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Sunday, November 10, 2019

Hard to Answer the a Wrong Question



Proper 27C; Job 19:23-27a; Luke 20:27-38; St. Paul's, Smithfield, NC 11/10/2019
Jim Melnyk: “Hard to Answer a Wrong Question”



Have you ever caught yourself asking the wrong question or having gone off on a tangent in the midst of a serious discussion or debate?  Or possibly, listening to someone go on and on about a topic find yourself thinking, “What in the world are they talking about? This has nothing to do with what we were just saying.” Yet, there we often find ourselves, asking, pondering, and sometimes pounding away at that which is either unanswerable, unnecessary, or quite simply, the wrong question to begin with. Someone once likened this to a statement by C.S. Lewis – about how human beings get obsessed with the color of a trumpet or the sound of an orange – missing the whole point of both – how fitting.
            In our Gospel lesson for today, Jesus finds himself confronted by a group of Sadducees – the religious and social power brokers of Jerusalem – and he finds he is being challenged to a somewhat frivolous debate regarding resurrection and the rules of something called Levirate marriage. It should be noted that the Sadducees were among the most conservative theologians of Jesus’ day. Unlike the Pharisees, they didn’t accept any form of teaching that couldn’t be traced to the written teachings of the Pentateuch – the first five books of the Bible. They scoffed at the Pharisees who embraced an Oral Torah – that is, rabbinic teachings explaining and elaborating on the written Torah. In addition the Sadducees didn’t believe in angels, the immortality of the soul, or in resurrection – which makes their particular questioning of Jesus in this instance somewhat peculiar – if not ridiculous.
            On the surface, the question posed by the Sadducees offers the interesting possibility of theological discourse and debate about the Torah – you know, the kind of discussion that goes late into the night over a cup of coffee or a cold mug of beer.
Levirate marriage, where the surviving brother of a deceased husband takes his place in the marriage bed, offered a way of caring for the widow as well as insuring the continuation of a family's line. But their “for instance” is also a ludicrous question about who gets ownership of the wife in heaven – and perhaps about who will be responsible for her in heaven.
            Think about this story’s context in the gospel – more appropriate to Holy Week. Here is Jesus having entered Jerusalem in triumph, with people spreading their cloaks before him, waving palm branches and crying out “hosannas.”  Jesus having cleared the Temple of money-changers and merchants – having accused the leadership of Jerusalem of being poor shepherds of God's people – acting as a person clearly claiming an authority greater than that of the whole assembled leadership – and all they can come up with by way of challenge is a debate on what heaven will look like based on the terms of Levirate marriage. It makes me wonder how in the world Jesus managed to keep a straight face. Perhaps he just wanted to weep.
            In the end Jesus tells the Sadducees, “You're really asking the wrong question, guys. We can't know what heaven is like – trying to see or sense it from this side of eternity. Your real question – the one you're afraid to ask, or unwilling or unable to ask out loud – is about the reality of resurrection life itself, because you're unwilling or unable to believe in the possibility that resurrection life is real.” Essentially, Jesus goes on to say, “God is the God of the living – for even in death, we are alive to God. As surely as you live, so live Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and so live the many faithful who have gone before us.”
“The question you should be asking,” Jesus seems to be saying, “isn't how a hypothetical woman and seven brothers once joined with her in marriage will live out the realities of heaven, but rather, you should be asking, ‘How can we, as followers of the God of heaven, create a world in which a widow such as the woman you dreamed up doesn't have to be handed off brother-to-brother-to-brother to ensure her ability to survive in the midst of her great loss?’ Perhaps you should be asking, ‘How do we as followers of the Living God – the God of Life – live as though we and God are truly alive – as if being truly alive now – today – really matters?’”
Even Job, in the midst of all his suffering – a whole book worth of suffering – even Job finally realizes that he has come face-to-face with a living God – a God who brings healing and consolation in the here and now, not just the great by-and-by.  Job's act of faith – his words of trust, even in the midst of great pain and loss, are so powerful we find them spoken at the beginning of the Burial Office in our Book of Common Prayer; with Rite II offering a particularly powerful poetic translation that occurs nowhere else:
“As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives and that at the last he will stand upon the earth. After my awaking, he will raise me up; and in my body I shall see, and my eyes behold him who is my friend and not a stranger.”[1]
Job’s confidence that in the end God will vindicate him gives Job the freedom to look for that vindication in his own lifetime. And so, for Job, and for us, the struggle is to be faithful now. The struggle is here – in the midst of this world's realities with all its joys, with all its pains, with all its sorrows and confusion, with all its promise and hope. The struggle is to live faithfully with the hope of God's presence and power to make all things new – to make us new.
Episcopal priest and author, Martin L. Smith, writes, “If we align ourselves with Jesus’ firm and calm insistence that God is the God of the living, not the dead, then there is no danger of a pie-in-the-sky religiosity. The dead, in fact, are alive to [God] and have a role in a future fulfillment for humanity in which death has no power.”[2] Facing the cross, the questions and the struggles for Jesus are the same. And, for us, the questions are the same: In the midst of the struggles of our lives, how can we live out the reality of resurrection life today? How can we face all the challenges and hurtfulness the world has to offer and still remain faithful to God's promise of new life, and to God's call to be agents of that new life in the world around us?
Those aren't always easy questions to answer, but they are questions whose answers can be transformational. They are the questions of resurrection promise and resurrection life – resurrection as it is meant to be lived – in the now of life. They are the questions that help keep us alive in the present moment, and give us direction in the days to come.
“Why” may be a necessary question to ask at some point when dealing with our sorrow or our rage at the unfairness of life, but we can get stuck on that question. It's the “how” questions, the “where” and the “when” questions, which get us moving again, and which empower us to live out our calling as followers of the Living God. How will we become faithful shepherds and faithful stewards in the midst of so much unfaithfulness in this world? Where and when will we proclaim faithfully a God of justice and compassion – a God of life – in a world filled with people who cannot see beyond their fiefdoms of power; filled with people who see the compassion of Christ only as a threat to their authority and their place in society, or even in the church itself? How will we bring healing and wholeness – the promise of resurrection life – to a world that doesn't necessarily want us to be whole people, let alone a holy people? Perhaps it begins with remembering and reclaiming our Baptismal Covenant which we renewed just last week. 
The struggle to live into resurrection life is real; we all know that. Following Jesus, being shaped by the teachings of Jesus, being infused with the Spirit of Jesus, makes resurrection life – resurrection life as it is meant to be lived – real. When we follow the way of Jesus: when we follow his way of compassion, justice and grace – when we stand with those who are voiceless and powerless in the world – when we follow Jesus' way of nonviolence and forgiveness – or when we follow Jesus' way of reconciliation, healing and hope – when we follow this way of holy living and holy love, we will find resurrection power in our own lives. And when we find the power to live out the resurrection in our own lives day-by-day, the world will find that same power as well.



[1] BCP, 491
[2] Sojourners Preaching the Word Online, 11/10/2019


Sunday, November 3, 2019

Out on a Limb for Jesus



Sunday After All Saints’ Day 2019; Luke 6:20-31; St. Paul’s, Smithfield; 11/3/2019
Jim Melnyk, “Out on a Limb for Jesus”

As we gather together this crisp fall morning we remember the witness of saints throughout the ages. Simply put, “saints are persons who make it easier for others to believe in God.[1] We also gather to reaffirm our baptismal covenant as followers of Jesus. And we find ourselves faced with the portion of Luke’s gospel from the Sermon on the Plain – we find ourselves faced with Jesus’ pronouncement of blessings and woes as an option for our gospel lesson. Note how in Luke’s version of the beatitudes there is no spiritualization as in Matthew’s version. It’s “blessed are you who are poor,” not “you who are poor in spirit.” It’s “blessed are you who are hungry now,” not “blessed are you who hunger and thirst after righteousness.” I mean, I can understand what it means to be poor in spirit, or what it means to be hungry or thirsty for righteousness, but there is a personal disconnect for me over Luke’s list. I have never been poor, or truly hungry, or felt hated and reviled – even though perhaps disliked on occasion. And Matthew has no list of woes at all – oh, it’s much easier to deal with Matthew.
What can we, as a bunch of predominately middle-class Americans, do with a God who shows such an apparent preferential option for the poor and the powerless? What do we do with that – besides try to ignore it or spiritualizing it, taking away personal responsibility? What does it mean for a gathering of believers living in an affluent – even if somewhat unstable – economic reality, to be baptized into the life of a Christ who stands the world order on its head with such promises of blessings and woes?
What does it mean for a gathering of believers to hear what comes next in the passage: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” (Though we should note: Jesus doesn’t say to embrace those who abuse you, but to pray for them.) What does it mean for this gathering of believers to hear Jesus talk about offering the other cheek, giving our shirt, or giving to those who beg?
What does it mean for us to live into the challenge to, as Jesus says, “do to others as [we] would have them do to [us]?” Can we find a way between the fear of being expected to give up everything we have, and the meaninglessness of spiritualizing the whole passage into some form of religiously sentimental goo?
To be truthful, I’m not sure there’s any kind of answer that will make our hearts completely comfortable with this gospel passage. But then again, rarely is the time when God seeks to comfort the already comfortable. I believe the saying goes like this: “God comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable;” and even a hint of such a promise can get under our skin – but then again, that seems to be the whole idea! God will always hear the cry of God’s people – and those of us who are baptized into Christ are called to hear that cry as well.
In his book, When Theology Listens to the Poor, theologian Leonardo Boff writes, “Without the quest for communion, the Eucharist is an offense to God!” Stark and startling words for a gathering of the faithful on such a fine fall morning in Smithfield, North Carolina – gathered to celebrate our faith and the many ministries we carry out as a community – gathered this day to celebrate the whole communion of saints who stand with us – from the very first believers who walked with Jesus to those who await us all at the future’s end. The challenges of today’s lesson are probably not the kind of words we long to hear.
But Boff’s words do echo the lives of the saints throughout the ages – those whose lives we remember on this day. His words echo the challenge inherent in Christian Baptism.
Boff’s words echo God’s call to communion – God’s call to mutuality, God’s call to right-relationship, and to justice-love. They echo God’s call to love one another with wild abandon, just as God loves us. Such a call resounds in our Scripture, in our Tradition, and in the expectation shared by everyone who enters the waters of Holy Baptism, finding new life in Christ. It’s in response to this call of communion, to mutuality, to right-relation, and justice-love that we renew once again on this day our own baptismal covenants – our own commitments of faith as followers of the one we call Christ.
Now there is an alternative Gospel for today – though perhaps no easier than the blessings and the woes. It’s the story about a rich, height-challenged, tax collector in Jericho named Zacchaeus, who climbs a sycamore tree to get a look at Jesus as he passed through the town. Lorraine once told me that Zacchaeus went out on a limb for Jesus. I can almost imagine the tax collector from last week’s lesson being modeled on someone just like Zacchaeus, and yet in reality he is even worse than last week’s character. He’s a chief tax collector. He’s the equivalent of a modern-day Mob Boss. Jesus calls him down from the tree and invites himself to supper at the tax collector’s house. Zacchaeus is stunned. The people gathered about them grumble that Jesus is once again hanging out with tax collectors and sinners.
In the end, Zacchaeus has a life-changing experience through his encounter with Jesus and responds by saying, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.”[2] Jesus answers him by saying, “Today salvation has come to this house.”[3]
Zacchaeus, a chief tax collector – little more than an extortionist for an occupying power – becomes a model for understanding clearly what it means for followers of Jesus to live into his sermon on the blessings and woes. Having been nothing but trouble for his fellow Jews, Zacchaeus is, one can hope, well on his way to being seen as a trouble-maker for Jesus. And followers of Jesus have been nothing but trouble ever since.
My friends, throughout the ages, people from the first apostles to a Saint named Francis; from Thomas Cranmer and Martin Luther to Sojourner Truth; from Martin Luther King, Jr. to Presiding Bishop Michael Curry and Pope Francis today; all have been, or are today, called troublemakers for God’s people. In our quest for communion God calls us to be trouble in this world – yes, even we sensible Episcopalians!
God calls us to challenge authority – to overturn tables and raise our voices in new harmonies that challenge the power brokers and religious elite who claim personal authority from heaven or simply a mandate from others of privilege. That’s what’s taking place in today’s lesson from the Good News.
And yet as paradoxical as it may seem in the light of being called to be troublemakers, God always steers us back to the call to communion. God’s call is always to right-relationships which honor the dignity of all human beings and creation – relationships which seek to serve one another with the love of God made known through Jesus. God’s call is always toward a love that hungers and thirsts for justice-love, enfolding all God’s people with the heart and love of God. God’s call is always a call to mutuality. God’s call is always a call to love with wild abandon – with the same wild abandon that marks God’s love for us.
Today we renew our baptismal covenant and we are reminded of the promise that God’s name is written upon our foreheads and in our hearts, and that we are each called into lives of service and love – called to become ministers of Christ’s reconciling justice-love for all people. We are each called to be in community with other faithful people. We are each called to respect the dignity of every human being. We are each called to love God’s people with the wild abandon of God’s love. We are each called to go out on a limb for one another, and to give back to God and God’s people the best and the first of who we are, and what we have been given by God. Blessed are those who know themselves to be beloved by God – and blessed are those who make that love known to all.


[1] Synthesis Today, 10/31/2019
[2] Luke 19:8
[3] Luke 19:9