Taking Care

Matthew 25:1-13        

Tara Westover wrote a memoir a few years ago called Educated. It’s the story of Tara’s upbringing in a family of survivalists. They lived out in the mountains of Utah, as off-the-grid as they could manage. Distrustful of government, these parents raised their seven children to be self-reliant. The government agents might come for them at any time, her parents taught them. They all needed to be able to fend for themselves. Each member of the family packed their own head-for-the-hills bags.

Food rations, weapons, thermal blankets – these were the kinds of things they put in their bags for the escape, if and when it would be necessary. As a small child, Tara took her bag with her to bed at night. She understood from what her parents taught her that it could happen any time of the day or night, that they must be alert, be awake, be prepared. If the moment arrived, they would each be responsible for their bag. It would be every man, woman, and child for themselves. Tara never had to use her bag. The government never came, but it’s easy to imagine what a vivid and lasting memory that would be.

Tara and her family were living in a world of darkness, full of mistrust, anger, fear – a world where most things were painted black or white, good or evil, us and everybody else.

Tara Westover’s family looked at their enemy and saw that the best course of action for them was to be prepared to flee. They would go hide out in the hills until, I suppose, they figured out the next step. Maybe flee the country, look for refuge elsewhere. Maybe organize with other like-minded folks and start a civil war. Maybe just wait it out or wait for the rapture.

In the world where Jesus lived, there were surely plenty of folks who promoted such a view of the world. There always are some. And I wonder, if any of them were listening to this parable of the ten bridesmaids, how they would have received it. I assume they would be nodding along, affirming the virtue of being prepared, ever-vigilant, watchful and ready.

I suppose they would have found nothing surprising in the parable. Of course you should have a supply of extra oil, always. You should have whatever you will need to survive. And if you fail, don’t expect someone else to bail you out. Trim your own wicks, keep your own fire, guard your own oil. Be awake. Be ready, for you never know the day or the hour.

I suppose the survivalists in first-century Jerusalem would have felt affirmed by Jesus’ words. Yes, they would have thought, we are doing the right thing. We are on the right side. We are the wise ones, everyone else is foolish.

And if this is so, then most of us ought to be concerned. Because I don’t think there are many survivalists among us. I know I don’t have my head-for-the-hills bag ready. Do you?

And so that would put me in the category of the foolish bridesmaids, the ones who neglect to bring extra supplies of oil. The ones who might not think about the possibility of this bridegroom being so late that everyone falls asleep and the lamps burn out. The ones who maybe just assumed that, should something so weird happen, it would be enough for some of them to bring extra oil that they could divvy up between the ten of them. You know, sharing?

The ones who might have thought that any bridegroom who would keep them waiting this long, might have the decency to wait for them while they dash out and grab some more oil for their lamps. I guess I am among those foolish bridesmaids who, after all is said and done, might not even want to go to a party where people refuse to help one another out, and act like they don’t know you because you failed your survivalist training.

Parables are always full of potholes and sticking points, but this one has some major impediments, I believe. The easy interpretation is actually the hardest interpretation to deal with. 

The truth is, there are always the doomsday folks, looking for an apocalypse of one kind or another. An immoral and malevolent government. A natural disaster of epic proportions. Aliens from outer space. Something dire is going to happen. And so the doomsday folks are passionate about reading the signs. They want to predict the time and nature of the coming disaster. So they can be ready.

The problem, Jesus says, is that no one knows the hour or the day. No one – not even he could say. No one will arrive at the kingdom of heaven by being at the right bus stop at the right time, with their ticket in hand. No one will enter the kingdom because they packed a survival bag and ran for the hills. The kind of readiness Jesus means is, I believe, something quite different from following an “in case of emergency” checklist.

Perhaps he gave us a parable with so many strange and uncomfortable images in it so that we would think a bit more deeply about this kingdom of heaven to which he refers.

Jesus says to his listeners, the kingdom of heaven will be like this, as he launches into this story. He told so many stories that begin this way. To what can the kingdom be compared? It is like a mustard seed, like yeast – something small and yet with such great potential. It is like a hidden treasure, it is like a fine pearl, something so wonderful that a person would give up everything else to have it. It is like scattered seeds, some falling on fertile ground and taking root while others wither and die. Or a fishing net cast into the sea, catching up every kind of fish – you keep the good and throw out the bad. The kingdom of heaven is like a king settling accounts with his slaves, magnanimously forgiving, or a landowner hiring laborers, generous with their wages. The kingdom of heaven is like a wedding banquet – where many are invited, and some refuse the invitation.

The kingdom of heaven is doing the Father’s will, bearing good fruit. The kingdom of heaven, Jesus says, is near.

The kingdom of heaven is far from this world, defying explanation. And yet near to us as our next breath. If we pay attention to all his words then we know: the kingdom is a way of being in the presence of God. 

And living in the presence of God? That takes some care. Some preparation.

So forget about the extra supplies of oil, you really don’t need that. You don’t need a head-for-the-hills bag or a backyard bunker. What we all need is the practice of those little habits that cultivate our readiness for the kingdom of heaven.

So I will ask you about your prayer life. I will ask you how you are doing with forgiveness – both the asking and the giving, because our world is starved for forgiveness. I will ask you how you are using your time, your energy, and other resources to serve God, to serve the least and the last and the lost.

The kingdom of heaven, if we listen to Jesus, is something utterly wonderful and completely available. It is generous and compassionate, nurturing and forgiving. It gathers up all, invites all, cares for all. The kingdom of heaven is offered with open hand. It is up to each one of us to receive it. No one can do it for you.

So when Jesus says about those foolish bridesmaids, “I don’t know you,” I am afraid what he means is, “you don’t know me because you never really tried.”

In one respect, life is easier when you just break it down into the wise and the foolish, the good folks and the bad folks and keep a checklist of kingdom entry qualifications. But the truth is the secret to the kingdom is just taking care. Taking care of yourself. Taking care of how you love your neighbor. Taking care to listen for God’s call, look for God’s light. We will best prepare by taking care. 

Photo: Grateful that some wonderful people take care of our oil supplies in the church.

Remembrance

Matthew 5:1-12

As we moved toward this day of remembrance, 2020, I did a little personal remembrance, looking back on this year. Where have we come from in 2020?

About a year ago, in the last couple of months of 2019, I was feeling a sort of restlessness, a sense that something was burgeoning, getting ready to be born. As the world turned to a new calendar year, I felt there was light right around the corner.

I remembered that way back in the beginning of this year I was very conscious of what 2020 means to us. 2020 is perfect vision. I began this year thinking about that and with the intention of making 2020 a year of seeing clearly. To me this meant a kind of spiritual clarity. I was drawn to the idea of seeing where and what God is calling us to. What is God drawing us into?

On the first Sunday of this year, Epiphany Sunday, I said to you: Get ready to have your world rocked.

That was January. Then, a very short time later, the pandemic hit us and rocked us off our feet. At first it didn’t seem like much, but then we watched the numbers increase exponentially. The numbers of cases rising, the numbers of hospital beds filling, the numbers of the dead going well beyond anything we thought was possible in our modern scientific world. A world where we rely on immunizations and antibiotics and a vast array of pharmaceuticals to address most any problem. Here we had nothing.

Everything we thought we knew, thought we could count on, was up for question. Our world was rocked. But where was the light?

This text we read today from Matthew, the beatitudes, we are hearing for the third time this year. It comes up pretty often – if not this text then Luke’s version of it. Yet, no matter how many times we hear these words they sound strange to us –that is because they are strange to us. And yet, there are moments these words seem most appropriate to the occasion. Sometimes, rarely, we see these words of blessing in human form. We see them lived out. Once in a while, we see someone whose words and actions say: this is what the beatitudes mean. Watch what I do and understand.

Jesus was one such person, of course. He was the living and breathing model of the beatitudes. His life gave blessing to the meek, the mourning, the hungry and thirsty, the persecuted. He showed us this new way of seeing the world, a new way of being in the world – our world – a world wracked by pain.

It has been a year of grieving for us. 2020 has indeed rocked our world, not in any way we expected. My intention I set at the beginning of the year about seeking clarity of vision got very muddled. Suddenly, I had no time for meditations on spiritual clarity. I was reading and videoconferencing and phoning to figure out how to make the adjustments we needed to make.

Suddenly we were all isolated and afraid. Where was the light? We were living in a world overshadowed by death, thrown off balance, trying to learn how to do everything a new way, exhausted by the effort.

We were facing all kinds of grief. The grief of being separated from our family members because we couldn’t travel or because we all wanted to protect one another from the risk of spreading this virus. We were facing the grief of being separated from our friends because state restrictions mandated that we stay home except for essential outings.

We were facing the grief of having loved ones in nursing homes or assisted-living, and unable to visit them. Some were unable to comprehend all of it, not knowing why their family didn’t come anymore. There were the ones who were hospitalized with sickness or surgery, and our grief over being unable to sit with them, pray with them. In the worst cases, being far away knowing that a loved one was dying alone, making that sacred journey with perhaps a stranger by their side, perhaps no one.

And there was grief, all kinds of grief.

At first, we thought this would end soon, because we didn’t know how to imagine something like this stretching into the future without an end point. We had not lived through a plague before. We thought we could endure it if we had to, because God will give us the resources to get through it, but surely things would soon get better. Things would return to normal.

But, as you know if you have experienced loss before, on the other side of grief you don’t find a return to normal. Once you have passed through grief, you are in a new land, and need to learn how to live in this new land.

As we look back on the year, we have passed through we see that there has been much heartache. Some of us have grieved the loss of loved ones. All of us have mourned the loss of life as we knew it. Our world has been turned upside down. We cannot simply set it right again because we are seeing a change from the way things once were to a new way which has yet to fully emerge.

A new way that we can’t quite see yet what it will be.

To a certain degree it is our choice. We didn’t choose this pandemic. Who would? And I don’t believe God chose it for us. It is too cruel to believe that. But we remember that it is always in the cruelest, the hardest, most agonizing circumstances that God is with us most powerfully. When we are in the depths of grief, we may feel God’s gentle strength pulling us back to life. When our world is rocked to its core, God will offer us new vision to begin to see things in a new way. The choice is whether to accept this new vision.

Are you willing to receive this?

In this new way of seeing, blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. In this new way of living, blessed are the ones who mourn for they will be comforted. In the wreckage of this last gasp of the former ways of the world, on the threshold of newness, blessed are the meek for they will inherit the earth.

The words of the beatitudes are not a promise to make things better, but they are a statement of how things are in the realm of God. How things are if only we can see it.

Go forward, beloved, into the new day that God has given us. Grieve as you must; mourn what you have lost but know that ahead of us is life. Do not be afraid of what is ahead, for God does not let us go alone. Let us follow Christ into this new way of seeing and living in the world.

Winning and Losing, Part 2

Matthew 22:34-40      

So many important things come in sets of three. The holy trinity, of course. The three magi. The three bears, three amigos. Okay, unimportant things, too, come to think of it. Three is just a useful number.

Think back a few weeks, when we were discussing parables, and we noticed that Jesus told a set of three parables to the religious authorities in Jerusalem. He told the parable of the man with two sons, followed by the parable of the wicked tenants, and finally the parable of the wedding banquet. Each one layering criticism upon the Pharisees and Sadducees, and chief priests and scribes. By the time he is finished they have heard the message loud and clear. How do they respond? “So then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap him.”

They pose a set of three questions to him, meant to trick him into incriminating himself. The first question we discussed last week – is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar? – which he handled quite well. The second question was a complicated word problem about a woman who married and survived each of seven brothers, and the problem is whose wife will she be in the afterlife. In the first two questions they pose to him, Jesus doesn’t take the bait. He doesn’t allow the authorities to set the terms of discussion because he knows that God’s truth doesn’t fit into their narrow terms. In response to these first two questions, Jesus does not give them a direct answer. He reframes the question. A marvelous skill that we should all try to learn. Many ugly and fruitless arguments could probably be avoided if we did what Jesus did.

So then they come at him with their third question – the magic of threes. Which commandment is the greatest?

We should know that they are not just talking about the 10 commandments here. Christians have elevated these ten that Moses brought down from the mountain because they seem to be such an elegant summary of God’s law. But when it came to the law, Israel had much more to be concerned with than just ten. There were 613 laws written down in the scriptures. They are in the books of Leviticus and Deuteronomy, primarily. 613. And they were all deemed essential.

Given what we have already seen, given the way he has handled the first two, we would expect him to skillfully sidestep this question. To reframe it in some way, as he has done before. Like, “Why would you even ask which one is the greatest? Is there anything that comes from God that is not perfect?” I mean, that’s what I would have suggested. If Jesus asked me.

But he didn’t. He didn’t ask me, and he didn’t do what he had done before. Jesus answered their question this time – clearly and concisely. And in doing so he gave the world one of the most beautiful and memorable verses in all the scriptures.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and mind. And love your neighbor as yourself. That’s it.

What did he do here? Well he answered their question simply and directly. But then again, he didn’t. He didn’t choose one particular ordinance. He didn’t argue the case for one specific rule – out of all the rules governing family life, community life, farming, diet, dress, worship, and so on. He went back to something so simple that it was one of the first thing every child of Israel learned. Something so basic it, perhaps, hardly seemed mentioning. Love God.

And then, ignoring their specific request for only one, he went on to slip in another, which, he says, is just like it: love your neighbor as yourself.

And just like that, he makes these three things inseparable: Love God. Love your neighbor. Love yourself. Everything else hangs on this.

And you know what? I am so glad that, this time, he just answered their question.

Because when he answers their question, he says to us that the basic things are the greatest things. And the most basic thing about God is love.

The most tragic thing about the world is that this is so hard for us to accept.

We’re usually okay with love in the abstract. The idea of love is, you know, sweet. But when it comes to the particulars? Then we are just like the lawyer in this text who asked the question – we want to know the details, the parameters. Who? When? How?

Who am I supposed to love? The people in my family? In my tribe? In my church? in my political party? What are the boundary lines?

When am I supposed to love them? When they do good? When I’m feeling generous? In what circumstances?

How am I supposed to love them? Really. How?

Jesus gives us a clear and simple rule and what do we do? We look for the exemptions.

I know why we do this, because loving is hard – particularly when we are looking at the world from that classic win-lose framework, which I spoke of last week. We tend to see things in this black and white, right and wrong way. If I am right, then you must be wrong. And if you are wrong then I don’t know how to love you.

I don’t know how to love you because I think love means agreeing on everything, or at least all the important things. It’s okay if we don’t agree on which ice cream flavor is the best, but it’s not okay for us to disagree on which political platform is the best. I don’t know how to love you because I think you have to be good enough in my eyes for me to love you – that somehow, I will judge whether you are worthy of my love. And when I do this, I have completely missed the point. Because I have elevated judgment over love, and God does not do that. I have missed the point because I have made love secondary instead of primary. I have made love conditional.

And then I am like the religious authorities who are working so hard to pigeon-hole Jesus, to figure out if he is correct enough, to determine if he can, against all odds, figure out which of the 613 laws is the most important – the greatest.

In our society we, too, argue about which laws are the greatest. We do it during these political seasons, when each candidate tries to lay out their agendas and convince us that their way is the superior way. And when we participate in this civic activity, we are also trying to figure out which are the most important things – the most important rules – to make our society really great. Which is the most important thing to do first? And who is getting it right?

Who is getting it right – this was the question hanging over Jerusalem that day.

It’s worth a minute to think about what the authorities are doing in this passage from Matthew. They are trying to figure out what to do about him. How big of a problem he is. What kind of threat he poses. How he deals with a question about the law – this will tell them something about his priorities.

I have listened to a lot of arguments between people of faith about our civic priorities. Sometimes it’s about which law is the most important to uphold; sometimes it’s about which law is the most important to get passed.

When Jesus was asked which was the most important, he chose love. Perhaps we should try that too.

When you enter the political arena – to vote, to listen to a debate, to read about what’s going on – perhaps we should just try looking for love. In the words, in the policy positions, in the faces – where do you see love?

Because sometimes the best way to love God and your neighbor and yourself is to vote for love. When love wins, everyone wins.

Photo: courtesy of KXAN. The wall outside Jo's Coffee in Austin, Texas usually says "I love you so much." For election season it got a makeover, thanks to the League of Women Voters.

Winning and Losing, Part 1

Matthew 22:15-22

There was an evening one December when I sat around a table with the elders of the church I was serving. Somehow, we got talking about the “War on Christmas.” This was back when it was a pretty hot topic. It still comes around every year, but it’s lost a lot of the energy it had back then. The big issue then was whether it was lawful, I guess you could say, to wish people a Merry Christmas. Some of the elders talked about how angry they were when store clerks wished them “Happy Holidays” and what they wanted to hear was “Merry Christmas.” 

One of the elders got very agitated, saying she didn’t care what their beliefs were, what they were celebrating or not celebrating. This is America and in America the majority rules. But, of course, in the matter of religion, that is exactly the opposite of what America stands for. In America, we proudly say, there is religious freedom. And that point of pride, even reverence, is why I felt so disheartened about the attitude this elder expressed.

It was way back in junior high school science when I first learned about using litmus paper to determine the acidity of some substance – a litmus test. But, of course, the idea of a litmus test has come to mean something quite different in the wider culture. The matter of wishing someone a Merry Christmas, for example. For the elders who were distressed about it, this was a litmus test of a person’s virtue. It was also a litmus test of our culture, of whether we as Christians were winning or losing.

A litmus test is what the Pharisees and the Herodians are offering Jesus in this passage. “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” Yes or no? and they breathlessly wait to see how Jesus will do on this pass/fail test.

Is it lawful? This makes it a black and white issue. It is or it isn’t. 

Is it lawful? The Pharisees, Israel’s teachers, are referring to God’s law when they ask the question. But for the Herodians, who were supportive to the rule of Herod, it was probably the emperor’s law. Two different laws, but no matter. They could put that aside for the sake of one goal: to trap Jesus.

Force him to choose a side. Is it right to pay taxes? Or not? Do we owe something to Caesar, or is God our king? If he says it is unlawful to pay taxes, because paying taxes to the emperor is an offense against the God of Israel, I think we can easily imagine what might have happened next. Roman soldiers would have cause to arrest him. 

And if he says it is lawful and right to pay taxes to Caesar, then what? The people who have followed Jesus, those who yearn to break free from the oppressive rule of the emperor, would be disappointed. In fact, they might be disillusioned enough to break away from him. 

The Pharisees, in league with the Herodians, are hoping to have set up a tidy little win-lose proposition, where Jesus is the sure loser and they are the winners. 

In this political season we are currently in, such win-lose propositions are common. We like to oversimplify issues and force them into black/white, right/wrong categories. Each side creates the terms that will be most favorable to them and critical of the other, and their loud, insistent voices try to drown out any notion that there might be something more complex in between.

And if there is nothing in between the extremities, then there is probably no possibility for conversation. There is no possibility of finding common ground. It’s either ignore the elephant in the room or fight to the death.

Most of us choose to ignore the elephant.

Is there another way? Yes, but you have to reframe the conversation.

I read recently about a debate between two Christian leaders – James Dobson, of Focus on the Family and John Woodbridge, a professor of Church History. They spoke about the language we choose to use and the way we frame the issues of faith. Dobson favored the language of warfare because he believed that it is war. A war between good and evil that is played out between the church and the world. Woodbridge, on the other hand, believed that the language of war actually does violence to the message of Jesus – a message of peace. And that when you use this framework, church against the world, you may be blinded to the places where God is quietly working in the world, in some of the most unlikely places.

Now, you could argue against Woodbridge and say his approach is weak, it is lukewarm and therefore useless to God. That is an argument that Dobson would make, surely. But in this passage, and throughout the gospels, we see Jesus leading us into that space where things are not necessarily black and white, good and bad, but they are more complex. In a war, there are winners and losers, but in Jesus’ approach there is often this “yes, and…”

Yes, pay the taxes you owe to Caesar. And, give God all that belongs to God. Yes, be a good citizen of the empire. And, be a servant in God’s kingdom. 

Rather than lock himself into a framework that feels false, Jesus’s answer reframes the whole matter. It is not an either/or. It is not a yes/no or a win/lose. It is something different.

When Jesus takes the coin and directs their focus to the image engraved on it, he is introducing his listeners to a new way of seeing. The coin bears the image of the emperor, so give him what is his. He sets the tax rates, so let him have it.

But you and I, made in God’s image, we belong body and soul to God. In fact, the world, and everything in it, belongs in its entirety to God.

So how, then, do you sort it all out? How do you divide up the pie? How can you give everything to God when you are beholden to the emperor? 

And what does all this have to do with our lives? our world? our politics and social issues and arguments? 

That is what we spend all our lives working out. 

This is the realm where you may find arguments for being both anti-abortion and pro-choice. Someone may grieve deeply the loss of every potential life but also humbly concede they cannot, from where they stand, judge the difficult and complex circumstances of another person’s life. 

This is the realm where you may find appreciation for each one’s personal freedom and also each one’s responsibility to the common welfare. 

This is the realm that Jesus lived his life to show us. and the only way to move into this realm is to cultivate the practice of seeing outside of your own perspective and trying on some other perspectives. 

And when you do, you see that it’s not all about winning and losing but about everyone being valued and appreciated. It’s not all about being right but about learning more. It’s not all about fearing uncertainty but about knowing that there’s a lot you don’t know and that is normal.

Our Presbyterian motto has always been that we are reformed, and always being reformed because there is always more that we may learn. There is always something about God that remains beyond our reach, something mysterious and awesome. And that we learn best when we seek to learn together.

Let us seek to know our neighbors who have walked their path and come to a different position than we have.

Let us practice compassion toward these neighbors.

Let us walk our paths which God has set us on with faith and humility.

 

Stories that Teach, Week 5: Responding

Matthew 22:1-14

There’s a good chance you are familiar with this parable. But I’m going to venture a guess that you didn’t remember that part about the man who forgot his wedding robe. You know, the guy who was thrown into the outer darkness because he was dressed inappropriately? Did you forget that detail? I know I try to.

If I preach or teach on the parable of the banquet, I usually choose Luke’s version, because it doesn’t have all this nastiness, all this violence. Luke’s is the G-rated version of this parable, the “good news” that goes down easily, whereas Matthew tells a story that gets caught in our throats. Typical of Matthew.

Yet, we might have conflicting feelings about this story. I think there are elements of the parable that are very appealing to us, elements that resonate with our lives. We know how it feels to plan an event and having people not show up. On the other hand, we understand being in the position of having committed to something ahead of time that, all of a sudden, feels like a burden we would like to get out of. These things are everyday kinds of experiences. 

But it is a lot harder to relate to the violence that ensues. The invited guests are so put out about the fact that they are being summoned to a banquet they don’t really want to attend, they actually kill the messenger. The king is so offended by the actions of these invited guests that he sends in his troops to burn the city – his city. And, in the end, when the banquet is finally happening – with the good, the bad, and the ugly – is the king content? No. He zeros in on one man who was dressed inappropriately and orders him to be thrown into the outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth (a phrase that Matthew seems very fond of.) It all feels like so much overreaction. What do we do?

We might do one of two things: 

We might look away. Forget about the ugly stuff in this parable. Take a sharpie to the text and black out all the offending verses. Or, if you’re not comfortable defacing in your Bible, just flip over to Luke and read that version (it’s in chapter 14). It’s a little challenging, but manageable compared to this one.

Or if we cannot look away, blot it out, turn the page, maybe we push up our sleeves and get to work trying to get a handle on this business of invitations and murder and destruction and weeping and gnashing of teeth. And if we do, we might learn a few things.

We might learn that in the cultures of the mid-east, it was customary to extend two invitations – the initial invitation to give the host a head count and the follow up invitation when the feast is ready to eat. Refusing the second invitation is quite rude, the same as going to someone’s house for dinner and then when you are summoned to the table suddenly saying you have other stuff to do and walking out the door.

And we might learn that in that same culture it was customary for the host to provide a wedding robe for each guest. So this guy not dressed appropriately? it isn’t as if he didn’t have the right garment. Unless, perhaps, he was a wedding crasher?

We might also learn that a common interpretation of this story is to allegorize it, to say that everything in it is symbolic of something else: the king is God, the son is Jesus, the first guest list is the nation of Israel, or the leaders of Israel (to whom he was speaking at this moment). And the wedding robe? It is faith. Or it is Christ. Or it is good works. Or it is baptism. Or all of the above.

And so, then, the message may be that God has invited the people of Israel to be a part of the new covenant in Christ. And if they decline the invitation, they are writing their own death warrant. But even among those who accept the invitation, there are no guarantees. You know. Just showing up isn’t enough. Make a mistake and, well, there could be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

None of it feels very inviting. Or very loving. And that, I want to say, is important.

It is important to pay attention to how you feel about the parable –  more important than figuring out the parable.

A parable is not a secret message that is meant to be decoded and nailed down. A parable is meant to be experienced.  It is something that falls alongside our lives, close enough for us to relate to. Distant enough to pique our interest. And it’s the space in between – between the closeness and the distance – where something can happen.

For here we are. Listening to this story about a king who wants to have a banquet for his son’s wedding. And people don’t respond the way they should. They don’t follow through on their promises. 

They overreact with gratuitous violence. They are so put off by a message they don’t like, they are willing to kill the messenger. A ruler is so embarrassed by this failure, he starts a war. Somebody who looks different, doesn’t follow the conventions, is vilified. Why? Because these are things that people do. These are things that really happen in the world. They still happen in our world. 

If you have followed what has happened in Michigan the last few days, where groups of self-appointed guardians schemed to storm the capitol and kidnap the governor, then you know. It sounds like a parable, doesn’t it?

The parable is an observation made by Jesus of what he sees all around him, exaggerated to the degree that we cannot miss how disturbing it is. It is shocking, and that is the point. 

Somehow or another, it is necessary for us to get the point that these are high stakes. The world is in serious trouble. And God’s calling is serious business. 

Jesus ends the parable with these words: For many are called but few are chosen. And, again, it is hard to know exactly what he means by this, the difference between being called and being chosen. Perhaps we may hear it this way: the call is an invitation to respond. And the choosing has something to do with our response.

This parable works with the two parables that come before it to tell a story about invitations being extended, and responses made. People saying yes, then failing to follow through. People receiving the good gifts of God and then failing to use those gifts for God’s good purposes. People doing things that are destructive of others and, therefore, self-destructive as well. We cannot hurt others without hurting ourselves.

We might have thought the parables of Jesus are cute little stories, but they are much more than that. Jesus’ parables look unflinchingly at a hurting and broken world, a world in danger. And call upon us to make a change. Repent. 

Underlying all of this is the knowledge that God is true to God’s promises, so it is certainly not a blanket condemnation of the Jews. And that God’s grace extends backwards and forwards and way beyond anything we can imagine. The truth of this is in the life and death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. 

There is serious trouble in the world. But God’s grace is unbounded. And there is the hope.

All thanks be to our God of amazing grace.

Stories that Teach, Week 4: New Fruit

Matthew 21:33-46      

Let me tell you a story about an experience I had. I was leading a Bible study in a congregation where I had just begun working.  At the end of our study we stood and held hands for a circle prayer – we would go around the circle and those who want to add their petitions do.  We got to Cathy and she opened her mouth to speak and just started sobbing – big shaking sobs.  She spoke her prayer, all the while sobbing.  It was alarming to me.  I thought, “Oh my goodness, what’s the matter? What’s she so troubled about?”  I was also kind of disturbed that no one else seemed to react at all. 

The next week it happened again.  I gradually learned that this is just what Cathy does.  It is a part of who she is. She opens her mouth to pray and the sobs just come falling out.  Everybody knew it but me, but then I knew it too.

Sometimes you find yourself in some situation where weird things are happening and you think: There is a backstory here that I just don’t know yet.

That’s the way this text from Matthew strikes me.  There is definitely a backstory here.

First, just consider where we are in the gospel, and we ask what has happened before this point. Flip back a few pages. Is Jesus responding to something that has just been said or done? Who is he speaking to, and who else might be listening in? Finally, where is he in his journey toward the cross?

With respect to this story of the Tenant Farmers, here’s what we know: It is one of a set of three parables. Jesus is speaking directly to the Chief Priests and Pharisees in the temple – but there are a lot more people watching and listening.  It is late in his ministry; in fact, we are in that final week in Jerusalem; the night of his arrest draws near. The officials know who he is and they are pretty tense about his actions and teachings.

This is a conversation that has been going on for a while. They have been watching him for a long time, and now the Chief Priests and Pharisees approach Jesus in the temple and demand to know from where he gets his authority to teach, because they know he didn’t get it from them. 

You could say this is all about a power struggle – and you wouldn’t be entirely wrong. It is about power, as many things in life are. But it’s actually about more than that.  It’s about order and tradition. It’s about truth – truth as told in parable.

He begins this set of three with the parable of the father who asks his two sons to work in the vineyard – the one we heard last week.  First son says yes but then never does the work; second son says no but then actually does the work.  Which son is obedient to his father’s will?

He ends with the parable of the king who prepares a wedding feast, invites the guests on the A-list, who are all no-shows.  The king then invites the entire D-list and has his party anyway, and we will come back to that one next week.

In between, he tells this parable, about the tenants who refuse to give the landowner what is rightfully his.  Not only that, they rough up his messengers and kill his son. 

Which brings me to another thing you should know about parables: they always have a cultural context. We want to know not just where this story sits in the gospel, but also where it sits in history. What is going on in the world Jesus is living in? Knowing something about this helps us to know what they were thinking when he talked about landowners and tenant farmers, vineyards, harvests, watchtowers.

Well, it’s not hard for the chief priests and Pharisees to get the cultural references here. Jesus is drawing from their own scriptures. They know that the vineyard is Israel and the landowner is God; it’s pulled right out of Isaiah 5: My beloved had a vineyard; he cleared it of stones, he planted it with choice vines, he built a watchtower in the midst of it. 

They can deduce without much trouble that the slaves are the prophets of Israel. And if they didn’t know immediately, it soon becomes clear that in the parable they are the tenant farmers.  And the vineyard they have been tending will be given to others.

It’s a conversation that has been going on for a while. There is tension in Israel. Just as the Chief Priests and Pharisees have some issues with Jesus’ authority, the people of Israel have issues of their own with the Chief Priests and Pharisees. These authorities are afraid of the crowds, Matthew says more than once. This speaks volumes.

Yes, this is a conversation that has been going on for a while, and still is. In every century, in every land, the gospel seeds have been sown, to borrow an image from another parable. The church has grown up and produced fruit of varying kinds in every land, flavored by the local conditions.

Given that, it is fair to ask where you and I are right now in this long conversation about big things. The parable raises questions about our trust in God as the authority in our lives; about how well we are doing at giving to the Lord the fruits that are owed to him; even about how we feel when the Lord brings in new workers, perhaps because we have ceased to be fruitful.

I wonder if we can write a different ending for the parable.

The Lord of the vineyard has said, that is enough. He is ready to remove the tenants from the land and bring in some new workers.

Because the old tenants have forgotten why they are there. They have stopped caring about what the Lord needs from them. By this time, they only care about what they can get out of it. They seem complacent. Self-satisfied. Even worse, anyone who challenges their complacency does so at great risk. Yes, they have pretty much stopped bearing fruit.

But imagine this: the new tenants approach the vineyard and the old tenants turn to them and say, welcome. We are glad you are here. We might have lost our way. Help us produce the best fruit for our Lord.

It’s a long conversation – a big story – that we are a part of, and we really only know our little part of it. We need one another – the rich and the poor, the urban and the rural, the Northern Europeans and the Sub-Saharan Africans, and everyone else. We need those who came before us and those who will come after us, to bear new fruit.

May you give thanks for the church all over the world.

May you keep your minds and hearts open to what the church might be in the future.

May your hearts be open and receptive to the Word and may your corner of the vineyard be fruitful.

 

Stories that Teach, Week 3: Doing the Work

 

Matthew 21:23-32      

What do you think? I have a personal affinity for this parable of the man with two sons. When I hear it, this is what I think: I have two daughters. When I would say to the first daughter, “Do this,” she would say, “No.” But then she would do it. When I would say to the second daughter, “I think you should do this,” she would say, “Yes.” But then she would not do it. Which of the two did the will of her mother?

This is the parable as I have lived it. And so all the action in the parable evokes real feelings for me – remembrances of how I felt in that same situation. And even if you haven’t lived this parable as I have, it is probably not too hard for you to relate to it, somehow. I identify with the father, but maybe you identify with one of the sons – and so you see it from a slightly different perspective. All of this is valuable, because every variation in perspective adds something to one’s understanding. The lessons taught by the parables are not flat, 2-dimensional decrees. They are rich and multi-dimensional, always offering something more.

What do you think? Jesus likes to set up a parable like this, asking “What do you think?” It lets us know that he’s not just talking at us, but he is asking us to be engaged in a thought process. Here is a problem, he says. What do you think? It is one more way that the parable draws us in so that the learning that takes place is transformative. By the time it is finished, we have worked it out in our own hearts and minds. We have struggled with the nuances of real, live problems; we have discovered new insights and we have been transformed.

So, what do you think? You might have noticed that in his conversation with the chief priests and elders preceding the parable, he responds to their question with a question – something else Jesus had an affinity for. They ask him bluntly, who gives you authority to do what you are doing, because – you should know – he has been doing a lot.

He just staged a grand entrance into the city of Jerusalem, complete with an adoring crowd throwing down palm branches and shouting hosannas. He then went directly to the temple and flipped over the tables of the moneychangers and drove out all the merchants. Then he cursed a poor little fig tree, causing it to wither and dry for no apparent reason. Now he’s teaching in the temple, as one with authority, and these official authorities want to know, “Who in the world do you think you are, Jesus?”

And, of course, he answers them with a question – one about John the Baptist’s authority. It sounds like a trick question to them. And, in a way, it is, because there is no way they can answer it without getting someone upset. They deal with it in a manner that brings to mind our U.S. Senators who walk briskly past reporters and their cameras, pretending they didn’t hear or just don’t have time for their questions, because answering these questions would just be too awkward and potentially dangerous for them. So it is both awkward and dangerous for these chief priests and elders. They refuse to answer his question.

And Jesus replies, “I won’t answer your question either.”

And even though it might sound like he’s playing games with them, he isn’t playing. Let me ask you – what do you think? If you are in conversation with someone you know will not ever concede a point, will you continue reiterating your case? If there is someone who is asking you “gotcha” questions, assuming they know the answer before they even ask, and unwilling to hear anything different from what they assume they already know, will you give them what they are anticipating? Will you play their game?

There are times in life when it just doesn’t feel worth it to continue a conversation where the parties involved are just talking past one another. Such as political discussions where each participant seems to be speaking from a different worldview, with different assumptions and different values. If we value the relationship we might just change the subject and find those things we can agree about. If we don’t value the relationship we might just walk away. But notice that Jesus doesn’t do either of those things.

Jesus changes his approach. He goes into parable mode.

As I have said before, the power of the parable is in the way it draws the listener in. It can actually make you react strongly to it before you even understand what is happening. At that precise point, while the defenses are down, a transformation can occur. This parable draws us into a story that we might have some real-life experience with, and then tacks a zinger on to then end. He says to the chief priests and elders, you are not like the first son. You guys are more like the second son; you pay lip service, but that’s about all you do.

The ones you judge with contempt, these are the ones who heard John’s message and saw the righteousness that was in him. These whom you condemn have been transformed by his message and his baptism and have become workers in the Lord’s vineyard. You really have to take a hard look at your own actions, the parable is saying.

And for me this means I look back at my lived parable, the Mother with Two Daughters. And I recognize that there was nothing pleasing about the fact that the first daughter would say no to me. It offended me every time, not to mention that there was always the uncertainty about whether, this time, she really meant no. She wasn’t perfect, but she did come through for me. She went out in the vineyard.

And I also recognize that the second daughter wasn’t just a bad kid. There were things she was dealing with that made it hard for her to follow through on her “yes” at the time. But there was always hope that she would find her way to yes, which she did.

In the same way, I say there is hope for the modern-day chief priests and elders who are finding it hard to get past the boxes they have painted themselves into, and get out in the Lord’s vineyard. Who might these modern chief priests and elders be? What do you think?

Those of us who are ardent believers in the way things have always been done, and only that way? Yes, it might be us.

Those of us who have enjoyed controlling some part of church life or work life? Yes, it might be us.

Those of us who are trying to hold on to the lavish gifts that God has given us, unwilling to devote these gifts to the work in the Lord’s vineyard, wholeheartedly. Those who are, perhaps, only willing to give these gifts with strings attached. How many of us might this include?

The point of the story is we all need to get out there in the vineyard and do the work. There is the potential for many, many laborers and much good work that can be done. But not if we play power games. Working together, accepting one another rather than judging one another, conceding that we might be wrong now and then, giving our best efforts to working through our differences – these are the things we must strive toward for the sake of Jesus.

The Lord has called us to work in the vineyard. Let us come together for the glory of God.

Photo: By michael c - originally posted to Flickr as the long and wine-ding road..., CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5109202