When Looking Up Becomes Looking In

Proper 26C; Isa. 1:10-18; Luke 19:1-10; St. Paul’s Smithfield, NC 10/30/16

Jim Melnyk: “When Looking Up Becomes Looking In”

I have become convinced that Luke is a master storyteller – someone adept at setting us up to be continually surprised at the teachings of Jesus.  Things are never as they seem at first.  We’re meant to be left scratching our heads.

Last week we had a wonderful set up for understanding how God’s grace works in our lives – “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.”  And even though we moderns seem to have a negatively skewed view of Pharisees, Jesus’ listeners all expect to hear something positive about him, while understandably wanting to have the hammer dropped on the tax collector.  And instead we find how God’s mercy is upon those who put their trust in God rather than themselves. 

And then, in a story we pass by in our Sunday readings, Jesus finds himself being questioned by “a certain ruler.”  The man appears in the gospels of Matthew and Mark as well, though he is not called a ruler in either.  The two things the character in all three gospels has in common are these: in both he is rather wealthy – someone who has many possessions; and in all three the ruler or young man, when asked to sell all his possessions and follow Jesus, walks away sad, because he cannot deal with the idea of giving away those possessions which seemingly have come to possess him instead.

All that has gone on before seems to set up the story we hear today.  We are introduced to Zacchaeus, who like one of last week’s characters is a tax collector.  In fact he’s a chief tax collector.  And like the certain ruler in the story we skip over in Luke’s gospel, he is very rich.  We’re not supposed to like him a whole lot.  If tax collectors are bad, a chief tax collector goes beyond the limit.  And it’s not his wealth that causes Luke’s readers to cringe – rather it’s how he has amassed his wealth that is meant to bother us deeply.  He has made a life of defrauding his fellow citizens.  He has sold himself to Rome.  He has become a part of the domination system that oppresses his neighbor.

And yet once again Jesus catches his listeners, and perhaps us, by surprise.  Those standing by in the story grumble saying “He’s gone to that wretched sinner’s house for lunch!”  Perhaps we, along with the original onlookers, want the hammer to drop on the evil tax collector – but when the hammer does drop, the resultant whack is on our own collective toes, not those of Zacchaeus.  We have to pay closer attention to what’s going on in this rather simple story about a somewhat short tax collector hanging out in a sycamore tree – one whose “short stature” is meant to be figurative as well as literal – one who falls short of God’s calling in all too many ways.

Priest and spiritual director Martin Smith writes, “Sometimes one of our five senses has special prominence in scripture readings. This week the eyes have it. We hear about vision, watching, seeing, and looking. In the story of Jesus and Zacchaeus, we are drawn first into the kind of looking that is full of curiosity but keeps its distance. The height-challenged tax collector wants to catch a glimpse of the notorious Galilean prophet, but the backs of the crowd shut him out. He clambers into a tree and peeps down through the leaves at Jesus, who unexpectedly looks up and catches Zacchaeus, the voyeur, in the act” (Martin Smith, Sojourners Online, Preaching the Word, 10/30/2016).

So the story begins with a timid, inquisitive, looking on by Zacchaeus, who probably hopes he won’t be spotted by the prophet who is passing through town.  No doubt he knows his own degree of brokenness, and it wouldn’t do much for his self-esteem to come under the fiery gaze of someone people are calling “the holy one of God.”   At the same time, I suspect there may be a bit of surprise on the part of Jesus, who undoubtedly does not expect to find a grown man checking him out from the low-hanging branches of a tree. 

“This looking up” by Jesus, Smith posits, “turns into a looking in, as the Lord sees something in the tax collector that perhaps no one has seen before…. Have you ever had someone look at you that way? Jesus’ penetrating look instantly begins to dissolve an inner dam that has been holding back Zacchaeus’ latent joy and his latent generosity. No one else had ever suspected what was in him. Jesus gets himself invited in, and after an hour or two the floodgates have opened, revealing Zacchaeus’ true self” (ibid). Zacchaeus, upon hearing the surprising desire by Jesus to break bread together, catches a glimpse of the human being he is created to be – someone who has been fashioned in the divine image – someone who has more in common with his fellow citizens than with the oppressive empire of Rome.  “He insists that Jesus get a good look at his real self in action: ‘Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor’ (Luke 19:8)” (ibid).  Can’t you just hear Jesus talking with Zacchaeus over lunch – “Come, Zacchaeus, let us argue this out.  Though you sins are red like scarlet, God stands ready to wash them white as wool.”

I am convince this story is actually meant to provoke within the listener a crisis of faith meant to make us “give up normal, conventional responses and allow the narrative to take [us] into new and strange insights where we have never gone before” (Smith, The Word is Very Near You: A Guide to Praying with Scripture, p 92).  Even chief tax collectors can change when they find themselves face-to-face with Jesus.

It would have been easy to give up on Zacchaeus, knowing his personal history.  Unlike the certain ruler who walks away from Jesus, grieving over the directive to sell all that he has and give it to the poor – unlike that wealthy man, Zacchaeus needs no prompting other than the welcoming presence of Jesus.  And like with Zacchaeus, conversion takes place for us when we open ourselves to the presence of Jesus in our lives.

Knowing who Zacchaeus is, and the kind of lives collaborators with Rome live, we don’t expect the change of heart the man exhibits.  This is a first century Amazing Grace story as Zacchaeus realizes and then repents of his wretchedness – the way he has dealt with neighbors, not loving them nearly as much as he has seemingly loved himself.

And while Jesus, true to form, insinuates himself into the tax collector’s life before the scoundrel ever has an inkling of metamorphosis, change does happen: “Look, half my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone (a forgone conclusion for any intelligent onlooker, we might add), if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” And the fact that the story remains as part of our Scriptural canon leads me to believe that Zacchaeus followed through on his promise - that his actions were as good as his word.

Zacchaeus most likely goes from being comfortably rich to being an everyday Joe in the turn of a phrase.  In some ways it reminds me of author J.K. Rowling, who holds the present day honor of losing her billionaire status simply because of her philanthropic endeavors – recalling what it was like for her in her pre Harry Potter days.

Perhaps we find ourselves checking out Jesus in all his transforming power from a distance – if not from the low-hanging branches of a sycamore tree then from behind whatever obstacles we put up in an attempt to keep Christ comfortably at bay.  Perhaps like Zacchaeus we all too often mistake what the world sees of us as our own true selves, forgetting that we are each created in the image and likeness of the Divine – the One who creates, loves, and lives within us.

Checking out Jesus from the branches of a sycamore, or by peeking around a corner may seem like the safe way for us to engage the Son of God – but we can be assured – there will be a time when Jesus looks up, or looks around, and his looking up or looking around will become looking within.  Will we choose to stay high and safe in our own personal sycamore tree, or looking on at Jesus from around a distant corner?  Or will we have the stature of wee Zacchaeus – and take the risk to climb down from the branch – to come out from around the corner?  The Good News, my friends, is that Jesus is always read to break bread with us – and in that breaking of bread with Jesus we can let go of whatever possesses us, and once again find ourselves transformed.

Who Will We Be On November 9?

Who Will We Be On November 9?

I honestly cannot recall a more contentious political atmosphere than this year’s election cycle. Not only have both major parties gone to the mattresses against each other (pardon the reference to The Godfather, but it’s somehow fitting, I think); but even prior to the national conventions, both parties fought vicious inside campaigns against each other for months. I am actually thankful that the political rage that seemingly has taken over America hasn’t led to animosity in our parish
community—even though I know that like all communities, we are seriously divided on the issues raised by the candidates. I am thankful that we have been gracious enough not to draw battle lines between one another.

In recent years, elections have become deeply stressful events. I suspect the 24x7 news cycle began the upsurge in that stress, and it has been underscored even more so with the advent of social media. It is so easy to fall into the trap of seeing those who believe differently from us as nothing more than a crude political meme, slogan, or bit of strained hyperbole—the “wrong guys” - the “enemy.” The reality is that come November 9, there will be those among us who will want to crow and those among us who will want to growl. Who knows, perhaps all of us will want to do a little of both.

The question is, “Who will we be on November 9?” I’ll give you a hint at what I believe to be the correct theological answer to the question. Take a look at Genesis 1: 26-27, and then flip over in your Bibles to John 15:12-17. I’ll wait while you take a minute to look up the verses (cue the Jeopardy theme music while we wait)….

If you said something like, “We will be fellow human beings, each created in the image and likeness of God,” you would be correct. If you said further something like, “We are friends of Jesus; commanded by Jesus to love one another and be willing to give up our lives for one another,” you would get bonus points!

Come November 9, some of us will have hearts that are hurting a bit, and some will be celebrating. Each will have our own vision on what the world should look like in our neck of the woods. But we will all still be fellow human beings created in the image and likeness of God. We will still be sisters and brother in Christ—people whom Jesus desires to know as friends. We will still be seeking the kingdom of God made real on this earth. And that, my friends, should be what drives our vision.

What's the Magic Word?

Proper 23C; Luke 17:11-19; St. Paul’s Smithfield, NC 10/9/2016

Jim Melnyk: “What’s the Magic Word?”

When I was growing up and I asked an adult for something, it was common for them to say, “What’s the magic word?”  Well, the magic word was “please.”  But after saying that magic word, and having been given what was asked for, the grownups expected to hear two more magic words.  They were – and I hope are still today – “thank you.”

Perhaps those of you who are adults can remember being reminded – sometimes over and over again – about these magic words.  Perhaps you still need reminding once in a while – as I do.  And hopefully those of you who are younger – children and youth – are finding some importance for such words as please and thank you – especially in a world that seems to be becoming more and more uncivil and uncaring.

           

Saying “Thank you” is simply a way of expressing gratitude – that is, appreciation, recognition, or acknowledgement on our part.  There is something quite simple, yet very powerful, about saying thank you – a reality that’s easy to forget.

In today’s gospel lesson Jesus is making his way toward Jerusalem.  He’s taking the shorter, less conventional route, through Samaria.  We get caught up in the healing aspects of this story, but that’s not the real focus.  Our story, which takes place somewhere near the border with Galilee, is an amazing tale of thankfulness and grace.  Thankfulness which is heightened by the realization that the thanksgiving expressed comes from the one person in the story from whom such thanks would most likely not be expected.  But then again, we already know that Jesus is willing to shake up his listeners – and his critics – whenever he gets a chance.

The story we are told by Luke centers around ten lepers Jesus encounters in a village. 

Now, when I say Jesus encounters them, realize that the lepers don’t come rushing over to interact with Jesus and his followers, nor does Jesus seem to rush over to their side.  They encounter Jesus from a distance – realizing that they are considered to be ritually unclean as well as possibly physically contagious.  The actions by the lepers in Luke’s story are most likely tied to the admonition in Leviticus, which required lepers to band together and warn people of their approach, crying out to anyone near, “Unclean! Unclean!” (Leviticus 13:45-46)

All ten who ask for mercy are outcasts, but one among them has two strikes against him – he’s a Samaritan.  He’s a foreigner, who is considered to be a heretic – one whose beliefs don’t jive with the faith as expressed in first century Judaism. That’s strike one.  In fact, as we all know, he is not only a heretic, but his people are considered to be antagonistic enemies of Israel. Strike two.  Yet still, he cries out with the others for mercy.

When Jesus sees the lepers he doesn’t comment on their faith, he doesn’t quiz them regarding their beliefs – he doesn’t even ask about their hometown (even though one of them is a Samaritan).  In fact the only thing he says to them is, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.”  He doesn’t speak a word of healing.  Just, “Go.”  Now, the only reason they would go and show themselves to the priests would be to certify their healing – to certify their wholeness – for only the priests have the authority to declare the lepers clean.  Yet they turn and head out just on the word of Jesus. The Gospel says, “And as they went, they were made clean.”  Their wholeness is restored only after they obey Jesus and head for Temple – or in the Samaritan’s case, Mt. Gerizim – because a Samaritan would not go to the Temple in Jerusalem.

Now I’m thinking there must have been great joy in the hearts of all ten lepers.  No longer scarred and in pain – now free to be welcomed among their families and friends once again – well, it had to be overwhelming for them.  But in the midst of their great joy – and surely in the midst of deeply felt gratitude by all ten – only one turns back to openly express thanksgiving to Jesus.  Once again we find it is the least likely of the ten – it is the double outcast – it’s the Samaritan – who returns to Jesus.

Rather than get caught up by the nine who do not return – the nine who follow the command of Jesus quite explicitly – perhaps Luke wants us to be surprised by the Samaritan.  Told to show himself to the priests, the Samaritan throws himself at the feet of the One who will come to be called “our great high priest.”  And while Jesus wonders what happened to the other nine – although Jesus should know they’re just doing what he commanded – he comments on the faith of the Samaritan.  “Your faith has made you well.”

But in reality, the Samaritan is not only made well – he is restored to wholeness of relationship with God and with the community.  His gratitude becomes a vehicle for God’s grace.

“Gratitude is heaven itself,” claimed William Blake, and the great mystic-poet may have been right.  On the other hand, as some have said, lack of gratitude – or a sense of privilege on the part of so many – may just be the blight on the modern world today (reference lost). “All at once and right away” could very well be the “national anthem” of all too many who live in what we tellingly call the First World.

“The return of the leper shows thank-full-ness is an integral part of faith-full-ness.  And gratitude, or thank-full-ness, becomes that vehicle for discovering and living the grace of God.”  It has been said that “we sanctify whatever it is we are grateful for.”  And that, to me, seems so true.  The greater our ability to give thanks, the more open we become to God’s presence around us.  “Gratitude in its deepest sense means to live life as a gift to be received gratefully.  But gratitude as the gospel speaks about it embraces all of life: the good and the bad, the joyful and the painful, the holy and the not so holy” (Henri Nouwen, “All is Grace”, Weavings 7, 1992). And that’s where we find the challenge – when life isn’t going smoothly, it’s not easy to be grateful for anything.

I’m pretty sure none of the ten lepers ever thought of giving thanks to God for their illness – nor would I ever suggest they should have done so.  Yet somehow the ten who are sick recognize the power of God in Jesus, and find the voice necessary in his presence to claim their need.  And in one particular case – in the life of the Samaritan of all people (what a scandalous teaching moment for Jesus) – in one particular case this one person goes beyond the necessary to show his gratitude for the healing presence of God in Christ.  No one would expect the people of Haiti, Cuba, or our southeast to be thankful for Matthew’s devastation, and yet in the midst of that devastation we are seeing the face of God not just in the victims of this powerful storm, but in the ways so many have already turned their hearts and their resources to help – everyone from the first responders who risk their lives, to those taking in friends and strangers who are stranded, to those who will be wielding chainsaws later today – to those who will write checks to groups like Episcopal Relief and Development – groups that help with disaster recovery.

We’ve seen this reality acted out among us time after time, haven’t we?  People of faith come together in this place to find healing and strength, peace and wholeness, presence and promise, in their lives – and then take their gratitude – take their faith – out beyond those red doors at the back of the church and into the world.  Each of us, in thank-full-ness to the God who enfolds us, and the power of the Holy Spirit which lives within us – each of us work to find ways of offering our gratitude.  And in doing so we become the hands and feet, the heart and voice of God, and we make a tangible difference in this world.  And truthfully, the world is where our gratitude is meant to be lived.

We see such gratitude lived out in the world by our work with ministries such as Meals on Wheels, the Smithfield Rescue Mission, Serve the Need, Stop Hunger Now, Episcopal Relief and Development, and Harbor House, among many other programs.  We see it in the way we rally to make sure parishioners have rides to the doctors, the grocery store, and church; or how a young child, who has lost a loved one, gets a scholarship to Camp Courage sponsored by St. Paul’s through Hospice.  Work all of you do, either using your own hands or through your pledges to St. Paul’s.

The life of grace finds its home in a grateful heart.  Those magic words we have been taught since childhood aren’t magic because they can manipulate God – they are magic because they can, by the grace of God, transform our hearts – open our hearts to the power and promise of God to heal our lives – and even save our lives.  And while gratitude isn’t quite heaven itself, perhaps claiming its presence in our lives will afford us a glimpse of the transforming promise of God taking root within us, and within our world – and that, my friends, is a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven.