Touch Anyway!

This Gospel reading is one that has intrigued me for years. I cannot help but think that, if the church - and yes, i speak of the people of the church, be it an institutional church or a church plant, living-room Bible Study group or Emergent cohort - could ever truly lay hold to what it meant when Jesus touched the leper, then nothing would ever be the same. It may sound hyperbolic, but I wonder if that touch isn't the key to bringing the reality of the Kingdom of God into the here-and-now... not just talking about how nice the Kingdom/Heaven/Eternity will be, but making the freedom, joy, reconciliation and salvation a tangible truth right now.

But I digress. The sermon:

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2 Kings 5:1-14

Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Aram, was a great man and in high favor with his master, because by him the LORD had given victory to Aram. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy. Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman's wife. She said to her mistress, "If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy." So Naaman went in and told his lord just what the girl from the land of Israel had said. And the king of Aram said, "Go then, and I will send along a letter to the king of Israel."

He went, taking with him ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten sets of garments. He brought the letter to the king of Israel, which read, "When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you my servant Naaman, that you may cure him of his leprosy." When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes and said, "Am I God, to give death or life, that this man sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? Just look and see how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me."

But when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his clothes, he sent a message to the king, "Why have you torn your clothes? Let him come to me, that he may learn that there is a prophet in Israel." So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at the entrance of Elisha's house. Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, "Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean." But Naaman became angry and went away, saying, "I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?" He turned and went away in a rage. But his servants approached and said to him, "Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, 'Wash, and be clean'?" So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.

1 Corinthians 9:24-27

Do you not know that in a race the runners all compete, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win it.Athletes exercise self-control in all things; they do it to receive a perishable garland, but we an imperishable one.So I do not run aimlessly, nor do I box as though beating the air; but I punish my body and enslave it, so that after proclaiming to others I myself should not be disqualified.

Mark 1:40-45

A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, "If you choose, you can make me clean." Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, "I do choose. Be made clean!" Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean. After sternly warning him he sent him away at once, saying to him, "See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them." But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.

This is the Word of the Lord.

Last week, our Gospel reading left us with Jesus traveling all around Galilee, preaching and casting out demons. One can imagine Jesus and his disciples, walking the hot, dusty roads, every day another town, another synagogue, another small crowd gathered, perhaps near the town’s well or cistern, while Jesus preaches the Good News about the now-and coming Kingdom of God.

Maybe they’re so engrossed in what Jesus is saying, they don’t hear it at first – the dingling bell, the hoarse voice calling out, “unclean, unclean!” But soon enough, there’s a gasp from the back of the group, and the crowd parts – well, recoils, really – to reveal a dirty, disheveled man, dressed in rags, his pleading eyes fixed on Jesus. You can almost hear the voices hissing in revulsion, “leper!”

This man had, of course, heard it all before. He knew what he looked like to the townspeople, and he knew what he represented. No one knows how long he’d been like this – cast out, unclean, a source of some pity, and a lot of horror, condemned to wear rags and warn people of his presence by ringing a bell and shouting “unclean!” But today, he’d had enough. This was the day that something had to change.

You see, when we read a couple of weeks back that Jesus’ fame was spreading throughout Galilee following the casting out of the demon, that wasn’t hyperbole: people had been talking. He’d cast out a demon, they said, and cured a woman of a fever, and a bunch of other people in Capernaum had gotten cured that day, too. Somewhere, this leper had gotten wind of this miracle man, and he had felt a stirring of something he hadn’t felt in years.

Hope.

So when he heard that Jesus would be in a town near where this leper wandered the wilderness, he set off to meet this man, to see if what they said was true.

I wonder if he had come quietly at first, and had listened for a bit to what Jesus was saying. And I wonder if it was the message of Jubilee – the release of the captives, the freedom of the oppressed, the setting right of things – that gave this man the courage to do something that was absolutely, expressly forbidden: he approached Jesus. He got close. He fell to his knees in the Galilean dirt and said, “If you choose to, you can make me clean.”

That’s an interesting choice of words, isn’t it? “You can make me clean,” not “you can heal me.” What he was asking for was healing, yes, but in fact he was asking for so much more.

Leprosy, or Hansen’s disease, still exists today. According to the World Health Organization, over 212,000 cases exist worldwide, though those numbers are dropping.

The disease is not very contagious, is quite curable with multiple-drug therapy, and while no one is sure what exactly causes Hansen’s, experts agree across the board that it is unnecessary to ostracize the infected person.

And lest we think that, since we now know so much more about the disease, there’s no need to ostracize and demonize those who are suffering from Hansen’s disease, it’s important to note that leper colonies still exist in countries like India, Japan, Egypt, Nepal, Somalia, South Korea, Vietnam… and the United States.

Small wonder then that leprosy was feared in Jesus’ time. It not only robbed a person of their health, to one degree or another, but it robbed them of their home, their livelihood, their place in the religious community and the culture, and it ultimately robbed them of their very humanity. Notice how  even Mark doesn’t call this kneeling pile of dirty rags at Jesus’ feet a man, or a person, nor does he give him a name; he is identified only by his disease, a “leper.”

But I said that this man, this human, this person, was looking for more than simply a cure for his disease, didn’t I? Leprosy, you see, was more than just a disease.

For the Jews in Jesus’ day, the discussion of leprosy began with the book of Leviticus, the thirteenth and fourteenth chapters. In the thirteenth chapter you’ll find a very detailed discussion about identifying leprosy. You’ll also see the words “clean” and “unclean” used a lot. The word that has been translated as “leprosy” is “Tzaraath,” and it’s a very generic term that is applied to humans, clothing, and houses. It got translated as “leprosy” about 250 years before Christ when the Hebrew Bible was translated from Hebrew to Greek.

“Tzaraath” comes from the Hebrew word for “smiting,” because – and this is important – in the Jewish understanding of the day, the skin diseases and, well, mildew described in Leviticus were thought to be punishment for sin.

Thus a person with leprosy was not “diseased” as opposed to “healthy,” no. They were “unclean” as opposed to “clean” – meaning that, as a leper, they were unacceptable to the community, untouchable, dirty, sinful, ostracized and prohibited from worship. The leper was required by the Law to mess up his hair, tear his clothing, and live away from friends, family, and was prohibited from taking part in the worship of God. As the children of Israel inhabited the Promised Land, and city populations grew, these people were required to ring bells and cry out “unclean, unclean” wherever they went. They could not be touched, could not come into close contact of any kind with any other – “clean” – human being, until the day they died, or until they were somehow cured.

I have to confess to you that I really, really have a problem with this. I know, yes, it’s in Leviticus, except for the bell-ringing and the yelling “unclean” thing, anyway, and yes, Leviticus is part of the Scriptures, and yes, the Scriptures are the written word of God.

And I guess I should understand, because I remember full well the 1980’s, and the terror over the AIDS epidemic, and not knowing if you could catch AIDS from mosquito bites or bathroom doorknobs or being sneezed on.

Yet it still turns my stomach to think of someone being denied their family, their life, their livelihood, and their hope because of something that might well have been a nasty case of psoriasis, we don’t know, and in any case it wasn’t at all about the lepers being sick – it was about the lepers being the walking, talking, embodiment of sin. Keep them away lest their sin infect you through their speech or through their actions or through the very air. Don’t touch them lest the sin rub off on you. They are no longer humans, they are lepers, and their very existence is an abomination!

And this broken man kneels at Jesus’ feet and says “If you choose to, you can remove this sin from me. You can let me go home to my family. You can let me work for a living again. You can let me go to the synagogue with my people and sing Psalms again.”

There’s something fascinating about what happens next. You see, many ancient manuscripts say what our reading this morning says, that Jesus was “moved with pity.” However, there are a lot of ancient manuscripts that use a very different word, a much more uncomfortable, challenging word: they say that Jesus was not moved to pity, but moved to anger.

Jesus saw this disheveled man, reduced to wearing rags and bells, utterly cut off from all human contact, hated, loathed, and feared by everyone, robbed of his humanity, reduced to groveling in the dirt, and begging not for healing but for forgiveness… and it made Jesus mad!

I wonder what would happen if all of us reacted this way whenever, for example, we hear about the violence against civilians in Homs being carried out by the Syrian government? What would happen if we reacted this way when a bullied teenager resorted to suicide? When a child on the Horn of Africa starved to death, or an American child went to be hungry again? I wonder what would happen if it made us mad in exactly the way that this leper made Jesus mad?

You see, when Jesus got angry, things happened, and they happened fast, they happened for good, and they happened in unexpected, breathtaking ways.

That leper knelt at Jesus’ feet and said, “You can make me clean if you want to,” and Jesus did something shocking. Something horrifying to everyone around him.

Jesus did the one thing that a person in first-century Palestine must never, ever do, no ifs, ands, or buts, no discussion groups about the pros and cons, no opposing views on a split-screen on CNN, no questions, I wish there were a way to convey just how disgusting and gruesome and socially unacceptable this thing was, I mean just do not do this ever: you do NOT touch a leper. Ew! Just, I mean, ugh, DON’T!

Jesus knew all of this. Jesus stretched out his hand. Jesus touched him anyway.

“I do choose. Be made clean!”

I think that I is very possible that, in this day and age, one of the most valuable things the church has forgotten how to do – and yes, I speak of the church as an institution, but I also mean, and I am sorry, but I mean the people in the church as well – we may well have completely forgotten how to touch.

We have the internet, we have FaceBook and Twitter and texting and email and Skype and Oovoo, iPhones with FaceTime – I even have a language translator on my BlackBerry, I can type a phrase and my phone will say it in a dozen or more laguages! We are the most highly connected people in history – but in being plugged in to cyberspace, have we forgotten how to connect with one another on the human level?

Jesus reached out and touched, and it changed everything – not just for the man, who was instantly made whole again, restored to his home, family, livelihood and synagogue, but for Jesus, too…

And I have to wonder – in amongst this person and that person arguing over legislation, between this group or that group promoting a program or a plan or another sure-fire strategy to make Everything Better…

What if we reached out and touched? What if we dared to identify the lepers in our own societies, had the courage to confess the types of people we as individuals consider untouchable, and what if we decided to put all that aside – like Jesus did – and reach out to these groups and individuals with healing and wholeness and reconciliation?

What if we decided to touch anyway?

It might be dangerous. It might be dirty. It might change everything for us in inconvenient ways. Certainly, Jesus (being who he was) knew that as soon as this now-clean man left he was going to completely ignore everything Jesus said about keeping it quiet. He knew that very soon, because of this one touch, the crowds would become too large and too unmanageable and he would have to leave the cities and stay in the countryside. He knew that this touch would change everything in inconvenient ways… but Jesus touched anyway.

Because the imperative to live the reality of the now-and-coming Kingdom, setting free the captive, releasing the oppressed, bringing Good News to the poor… that was most important to Jesus. That was the whole point.

And lest we forget, for we who are the body of Christ, that is the whole point for us, too.

So touch anyway.

Almighty God,

Jesus touched the leper. He reached out to the least, the forgotten, the marginalized, the “less than.” Help us to accept the challenge to reach out, to touch, those in our own world who are “less than.” Help us “touch anyway.”

In the name of that Jesus who touched the leper, and who died and rose so that we who are “less than” can be loved and accepted and brought into loving relationship with our loving and eternal God, in the name of Jesus who taught us to pray, saying…

Advent 1 - "Are We There Yet?" version 2.0

Much of this sermon first appeared on November 29, 2009. Please reference the link for original sources.  In adapting the text for 2011, I was blessed with the efforts of my good friends J. R. Daniel Kirk and Terry Ramone Smith.

Isaiah 64:1-9

O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence — as when fire kindles brushwood and the fire causes water to boil — to make your name known to your adversaries, so that the nations might tremble at your presence
When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect, you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence. From ages past no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who works for those who wait for him.
You meet those who gladly do right, those who remember you in your ways. But you were angry, and we sinned; because you hid yourself we transgressed.
We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away. There is no one who calls on your name, or attempts to take hold of you; for you have hidden your face from us, and have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity Yet, O LORD, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand. Do not be exceedingly angry, O LORD, and do not remember iniquity forever.
Now consider, we are all your people.

1 Corinthians 1:3-9

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus, for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind — just as the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you — so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ. He will also strengthen you to the end, so that you may be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.

Mark 13:24-37

“But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.
Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.

“From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

“But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake — for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

This is the Word of the Lord.

“Are we there yet?”

It's a pretty universally accepted truth that if you put kids in a car and go on a journey of any length at all, that question (or one of its variations) will be asked about a hundred times per hour per child. The excitement of going someplace, the anticipation of what awaits, and the tedium of long car rides are a pretty bad mix, so it's no wonder so many cars and SUVs come equipped with DVD players.

Now, as a child I'm sure I asked that question a lot when we went places, but I don't remember that. What I do remember is, when we were headed to one set of grandparents or the other, looking for landmarks that would tell me that we were almost there. When we went to Huntsville to see Grandma Hazel, my mom's mom, there would come a point after we passed the Jetplex that you could see, off in the distance, the very tip of a Saturn V rocket. The bigger and closer the rocket got the closer we were to Hazel & Hunt's.

When we went to Tuscaloosa, to my dad's parents' house, my landmark was the “Burger In A Hurry” at the corner of University Boulevard and 15th Street, it was a small building with a v-shaped roof and a big sign promising fifteen-cent hamburgers. That's where we turned, so I knew we were getting close to Hilda and Red's.

Though I may have asked, “are we there yet? How much longer?” and things like that, in fact when I looked at the signs around me, be it the jetplex or the rockets in Huntsville or the miles of kudzu and the long-since-closed burger joint in Tuscaloosa, I knew we were almost there.

This is the first Sunday in Advent, and the first Sunday in the liturgical church year. The Thanksgiving turkey is almost digested, we've just about rested up from Black Friday, and we're entering in to a wonderful season of building anticipation, waiting for the birth of our Savior and King! The Wise Men are scanning the heavens, the shepherds are moving their flocks through the fields, the angels are tuning their harps.

Yet we start this season of new beginnings with a discussion about the end of time – the words of a Savior not very far from the whip, the crown of thorns, and the nails. Because Advent is not just about Christ who has come, but Christ who will come again.

It's a strange mixture, isn't it? The wise men, the manger, the tree and the ornaments, the gifts and the kids who wake before the sun is up to see what Santa's brought them, peace on earth and goodwill toward humankind – and are we there yet?

Signs in the heavens, stars falling, the moon and sun extinguished, and angels gathering the elect to Christ, who returns in clouds in great power and glory… are we there yet? How much farther?

My friend, J. R. Daniel Kirk, who is Professor of New Testament at Fuller Theological Seminary, worries that Advent has become too much about Christ’s first appearance, and not at all about the next, final appearance of Christ. He has a point.

He says that we too often slip into the language of “preparing for the arrival of the Christ child” rather than either preparing ourselves to celebrate the arrival that already happened, or preparing for the future advent for which we actually await. We’re celebrating Jesus, but the idea that we’re waiting for his birth too often takes center stage, so we go around shouting “Jesus is born!” as if it had actually just happened, as though the Messiah we’d been waiting for had finally come. In all the talk of “waiting” we too often use language which indicates a posture of waiting for the birth of the Messiah–something for which we are not waiting at all, it has happened! Worse, to say that we are is a denial of the good news itself!

Could it be that the message of Advent is not so much one of two arrivals, one past and one future, or of a great and glorious beginning and a cataclysmic and permanent ending, as it is about one thing: “God's passion, God's dream, for a transformed earth,” (to quote Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan)? I'm not suggesting just a transformed planet, some political Nirvana where wars have ceased and harmony prevails. This is what Crossan and Borg seem to envision in their book “The First Christmas.” Rather, I am speaking of a world full of transformed people whose needs have been met by God's people, and whose lives are defined and founded upon that Christ who has come, who has died, who has risen, and who will come again.

Are we there yet?

Crossan and Borg suggest that Advent is a season of repentant preparation – not “repentance” in the sense of being sorry you did something, confessing and promising to not do it again, as we have come to understand the word, but “repentance” in the original and most correct sense of the word, where we change something. Where we work to make what is into what should be, yes, personally, but also in a larger sense – in the lives and experiences of those around us and by extension everyone on earth.

When did the Christmas season become a time of stress and traffic jams, of holiday jingles playing and commercials running even before Halloween, of searching store after store for whatever the television tells us is this year's hottest gift, of endless shopping lists and Black Friday predawn sales, where all we're left with on December 26th is exhaustion and credit card bills and a stack of gifts to return? We buy things we cannot afford in order to give them to people who, in the grand scheme of things, don’t need them, often only because they are going to give us something that, in the grand scheme of things, we don’t need.

Where I part a bit from Daniel Kirk’s points is that I worry that this time of year is less and less about remembering the birth of the Savior, and more and more about the biggest gift, the newest gadget, the shiniest trinket. We have become so wrapped up in when and whether the next iPhone is coming out, how big a big-screen TV we can buy, what video game or DVD is the newest sensation, that we forget why December 25 is a special day in the first place.

I want to suggest to you this morning that Advent is not about commerce, but about worship: “It starts with Jesus. It ends with Jesus.” Is this not the approach God had in mind for Christmas? “A season where we are called to put down our burdens and lift a song up to our God. ...a season where love wins, peace reigns, and a king is celebrated with each breath.”

Are we there yet? I can't speak for you, of course, but for me the answer is “no.”
Can we get there from here? Yes!

It begins with a simple statement of faith – one which echoes Isaiah’s plea to the God who brought slaves from captivity into the freedom and prosperity that was Israel – “Yet…” that is, “but, however, nevertheless”… “O LORD, you are our Father…”

With God as our Parent, can we not once again find the balance between honoring our loved ones and friends with gifts, honoring the birth of our Savior, and actively waiting on that Savior’s return in glory?

I use “waiting” in the way that Terry Ramone Smith, one of the facilitators of Atlanta’s “Church of the Misfits” uses it – “waiting” in the sense of working for, attending to, providing for needs. Yes, we wait in the sense of patiently – and sometimes impatiently – watching, but we also actively wait, doing the things that Jesus saw as most important – the activities he himself listed in the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew as the criteria for inclusion in the eternal Kingdom: Feeding the hungry, because every hungry person, be they a homeless man in downtown Bessemer, or a malnourished child in Malawi, is Christ. Providing water for the thirsty, because every thirsty person, be they a child on a playground in East Lake, or a mother of three in Mumbai, is Christ. Clothing the naked, because every person without adequate clothing, be they a coatless woman waiting on the bus in downtown Birmingham, or a shivering orphan on the streets of Bogata, is Christ. Visiting the lonely and the imprisoned, because every lonely and imprisoned person, be they on Donaldson Correctional Facility’s Death Row or in a bed in the nursing home down the street, is Christ.

This, more than trees and tinsel, more than gifts and carols, is the real message of Advent. It’s a time when we not only put down our own burdens, but we help others lay down their burdens as well. Where we show that love truly does win, peace most certainly reigns, and we celebrate the birth – and the return – of our King with each breath, and every fiber of our being, singing as one voice, as one actively waiting and celebrating Body, “O come, O come, Emanuel!”

Alleluia! Amen.

It's Not Fair!

I am always indebted to the thoughts and writing of preachers and friends who are smarter than me. I stole the title and the refrain outright from Rev. Dan Hayward, who also gave me at least one wonderful phrase to use in the text of the sermon. The work of Ira Brent Driggers, the Rev. Barbara Beam, the Rev. Dr. Delmer L. Chilton, and the Rev. Sarah Robbins all provided direction, inspiration, and instruction in writing this sermon. No, it isn't fair. Thank God, it isn't fair at all.  

Exodus 16:2-15 
The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. The Israelites said to them, “If only we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.” Then the Lord said to Moses, “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day. In that way I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not. On the sixth day, when they prepare what they bring in, it will be twice as much as they gather on other days.” So Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, “In the evening you shall know that it was the Lord who brought you out of the land of Egypt, and in the morning you shall see the glory of the Lord, because he has heard your complaining against the Lord. For what are we, that you complain against us?” And Moses said, “When the Lord gives you meat to eat in the evening and your fill of bread in the morning, because the Lord has heard the complaining that you utter against him — what are we? Your complaining is not against us but against the Lord.” Then Moses said to Aaron, “Say to the whole congregation of the Israelites, ‘Draw near to the Lord, for he has heard your complaining.’” And as Aaron spoke to the whole congregation of the Israelites, they looked toward the wilderness, and the glory of the Lord appeared in the cloud. The Lord spoke to Moses and said, “I have heard the complaining of the Israelites; say to them, ‘At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall have your fill of bread; then you shall know that I am the Lord your God.’” In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, “It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat.”

Philippians 1:21-30 
For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me; and I do not know which I prefer. I am hard pressed between the two: my desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better; but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you. Since I am convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with all of you for your progress and joy in faith, so that I may share abundantly in your boasting in Christ Jesus when I come to you again. Only, live your life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that, whether I come and see you or am absent and hear about you, I will know that you are standing firm in one spirit, striving side by side with one mind for the faith of the gospel, and are in no way intimidated by your opponents. For them this is evidence of their destruction, but of your salvation. And this is God’s doing. For he has graciously granted you the privilege not only of believing in Christ, but of suffering for him as well — since you are having the same struggle that you saw I had and now hear that I still have. 

Matthew 20:1-16 
“For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o’clock, he did the same. And about five o’clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’ They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard.’ When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, ‘Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.’ When those hired about five o’clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ So the last will be first, and the first will be last.” 

This is the Word of the Lord.

A lot of times, Jesus’ parables use the same storytelling techniques that make for good joke-telling. Start with a believable premise, then as you build, it gets more and more unlikely, building toward the hilarious punchline. Only when Jesus gets through with this story, no one is laughing.

A little background: this parable takes place immediately after the familiar account of the “Rich Young Ruler.” A man asks Jesus, “what must I do to be saved,” and as the conversation progresses he is told, finally, to sell all he has and give it to the poor.

Peter brings up the fact that he and the other disciples have, in effect, done just that, forsaken all they had to follow this itinerant rabbi. “What, then,” he asks, “will there be for us?”

Peter is, in effect, asking “What’s in it for me?”

I can imagine Jesus doing a face-palm, taking a deep breath, and says, “Pete, didja hear the one about the vineyard owner who went to hire some workers?”

It starts simply enough, with a guy negotiating a wage and hiring workers for his vineyard. Then going and hiring more workers… only this time, he’s kinda vague about the wages. “I’ll pay you whatever is right,” he says, and he says it again when he goes out for yet more workers, and again for more workers, and he even goes out an hour before quitting time and gets another batch!

And then – and then! – he passes out the pay, starting not with the ones who had been picking grapes since the break of dawn, but with the guys who had been there barely long enough to break a sweat! But the others suddenly don’t care, because they see the one-hour guys getting a full days wages. They put their heads together and start doing the math, and they like the numbers they’re coming up with! Now I can get that big-screen TV I’ve been wanting!

And their smiles start to fade as they see the guys hired at three o’clock getting – a day’s wages. The guys hired at noon? A day’s wages. By the time the nine-o’clockers reach the pay window, the back of the line is grumbling. All that work, and they’re gonna end up getting no more than the guys who worked maybe an hour! Ridiculous! Unthinkable! Criminal! Unfair!

Of course it’s unfair.

One of the things that I find interesting here is that the landowner never mentions needing more workers when he goes out at nine, at noon, at three and at five. In fact, one could argue quite the opposite. The workers who lined up at the crack of dawn would have been the most able, the ones who could jump to the front of the line. As the day wore on, the pool of capable laborers would have been getting smaller and smaller. Older, perhaps, with some infirmity that made them not as quick, or unable to lift as much of a burden. It wouldn’t make sense for someone who needed labor to hire the ones left over at three or five in the afternoon.

But in that day and age, and in that area of the world, many people lived far below the level of what most of us would consider “abject poverty” today. Hand-to-mouth wouldn’t even begin to describe the situation for most families, who depended on day-to-day employment for their very survival. If you worked that day, you and your family ate… and if you found no work, everyone went to bed hungry, and hoped that they might be able to eat something tomorrow.

Imagine living in that stark reality. And imagine, as the dawn breaks, the landowners come and hire the most able-bodied, the strongest, the fastest… and leave, and you’re still standing there.

And about nine o’clock, a few others are hired. But not you. Noon? You’re still waiting there, thirsty, hungry, wishing the cloud of doom hanging over your head would at least provide some shade. By three o’clock, the only reason you’re still in the marketplace is the dread of going home empty-handed and facing your hungry children.

Then that landowner comes back, walks up to you, and asks, “why have you been standing around all day doing nothing?” You don’t even bother to look up. Can’t he see? “No one hired me” is all you say.

“Go to the vineyard, and I’ll pay you what’s right.”

You shuffle off. “What’s right” for an hours’ work? Maybe enough to buy some bread for the kids, you hope. It’s something, anyway.

Now imagine standing at the front of the pay line, staring at your hands as the manager hands you a full days’ wages. Suddenly, unfairness is a good thing, isn’t it?

Peter is interested in what’s in it for him. After all, success is judged on who finishes first, who gets the promotion, who gets the trophy, who gets the corner office. Winners keep score, and all that. And he’s not alone among the apostles. We read in the Gospels that James and John wanted to sit on either side of Jesus in his kingdom. They deserved it, after all, they had worked hard and sacrificed much, and they should be rewarded for their efforts!

But our Gospel reading begins, “…the Kingdom of Heaven is like…”

What if the Kingdom of Heaven is a place where there is no contest? What if “fair” isn't even a word that can be used, because each and every one of us is Abba's beloved child, equally loved, equally valued, equally undeserving of the grace we have received?

The idea of “first” and “last” make very little sense in a place where all truly are equal. The weakest and the lowliest and the most forgotten has the best seat in God’s kingdom, and so does the strongest and the best-known, because we have that place which Jesus has prepared for us.

Peter and James and John and the rest have the same viewpoint that we all too often do: If you work hard, if you show real effort and determination, if your dedication to the cause is solid and without shadow of turning, then you should be able to earn a better place than the folks who come later, right? And the very idea that someone who is late to the game, or who doesn’t meet our expectations, would be given the same grace and forgiveness and salvation and inclusion in the Kingdom that we enjoy, why, that’s not fair!

The mistake we make is thinking that our labor for the Kingdom, which is a gift from God, is rather a benefit to God.

But we know better, don’t we? It may not be fun to admit, but we know that God’s grace, that salvation, that citizenship in the Kingdom of God cannot be earned. God’s generosity is not tied to any of our human notions of fairness or equity. Far from it – the last shall be first, everything we thought we knew has been turned on its head! God figures our merits with a calculus of grace that is far beyond anything we can comprehend. God’s love is so overwhelming and generous that all we can do is receive it and share it with others.

The love and grace of God isn’t contingent on our abilities, our popularity, our possessions, our bank account or our good looks. Like those last poor souls who the landowner found an hour before quitting time, we only have to be present to be included, because that citizenship, and the grace and salvation which are part and parcel thereof are a product of God’s infinite, indiscriminate, abundant and, yes, even unfair generosity!

It isn’t fair, no. But that’s Good News, isn’t it?

“Hey, cheer up! It’s me, don’t be scared.”

Special thanks to Mark G. Vitalis Hoffman, who showed me a completely new way to look at the account of Jesus walking on the water, and to Scott Hoezee, whose work I borrowed heavily from in completing the sermon.

Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28
Jacob settled in the land where his father had lived as an alien, the land of Canaan. This is the story of the family of Jacob.
Joseph, being seventeen years old, was shepherding the flock with his brothers; he was a helper to the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father’s wives; and Joseph brought a bad report of them to their father. Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his children, because he was the son of his old age; and he had made him a long robe with sleeves. But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably to him.
Now his brothers went to pasture their father’s flock near Shechem. And Israel said to Joseph, “Are not your brothers pasturing the flock at Shechem? Come, I will send you to them.” He answered, “Here I am.” So he said to him, “Go now, see if it is well with your brothers and with the flock; and bring word back to me.” So he sent him from the valley of Hebron.
He came to Shechem, and a man found him wandering in the fields; the man asked him, “What are you seeking?” “I am seeking my brothers,” he said; “tell me, please, where they are pasturing the flock.” The man said, “They have gone away, for I heard them say, ‘Let us go to Dothan.’” So Joseph went after his brothers, and found them at Dothan. They saw him from a distance, and before he came near to them, they conspired to kill him. They said to one another, “Here comes this dreamer. Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams.” But when Reuben heard it, he delivered him out of their hands, saying, “Let us not take his life.” Reuben said to them, “Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him” — that he might rescue him out of their hand and restore him to his father. So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe, the long robe with sleeves that he wore; and they took him and threw him into a pit. The pit was empty; there was no water in it.
Then they sat down to eat; and looking up they saw a caravan of Ishmaelites coming from Gilead, with their camels carrying gum, balm, and resin, on their way to carry it down to Egypt. Then Judah said to his brothers, “What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood? Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and not lay our hands on him, for he is our brother, our own flesh.” And his brothers agreed. When some Midianite traders passed by, they drew Joseph up, lifting him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. And they took Joseph to Egypt.

Romans 10:5-15
Moses writes concerning the righteousness that comes from the law, that “the person who does these things will live by them.” But the righteousness that comes from faith says, “Do not say in your heart, ‘Who will ascend into heaven?’” (that is, to bring Christ down) “or ‘Who will descend into the abyss?’” (that is, to bring Christ up from the dead). But what does it say? “The word is near you, on your lips and in your heart” (that is, the word of faith that we proclaim); because if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For one believes with the heart and so is justified, and one confesses with the mouth and so is saved. The scripture says, “No one who believes in him will be put to shame.” For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him. For, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”
But how are they to call on one in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!”

Gospel Matthew 14:22-33
Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”
Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

This is the Word of the Lord.

We’re picking up, in our Gospel reading, where we left off last Sunday. Jesus has spent the day touching, healing, and ministering to the thousands of people who met him when his lonely boat reached the shore, and he had multiplied loaves and fishes and fed the five thousand. Now, as the shadows lengthen, Jesus sends the disciples back across the Sea of Galilee in the boat, and sends the crowd home with full bellies.

And Jesus went to pray.

Jesus prayed a lot. Sometimes he prayed all night. And with his heart still heavy over the news of the execution of his cousin John, perhaps this was his chance to finally be alone with his Father, to finally have a moment to as “why?” Perhaps he finally had time to ask his Father, “what’s next?”

Hours pass, and for the disciples, a little solitude and “alone time” with God would have been a welcome relief from the frenzy of rowing, bailing, and worrying as they fought against the Sea of Galilee. Our translation does very little to convey just how bad things were for the Twelve, there in that little boat. The Greek tells us that, in fact, the waves tortured the boat, and the wind fought against them, opposed their every move! The Sea of Galilee is well-known for how quickly the weather changes there, and as the night went on, the disciples were literally fighting for their life!

And in the midst of all of this chaos, Jesus took a stroll, and like to have scared the disciples half to death!

Now, I need to back up a bit and say a word about superstitions. Just as there are American superstitions like the one about walking under a ladder, or specifically Southern superstitions like the one about rocking an empty rocking chair, the Jewish people in the first century had superstitions. For example, there was the one about large bodies of open water. They said that the open water was filled with demons. So it isn’t hard to imagine that these worn-out and terrified disciples, seeing, in a flash of lightning, a figure coming toward them across the open water, might not have had, “oh, cool, it’s Jesus!” as the first thought on their mind.

Now, if you’re like me, you’ve heard a lot of sermons about Jesus walking on the water, and I am betting you’ve heard some where Peter is praised for his faith, congratulated for having the courage to step out of the boat and walk toward Jesus. I know I’ve preached that sermon at least once.

But something has always bothered me about that. Peter stepped out of the boat, successfully walked on the water, at least for a few steps, and Jesus called him “You of little faith?” Really? Not even a “good effort, Pete, let’s try it again from the top.” or “Hey, nice try, buddy. Better luck next time.”

Jesus and Peter got in the boat, the seas were calmed, but no one patted Peter on the back, not even the writer of the Gospel acknowledges that he did something praiseworthy – Jesus is the one being worshipped, for the first time in the Gospels. Poor old Peter! He walked on water, man! Give him some credit!

Or… maybe not.

When the disciples saw that shadowy figure doing what no human being can do, move across the open face of the water, they were absolutely certain that they were going to die – that a demon was coming to finish the job the sea had started.

Imagine their relief, even joy, when Jesus called out to them, “Hey, cheer up! It’s me, don’t be scared.” No doubt they remembered the time, on this very body of water, when Jesus had stood in the boat and had calmed the wind and the waves with a word. Finally, they thought, everything is going to be all right.

Well, almost all of them thought that, anyway.

It’s easy to miss what Peter really says to Jesus. It sounds like a harebrained request in any light, and the sheer audacity of Simon Peter, getting out of the boat and walking off, captures our imagination. But is Peter acting in faith?

“Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”

Does that sound familiar? Doesn’t it sound like exactly what Satan said to Jesus while he as testing the Lord in the wilderness?

“If you are the Son of God, tell this stone to become bread… throw yourself down from [the pinnacle of the Temple].”

Doesn’t it sound exactly like what the Pharisees asked for constantly: proof? “Teacher, we want to see a sign from you.”

The lesson we are most often taught about Jesus walking on the water is that Peter had the right idea, stepping out of the boat, and would have been A-OK if he’d just kept his eyes on Jesus! And while there is, I suppose, merit in that teaching, I would contend that Peter’s error started long before he stepped out of the boat. Notice that Jesus asks Peter “Why did you doubt?” But that word for doubt doesn’t refer to the loss of faith which caused Peter to sink. Nor does it refer to the fear brought on by the surrounding storm. No, that specific Greek word for “doubt” refers specifically to doubt about the person of Jesus Christ – Peter’s doubt was that Jesus was who he said he was!

Jesus could well have been asking Peter, "What are you doing outside the boat in the first place?" Jesus had just shown them how much he could do with no more than simple bread and fish, he had fed well over five thousand people, with more than enough to spare! But Peter wanted something more as a way to test out Jesus' true power and identity.

Many scholars and commentators note that the feeding of the five thousand, our Gospel lesson from last week, has very strong connections with the Lord’s Supper – the breaking of the bread, the fact that so many were fed from one loaf, and so on. Since the only other time that Matthew’s Gospel makes mention of the disciples worshipping Jesus is when he appears to them after the Resurrection, it is arguable that this act of walking on the water is a parallel to the Resurrection appearances of Christ.

In walking on the water, climbing in the boat, and making the sea instantly calm, Jesus is demonstrating that he is who he has said all along that he is. He is demonstrating, decisively, his lordship over all of creation, his mastery of everything that exists, no matter how powerful, daunting, or dangerous. In demanding that Jesus prove himself, in stepping out of the boat, sinking, and requiring help, Peter not only endangered his fellow disciples by delaying Jesus, he made it all about himself.

It’s been said that if you want to walk on water, you have to get out of the boat, and that’s right. And there are times and situations that call for the people of God to step out boldly, to act out their faith in heroic and dramatic ways for the cause of Christ.

But there are times when we don’t need to act like Simon Peter. We don’t usually think much about the eleven disciples who stayed in the boat--you know, the ones who didn’t jump over the side of the boat and try for some fancy footwork on the waves. Those disciples just pulled on their oars against the wind, steering their way toward Jesus for no other purpose than allowing him to get on board along with the rest of them. Sometimes it's enough just to be in the boat, awaiting Jesus' presence among us, believing that winds and waves or calm seas, he is surely with us, even to the end of the age.

Even if this story is about what people have always thought--that is, the need to do heroic and dramatic acts of stepping out on faith--even so, there is something to be said about faithful, low-key, non-dramatic work in the boat, too. There's something to be said for just believing the power of Jesus' word when he claims we need not fear because he is the Great I Am. There’s something to be said for pressing on in faith not because we’ve tested Jesus and found that he lived up to all the hype. Not because Jesus has enabled us to get attention for ourselves by doing something spectacular. No, we press on because you believe Jesus when, through the Spirit, we hear him say , “Hey, cheer up! It’s me, don’t be scared.”