Scriptural Sermons

Growing up, each summer my sister and I spent two weeks visiting Grandma Dorothy and Grandpa Jake in small town Ohio. We were young enough so that everything about the countryside seemed charmed -- from the drug store soda fountain where we ordered banana splits, to the trips to a nearby farm when a litter of baby pigs was born, to our visits with Aunt Wilma. Aunt Wilma was Grandma Dorothy’s sister. She’d lived in the house where she was born for almost eighty years. It was the house that time had forgotten -- complete with a butter churn, a well, and a horse and buggy. One summer as we were leaving to visit Aunt Wilma, Grandma Dorothy asked Grandpa Jake if he’d like to join us. “I’ll leave you to deal with Mary.” he said. “Mary?” I asked. “Is that Aunt Wilma’s real name?” Grandma Dorothy shot Grandpa Jake a look of reprimand, but Grandpa Jake continued undeterred. “Have you heard of Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary?” Grandpa Jake asked. “Well that’s Aunt Wilma -- Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary.” I found his disclosure to be highly stimulating. Grown ups didn’t usually dish about other grown ups to children. When we arrived at Aunt Wilma’s, I was en guarde to see if Aunt Wilma was indeed Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary. “What a lovely day,” Grandma Dorothy remarked as we took our places for tea. “A lovely day!” Aunt Wilma expostulated. “The breeze must be out of the east, because every bone in my body aches!” Grandma Dorothy changed the subject. “Jake and I are taking the girls to the State Fair tomorrow.” She ventured. “The State Fair!!” Wilma again expostulated. “Are you going there to get your pockets picked? Had my own pocket picked at the State Fair.” “Now Wilma, Dorothy said gently, "that was way back in 1932.” “Grandpa Jake was right,” I thought to myself. Aunt Wilma was indeed Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary. Grandma Dorothy changed the subject again. “Girls, go out to the car and get the pecan pie that we made for Aunt Wilma.” We did as we were asked and set the pie on the table before Aunt Wilma. Aunt Wilma suddenly grew stiff as a ramrod. Her face donned a mask of impassivity. I could sense though that, as the prophet Amos put it, there were “mighty tumults” within her. She was struggling with self-mastery. Aunt Wilma wanted that pie. I could tell by the way she eyed it. But Aunt Wilma could only be contrary. If she was contrary, however; if she said something like -- “You know that pecans always get stuck between my teeth,” she risked losing the pie. She picked up the pie and secured it in the icebox. Only then did she say, “It beats me why anyone would want to spend the whole day baking!” When we got back home, I rushed to Grandpa Jake. “You were right! Aunt Wilma is Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary.” Grandpa Jake replied, “Those are the lenses through which she sees life.” Those are the lenses through which she sees life. It turned out to be a formative moment, because going forward, I noticed the lenses through which people see life. No doubt you’ve noticed the same thing I have. There are the lenses of those we could call scapegoaters. Scapegoaters blame some marginalized group for all that is wrong with the world. Something’s not right? It can only be the fault of those blacks, or those Jews, or those refugees, or those Muslims, or those homosexuals, or those immigrants. Then there are the lenses of those who have been wronged -- whether they have been betrayed, cheated, fired, snubbed, abandoned, what have you. They have been victimized, and this becomes their identity, their explanation, their excuse. Then there are the lenses of those out for themselves. They measure themselves and others according to their money and possessions, their status and connections. Those who don’t measure up do not exist for them. The lenses through which people see life. They’ve always been around. They go way back to the biblical period, though the lenses they wore back then can seem a bit strange to us. Take Bathsheba from our Old Testament lesson. Her lenses were, “What will advance the cause of my son?” As I said, a bit strange to us, but less strange if you think about it. Women in the biblical period didn’t have much power in their own right. What power they had they had they acquired through the men in their lives. Initially they acquired power through their husbands, but after their sons were born, their husbands soon became yesterday’s news. They were of the past, after all, and their sons were of the future. The bottom line is that what advanced the cause of their sons, advanced their cause as well. So Bathsheba’s lenses were, “What will advance the cause of my son?” And Bathsheba’s husband was the most powerful man of his day. Bathsheba’s husband was King David. Even so, once her son Solomon was born Bathsheba had but one focus: that someday Solomon would occupy King David’s throne. Not that he had any claim upon that throne. He had none whatsoever. That throne was by right his elder brother Adonijah’s. That didn’t stop Bathsheba. Her lenses firmly in place, at the end of the day Adonijah was dead, and Solomon occupied King David’s throne. Now the stakes with regard to the lenses through which we see life may not be, as they were with regard to Bathsheba and Solomon, a matter of life and death, but there are still stakes involved. Because for one thing, the lenses through which we see life, ironically, distort our vision. We can’t see reality rightly, and therefore we can’t act rightly toward it. We can’t contribute to reality in any intentional or productive or truthful way. Just the opposite: We “contribute” to reality in an unintentional, unproductive, and untruthful way. And this is particularly pronounced when it comes to relationships. Relationships, real relationships anyway, are only possible between those who see reality rightly and in that light establish bonds of mutual understanding and concern. When we have lenses through which we see life, this is not possible. All we can do is grind an axe. And no one desires to be the sounding board of another grinding an axe. At family reunions with Grandma Dorothy and Grandpa Jake, everyone knew to steer a wide berth around Aunt Wilma. No one wanted to be the sounding board of Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary. Through the years I would look across the room to some fresh meat she got her teeth into. In the eyes of Aunt Wilma’s prey I could see a desperate look, as if to say “Someone save me!” But of course there was never a rescue. With Aunt Wilma it was every man for himself. The lenses through which we see life. It couldn’t possibly make any sense for them to be the lenses of Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, or a scapegoater, or those who have been wronged, or those out for themselves. It only makes sense for them to be the lenses of Jesus Christ, who as the Son of God saw life through God’s eyes. He saw reality perfectly, acted perfectly toward it, and perfected all of his relationships. Not that this resulted in harmonious relationships. Reality encompasses much evil. His relationships reflected this -- with rejection and repudiation towards those who co opted religion for their own ends, those who exploited the vulnerable, those who cast their lot with the powerful; those who practiced hypocrisy or hardness of heart; but with caring and affection towards those who sought him, those who practiced justice and mercy, and those who bound up the broken hearted, those who practiced integrity and love. These are the lenses we should strive to put on. The apostle Paul had his own way of saying it. “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ,” he commended. And so I commend you. Amen.