest or the Levite – we are the ones capable of deciding what course of action will be taken. But isn’t it comforting to know that when things are beyond our control and we become the helpless victim lying in the ditch that God’s grace is there in plentiful supply.
Amen.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Sermon - June 27, 2010
5th Sunday after Pentecost
I Kings 19:15-16, 19-21 & Luke 9:51-62
That to Which our Heart Clings
I will apologize ahead of time, in case you are not one of those who appreciates sports references. I would agree with you, and make use of a cliché, in noting that sometimes it does seem as if we are caught up in a culture determined to “amuse ourselves to death.” BUT, did you get caught up in the excitement of that tennis match which began last Tuesday and stretched all the way to Thursday? In case you didn’t, and aren’t sure you heard me, the game started on Tuesday and was not completed till Thursday. They did stop at night – no lights on the courts where they were playing – but the match lasted 10 hours. 10 hours. That is a long time to play tennis. The pair involved, knew they were making history. They also knew that they were extremely tired. But what were they going to do? One reporter, a former tennis player, surmised how they might be feeling. “You can’t just stop. Someone, eventually, has to win the match.”
“You can’t just stop.” I am not so sure about that. I think I might have found a way to stop, after the first 125 games or so.
But then again, I probably wouldn’t have, had I been one of the two. I would hope that I would have had the strength and the dedication to remain faithful to that which I had set out to do. The reporter is right, “You can’t just stop.” Not, if that toward which you are striving, is the goal you desire above all else.
Jesus is with his disciples. He is talking to them about things which really matter. He is vetting the group, to see whether they will “just stop;” or whether they have the strength and dedication to continue on. They seem energetic enough. Two of them, James and John, are even ready to bring in the heavy equipment. But Jesus needs to know whether they are indeed in this to the end, or if they would be inclined to “just stop” when the hours get long and the course becomes difficult.
One of the downsides to having our lessons printed on the back of our bulletins, rather than finding them in our individual Bibles, is the difficulty in understanding the context in which these 12 verses occur. Jesus is about to appoint the 70, who will fan out from the tight group of followers, in order to proclaim the good news which Jesus announced in the temple in Nazareth. There will be celebrations associated with their work; there will also be disappointments. It is not the success of the messengers which concerns Jesus; his interest is their dedication to the task. He wants to say something to them which will prevent them from stopping when the task proves to be more exhausting than they had anticipated.
“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head,” he tells them. “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God,” he reminds them of their task. And finally, he states clearly what he expects of them, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”
If two guys playing tennis understand how important it is to keep going, shouldn’t it be said of Jesus’ followers that there is no quit in us, either? No quit, even though the going is not always going to be easy or simple.
On most Sundays, there is a gentle suggestion that as Christians we have it easier than our forebears in the faith - our Jewish ancestors. But not on this day. When Elisha is called/when he is invited to follow the way of the Lord he is allowed to return home, cook a ceremonial meal and say his good-byes. That may have been the way it happened to Elisha, but when the prophet of the New Covenant casts his mantle upon potential followers, he gives them no opportunity to place their houses in order. “Let the dead bury their own dead,” Jesus says. “You have other work to do.”
“Foxes have holes...”
Jesus wasn’t looking back. He is so set on getting to Jerusalem and getting down to the serious business that he looks right past the folks he is currently with. We have an image in our minds that as long as Jesus was traveling along, through the countryside, that the crowds kept flocking to him. We have this image of a gentle and caring Jesus moving from one town to another as he preaches, teaches and heals the sick. We carry with us this notion that it was only when he got to Jerusalem were there was political intrigue and power struggles that folks began to reject him. But no, this isn’t the way it happened. Here, only nine chapters into Luke’s Gospel, we already see a shift. A change has happened in Jesus. A transformation (perhaps transfiguration) has altered the way Jesus sees those along the way and the way they experi¬ence him. He set his face to go to Jerusalem. This village of the Samaritans would not accept him. They could tell that he wasn’t really with them, he was looking past them. He had his eyes focused on where he was going and he wasn’t going to look back or even from side to side.¬
When Jesus calls his disciples he invites them to join him in this single-minded mission.
My personal notes on this passage include a comment made in a bible study that at no other point in the gospels does anyone turn down a direct invitation from Jesus to “Come and follow.” The rich young man doesn’t follow Jesus, but the interaction which leads to that invitation was initiated by the young man, not by Jesus. Here, it is Jesus who does the asking and his invitation is rejected. My fellow bible-study participant pointed out that nowhere else in scripture is an invitation initiated and extended by Jesus meet with rejection.
The village could tell that his face was set to go to Jerusalem. When asked to come along, it was obvious that this was serious business.
And it is serious business. Serious for Jesus, serious for them, serious for you and me.
“Our god,” writes Luther, “is that to which our heart clings.” Some will cling to their power and prestige. The hearts of others will cling to their material possessions. Still others will find themselves occupied with family and friends. I often find myself concerned that I have let community service become the central focus of my heart. While all of these things are important - vitally important - none are worthy of the prime devotion of our heart. Only One can occupy that space and in so doing enable us to satisfy all others aspirations. Our hearts must cling to Christ.
This is what Jesus is inviting his hearers to do. He wants to find out whether there are things - any things - which are more central to the lives of his followers. He knows that nothing else can bear the weight and responsibility of being one’s Savior.
When the village of the Samaritans reject Jesus, James and John want to call upon the heavens to rain fire down upon them. Jesus rebukes James and John for suggesting such a thing. Failing to embrace this harsh call to disciple¬ship does not lead to God’s punishment. The inability to make Christ the thing to which our heart clings means that we have missed a wonderful opportunity. Jesus has not desire to further punish those who refused to become his disciples. Their choosing to adhere to something else is tragic enough. The Kingdom of God had come close to them, so very close to them, and they had failed to join in.
When our hearts cling to Christ all of earth and all of the heavens are ours. Nothing stands in our way and nothing will ever overcome us. This is the promise; this is the hope; this is the faith of the Church, the faith in which we baptize.
Amen.
I Kings 19:15-16, 19-21 & Luke 9:51-62
That to Which our Heart Clings
I will apologize ahead of time, in case you are not one of those who appreciates sports references. I would agree with you, and make use of a cliché, in noting that sometimes it does seem as if we are caught up in a culture determined to “amuse ourselves to death.” BUT, did you get caught up in the excitement of that tennis match which began last Tuesday and stretched all the way to Thursday? In case you didn’t, and aren’t sure you heard me, the game started on Tuesday and was not completed till Thursday. They did stop at night – no lights on the courts where they were playing – but the match lasted 10 hours. 10 hours. That is a long time to play tennis. The pair involved, knew they were making history. They also knew that they were extremely tired. But what were they going to do? One reporter, a former tennis player, surmised how they might be feeling. “You can’t just stop. Someone, eventually, has to win the match.”
“You can’t just stop.” I am not so sure about that. I think I might have found a way to stop, after the first 125 games or so.
But then again, I probably wouldn’t have, had I been one of the two. I would hope that I would have had the strength and the dedication to remain faithful to that which I had set out to do. The reporter is right, “You can’t just stop.” Not, if that toward which you are striving, is the goal you desire above all else.
Jesus is with his disciples. He is talking to them about things which really matter. He is vetting the group, to see whether they will “just stop;” or whether they have the strength and dedication to continue on. They seem energetic enough. Two of them, James and John, are even ready to bring in the heavy equipment. But Jesus needs to know whether they are indeed in this to the end, or if they would be inclined to “just stop” when the hours get long and the course becomes difficult.
One of the downsides to having our lessons printed on the back of our bulletins, rather than finding them in our individual Bibles, is the difficulty in understanding the context in which these 12 verses occur. Jesus is about to appoint the 70, who will fan out from the tight group of followers, in order to proclaim the good news which Jesus announced in the temple in Nazareth. There will be celebrations associated with their work; there will also be disappointments. It is not the success of the messengers which concerns Jesus; his interest is their dedication to the task. He wants to say something to them which will prevent them from stopping when the task proves to be more exhausting than they had anticipated.
“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head,” he tells them. “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God,” he reminds them of their task. And finally, he states clearly what he expects of them, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”
If two guys playing tennis understand how important it is to keep going, shouldn’t it be said of Jesus’ followers that there is no quit in us, either? No quit, even though the going is not always going to be easy or simple.
On most Sundays, there is a gentle suggestion that as Christians we have it easier than our forebears in the faith - our Jewish ancestors. But not on this day. When Elisha is called/when he is invited to follow the way of the Lord he is allowed to return home, cook a ceremonial meal and say his good-byes. That may have been the way it happened to Elisha, but when the prophet of the New Covenant casts his mantle upon potential followers, he gives them no opportunity to place their houses in order. “Let the dead bury their own dead,” Jesus says. “You have other work to do.”
“Foxes have holes...”
Jesus wasn’t looking back. He is so set on getting to Jerusalem and getting down to the serious business that he looks right past the folks he is currently with. We have an image in our minds that as long as Jesus was traveling along, through the countryside, that the crowds kept flocking to him. We have this image of a gentle and caring Jesus moving from one town to another as he preaches, teaches and heals the sick. We carry with us this notion that it was only when he got to Jerusalem were there was political intrigue and power struggles that folks began to reject him. But no, this isn’t the way it happened. Here, only nine chapters into Luke’s Gospel, we already see a shift. A change has happened in Jesus. A transformation (perhaps transfiguration) has altered the way Jesus sees those along the way and the way they experi¬ence him. He set his face to go to Jerusalem. This village of the Samaritans would not accept him. They could tell that he wasn’t really with them, he was looking past them. He had his eyes focused on where he was going and he wasn’t going to look back or even from side to side.¬
When Jesus calls his disciples he invites them to join him in this single-minded mission.
My personal notes on this passage include a comment made in a bible study that at no other point in the gospels does anyone turn down a direct invitation from Jesus to “Come and follow.” The rich young man doesn’t follow Jesus, but the interaction which leads to that invitation was initiated by the young man, not by Jesus. Here, it is Jesus who does the asking and his invitation is rejected. My fellow bible-study participant pointed out that nowhere else in scripture is an invitation initiated and extended by Jesus meet with rejection.
The village could tell that his face was set to go to Jerusalem. When asked to come along, it was obvious that this was serious business.
And it is serious business. Serious for Jesus, serious for them, serious for you and me.
“Our god,” writes Luther, “is that to which our heart clings.” Some will cling to their power and prestige. The hearts of others will cling to their material possessions. Still others will find themselves occupied with family and friends. I often find myself concerned that I have let community service become the central focus of my heart. While all of these things are important - vitally important - none are worthy of the prime devotion of our heart. Only One can occupy that space and in so doing enable us to satisfy all others aspirations. Our hearts must cling to Christ.
This is what Jesus is inviting his hearers to do. He wants to find out whether there are things - any things - which are more central to the lives of his followers. He knows that nothing else can bear the weight and responsibility of being one’s Savior.
When the village of the Samaritans reject Jesus, James and John want to call upon the heavens to rain fire down upon them. Jesus rebukes James and John for suggesting such a thing. Failing to embrace this harsh call to disciple¬ship does not lead to God’s punishment. The inability to make Christ the thing to which our heart clings means that we have missed a wonderful opportunity. Jesus has not desire to further punish those who refused to become his disciples. Their choosing to adhere to something else is tragic enough. The Kingdom of God had come close to them, so very close to them, and they had failed to join in.
When our hearts cling to Christ all of earth and all of the heavens are ours. Nothing stands in our way and nothing will ever overcome us. This is the promise; this is the hope; this is the faith of the Church, the faith in which we baptize.
Amen.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Sermon - June 13, 2010
Pentecost 3 - Year C
2 Samuel 11:26-12:10, 13-15
Being a “Have,” and wanting more
Few stories in the Bible have a greater potential to upset our lives than today’s reading from 2 Samuel. In this story, the greed of King David is exposed. This story makes clear the destructive nature of our self-indulgence and our tendency to horde. Nathan makes King David, and each of us who reads of the encounter, aware that sexual lust isn’t the temptation to be most feared. It is our coveting which separates us from God and from one another.
This reading is in our regular cycle of appointed texts. I should admit that I look forward to its arrival. I didn’t look ahead, so I could request this as one of my Sundays to preach, but I would have, with the knowledge that this would be the reading. Few texts provide as clear an opportunity to address the misconstrued hierarchy of sin, so often championed in our self-centered and self-serving society. This reading is like a fat fast ball, delivered to the middle of the plate. The only regret I have is that my fixation with 2 Samuel won’t allow me to also speak of Luke 7. That story makes the same point. Here again, it is envy – envy of Jesus’ acceptance of the woman… who was a sinner – which erects a barrier between Simon and his guest of honor. Rather than be grateful for all that Jesus is offering him, Simon wants more. He wants to be the one to whom Jesus gives his full attention. Simon doesn’t want anyone to be more important in Jesus’ life than himself. It is a bit like those who think that being a Christian is all about getting to heaven. Their misplaced focus prevents them from receiving the goodness of God’s grace and mercy and living the life which is its self eternal. Like I said – lots there. But too little time to touch on it all.
Because, I want to take you back to the story of David and Bathsheba and Uriah and Nathan. It is never safe to assume that folks know the story. A bit of what happened is repeated in Nathan’s words to David, but let’s make sure what have the whole picture.
It started with a look. David is on his roof-top and he looks over and sees Bathsheba bathing. He desires her, even though he already has many wives. He also knows that she is married, to Uriah, the Hittite, a soldier in King David’s army. Never-the-less, David insists on having her as his own. When a child is conceived, David tries to hide his transgression by calling Uriah home from the battlefield. Being a devoted soldier, Uriah sleeps on the doorstep of his house, refusing the comforts of his bed while his fellow soldiers are still in the field. David tries to get Uriah drunk, so he will forget his dedication. This doesn’t work either.
Finally, King David sends Uriah, the soldier, back to the battlefield along with the instructions that Uriah is to be placed at the front and when the battle becomes fierce, the rest of the soldiers are to fall back. Uriah does die, at the sword of the Ammonites. But they are merely the vessel in King David’s plan. He is the man - the rich man - who takes from the poor man his one precious little lamb. His coveting lies at the root of his transgression.
We are a culture which has become obsessed with sex. It is used in order to sell products as diverse as wristwatches and low-fat cereals. As a result, the Church has all too often seen sex and sensuality as the core cause of all transgression. We have made sexual sins the most damning, ignoring along the way – perhaps - other sins and transgressions. As a result, when we read the story of David and Bathsheba we think of it as a tale of lust. Nathan’s confrontation with David allows us to see God’s concern with the root problem – David’s desire for more, his addiction to excess.
It has been argued that Augustine is at least in part to blame. It was in the 4th century that the Church fathers began to write of sin as those prime urges which we could not control. They had good reasons for this. The Stoics had for hundreds of years insisted that moving to a higher consciousness involved domination over our more base selves. They attempted to be more in control - in control of one’s thoughts, one’s emotions. Controlling these made it easy, or so it was suggested, to control our actions.
When St. Paul spoke of sin he spoke of desiring what we wanted, but could not have. He suggests that “coveting” is where all sin begins.
We do covet our neighbor’s wife (or husband.) The 9th commandment also speaks of coveting the neighbor’s manservant or maidservant. Perhaps these might be suggestions of sensuality. But I don’t think so. I believe Luther had it right when he says that this commandment is about helping our neighbor remain in loyal relationships with spouse, servants, and even cattle. Transgression occurs when we lure them away.
King David wants what isn’t his. He takes it. He denies his neighbor his one price possession. David didn’t need Bathsheba. He wanted her. He wanted her even though she belonged to another.
How many wives did David need? How many lambs could he place upon the table? How could he be so blind as to think that he was entitled to whatever he saw? Who would be so cruel as to take what little another has?
In the end, what I want to say is that one of the advantages in making sexual sins front and center of our religious zeal is that all the noise can help drown out talk of the sins of which Jesus most often spoke. He does talk about physical stuff, a little. But, you would be hard pressed to read a full page of any of the Gospels and not come across a reference to wealth and riches. Heck, rich and poor are even the framework for Nathan’s story to David. It is much less discomforting to focus on sexual sins, because it is pretty easy to feel okay about ourselves – at least most of the time. But, when we talk about our wealth things are more upsetting. And, it is not as easy to do something about. Not as easy, because it is really difficult for us to admit that we are the ones who need to do anything at all.
I own a house, five cars, four TV’s, three laptop computers – and I have the audacity to act like I am doing a wonderful thing when I spend three hours on a Saturday morning putting shingles on a Habitat house.
American Christians do have a problem. It is our wealth. It is our un-checked belief that we have a right to all this and that it is okay for us to continue to use more and more of the world’s resources in order to feed our out-of-control appetites. When we see what someone else has – we want that, too.
I hope and pray that you will never again be able to read the story of David and Bathsheba and think of it simply as a story about lust. Nathan, the prophet, tells David that his sin is the sin of coveting. Nathan, the prophet, helps David to see that having a lot sometimes blinds us to the realities of life for those who have very little. With a long and cruel finger, Nathan points out to David that he is “the man”. This same finger needs to be pointed at each of us.
Amen.
2 Samuel 11:26-12:10, 13-15
Being a “Have,” and wanting more
Few stories in the Bible have a greater potential to upset our lives than today’s reading from 2 Samuel. In this story, the greed of King David is exposed. This story makes clear the destructive nature of our self-indulgence and our tendency to horde. Nathan makes King David, and each of us who reads of the encounter, aware that sexual lust isn’t the temptation to be most feared. It is our coveting which separates us from God and from one another.
This reading is in our regular cycle of appointed texts. I should admit that I look forward to its arrival. I didn’t look ahead, so I could request this as one of my Sundays to preach, but I would have, with the knowledge that this would be the reading. Few texts provide as clear an opportunity to address the misconstrued hierarchy of sin, so often championed in our self-centered and self-serving society. This reading is like a fat fast ball, delivered to the middle of the plate. The only regret I have is that my fixation with 2 Samuel won’t allow me to also speak of Luke 7. That story makes the same point. Here again, it is envy – envy of Jesus’ acceptance of the woman… who was a sinner – which erects a barrier between Simon and his guest of honor. Rather than be grateful for all that Jesus is offering him, Simon wants more. He wants to be the one to whom Jesus gives his full attention. Simon doesn’t want anyone to be more important in Jesus’ life than himself. It is a bit like those who think that being a Christian is all about getting to heaven. Their misplaced focus prevents them from receiving the goodness of God’s grace and mercy and living the life which is its self eternal. Like I said – lots there. But too little time to touch on it all.
Because, I want to take you back to the story of David and Bathsheba and Uriah and Nathan. It is never safe to assume that folks know the story. A bit of what happened is repeated in Nathan’s words to David, but let’s make sure what have the whole picture.
It started with a look. David is on his roof-top and he looks over and sees Bathsheba bathing. He desires her, even though he already has many wives. He also knows that she is married, to Uriah, the Hittite, a soldier in King David’s army. Never-the-less, David insists on having her as his own. When a child is conceived, David tries to hide his transgression by calling Uriah home from the battlefield. Being a devoted soldier, Uriah sleeps on the doorstep of his house, refusing the comforts of his bed while his fellow soldiers are still in the field. David tries to get Uriah drunk, so he will forget his dedication. This doesn’t work either.
Finally, King David sends Uriah, the soldier, back to the battlefield along with the instructions that Uriah is to be placed at the front and when the battle becomes fierce, the rest of the soldiers are to fall back. Uriah does die, at the sword of the Ammonites. But they are merely the vessel in King David’s plan. He is the man - the rich man - who takes from the poor man his one precious little lamb. His coveting lies at the root of his transgression.
We are a culture which has become obsessed with sex. It is used in order to sell products as diverse as wristwatches and low-fat cereals. As a result, the Church has all too often seen sex and sensuality as the core cause of all transgression. We have made sexual sins the most damning, ignoring along the way – perhaps - other sins and transgressions. As a result, when we read the story of David and Bathsheba we think of it as a tale of lust. Nathan’s confrontation with David allows us to see God’s concern with the root problem – David’s desire for more, his addiction to excess.
It has been argued that Augustine is at least in part to blame. It was in the 4th century that the Church fathers began to write of sin as those prime urges which we could not control. They had good reasons for this. The Stoics had for hundreds of years insisted that moving to a higher consciousness involved domination over our more base selves. They attempted to be more in control - in control of one’s thoughts, one’s emotions. Controlling these made it easy, or so it was suggested, to control our actions.
When St. Paul spoke of sin he spoke of desiring what we wanted, but could not have. He suggests that “coveting” is where all sin begins.
We do covet our neighbor’s wife (or husband.) The 9th commandment also speaks of coveting the neighbor’s manservant or maidservant. Perhaps these might be suggestions of sensuality. But I don’t think so. I believe Luther had it right when he says that this commandment is about helping our neighbor remain in loyal relationships with spouse, servants, and even cattle. Transgression occurs when we lure them away.
King David wants what isn’t his. He takes it. He denies his neighbor his one price possession. David didn’t need Bathsheba. He wanted her. He wanted her even though she belonged to another.
How many wives did David need? How many lambs could he place upon the table? How could he be so blind as to think that he was entitled to whatever he saw? Who would be so cruel as to take what little another has?
In the end, what I want to say is that one of the advantages in making sexual sins front and center of our religious zeal is that all the noise can help drown out talk of the sins of which Jesus most often spoke. He does talk about physical stuff, a little. But, you would be hard pressed to read a full page of any of the Gospels and not come across a reference to wealth and riches. Heck, rich and poor are even the framework for Nathan’s story to David. It is much less discomforting to focus on sexual sins, because it is pretty easy to feel okay about ourselves – at least most of the time. But, when we talk about our wealth things are more upsetting. And, it is not as easy to do something about. Not as easy, because it is really difficult for us to admit that we are the ones who need to do anything at all.
I own a house, five cars, four TV’s, three laptop computers – and I have the audacity to act like I am doing a wonderful thing when I spend three hours on a Saturday morning putting shingles on a Habitat house.
American Christians do have a problem. It is our wealth. It is our un-checked belief that we have a right to all this and that it is okay for us to continue to use more and more of the world’s resources in order to feed our out-of-control appetites. When we see what someone else has – we want that, too.
I hope and pray that you will never again be able to read the story of David and Bathsheba and think of it simply as a story about lust. Nathan, the prophet, tells David that his sin is the sin of coveting. Nathan, the prophet, helps David to see that having a lot sometimes blinds us to the realities of life for those who have very little. With a long and cruel finger, Nathan points out to David that he is “the man”. This same finger needs to be pointed at each of us.
Amen.
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