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Life Among the Gentiles

10/21/2018

Mark 10:35-45
Sunday, October 21, 2018
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell

Mark 10:35-45

James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” They replied, “We are able.” Then Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.”

When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

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When I was a small child, I became convinced that I was adopted.  That’s really not so unusual.  But what was unusual was my suspicion that my so-called parents wore disguises all day long, and that they were, in fact, Chinese spies.  I have no idea where this notion came from.  But I do remember deciding that I had to find out if it was true. So, one night, I crept into their bedroom while they were sound asleep, thinking that, of course, they took their masks off at night.  As my mother tells it, she woke up from a dead sleep to have my five-year-old face about an inch away from hers as I tried desperately to see through the darkness who she really was.

As I said, I don’t know where my crazy idea came from, but I suspect its genesis had to do with my growing realization that I was different. -- I think a lot of us felt or feel that way. The idea that you are somehow different from those who raised you is far more common than most folks acknowledge.  Feeling different is an important early part of self-differentiation; of coming into your sense of being an individual.  And you begin to understand that your dreams and desires and ambitions are not necessarily the same as your parents.  And very often, the dreams of the young are about having more than their parents did.  In fact, that is a building block of the American dream – that each generation will do better than the one before.  And that drive for success seems to be built right into our DNA.

Of course, this desire for more power and more influence has resulted in some remarkable human achievements. We children of God have done some incredible things while striving toward excellence.  But this desire for more power and more influence has also resulted in some remarkable human problems.  Those problems even pop up in the church, because we are forever tempted to measure success by the markers of worldly power and influence. The late, great Catholic theologian Henri Nouwen once said that “the long, painful history of the church is the history of people ever and again tempted to choose power over love, control over the cross, being a leader over being led.”[1]

We see this temptation at work in the Gospel lesson today.  Two brothers, James and John, were early disciples of Jesus.  They followed him because they believed he was the Promised Messiah.  And what that meant for them was that Jesus would be a military leader who would drive the Romans out and reestablish the powerful and wealthy Kingdom of David.  And since they had been with Jesus from the beginning, it only made sense that they would share that power and wealth.  They were different and would have more than their parents did.

One day, when their anticipation had gotten the best of them, James and John got Jesus into a corner by themselves and whispered excitedly: “Rabbi, we have an idea!  We want you to do for us whatever we ask.” - “What is it you want?” Jesus replied.  And the brothers, exchanging knowing glances, spoke the lines they had been rehearsing for days “Lord, when you come into your glory, we want to share your power, one on your right hand and one on your left.”

Well, you have to admire their chutzpah.  They saw what they wanted and they went after it.  When the other ten disciples heard about this, they were angry because the Zebedee brothers had beaten them to the punch.  These ten others were also poor, uneducated men who saw this “Jesus Adventure” as a shot for a better life.

So how did they get it so wrong? Maybe for the same reason we get it so wrong. The things that Jesus said and taught are hard to understand and accept – enigmatic things like: “the first will be last and the last will be first” and “if you want greatness, you have to be a servant.”

Many years ago, I worked in a large, affluent suburban church just outside of New York City.  Many of the people of that congregation had prestigious jobs.  They were a successful and powerful bunch. And the culture of that church was to wholeheartedly support this drive for success – as if success itself were a Christian virtue. I will never forget the Sunday that the senior minister preached on this story, but as told in the Gospel of Matthew. In Matthew’s version, it’s the mother of James and John who is trying to secure cabinet positions for her sons.  And in his sermon the senior minister vigorously defended the mother and lauded the fact that she was just looking out for her own. And, he said, we should all do the same. And I sat on that chancel dumbstruck.

“Jesus, we want to sit on your right and left hand in your glory.”  And I imagine that Jesus looked at them and understood them and loved them.  And then he asked them: “Are you able to drink the same cup I will and be baptized as I am about to be?”  And imagining that this was their invitation to power and prestige, they answered enthusiastically: “Yes Lord, we are able!” Martin Copenhaver, President of Andover Newton Seminary, commenting on their enthusiasm writes: “It goes without saying that when James and John made their request they did not envision that the ones who would end up on Jesus’ right and left would be hanging on crosses.”

Then Jesus turned to the whole group and said: “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them.  But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

The ways of this world; the power structures; the emphasis on youth and beauty and riches and control - are all very alluring. But we find, again and again, that those vain satisfactions do not last.  The thrill of victory is brief.  And before long we are off again searching for something else to make us happy; something new to conquer; something to fill the emptiness inside.  It’s an endless and exhausting cycle.

That rich, suburban church I told you about left a very deep impression on me – and not a good one.  It was from that parish that I left the ministry for ten years – angry and confused and embittered.  I would have written off those four years of ministry at that church as a complete waste of time, except for this: Every Thursday, I would drive a group of Jr. High students from the manicured lawns of our perfect village to the dirty and barren streets of Paterson, NJ where there was an old run-down building called St. Stephen’s Mission.  They had an after-school program and every Thursday we would tutor those desperately poor, sometimes abused, often misunderstood kids with their homework.  In the beginning, I did it because it was my job. In the beginning, the disparity between the two towns only made me more cynical.   But after awhile, after I got over myself, as the children in Paterson started to know and love me, as I began to know and love them, something inside of me began to change. And I found a deep meaning and purpose and salvation in humble service.  At a time when my faith seemed to be crumbling, I saw God in their faces.  And that experience is one of the main reasons I stand in this pulpit today. And all of these years later, I still cannot imagine anything that I have ever done that was more important and life giving than that.

When Christ calls us to serve, he isn’t asking us to give up everything.  He’s asking to give us everything.  He’s calling us to real and eternal life. I know that I said that it’s in our DNA to seek power and influence; but I am also convinced that it is in our DNA to love and serve others.  That’s the image of God in us.  And humble service gives us the kind of treasure that all the money and influence in the world can never buy.

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

[1]Nouwen, Henri.  In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership,1990, p.60

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No Spoonful of Sugar

10/14/2018

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Sunday, October 14, 2018
© The Rev. Dr. James Campbell
First Congregational Church of Cheshire

Mark 10:17-31

As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.’” He said to him, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

Then Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” And the disciples were perplexed at these words. But Jesus said to them again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” They were greatly astounded and said to one another, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”

Peter began to say to him, “Look, we have left everything and followed you.” Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age—houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

I am not naturally a morning person. My body wakes up slowly.  And it’s best, I’ve been told, to just leave me be until that happens.  I once had a college roommate who told me that I scared him to death first thing in the morning. A seminary friend once referred to me as a “box of hate” at an 8 am class.  And then she gave me this ceramic cereal bowl with the words “Good Morning Grumpy” painted in bright red letters around the rim.

Most of the folks in my life eventually get the clue and leave me alone until I am fully awake.  There was, however, one recalcitrant person who refused to learn that lesson.  He was my roommate one summer when I worked at a church camp.  And every day at about 6 am he would wake up happy just to be alive and insisting that I be happy too.  He would jump out of bed and start to clean, slamming drawers, and whistling happy little tunes.  It was all I could do not to grab him by the throat.  This all came to a very unpleasant climax one morning when I was jolted awake by the intense smell of bleach and my roommate singing, in full voice, “A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down!”  It was 6 o’clock in the morning and he was mopping under mybed, and singing.  Well all the sugar in the world was not going to help me get his medicine down.  I don’t remember exactly what I said to him, but the next day, he moved out.

So, that song is not my favorite. Yet its appeal is that is relays a certain truth. I do like my medicine with some sweetness to it. I do want bad or difficult news somehow couched in sweet, non-offensive language, and delicately delivered.

But apparently Jesus never heard of a spoonful of sugar.  For three weeks now, we have had to endure some of Christ’s most bitter pills.  Two weeks ago, we listened as Jesus warned that those who would harm the little ones in this world are in danger of hell.  Last week, although it was not the topic of my sermon, the lectionary Gospel lesson of the day was about divorce.  And this week, Jesus takes up the subject of money. And if we ever needed anything to be sugarcoated, surely it’s talk of money.

Mark says that Jesus and his disciples were setting out on a journey, when suddenly a man ranup to Jesus and knelt before him. “Good Teacher,”he said breathlessly, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”  And Jesus, a faithful Jew responded to this other faithful Jew by saying: “You know the commandments: You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; honor your father and mother.”  To which the man replied: “Teacher, I have done all these things since I was young.” -  “You lack one thing,” Jesus said.  “Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”  Mark reports that when the man heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

Then Jesus looked at his disciples and said: “It is so hard for the rich to enter the kingdom of God.  It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God.”--“Who then can be saved?”the disciples wanted to know.  Who indeed?

For centuries, pastors and theologians have tried their best to sugarcoat these hard words of Jesus.  One ancient scribe actually rewrote verse 24 to read: “How hard it is for those who trust in riches to enter the Kingdom of God.”  That’s a little more palatable for us.  We know that we shouldn’t trust in our money.  The problem is that’s not what Mark wrote.  Further, a 9thcentury interpreter invented the idea that a camel going through “the eye of the needle” was not a sewing needle at all, but instead a reference to a low gate in the wall that surrounded Jerusalem. And the camels could only get through the Eye of the Needle Gate if stooped and unladen.  So, said this interpreter, Jesus’s real point was that the rich should humble themselves and get rid of any unnecessary baggage in order to get through the gate into the Kingdom.  That, too, is a very nice theory, but archeologists say that no such gate ever existed.  Other parsers of the Bible have suggested that Jesus never really meant this man to give up his money, but simply wanted to expose him to the futility of trying to keep the law.  But that’s an argument from silence, and that’s never a good way to start.

So, what’s the point here?  The point here is the same point of every story in this book.  These stories are our stories, humanity’s stories, not because all of the details are the same, but because the path to spiritual transformation is always the same. We have to let go in order to grab hold of that which is eternal.

For thisman, it was his money. And so Jesus asked thisman to relinquish his wealth and to give it to the poor.  But apparently Jesus didn’t ask this of every rich person he met. For example, the Gospel of Luke reports that some rich women helped to fund the ministry of Jesus.  Presumably he did not ask these women to give all of their money away – because for them their wealth was not their spiritual problem.

Our culture places a very high priority on getting ahead.  We love a self-made person.  Our heroes are the rich and famous.  That is a classically American trait.  And I think that a great deal of this cultural obsession with wealth is based in fear. We grabbed hold of things because we are afraid.  Even when we know that this is wrong, even when our possessions own us, we refuse to let go because, we imagine, that the cure will be more painful still.

In an episode of HBO’s morality tale The Sopranos,Carmela, the wife of mob boss Tony Soprano, goes to visit a therapist.  Carmela lives a life of luxury, but she is haunted by the way her husband makes his money.  And so, she seeks out a therapist in the hope that he will give her pity and absolution. The therapist is an old Jewish man who listens patiently as Carmela, with tears, pours out her heart.  She tells him everything.  Finally, he speaks.  “You must leave your husband.  You must renounce this lifestyle supported by blood.  You must take your children and flee.  Only then will you know any real happiness.”  Carmela is thunderstruck; first that he, a therapist, would offer any advice. And second, that he would offer this advice without any sugarcoating.  The viewer sees a range of emotions pass over her face: first disbelief, then anger and then a profound sadness as she decides that this is simply too much to ask, even though it would give her the very thing she seeks. And she walks away sad.

Jesus is like that old Jewish therapist.  He will not sugarcoat those things that will actually set us free.  And his words can be sharp, but they are never cruel. Mark says that when the rich man told Jesus that he had kept the commandments from his birth, Jesus looked at him and loved him.  Jesus loved him enough to tell him the truth.

In the same way, Jesus listens to our stories, to our excuses. He looks at us and loves us and tells us the truth.

We don’t really know how this story ends.  Maybe the rich man went away and never thought of Jesus again.  Or maybe he went home and mulled it over for a while. Maybe his desire for eternal life pushed him to confront those things that stood in his way.  Maybe he remembered the look of love in Jesus’s face, even as Jesus spoke those difficult words. Maybe, after thinking about it for a while, he went out to look for Jesus again.  And maybe, just maybe, after thinking about it for a while, we will too.

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In you, I see me.

10/7/2018

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FLESH OF OUR FLESH
World Communion Sunday, October 7, 2018
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell

Genesis 2:18-24

2:18 Then the LORD God said, "It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner."

2:19 So out of the ground the LORD God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name.

2:20 The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field; but for the man there was not found a helper as his partner.

2:21 So the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept; then he took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh.

2:22 And the rib that the LORD God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man.

2:23 Then the man said, "This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; this one shall be called Woman, for out of Man this one was taken."

2:24 Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh.

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This summer I took a trip out to the Midwest, the place I came from all those years ago.  I saw old friends and visited old haunts.  I drove by the houses of people I had loved but who have since died.  I ate some of the old foods and heard the familiar accents.  And it was nurturing in a way I did not expect.

I had forgotten the stunning beauty of Indiana farmland that stretches to the horizon on a flat plane.  I had forgotten the charm of the rolling hills of central Ohio.  I had forgotten how good a fried pork tenderloin sandwich really is.  I had forgotten the easy smiles that greeted me almost everywhere.

But going back also conjured up some unpleasant ghosts. I was driving across the Ohio Turnpike, getting ready to cross the border into Indiana when I saw an enormous sign looming on the side of the highway.  As I got closer, it proclaimed in giant bold letters: “Thou shalt not kill.”  The next one likewise proclaimed: “Thou shalt not steal.”  In all, there were ten of these signs containing all of the Ten Commandments, those laws I learned as a child, and those laws that were the building block of ancient Israelite society.   There is a lot of goodness in the Ten Commandments, a lot of fairness and justice and even mercy.  But those signs also aggressive to me.  Those giant bolded letters felt like screaming; like a line in the sand; like an ultimatum.  And it gave me pause. But it was the next sign that sort of stopped me in my tracks. It simply read: “One Man.  One Woman.  God’s Way.” And that felt like a declaration of who was in and who was out; acceptable and unacceptable. Signs like that can be painful for any of us whose relationships have ended in acrimony or who love someone of the same gender or who either by choice or circumstance are a family of one.  We don’t fit.  And that is definitely a line in the sand

In these horrible so-called culture wars that have ripped our society into pieces, people use the Bible to bolster their points of view, on all sides.  And for those folks who are convinced that there is only one kind of legitimate family relationship, the passage we read today from the book of Genesis is a building block for them.  They see in the story of Adam and Eve the prototype for all human relationships and all human families.  But this wonderful and rich tale cannot be boiled down into a prooftext for the culture wars.  It’s far too rich and far too profound for that.

I once heard a rabbi say that the story of the Garden of Eden is not about how God made the world.  It is not, in any way,  a scientific description of how the universe came to be.  Instead, he said, this story tells us why God made the world.  And why God made the world is so that God would be in relationship with us, and we with one another.  Additionally, this primordial tale seeks to frame the reality that already existed. We call that an etiology.  It seeks to answer basic questions like who are we, how we live together, why life is sometimes painful.  So, with that in mind, try to hear this story again.

Once upon a time, when the earth was new, and one solitary human walked upon the face of the earth, the Lord God saw that despite all the beauty of the world, the human was lonely. So, the Lord God decided to make the human some helpers.  And God dipped his finger into the rich soil of the fresh earth and formed from that glorious mud every creature that we know: camels and cows, snakes and seals, butterflies and bees.  And the Lord God took these magnificent creatures to the human and presented them to him as a gift.  And God said to the human: “Whatever you name these creatures that will be their name.” And this naming process was wildly entertaining.  And for awhile, the human seemed happy.  But no matter how magnificent these creatures were, none of them was like him.  None of them could really be his partner, as an equal. None could speak his language.  So the Lord God put the human into a deep sleep. And from this one human, God took a rib and made another human.  And once the first human woke from this divine anesthesia, the Lord God presented him with her, Adam and Eve, man and woman.  And in a moment of wonder that shook the heavens and rejoiced the heart of God, the man exclaimed: “This at last is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.” In other words, “I see me in someone else.”

“Bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.”  My relationship with my paternal grandmother was one big love affair.  I was her first grandchild and we were mad about each other. I remember the trips to the amusement parks and the lavish gifts and the delicious meals and the summer visits and the tearful goodbyes.  I was lucky enough to have my grandmother in my life until I was 42.  And I still have moments when I miss her so deeply that it hurts.  My dear grandmother was very affectionate.  She should kiss my cheek and rub my head and hold me tight.  And sometimes, when she was overcome with her love for me, she would stroke my cheek, look deeply into my eyes and say these words from Genesis: “You are flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone.”

And in that expression of love and connection, my grandmother was on to something.  She understood, on some level, that this verse need not be so narrowly applied to only one kind of love.  And in remembering her this week, it struck me that maybe that broad application is really the point of this ancient tale; this story of our race.  Maybe what we learn in Genesis is that all humans are intimately connected to one another: bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh; that in you I see me; that we are actually and truly our sisters’ and brothers’ keepers.

But we seem to regularly forget that.  And maybe that is the root of every kind of sin.  And it exacts a punishing price.  The story of our race is littered with the carnage that is the natural result of forgetting Eden and our essential connectedness.

We are at a frightening impasse as a society and as a world.  We are so deeply divided, so dug in, so invested in being right, so angry, so sure of our own truth, that those who don’t see it like we do have become something less than in our eyes.  We do not see ourselves in them.  And by our words and actions and silence and complicity, we act as if they are no longer flesh of our flesh or bone of our bone.

But the call of the church of Jesus Christ has always been the restoration of Eden.  Week after week we pray: “Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on EARTH.”  Does that sound like too much?  Then how about “thy will be done in Cheshire”?  Or “thy will be done” in this church?  Or “thy will be done” in our families?  -- For that to happen, we’re going to need to learn to listen again. We’re going to need to look one another in the eye and see something far more precious than our opinions.  And if we as the church of Jesus cannot do that as a model to the rest of society, then we are lost.

Today is World Communion Sunday. It’s one day each year that Christians all over the world eat the Lord’s Supper together, despite every difference that separates us.  This table is many things to many people.  But today, perhaps more than anything else, this table is a bold and prophetic act – a living into that which we do not yet see but long for: a table of peace big enough for all the people to sit and dine.

That’s the thing about sitting down at table together.  It puts you at eye level with everyone else.  And in the sharing of food and laughter and conversation, you see the essential humanity of the other.  You see yourself in another’s eyes.  And you likewise suddenly and joyfully proclaim: “This is at last bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.”

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

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Life Among the Gentiles

No Spoonful of Sugar

In you, I see me.

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