Getting the word out.
Mark
Scriptural Sermons
New Testament: Mark
Jonah 1:1-10 Mark 14:43-52
I Samuel 1:3-11 Mark 14:32-52
When you are a pastor, people feel compelled to tell you why they don’t go to church. I am not sure why. Maybe they feel guilty or defensive and feel compelled to make some explanation or justification. As I said, I am not sure why, I am only sure that it happens, and it happens a lot. It happens so often I can even state the top five reasons that people don’t go to church (as told to me at least.) Number one is that they are spiritual but not religious. Number two is that Christians are hypocrites. Number three is that the church subordinates women and discriminates against gay people. Number four is that they prefer Eastern Spirituality. And number five is that they believe that there is nothing that anyone can do - not you, not me, not anyone - that’s ever going to make any difference in this world. I have a degree of understanding and sympathy for these reasons, at least for the top four. The spiritual but not religious are basically fellow travelers. My experience of them is that they appreciate nature as God’s handiwork, and that they are all behind justice issues. They have just had a bad experience, or no experience, in the church, and they prefer to go it alone. And Jesus, after all, said “…whoever is not against us is for us.” And, who could begin to argue with the charge that Christians can indeed be hypocrites? Jesus instructed us to remove the plank from our own eye so that we can see to remove the speck from our neighbor’s. He instructed us thus because he knew that there were hypocrites among us. And hypocrites don’t make good witnesses to the faith. And, it is, without question, to the church’s shame that it has created lower tiers within it for women and gay people. The church would probably still have African Americans in a lower tier as well but history wouldn’t let it get away with it. We can credit Abraham Lincoln with that, who, of course, was himself not a church goer. And, Eastern Spirituality is filled with profundity and wisdom unique unto itself that has never infiltrated western spirituality. The world religions became world religions because of their brilliant insight into the human condition. They all, in their ways, offer solutions to the human problem. Their practices can’t be valueless. And they have the benefit of novelty as well. Yes, there’s no sense to take aim at the reasons people do not go to church, except maybe for the fifth reason – that there’s nothing anything anyone can do to make a difference in this world. Maybe I am being harsh, but that reason strikes me as a cynical cop-out, as a poor excuse to do nothing. Moreover, it’s not true, at least not according to the Bible. The Bible, in fact, takes the polar opposite stance. It believes that everything we do makes a difference in this world. It even goes so far as to insist that little things we do make big differences – after the fashion of a mustard seed which grows into a hardy shrub, or a seed that takes root produces grain thirty, sixty, and a hundred fold. Or take our Old Testament lesson as an example. We all know Ruth’s story. No one would envy Ruth her ethnicity. Ruth was a Moabite. The Moabites were stigmatized, particularly by the Israelites. Stigmas, then and now, are based upon stereotypes, and Moabites were stereotyped as being pervasive low lives – low morals, low intelligence, low standards. Imagine if before you walked into a room, you knew everyone in the room was going to judge you, and judge you harshly and unfairly. This was Ruth’s lot in life due to her ethnicity. Ruth had married into an Israelite family, which could have offered her some protection. People normally ascend to the social level of their spouse. But Ruth’s spouse died. Ruth was then left alone with her mother-in-law Naomi, who herself was a widow. The two of them lived together in Moab. It would have been better for Ruth to remain where she was, with her own kind. Why go where you’re not wanted? But Naomi sought to return to Israel, and Ruth knew Naomi needed her. So Ruth braved it. What could Ruth possibly do to make a difference in this world? The people who voice this reason to me are normally prosperous and resourceful. They actually could make a difference in this world. They have the resources. Ruth arrived in Israel with but the clothes on her back, a stranger in a strange land, that nobody was keen to welcome. What could she possibly do to make a difference in this world? Here’s what she did. She gleaned. She simply gleaned. She went into the field of a “prominent rich man,” as the Bible puts it, she followed behind the harvesters, and she gathered what they left behind. In this way she sustained herself, and she sustained Naomi. The Bible recognizes that simply by participating in gleaning, whether you are on the giving or the receiving end, you make a difference in this world. Gleaning was indeed demanded by the Law of Moses. Hear the book of Deuteronomy: “When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left over. It should be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow.” By simply participating in gleaning, you participate in the act of provision and you prevent waste. And a difference in this world is made. I can state that with perfect confidence that Jesus would have agreed with what I just said, because Jesus himself was a gleaner. In our gospel lesson, Jesus had just performed a miracle. He had fed 5,000 people with five loaves and two fish. After the crowd had eaten its fill, he gleaned twelve baskets of leftovers. Think about that. Jesus could miraculously produce food, and lots of it – enough to feed 5,000 people. And if there were 10,000 people there, he could have miraculously produced enough for them too. And yet he gleaned. He gleaned because he, along with the rest of the Bible, believed it would make a difference in this world - just as he believed that healing a blind beggar, forgiving an adulterous woman, welcoming children, acknowledging a widow’s mite, and eating with tax collectors would make a difference in this world. I guess the bottom line is that in fact there is no such thing as the proverbial drop in the bucket. Every drop effects the bucket – it can change its makeup, it can cause ripples, it can add to its volume, it can be the tipping point. This is simply the ecology of existence, as God has ordained it to be, that we all can make a difference in this world. So glean. So compromise. So support. So aid. So ease. So try. So care. So let’s go out there and make a difference in this world, and let’s do it for Jesus Christ. Amen.
Why in the world did Jesus overreact as he did? Some woman that he’d never set eyes on dumps a vial of oil on his head, and Jesus responds, “Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.” Pretty big words for a pretty small gesture. So why in the world did Jesus overreact as he did? The answer is not an easy one; the answer is not a short one; but I assure you, the answer is a worthwhile one. It has to do with, of all things, self-acceptance. So let’s reflect about self-acceptance. The first thing to understand about self-acceptance is that it is a universal desire. Everyone desires self-acceptance - contentment and satisfaction with who we are -- and who we really are, and not just with regard to our strengths, but with regard to our weaknesses as well. The second thing to understand about self acceptance, however, is that it’s hard to come by. Say you’re born to poverty. From the time you are conscious, you feel the world’s suspicion and disapproval. No one wants you around. No one trusts you. Above all, no one wants you moving into their neighborhood. Even if you eventually rise above your station, you still feel like an outsider for the rest of your life. How are you supposed to accept yourself? Or say you’re a minority, a minority of any kind. Until recently there were laws on the books outlawing, in one way or another, many minorities. But even absent the laws, you feel the weight of discrimination. You feel the weight of segregation. And your experience, your reality, isn’t depicted anywhere, unless it’s depicted negatively. How are you supposed to accept yourself? Or say you are afflicted by mental illness or addiction. Life is really tough for you. You struggle through it in ways others don’t. You look out at everyone else who has it so much easier, to whom life comes so naturally. You live with the constant fear and anxiety that you might not make it. How are you supposed to accept yourself? Or say you don’t like the way you look. And how could you like the way you look? You are bombarded every which way by falsified and idealized images you are supposed to embody but can’t. You’re too old. You’re too short. You’re too big. You’re too plain. Fill in the blank. You simply can’t measure up, and it’s hard to escape feeling inadequate. How are you supposed to accept yourself? Or say you aren’t what your parents ordered. They wanted a great athlete and a straight A student who was going to be a smashing success in life and make them proud. Your heart was in another game. In ways big and small, they never let you forget their disappointment. How are you supposed to accept yourself? I could go on and on and on. There are probably as many threats to self-acceptance as there are people. As I said, it’s hard to come by. And the reason can be seen to emerge. Self acceptance is predicated upon the acceptance of others. And others are judgmental. If you doubt it, go online and look at a thread, any thread -- if you want to see just how vicious and shallow and mean and ignorant and prejudiced the judgments of others are. The struggle for self acceptance is the struggle against the need for the acceptance of others, and that’s a no easy struggle. It takes tremendous courage and strength and independence. But at the same time, we are all deeply in need of community. But take note. There is a difference between the acceptance of others and community. The “acceptance” of others is just that. Underscore the word others. Community is just the opposite. Community occurs between people who hold things in common. It occurs between people of mutual understanding, mutual appreciation, mutual affirmation, mutual encouragement, and mutual support. It occurs between kindred spirits. There’s an obvious lesson in this for us. We need to strive for self acceptance, and we need to seek community. To bring this back to church, it’s about putting some real stock in what we profess to believe - that we are all children of God, beloved by him and redeemed by him -- because we are accepted by him. And speaking of bringing this back to church, let’s return at long last to Jesus. Now of course Jesus achieved self acceptance, but like everything he achieved, it was harder for him, harder for him than anyone. And why? Because at his baptism the Holy Spirit imparted to him that he was the Son of God and that his impending death would constitute a vicarious sacrifice for human sin. How in the world does anyone accept that? That was the identity he had to accept. That was the destiny he had to accept. But he did. This is Jesus we are talking about, after all. This is why we don’t just respect him. This is why we worship him. And to say that his self acceptance was not predicated upon the acceptance of others is the understatement of the century. Others were judgmental back then too. The religious authorities, those who were supposed to be leaders and role models, attacked him left and right. When he asserted his divinity they screamed blasphemy. And they were all too eager to help him along with his death that would constitute a vicarious sacrifice for human sin. His own family thought he was insane; even his own mother despaired of him. But at least he had his disciples, right? Wrong. They were the worst yet. Whenever he tried to impart to them his impending death, which he wanted desperately for them to apprehend, they were deliberately obtuse. This is why they acted so pathetically after his arrest. But at the same time, Jesus needed community, needed kindred spirits who knew who he was and what he had to do. He found them, though they were but a few -- Mary Magdalene, Lazarus, Nicodemus. But they meant everything to him. Enter the woman he had never set eyes on who dumped a vial of oil on his head. But she too knew who he was and what he had to do! That’s why she dumped a vial of oil on his head. She was anointing his body for his death. She was doing it before his death precisely so he would know that she knew who he was and what he had to do. So I guess it wasn’t an over reaction after all. So there is more here for us than the lesson to strive for self-acceptance and to seek community. There is the lesson to join into community with Jesus Christ; to become those kindred spirits who know who he was and what he had to do; who know that he was the Son of God whose death was a vicarious sacrifice for our sin. And this is no small lesson. It is the whole and sole cornerstone of our lives, and more than this, it is the means for us to minister to the spirit of Jesus Christ, as did the woman Jesus made sure would never be forgotten. Think about that. I mean it. Think about that. Think long and think hard. Think about that in the midst of all the tribulation that at present surrounds us. Because the tribulation has come before, and it will come again. The tribulation is but part of a passing scene, but he is not. He is the Alpha and the Omega, and we can minister to his spirit. Let that be said of us. Amen.
You don’t need me to tell you that we are living through troubled and troubling times. Where to begin? There’s Covid 19. There’s the ripple effects of Covid 19 -- a tanked economy leading to near record unemployment and social isolation leading to depression and aimlessness. There’s the police brutality against George Floyd. There is, both connected and unconnected to this, widespread lawlessness, violence, and destruction. I don’t remember feeling more disturbed by the times. But for me personally at least, there’s something else going on that’s every bit as disturbing. Daniel Patrick Moynihan once said that everyone is entitled to his own opinion. That sounds about right. We share similar values – We want to be decent and upright people who make a positive impact in life. We love our families and want to provide for them as best we can. We want to be good citizens who help to conform our nation to its ideals. But at the same time, we all come from different walks in life. We all have different priorities. We all have different personalities. So, although we share similar values, we differ as to how to give expression to them. We have different opinions -- to which, Moynihan asserts, we are entitled. At one time, we took this as axiomatic. Not anymore. If you voice the “wrong” opinion, an amorphous squad of enforcers, let’s call them the Opinion Police – rise and retaliate. You are shamed on social media. You receive death threats. You are fired from your job. We have a general sense of what opinions will land us in hot water, but at the same time it’s a minefield out there. The Opinion Police, coming at it from every angle, are always finding new opinions that don’t make their grade. It's the new McCarthyism, only this time not targeting Communists, but those who support freedom of thought and speech. I guess it’s proof of the universality and uniformity of the fall. It’s why history keeps repeating itself. At any rate, the Opinion Police now have the upper hand which they use to bully and intimidate, and it’s not going away. In fact, it’s gaining traction. Thanks to technology, anyone, and I mean anyone -- any extremist or ignoramus -- can with a single click activate the Opinion Police. More proof of the universality and uniformity of the fall. Every human advance turns on itself. Yes, it’s disturbing. A few weeks ago, the Opinion Police crossed the line with me. They denounced Paw Patrol with threatening demands that it be cancelled. Now I happen to be an expert on Paw Patrol. It came out soon after I adopted Herry. It’s common for foreign adopted children to cling to a certain TV shows as they acquire a new language that instinct teaches them they need to learn to survive. Herry clung to Paw Patrol. And I mean, Herry clung to Paw Patrol. Then just as he weaned himself of it, I adopted Adam. Adam clung to Paw Patrol. So, year after year, I have been watching Paw Patrol. I have seen an embarrassing number of episodes, some half a dozen times. It may actually be possible that I have seen more Paw Patrol episodes than any adult on the planet. In case you’ve not had the pleasure, Paw Patrol it’s about a ten year old boy named Ryder. Ryder leads a band of puppies. There’s Marshall, a Dalmatian, who is a fire fighter; Rubble, a Bulldog, whose works construction; Chase, a German Shepherd, who is a police officer; Zumba, a Labrador, who mans the seas, and Skye, a Cockapoo, who mans the skies. Together, they form a team of rescuers. That’s the long and short of it. They rescue things -- things like baby sea turtles. It has no further agenda but to extol rescuers to children. It wants children to understand the goodness and importance of rescuers. And it’s amazing really -- so many things right under our nose are amazing --that there are rescuers out there - people out there who devote their lives, often at great risk and sacrifice, to saving people who are in danger. It proves that despite the fall, there’s good in us yet. But the Opinion Police do not believe in the reality of rescuers much less their goodness and importance. Our morning’s gospel lesson speaks of the sin against the Holy Spirit, the eternal sin that can never be forgiven. Scholars puzzle over exactly what this sin is. I think I know. It’s when moral blindness becomes total, so that the bad becomes the good, and the good becomes the bad -- like in Nazi Germany. The Nazis advanced that it was good to gas Jewish women and children. They were enemies of the state. And the reason it can never be forgiven is that it can’t be acknowledged so it can’t be repented. It’s worth being reminded that sin must be repented before it is forgiven, at least according to Jesus. We sometimes get the convenient idea that forgiveness is automatic. That no matter how refractory and recalcitrant we are, we are automatically forgiven. Well it’s not the case. Sin must be repented before it is forgiven. Now you might think that the condemnation of Paw Patrol is a rather venial example to summon the sin against the Holy Spirit, the eternal sin that can never be forgiven. I don’t think so. Rescuers are now under attack. Our children are not to be taught that they are worthy, not to be taught that it is worthy to save people who are in danger. That’s a complete inversion of bad and good. But this more than my opinion. It is the opinion of the Bible. Look at Abraham who rescued Lot from foreign captivity. Look at Moses who rescued the people of Israel from Egyptian slavery. Look at David who rescued Abigail from an abusive husband. Look at Esther who rescued the Jewish people from annihilation. Look at Ruth who rescued her mother-in-law from grief and bitterness. Look at the Good Samaritan, and look good and hard at him, because he rescued his enemy and in so doing made him his neighbor. Above all, look at Jesus Christ. He rescued humankind from sin and in so doing reconciled humankind to God. Existence would indeed be troubled and troubling if not for that, if all we had was this existence and nothing more. No God. No truth. No eternity. No heaven. No hope. The Opinion Police then must not drive us not to capitulation, to the preemption of our opinions with theirs. They should drive us rather to scrutinize our opinions. They should drive us to evaluate our opinions. They should drive us to test our opinions. They should drive us to allow others, in a common aim for what’s right, to test our opinions. They should drive us to defend our opinions. They should drive us to enact our opinions. Because Moynihan is right -- everyone is entitled to his opinion. But we can appeal to a mind far greater Moynihan’s. We can appeal to Martin Luther, the founder of our Reformed Tradition, who as the bedrock of that tradition asserted and demanded the conscience of the individual believer. Friends, we live in troubled and troubling times. Let us not just pray for rescuers, but let us ourselves be rescuers. Amen.
Galatians 5:1-6 Mark 2:18-22
Parents bring children into the world for many reasons. They do it to participate in the process of birth and to experience parental love. They do it because they believe in the institution of the family. They do it because they affirm human life – its rhythms and seasons, its rites of passage. They do it, even, to enter more fully into the unfolding of history, in acknowledgement of their forbears and in perpetuation of that which they achieved and that for which they sacrificed. Parents bring children into the world for all these reasons, which take on added validity once the child is born. But at the same time, parents bring children into the world amidst the uncertainties of life They bring children into the world vulnerably, knowing the risk the uncertainties of life pose to the one now most precious to them. They bring children into the world in hope, but also in fear. This becomes all the more pronounced in times of heightened danger, like the times in which we now live, and the time in which parents in Jesus’ day lived. In Jesus’ day, Palestine had been annexed by the Roman Empire, and the Jews lived as an occupied people. They had much to fear from their Roman masters. These were times when a great prophet could be imprisoned for criticizing a Roman regent, and beheaded as the result of his careless boast. These were times when rebels against Rome hung on crosses as deterrents to other rebels. And they had much to fear too even from within their own ranks. For occupancy, despite such deterrents as crosses, brews rebellion, and rebellion continued to brew. In another generation the Jewish people would rise up against the Roman Empire, and the Roman Empire would put the down with annihilating vengeance. But into those time of heightened danger, a religious leader had arisen, a religious leader like no other who had ever arisen before. He taught what was hard and strange, but perhaps for this very reason, his teaching rang true. He exposed corruption with deadly accuracy and unquestionable certainty. He even commanded miraculous powers, but used them never self-interestedly, but only in service to others, most of whom were deemed of negligible significance. There was indeed something uniquely authentic and authoritative about him, but at the same time, something strangely recognizable about him, as truth is strangely recognizable, and justice, and greatness; and the people loved him. What could have been more natural than for parents to bring their children to him for his touch? Granted, they themselves were probably scarcely sure of what, in so doing, they sought from him. The less sophisticated among them, though, to be sure, not less sophisticated in their love for their children, doubtless hoped that his touch would protect their children from the uncertainties of life, like a talisman of sorts. But there were surely those among them of greater sophistication, who sensed better the difference between faith and magic. They doubtless hoped that his touch would impart something of himself to their children, something in which they could abide, something to comfort, bolster, and guide them precisely amidst the uncertainties of life – that there are indeed holy men of God, who all but prove God’s promises to be true. Little could any of them have known, however, the extent to which Jesus would exceed all that they sought from him – that he would in his death and resurrection overrule the uncertainties of life and prepare an eternal home for their children with him But as parents so naturally brought their children to Jesus for his touch, they were turned away, and sternly, and by Jesus’ own disciples. When Jesus saw what his disciples were doing, he grew indignant. And if one wants to know really got to Jesus, one only need look at what made him indignant – the recalcitrant hypocrisy of a mob that would stone an adulterous, the spiritual dullness of those with neither the eyes to see nor the ears to hear, religious authorities who sought their own aggrandizement in Gods name, and disregard for children. And in his indignation, Jesus rebuked his disciples, “Let the little children come to me, do not stop them, for it is to such as these that the Kingdom of god belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child will not enter it.” Jesus’ words recognize that children are possessed of certain qualities – spontaneity, frankness, wonder, joy, and most important, I think, dependency – dependency that looks in simple trust to their parents for all that they receive. And for these qualities, children are predisposed to be citizens of the Kingdom of God. But his words recognize too that those in whom these qualities over the years have rigidified into hard hearted officiousness, though they call themselves disciples, are in fact ill disposed to be citizens of the Kingdom of God; indeed will not enter the Kingdom of God unless they recover the very qualities they would admonish. But Jesus’ words recognize more still. If children are predisposed by the qualities of which they are possessed to be citizens of the Kingdom of God, this recognizes too that children are capable of receiving what the kingdom of God has to offer them – faith and hope, meaning and purpose, comfort and peace, and Jesus’ promise of eternal life. And in like manner, Jesus’ words to his disciples hold more than a warning against impeding children form the Kingdom of God. If children are possessed of qualities that predispose them to be citizens of the Kingdom of God, and they are capable or receiving what the Kingdom of God has to offer them, this recognizes that it is ours not merely to refrain from impeding the from the Kingdom of God, it is ours to usher them in. And not only the children of our families and our congregation, but all children, especially those we know would occupy a special place in Jesus' heart – those who are neglected, forgotten, misunderstood, hurting, and afraid. It is ours to let them feel the touch of Jesus, that we may, amidst the uncertainties of life, reassure both children and their parents of Jesus’ promises to them. Amen.
It has been said that we don’t feel the full weight of the burdens we have been bearing until they have been lifted from us. I think there is much truth in this. Think of the man who hates his job -- the politics, the personalities, the gossip, but mostly, the work itself. It’s really not who he is, what he is meant to be doing, what he has a passion for, the way he’d like to be contributing. But he has his justifications – others are depending on the income, it’s too risky to make a change, he should be lucky to have any job at all. What does he have to complain about, while people out there are dying of cancer? It’s only after he’s made the move that he realizes the extent to which his life force was being depleted, that he realizes the productivity and satisfaction of true vocation. “Getting fired was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he says. Or think of the person who is trapped – by law, by habit, by fear, by guilt – in a destructive relationship. It can be a relationship that is obviously destructive, as in the case of a relationship with one who is physically or verbally abusive. Or it can be relationship that is less obviously destructive -- as in the case of a relationship with one who doesn’t take responsibility for one’s personal development and leaves others to deal with the consequences, or one who wallows in complaints and negativity but does nothing about it, or one who entitles oneself to be another’s dependent. Whether it’s an obviously destructive or less obviously destructive relationship, it strains and drains its victim. It leaves its victim not enlivened but deadened, not appreciated but disregarded, not confronting reality but avoiding it. But at the same time, it becomes a kind of unquestioned status quo. It’s only when it ends that its victim suddenly finds himself walking a little lighter, finds herself freed for new possibilities. “I can’t believe I lived that way for twenty years,” she says. Or think of those addicted to some vice – drugs, alcohol, pornography, gambling. They convince themselves that they need it, that they deserve it, that everyone’s got to have some way to get by, some way to feel good. They even trick themselves into thinking that all in all it’s good for them. And for a while, it seems to be. But then, inevitably, the vice begins to gain ground, begins to take over their lives. They begin to lose what’s important to them. They realize they must break the habit or be broken by it. And it’s only after they conquer the addiction that they realize that they’d escaped an eerie and horrifying disease, a kind of slow death by enslavement. “The hardest thing I ever did was to set myself free,” he says. Yes, we don’t feel the full weight of the burdens we have been bearing until they have been lifted from us. Such was, no doubt, the case with the woman with the hemorrhage from this morning’s gospel lesson. After all, she’d had it for twelve years. At its onset, of course, it must have panicked her. “I’m bleeding. There’s something wrong with me.” As the months progressed her panic probably turned to sorrow and anxiety, “I’m not going to get better. I’m slowly dying.” But then as year gave way to year her hemorrhage became something that she lived with. Then, one day, she happened to be at the right place at the right time. She was going about her business on the streets of her village when she found herself swept up in a crowd. Naturally, she was curious as to what or who everyone was gathering to see. She quickly discovered from the murmurs all around her that it was Jesus of Nazareth. He had just disembarked from his boat, and the news of his presence spread like wildfire. By now, to say the least, his reputation preceded him. After all, he had been performing miracles that had never been performed since the dawn of history. She, like everyone else, wanted to catch a glimpse of him, and just as she did, she caught sight of Jairus, the leader of the synagogue. He was in a desperate state. He ran to Jesus and collapsed at his feet. Soon she understood why. “My daughter is at the point of death. Come lay your hands on her,” he begged over and over again. Jesus, of course, immediately accompanied him. Then suddenly, it clicked. Of course, she had heard of Jesus, everyone had, but maybe she needed to see him to fully and really hear of him. Because it clicked. “If I reach out to him, he will make me well,” she said to herself. So she did, and immediately, her hemorrhage stopped. She felt her body being healed. And then, for the first time in twelve years, she experienced the miraculous gift of good health. All that she had been bearing -- the disease itself, the stress, the loss, the resignation, the hassle, the self-pity, the exhaustion -- it was all gone. She didn’t feel the full weight of the burden she had been bearing until it had been lifted from her. Yes, there is much truth in this. But why is this? I guess it’s just the nature of bearing burdens. Life has placed them on us. They are heavy. Yet, we need to get where we’re going. There’s no sense complaining about them constantly. There’s no sense being completely defined by them. So with grim resignation, we trudge forward, bearing them as best we can, trying not to think about them. Only after they’re lifted, do we realize their full weight. And so, maybe we have something to learn from the woman with the hemorrhage. We have more in common with her that you might think. For one thing, we, like her, are bearing burdens. We all are. It’s the nature of human existence. And like her, we’ve heard of Jesus, but have we really heard? Has it clicked? Do we realize that if like her, we reach out to him, he will ease our burdens? He will. To those seeking true vocation, he has declared that the vocation that transcends and sanctifies all others is to be fishers of men. To those in destructive relationships, he has declared he has come to gather his followers into a fellowship of true unity. To those addicted, he has declared his truth will set them free. If we reach out to him, he will ease every burden we could ever bear. Of course he will! He has conquered sin and death after all. Nothing is beyond his scope. And for added proof, let us return to the woman with the hemorrhage. Jesus realized when she reached out to him that his power had been tapped and so he stopped and turned around and faced the crowd. “Who touched me?” he asked. The disciples, as usual, thought he was simply acting crazy again. “You see the crowds pressing in on you. How can you say, ‘Who touched me?’” The woman with the hemorrhage, knowing full well he was referring to her, at once became terrified and began to tremble. “Now I’ll be punished,” she thought.” I knew it was too good to be true.” Like Jairus, she came to Jesus and collapsed at his feet, tried miserably to explain herself, all she’d been bearing, why she had acted as she did. But she quickly discovered that Jesus did not want to punish her, indeed he sought no justification from her at all. “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.” He wanted to discover who had reached out to him because he wanted to reach back. He wanted to discover who had reached out to him merely to acknowledge her, to know her, to affirm her. Jesus wants us to reach out to him precisely because in reaching back he can ease our burdens! Such is his nature. Such is his power. Such is his love. After all, is it not his express promise, “Come to me, all you that are wearing and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest….For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” For that he lived, and for that he died. Amen.
Today is Reformation Sunday. You need not feel sheepish for not knowing that today is Reformation Sunday. We normally do not observe Reformation Sunday; and the reason, quite frankly, is that I have never been quite sure how to go about it. A sermon on the Reformation or it founding figures Martin Luther and John Calvin would not seem the right way -- too antiquarian and scholastic. An even worse way would be to attempt to revive Reformation theology. Historical theology is and must remain theology of its time. And so, Reformation Sunday slips by each year unobserved. This year, however, I think I have found a way, albeit a roundabout one, to observe Reformation Sunday. A certain general kind of phenomenon that was derived from Calvin’s theology can be brought to bear on this morning’s gospel lesson. Mind you, I am not saying that Calvin’s theology can be brought to bear on this morning’s gospel lesson. I am saying that a certain general kind of phenomenon that was derived from Calvin’s theology – that Calvin never anticipated or knew of, that occurred well after his death -- can be brought to bear on this morning’s gospel lesson. As you can see, I am still not quite sure how to go about observing Reformation Sunday. I realize there are a few kinks in my plan. At any rate, Calvin was an author of the doctrine of double predestination; that is to say, Calvin believed that from all eternity, some of us have been predestined to damnation and hell fire, and others of us have been predestined to heavenly paradise. Now perhaps you can see why I assert that historical theology is and must remain theology of its time. To us the doctrine of double predestination sounds horrific. The way Calvin saw it though, was that double predestination only underscored God’s righteousness. We are all condemnable, Calvin believed. The fact that any of us at all are predestined for heavenly paradise only underscores God’s sovereign mercy. A result of the doctrine of double predestination was that believers, with great fear and trembling, sought some indication in their lives that they were among those predestined for heavenly paradise. This drove believers to productivity, because productivity normally results in success and the appearance of favor (indications in their lives that they were among those predestined for heavenly paradise.) The lazy, the vagrant, and the dissolute could only be giving indication that they were predestined to damnation and hellfire. Before long, productivity took on a life of its own, became an end in itself, hence the emergence of the so-called Protestant Work Ethic, which came to be buttressed by the belief that we are justified by our productivity. Now looking back on it, it all seems, if not horrific, at least a bit silly -- the idea that some us are predestined to hellfire and damnation, the idea that believers were driven to productivity to prove they weren’t, the idea that we are justified by our productivity. Yes – definitely more silly than horrific. On the other hand, our mistakes are always crystal clear to us in hindsight. This is one of the bugbears of our existence – that our mistakes are always clear to us in hindsight - that we chose the wrong marriage partner, that we took the wrong job, that we bought the wrong house, that we said that wrong thing …..And because our mistakes are always crystal clear to us in hindsight, we may wonder what things we now mistakenly have come to believe we are justified by. Following the belief that we are justified by our productivity were a whole succession of canards – the belief that we are justified by our productivity was succeeded by the belief that we are justified by our compensation, and this was succeeded by the belief that we are justified by our consumption. This mistake was crystal clear in hindsight in the wake of the recent economic crisis it precipitated. One thing I’ve noticed we now mistakenly believe we are justified by is the crowds we command. You see this everywhere -- with reference to sports events or concerts, with reference to parties or weddings, with reference to television ratings and movie revenues, even with reference to the mega-church. We believe we are justified by the crowds we command. And we need not be stars or socialites or professional athletes to get in on this. For one thing, we do it in our smaller ways, in our cultivation of popularity or importance. And even when we are among the crowds that another commands, it is likely at some level this indicates that we endorse the belief that we are justified by the crowds we command. And this, at last, is the phenomenon that was derived from Calvin’s theology that can be brought to bear on this morning’s gospel lesson – this notion that we mistakenly believe we are justified by this or that – by our productivity or compensation or consumption….. or now by the crowds we command. Jesus, of course, could command crowds with the best of them. Between his preaching, teaching, and miracles he became an overnight sensation. A few days into his ministry, for instance, when Jesus entered Capernaum, word quickly spread where he was dining and before he even finished his meal, crowds jammed the street. In order for a man on a pallet to be carried to him, his friends had to hoist the pallet up to the roof, dig a hole through the thatch, and lower it down on ropes. Shortly thereafter, Jesus was so besieged by crowds that in order to address them he had to climb up a mountainside. And what about the miraculous feeding of loaves and fishes? Immediately prior to it, Jesus was actually trying to evade the crowds. John the Baptist had just been assassinated, and he wanted to be alone to mourn him. He was forced to take to the sea but by the time his boat landed, a crowd of 5,000 were waiting for him. Yes, Jesus could command crowds with the best of them. But the funny thing is, to say nothing of being justified by them, he wasn’t impressed or gratified by them at all. Not once did he ever remark to his disciples, “Hey, there were 5,000 in attendance at my loaves and fishes bit. I’ve hit the big time.” Jesus knew that crowds came with the territory, and he saw them for what they were. In fact, he was downright cautious of crowds, for what they were were fickle and unstable -- readily beguiled and easily manipulated. When John the Baptist was arrested, for instance, the crowds who had once followed him were driven to uncertainty about him. They were prone to think that his arrest illegitimated him. They were ready to turn on him. And so Jesus addressed them, “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes?… What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet….Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist.” What’s more, Jesus knew he’d receive the same treatment in Jerusalem from the crowds. No, Jesus did not believe himself justified by the crowds he commanded, and nothing makes that clearer than this morning’s gospel lesson. Jesus was departing from the town of Jericho. It was his last stop before Jerusalem. It was now the end of his ministry, and his capacity to draw crowds was at its peak. And so, as he departed from the town of Jericho, crowds lined the streets. Among the crowds was Bartimaeus, a blind beggar -- physically blind at least, but obviously sighted in more important ways, because he began to cry out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” But how did he know to call Jesus the Son of David? No one in Mark’s gospel had identified him that way before. Only Bartimaeus, a blind beggar, knew Jesus to be the Son of David, knew Jesus to be the Messiah. How almost inexpressibly ironic, that the blind could see him for who he was. But to the crowds, Bartimaeus was ruining everything. This was Jesus’ moment and theirs too, and he was spoiling it. And so they chastised him and told him, to put it crudely, to sit down and shut up. But Jesus had no concern for “the moment.” He wasn’t concerned for the crowds. He was concerned for the one. And for Jesus it was always that way. He was concerned for the one. He respected the one. The one, for Jesus, was what counted – be that one a blind beggar or a prostitute or a racketeer or a leper… And so Jesus stopped and with him all the momentum that crowds so thrive on. Jesus stood stock-still and declared, “Call him here.” The crowds then turned on a dime, as they are wont do. “Take heart,” they now said, “he’s calling you.” And mind you, Jesus to say the least, had better things to do. His face was set to Jerusalem, to his crucifixion. His death was now immanent, and he knew it. He had told his disciples as much, very graphically, not once but twice. And here was but one more blind beggar. He’d healed plenty of them and there were still plenty more to heal out there. Stopping for this one would amount to less than a drop in the bucket. But that’s not the way Jesus thought. Bartimaeus must have known this when he cried to him. And so Bartimaeus threw off his cloak, sprang up, and ran to Jesus. “Teacher let me see again,” he pled. Jesus said to him “Go, your faith has made you well.” And Bartimaeus immediately received his sight and followed Jesus to Jerusalem. I have a feeling Bartimaeus stood out among the crowds who watched Jesus crucified. He had the eyes to see what was taking place on that cross. You know, thinking about it, Reformation theology may well be theology of its time. It may be antiquarian or scholastic. It may be impossible to revive. It may be horrific or silly. But now that I think about it, there’s one thing that the Reformation captured. It is something that is so elusive that few eras before or since have been able to do so. The Reformation captured that we are justified not by our works -- by our productivity, our compensation, our consumption, or the crowds we command – but by one thing and one thing alone – We are justified by the faith of Jesus Christ -- by his willingness to make himself a sacrificial atonement for our sin and so bind us all together in loving unity. And only when we learn this will we readily stop as he did for the one by the wayside who cries out to us, “Have mercy on me!” Amen.
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