God's Not Fair...Thank God!

'When God saw what the people of Nineveh did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it.

But this was very displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry. He prayed to the LORD and said, “O LORD! Is not this what I said while I was still in my own country? That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. And now, O LORD, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” And the LORD said, “Is it right for you to be angry?” Then Jonah went out of the city and sat down east of the city, and made a booth for himself there. He sat under it in the shade, waiting to see what would become of the city.

The LORD God appointed a bush, and made it come up over Jonah, to give shade over his head, to save him from his discomfort; so Jonah was very happy about the bush. But when dawn came up the next day, God appointed a worm that attacked the bush, so that it withered. When the sun rose, God prepared a sultry east wind, and the sun beat down on the head of Jonah so that he was faint and asked that he might die. He said, “It is better for me to die than to live.”

But God said to Jonah, “Is it right for you to be angry about the bush?” And he said, “Yes, angry enough to die.” Then the LORD said, “You are concerned about the bush, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow; it came into being in a night and perished in a night. And should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also many animals?”'

--Jonah 3: 10-4: 11

'Jesus said, “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.”'

--Matthew 20: 1-16

One of the greatest lessons I learned from The Princess Bride, one of the defining films of my generation, is that life isn’t fair, and anyone who says differently is selling something. I also learned to never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line, and that tv used to be called books. Despite that lesson, I can’t help but notice that we tend to try to make society fair, to make it so that people get what they deserve, what they’ve earned, at least by our standards.

As you wish.

The Scriptures, however, often remind us that while we reap, we sow, we take, and we serve, nobody gets what they deserve, to borrow a line from my favorite songwriter. The stories of our faith are often of folks who are outcasts and on the margins, rejected and labeled as underserving of divine love. They remind us regularly that God’s ways so often are not our ways, and our stories from both the Book of Jonah and Gospel of Matthew illustrate this point.  

We find the reluctant prophet Jonah at the very end of his story.  Though he fought tooth and nail, he finally accepted God’s call to preach hellfire and damnation to the people of Ninevah, who were a sinful and deplorable lot. due in no small part to Nineveh being the capital of the Assyrian Empire, the folks who had just recently invaded Israel and taken the people into exile.  

Any of you – or your kids – watched the VeggieTales Jonah movie? It describes the people of Nineveh being so bad that they slapped people with fishes! Yet after Jonah’s prophesy, in which he stated that God would destroy them in 40 days, something happens. God’s mind is changed when the people genuinely repent of their sins, and God decides to spare them.  Now they’re likely to kill Jonah for being a false prophet. He’s terrified and curses God.  Ninevah deserved to be destroyed, they only repented at the very end. It doesn’t seem fair.

Fish-slappers of Nineveh.

Fast forward to the Gospel and Jesus, once again, using a parable to try and explain what the kingdom of God is like.  He compares it to a vineyard and God to the vineyard’s owner.  Needing folks to tend to the vineyard—to grow the kingdom—the landowner—God—enlists laborers early in the morning.  Then later in the day at noon, and 3:00, the landowner enlists more help, and then finally does so again late in the evening before dark.  When it comes time for payment those who only worked an hour get paid first, followed by the ones who worked half of the day, and finally the ones who worked the whole day, all the same amount.  But didn’t the ones who worked the whole day deserve more?  Weren’t they more faithful, more dedicated?  The landowner’s response is that everyone gets the same amount, everyone is rewarded, even those who didn’t work as long, because the landowner says so. Is that fair?

A priest I knew years ago started a sermon on these readings by saying, “Thank God that God’s not fair!” And it’s true. God isn’t fair, at least not by our standards. We operate out of a mindset that people get what they deserve, that those who work harder and suffer longer should receive more. That seems fair. We are taught about such fairness from an early age, but are we taught grace? Fairness has little to do with the Kingdom Jesus talks about, a Kingdom that welcomes all, even those we think don’t deserve it, even those who didn’t “earn” it. That’s grace.

Fairness is something I suspect we all want to believe it, but in the pursuit of what’s fair we too often are cruel when perhaps we should be generous. Churches at times treat those who have been members the longest with the highest regard, bestowing on them positions on vestries and as ministry chairs, but when someone new feels a call to leadership, the refrain is so often, “You haven’t been here long enough, and it’s not fair to those who’ve put in their time.” 

A very real concern for people of my generation and younger is student loan forgiveness. The debate fails because of the thinking that it is isn’t fair for someone who worked hard to pay off their loans to be asked to help someone else who can’t – nevermind that the average cost of even a public four-year degree has nearly doubled since the turn of the millennium, according to EducationData.org. So much of how we relate to one another, it seems, is predicated on our standards for what’s fair, what we believe someone deserves.

These standards are based on a meritocracy, the idea that a person’s position in a society is due to their abilities and talents; if you’re rich it’s because you earned it, you deserve it. What then does that say about being poor, especially when the wealthiest among us commonly didn’t earn it but were privileged with being born into wealth?  

The Kingdom of heaven is not a meritocracy. It is based on grace. One doesn’t earn the Kingdom. It simply is given because of God’s love. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s what grace is. It’s the free gift God gives in saving the horrible people of Nineveh, and it’s the same standard wage that the landowner in the parable gives even to the ones who worked for just one hour. There’s no judging who is more deserving of grace. As theologian Amy-Jill Levine writes in Short Stories by Jesus, even well-meaning church folk will often ask questions of those in need to determine if they deserve it, questions like, “Do you have a job?” or “Are you saved?” but Jesus tends to ask things like, “Do you have shelter and enough food for you and your children?”

We’ve all heard the phrase, “earn a living,” but I see in these readings from Scripture today the utter absurdity of that saying. Living is not to be earned, but so many of us spend our whole lives trying to do so because we were taught that that’s how the world works. Well, that ain’t how God works! And church folk are the ones called to model God’s radical love and abundant hospitality to the rest of the world. Are we freely giving to those who we may otherwise feel don’t deserve it? Are we welcoming the folks who’ve been here three weeks the same as we would those who’ve been here for 30 years? Rather than worrying what others are getting or what they deserve, or the unfairness of a God that blesses all and calls us to do the same, what if we had eyes to see the good gifts God has already bestowed and used them to care for our fellow laborers in the field, no questions asked? 

Seeing the world with Kingdom Eyes changes literally everything. It changes our relationship to money, to other people, to God, and to our own sense of self-worth. It changes our concepts of fairness and the idea that we get what we deserve, what we’ve earned. Another lesson from The Princess Bride is that true love doesn’t happen everyday. Well, it does in the Kingdom. It does when it’s God’s love, rooted in grace and freely given. It does when we live more into God’s Kingdom than the one of our own making. It’s not always “fair.” And thank God for that! 

Real Forgiveness

'Peter came and said to Jesus, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.

“For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him; and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all his possessions, and payment to be made. So the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.’ And out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt. But that same slave, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, ‘Pay what you owe.’ Then his fellow slave fell down and pleaded with him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you.’ But he refused; then he went and threw him into prison until he would pay the debt. When his fellow slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Then his lord summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?’ And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt. So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”'

--Matthew 18: 21-35

I was not a math major. Had I been, I'd be an engineer now instead of a priest! Three=one, that’s about all the math I need. But I do know that 77 is more than seven, and I know Greek, so I know that the actual Greek words said by Jesus equate to “70 times seven,” which math says is 490.  Too many numbers for my taste! What does it all mean? And what’s it got to do with real, honest-to-God “forgiveness?”

To forgive someone seven times was considered a lot in Jesus’ day. Simon Peter didn’t come up with that number off the top of his head. He was kinda showing off. According to tradition, as later written in the Jewish Talmud, seven is the number of times a person was obligated to forgive anyone who asked. It wasn’t the minimum, it was the limit. Up to seven times, as Simon Peter asks. Put into a historical context – especially considering surrounding cultures that we encounter in the Bible like the Babylonians, Assyrians, and Romans, whose value systems were based on vengeance and retribution – having a God who instructed people to forgive at all, let alone up to seven times, seemed pretty generous, if not radical. 

Jesus comes back, though, and says that the number to forgive someone is 77 times, according to our New Revised Standard Version, or, as I mentioned, the original Greek says, “70 times seven.” This, too, is intentional. Way, way back in the Book of Genesis, chapter 4, the great-great-great-grandson of Cain, a man named Lamech, killed someone and declared that, quoting the NRSV again, “If Cain is avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech is 77-fold.” Seven is the number associated with God and eternity in Hebrew, while 70 is associated with perfection.. So by declaring that one should forgive up to 77 – or “70 times seven” – Jesus is mirroring the vengeful pronouncement of Lamech, but flipping it. He’s reminding his audience – who would’ve understood the significance of those numbers – that the ethic of Cain, one of violence and vengeance to those who you believe have done you wrong, is superseded by God’s ethic of mercy and forgiveness. 

To illustrate his point Jesus tells the story of a man who owes an astronomical amount of money in debt: 10,000 talents.  To give you some perspective, that is the equivalent of a day’s worth of wages for 150,000 years!  It’s more than the annual budget of the entire Roman province where these folks lived. It’s hyperbole. The point is that it’s an unplayable debt. When this man shows contrition, the one he owes forgives him the unplayable debt, undoubtedly expecting that he would do the same. But when that first man encounters someone who owes him a much more reasonable debt, he seeks vengeance and retribution. The parables’s message seems clear: forgive as you are forgiven.

An Eastern icon depicting the Parable of the Unmerciful Servant.

This sounds easy enough, but there’s a lot that goes unsaid here about the nature of “forgiveness” in an ancient Jewish context that perhaps those of us hearing the story today may not catch because the text takes it for granted. For example, it was common knowledge that the instruction about forgiving debts – whether the injury was financial or moral – was contingent upon a person admitting the wrong and seeking the other person’s forgiveness. And even when a person demonstrated such remorse, they may not immediately be granted the forgiveness they sought; in fact, the Torah stated that a person could deny their wrongdoer forgiveness up to three times. After that, however, if they didn’t forgive the offender, they were considered guilty of a greater sin. So the instruction to forgive as many times as it takes assumes contrition on the part of the wrongdoer. But what do you do when there is no contrition, no admittance of wrongdoing?

Forgiveness in the context of God’s grace, freely bestowed to all and never earned, is one of the greatest gifts that God gives us. Sadly, the concept of “forgiveness” often becomes so distorted in the context of the modern Church that those who are experiencing real harm are told to “just forgive,” without any further examination as to whether the harm has stopped, or whether the person causing the harm has shown any real understanding of their behavior, much less genuine contrition. Often in churches forgiveness becomes weaponized as a way of maintaining the status quo, protecting those in power while putting the onus on the victim to pretend like all is fine. People who are caught in cycles of abuse – especially when the abuse is more psychological than physical – are too often counseled by well-meaning pastors, spiritual directors, and church friends to “forgive and forget," which nearly always leads to further the abuse continuing. 

We see this play out on a larger scale as well, when church leaders or politicians are publicly called out for immoral and even downright criminal behavior, and they respond with half-hearted “non-apologies” – saying they’re sorry if anyone was offended, or reminding everyone that they aren’t perfect (but who is?). They ask forgiveness with their words, but they are focused much more on maintaining their public image than the actual impact of their behavior on others. There is clearly no contrition there, no acknowledgement of the harm and then asking for forgiveness. They want those who were harmed to deny their experience and stop telling the truth about it. 

That is not forgiveness. That’s just denial. Last week I talked about conflict and the importance of “caring enough to confront.” Whether we are the one on the receiving end of harm, or the one who has wronged another, forgiveness requires us to accept the reality of our situation. The goal is not to forgive and forget,  but to understand and remember, and then choose a path of mercy. 

That doesn’t necessarily mean staying in relationship with someone who has wronged you. Interestingly, the Greek word used here for “forgive” – ἀφίημι– in a literal sense means “to leave,” “to send away, dismiss, or set free.” Real forgiveness means becoming free from the cycles of vengeance and violence that often keep us bound to unhealthy relationships. It’s about letting go of the power to harm. 

The Gospel was paired this week with the story of Joseph from the final chapter of Genesis. That story connects with the parable of forgiveness that Jesus offers.  If you recall back in chapter 37 of Genesis, Joseph’s brothers nearly killed him and then sold him into slavery, actions that resulted in a famine. Now that their father has died, Joseph is in a position of power over them: he has access to an abundance of food in Egypt, whereas they are starving in Canaan. The brothers beg his forgiveness, afraid for their lives that Joseph will repair them for what they had done. 

Joseph has a choice. In an ancient Egyptian context, he would have been well within his rights to enact some sort of vengeance upon them, but he chooses forgiveness. Joseph points out that like their forefather Cain, they are motivated by fear, jealousy, and power, But God is always motivated by restoration, and the promise of new life. By choosing to “forgive” his brothers, he is not denying or “forgetting” the harm that was done to him – on the contrary, he names it as a way of highlighting God’s power to turn even the most hopeless situation to good. Joseph’s forgiveness sets all of them free of the cycle of violence. It doesn’t mean that he gives them the opportunity to hurt him again. It means that he relinquishes his right to hurt them back. 

Understanding how to forgive means understanding how power works in the context of relationships. This is true for families, for communities, for every system of every kind. Naming the harm is important and needed if there is to be a true Biblical ethic of forgiveness.

The hope presented in the Joseph story is that God can and does bring meaning from suffering, even if it takes a long time. The hope presented by Jesus is that, rather than meeting harm with vengeance, we can leave it, send it away, and be free of the power that it has over us. It’s not about forgetting. It’s about remembering, and releasing, and restoring, and redeeming, which God can always do

Thou Shalt Not Triangulate!!

'Jesus said, “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector. Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. Again, truly I tell you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”'

--Matthew 18: 15-20

The great philosopher Homer Simpson once said, “The problem with most relationships is com-munication…too much communication!”  This occurs in the season 10 episode I’m with Cupid, and, of course, Homer says this sitting on the couch with a beer, while his wife Marge is scrambling with everyday housework and papers and basically trying to keep the family intact.  Homer comments that everyone else's marriage is falling apart except theirs. That's because, as far as Homer is concerned, there are no conflicts or problems because they don't communicate about them. Spoiler alert though, there definitely are conflicts and problems in the Simpson household!

Homer, not THAT one!

It’s been said by counselors and therapists and pastors countless times that the key to any relation-ship, is communication.  One of the things that the Gospel writers set out to do was to lay the groundwork of a Christian ethic for this fledging new thing called the Church. Jesus had come and gone, so as they wrote years after the fact, these communities wanted to give Jesus words that would steer them in ethical and moral directions when it came to being in relationship.  In the case of this week's Gospel from Matthew we get the Christian ethic for what to do when conflicts arise.  

The key, Jesus says, is communication. When someone in your community offends you – and notice that he doesn’t say if, but when – this is what you are to do. First, go to the person directly and try to settle the issue one-on-one. If that doesn’t work, take a couple of witnesses with you – this is in-keeping with Deuteronomy, chapter 19, you take at least two because just one isn’t reliable. If that doesn’t work, you take the issue to the wider community, maybe to the Vestry or some other council. And finally, even if this effort is unsuccessful, then go all out with the ultra-deluxe package and treat the offender the same as a tax collector or a Gentile; that is, how Jesus treats them, which, of course, means like one of your own kin. This isn’t to say that there are no consequences for their offense – after all, back in chapter 10 of this Gospel he told the apostles that there would be occasions when they’d be wounded so badly that they would have to walk away from a relationship, shaking the dust from their feet – yet compassion and mercy must still remain in the believer’s heart.

Conflict, Jesus makes very clear, is inevitable. It can’t be avoided, and to ignore it is not in-keeping with the Christian ethic. It’s not what Jesus would do. Sorry, Homer. There’s no such thing as too much communication when it comes to conflict, it should be addressed directly. Or, as we might put it in the language of the 1O Commandments: thou shalt not triangulate! 

If you are unfamiliar with triangulation, it works something like this:  

• Person A has a conflict with Person B. 
• Instead of going to that person directly, Person A goes to Person C. 
• Person A tells Person C that they have a problem with Person B.
• Person A tells Person C not to let Person A know about their problem, maintaining anonymity. 
• Person C tells Person B "some people have a problem" but doesn't elaborate further.

No only does this entrap Person C in the triangle but Person B often doesn't even know there is a problem because Person A never comes to Person B directly. In the book Beyond Business as Usual, Neal. O. Michell calls triangulation the “favoritist game the church likes to play.” Healthy, spiritually mature communities don’t play that game, and instead follow the instructions Jesus laid out to address conflict in a direct manner.

For some of us, though, confronting another feels almost wrong. We don’t want the other person to think we hate them. Even if it’s clear that there is some very not-ok behavior going on, the very perception that we could be “stirring up trouble” or that we won’t be believed causes us to remain silent. But silence, too, is not part of the Christian ethic of conflict resolution. Back in my chaplain days – which we all did before ordination in something called clinical pastoral education – we talked about caring enough to confront. That sounded like an oxymoron to me! To care for someone in a deep, real, meaningful way, does not mean staying silent when there is a problem, and it certainly does not mean letting our own frustration fester to the point of poisoning us. 

The goal is restoration, and this, I feel, has been lost on many of us, in our one-on-one relationships all the way up to more systemic ones such as how we treat those in prison. There’s a kind of schadenfruade, a happiness we feel seeing someone get what they deserve. An eye-for-eye, if you will. Yet even the prophet Ezekiel, speaking on behalf of God in one of our other readings for this week and calling out the sins and wickedness he sees – which are a lot -  ends his rant by saying that God’s desire is not punishment but that those who have hurt others will turn themselves around, turn back to God. In his letters St. Paul uses a Greek word – metanoia – which we translate as ‘repentance’ but means literally to turn oneself around. Too often we repay pain with pain. The hurt doesn’t get resolved, there is no restoration, because hurt people hurt people. When there is no triangulation, when communication is open and direct, when the goal of car-ing enough about someone to confront them is to restore the relationship, then the cycle of hurt can end, but only when all parties involved understand restoration to be the goal of any conflict.

This model for direct engagement with conflict, with a goal of restoration, is the hope that we have for all relationships – with partners, with families and friends, and our church community It is into this hope that we baptized Max Allyn Jirkiw at St. James' Church this week. He may not have known conflict so far in his precious life, but he will. And as he was made part of the Body of Christ today, this community promised to uphold him in what it means to be part of that Body, to love enough to confront with compassion and mercy, to know that restoration is possible, to remember that he can both forgive and be forgiven. It is a hope we all affirm for ourselves, as well, when we renew our Baptismal Covenant, promising that when – not if – we sin, we repent and return. 

In case you’re wondering, Marge does eventually care enough for Homer to confront him in that episode, not with bitterness and pain, but with compassion and mercy and love. And when he hears it Homer doesn’t get defensive, or go pull Bart or Lisa into the triangulation game, he listens. And he realizes what he has done wrong and pledges to do better. Imagine a church that used The Simpsons as a model for how to do relationship, huh? 

We may wish we could avoid conflict, but we’re people, and people are fraught. Max will be, if he isn’t already. Life in community would be easy if it weren’t for the people, am I right? But we can’t not be in community, and we can’t not avoid conflict. The focus, then, of any of our conflicts mustn’t be wining an argument but restoration, a return to the community and the source of that community, which of course is God. Relationships are neither loving nor healthy if all parties involved are not open, direct, and honest . May we all care enough to engage any of our conflicts, be they personal, communal, or systemic, with honest communication and an eye toward restoration. That is the Christian ethic, and that is Good News.

A diagram of triangulation.

A New Journey Begins

'Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?

“For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done. Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”'

--Matthew 16: 21-28

Where I come from everyone has a nickname, especially if you’re a ballplayer. There’s Ox, Nut, Sturg, Spooner, Doodle, Doc, and the King. Yes, I had a nickname, but you'll have to do some detective work to figure it out!

Often times nicknames become our real name. Most of those folks I mentioned go by their nicknames so often that, in some cases, I don’t even know their real names! Last week we heard the story of Simon bar Jonah getting a nickname. Jesus christened him Kephas in Aramaic, or as we better know him, Peter, which is Greek. Both mean “rock.” It is on the rock of Peter’s profession of Jesus as the Christ that the Church – big C – is founded.

And then, in the same encounter, this week Jesus gives him another nickname, and it’s not exactly an endearing one. After Simon Peter’s profession, Jesus explains to him and the other apostles how when they get to Jerusalem he will be handed over to the authorities, tortured, and eventually put to death. Well, Simon the Rock, speaking for the group insists, “God forbid it! This must never happen.” Seems like a rational response, doesn’t it? But Jesus doesn’t commend him this time but rather tells him, “Get behind me, Satan!” Yikes! I’m glad for Simon Peter’s sake that that nickname didn’t stick. 

In its purest form the word ‘Satan’ means ‘adversary’ or ‘prosecutor’ in Hebrew. It meant anyone or anything that got between God and God’s people. It wasn't until the deuterocanonical Book of Jubilees, written around 200-100 BC, that the word gets assigned to a single individual who commands fallen angels and tempts human beings. So, if we take the word literally in its context within the language and faith of the people of Israel, then Jesus is using it rightly in this instance. Jesus has made his mission very clear, and it’s one of downward mobility. He's going to Jerusalem, not to overthrow Rome, but to die on a cross. By stepping in and trying to prevent Jesus from going through with this mission, Simon Peter is, in fact, being a satan, an adversary.

But can we blame him? Simon Peter just wants to maintain the status quo. He doesn’t want Jesus to get hurt, sure, but on a deeper level, he doesn’t want things to change. Remember that this is the guy who wanted them to stay up on Mount Tabor when Jesus was transfigured. The harder he tries to keep things from changing, and the more he tries to hold on to the way things are the way he thinks they should be, though, the worse it gets for him, culminating with Simon Peter denying that he even knows who Jesus is. 

Or, to paraphrase a line from Princess Leia, the more he tightens his grip, the more the things he wants to hold onto slips through his fingers. 

As readers of this blog know by now, I have recently taken a new call as Interim Rector of St. James' Episcopal Church in Skaneateles, NY. And as I said to the folks in church on Sunday: Brothers and sisters, the work of an interim time, is to loosen our grip. 

Preaching my first sermon at St. James', Skaneateles on September 3

Last week The Rt. Rev. Skip Adams, retired Bishop of the Diocese of Central New York and member of St. James', mentioned in his sermon that the Church doesn’t have a mission. God does. Jesus was always attune to what God's mission was for him, and it is our prayer that we may be so attuned ourselves. We pray to have eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to receive that mission, and for hands and feet to be put into actions so that the mission may be lived out in an ever-changing and confusing world. That’s what discernment is about.  Discernment is that stilling of our hearts, minds, and spirits, that opening up of ourselves to receive the Holy Spirit. It is a process, a marathon instead of a sprint. It is done in community, as well as individually, and it involves asking questions, wondering, and going deeper. Discernment is at the very heart of the common ministry to which we have been called this season at St. James'.

It is only through discernment that we understand Jesus’ mission, as the Church, as a church, and as individuals. Still, true understanding will come only as we give up our idea of what makes life worthwhile and yield to God’s idea. When we surrender the pursuit of our own “best life” in order to disappear into God’s life, we begin to live the only life worth living, which is the life that Jesus lived and showed us how to live. 

This is the kind of life to which Simon Peter was, at least initially, an adversary. It's the life that surrenders the need for power, prestige, and possessions. It’s the life that doesn’t seek to hold on too tightly to what we have, but instead gives it away graciously and freely when the time comes. It’s the life that sets aside the need for personal protection and places all hope, all trust in God. It's the life grounded in abundance - what we have, what God is doing in our midst - rather than scarcity - what we don't have, who's not in church on Sundays. It’s the life that willingly and willfully takes up the cross – a symbol of shame and ridicule and pain – knowing that, contrary to every rational thought, it will lead to a new thing being born. 

Doesn’t that sound exciting? Does it sound scary? Yes and yes. There’s danger in this dance, that’s why we can’t resist it! We may feel the tug to keep things the way they’ve been, to avoid the pain and discomfort that often come with change. Simon bar Jonah was in the same place y’all are now, but there’s a reason why he’s better known by the nickname he got last week than the one he got this week. Though he struggled to accept the mission of downward mobility that Jesus accepted in his earthly ministry, when the stone of the grave had been rolled away, the one they called the Rock finally understood what it meant to give up his own ambitions and ideas of how things are supposed to be and surrender to God's will, and he lived the rest of his life with that understanding. In so doing, he earned his true name.

We will find our true selves on this journey, too. The instructions for how we do that can be found in the 12th chapter of Romans (another of our readings from this past Sunday):  “let love be genuine…perservere in prayer…rejoice with those who rejoice….weep with those who weep.” 

That's the work of the Gospel right there, and I believe that the the Gospel, the Good News, of Jesus Christ, is enough. All by itself. It’s enough to turn this world, not upside-down, but rightside-up. Saying yes to this Gospel-centrered life that Jesus calls us into can seem scary, especially when it means letting go of our own ambitions and expectations and ideas for how we think things ought to be. But trust me when I say this, brothers and sisters, it is always, always worth it because it always, always leads to us discovering who we really are.

Lessons From Atop Mt. Tabor

*This post is taken from a sermon preached at St. Thaddeus in Aiken, SC on the Feast of the Transfiguration.

'Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah” —not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.'

--Luke 9: 28-36

View from atop Mt. Tabor, the site of Jesus' Transfiguration.

I've been on that mountain, Mt. Tabor. I got to study for three weeks in the Holy Land during the summer leading into my last year of seminary, which was a thing that could not have happened without the generous support of all of y'all here at St. Thaddeus, so I sincerely thank you for that opportunity. Lots of pilgrims walk all the way up the mountain in solidarity with Jesus and his inner circle of James, John, and Peter, but we were lazy, so our group drove a bus up there. And when you arrive, you're met with this huge basilica and dozens of little outdoor chapels. We celebrated mass in one of them - because we're Anglicans and aren't allowed to have a mass inside most of the holy sites in that region. And we heard this story again, the story of Jesus shining in resplendent light, conversing with Moses the Law Giver and Elijah, greatest of the prophets. We heard God speaking to the disciples, and to us, "This is my Son, my chosen: listen to him." And we couldn't help but understand where Peter was coming from. Yes, Lord, let's build three dwellings for you, Moses, and Elijah, and let's stay here. Let's stay in this moment of euphoria, of a kind of closeness to the divine that we just don't get down there in the valley, in the real world. Of course, though it's not included in our reading this morning, we know that Jesus tells Peter no, that they can't stay up there, and then they move back down the mountain, back into the valley, back onto the road to Jerusalem and the cross. While up there I said to one of the other members of our group, "If he wasn't transfigured on this mountain, he sure as heck shoulda been!" It was that kind of place. Who'd wanna leave?

And then we went inside the Basilica of the Transfiguration. As soon as you walk in your eyes are drawn to the magnificent high altar, and then you notice the chapels just to the left and right of the main entrance. Walking into each of them you find a small space with an altar and painting on the ceiling in dedication to, you guessed it, Moses on the left and Elijah on the right. 

The Chapels of Moses and Elijah inside the Basilica of the Transfiguration

We didn't listen to him. We did the thing. We built the dwelling places for all three of them because, of course we did! Why do we do that? Why is it so hard to just listen to Jesus? One reason I suspect is a phenomenon that one of my clergy friends likes to call the religion of Jesus vs. the religion about Jesus.  The religion of Jesus is what we might call the religion of the original 12 apostles and all those disciples that followed Jesus in his earthly ministry.  This religion is grounded squarely on the the Gospels more than any other Scriptures, and is concerned with what Jesus said, how he lived his life, and the examples he gave for those who chose to follow him and for those who'd come after.  The religion about Jesus, meanwhile, is the religion that grew up in the days after Jesus' death and resurrection, when folks told stories about Jesus, but he was kept in isolation.  This religion became concerned with doctrine and dogmatic laws and became a mirror image of the very faith that Jesus himself often criticized.  It became concerned with matters never addressed by Jesus—such as who could get married or who could be ordained—rather than matters that he addressed so often—such as economic justice for the poor, release for the prisoners, and the deconstruction of top-down power models.  In short, while the religion of Jesus sees him as a living, present reality, the religion about Jesus keeps him bound to distant years in Palestine, as the hymn says. We Christians have always had a choice:  to have a relationship with Jesus that is alive in the present reality and still speaking to us , or having one that just holds Jesus in pristine condition in isolation on Sundays, apart from our daily lives? One of these tends to listen to the Living Christ  a bit more than the other.

One of my favorite depictions of the Transfiguration story is in the graphic novel Marked by Steve Ross. In that book Jesus is depicted as clean-shaven, somewhat androgynous person of color preaching in a dystopian, occupied land in an unspecified time. There are some great illustrations in this book, and the Transfiguration is one of the best. We see Jesus climb up a mountainside, only to step off the ledge when he gets to the top. In the air he is met by Moses and Elijah, who are depicted as Frederick Douglass and Louis Armstrong, respectively. As Jesus is talking with the law-giver and discussing a large book he has opened, the prophet plays his trumpet and Jesus begins to shine in radiant light, while Peter takes out his camera to snap a picture. But before he can do so, the camera explodes. He's pretty bummed, "I just wanted a souvenir," he says. Jesus replies, "My friend, there are some things you just can't freeze in time."

The Transfiguration, as depicted in Marked by Steve Ross

Do we want to just keep Jesus frozen in time? If we do that, what’s the point of listening to him? This Jesus thing we do is meant to be lived out loud, celebrated in here, yes, but taken out there - this is just the dress rehearsal! The Gospel, as St. Paul tells us, must not be veiled, but it must be proclaimed in both word and action, just as we promise whenever we renew our baptismal vows. The Good News must shine from us, like Jesus on the mountainside. . And it all starts with listening to  him,  just as the heavenly voice instructed. 

And what does that look like? Many things, really, one of which is don’t build nothin Jesus tells ya not to build! Another, and perhaps the most poignant, is that we can't stay on the mountain. We can't stay in that euphoric state, we can’t freeze it, as Peter wanted to do. We have to come down. We have to move into the valleys. And we have to move toward our own Jerusalem, which isn't exactly an easy walk. The end of that journey, we are told, is a cross, but we know better, don't we? The end of the journey is the beginning. It's resurrection. It's meaning being made out of the senseless and the fulfillment of God's promise to always bring life after death. 

Some of y'all might remember - though I don't blame you if you can't - that my last sermon as the youth minister at St. Thaddeus in the summer of 2009 was about how God is always calling us to something new, even though it was on a different Scripture. I couldn't stay here, no matter how much I loved this place. I had to go to seminary, had to move to Kentucky, then to North Carolina. I had to grow beyond who I was, and in doing so I even found the person God always knew that I was, even if I hadn’t yet, and moreover found the one God had chosen for me to spend my life with, through richer or poorer and in sickness and in health. 

Ya gotta come down. That’s where the learning happens. For the better part of two decades, y'all have had a bunch of mountaintop experiences in this place. I still remember the energy that Father Grant brought here on that first Pentecost celebration. It was infectious. And God richly blessed y'all in that common ministry and mission. At the same time, God has called y'all to come down from that particular mountain and walk through a valley of transition that is  leading  to something new, something holy. 

The Day of Pentecost, 2009, the first Sunday for Fr. Grant Wiseman as Rector at St. Thaddeus

Whether we are talking about a change in church leadership or a change in our personal lives, the story of the Transfiguration reminds us that no mountaintop experience lasts forever, that we cannot contain the resplendent light of Jesus that shines both on us and through us, and that all we need to do is listen to him.

Be Seeing You

*This post was taken from my final Sunday sermon at the Church of the Good Shepherd in Asheboro, NC.

'Jesus put before the crowds another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.”

He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.

“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.

“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind.' 

--Matthew 13: 31-33, 44-47

Good Shepherd, Asheboro

I wrote my first sermon in Asheboro at a desk built into the wall of a house on Middleton Circle in which I lived for just four months. I wrote my last sermon in Asheboro at the Black Powder Smokehouse, a barbecue place on Fayetteville Street that didn’t even exist when I first came here. In the eight years, two months, and one week between them, I’ve learned quite a bit, but one of the most significant is a lesson found right there in our Gospel this week: small things matter.

The first words out of Jesus’ mouth in the Gospels is that the Kingdom of Heaven has come near. If I asked you what is the Kingdom of Heaven I suspect most of you – most Christians, in general – would say that it’s the place we go when we die. Yet Jesus never talked about what happens when we die, instead he talked about the present reality, and in this case the reality of the Kingdom of Heaven being right here, right now, and at the same time still to come. It’s what we call an already-not yet. Jesus being in the world is evidence enough that the Kingdom is already here, and yet we also know that it is has not yet reached its fullest manifestation. And this Kingdom, according to Jesus, can be compared, not to something fancy or strong or clean. This Kingdom starts small and is unassuming, but with time, with patience, with love, it grows and grows. Small things matter.

Simple intentions, brief encounters at the right moment become, with time and care, the fruits of such a Kingdom. Jesus is a brilliant teacher because he uses metaphor and hyperbole and turns established ways of thinking on their heads – long before Rian Johnson did it to Star Wars or Zack Snyder to the DC Universe, Jesus of Nazareth was subverting expectations. 

A mustard seed isn’t the smallest seed on Earth, nor does it grow into a tree. It’s tiny, yes, but it becomes more of a shrub and not exactly pleasant to the eye. Yet it is from this tiny, unassuming seed, that the Kingdom can grow, and it is to this unattractive shrub – not the mighty oak of empire – that the people will flock.

Yeast takes a while to be leavened, but three measures of flour is a lot. It’s going to take that woman a good long while to knead it all. Sometimes the Kingdom, Jesus is saying, requires time and patience. The New Interpreter’s Bible offers a modern day analogy for this parable: the Kingdom of Heaven is like a preacher who has a congregation of 25 in a city of two million, and keeps preaching until everyone hears the Good News. 

A man buries something that he doesn’t even know is a treasure. It seems, at first, insignificant, but joy abounds when he realizes its worth, despite the fact that he did not even know that he wanted in the first place. So he digs it up and buries it again for the fun of finding it once more. How exciting the Kingdom must be, if it’s worth rediscovering over and over again!

A pearl so precious, so lovely, that someone would give away everything they had just to possess it. No material object could be that valuable, and no one would say that’s a sound financial decision. Except maybe Jesus.

A net is cast into the sea, and shimmering fish of all sorts get hauled in. Such is the Kingdom. Such is Jesus.

The smallest of seeds, the most hidden of treasures, and fish of every kind reveal God’s bounty. What a wealth of wonders the Kingdom is, and it’s all right here, in the smallest details. No, y’all, the devil isn’t in the details, Jesus is! Right there, hidden under our chins, so ordinary, so precious, and do you know what? – he keeps showing this Kingdom to us!

Pink bows that popped up all over town after the tragic death of our beloved Laura Lisk in 2016 led to a foundation set up in her name, to give opportunities to the very people whom she sought to love and serve in life. That’s a mustard seed growing into something mighty.

For folks to keep decrying sin of racism in our community and calling on those in authority to remove a monument that has too long been a symbol of hate, despite no actions from those authority figures and continued aggression from that symbol’s supporters, seems a daunting task. Why bother? Still, you show up, you stand in the legacy of Jesus and the prophets who cried out for shalom – peace - and hesed – justice - for everyone. That’s the woman taking all that time to knead the yeast until it is finally leavened. 

On Easter Sunday this year, the rain kept us from being outside, so our kids had to hide their own Easter eggs all over this building. They then ran all over the place, again, with so much excitement re-discovering where they had put them. That’s the treasure so amazing that the man hides it over and over again in order to keep finding it over and over again.

In the past few months, I have resumed visits to the local prison, where I have recently been seeing a man incarcerated for murder for 37 years. He has written to our church multiple times, even before I came back from medical leave, and though no one had visited him in almost two years before I took him Communion in June, he longs to find a church home that can forgive him and welcome him, or visit him in case he is never granted release. Like the one who will sell everything for the pearl so precious, this prisoner longs for just a little love that he knows is the sign of the Kingdom.

In June of last year Good Shepherd lived into its call to love and welcome all people in a way it never had before by publicly celebrating the Holy Eucharist in honor of Pride Month and proclaiming the imago dei – the image of God – in our lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, non-binary, and intersex siblings. That’s the net being cast that brings in fish of every kind. 

Small things matter. Little acts here and there build and build and grow and grow and before you know it, you’re smack dab in the middle of the Kingdom of Heaven. If you have eyes to see, behold the Kingdom is all around you! If you ears to hear, listen to sounds of the Kingdom – in the cries for justice, in the laughter of children, in the lonely groans of the shut-in. If you have hands that are open, receive the Kingdom – here and now at this Table and taste what Ignatius of Antioch called “the medicine of immortality!” in something as small as a cracker.

On this final Sunday of my tenure as Rector, Jackson Lafayette Hailey will finally get his cracker and so much more. He’ll be washed in the baptismal waters as Jesus was, made one with Jesus and with all of us, sealed and marked as Christ’s own forever. He’ll be given the promise of the forgiveness of sins – that whenever he makes a mistake, and he will, that he knows he can return to this place, to all of you, to our God, and be forgiven. What’s more, everyone here will be given a glimpse at the hope God gives us for the future. Nurture Jack, as you would nurture a seed, and help him along as the woman kneading the yeast, and remind him – and remind all of the kids in this place – that they are as valuable as that pearl, and that Jesus loves them like the man going after that treasure again and again, and that they have a place here.

With Jack Hailey, the newest member of the Body of Christ.

 I’m a priest because someone did all those things for me in a little Episcopal church in the coalfields. We didn’t have programs that I could get lost in, we just had a faithful community that knew that the Gospel, the Good News, of Jesus and his love, was enough to change the world for the better. I believe that and have lived my life – and by extension my priesthood – as if all of it were real – the love, the grace, the redemption, the resurrection. My great-grandfather used to say that the most over-used word in the English language was ‘awesome,’ because it was so misused. I truly believe to know the living God in Christ Jesus, made manifest in the Eucharist, and shared with the people of God in this hospital for sinners is the most awesome thing in the whole world. How then can I not share that? How can you? 

I may be leaving you, Good Shepherd, but the Church remains. I told our search committee eight years ago that we are all interims. At some point we all leave, even Joe Mitchell, even Jay Hobbs, Everett Thomas, and Barbara Cook. Church communities don’t live or die by their priests. It’s not about me. And it never was. It was, is, and always will be, about Jesus. I’m just one of those preachers who gets excited talking about him because I’ve known how he can change lives. I know the power of the Sacrament of Christ’s Body and Blood to strengthen us as food and drink for our journey. I know that resurrection is real because I carry another person’s liver inside of my body thanks to God’s gift of medical science. And I know the depths of the love of God when I have seen the tears in the eyes of people told they were unlovable who realize, for the first time, that the song my beloved late mother sang to me is true that Jesus does love them. It’s real, this Jesus-thing we do. All of it. And it changes lives. If you have heard or believed nothing else in the last eight years, I pray you hear and believe that and hold on to that Gospel truth, no matter what changes may come.

You cannot stop the change anymore than you can stop the suns from setting. Shmi Skywalker said that when her boy went off to be a Jedi. The act of living is an embracement of change, according to Rioji Kaji. Other priests will occupy this pulpit. Listen to them. Ask them questions. Challenge them. Walk with them. Love them. And let them love you. As you do, remember that what starts small, God gives growth. What seems daunting, God fulfills through patience. What’s so precious, God puts right there in plain sight, which is that the Kingdom of Heaven is as close to you as your own human breath – ya…weh….the name of God, breathed by us countless times in a single day, and both the first and last sound we ever make. 

The Good News – the Gospel - of this Kingdom that is so very close is that captives are free, the poor have hope, the hungry are fed, the lowly are raised up, and that all of them, all of you, are loved by God beyond the capacity for rational human thought, based on nothing you’ve done or left undone, but only because of God’s grace. Receive that Good News for yourselves, and then give it away, and just see what happens. It’s a small Church – the Church with a big C - so I look forward to finding out what the Spirit has in store for you; after all, she rarely makes a mistake.

I leave you, instead of goodbye, with one more pop culture reference, the salutation used in one of my favorite and most influential television shows, The Prisoner:  Good Shepherd, Asheboro…be seeing you. 

Loving the Wheat, the Weeds, and Everything In-Between

'Jesus put before the crowd another parable: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field; but while everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ But he replied, ‘No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.’”

Then he left the crowds and went into the house. And his disciples approached him, saying, “Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field.” He answered, “The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels. Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Let anyone with ears listen!”'

--Matthew 13: 24-30, 36-43

Twenty years ago, my best friend Richard and I built a fence around the house where I grew up in Flat Gap, VA. This wasn’t about maintaining a property line or keeping anybody out, but it was to hold back the woods that were slowly getting closer and closer to our house. He and I got to work, digging the post holes, mixing the quickcrete, and, of course, clearing out brush. But we didn’t use a weed-eater, oh no, not for this stuff. We used machetes! And let me tell you, we went to town on everything – briars, weeds, small intrusive trees, you name it. We got that fence built, but when it was over it wasn’t just the weeds and the briars and small intrusive trees that got slaughtered by those machetes. We’d cut into blackberry bushes and flowers and other innocent plants. Moral of the story: don’t go macheting nothing that don’t need macheting!

My best friend, Richard Mullins, and I in 2003, the summer we built a fence.

I can picture the servants in this parable Jesus tells wielding these machetes, ready to chop up whatever gets in their way, only they get stopped by their master before any damage can be done.

Jesus gives his first “the kingdom of heaven may be compared to…” parable here, immediately after telling the Parable of the Sower, which we heard last week. One way to translate that first line from Jesus might be to say, the way God acts, relates to, and affects God’s followers is like the following story. In this case, like a master who has sown good seed, only for it to be infiltrated with bad seeds and the two to grow together until the harvest comes. If you find this confusing, so did the disciples. Like last week’s parable, this one also gets an explanation from Jesus – and maybe he was ticked off by having to explain himself because he never explains another one! The one who sows, the master, is the Son of Man. The field is the world, good seed are children of the kingdom, bad seed are children of the so-called evil one, who sowed those seeds while no one was paying attention, and the reapers are the angels who will gather those folks together when the harvest comes, which is the end of the age – the eschaton. No explanation is given, though, for who those servants in the story are, but maybe they are the folks who are eager to play the role of the master and judge between what is wheat and what is weed.

An icon of the Parable of the Wheat and the Weeds

Let’s go ahead and acknowledge that this is a tough parable to hear because it reeks of judgment. There’s a dualism here: you’re either wheat or weeds, and if you’re weeds then you’re going to be gathered up and burned in the place with weeping and gnashing of teeth. I want to apologize to anyone who had a preacher tell them that this dread, this fear of being a weed and getting thrown into the fire, was what should motivate their Christian lives.  That’s just not what Jesus is doing.

Yes, there is judgment here, but the judgment is a reflection of what was happening in the early church at the time, namely Matthew’s gospel community. Matthew is all about the eschaton, he loves him some apocalyptic imagery, and because this community was very mixed – with both Jews and Gentiles and with those who genuinely believed the Gospel liberation message and lived it out and those who only gave it lip service – there was a tendency for folks to separate themselves, go into their own silos, if you will. The writer of the Gospel didn’t like this and has Jesus offer this prophecy, that when the kingdom comes on earth in its fulfillment at the end of the age, those pseudo-disciples will get their comeuppance. Anytime you read these kinds of judgmental Gospel passages think about what was happening in those communities, and you can understand that isn’t so much Jesus who is passing judgment but the Gospel communities themselves.

But that doesn’t stop a lot of Christians from just passing judgment left and right. You’re a weed, you’re a weed, you’re cool, and you’re a weed! When all you have is a machete, everything looks like a weed. This parable gives us a Gospel truth that we all need to hear: it ain’t our job to get rid of the weeds!

There’s a few surprises in this parable. For starters, the master in the parable is the one who sows, even though the servants would’ve normally done that work. Also, the master knows that it was an enemy who sowed these weeds, which were likely darnel, which is a noxious weed that closely resembles wheat and is native to Palestine. You can’t tell the difference between them until maturity. But maybe most surprising of all is that when the servants are so eager to take their machetes to the darnel, the master says no, they may damage the wheat, and he has them allow the wheat and darnel to grow together until the harvest time. 

There’s no silos in this story. There’s no separation. There’s nothing anyone has to do except let nature takes its course and for the seeds to blossom into whatever they will be and to wait for the master to take care of the rest. That’s what grace is, y’all. It’s the freedom that God gives us to not have to do God’s job. Besides, when we try doing God’s job it usually ends up coming out poorly. 

My parish here in North Carolina is preparing for my imminent departure next week. If you are among those folks, you might feel, especially in the coming weeks and months, like you need to take out your machetes and start weeding, or at least pruning. You might think the clergy who will walk with you are just the best examples of the ripest wheat and you might think they’re the weediest weeds that ever weed. You may have already decided that some folks that the outgoing priest treated like wheat were really more like darnel than real wheat and you and your machete are gonna make sure they don’t contaminate this field. But that’s not anyone’s call to make because it’s not your field, it’s not the priest’s, it’s God’s. The master in the parable owns the field! He knows what’s growing in it, even when nobody else does. So if that’s the case, then there’s no need for the machetes. There’s no need for the weeding and the pruning and the judgment. Not in this little c church, not the big C Church, not in the whole field out there in which our master, our God, has planted every single one of us. And yes, some are good, some are bad, and most are a mixture of both, but passing judgment on who is which is reserved only for God and only at the end of the age. Those of us who spend our time fretting over that day or acting on God’s behalf to pass the judgment beforehand on others often miss the flowers and blackberry bushes and beautiful creation all around us as we’re chopping away. 

No time for folks running to their own silos. No time for judgment. No time for machetes. Now is the time to grow together. Now is the time to take root where God has planted you and to listen for whom the Spirit is calling to take up residence in this particular section of God’s ginormous field for the purpose of loving the wheat, weeds, and everything in-between.