The exchange between Jesus and a blind beggar in today's gospel reading has always struck me as a bit odd. The man hears that Jesus is passing by and he repeatedly screams out, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" despite the attempts of some to shut him up. When Jesus calls him over he runs to Jesus and this conversation occurs. " 'What do you want me to do for you?' The blind man said to him, 'My teacher, let me see again.' Jesus said to him, 'Go; your faith has made you well.' Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way."
A blind man begging for mercy, and Jesus has to ask him what he wants? But as soon as the blind man states the obvious, Jesus says, "Go; your faith has made you well." (The word here translated "made well" is often translated "save.") So just what was the content of this man's faith, that he hoped Jesus might be able to help him? That he was bold enough to state the thing he so desperately wanted?
Christians (and members of other religions) sometimes refer to ourselves as "people of faith," but just what we mean by faith isn't always clear. Is is believing the correct things? Is it trusting in God? Is it hoping when hope is difficult? Is it taking a chance on God? Is it turning to God when all else has failed?
Today's gospel reading doesn't offer a precise answer. But it does say that this faith makes us well, makes us whole, saves us, and when we experience this, we follow Jesus on the way.
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Today's reading from Acts reports the arrest of Paul, which sets in motion events that will eventually take him to Rome and, presumably, to his execution. His arrest happens following a mob scene at the Temple after some Jews accuse Paul of defiling the Temple. It isn't clear just who these Asian Jews are, but it is entirely possible that some of them are Christian Jews. Read the letters written by Paul and you will get an idea how strained his relations were with some Jewish Christians who insisted that all converts be circumcised, adopt Jewish dietary restrictions, and so on.
The fact that the accusations against Paul are made up of lies, half-truths, and misunderstandings makes no difference. The crowd is whipped into such a frenzy that soldiers arrest Paul, and when the tribune attempts to make sense of the situation, "Some in the crowd shouted one thing, some another; and as he could not learn the facts because of the uproar, he ordered him to be brought into the barracks." Sound familiar?
Given what trouble mobs cause in Bible - Paul has been beaten before by enraged mobs, and, of course, a mob helps get Jesus crucified - you would think that Christians would be extremely wary of them. Yet we've participated in quite a few over the years. Whether it's witch trials or pogroms against European Jews, Christian mobs have had the same sort of disastrous results as those in the Bible. And yet I see all sorts of people who clearly consider themselves Christians engaging in what looks a lot like mob mentality at "town halls" to discuss health care reform.
While I'm quite certain that Christians of deep faith can hold many different views on health care that are in keeping with that faith, when Christians start acting like mobs, they are not following the ways of Christ, but the win-at-all-costs ways of the world. Mobs and love are pretty much incompatible, and above all, Christians are called to love God and to love our neighbors, even the ones we think are enemies.
Have Americans become so partisan, so selfish and narcissistic, as to make both democracy and Christian discipleship hard to envision? Lord, save us from ourselves!
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The several versions of today's gospel reading have led people to speak of "the rich young ruler" even though no such person appears in the gospels. In Mark (our reading for today) he is simply "a man." In Matthew he is "the young man," and in Luke he is "a certain ruler."
This story is a difficult one for many of us, for most of us are certainly rich by the standards of Jesus' day. That's probably why people often disparage this fellow who came to Jesus asking what he should do to inherit eternal life. They presume he must have been unusually greedy, or they think his answer to Jesus about keeping the Law since his youth to be arrogant. But in fact, the Apostle Paul describes his own keeping of the Law the same way. In Jewish thinking of the time, to have "kept all these since my youth" does not claim perfection. It means that a person has diligently tried to keep the Law and has asked for forgiveness when he faltered. And the story says nothing about the man being greedy.
And if there is any question as to how to view this fellow, Mark's gospel states, "Jesus, looking at him, loved him." Jesus' command, "Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me," is not a way of catching some religious hypocrite. It is the one thing this man lacks and that Jesus wishes for him.
Just as many of us do today, people in Jesus' time assumed that riches were a sign of God's blessings. But here Jesus speaks of them as a curse, a curse that I and many others pursue nonetheless. I check my stock portfolio online most days, happy when it goes up in value and grumbling when it goes down. Obviously I have a hard time accepting what Jesus says. "Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God."
If Jesus ever said to me, "Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me," would I be able to do it? I wonder if I'm poor enough to say "Yes."
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These words of Jesus are familiar to many. "Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. " What these words mean is another issue. What is it about little children that make them especially suited to the kingdom of God?
Some of the more popular answers are probably off the mark. Notions of children as sweet, cute, and innocent are relatively modern ideas, not shared by Jesus' original listeners. If modern, romantic notions of childhood are put aside, what is Jesus saying?
As hard as it may be for us to imagine in our child focused culture, children in Jesus' day had no status. They were virtual non-entities with no say or control over their lives. In essence, they were property that belonged to their fathers. And it's likely that Jesus is not using the image of a child in a positive sense. In fact, had Jesus first come to earth today, he would likely have used a different example, perhaps a homeless person.
None of this is all that appealing to me. I want power, at least over my own life. I want to be in control. Yet Jesus says the kingdom belongs to people without power or control. I don't know. I want God's help in my life, but I still want to be in charge.
I wonder what it would look like for me to become more "child like" in the sense Jesus is saying.
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Today's gospel reading can't be many people's favorite. Jesus says, "If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea. If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire."
It helps a little bit to realize how important hyperbole was in Hebrew and Middle Eastern thought and speech. Our culture is much more literal, and we tend not to be as adept at handling metaphor and imagery. Jesus doesn't expect anyone to cut off her hand. Rather, Jesus is talking about prioritizing, about a kind of single-mindedness when it comes to the life of discipleship.
Jesus presumes that there are things in life that get in the way, that distract us from living as we should. This is hardly an earth shattering notion, as anyone trying to lose weight or undertake a workout regimen can attest. The ice cream in the freezer calls and the blankets implore you to stay in bed a little longer rather than getting up for that run. Health and fitness require pushing those distractions aside.
Jesus speaks to two different sorts of distractions or stumbling blocks. (The Greek word for "stumble" is the root of our word "scandalize.") The first is when we trip up someone else, especially "little ones" which is used in the New Testament to refer to people who are new to the faith. Think of all the people who have been "turned off" to Church because of the actions of people in the Church. From general hypocrisy to unfriendliness to strangers, to overbearing moralism, there are a plethora of things that have tripped up little ones along the way. Strange that most folks I've talked to are more offended by the second sort of distraction Jesus talks about.
Perhaps the sound of cutting off one's hand just jars us. Maybe because we're so individualistic in our culture, this second sort of distraction is simply more up our alley. Or maybe it's that we have come to believe that the good life mean having it all, and we're troubled by this notion that we might need to give something up to be a part of what Jesus is up to.
In recent days I've watched news reports about the failure of a local school levy, and the fighting about health care reform. And in much that I've heard, I think I detect an inability by many folks to think communally, about the good of the other. And I've also heard people who obviously want the Medicare that they enjoy, want the goods and services that the government provides them, but rage against health care or other services they don't use. They seem unable to see beyond "how does this affect me?" and they seem completely unwilling to give up anything.
Maybe the reason Jesus' words bother us so has nothing to do with the offensive notion of self mutilation. Maybe we just don't like him telling us that the call to live by the ways of God's coming reign might mean some things we like or want might have to be pared.
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After the disciples argue about influence, about who's most important, Jesus plops a child down in their midst. Children in that day were regarded as non-entities, unimportant and invisible. And Jesus says that welcoming the unimportant and invisible is how we welcome him, and so welcome God.
O sing to the LORD a new song;
Sing to the LORD, all the earth. (Psalm 96:1)
What's wrong with old songs? Why do we have to sing a new one? I vaguely recall watching a movie on the life of Peter Marshall on our TV when I was a child. At the time I didn't know that he was a famous preacher, and I don't remember very much about the movie. But I do recall a scene where he was struggling at some outdoor event early in his career, and the situation was salvaged when someone fired up the crowd by getting them to sing "Gimme that Old Time Religion." It wasn't a song I knew, but it had lines that went, "It was good enough for Hebrew children; it was good enough... And it's good enough for me."
We recently did a "hymn survey" in my congregation so we would have a good list of favorites to use for a "hymn sing" Sunday worship service. A few favorites were relatively new songs, but most were oldie goldies. I don't know, but I suspect that for many these favorites come from folk's childhood and youth, songs that were part of their Christian formation. Music is a very emotional part of life, and many of us have music both religious and secular that can immediately transport us to another time and place, that can conjure up all sorts of memories.
So what's wrong with old songs? Nothing. We need to sing old songs. We need connection to the traditions that have sustained faith over the years and centuries. But as the psalmist knows, we need new songs, too. A God who is "making all things new" can never be fully expressed using only the old and traditional. Our faith is aimed toward a "new heaven and a new earth," and it cannot be fully contained in what was "good enough" for some previous time.
A vital, lively faith must cast its vision in two directions, toward both the past and the future. Traditions from the past form a foundation for us so that we can continue to move toward God's future. And as we catch glimpses of that new day, we will need to "sing to the LORD a new song."
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"The country's going to pot." No doubt you've heard such sentiments expressed. Perhaps you've even felt that way yourself at times. I know I have. But apparently things have been going south for a long time. Consider the opening of Psalm 12.
Help, O LORD, for there is no longer anyone who is godly; the faithful have disappeared from humankind. They utter lies to each other; with flattering lips and a double heart they speak.
Clearly there are times in any people's history when things are going relatively well, and there are times when they are less so. There are times when a people display what Abraham Lincoln called "the better angels of our nature," and there are times when we display our worst, when we are petty, greedy, self absorbed, and apparently devoid of ethics and morality.
But even if we have reason think our time is a bad one, that does not mean all is lost. I have often been struck by how people of faith can be some of the most pessimistic folks. They can be sure that doom and gloom are just around the corner because of our failings. It's as though they believe that we have the ultimate say.
The psalmist knows better. Despite the pessimistic assessment of a world where "the faithful have disappeared," the psalmist still trusts the God "will rise up," that "the promises of the LORD are promises that are pure."
My own Reformed Tradition has always emphasized the sovereignty of God, but we often seem to forget about it. But when we remember that this is God's world, and God is sovereign over time and history, we can trust that despite very real troubles, God's purposes will be worked out.
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The opening words of today's psalm are hardly startling.
For God alone my soul waits in silence;
from him comes my salvation.
He alone is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress; I shall never be shaken.
The idea of God as absolute sovereign, as the one in whom our hopes ultimately rest, is basic to Christianity as well as Judaism and Islam. And what person of faith would argue with it? God is our rock, a mighty fortress.
But in practice most of us don't want to leave all that much up to God. We may entrust God with our salvation when that term is defined very narrowly to mean what happens to us after we die. But when it comes to most everything else in life, our theology often runs more along the lines of "God helps those who help themselves." A lot of people think that quote is from the Bible. It isn't. And while I think the Bible expects us to do our part, I think that this theology really expects very little of God and trusts mostly in ourselves.
I know that I have trouble really trusting God. I struggle with how to integrate God into my daily life. Like a lot of folks, I find it easy to let God be a God of the gaps, filling in those places where I don't have answers or need a little help. But really trusting in God to set things right, to bring salvation, not some "pie in the sky by and by" type salvation, but the biblical sort that is real, earthy, and tangible? I have more trouble with that.
I think this highlights one of the difficulties for mainline Christians in an era when the culture has stopped supporting us. One of the reasons most traditional Christian denominations are loosing members is because, for many folks, what we're selling seems so disconnected from day to day living.
What does is it mean to wait for God, to trust in God alone for salvation, when salvation means more than life after death?
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The parable of The Good Samaritan is Jesus' answer to, "And who is my neighbor?" To a questioner looking for the limits and boundaries of who he must love, Jesus tells a story of a hated outsider who loves abundantly. And then Jesus says, "Go and do likewise."
