Lent 2016: February 16 - Day 7 (Luke 7:1-10)

“Let me talk to my guy.”

Contrary to myriads of failed discrimination suits, these six words have been the backbone of countless back room business deals for millennia. They’re spoken here, outside Capernaum, where the new Centurion in town has blessed the community with a brand-spanking-new synagogue – and possibly put the Jews at a disadvantage for they are clearly in his debt.

A Roman Centurion, settled in quite nicely thank you, is doing a little business with his new associates – the Jewish elders – in an effort to take his mind off his terminally ill slave. As he bemoans the impending loss of a bondservant he “highly values,” one of the elders spots an opportunity to settle the score and maybe even place the Centurion in his debt (after all, the mikveh could use a little hot water, nu?).

“I got a guy. Let me talk to him,” he says, and so the several of them head into Capernaum in search of Jesus. Unfazed by the crowds, the disciples and even the apostles, the elders march right up to Jesus and demand He come with them to heal the Centurion’s slave. They are intent on successfully completing their errand, but they are devoid of compassion for the slave who, Luke says, is “ready to die.” In fact, we never meet the slave, and all the actions taken here will be done without his input, participation or consent. His life, illness, subsequent healing and eventual death all take place far off stage. Luke, whose name indicates he may have been a slave himself, subtly injects a little social commentary here as if to say, “Don’t be fooled: ‘benevolent slaveholder’ is an oxymoron.”

The elders, unsurprisingly rude and disrespectful to Jesus, insist He stop whatever it is He’s doing and accompany them to the Centurion’s home where, they presume, He will go through all the exaggerated motions, caterwauling and loud theatrics that accompanied first-century faith healing. They’re not concerned with what will happen, however. They don’t care one way or the other if the slave is healed – it’s not the point. They just want to get out of debt with the Centurion by bringing Jesus to the slave. If the rabbi heals him, even better! That will give them an advantage they can press (would a few bubbles with the hot water, say, be such a kappore?).

Jesus, most certainly a bit bemused by all the fuss, silently acquiesces and is rewarded for his participation by being amazed – not that a Roman Centurion would have compassion on his slave, but that someone (read: anyone) would actually “get it” without Jesus having to say a single word.

It may seem as if the Centurion is a little double-minded or even unstable (“come – don’t come”), but Luke gives us subtle clues as to what’s really going on. The Jewish elders treat Jesus like any other faith healer and demand that he come with them, but the Centurion did not ask them to do so.

The Centurion treats Jesus with the utmost respect and consideration. He sends the Jews as his representatives because he wants to do everything by the book so as not to sully Jesus’ reputation or make Him “unclean” via Jew/Gentile fraternization. In other words, he shows his respect for Jesus as a man in and of authority by sending appropriate representatives to petition Him – as any ordinary citizen might petition his king – for justice, for healing, for mercy, albeit for his slave and not for himself.

The elders, however, toss respect and consideration out the window and throw their weight around while they insist Jesus have a look at the slave. "You need to do this – for him (and for us)!" 

Meanwhile the Centurion, horrified at the miscommunication, scrambles to send his friends – fellow fish-out-of-water Romans who understand, appreciate and share his cultural dilemma – to correct the error and tell Jesus, “You need not bother yourself by coming all the way out here. I know that all you have to do is say ‘yes’ for I, too, am a man under authority.”

It’s important to note that the Centurion is not comparing himself to Jesus here. Instead, he humbles himself by identifying with and comparing himself to the beloved slave. Like his slave, he is a man under authority who carries out orders and does so without needing his superior to be present. He knows that Jesus’ authority is not bound by time, space or distance. As a result, Jesus is amazed.

Jesus is often amazed in the Gospels, but it’s seldom a good thing. We can almost picture Him on these occasions holding His head in His hands, counting to ten or having to take a time out because He is amazed at our unbelief. He can’t understand how we can know Him, how we can experience Him and yet not trust and obey Him.

Enter the Centurion, a Gentile whose broader perspective on the world has given him a broader mindset. A worldly man who shouldn’t be interested in an itinerant rabbi from a hick town in a backwater Roman province. Yet, without knowing Jesus or having even met Him, with only hearing the Law and the Prophets he “gets it.” And Jesus is amazed.

If the Centurion’s example is not enough to shame us, perhaps Jesus' doubt will. Facing the cross and all it entails, He will soon wonder aloud: will He find faith upon the earth when He returns? Or will He find us still quibbling about the plumbing?

Lent 2016: February 15 - Day 6 (Luke 6:27-49)

For a sermon that takes place on a plain, this sure is a mountain to climb.

Jesus is continuing his address to the disciples but the going is getting rough, getting steep. The less hardy are dropping like flies so Jesus refocuses His comments to “you who hear.” Those who refuse to do so, who stop to rub their tired feet and have a snack, get left behind – not for the last time.

With each instruction, the narrow way grows steeper and harder to climb: love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. Each exhortation takes the disciples higher until they reach a place where the air is very thin and God is very close. It is precisely the place Jesus wants them to be. This is the rock upon which He encourages each of us to lay our foundation and build our house.

Here on this high ground Jesus takes a deep breath of satisfaction and plants a flag: "as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them."

It is a simple yet impossible rule of conduct – it turns the disciples' world upside down and sends it spinning in a direction they never thought (or wanted) to go.

If it sounds impossible, says Jesus, you're on the right track. You're starting to get it. It is impossible, but all things are possible with God (and only with God).

“Be kind to the ungrateful and the evil,” says Jesus, “because your Father is.”

“Be kind to the ungrateful?” we gape. “Man that stings! Son of Man that burns!”

We object because we have invested so much time and energy, so much blood and sweat and tears into cataloging every slight, every insult, every instance where others have failed us, abused us, ignored us – HURT us – just so that we can hand that catalog over to God at judgment. We want desperately to stand up on the nearest chair, wave our hands above our head and scream with satisfaction, “If it please Your Honor, I’d like to file a rather lengthy brief as a friend of the court!”

Overruled. Out of order. Bailiff?

“Be kind to the ungrateful and the evil,” says Jesus, “because your Father is kind to you when you are ungrateful and evil.” 

Jesus reminds us that God does not need our help. Nor does He need us to present evidence on His behalf to justify His judgment. If anything, He warns us that we ought to be preparing our defense now by paying close attention to all the ways we ourselves fail to measure up. It is most definitely a time to keep our eyes on our own paper.

Give it up, says Jesus. Just as we cannot carry material goods with us into the next life, our emotional baggage is best left unclaimed on the carousel. We are to be new creations. And those old clothes are so last season.

Lent 2016: February 14 - Day 5 (Luke 6:17-26)

Jesus is fresh off an all-nighter of prayer, after which He holds what may have been the very first rose ceremony as He picks the 12 disciples who will be His apostles. Judas "Good Time" Iscariot pricks his finger on a thorn and catalogs the slight for future reference.

Luke raises his eyebrows here and lets out a low whistle. Think it through, he nudges. Jesus spent all night in prayer and then chose his 12 Apostles -- including Judas Iscariot, the man ultimately responsible for his murder. Jesus already knew who He would choose and how they would respond to Him. He already knew Judas would betray Him and may even have chosen him expressly for that purpose. Jesus knew that whoever was going to play the role of the "trusted friend" had to be a smooth, charismatic, sociopathic, consummate actor (He chose well).

Knowing that He chose Judas with full knowledge of what was to come -- and that it was God's will that He do so -- tells us that Gethsemane was not just one but many, many nights of lonely, agonizing prayer.

The morning sermon on the plain is the speech of a CEO who has had to make some tough decisions about His team for the good of the company moving forward. Human nature being what it is, there are some among the disciples (not the 12) who are understandably ticked off ("Simon Peter? Are you kidding me?"). Jesus is about to outline His expectations for worker performance and the consequences for failing to meet them. The Jews, meanwhile, are having a serious case of deja vu. "Wait. Isn't that Mount Gerizim on the left? And Mount Ebal on the right?"
 
Jesus (the Prophet Like Moses) steps up to the lectern, checks his notes and begins to bless the disciples -- not the crowd, the disciples. These are the true workers, the rank and file. These are the guys who work a little harder, a little longer without recognition or extra pay. They're the ones that never make manager and yet could run circles round Joe College-Apostle should he ever bother to visit the factory floor.

Jesus looks these guys right in the eye and says, "I get it. You're mad at me right now so let me tell you what's really going on."

And with that, Jesus proceeds to pull back a corner of the veil (not too hard! It's not time to tear it yet) to reveal the original man-behind-the-curtain and the true fabric of reality.

A drone's eye view of the scene shows us that Jesus is at the epicenter of what will be the most devastating and liberating explosion in human history. Immediately around Him are the apostles, next the disciples, Jews from Judea and Jerusalem, and finally Gentiles from Tyre and Sidon. All are reaching inward for His Word and for healing. Jesus, radiating "virtue," is about to set off a bomb.

"Blessed (happy) are you who are poor, hungry and grieving. Blessed are you when people hate you, ostracize you and count you unworthy of respect on account of the Son of Man."

The shockwave is met with a collective "meh." The crowd is puzzled. The apostles think, "He's not talking about me." The disciples think, "How does this help me?" The Jews think, "That's not the way this works." And the Gentiles think, "Jews say the darnedest things."

Without missing a beat, Jesus rolls out the aftershock.

"Woe to you who are rich, successful, happy and well regarded."

Blinking furiously, several in the crowd dig a grubby finger in one ear, convinced that their failure to understand has more to do with the mechanics of the head than the heart. They don't understand that Jesus is talking directly to the apostles (the apparent "haves") and the disciples (the clear "have nots") and giving them a balanced warning that the real issue here isn't titles or promotions, Christmas bonuses or lakeshore timeshares. The real issue here is the condition of their hearts.

Use right judgment, Jesus urges, look deeper and take the longer view -- God's view. If the things you're focused on pursuing will not survive eternity, what exactly is it you are working for? (Twigs and garbage, mutters Simon Peter.)

Over the course of time, Jesus will teach them that, if they empty themselves and seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, it doesn't matter that they're poor because all these things will be added unto them.

If they are hungry and thirsty for righteousness, they will soon be satisfied with true food and true drink, thanks to the sacrifice of His body and His blood (the fulfillment of the Law) at the Cross.

If they love Jesus truly, they will mourn at His death but, like a woman who forgets her labor for the joy of the child upon her breast, they will laugh and rejoice at His resurrection.

And if people malign them, persecute them and slander them just because they choose to be poor, hungry and grieving for Jesus' sake, then they have a reward in heaven and their names will be recounted with the likes of Moses and Elijah.

Some of the disciples tune out here. Not only do they not hear the woes -- the new covenant curses -- they miss the essential "on account of the Son of Man." Years later, some will twist these promises into vows of poverty, fasting and grief in an effort to achieve an aesthetic of constant hunger and perpetual shiva. By failing to focus exclusively on Jesus, they embrace the physical at the expense of the spiritual only to produce an arid, empty faith full of dead works.

The woes are just as revolutionary as the blessings. To be rich, successful, happy and popular was and still is considered a crowning achievement -- the evidence of a life well lived, not a curse. The comforts of success were thought to be not only the gifts of God (as they absolutely are) but also God's certification of the individual as righteous (as they absolutely are not).

Again, Jesus urges us to use right judgment -- clear thinking, "eyes stamped with eternity." Jesus does not say that success and wealth are inherently wrong or evil. He says they're temporary and fickle. He solemnly warns us that none of these things will translate into eternity. But in our arrogance, we are defensive and blind. We insist on flying into the afterlife with carry-on luggage.

"Let me stop you right there," we say. "God loves me -- just look at all I have! I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing. Look at all the shiny silver things I have in my hands -- it's all my heart's desire! Clearly, I delight myself in the Lord! Isn't this proof?"

Jesus, sadly, gently, holds up the true mirror of the Word and says, "No, you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked."

When we come to God as rich, full, successful and happy people, what is there left for Him to do for us? If, in our own eyes, we have no needs, doesn't that mean we have no need of Him? Are we truly aware of what it is we have and what it is we need?

Be careful, says Jesus. All that glitters is not gold. Your handfuls of shiny silver things are really only bits of foil and used chewing gum wrappers. 

(Twigs and garbage, nods Simon Peter.)

Lent 2016: February 13 - Day 4 (Luke 5:33-39, Luke 6:1-16)

“What kind of teacher are you?” the Pharisees ask. “Your disciples don’t do what our disciples do – what all disciples should do.” Jesus chides them a little, “You wouldn’t ask them to throw a party and tell them not to dance, would you?”

Throughout His ministry, Jesus tells his disciples that bad trees are easy to spot. “Look at the fruit! Is the teacher a fraud? Look at his students.” So, if a rabbi’s ministry of peace and love is supported by disciples engaged in racketeering… Do the math. No wonder Jesus was horrified at James’ and John’s suggestion that they call down fire on the Samaritan village.

The Pharisees and scribes – the “Rabbis” – had a rich culture of Torah instruction and study. Many of them devoted their entire lives to it and were rightly respected for doing so. A “Rabbi” – “my teacher” – inspired devotion, loyalty and affection. Yet, one man’s humble Rabbi was another man’s marching Mao. The cult of personality was a very real and present danger, so much so that the Pharisees drew up rules dictating how far disciples could go in service of their “masters.” John the Baptist thumbed his nose at them when he proclaimed that – with Jesus – their rules did not apply. There was nothing he would not do for Him.

In offering His homespun parable about new patches and old clothes, Jesus plays to their expectations. “This is good stuff!” they think. “Somebody write this down – we can use this.” It echoes with the tones and intent of Leviticus and seems like good old fashioned rabbinical advice. “Shabbat shalom!”

Jesus lifts the metaphor and carries it over to a few bottles of wine (“Will you look at this guy? What a mensch!”). He does a little soft shoe and sings that old and new don’t mix (“We know this song! This is kosher! We wrote the book on kashrut!”). Then, with a completely straight face, He quotes the old proverb: “The old is better.”

You can almost hear the needle scratch. You can certainly hear the mic drop. The Pharisees are left standing in the middle of a game of musical chairs they didn’t even know they were playing and wondering, what just happened?

Another day – another Sunday, Luke is careful to add – and those pesky Jesus freaks are at it again. “Get off my lawn!” the Pharisees yell. “Get your hands off my stuff! That’s not lawful – we should know, we wrote the book on that!”

Jesus, completely mindful of who it was that wrote the law, can’t resist another zinger. “Have you not read what David did when he was hungry?”

The Pharisees are stunned. Did He…? He did, didn’t He? He actually… who is this guy? 

"Read?!" they sputter and snarl. "Of course we’ve read! We’ve studied and discussed and discoursed! Rabbi Carl knows David like his own soul – he counts three books, two videos and an upcoming Lifetime movie to his credit! Rabbi Bob makes artisanal shewbread, has authored six cookbooks and hosts “Matzo Much” on KMEH-AM radio morning drive! We have street cred – who are You?"

Jesus, who has fond memories of their father, Abraham (and could potentially have been the one to invent s’mores while babysitting a precocious Isaac to give Sarah and Abraham some “me” time), gently offers, “Just because it is lawful, doesn’t mean it is best.”

Like the Pharisees, we, too, have good intentions. We build monuments to our vanity (Societies! Guilds! Ministries!) and try to legislate mercy by stuffing our creations chock-full of rules to guarantee access to the poor and oppressed. But when we point at the rules, shrug and say, "Sorry, no exceptions; (my hands are tied!) that's why we have rules", we cheapen mercy. We put a dirty, tattered ribbon on it and call it “fairness” and never stop to wonder: just who is the oppressor here? Is it not ourselves?

Jesus reminds us that human need is real. He agrees with the Pharisees that it does not outweigh the law. In fact, the law was created because of human need. But mercy – true mercy – comes when the law fails to satisfy our true needs. But to obtain true mercy for ourselves, we must give it to others first.

“Why can’t I just put that new patch here?” ask the Pharisees. “Why can’t I use what I have and make do? I’m comfortable, I don't  like change. OK, I admit it. I HATE CHANGE. You don’t actually expect me to DO something with all this information, do you? Isn’t it enough that I know it? Isn’t knowing “it”, knowing God? I love the Lord with all my soul and all my mind and all my strength. My every waking moment goes into thinking about Him, talking about Him, writing about Him! I was told that that’s enough!”

“But,” Jesus gently interrupts, “do you ever spend a moment just to listen to Him?”

The Pharisees turn as one to look at Him and slowly clap, “Oh, bravo!” they sneer, “Bra. Vo.”

“We can agree to disagree," they nod, "the world is big enough, isn’t it?”

Someone passes a bottle of the new and pulls down a bottle of the old. “Let’s get buzzed. Why does it have to be either or?”

“It’s not either or,” says Jesus (Lord of the Buzz Kill), “It’s all or nothing.”