Putting God First

Proper 16 C--Text: Luke 13:10-17

This gospel depicts one of the most controversial visions of Jesus in the New Testament: Jesus encourages the breaking of a covenant with God. On the surface it seems to be pretty simple: worship God first, ignore the rules. We’re naturally drawn to Jesus’ side on this. Obviously the woman needed healing, so what does the day matter? And it’s in God’s name? Sabbath? So what! Do it anyway.

But what we have is not a case of the leaders ganging up on our poor guy, Jesus, but of Jesus flaunting his disregard for the Law. He, as a Jew, is flaunting Torah. In Exodus 20:10-11 it says:

The seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God; you shall not do any work—you, your son, or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. In six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and consecrated it.

Or Leviticus 23:3:

Six days shall work be done; but the seventh day is a Sabbath of complete rest, a holy convocation; you shall do no work: it is a Sabbath to the LORD throughout your settlements.

Jesus, in healing on the Sabbath, is going against the interpreters of the Law, who all agree that this woman in question could have been healed the day before or the day after. They’re essentially saying: “Pick any other day, Jesus.” And Jesus could have waited; he wasn’t in any hurry. Every other Jew would have waited, including his own disciples. They would have waited. Jesus put himself in conflict with the Pharisees and church leaders on purpose. He intended to make it difficult.

Though this particular conflict only appears in Luke, there a variety of similar conflicts over the Sabbath that appear in all the Gospels, beginning in Mark chapters 2 and 3, which Matthew and Luke maintained in their writing. Jesus treats the Sabbath law as he does laws governing purity and divorce: in confrontation with legalism. In each of these instances, Jesus appears to be providing rank order for Mosaic Law.

What laws do you elevate or subordinate? What do you make most important? Are moral laws more important to you than civil laws? Or even state laws above federal? Personally, I tend to believe that complete stops at stop signs and red lights are more important than driving the speed limit. What’s five miles over when not stopping causes confusion and disrupts the flow of traffic? Or does it really matter if you drive your bike on the left side of the road? Who is it hurting? It reminds me of the famous quote from Oliver Wendell Holmes: "The right to swing my fist ends where the other man's nose begins."

We already interpret some laws as more important than others. In a postmodern world, our actions and our thinking are constantly informed by relativity. One of the popular icebreakers we use to spark conversation is the medicine scenario: most of us are familiar with it. What if your spouse is terminally ill and the only way to save him/her is to get medication immediately but you can’t get any for him or her [you don’t have enough money, for instance]. Is your adherence to civil law more important than a moral imperative to save your spouse: will you break into a drug store or let him or her die? We love these questions, and as Americans, we are innately rebellious [come on, admit it: we are]. The vast majority of us will say “yeah, break in: Life is more important than the law.” This same sense of natural law causes us to hear Jesus as rejecting the Torah in favor of a higher law—a better and more convenient one.

But Jesus isn’t rejecting the Torah, he is embracing it. He is embracing it with a gusto that none of the Jewish leaders can match. He is not throwing out the Sabbath law as much as placing a greater law above it, from within it. Remember in Mark 12 and Matthew 22, when Jesus is asked which is the greatest commandment, and Jesus responds with: ‘the first one’? He says “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” He holds it up suggesting that upon it “hang all the law and the prophets.” His response is taken from the Shema: “Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one…” and so on, which is among the oldest most beloved Jewish prayers, repeated by Jews twice daily for centuries. Because everybody would know this, Jesus is demonstrating his Jewishness by highlighting his devotion, his sensitivity to custom, and by showing how that relates to everything else! What happens when you do love your God with all of your heart and all of your soul and all of your mind? What is it to really put God first? In saying this, Jesus’ stance on Sabbath, purity, and divorce is more extreme and demanding than the Pharisees’ and even the Sadducees’ stance. The apostles, the gospelers, and even Paul felt the need to temper Jesus’ position; to justify a position that was even too extreme for them.

I have to admit that I’m glad the What Would Jesus Do craze is long-dead. It makes it easier for me to do things that Jesus wouldn’t. But more important, we can return the gospel to a frame of reference that is much more helpful and Christ-centered. Jesus said “follow me” not imitate me. We can certainly learn a lot from doing the things that Jesus did and believing the things that Jesus is reported to have said. But each of us is called to interpret what that is to be. The beauty of Jesus’ teaching is that there are things that are more important than others. That you acted on the Sabbath is less important than that you acted in faithful devotion to God. Paul rightly interpreted this for the church in Corinth over the question of idol meat. So we must interpret this for ourselves today in the midst of a society interpreting civil laws, an international community interpreting human laws, and church leaders that interpret our Christian laws.

I am excited for this time—a time in which our church is actually discussing doctrine, discipline, and adiaphora [things essential and unessential to salvation] and they are at the center of our national and international discussions right now.

Our gospel today tells us that “the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing.” Jesus isn’t being a jerk, but gives the people a freedom they had never before understood: a true, multi-faceted freedom. A freedom, not from the Law, but from narrow-mindedness and legalism. In short, Jesus gave us a way to worship God that is at once unfettered and full-bodied. May we learn to follow Him in this way.

Anxious times don’t call for anxious measures

Proper 14C—Texts: Luke 12:32-40; Isaiah 1:1, 10-20; Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

A thief? A master with slaves? Are these the roles that Jesus is laying out for God? What happens to our God if we take away benevolence? What a frightening thought! Occasionally, when I play with my friends and we toss around our theological musings, I try to toss around these ideas to see how they affect faith. Certain images, including the follower as slave hit a little too close to home. Because this exposes a latent insecurity in me: what if God isn’t very nice. What if God is tying us up? That one worries me a lot.

But that’s nothing compared with the anxieties, the worries, the fear shown by the disciples and shown by the early church.

Imagine that you’ve been following this guy around. You leave Mary and Martha’s and come to “a certain place” and you ask Jesus about prayer. Soon after that [this is between that gospel and last week’s], you watch Jesus’ public display of exorcism and his response to the demand of proof of miracles. You’re there for some more religious teaching, including last week’s story of the greedy farmer. What a strange life you have been living! Wouldn’t you be a little worried about this guy? You’ve devoted yourself to him, you’ve given everything up to follow him, your feet are in constant pain, and you just want to stop walking. You think about giving up, settling down with a family, and just relaxing. Wouldn’t you be a little afraid of what’s coming?

Now imagine the Lukan community that’s responsible for the gospel. It’s probably sixty years after Jesus’ death on the cross and they gather in secret in a house church, worried that any knock at the door could be someone looking to shut them down. What must fear be like for them? Even the very baptismal rite inherited from John the Baptist serves as a means of discerning a person’s intentions! It’s an oath to God and to that same frightened community, gathered to proclaim the Good News.

How little has changed! We are a fearful people still! We’re still obsessing over ‘viable numbers’. We come to church and look over our shoulders to make sure that we haven’t lost anybody or to see if we’ve picked somebody up. And what happens when we do? I’m not sure; I haven’t been here long enough, but I’m pretty sure that we start talking. Actually, probably whisper. “Did you hear about Betty? Can you believe what he said to her? No wonder she’s not coming anymore; I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t come back either.” And that same little monster that lives in the brain comes back the next week. “Betty was so right. This place is going to hell in a hand basket. Look, the Davidsons aren’t here either. It’s all his fault.” And don’t forget the newcomers: we do the same in reverse: “Who’s that? What is he doing here? Do you know him?”

We don’t start out to be petty. In the south they’d add “bless his heart” to the end to make sure you knew that it wasn’t ‘really’ gossip. But we’re afraid of so much, and this church that we love becomes the center of all that we fear. ‘My kids were baptized here: what if it’s not here to bury them.’ ‘If you change one thing, you must be willing to change anything.’ And I haven’t even gone into the comments we hear about “the young people”! But we use pettiness as a self-defense mechanism because we’re afraid. We’re afraid of a lot of things, and I’ll tell you what, it really isn’t change.

We’re afraid of scarcity. We’re afraid we don’t have enough. We’re afraid that we aren’t doing enough. We’re afraid that we’re wasting our opportunities.

We’re afraid to do what we’re called to do. We’re afraid to actually be the children of God, because if we do it, and really mean it… Why risk everything? Why do it? Why follow Jesus? Why “sell your possessions, and give alms”? There’s a part of you that says don’t risk it—don’t do it. That little brain monster. That’s the fear talking. And what does Jesus say: “Do not be afraid”. He even calls his disciples a “little flock”. “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” Jesus is reassuring those fearful disciples as he reassures the Lukan community and in turn reassures us. “Do not be afraid”. It’s such a common refrain in Jesus’ ministry. As often as Jesus speaks of love, he also instructs to not be afraid. The reason? “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Jesus puts the idea of attachment on its head—it isn’t just getting rid of stuff and receiving a reward for it—it’s moving that attachment from your stuff to your relationship with God! What a profound way to destroy your fears! A profound way to destroy your main source of anxiety—to deflect its power!

The second part of the gospel lesson, clearly the first half of a different, though related lesson, brings urgency to that faith. Less eschatological, less end of the world and more about the urgency of faith in Christ—replacing that concern and anxiety, and all of those emotional roadblocks with an equally powerful insistence to faith. For Jesus, this urgency is essential to our faith. Like the Old Testament lesson from Isaiah suggests, the call is to urgency, not anxiety. There it says in triplicate couplets

1. Cease to do evil / learn to do good;
2. Seek justice / rescue the oppressed,
3. Defend the orphan / plead for the widow.

These, all double actions: stop doing bad and learn to do good things. Don’t just seek justice, but rescue those oppressed in the world. Both defend the orphan and plead for the widow.

In fact, all of our lessons call us to urgency. In Isaiah, it is urgency in action. In Hebrews, it is urgency in faith. In Luke, it is urgency in readiness. This same urgency is present in action and faith and to be prepared to act at a moment’s notice—to be able to drop everything and love. Jesus is telling us that we can’t do that if we’re afraid. We must be ready to give up those anxieties; those things that comfort us about our environment. We find such comfort in that anxiety, that feeling of certainty that allows a misguided captain to go down with the ship rather than fix the breech in the hull. What warmth comes from such arrogance! But greater is the rejection of that brain monster. Greater is the rejection of that wall that keeps us from embracing the faith that removes anxiety.

“Do not be afraid”.

Our greatest asset is community and the beauty of the community; the beauty of this community is here; right now. It is this very moment as we gather ourselves together, listen to the Word of God, pray for others, and then prepare ourselves for the feast. That is the currency of faith.

Jesus instructs us to check our anxiety at the door for a minute. I know that we’re all capable of this. We can unburden ourselves. We are called to remove that mantle of fear; that mantle of doubt; that mantle of self-deception that keeps you, that prevents you, that shackles you. Jesus wants nothing more than for you to be free of it. And there isn’t a proper order—no snaps or buckles in sequence—to remove this weight. Just get it off! Take it off, throw it to the ground and embrace who you are: the children of God.