Notorious

Notorious

Luke 19:1-10[1]

I’m fascinated by the way we use language. Specifically, the way the same word can mean something completely different in different times or different settings. For example, I’m sure some of the women would find it rather funny if I were to say that back in the day I used to wear thongs. Of course, those “thongs” were for your feet. We call them “flip-flops” now. And, back in the day, one’s “cell” number referred to the part of a prison where you served your jail time. In those days, if you asked someone for their “cell” number, they might take great offense, as if you were assuming they were a criminal! Of course, now it is just a common part of life to ask for a “cell” number.

The word notorious is one of those flexible words. For many people, “notorious” has meant the worst of the worst law-breakers. These days, it can mean that someone is famous. This was true even back in the day. Some of the worst law-breakers were not only notorious because they committed monstrous crimes. They were also notorious in that they were folk heroes, celebrated and even idolized by many. Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker carried out one of the most vicious crime sprees of the 1930’s. Yet thousands of people attended their funerals to mourn them! In their case, the fact that they were “notorious” meant that they were “worshipped” as heroes.

Our Scripture lesson for today involves some bending of words. This story, of course, is not about the Zacchaeus of the children’s song, a lovable “wee little man” who loves Jesus. Rather, it’s about a man who had become obscenely wealthy by cheating his own people. Zacchaeus was not just a tax collector; he was a “chief tax collector.” He would have been one of those who bid for the contract to collect taxes in Jericho. Obviously, he expected to make a lot of money off of it. And the way he was going to make that money was by forcing his own people to pay every last cent he could get from them. Zacchaeus was not lovable; he was a “notorious sinner.”

That’s what the people who witnessed this interaction between Jesus and Zacchaeus said: they “grumbled” that Jesus had gone to be the guest of a “notorious sinner” (Lk. 19:7, NLT). Now, we’ve seen before in Luke’s Gospel that the Jewish leaders grumbled about Jesus being the friend of tax collectors and sinners. And we’ve seen that Jesus told parables to make it clear that the proper response to the “lost” who find their lives restored is to celebrate, not grumble. But here, it’s not just the Jewish leaders who grumble about Jesus. It’s the crowd! Apparently associating with one so “notorious” as Zacchaeus was going too far even for the people who were drawn to Jesus! Even they were beginning to view Jesus as “notorious” for breaking their sacred taboos!

 There are other twists in this passage as well. We just talked about the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector going to the Temple to pray. In that passage, Jesus says, “all who humble themselves will be exalted” (Lk. 18:14). In our lesson for today, we have perhaps one of the richest men in Judea climbing up a tree to get a look at Jesus. That was something a rich man didn’t do! I’m sure a fair number of the crowd got a laugh out of that. But Zacchaeus was intent on seeing Jesus—perhaps more so than anyone there. And he was willing to humble himself to do so! Once again, an outcast shows the religious people how to respond to Jesus!

The previous chapter of Luke’s Gospel also contains the story of Jesus’ encounter with the rich ruler who would not give his fortune to the poor. On that occasion, Jesus said, “how hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” (Lk. 18:24). In fact, he compared it to a camel going through the eye of a needle—in other words, something impossible. The “ruler” in that story was very likely a religious leader for the Jewish people. But here we have the story of a “notorious” tax collector who probably had a greater fortune eagerly giving half of it away to the poor! While it may be difficult for those with wealth to find their salvation in God (and not their riches), Zacchaeus shows that “what is impossible for mortals is possible for God” (Lk. 18:26).

In a very real sense, this passage summarizes all that Luke wants to convey to us about Jesus and the way he embraced outcasts.^[2] That was where Luke’s story of Jesus began: with his announcement at the synagogue in Nazareth that the promise of Isaiah had been fulfilled: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free” (Lk. 4:18). The poor, the blind, and the captives were all included in God’s salvation. The despised as well—Samaritans, tax collectors, and all who were considered “unclean” for any reason. Jesus as the “Son of Man” came “to seek out and to save” every one of them (Lk. 19:10).

In order to carry out God’s purpose “to seek out and to save the lost,” Jesus embraced with God’s love those who had been written off as beyond help. In the process, Jesus crossed lines and violated traditions that offended not only the Jewish religious leaders, but also the crowds who followed him! In the end, they came to view Jesus as “notorious.” I think at least part of the message for us is that if we follow Jesus in trying to fulfill God’s purpose “to seek out and to save the lost,” crossing lines and violating traditions, we too will be viewed as “notorious.”

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[1] ©2019 Alan Brehm. A sermon delivered by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 11/3/2019 at Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] R. Alan Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” New Interpreters Bible IX:357, 359.

We Trust in Whom?

We Trust in Whom?

Luke 18:9-14[1]

There is a slogan that’s been going around for a while. The slogan is “In Cops We Trust.” Now, I get the point of it: in a time when police officers are under fire, people are trying to express their support for members of the law enforcement community. I think what troubles me about this is that the “original” version of this slogan is “In God We Trust”! This motto has been a part of our national conscience since Francis Scott Key wrote the national anthem. It has appeared on coins since the 1860’s, and it has been our official “national motto” since 1956. While I support those who serve to keep our communities safe, I find it disturbing that there are those who see nothing wrong with revising “In God We Trust” so casually.

But then the question of the true basis for our faith is one that predates our national motto. We human beings seem to want to be able to trust in something more “real” than a God whom we cannot physically see or hear or touch. And for many of us, what we really trust in is our own ability to see things through. As the old saying goes, “If you want to do something right, you have to do it yourself.” That betrays some fairly obvious presumptions: that we know the “right” way to do something, and that we have the ability to do it. When push comes to shove, I’m afraid that many of us really trust in ourselves, not in God.

Our Gospel lesson for today addresses the question of where we place our trust. The parable tells the story of two very different men who went up to the temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, who would have been widely respected for devoting his life to studying and obeying God’s word. The other was a Tax Collector, a man who would have been widely despised as a traitor to his people as well as a thief. At the outset, it would have been easy to assume that the “hero” of the story was the one who had devoted his life to God. But as is often the case, Luke gives us a clue to what’s going on in this the parable with his introduction: Jesus “told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt” (Luke 18:9).

The problem with the Pharisee in this parable was not his apparent devotion to keeping God’s word in every aspect of his life. Rather it was the fact that he “trusted” in himself that he was “righteous” before God. I like the way Gene Peterson puts it in The Message: people like him were “pleased with themselves over their moral performance” (Lk. 18:9). Judging from his prayer, this fellow was very pleased with himself. It’s hard not to think that he was bragging about himself to God! But perhaps more importantly, “Those who trust in their own righteousness will regard others with contempt, and those who regard others with contempt cannot bring themselves to rely on God’s grace.”^[2] This kind of self-righteousness leaves little room for trusting in God.

The tax collector is the opposite: he would have been despised by more than just the Pharisee. In the ancient world, a conquering power like Rome gave the right to collect taxes to whomever was the highest bidder. As long as he collected what he promised to pay, he could keep anything else he could extract from people. And so he would hire a whole team of people who would work under him, each collecting a portion of the taxes. And as long as they paid their quota, each one could keep whatever they collected. So it’s not hard to see why this man would have been despised by most people as a thief and a traitor.

Two very different men came to the temple to pray. But they were not so different in that each was a “self-made” man. The Pharisee had become a respected leader of his community by following the letter of the law. The Tax Collector had taken a fast-track to getting rich, regardless of the fact that it meant compounding the poverty and the oppression his people endured. And yet, there was a difference between them. One of them was thoroughly satisfied with himself. He was quite convinced that his life was right and even pleasing to God. The other one came to the temple not satisfied, or pleased, but broken. He was so broken that all he could do was to cry out, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” (Lk. 18:13). 

While the people to whom Jesus told this story would have expected him to say what a good man the Pharisee was and what a rotten scoundrel the tax collector was, he shocked them. He said that the tax collector “went down to his home justified” (Lk 18:14) rather than the Pharisee. But Jesus wasn’t just trying to shock them; he was making a fundamental point about faith. If we place our trust in anything or anyone other than God, that trust will be disappointed. Even and especially if we place our trust in our own efforts to be right before God. On the other hand, when we place our trust in the unfailing mercy of God, that faith will be sustained by the one who has promised never to fail us or forsake us.

When we encounter a parable like this, it’s easy to assume that it doesn’t apply to us. We automatically see the Pharisee as the one in the wrong, and so we may overlook the lesson of the parable. But the truth of the matter is that we are always vulnerable to the kind of self-righteous arrogance this Pharisee represents. We all are prone to place our trust in ourselves and our own abilities, regardless of the pious words we may recite. So I would say this parable has a message for all of us. That message is the call for us to continually place our faith in God’s mercy rather than our own efforts.

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[1] ©2019 Alan Brehm. A sermon delivered by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 10/27/2019 at Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] R. Alan Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” New Interpreters Bible IX: 343.

Last of All

Last of All

Mark 9:30-37[1]

We don’t much like not being first. For most of us, there seems to be some situation or other where not being first gets under our skin. And we certainly don’t like being last. That can be downright humiliating. It’s embarrassing. We associate being last with “losing,” and most of us don’t like to lose at anything. Some of us really don’t like losing! We associate being last with being worst, and that really gets under our skin. In the right settings, the ones that really push our buttons, being last can seem like a threat to our very sense of self. That kind of threat to our well-being is something that many of us will actually fight to avoid. Being last of all is a bitter pill to swallow for most of us.

I think one reason for this is we are such a success-oriented people. The very idea of being last just doesn’t make sense to us. We assume that those who are last in this world got there because they never really tried hard enough. By contrast, most of us spend our whole lives trying to be first and best. We’re a “go big or go home” kind of people. It feels powerless to be last, and we don’t like feeling powerless. It strips us of our self-worth. It generates shame, which is more intense than guilt. Shame is the feeling there is something wrong with us at a basic level. It calls into question our very existence. Being last equates in our minds to the feeling that we’re just not good enough.

Our Gospel lesson for today brings together several episodes that may not seem to go together. It begins with Jesus, whom Peter has already confessed to be the Messiah, telling the disciples that he is going to be killed. In their minds, Messiahs don’t get killed; they conquer and liberate their people from their oppressors. The idea of a Messiah being killed simply made no sense to them. Messiah’s don’t get killed; they usher in the Kingdom of God on earth. I think when the Scripture says, “they did not understand what he was saying” (Mk. 9:32), it may be an understatement!

Hence the fact that in Mark’s Gospel, right after Jesus gives his disciples this somber news, they are engaged in an argument about “who was the greatest” (Mk. 9:34). In this context, the Scripture doesn’t specify the greatest at what. It simply says they were arguing about who was the greatest. Set alongside Jesus’ prediction of his impending death, that in and of itself seems odd. Matthew’s Gospel brings the disparity into sharper focus: there they asked Jesus outright, “Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of God?” (Matt. 18:1). It seems clearly implied that they thought the “greatest” had to be one of them! More than that, it illustrates their total lack of understand about what Jesus was trying to accomplish.

Jesus’ answer to them makes it clear that they had missed one of the most important lessons he tried to teach them: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all” (Mark 9:35). And to emphasize the point, Jesus seeks to correct his disciples’ misguided ambition by embracing a child, and saying, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me” (Mark 9:37). We might see that as a “cute” or “warm and fuzzy” experience, because that’s the way we see children. But for most of human history children have been seen as having no value in society. They were simply mouths to feed and were put to work as soon as possible. They were the least and the last of all in that day.

But Jesus not only said to embrace the children—who represented the least and the last of all.  In Matthew’s Gospel, he told his disciples they had to become like children in order to enter the Kingdom of God (Matt. 18:3). Again, we make this “sugary sweet” by thinking he’s talking about the trusting nature of a child. But the disciples would have not found the idea of becoming like the child very inviting. The role of a child was one that was precarious in the ancient world. A child was someone to whom an adult could do just about anything and get away with it. They had no recourse, because they had no legal rights. They were the most vulnerable, the weakest, the lowest, and the last of all in the world of Jesus’ day.

In holding out children as an example for his disciples to follow, I think he was saying the same thing he had tried to teach them in many ways.  I think he was telling them that if they wanted to follow him they had to become the least, the lowest, and the last of all. That’s about as contrary to our way of life as you can get. We praise ambition and we honor those who are “winners” and those who are first. These attitudes are woven into the very fabric of the way we live our lives. But while we spend our efforts seeking to be “on top,” the “best,” and first of all, Jesus calls us to a very different path.

Jesus calls us to a path of self-sacrifice, a path of making ourselves vulnerable, a path of giving up the ambitions that call to us from this world. Instead of pushing and shoving our way into first place, Jesus calls us to a path of taking last place. It’s a path that not only leads us to care for those who are most vulnerable in society. It also leads us to take our place alongside the weakest, the lowest, and the last of all. Although it goes against the grain of everything that is instilled in us from childhood, that is the path Jesus calls us to walk if we would follow him. It’s a path that leads us to give up striving to be first and best, and instead take our place with him as servant of all, and last of all.

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[1] ©2018 Alan Brehm. A sermon delivered by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 9/23/2018 at Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

Breaking Boundaries

Breaking Boundaries

Lk. 17:11-19[1]

  Boundaries can be an important part of a society that functions smoothly.  For example  there are important reasons why we make laws that set minimum age limits for driving, buying tobacco products, and drinking.  Similarly, we expect certain professions--like physicians, lawyers, accountants, teachers, and even ministers--to have certain minimum credentials in order to be qualified to do their jobs.  These are boundaries that we as a culture have agreed on in order for our society to operate well. But there are other boundaries out there that aren’t so healthy.  Typically, they are the unspoken boundaries, the assumptions and prejudices that we make but that tend to be unsupported by facts.  These kinds of boundaries are not only unhealthy, they can be positively destructive to individuals, communities, and our society as a whole. 

  One of the major themes of Luke’s Gospel is that Jesus came bringing the gracious kingdom of God that breaks through all our boundaries.  Make no mistake:  the people of Jesus’ day had as many destructive boundaries as we do.  In our Gospel lesson for today, we see one of those boundaries played out: the animosity between the Jewish people and their half-cousins, the Samaritans.  I say “half-cousins” because the Samaritans were descended from the Jewish people who were left behind when Northern Kingdom of Israel fell.  But they were also descended from the gentile peoples that the Assyrians conquerors brought in to solidify their hold on new territory.  That took place 700 years before Jesus’ day.  And the bitterness between the Jewish people and the Samaritans hadn’t diminished one bit over all that time.  In fact, I would say it had only increased. 

  I find it interesting that when we meet the group of “lepers” in this Gospel lesson, there’s no initial mention of ethnic distinctions.  Their common illness made them all unclean and outcast.[2]  And like many who are outcast, they bonded together despite the boundaries that might otherwise have kept them apart.  Because all of these men were ritually “unclean” and therefore socially outcast, they were excluded from all the normal activities of life--from family to community life to worship.  And so they formed their own “community” of sorts, one that ignored the boundaries of their day.

  When they cried out to Jesus for mercy, they were obviously asking him to heal them from their disease so that they could re-enter their lives, their families, and their communities.  His response that they go show themselves to the priest might seem strange, but when someone was healed from a skin disease, that person was to appear before the priest.  The priest was to examine them, and if there was no further sign of the disease, he declared the person to be “clean.”  That meant being accepted once again in to the normal activities of life--family, community, and worship. 

  I would think that at first the ten men might have looked at their mutilated skin, and then back to Jesus.  I would imagine the thought may have crossed their minds that he had forgotten something:  the part where he heals them.  But he said “go,” and they went.  In doing so they displayed just enough faith that their skin was restored.  The lesson says that one of them, when he saw that he was healed, returned praising God with a loud voice, and fell at Jesus’ feet thanking him.  It’s only at this point that we learn he was a Samaritan.  As a Samaritan, no Jewish priest anywhere was going to pronounce him clean.  Because of who he was, simply because of the fact of his birth and his heritage, he would always be viewed by any Jewish person as “unclean” and therefore outcast.[3] 

  But it was this man, this man who had lived his whole life on the wrong side of the boundaries of his world, who had the ability to “see” that he had been healed by Jesus.  I think what he saw in his healing was the fulfillment of what the Scriptures had promised would happen when God’s kingdom had come.  And he had the faith to see that it was through Jesus that the healing grace of God’s kingdom had come to him.  And so Jesus says to him, “Your faith has made you whole.”  In a very real sense, his ability to see beyond the obvious fact of his healing and to recognize the grace of God at work through Jesus revealed a level of faith that went beyond the others.  His faith not only made him physically well, it made him spiritually whole--it “saved” him.[4]

  I think this story provides us with an interesting paradigm for how we view matters of faith in our day.  It has typically been the case that those who have lived on the wrong side of the boundaries of our world are more sensitive to the presence of God’s healing grace than those of us who are “respectable.”[5]  In the Gospel lesson, Jesus asks where the other nine were.  I think the answer is obvious: they were so excited about being healed that they didn’t walk but ran to the priest.  They couldn’t wait to be declared “clean” so they could be respectable again, so that they could re-enter their lives on the right side of the boundaries. 

  Unfortunately, that may very well be a parable of where the church is today.[6]  We can still be so caught up in living our lives on the right side of the boundaries in our world that we miss the fact that God is out there working with the outcasts.[7]  In fact, Jesus said that’s where he would be, among the hungry and the strangers and the outcasts (Matt. 25:40).[8]  I think if that’s where Jesus is, then that’s where we should be.  It seems to me that if we want to experience the new life of God’s kingdom in our churches, if we want to see revival and renewal, we need to be out there breaking the boundaries, working among the people on the wrong side of our prejudices.

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[1] © 2013 Alan Brehm.  A sermon delivered by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 10/13/2013 at First Presbyterian of Dickinson, TX.

[2] Cf. Fred B. Craddock, Luke, 203.

[3] Cf. Maggi Dawn, “The Untouchables,” in The Christian Century (Oct 2, 2007):18.

[4] Cf. Craddock, Luke, 203.  Cf. also Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Luke X-XXIV, 1152, where he points out that the “seeing” is decisive in this story, not the healing.  All ten experienced healing, but because the Samaritan “sees,” he also receives salvation. He adds (p. 1155), “this is an awakening, his eyes of faith were opened.”  Cf. similarly R. Alan Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” New Interpreters Bible IX:327.  He says, (p. 328) “For those who have become aware of God’s grace, all of life is infused with a sense of gratitude.”

[5] Cf. Jon Sobrino, Where is God?, 7, where he says that the poor and the powerless “fulfill the primordial purpose of creation: God’s call to live and give life to others, even in the midst of catastrophe.”

[6] Cf. Paul D. Duke, “Down the Road and Back,” The Christian Century (Sept 27, 1995): 883.

[7] Cf. John T. Carroll, “Luke 17:11-19,” Interpretation 53 (Oct 1999): 408, where he points out that Protestant churches in North America have focused their efforts to survive on making and enforcing clear boundaries regarding the issues of our day.  He asks, “When we are yearning for clear structures and boundaries, how will we serve a Lord who subverts them and extends compassionate care to the most unlikely of persons?”

[8] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, Church in the Power, 126-29, where he argues that Jesus’ presence is to be found among “the least of these” according to Matt. 25:40: “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

Blinders

John 9:1-41[1]

Our eyes are truly amazing. We can detect minute variations of hues in thousands of colors. We can see in bright sunlight and also in almost complete darkness. We can determine the relative distance and speed of moving objects. And yet, at the same time, we can be incredibly blind to what is obvious. Especially when something is “out of place.” Like the set of keys on the counter right in front of us. Or the cell phone that is still lying exactly in the same spot where we put it.

Our Gospel lesson for today is a story about how we can be blind to what is obvious. We tend to think of the metaphors of light and darkness in terms of those who are “enlightened” by their religious faith versus those who are still “in the darkness.” But our Gospel lesson turns the tables on all that. In this story, it is the religious authorities who are blinded to what is the obvious truth, something they should be able to see plainly, something right under their noses. And it is to some extent one who was viewed as an unlearned vagrant who points out what they are so unable—or unwilling—to see.

The episode begins with Jesus encountering a man who had been born blind and who had spent his whole life seeking the charity of others in order to support himself. Part of what makes this story ironic and even humorous, however, is that while the narrator continually speaks of him as “the man who had formerly been blind,” the religious authorities go to great lengths to try to disprove or discredit or simply avoid this obvious truth. As it turns out, they are the ones who are truly blinded because of their religious assumptions—or should be say prejudices?

Well, the first blinder in the story is that anyone who suffers tragedy must have brought it on themselves by some grievous sin. Jesus’ own disciples voice this belief, asking, “who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” (John 9:2). Their question reflected the common religious view that if you do what is right you will be blessed by God, but if you do what is wrong you will be punished. But Jesus exploded the myth. I like the way Eugene Peterson translates Jesus’ response in The Message: “You’re asking the wrong question. You're looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do” (John 9:3, Message). In essence, the religion of the day taught that anyone suffering from tragedy surely must have done something terrible to deserve such a fate. In a very real sense, the religion of our day still teaches that! But Jesus says that tragedy in our world is an opportunity for us to demonstrate “the works of God” (John 9:4): kindness, compassion, mercy, and generosity!

The next blinder that comes up in the story has to do with the fact that Jesus healed “the man who had formerly been blind” on the Sabbath day. Because Jesus dared exercise God’s mercy by healing this man, the religious authorities believed he had “broken” the Sabbath and therefore assumed that he was a “sinner.” Some of them put it this way: “This man is not from God, for he does not observe the Sabbath” (John 9:16). The assumption was that these particular religious authorities were the experts on what one must do to please God. And since Jesus didn’t follow their meticulous rules about keeping the Sabbath holy, he must have been a sinner.

Ironically, it is “the man who had formerly been blind” who exposes their folly. The religious authorities keep pressing him, trying to find a way to avoid the obvious conclusion that this man had been born blind and Jesus had restored his sight. Finally, in exasperation they say, “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner” (John 9:24). And this unlearned, marginalized, very like unkempt man, who just that morning had been living on the street, shows a depth of insight beyond any they possess. He says, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see” (John 9:25).

Think about it: one of the ways we religious people go around trying to make ourselves look and feel good is to brand other people as “sinners.” At one point the religious authorities fire off what they must have thought was the ultimate insult: “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” (John 9:34). At one point even “the man who had formerly been blind” buys into the idea that “God doesn’t listen to sinners” (John 9:31, CEV). But it seems to me that if God doesn’t listen to sinners, we’re all in trouble! Surely when it comes to labeling who’s a sinner and who’s not, we should heed the wisdom of “I don’t know.”

The end of the story finds Jesus making an ironic pronouncement: “I am here to give sight to the blind and to make blind everyone who can see” (John 9:39, CEV). In a very real sense this is what the story of “the man who had formerly been blind” is about. The Message puts it this way, “I came into the world … , so that those who have never seen will see, and those who have made a great pretense of seeing will be exposed as blind” (John 9:39, Message). This story is about exposing how those who think they are so pious and holy and righteous are the ones who completely ignore the grace and mercy and compassion of God. It’s not the “sinners” who go around making a pretense of being holy and pious and righteous. It is the religious people, the church members, the elders and deacons and ministers and priests of this world who make “a great pretense” out of their religion, going around labeling other people “sinners.”

But, as in the case of the authorities in our gospel lesson, all our religious pretenses and assumptions and prejudices tend to be elaborate means for justifying and validating ourselves at the expense of others. They wind up blinding us to what is obvious, to what should be as plain as the nose on our face. They keep us from seeing the people around us, not as “sinners,” but as beloved children of God. They keep us from seeing other people with God’s eyes, which are eyes of mercy, and compassion, and love.[2]

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[1] © 2011 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 4/3/11 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX and at A Community of the Servant-Savior Presbyterian Church, Houston, TX.

[2] Cf. Desmond Tutu, God Has a Dream: a Vision of Hope for Our Time, 71-98. Cf. especially p. 97: “if we had the eyes to see, we would look at one another and see the beauty of God, and we would treat each other with appropriate reverence and awe”; and “when we begin to look for the light of God in people, an incredible thing happens. We find it more and more in people—all people.”

“Suffering Love”[1]

Isaiah 50:4-9; Philippians 2:5-11

There are a lot of places in this world that can feel hopeless. There are a lot of places in Dickinson, TX that can feel hopeless! Whether it’s a relationship that feels like quicksand, or a job that is suffocating, or an addiction that is slowly eroding your soul, any of us can find ourselves in situations that feel like we’re beyond even God’s help. But that is not the message of the Gospel! The good news of the Gospel is that because of Jesus’ death on the cross, there is nowhere we can go that is “too far” for God to save us.

Made Himself Nothing. The Scripture texts for today bring us face to face with what is most difficult in our faith. At the heart of the Christian faith, we confess that the one who shared the vast grandeur of God not only became a vulnerable human being; he also subjected himself to humiliation and actually tasted death. How does the one who is equal with God “empty himself”? How does his obedience to God lead him to death? The short answer, though not a simple one, is this: it is the mystery of God’s love. And as one of our confessions puts it, God’s love is a mystery beyond our understanding.[2]

Part of what makes the gospel of God’s love through Jesus’ death so difficult to grasp is that we rarely see it enacted in real life. Think about it: when was the last time you met someone who gave up the offer of prestige, or power, or better pay for the chance to give themselves away in sacrificial love? There have been people who did that throughout the ages—one that comes to mind is Henri Nouwen, one of my favorite writers. After holding positions at some of the most prestigious universities in the country, he chose to become the chaplain at the Daybreak Community in Toronto, a home where the mentally handicapped live with their caregivers. Nouwen was following what he called the path of downward mobility[3]—the same path that Jesus walked when he made himself nothing and became obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

Into the Abyss. Why would the Son of God do such a thing? Again, the short but not simple answer is this: to recover us. The good news of the Gospel is that Jesus went into the abyss of human suffering in order to redeem all of us who have been trapped there.[4]

One of my favorite scholars says it this way: “Through his forsakenness Jesus has brought God to the Godforsaken.”[5] In Jesus the Christ, God is revealed as the redeemer of the despised, as the savior of the hopeless, as the one who chooses the unwanted.

The good news of the Gospel is that there is no depth of suffering that Jesus in his abandonment on the cross did not reach.[6] Truly does our catechism state that “An abyss of suffering” has been “swallowed up by the suffering of divine love.”[7] All the loneliness, agony, alienation, cruelty, abandonment, estrangement, despair, shame, rejection, self-destruction we could ever experience is redeemed by Jesus’ death on the cross.[8]

What this means is that no one can sink so deep as to be beyond hope, beyond the reach of God’s love. However far we may fall, the love of God has already been there in Jesus Christ, and is waiting there to bring us back home.

Unconditional Love. How can the willingness of God’s Son to experience the depths of our suffering miraculously save us from it? Once more, the answer is short but not simple: because the powerful love of God transforms us.

The good news of the Gospel is that the clearest demonstration of God’s mighty power to save is found in a broken and helpless man hanging on a cross. Jesus’ death as an outcast, as one of the “Godforsaken,” reveals the unconditional love of God more powerfully than anything else.

That love is powerful because it is unconditional: God loves us before we could ever love God. That love changes everything—changes who we are, changes our outlook on the future, changes our purpose for living; it brings us new life.[9] God’s unconditional love in Jesus’ death on the cross means that we don’t have to try to reach up to God, because God has reached us—wherever we are. Wherever we can go, God has already paved the way from death into his life.[10]

Conclusion. What does this mean for us? It means that, if we follow the one who identified with the outcasts in order to redeem us all, then we must do the same.[11] It means that we are not a fellowship of the righteous, but a fellowship of the godless who have been accepted because of Jesus’ abandonment on the cross. We are not a fellowship of the holy, but a fellowship of sinners who have been forgiven through his death. We are not a fellowship of the elite, the select, or the esteemed, but a fellowship of the excluded, the rejected, and the abandoned who have been reclaimed by the suffering of divine love on the cross. The death of Jesus the Christ on a cross shows us that God’s love is a love that will not rest until it reaches out to every God-forsaken place we can possibly go to bring all of us back home to God. That means that if we seek to follow Christ, we will also reach out to the abandoned, the excluded, and the Godforsaken with the love we have found in Jesus the Christ.

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[1] A sermon preached 4/9/06 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX.

[2] Confession of 1967 9.15

[3] Henri Nouwen, Here and Now, 100-101.

[4] Jurgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 91.

[5] Moltmann, Church in the Power, 94. Cf. also Jurgen Moltmann, The Crucified God, 242-43.

[6] Cf. Moltmann, Church in the Power, 95

[7] cf. Study Catechism, q. 45.

[8] Moltmann, Crucified God, 246, 277.

[9] Moltmann, Crucified God, 245, 248-49.

[10] Moltmann, Crucified God, 254-55.

[11] Moltmann, Crucified God, 19.

“Who Can Forgive Sins?”[1]

Mark 2:1-12

No matter how “Christian” we may profess to be, we all tend to operate by “schoolyard ball” rules. Whatever our personal experience may be with being chosen first or last, when it’s our turn to choose, we always pick the best players first.

A Rebel With a Cause. One reason why I like the story of Patch Adams is that it turns the way we operate upside-down. You may remember the 1998 film starring Robin Williams as a medical student who “breaks all the rules” designed to turn physicians into “supermen” who dispense medical “knowledge” without stooping to get their hands dirty. Adams discovers that healing people is a lot more satisfying and successful than trying to heal diseases. [2]

What you may not know is that the movie is based on the real-life experience of Hunter “Patch” Adams. Adams founded the Gesundheit! Institute, a community in West Virginia based on the idea that the health of an individual cannot be separated from the health of the family, community and the world. Patch Adams’ brand of medicine combines “clowning” with medicine and social action in a way that promotes care and compassion that seeks to change society as a whole! His slogan is, “Please join me in working for peace, justice and care for all people on the planet!”

Patch Adams isn’t your normal, everyday sort of doctor. In fact, you might say that he has turned the world of medicine upside-down at the Gesundheit! Institute. Instead of medical training being a path to privilege and wealth, it is the basis for a lifetime of service—offered at no charge!

Turning God Upside-Down. Our Gospel text for today gives us a hint that what Patch Adams did to the medical community, Jesus the Christ did to the religious community of his day. He turned it upside-down. Instead of viewing faith and piety as boundary markers that separated the “clean” from the “unclean,” the “holy” from the “unholy,” the “righteous” from the “sinners,” Jesus offered God’s grace to anyone. And as the Gospels demonstrate, he offered grace particularly to those who were outcast as “unclean,” “unholy” and “sinners.”

In order to understand how this scandalized the religious people of his day, you have to know that the terms “unclean,” “unholy,” and “sinner” did not necessarily refer to a person’s moral character. Rather, in Jesus’ day the average people were “unclean” due to their work, or they were “unholy” due to their health, or they were “sinners” simply because they could not afford the luxury of devoting themselves full time to the study and practice of the Law![3]

But the real scandal behind the way Jesus offered God’s grace to all is that it turns one’s view of God upside-down. Instead of a vindictive God who refuses to get involved with outcasts, or a vengeful God who condemns “sinners,” Jesus presents a God who prefers lawbreakers to the so-called “righteous”, who offers grace and mercy to the “godless.”[4]

Schoolyard Rules? We see this reflected in the interchange over healing the paralytic. When he offers forgiveness to the paralyzed man, the “righteous” object that Jesus has blasphemed. They insist, “who can forgive sins but God alone?” It seems that they would rather leave the man paralyzed and exclude him from forgiveness and healing than to risk God’s image by dragging him into something as messy as a real human life!

Or perhaps their real concern was to preserve their position as privileged insiders, the chosen ones, regardless of the cost for those whom they excluded from God, like this paralyzed man.

But Jesus will have none of their safe, selfish, so-called “righteousness”; he not only pronounces the man’s sins forgiven, he also heals him. Jesus grants him free access to God’s mercy apart from any prerequisites, conditions, or qualifications. This encounter is one of many illustrations of the way in which Jesus proclaimed in word and deed the good news that “anyone may freely receive the grace of God”![5]

So instead of picking the best players first, those of us who follow Jesus the Christ are called to pick the left out players first, those who are normally passed over, the rejects. The object is not to have put ourselves in a position to “win” and make others “lose,” but rather to build a community based on grace, mercy, and compassion. It seems to me that if we claim to follow Christ, we can do no less!

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[1] A sermon preached 2/19/06 at First Westminster Presbyterian Church, Baytown, TX.

[2] A review of Patch Adams by Cinema In Focus, accessed at http://www.cinemainfocus.com/Patch%20Adams_3.htm

[3] Cf. Joel Green, The Theology of the Gospel of Luke, 84-88.

[4] Hans Küng, The Christian Challenge, 189; cf. Jürgen Moltmann, Crucified God, 142-43.

[5] Green, Theology of Luke, 82.