When I was a child I went to sleepover
parties with my friends. The goal of sleepovers was to stay up all night, and
the best way of doing that was to play at scaring ourselves silly. We played
with a Ouija board and convinced ourselves that some spirit was moving the
piece around the board, and we screamed.
We played some kind of levitation game
where one girl would lie on the floor and the others would kneel around her and
place two fingers underneath the girl’s body. The girl would start to rise from
the ground and we screamed.
We played a game we called Mary Worth,
where we had to look at ourselves in the mirror in a dark room, and repeat, I believe in Mary Worth, until the face
of Mary Worth would appear in the mirror. No one had any idea who Mary Worth
was, but we were sure we saw something and then we screamed.
I think we just loved to scream.
And when it got really late, we played
truth or dare. Which was a different kind of scary. There were no ghosts
involved, just daring one another to either speak some hard truth or perform
some frightening act. We were forced to choose: truth or dare. But it didn’t
matter which one you chose, they were both risky.
So many of the games children play are
ways of practicing the stuff of life. We play house, we play war. We play at
taking risks, and this is what much of life consists of. Do you take the safe
way, or do you take the risk? And if you choose the safe route, what are you
actually at risk of losing?
Life involves taking risks all the
time. The risk of learning something new, trying for a new and better job,
buying a house, asking someone to be your friend, asking someone to marry you.
Saying yes, when someone asks.
There is always risk. We are always
measuring the risk.
When Jesus came to Jerusalem and drew
the attention of all the religious authorities, that’s what they were
interested in: calculating the risk. How risky was this man? The political position
of Israel, under the Roman Empire, was tenuous. What kind of risks did Jesus
pose with the things he said? Would it be more of a risk to challenge him or to
let him be, hoping that the frenzy around him would just die down? Maybe people
would lose interest. Or he would show himself to be a fool or a fraud.
Well, at this point, in this chapter,
they have decided to take the first route, challenge him. They begin to ask Jesus
questions meant to entrap him. A crowd has surrounded him, everyone is
listening. If they pose just the right question, then they might get lucky. He
will either say something that could get him arrested, or something that will
disillusion his followers. One way or another they think they can manage to get
rid of him. If they play their cards right.
It’s a risky thing, though. They need
to be careful they don’t end up making themselves look like fools.
They start with their best shot,
hoping they can get this done quickly. Jesus, they say, is it lawful to pay
taxes to the emperor? Sounds like a simple question, but it is not. It’s full
of landmines. It is a question about how God’s law might clash with the civil
laws. It is a question that will arouse the interest of the revolutionaries
among them, as well as the religious purists. Whether Jesus says yes or no, he
is bound to make some faction angry or disappointed.
No such luck, though. He replies so
skillfully he evades the trap. So the next team of adversaries approaches him
with a different question, a sort of word problem. Jesus, they say, a man
marries a woman but then dies, leaving her childless. Then each of his seven
brothers, in turn marries the woman, each one dying and leaving her still
childless. (All this in accordance with the law of Moses, which says the
younger brothers have a duty to give this woman children in their brother’s
name.) But here’s the question: In the resurrection, whose wife will she be?
It is the Sadducees who pose this
challenge. And, as a matter of fact, they are the ones who do not believe in
the resurrection, the life after life, so it’s a funny one coming from them.
Will Jesus get into an argument with them about the resurrection? Or will he
make up something illogical just to answer the question?
Neither. Once again, he sidesteps the
trap and offers a richer, more meaningful answer than they could have
anticipated. The Pharisees and the Sadducees, the elders and the chief priests
are getting frustrated. They are all arguing at once. Then one lone scribe
steps forward. One last question is posed. Jesus, which of the commandments is
first? Which one is greatest?
Behind this question, is the reality
that it was not uncommon for religious authorities to argue this kind of
question among themselves. In Judaism, argument is sacred. In fact, there is a
story about two rabbis, Rabbi Eviatar and Rabbi Yonatan, who were arguing some
point of law, and not getting anywhere close to a resolution. It happened that
Rabbi Eviatar bumped into the prophet Elijah on one of his regular earthly
tours (you know that Elijah didn’t actually die, and he might show up anywhere
at any time). So Rabbi Eviatar said, So tell me, Elijah, Tell me, what is the
Holy One into right now? And Elijah answered that, as a matter of fact, God was
engrossed in the very same topic that Rabbi Eviatar and Rabbi Yonatan were
arguing. Rabbi Eviatar got all excited, thinking he would get a resolution to
the matter. And what does God have to say on the topic, he asked? Elijah
answered, God says, My child Eviatar says this, and my child Yonatan says that.
Evidently, God enjoys a good argument, too.
There were, after all, 613 laws in the
scriptures. There were more extrabiblical rules, all meant to help people
better understand the law, so there was plenty to argue about. Still is.
Jews still argue about God’s law. And
Christians argue about the whole of the scriptures; like it or not, we don’t
all agree. In Reformed Christianity, we believe that arguing about it is a good
thing, because when we dig in and ask questions and explore the meaning, there
is truth to be found. If we dare.
Yet, it is helpful to have some rules
to guide us in our argument, some common ground from which we can begin. And in
our Reformed tradition, there are a few rules, set out by Augustine, and
developed further by Jean Calvin. And one of these, the one I have no trouble remembering,
is the rule of love.
Any interpretation of scripture must
comport with the knowledge that God is love. And so, my friends, our efforts to
understand the word of God must always lead us toward greater love.
And, actually, that is where this whole
discussion amongst the Pharisees and the Sadducees and the Scribes, the Chief
Priests and the Elders and Jesus is going. Our understanding of who God is, who
we are in relation to God, it begins with love. And wherever our exploration
takes us beyond that first step, it will come back to love. And this is why no
one dared to ask him any more questions.
When Jesus was asked what is the
greatest law, what is really the foundation of the law, he answers, You shall
love the Lord your God with your heart and soul and strength and mind, and you
shall love your neighbor as yourself. What is the first, the last, and
everything in between? It is love. Not in a schmaltzy or sentimental way. This
is no Hallmark valentine card. It’s about loving God and others with everything
we have – body and soul, mind and heart. If. We. Dare.
It is not the easy way. So often, hate
tastes better in our mouths. So often, anger fires up our energy, our interest,
gives us something to talk about. Apparently, Facebook knows the truth of this;
angry-face emojis get a whole lot more traction on the social media site than
happy faces do. Anger. Hate. We think they make us stronger, but they just eat
us up.
True now, true back then. True for all
time.
Every question the religious authorities
brought to Jesus, they were armed for combat. They saw him as their enemy in a
righteous battle. It may be too strong to say they hated him, but they didn’t
seem to love him. Every question they brought to him was an attempt to bring
him down, to defeat him. To crush him under their heels. And every time, he
confronted them with a deeper truth than what they were asking for.
Finally, he gives them the greatest,
the most important truth of all. Love.
And somehow, when they were face to
face with this truth, the Pharisees and Sadducees, the Scribes and Elders and
Chief Priests understood. The scribe who brought the question to him said, You
are right. There is nothing more important than that.
No one dared to ask him another
question.
Life is full of risks. Uncertainties.
You can try to choose the easy way, the safe way, but we all know that what
looks easy often ends up being wrong – even, in the end, harder.
We might never be certain where our
choices will lead us. But if we choose love, in the end, we won’t go wrong.
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash
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