The Waking Dreamer: Parables

Showing posts with label Parables. Show all posts

Sunday, November 22, 2020

What Counts in the End

Matthew 25:31-46[1]

When push comes to shove, what counts for many of us is the ability to maintain our life as it is. We value our safety and that of our loved ones above all else. We have certain patterns of living that we are comfortable with, and we want to maintain those patterns as much as possible. We have also embraced the message of Jesus to live with concern for others, and we try to do so where we can. I would say, however, that we tend to do that in ways that feel familiar and safe to us. We want to be able to “check” the boxes we believe are important, but we want to do so with minimal risk.

I would say the life to which Jesus calls us is not one that fits within the limits of what we would consider “minimal risk.” Jesus calls us to “deny” ourselves, to take up our crosses, and to follow him in a life of service to others. That’s not always going to be safe or comfortable. It’s not going to be easy for us to die to ourselves—to set aside our self-interest, our wants, our needs, and our fears—and follow Jesus in extending God’s love to those who are the least and the last and the left out in our world today. That’s going to take us to some places that don’t feel safe or comfortable.

I believe that challenge lies at the root of our Gospel lesson for today. Jesus tells us a parable about separating people at the judgment like a shepherd might separate sheep from goats. I think we should read this as a parable, and not a lecture outlining what’s going to happen to “good” and “bad” people at the end of time. I think the fact that it follows two other parables along with the fact that Jesus continues the analogy of “sheep” and “goats” throughout the story points us in this direction. Since a parable is a story told to emphasize a point, the question for us is what is the point of this parable.

I think we may find a clue in the fact that both the sheep and the goats are surprised at the “verdict.” The sheep are commended for being kind and merciful to Jesus, but they are completely unaware of ever having done anything special. In response he told them when they were kind and merciful to “the least of these my brothers and sisters,” they were being kind and merciful to him. Similarly, the goats are criticized for not having practiced kindness and mercy, but they seem shocked as well. They thought they had checked off all the religious “boxes” they were supposed to, but Jesus said that they were not kind and merciful to the least and the last and the left out.

I believe the main point of this parable is that Jesus wanted to challenge the self-righteous hypocrisy that is such a prevalent temptation in religion. I think the “goats” were actually those who thought themselves pious and religious because they were devoted to worship, or because they were scrupulous about following the “rules,” or because they were pillars of their religious communities. But no amount of tithes, no zeal in keeping religious rules, no supposed places of honor in the congregation could change the fact that they were unkind toward others. In the end, what counts is practicing mercy toward the “least of these.”

And so the parable presents us with a challenge. We can all fall into the trap of thinking that we’ve “checked off” all the right “boxes.” We support the food pantry, we contribute to our favorite causes, we may even volunteer to feed others. But I think what Jesus confronts us with is the question whether we have truly practiced mercy toward the least and the last and the left out in our community. That’s a big step up from simply “checking off boxes.” We have to set aside our own fears if we’re really going to put Jesus’ love into action. We have to take the risk of getting to know those who are hurting if we’re really going to practice mercy.

While this parable is challenging, I think there is some comfort here as well. The sheep who were commended for being kind and merciful were also unaware of having done anything special! What’s more, Jesus says to them, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world” (Matt. 25:34)! As John Calvin points out, this is meant to be a message of hope and encouragement, because their relationship with God was based not on the merit they earned but rather on grace.[2] That’s true for us as well. I’ve found that some of the people who are the most kind and merciful in this life are also quick to “apologize” for the fact that they aren’t very “religious.” In God’s eyes, however, all those who practice mercy are “blessed” and have the promise of a “kingdom prepared for them,” simply based on God’s grace!

These are difficult days. Safety is something we all need to be thinking about during a global pandemic. But at the same time we need to hear Jesus’ challenge to be willing to show mercy and kindness to the least and the last and the left out, even when it pushes us beyond what is familiar. I realize this may create a feeling of tension for us. We may wonder how we can put kindness and mercy into practice, especially in these days. I think Jesus meant for us to feel tension, because it’s the tension Scriptures like this create for us that pulls us toward deeper discipleship.

What counts in the end is practicing a lifestyle of mercy. Now, make no mistake: the clear teaching of Scripture is that our relationship with God, and our eternal destiny, is based solely on God’s grace. There’s no way we can ever do enough good to earn that. But the clear teaching of Scripture is also that those of us who experience God’s grace will practice mercy towards others. Grace and mercy: they go hand-in-hand. God’s gift of grace calls forth in us a lifestyle of mercy toward the least and the last and the left out.

[1] © Alan Brehm. A sermon delivered by Rev. Alan Brehm, Ph. D. on 11/22/2020 for Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] J. Calvin & W. Pringle, Commentary on a Harmony of the Evangelists Matthew, Mark, and Luke, vol. 3, pp. 176–177.

Sunday, November 15, 2020

Earning our Way to Heaven?

Matthew 25:14-30[1]

Our economy is based on the premise that we have to pretty much earn our way in life. Some of us may have inherited significant resources, but the vast majority of us in the “middle class” start from “scratch.” We are a culture that very much believes in “pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps.” There was a time when that system worked pretty much like clock-work. You did your job, you worked hard, and you slowly but surely “climbed the ladder.” More recently, that implicit guarantee of upward mobility has been called into question. Large corporations started “right-sizing” by “reductions in force,” which meant laying off many of those who had worked long and hard.

Unfortunately, some of us take that assumption that you work for whatever you get and translate it into our faith. Many people in our day still believe that they have to build up spiritual “merit” in order to receive heavenly “rewards.” That’s true even in the Presbyterian world. Some of us still think that participating in worship, attending Bible Study, volunteering for VBS, or singing in the choir are ways to make sure we get to “go to heaven when we die.” Unfortunately, that perspective is reinforced by certain Christian traditions that actually present these actions as “obligations.”

It seems to me that a lot of people look at the parable of the talents in our Gospel lesson for today and think that the “Kingdom of Heaven” operates like that. Now, I realize that among the parables of the kingdom in Matthew’s Gospel, this one may be the hardest to see as ironical—that it is in fact talking about the opposite of what the kingdom is like. Most of us have heard the “sanitized” version of the parable: the “talents” are abilities that you’ve been given to invest on behalf of the kingdom. And most of us have used the language of this parable to commend the faithful service of those whom we know and love. But if you look closer, you find a very different story!

In the first place, a “talent” in that day and time was a large fortune—the equivalent of sixteen years’ wages (perhaps $500,000)! This story should actually be called “The Parable of the Fortune Funds.” That puts it in a completely different realm of life—that of profits and margins and commissions! But more importantly, if you pay close attention to the details, this parable is about earning rewards. You get five fortunes, you earn five more, and you get to keep all ten as a reward. You get two fortunes, you earn two more, and you get to keep all four. It’s very structured, very predictable. The rewards match the deeds; the merits match the achievements. But the down side applies to any “under-achievers.” If you’re like the servant who got one fortune and did nothing with it for fear of losing a great deal of money, then you don’t even get to keep that. And because you didn’t live up to the basic minimum requirements, you get thrown out and punished.

If that’s really what the “Kingdom of Heaven” is like, God looks more like a ruthless Wall Street tycoon than a loving creator and redeemer. That’s the impression you get from the third servant: “Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; so I was afraid” (Matt. 25:24-25). In that version of the kingdom, “to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away” (Matt. 25:29). If the parable of the talents is not ironical, then we all have to earn our way into the "kingdom of heaven," and there’s not much room for grace or forgiveness or mercy.

I don’t know about you, but to me that doesn’t sound much like the God who blesses the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness (Matt. 5:3-6). It doesn’t sound much like the God who freely gives the blessings of sun and rain to all alike (Matt. 5:45). It doesn’t sound much like the God who feeds and clothes those who have little faith (Matt. 6:25-30), or the God who gives good things to those who ask like any parent does with a child (Matt. 7:7-11). And it doesn’t sound like the God who seeks us out like a shepherd seeking one lost sheep because it is not God’s will that even “one of these little ones should be lost.” (Matt. 18:14).

The Kingdom of God that Jesus came to bring to us all is very different from a system of “pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps.” In God’s kingdom, there is nothing to earn—no merits or rewards to rack up. And everybody gets the same gift—God’s full and free acceptance. In God’s kingdom, the religious “under-achievers” gain entry ahead of those who think they’ve racked up plenty of “spiritual points” (cf. Matt. 21:32). In God’s kingdom, we’re all “underachievers,” and rather than throwing us into “outer darkness,” God in his mercy forgives us, God in his love embraces us, and God in his grace creates the possibility of new life. God’s kingdom works completely contrary to the way things work in our world. You may have to earn your way in this world, but nobody has to earn their way into heaven!

Sunday, November 08, 2020

God's Judgment

God’s Judgment

Matthew 25:1-13[1]

I’ve always been amazed when people speak with absolute certainty about what’s going to happen “in the end times.” For whatever reason, there are people out there who seem to think they can describe the entire process in great detail. And depending on who’s sketching out this end-time scenario, our eternal destiny depends on having said the “right words” and “done the right things” with reference to faith in Jesus. Of course, these people are also supremely confident that they will be rewarded because they have said all “the right words” and done all “the right things.” And they are supremely confident that if “you” haven’t said the same words and done the same things then you will be rejected.

Our Gospel lesson for today raises questions about what we think we know about the “end times.” In it, Jesus presents a parable about bridesmaids waiting for a bridegroom. Five of them are wise, and they bring enough oil to keep their lamps lit in case the bridegroom delays. Five of them are “foolish,” and they don’t think to bring extra oil. When the bridegroom arrives, the “foolish” bridesmaids are left behind and shut out because they didn’t have any oil. The story seems to conform to Matthew’s fondness for pointing out that there are some in the church who follow Jesus’ teachings and there are some who don’t (cf. Matt. 7:21-23).

But there are some problems with this parable. Although this is a parable about a wedding, there is no bride! And when the bridegroom does arrive—at midnight!—the “wise” bridesmaids tell the “foolish” ones to go out and buy oil for their lamps—at midnight! Furthermore, although the main point of the parable is that we are to keep awake because we don’t know the day or the hour (Matt. 25:13), all of the bridesmaids fell asleep! Perhaps the most important difficulty is the fact that when the foolish bridesmaids return, they cannot enter because the door is shut. That turns a wedding celebration, which ought to be thoroughly joyful, into the threat of exclusion!

This seems to be consistent with Matthew’s idea that there are some in the community of Christ who really don’t belong there, and when judgment comes, they will be exposed and shut out from the blessings of salvation. But I’m not so sure he got that idea from Jesus. In fact, this kind of thinking was prevalent in that day—it’s called “apocalyptic.” It originated in response to the trauma the Jewish people suffered at the hands of their Greek and Roman oppressors. The main idea of apocalyptic is that at the end of time, God will come to vindicate the faithful by taking revenge on the powerful oppressors who have tormented them. Ultimately, all those who do not belong to the people of God will be violently destroyed—either at the hands of God or at the hands of God’s people marching to victory in battle. If those ideas sound familiar to you, its because they’re still around today.

My problem with this is that there’s not much about that viewpoint that rings true to the message of Christ! Although the church has shut doors for centuries, God doesn’t shut doors. Although supposedly “righteous” people have been keeping people out since the beginning of our faith, Jesus doesn’t keep people out. In fact, I would say that contrary to shutting people out, Jesus occupied himself by breaking down the barriers that kept people out.

I find it interesting that we see this represented clearly in Matthew’s Gospel, right alongside that other, more exclusive view. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus crosses barriers to include a leper, a Roman Centurion, a demoniac, a paralyzed man, a tax collector (“Matthew” himself!), a woman considered unclean because of her ailment, a man whose hand was crippled, a gentile woman, and many who were ill in foreign territory. In fact, in Matthew’s Gospel Jesus says plainly that “It is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost” (Matt. 18:14).

Now, there’s no question that Jesus pointed forward to the fulfillment of God’s kingdom, but it’s something that we cannot know in detail now. And it’s also clear that Jesus taught that we would all be accountable for our actions in this life. But the biblical view of judgment is very different from what you find in apocalyptic. Biblical judgment always leads to restoration, not destruction. Biblical judgment is about leading those who have gone astray back to God, not punishing them. Biblical judgment is about God’s mercy that forgives sin and creates the possibility of new life for us all.

No, the apocalyptic obsession with destruction and punishment that is still around in our day and time simply is not consistent with God’s judgment. It seems to me that the only thing final about God’s judgment is that God has determined to “make everything new” (Rev. 21:5). In God’s judgment, the only things that are destroyed in the end are sin and death (1 Cor. 15:58). In God’s judgment, all people are restored by Jesus our Savior (Eph. 1:10). In God’s judgment, every knee shall bow and every person who ever lived or ever will live will one day acknowledge God as their Savior and Jesus as Lord (Isa. 45:22-23; Phil. 2:10-11). In God’s judgment, nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ (Rom. 8:38-39). From that perspective, the “end times” look very different: rather than violent destruction we look forward to the fulfillment of God’s love which is open to us all!

[1] © Alan Brehm. A sermon delivered by Rev. Alan Brehm, Ph. D. on 11/8/2020 for Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

Sunday, October 11, 2020

All Are Chosen

Matthew 22:1-14[1]

Many of us experienced the childhood ritual of “choosing up teams.” A group of children would decide to play a game, and two would be selected as “captains.” Then the “captains” would take turns choosing their teams. If you were like me, you were one of the last to be chosen. I was a bit clumsy in those days. My hand-eye coordination wasn’t the best. Most times I was one of the last to be chosen—if not the very last! Which meant that my team didn’t “choose” me, they got “stuck” with me. No matter how many times I went through that ritual, I don’t think I ever got used to the feeling of being “chosen” last.

Fortunately, we also had church sports leagues. I played on our church’s volleyball and softball team. There was no question about whether or not you would get to be on the team. Anyone who showed up was on the team. But, again, I wasn’t the fastest, or the best at bat, or the best at fielding a ball. I played right field. Anyone who’s played softball knows what that meant. In church league terms, that’s the spot for the weakest player on the team. And when I came up to bat, I was the “easy out.” Even on our church’s sports team, I felt like they didn’t “choose” me, they got “stuck” with me.

Our Gospel lesson for today has to do with this dynamic in our world. Jesus tells a story about how “many are called, but few are chosen.” I think we have to be careful here, because I would say this is another ironical parable. Jesus is teaching us about the Kingdom of God by telling a story that illustrates the opposite way in which the world works. In the story, a king throws a wedding feast for his son. Now, in the Mediterranean world of Jesus’ day, any “king” was nothing more than a “stand-in” for Caesar. And it would seem that the people he ruled knew that he was no real king, because when he threw a party for his son’s wedding, none of the “movers and shakers” of his kingdom would come. What we have to understand is that a royal wedding was about demonstrating the ongoing legitimacy of one’s rule. And that means that when the wedding guests refused to come, they were repudiating his rule over them. Not a very welcome RSVP, to say the least!

So the king responds the way any petty ruler of the day would—with force. He sends his soldiers in and they attack his “subjects” and kill them and burn them out. No surprises there. But then the king does something strange—he decides to invite all the “riff-raff” to the party. After all, he’s throwing a party to celebrate his rule and its continuation through his son. When you throw yourself a party, and nobody shows up, it’s not much of a party! So he decides to save face and fills the banquet hall with anyone and everyone his servants could find on the streets.

Just in case you’re beginning to think this guy must not be all bad, the story includes his not-so-friendly interaction with one of the guests. When the king sees one of the people who have been whisked off the street to fill the party not dressed in the appropriate garment, he flies into a rage and throws him out. After all, perhaps the fact that he didn’t have the right wedding garment was a reminder to the king that the party was a sham and his “guests” were really just there to make the party look like a “success.” So he vents what’s left of his anger over being snubbed on this unsuspecting fellow.[2] And the justification for his temper tantrum sounds reasonable enough: “many are called but few are chosen.”

I find it interesting that while Jesus said many things that sound like that, this is the only place where those precise words are recorded. At first glance it seems that “many are called, but few are chosen” would be something Jesus might have said. But if you compare the way Jesus acted, you find a different picture. You find Jesus welcoming those who were outcast. You find Jesus sharing meals with the most notorious of sinners. In fact, so much so that Jesus had the reputation of being “a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax-collectors and sinners” (Matt. 11:19)! In light of that, I don’t think it makes sense to take the statement that “many are called, but few are chosen” at face value.

That’s the way the world in which we live works. Only the best players are “chosen” to play for the team. The rest sit on the bench. Appropriate attire is required; and if you’re not dressed appropriately, don’t bother showing up. But the Kingdom of God that Jesus envisioned and proclaimed works very differently. In fact, you could say it’s completely opposite from the way the world works. There is no dress code. Everyone is welcome at the table. Everyone is invited, and you can come to the party just as you are. In the Kingdom of God, “all are called, all are chosen!”

[2] Cf. Daniel Berrigan, “A Parable For Today, If Not Tomorrow - The Parable Of The King's Banquet,” in National Catholic Reporter (May 4, 2001): 10-11: “Imagine a homeless person in New York rounded up to appear at a wedding and then berated for not being clothed in a tuxedo!”

Sunday, October 04, 2020

Time for the Fruits

Matthew 21:33-46[1]

Faith is an aspect of human life that has many facets. Our “beliefs” play an important role in faith. Gathering for worship is central as well. The music, the Scriptures, and the words we say together are both an expression of our faith and a way to encourage faith. We “act out” our faith together when we celebrate the sacraments of Baptism and the Lord’s Supper. Our personal spiritual practices also build up and provide an outlet for our faith. While it’s possible to have faith without a community, we gather with others because they help us hold on to faith when life gets difficult.

At the end of the day, however, the call to follow Jesus is not simply about what we say or about how we worship. It is a call to live life in the way that he did. When Jesus calls us to be his disciples, he doesn’t just ask us to say the right words. Rather, he calls us to “take up our cross” (Matt. 16:24). I think that means that we are to commit to living our lives in the way Jesus did: loving God so completely that we choose to follow his ways no matter what it costs, and loving others even to the point of sacrificing ourselves for them. Following Jesus means “bearing fruit”: the fruit of a life that looks like his.

I believe our Gospel lesson for today addresses this challenge. Jesus tells a story that is traditionally called “the Parable of the Wicked Tenants.” It’s a story of a man who built a vineyard and leased it to tenant farmers. When it came time to collect his share of the produce, he sent his servants, but the tenants beat them and threw them out. Finally, the landlord sent his son, and they killed him. When Jesus asks what the owner of such a vineyard would do to the tenant farmers, the Jewish leaders answer in a way that is predictable—he will take his revenge by killing them.

The problem with this lies with the way we have traditionally interpreted this parable. We have tended to see it as a metaphor for the way God works—the landlord is God, the vineyard is Israel, the tenants are the Jewish leaders, the servants are the prophets, and the son is Jesus. But if we read the parable that way, it makes God into an absentee landlord who makes unjust demands of those he has put in charge of his vineyard. What’s more, God doesn’t seem to be a very competent landlord, because he sends his servants to collect the rent without any protection. And in the end, God acts just like the oppressive land owners of the day by taking revenge on the tenant farmers.

That image doesn’t work for me when it comes to my understanding of God. In the first place, the original command to love our neighbors in the Bible specifically prohibits revenge: “Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18). Furthermore, Jesus teaches us instead of taking “an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,” not to retaliate even against evildoers (Matt. 5:39)! And when Jesus describes who God is, he says “your Father in heaven … makes his sun rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous” (Matt. 5:45). When you put it all together, the traditional way of understanding this parable doesn’t work for me.

I think we need to look at it differently. Jesus tells a story about an absentee landlord who follows the standard customs regarding tenant farmers. He takes such a large cut of the crops as to leave the farmers who are actually working the land with barely enough to keep their families alive. As a result, the tenants rise up and determine to overthrow their tyrant of a landlord. In response, he sends in an army and wipes them out. That’s not how the kingdom of God works! I think Jesus is teaching us about the kingdom of God by telling a story about the opposite way in which the world works.

The kingdom of God works very differently: enemies become friends. Those who rebel may indeed find themselves broken and crushed by their defiance, but they also find that God is the one who heals the broken and lifts up those who are crushed (Ps. 145:14; 147:3). In the kingdom of God, there is no more “eye for an eye,” because operative rule is to forgive as you have been forgiven, to be merciful as you have been shown mercy. There is no place for revenge, because we’re commanded to “love your neighbor as yourself.”

I think Jesus used this unusual method of teaching to shock the “religious people” of his day out of their complacency. They were so used to considering themselves “righteous” and believing the way they lived was blessed by God that they ignored the fact that they were blatantly contradicting the clear teachings of Scripture. It’s easy to fall into that trap: most of us like the comfort of believing the way our world works is what God endorses. But if we look closely, and pay more careful attention to the Scriptures, we may the truth to be unsettling.

I think Jesus may have been warning the “religious people” of his day and ours that the “time for the fruits” is at hand. That’s the literal phrase that is translated “the harvest time” in the parable. “Bearing fruit” is an important theme in Matthew. The idea is that our faith is meant to make a difference in the way we live our lives. If it doesn’t, then it’s not “bearing fruit.” And the fruit that God looks for from all of us is that we love him so fully that we choose to follow his ways no matter what the cost, and we love others even to the point of sacrificing ourselves. I would say it’s likely that means we all may need to make some changes in our lifestyle. We all need to recognize that now is always the time for the fruits!

Monday, July 13, 2020

Planting Seeds

Matthew 13:1-23[1]

There are some vocations that I think by definition can be discouraging. I think teachers must face this challenge. You go into teaching out of a sense of idealism about making a difference in the younger generation. And unless you’re very fortunate, you may wind up spending your days trying to teach kids who are much more interested in everything but learning. I would think it would be very easy to become cynical about the prospects of making a difference in the world.

I know for a fact that the same thing applies to ministers. Like teachers, many go into the ministry out of a deep sense of idealism about making a difference in the world. They go through a seminary program that raises their awareness about biblical mandates regarding social justice, about the joys of deeply spiritual worship, and about the latest strategies for reaching the neediest people in the community. And they get into the church and find out that people can be more interested in which hymnal they’re using, or in making and enforcing ever more specific rules on everybody else, or in keeping all the “squeaky wheels” happy. And they work hard each week with the Scriptures trying to discern a fresh and inspiring message, only to wonder if anybody is listening at all! Ministry is definitely a vocation that by definition can be incredibly discouraging.

But the reality is that the same thing can be said for Christian living. Most of us embrace the faith in some sense or another out of a feeling of “ought-ness” or a vision to make a difference in the way the world works. And you identify with a congregation and a denomination and find your way onto the session, only to find out that the leaders may spend more time fighting about décor and money than attempting any kind of mission to save the world. It can be incredibly discouraging. But you find your niche in mission and you keep going through the motions month after month and year after year, until you wake up one day so incredibly discouraged from a lack of results that you wonder if you ever really believed in God in the first place!

To some extent, the parable of the sower addresses this aspect of the Christian faith. When we seek to go out and make a difference in the world—whether in church service or in another vocation—we’re very much like the sower, planting seeds as we go. Now, planting seeds these days is quite different from planting seeds in Jesus’ day. These days we have it down to a science when and how and what kind of seeds to plant. In Jesus’ day, planting seeds was much more like life. You scatter seeds all over the place, hoping some of them will take root and grow and bear fruit. Despite that difference, most farmers still know what Jesus was talking about—the quality of the soil makes all the difference in the quantity of the harvest. These days we can even get crops to grow on bad soil. In Jesus’ day, you had to just make do with what you got.

Of course, Jesus wasn’t really talking about agriculture. Among other things, he was trying to warn those who followed him out of a sense of personal commitment to a world of justice and peace and freedom that not all the seeds they planted would bear fruit. There are lots of times when sowing does not lead to reaping. Instead of rejoicing while “bringing in the sheaves,” we find ourselves just sowing and weeping and sowing some more. Despite some of the lofty sounding promises in the Bible, you just can’t always count on results, no matter how hard you try. Obedience doesn’t always mean rewards, even if the Psalmist says it does. Faithfulness doesn’t guarantee results. Sometimes we find ourselves planting seeds and not reaping a harvest.

One of the notions that drives religious perfectionism is the idea that obedience automatically brings rewards. If we do what we’re supposed to, if we live like we’re supposed to, then our lives will be free from suffering and all our dreams will come true. Just the very action of identifying ourselves with faith and the gospel means that we’re on Jesus’ side and we will go from one success to another. But this pipe dream doesn’t live up to reality. In fact, it oftentimes leads to discouragement and even bitterness.

The truth of our lives is that we never know how the seeds we’ve planted will fare. We can never really know all the results our efforts for the sake of the kingdom of God will bear. That’s why Henri Nouwen said that we must plant our seeds in the hope that there really is “light on the other side of darkness.”[2] That means that, even though we find ourselves sowing without reaping, we keep right on planting those gospel seeds, seeds of mercy and kindness, seeds of love and justice, seeds of peace and freedom. We do it because one day some of those seeds are going to bear fruit.

[2] Henri Nouwen, The Wounded Healer, 76.

Tuesday, November 05, 2019

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.

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

God's Care

God’s Care

Luke 18:1-8[1]

There is a question that has haunted the human family since the beginning. We have wondered from ancient times whether there is a God, and whether that God cares at all about us. When science and the church taught that the earth was at the very center of the universe, it might have been a bit easier to believe in a God who cares for us. When we began to finally understand how small the earth is compared to the rest of creation, I think it became more difficult. Even before that, there have always been catastrophes and tragedies that made us question whether there is a God, and whether that God cares at all about us.

It’s a dilemma that has been expressed in the centuries-old question: If God is both loving and all-powerful, how can there be evil in the world? The presence of tragedy in our lives suggests that God loves us but he’s not powerful enough to stop these things from happening. Or it suggests that God is powerful enough to stop them, but since he doesn’t he must not be loving. This question was addressed in the Bible in various ways, most notably the book of Job. It’s a question that allows no rational explanation, because the only answer to the tragedies of life is to find a way to trust that God does indeed care about us.

That’s one aspect of our Gospel lesson for today. In it, Jesus tells a parable that Luke says was meant to encourage us “to pray and not to lose heart” (Lk. 18:1). The parable is about a woman who was a widow, very likely in danger of losing her livelihood because women could not inherit property. This is an important matter because in the Bible widows were to be the objects of special care and were to be protected from their oppressors. Unfortunately, not everyone who was a leader in Israel was motivated by the desire to follow God’s ways of compassion and true justice.

That is in fact the case in this parable. The woman is at the mercy of a corrupt judge, who had no interest in protecting her. According to the Bible, one who served in the role of a judge was to exercise their authority with fairness and compassion in imitation of God’s character. But this man is the opposite of what any judge was supposed to be. He doesn’t care about God, and he doesn’t care about people, either. Apparently, like many in his day, he had acquired this position by “pulling strings” or by bribing someone, or perhaps both. It seems clear that the only reason he was a judge was to enrich himself.

But this is no ordinary widow. She’s called the “importunate” widow in the title that’s traditionally assigned to this parable. That’s a word most of us don’t use, but it means “persistent,” “demanding” “unrelenting,” and even “annoying.” And that’s precisely what she was. She persisted relentlessly in demanding that this judge grant her what was rightfully hers, and she kept doing so until she annoyed him! He confessed, “Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming” (Lk. 18:4-5)! She simply would not give up until he made things right.

At this point Jesus contrasts the unjust judge with the God whom he has taught clearly is gracious, loving, and caring. Jesus asks a question: “will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them?” (Lk. 18:7). Jesus answers his own question: “I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them” (Lk. 18:8). The point of the parable is a contrast: if a godless, inhumane judge will finally give in to a powerless widow’s unceasing requests for justice, how much more will our merciful and loving God “grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night.” God will make things right, ultimately if not immediately.

But that’s precisely wherein lies the rub! We have lots of affirmations in the Bible that God cares about us and will take care of us. We have promises that God will set things right. But life doesn’t always confirm those promises. Sometimes, bad things happen to good people. Sometimes bad people do bad things to good people. And when that happens we can wonder where God is. In fact, in the parable, instead of asking the question “Will he delay long?” some translate that verse as a concession: “even if he delays long”! That might just make more sense in the context. The problem with “praying and not losing heart” is when we do that and it seems like God “delays long,” or perhaps turns a deaf ear altogether! When life comes crashing down around us, we come back to the age-old question whether there is a God, and whether that God cares at all about us.

Unfortunately, I’m afraid that at times like those, our perspective can get quite narrow. All we can see is the hardship or tragedy we’re dealing with. And all we can ask is, “Why?” or, “How long?” stuck in our pain and our fears. But in this parable, I think Jesus wants to help us focus our attention elsewhere. He wants to remind us that we believe in a God who is a loving Father who knows what we need, who wants what is best for us, and who is working constantly for our good. And he does all of this despite our inability to understand our circumstances. There are simply some questions we may never be able to answer. But in this passage, Jesus redirects our questioning. He reminds us that the crucial question is, “when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” In this way, Jesus points us to what really matters: finding the faith to entrust ourselves to God’s care in all the circumstances of our lives.

Monday, September 30, 2019

Finding Lazarus

Luke 16:19-31[1]

There are many ways in this life for us to forfeit our humanity. We are so complex and vulnerable, and life can threaten us where we least expect it. I would have to say that our comfortable lifestyle encourages a complacency that can lead us to forfeit our humanity. It’s one of the most dangerous temptations of having all the “stuff” we have: it can leave us blind to the people in need and deaf to God’s call to help them. Being able to see a person living in poverty and hunger as a fellow human being is an important part of our humanity. So is being able to hear God’s call to put compassion and mercy into practice

I think that’s why Jesus told this parable: to shock all who have become blind to the needy and deaf to the call to compassion. In fact, I would say that Jesus told this parable to address the fact that the religious leaders of his day were “lovers of money” (Luke 16:14). Their love affair with their own wealth blinded them to the real needs of the people around them. Not only did they love their money, they also “justified” themselves for it (cf. Lk. 16:15). They considered their wealth to be a sign of God’s favor. Unfortunately, the combination of their love of money and their self-justification robbed them of the ability to show compassion to fellow human beings.

I believe this is the point of Jesus’ parable about a rich man and Lazarus. For those of us who have enough it can be so easy to ignore those who are in need. And when we do so, we lose a part of our humanity. What we have to understand about the rich man is that he is not only rich, he’s very rich. He wears clothing that only kings could afford. He eats all he wants of the finest and richest foods. And what is obvious from the parable is that Lazarus is not only poor, he’s completely destitute. He is so hungry he just wants the scraps from the rich man’s table. And he’s so weak that he can’t even fend off the starving dogs that gather around him!

In the story, their situations are radically reversed. Both men die, and fate of the rich man, who was very likely a “pillar” of the community and a leader of the local synagogue, is shocking in the extreme. Instead of being rewarded in the afterlife, he finds himself in torment. On the other hand, Lazarus, who would have been despised as a “sinner” getting what he deserved, winds up in paradise, in the “bosom of Abraham.” I’m not sure we could imagine a more radical reversal of fortunes. It is a dramatic illustration of the first becoming last and the last becoming first.

It seems to me, however, that one of the main points of this parable is the fact that this man who had incredible wealth ignored Lazarus, who suffered terribly right at the very gate to his household. I find myself wondering how many times the rich man ignored Lazarus. It’s hard to say. Did the rich man ever find himself in a position of actually stepping over Lazarus? I would say that’s very likely. Did the rich man ever once actually looked Lazarus in the eyes? I doubt it. The rich man had become so complacent with his wealth and his comfortable life that he could no longer even see Lazarus. And in the process, he lost a very important part of his own humanity: the capacity to show compassion to others.

After the dramatic reversal of the two men’s fortunes, the rich man begs Abraham to send Lazarus to his brothers, to warn them not to make the same mistake he had made. Abraham’s reply is simple and to the point: “They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them” (Lk. 16:29). The Scriptures have all the warning they need to learn what it means to put God’s mercy into practice toward others. But the rich man’s response is equally simple and blunt, “No, father Abraham” (Lk. 16:30). The rich man knew that they wouldn’t pay any more attention to Moses and the prophets than he had. And I think this is another of Jesus’ lessons in this parable. This man would have been respected by his community. And yet, in reality, his great wealth made him deaf to the clear and repeated call of the Scriptures to share what we have generously—especially with those who are poor, or hurting, or vulnerable, or in any kind of need.

We still have Moses and the prophets, but I’m not sure we do any better job hearing them than the rich man or his brothers. We also have Jesus and the apostles, but I think it’s easy for us to ignore them as well. So what do we have, or perhaps better, whom do we have who can teach us to share what we have generously? We have Lazarus. In fact, we have many Lazaruses all around us. But the question we face is whether our humanity is still intact enough that they can help us. In the parable from our Gospel lesson, in spite of the fact that the rich man begged for Abraham to “send Lazarus” to help him, Abraham explained that he could not help. We might say that the rich man already had his chance to learn from Lazarus, and he ignored the lesson. But we still have a chance to learn from the Lazaruses of our world.

So how can the poor, the hurting, and those who have been cast out in our world teach us how to share ourselves generously? They are our prophets and apostles because they teach us that the life that is truly worth living always has been and always will be characterized by compassion and generosity. Although Lazarus could not help the rich man who ignored his plight, I think perhaps he might help us. I think he can point us to the Lazaruses all around us, poor and oppressed and outcast people who represent opportunities for us to share our mercy and compassion. When we take the time to notice them and do something to help them, we have the chance to be converted to a life of sharing with those in need. When we “find Lazarus” in the least and the lost and the left out among us, we have the chance to recovery our own humanity.

Living Intentionally

Luke 16:1-13[1]

There is a lot of talk these days about living “intentionally.” Unfortunately, as is the case with other fads, the sheer amount of “talk” can render a topic like this to be virtually meaningless. It means everything, and it means nothing. But if you sift through all the noise, there is something to living intentionally. As I’ve observed before, we live in a culture that is designed to distract us. From our cars to our meals to our exercise habits to our fun, we seem to want to be constantly distracted. We don’t just “watch” a sporting event, we watch it, while we talk on the phone and comment on social media (and comment on others’ comments!). We seem to have lost the art of simply being in the moment.

I would venture to say that part of this love of distraction is that many of us simply are not “comfortable in our skin.” We’ve never really learned to just be who we are, and to be okay with that. The voice in our head that tells us that, no matter what we do, it’s never enough and it’s certainly never good enough defines our lives. With that kind of message constantly playing in the background of whatever we do, it’s no wonder we prefer the many distractions available to us. Until we can make peace with who we are, we will find it difficult to live intentionally.

Believe it or not, I think that our lesson from Luke’s Gospel for today is about just that: living intentionally. People have always found something to distract them from the somewhat challenging call to love God with all their hearts and love their neighbors sincerely. Jesus addresses the distraction that wealth poses, but that’s simply one of the more powerful distractions that we all face. For those who want to try to dodge the issue, Jesus speaks plainly: “You cannot serve God and wealth” (Luke 16:13). Translated into our terms, I think Jesus was saying that if you choose wealth as your master, it will take such a hold on your heart that you will not even be able to serve God!

Apparently, many of the religious leaders of his day had fallen into that trap. In order to address that problem, Jesus tells a rather confusing parable about the choice between living intentionally and being distracted. What makes this parable so confusing is that on the surface of things, it seems that Jesus is commending the dishonest use of wealth as a means of gaining eternal life! Given not only Jesus’ teaching about money, but the whole biblical witness, it’s clear that Jesus would not have made such bizarre statement. A little background might help us with the confusion. A “steward” was a household slave who was in charge of the master’s estate. He would manage all the affairs related to the operations, the personnel, and the finances. So the “steward” was the one who was entrusted with the master’s wealth.

This particular steward had been caught being dishonest, and it’s clear that the master was going to dismiss him. What the steward did next may seem shocking to us. He called in those who owed debts to the estate, gave them back the original IOU, and had them write out another one with a reduced debt. This might seem like outright theft. But it is likely that in fact the amount by which the steward reduced the debts was actually excessive interest that he had been charging (and probably pocketing). It would seem that in fact he was simply foregoing his dishonest “commission.”^{^[2]}

We might wonder how this would do him any good. Again, some background might help. In that day and time, “debts” of honor were taken very seriously. With this plan, the steward was placing people in his debt by doing them huge favors. And when he came calling to “cash in” his favors, they would dishonor themselves in the eyes of the community if they did not welcome him as a guest in their homes. This explains the strange way the master commended the steward (Lk. 16:8). It seems confusing at first, but the master simply recognized the fact that the steward had come up with a very shrewd plan to avoid poverty when he was forced to leave his position.

It’s at this point that Jesus begins his confusing comments. He seems to commend the dishonest steward for being shrewder than Jesus’ own followers. He goes on to say, “make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes” (Lk. 16:9). Does Jesus want us to be dishonest and self-serving like the steward? I don’t believe so. While it sounds like Jesus was advising us to use money to gain some kind of eternal benefit, I don’t think that’s the point. I think Jesus wants us to be as shrewd about our discipleship as the steward was about his future. Jesus wants his disciples to live intentionally for the sake of God’s kingdom, and that includes how we use our wealth.^{^[3]}

It seems that the more prosperous we grow as a society, the more ways there are for us to distract ourselves from the calling to love God with all our hearts and to love others genuinely. I think that was one of the main reasons why Jesus consistently warned his disciples about the dangers of wealth. Of course, there are other ways we can distract ourselves from the challenge of living for God wholeheartedly. But I would say that wealth and prosperity underlie most of them. As St. Paul could say, “the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil” (1 Tim. 6:10). If we truly want to take seriously Jesus’ call to follow him by living intentionally for God’s kingdom, we will have to put money and all it can buy in its place.

[2]Cf. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Gospel According to Luke X–XXIV, 1101; Darrell Bock, Luke 9:51–24:53, 1330, 1341.

[3] Cf. Jennifer E. Copeland, “Shrewd Investment,” The Christian Century (Sept. 7, 2004): 21, where she observes that the steward “used all the means at his disposal to adapt to his new reality. We should be no less shrewd in adapting to God's reality.”

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Outcasts

Luke 10:25-37[1]

Growing up, I always felt a bit like a “misfit.” It seemed that I was different from everybody else, and I struggled with where I fit in. In fact, I carried that feeling with me into adulthood. I simply tried to do what was right, I tried to do my best, I tried to be as straightforward and transparent as possible. But it always seemed like I was a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. Of course, I realize that many of us feel that way about ourselves. We see others as “with it” or “all together” or “on track,” while we think we fall short. Sometimes we may have even felt that way in our families. Those challenges can lead us to think of ourselves as “outcasts.”

Of course, the reality is that the world is full of people who are truly outcast. While not all societies have actual “caste” systems that rigidly regulate relationships, I would say most of us have a functional equivalent. If you don’t come from the right family, or if you didn’t go to the right school, or if you don’t have a certain amount of education, or if you don’t make a high enough salary, you are outside the group. If you doubt that we have this in our culture, look at the entry requirements for some country clubs around the nation. While we’d like to think that skin color no longer serves as one of those criteria, I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to find people who exclude others on that basis as well. Our world is full of outcasts.

I’m not sure many of us have ever drawn the connection between outcasts and the Parable of the Good Samaritan. For us the parable has become so commonplace that travelers even have a club named “The Good Sam Club,” whose members pledge to stop and help someone who is broken down on the side of the road. This would have made no sense to Jesus’ audience. In his day, there was no such thing as a “good” Samaritan in the eyes of the Jewish people. Samaritans were the “unclean Samaritans,” the “unwelcome Samaritans,” or the “hated Samaritans.”^{^[2]} A Samaritan was the definitive outcast to the Jewish people of Jesus’ day.

That’s what would have made this parable so shocking to the people Jesus originally told it. He was turning their world upside down. The Priest and the Levite, who would have been honored religious leaders, come off not looking so well. And the Samaritan, who would have been despised in the eyes of Jesus’ audience, turns out to be the “hero.” More than that, he turns out to be the one who shows them how to truly fulfill the command to “love your neighbor as yourself”: by showing mercy!

It’s hard for us to imagine how shocking this parable must have been when Jesus told it. His Jewish contemporaries would have expected him to tell a parable about a particularly righteous Jewish person who showed mercy toward a Samaritan. That person would have been viewed as exceptionally compassionate, but the story would have left intact the Jewish people’s sense of ethnic and religious superiority over the Samaritans. And it would also have allowed us to walk away from the story with all of our prejudices intact, comfortable in the assumption that we’re loving the “right” people.

But the parable of the Good Samaritan exposes a flaw that most of us carry in our hearts. Although the scribe knows the Scriptures well enough to give the right answer to his own question, it’s one thing to know what is right and another thing altogether to do it! His question “who is my neighbor?” betrays his desire to restrict the range of “love” to those whom he judged to be “worthy” of that love. Unfortunately, we all fall short in this regard: we are quick to love those who are “like us,” but we all have our own version of who is an outcast, so different from us that we don’t believe the command to love applies to them.

We might be able to hear this parable with our assumptions and prejudices intact if it had taught us that we should love our neighbors, including the “despised” outcasts like the Samaritans. But Jesus turns the tables on us as well. The parable of the Good Samaritan doesn’t teach us to go out and help the outcasts! The outcast in Jesus’ parable is not the one in need of help. The outcast is the one who truly practices the command to “love your neighbor as yourself”! At the conclusion, Jesus tells this Scribe something he probably found hard to swallow: to go and do as the outcast Samaritan has done!

The irony is that many of the people we relegate to the category of “outcast” for whatever reason often have a better grasp of what it means to love their neighbors than we do. Often they are generous, compassionate, kind, and go out of their way to help someone in need. And they do it simply because that’s what’s in their hearts. Many who go to what we consider “Third World” countries come back with stories of how the people there enacted the love of their neighbors in a way that affected them powerfully. In fact, some theologians call it the “reverse mission”: when we who come from wealthy, “Christian” nations go to serve those we consider to be “in need,” they challenge us with the way in which they live out love, and mercy, and kindness. I think that in order to love another, any other, as a neighbor, we have to first be able to see ourselves in them, and see them in us. I think that’s the kind of change of heart that Jesus was seeking with this parable. We love our neighbors when we’re willing to see in every person the face of a neighbor, when we embrace in them the Christ who said “I was an outcast.”

[1] ©Alan Brehm 2019. A sermon delivered by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 7/14/2019 at Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] Cf. Fred Craddock, Luke, 151: “This man who delayed his own journey, expended great energy, risked danger to himself, spent two days’ wages with the assurance of more, and promised to follow up on this activity was ceremonially unclean, socially an outcast, and religiously a heretic.”

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

When We Least Expect It

Matthew 13:31-33[1]

If you’ve spent any significant time in the Southeastern United States, you know that “Kudzu” is bad word. A very bad word. People in that part of the country hate Kudzu with a passion. The reason is that it is one of the fastest growing invasive plants ever to make it to our shores. In fact, it’s called “the vine that ate the South”! Of course, in these parts we’re more concerned about various kinds of thistles, cedars, and weeds like poison hemlock that affect crops and livestock. But authorities in the worst-affected areas of the country spare no effort to eradicate Kudzu. Or at least to try to stop it from spreading.

I think one would be hard-pressed to make the case with people in these areas that Kudzu might have any beneficial uses. In fact, however, in Southeast Asia Kudzu is considered a food crop! According to Wikipedia, in its native China Kudzu is considered one of the “fifty fundamental herbs” and is used as an herbal remedy for the treatment of alcohol related problems, including liver disease! There are even some hints that it may show promise for treating migraines, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, and even cancer! Wouldn’t that be a twist—if medical science discovered the ultimate cure for cancer in the plant that we’re spending millions of dollars to eradicate!

Something like this kind of twist is involved in Jesus’ parables from our gospel reading for today. To use a mustard seed as a means of describing God’s kingdom would have been about as shocking in that day as telling a native of Florida that Kudzu might provide the next miracle cure. It just doesn’t compute. Mustard is just about as virulent as Kudzu. Once it takes hold in a field, it will eventually take over the whole place. It’s just about impossible to eradicate. Modern farmers hate it because it gets in their crops. Ranchers hate it because it not good for their livestock. What possible good could come from mustard seed?

But that’s part of the point that Jesus is trying to make. God’s Kingdom doesn’t work the way we expect it to. In fact, it works contrary to our expectations. And the same was true for the people of his day. The eventual success of the kingdom Jesus proclaimed at transforming this world into a place of justice and peace and freedom would have been about as unexpected to the people who originally heard this parable as the idea of something as troublesome as Kudzu turning out to cure our most serious ailments. It just didn’t make much sense.

The reason for this is that the Kingdom that Jesus envisioned was one of humble self-sacrifice and mercy. It would have been just as hard to understand how something like that could somehow transform the world of his day as it is for us. It just isn’t the way the world works. In our world money talks. Might makes right. Nice guys finish last. Those who lay down their lives for others become doormats. Humility means weakness. Mercy means being taken advantage. Speaking the truth to those in power means losing your job—or going to jail! In a world that works like that, Jesus’ vision of a kingdom of sacrifice and mercy that would bring justice and peace and freedom to this world seems hard to swallow.

Unfortunately, we who claim to follow him tend to want to take matters into our own hands. Not content to trust that Jesus knew what he was talking about, we adopt the means of this world to “force” the issue. It’s difficult for us to go on sowing Gospel seeds, waiting patiently for the harvest, leaving the outcome seemingly to circumstance and luck, with no guarantees but the promise of faith and hope. Many call themselves Christian and genuinely want to see the justice and peace and freedom of God’s Kingdom in our world take shortcuts to get results. They try to guarantee the success of God’s Kingdom by their own efforts. Some of them even try to ensure the success of the Gospel by any and every means, including manipulation and deceit.

But what those who take these shortcuts miss is that you cannot promote the justice and peace and freedom of God’s Kingdom by methods that are inconsistent with God’s truth and God’s ways. While it may be true that many achieve success by those means, I would have to say that in my opinion it is not God’s Kingdom they are promoting. Rather they are promoting their own agenda, or their fame, or even worse their prosperity. And all at the expense of many who can least afford it!

In the midst of this, Jesus’ strange parables remain as an encouragement to those who are willing to wait in faith and hope for their Gospel seeds to bear fruit. The parables of the mustard seed and the yeast in the dough both suggest that, despite all obstacles, and despite all indications to the contrary, God’s Kingdom of justice and peace and freedom is here; it is real among us now. And these parables point to the promise that one day God’s Kingdom will define all of life in this world, just as surely as the mustard plant will take over a field.

As unlikely as that may sound to us, Jesus was no fool. I think he knew that his message about God’s Kingdom was unlikely at best, and at worst it came off as ludicrous. It made about as much sense as talking about weeds taking over fields like it’s a good thing. The “kingdom” that Jesus brought is something different entirely from what most people expect. But if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that sometimes something unexpected can be more satisfying than anything we could have imagined. God’s justice, God’s peace, and God’s freedom break out in this world when and where and how we least expect it.

The Waking Dreamer