“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.”
