To Learn the Language of Grace            A Sermon preached at Covenant Presbyterian Church,
Luke 19. 1-10                                             Scranton, PA on Sunday, October 30, 2022

    The elementary school playground across the street from our home was in full early afternoon chaos. The “big toy” jungle-gym was teeming with bodies climbing and sliding. In the far corner a game of kickball was being played. In the near corner by the gas meter a gaggle of girls were huddled around someone shedding tears.  Three young ladies circled the circumference of the space chatting while doing their laps.  The cacophony of shouts and screams could be heard over the roar of the lawnmower in my hands grinding fallen leaves with its mulching blade.

            Each time I shut down the machine to empty the bag of shredded leaves into a container I glanced over at a solitary figure standing along the fence to the left of “the big toy.”  Short of stature, wearing jeans and a wool hat under her hoodie on a blustery October afternoon, she stood like a statue. She made no move to join any of the activities. Only once did I see anyone come over to speak to her.

            There was another standing alone leaning against the brick wall of the school.  A third kid in a red sweatshirt sat on the ground where the building and the fence meet.  I wondered if these three kept to themselves by choice or were they being shunned by the others.  The kid in the sweatshirt jumped up and joined others chasing a ball; turned out he was just resting.  The guy leaning against the wall melted back into the mass of miniature humanity mingling on the playground.

            The figure by the fence stood motionless where she had been the last time I emptied the bag of leaves. It wasn’t the first time I had seen someone isolated out there while others run and play.  Some-times there’s a child staring off into the distance, back to all the others.  It wasn’t the first time I had lifted a simple prayer: “Lord, I don’t know what is going on with that one…but you do…so deal with her needs.”

            From the corner by the door into the school came a shrill blast of a whistle signaling recess was over.  The statue raised her hand and pointed in that direction and followed as the children scampered or shuffled to line up. That’s when I realized she was not a loner or an outcast, but a vertically challenged adult…a short person doing playground duty.  As I pulled the starter cord one more time, I laughed to myself at the assumption I had made.  I did not, however, cancel the prayer with a “never mind.”  All of us can use a little prayer on our behalf now and then!

            The moral of the story could be as simple as “you can’t judge a book by its cover.”  Or it could be a cautionary tale about how inaccurate our judgment of others can be when we base them on out-ward appearances or the categories we use to pigeonhole others.  

            In the space of two verses we are provided with three covers to judge Zacchaeus by; three categories to use to sort him into this, that, or the other box.  Luke gives us three handles to carry the bundle of assumptions we’re apt to make about the man who climbed a tree in order to see Jesus.  He was a chief tax collector.  He was rich. He was short in stature.

            When we hear that Zacchaeus was short in stature, it may trigger thoughts of a man with insecurities, like the famous actors known for standing on a box or insisting that leading ladies wear flats to compensate for their lack of height.  Think of the characters played by Danny DeVito, where a quick wit and withering sarcasm allow him to “tower” over the others in the cast.  The wee little man in the Sunday School song may lead us to lump him together with Napoleon or some other historical figure who are remembered for overcoming their closeness to the ground by rising to prominence as a memorable leader. (I am not Putin you on!)

            When Luke labels Jericho’s chief tax collector as being rich, that four letter word can deposit any number of pictures into our memory banks.  This week for instance, as Great Britain welcomed a new Prime Minister to Number 10 Downing Street, pundits worried that this young rich man, married to an even richer wife, could possibly relate to the struggles faced by the average bloke and his Mrs. trying to get by in touch economic times.

            Meanwhile, on our side of the pond, with prices rising in the grocery store checkout line, and the economy mentioned in the political ads that aren’t throwing mud at the other candidate, one won-ders how do “trickle-down” promises land on the ears of those who lost their job when a wealthy em-ployer plugged all the leaks and raised the boards on the dam’s spillway by calling downsizing “right-sizing”? Can anyone lacking necessities relate to those who take luxuries for granted?

In the flow of the Gospel of Luke, Zacchaeus shows up shortly after a certain rich ruler asks what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus answers by listing a handful of the ten commandments.  The man replied “been there, done that, got the T-shirt!”  Jesus gives him an additional assignment: “Sell all you have and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”  When the man heard Jesus’ answer, “he became sad; for he was very rich.”[i]

            That leads Jesus to respond: “How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!  Indeed, 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.”[ii] So when we hear there was a man in Jericho who was rich, we’re meant to wonder: Will he slip through the needle’s eye?  Also in the background is the parable about the rich man and Lazarus.  The rich man who had ignored the poor man outside his gates finds himself in tor-ment after death, while observing the poor man resting at Abraham’s side in paradise.  Will Zacchaeus fare any better?

            The odds don’t seem to be in his favor.  In addition to being called short and rich, Zacchaeus is singled out as a chief tax collector.  The word Luke uses for “tax collector” means liter-ally “tax-farmer,” the equivalent of that the Romans called “publicans.”[iii] Bible scholar Christo-pher Hutson explains that Zacchaeus was nothing like an IRS agent:

            “Under the Roman republic (which preceded the empire), private businessmen called ‘publi-cans’ bid on public contracts for various government jobs, including tax collection. …Having bid to deliver to Rome a certain amount, they worked with local officials, who collected within their own districts.  …Publicans were also moneylenders, speculators, and contractors supplying material for the army. Such enterprises provided opportunities for cooking the books, commodities speculation, side deals, graft, and extortion to defraud Rome, local officials, fellow investors and average citizens.”[iv]  Hutson concludes: “Zacchaeus, then, was a Jewish businessman involved in large contracts with Roman businessmen.  Many would have viewed him as collaborating with the foreign occupation and profiting from the misery of other Jews, which is why ‘publicans and sinners’ are routinely lumped together.”[v]

            To borrow a line from a Wendell Berry poem, Zacchaeus was numbered among those of whom it can be said: “Their pockets jingle with the small change of the poor.”[vi]

            Zacchaeus: short guy; rich man; corrupt collaborator. Have we got him pegged, or what? May-be, maybe not!  Remember where we started? “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”  Our judgments of others can be wildly inaccurate when we base them on outward appearances or the categories we use to pigeonhole others. There may be more to the encounter between Zacchaeus and Jesus than meets the eye. 

There’s a chance the chief tax collector is not the black hatted villain the crowd despises. Christopher Hutson points to ambiguities in the translation of what Zacchaeus said to Jesus after he climbed down from his perch in the Sycamore tree.  Providing his own translation, Hutson asks: “When Zacchaeus says ‘Half my possessions I give to the poor,’ is he describing his customary practice or turning over a new leaf?  When he says, ‘If I have defrauded anyone, I repay fourfold,’ is he admitting his guilt or pledging to audit his books for errors?”[vii]

            Cameron Murchison explores this line of thinking further, noting how choice of words when translating from Greek to English is crucial.  He notes: “While English translations of Zacchaeus’s statements to Jesus variously render his words about ‘giving’ and ‘restoring’ as future or present tense, the Greek verb in use…is certainly capable of being understood as customary action in the pre-sent.”[viii]  This raises the same question Hutson asked: is the story recording an “account of personal generosity as an act of repentance…(a) promise of new behavior upon being confronted with the embodied grace of God in Jesus—or is it a descriptive account of his existing practice about which he simply tells Jesus.”[ix]

            In other words, is the story following the typical Lukan pattern of contact with Jesus, repentance of sins and newness of life bestowed? Or is this an instance where we are shown a sinner who is never-theless capable of saintly behavior?  Murchison points out that the crowd who blocks his view and later grumbles about Jesus going to his house are guilty of concluding Zacchaeus is a sinner, “but not necessarily because they know anything about him beyond his occupation and his wealth.  He belongs to a class of people (wealthy tax collectors in the employ of foreign governors) who are as a class regarded as sinners.”[x] View the cover, jump to your conclusions about the content. Name the category, and tailor your perception to confirm what you already believe to be true.

            I heard an interview with an actor who portrayed a drug dealer in a movie based on the real life experiences of one of the screenplay’s authors.  The actor was asked about the complexities of the role which required that he be seen as both a law-breaking purveyor of illegal substances, and at the same time, a positive mentor, acting as a father-figure to a young boy learning to survive. His comments challenge the false dichotomies we often embrace that picture people as either evil through and through or solid gold good citizens.  Reality lies some-where in between with the acknowledgement that we are all capable of being incredibly good one moment and exceedingly bad the next…and sometimes both simultaneously!

            Let that sink in as Cam Murchison digs deeper into the non-traditional interpretation of the dialogue  recorded in the Tax Collector’s home: “If Jesus hears Zacchaeus’s testimony as a statement of how he is currently living his life, giving half of what he has to the poor and restoring any inadvertently defrauded fourfold, then Jesus’ claim that ‘salvation’ has come to this household becomes a statement that human and communal wholeness is evident in its practices.  Whether he has the proper DNA or not, this Zacchaeus is to be regarded as a true ‘son of Abraham,’ participating in the blessings of Abraham, even as he himself has been a blessing to the poor and defrauded.”[xi]

            This new view of Zacchaeus is supported by the curious way the story began. The chief tax collector of Jericho was trying to see who Jesus was.  So intent was he on getting a look at Jesus that he was willing to throw dignity to the wind.  It is not every day that you see a well positioned government official running ahead of a crowd. Even less likely would be that official shinnying up a tree and scrambling out onto a branch to get a glimpse of the person the crowd prevented him from seeing.

            If he really was the lost cause sinner the crowd took him to be, he would probably not put him-self in a place where the visiting man of God would spot him.  More likely he would be cowering in the shadows, if he were to be found anywhere in the vicinity in the first place. Could it be that Zacchaeus went to all that trouble because he had heard that Jesus was the first religious person he’d ever en-countered who was likely to see beyond his occupation and his wealth and discover the man who was doing his best to live a life worthy of his heritage as a son of Abraham?       

            From his perch in the tree, Zacchaeus is looking down at the man at the center of the crowd.  From the road below, Jesus looks up at the man in the tree. Jesus calls to him by name. Jesus invites himself over to his house.  And instead of a “woe is me, now I’m in for it” slow climb back to the street, Zacchaeus is described as hurrying down to meet Jesus and “happy to welcome him.”  Meanwhile, Luke tells us, “All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.”

            Yes he has! Thank God for that, especially if you are willing to admit that missing the mark is a regular part of the way you play the game of life.  All through the Gospel of Luke Jesus is seen leaving behind the company of those who prided themselves on being pure and upright, to spend time with those viewed as outsiders and outcasts.

That’s good news, Cam Murchison tells us, because “Only now we glimpse the possibility that when God so dwells with them, God finds not merely pitiable people desperate for renewal, but at least sometimes people who in their own way have learned God’s way to live to the praise of God’s glory.”[xii] Remember the actor portraying the drug dealer who served as mentor to the young boy? One of his challenges was to portray a man, who for all of his faults, held onto a kernel of faithfulness which led him to pray for the boy.

The late poet, hymn writer and seminary professor Tom Troeger provides us with a helpful way of looking at the different ways Zacchaeus was viewed by Jesus and the crowds in today’s story.  He begins with a situation to which we can all relate:

            “Sometimes when we cannot get another person to understand us, we exclaim in frustration: ‘You and I do not speak the same language!’  We may both be speaking English and even use the same accent and colloquialisms, but the different ways we perceive, process, and interpret reality are at odds with each other.”[xiii]

            Troeger found such a conflict of language in today’s story, noting: “Jesus speaks the language of grace and acceptance to an outcast tax collector: ‘Zacchaeus, come down at once. I must stay in your home today.’ But the crowd speaks a completely different language, an idiom of judgment that cannot comprehend the idiom of grace: ‘Everyone who saw this grumbled, saying ‘He has gone to be the guest of a sinner.’”

            Troeger went on to say:  “Jesus and the world do not speak the same language.  Jesus speaks grace; the world speaks of keeping track of every wrong.  Jesus speaks of pouring oneself out in love; the world speaks brutal force. Herein lies the greatest quandary that Christian preachers face: how do we break through to a world that speaks a different language?”[xiv]

            The challenge for us all is to learn and relearn the language of grace. We need to learn it so we will rejoice when Jesus calls us down out of whatever tree we are perched in. We need to know it so we can speak it to others when they need kindness and compassion, mercy and forgiveness. To learn the language of grace is a gift we can give ourselves so we can share it with the world, so that God may be loved, served and glorified. Let this be our prayer.  Amen.

[i] Luke 18. 18-23
[ii] Luke 18. 24-25
[iii] Christopher R. Hutson, Feasting on the Gospels, Luke, Vol. 2, Chapters 12-24, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014), p. 165
[iv] ibid.
[v] ibid., p. 167
[vi] Wendell Berry, from “Look Out,” GIVEN, Poems, (Washington, DC: Shoemaker Hoard, (2005), p. 124
[vii] ibid, Hutson.
[viii] D. Cameron Murchison, Feasting on the Gospels, Luke, Vol. 2, Chapters 12-24, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014), p. 166
[ix] ibid.
[x] ibid.
[xi] ibid.
[xii] ibid., p. 168
[xiii] Thomas H. Troeger, Sermon Sparks, (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2011), p.132
[xiv] ibid., pp. 132-3

 

And Then There Was One, a Sermon preached at Covenant Presbyterian Church, Scranton, PA, on Sunday, October 9, 2022, based on readings from Jeremiah 29. 1,4-7 &  Luke 17. 11-19.

             Anne Russ contributed a meditation as part of “A Season of Peace” leading up to the Peace and Global Witness offering many Presbyterian Churches dedicated on World Communion Sunday.  In it, she told of wearing a workout tank top that declares in bold letters: “Weights and Wine: Because punching people is frowned upon.”

            She continued: “Now, I have never punched anyone. Ever. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to. I am really bad at being angry. While some people are energized by anger, it absolutely exhausts me. And when I am tired, I get cranky. And when I’m cranky is when I am most likely to resort to violence. For me, violence is more likely to manifest itself in shouted or hurtful words, but we all know (contrary to what we learned as children) that words DO hurt and cause wounds that can take years to heal.  Sometimes words inflict the kind of pain that never heals.

            In response, Anne writes “So, when I’m ready to punch someone (literally or metaphorrically), I know it is time for me to take a step back. Sneak a 20-minute nap. Have a snack. Drink some water. Maybe even pray about it.”   And then she concludes: “We often don’t think of self-care and soul care as tools of nonviolence, but peaceful responses to stressful, upsetting and tension filled situations require energy and imagination on our part.”[i]         

Words matter. Some know the pain of being called “dummy,” “fatso,” “four-eyes,” “freak,” or “geek.”  Others know the hurt that goes with being labeled with an epithet that stands in for their race, creed, ethnic origin, or sexual orientation. I won’t name them, but you can fill in the blanks.

Still others know the limitations imposed when they are identified by a physical condition, a mental illness, or the disease that has turned their life upside-down.  Though we’ve long since ceased to call someone a “cripple,” we still have some names we use that have the potential to stigmatize and impose limitations: “Paraplegic,” “Autistic,” “Cancer Patient.”

            Words matter. Words make a difference.  Words can be spoken with condescension or compassion. A comparison of two translations of today’s story from the Gospel of Luke provides an illustration.  The same words from Greek are translated differently, one sticking closer to the original than the other. It may not seem like a big deal, but it is.

            Each of the English translations we have at our disposal is either the product of the work of a gathering of scholars, or the work of a single individual.  The oft quoted contemporary language translation called The Message was the work of the late, Eugene Peterson, a Presbyterian Pastor and Scholar, a gifted wordsmith who put his faithful spin on things as he translated from Greek and Hebrew.

            The New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, which we’ve heard read this morning, is the result of work by several generations of scholars who have poured over the ancient manuscripts since the 1940’s and put their knowledge of the ancient languages and our modern tongue to work to come up with the most accurate translation they could agree upon.

            Back in the 1980’s a friend and I went back to the campus of Princeton Theological Seminary for a continuing education course. While we were in one seminar room in the Continuing Education Center, there was an impressive gathering of scholars around a large conference table in the room next door. Their task was to update the Revised Standard Version which had been published in two stages in 1946 and 1952.

            Through the glass of a pair of French doors we could see them at work.  The table was covered with copies of ancient manuscripts in Hebrew, Greek and the early Latin translation of each.  Dr. Bruce Metzger was presiding. Reviewing the evidence found in newly discovered manuscripts to confirm or question some previous choice of words, they listened and argued for or against fine tuning a phrase or leaving it the same.

            For example, in the Bible I was given when I completed 2^nd Grade, the 23^rd Psalm includes the phrase: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil…” (Ps. 23.4, RSV).  The wording of the New Revised Standard Version is slightly different: “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil…” (Ps. 23. 4, NRSV)

            The decision by those scholars involved weighing one manuscript against the next. Which was the oldest? Which was closest to the original language?  In the end, they chose “the darkest valley,” over “the valley of the shadow of death” because the older, more familiar phrase seemed to tie the Psalm to one set of circumstances: near-death dangers. The less familiar phrase opened the Psalm’s comfort to a wider range of situations, perhaps not as dire, but every bit as harrowing to those going through them. Words matter.

            So, when it comes to the story of Jesus and the ten who called out to him for mercy out-side a village on the way to Jerusalem, translators have been faced with a decision that impacts how one views those ten individuals united by a common malady.  When I read the story from The New Revised Standard Version a few minutes ago, those who called out to Jesus seeking mercy were identified as “ten lepers.”  That’s like saying, “ten cripples,” “ten autistics,” “ten drug addicts.”

            The New International Version of the Bible is the work of a different group of Biblical scholars who began their work in 1966 and began publishing in the early 1970’s.  It offers a slightly different translation. Instead of “ten lepers” the NIV speaks of “ten men who had leprosy.”  Do you hear the difference?  Words matter. That’s like saying “ten people who were crippled by polio,” “ten children on the Autism spectrum,” “ten individuals afflicted with substance abuse.

            Writing in The New Interpreter’s Bible, which features side-by-side comparisons of the NRSV and the NIV, New Testament scholar Alan Culpepper digs back into the original language and uncovers Luke’s original take on who these folks calling out to Jesus were.  Here’s what he says:

            “As the NIV makes clear, Luke identifies the ten not as lepers but as “men who had leprosy” just as earlier he referred to the man who was paralyzed not as a paralytic but as “a man who was paralyzed” and called the Gerasene demoniac “a man who had demons.”  The difference is subtle but reflects a humanizing and dignifying recognition of personhood.”[ii]

            Words matter.  For Luke then, and for us now, words matter.  This is not just a matter of being politically correct.  It is one of the ways the words “love your neighbor” cease to be an empty phrase and put belief into practice.  Luke’s choice of words is humanizing and dignifying. They suggest that we consider carefully the words we use and how we use them when speaking about others, especially when life has thrown us a curveball we didn’t expect.

            It is one thing to divide up the world according to the labels placed on others: black and white, red and brown, liberal and conservative, straight or gay, sane or crazy, whole or handicapped, republican or democrat.  It is another thing to begin to talk about the colleague who is a Latina; the employer who espouses conservative ideals; the aunt who supports liberal causes; the nephew who is gay; the sister who is mentally ill; or the spouse who votes red while you go blue. 

            It is all too easy to dismiss whole groups of people when we tag them with a common label.  It is not so easy when the modifiers used connect that category to a human face we know and maybe even love! In this season of highly charged rhetoric, when we are likely to hear candidates and commentators tarring whole groups of people with broad, dismissive brush strokes of the tongue, we do well not to fall for such misleading and often dehumanizing distinctions.  As today’s Gospel story reveals, those we hold in contempt don’t always live up or down to our expectations!

            The story of the ten individuals with leprosy, is often turned into a lesson on thankful-ness.  I’ve done this many times, choosing not to focus on the text when presented by the lectionary and saving it for the Sunday before that holiday filled with turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce.  The movement of such sermons is pretty standard: Ten seek mercy. Ten are told to go show themselves to the priests in order to be declared clean, as specified in the law laid down in Leviticus. Ten are healed on the way to do what they’ve been told to do. Only one returns to Jesus to praise God for having been healed. 

            Debie Thomas, a writer from California shows the way that interpretation of the text goes, when she writes: “This week’s Gospel story is, of course, about thankfulness. Ten lepers experience healing; one experiences salvation.  There is something about the practice of thankfulness that enlarges, blesses, and restores us.  The leper’s act of gratitude points to the fact that we were created to recognize life as a gift and to find our salvation at the feet of the giver.”[iii]

            To sum it up in a couple of phrases, such Sermons usually urge us not to be like the nine, be like the one who came back.  Cue the hymn: “Now Thank We All Our God!”

            The problem with that approach is that it fails to see the nine for who they were.  They were people who played by the rules. Following the letter of the law from Leviticus they kept a respectable distance between themselves and the rest of the community.  They segregated themselves from society and lived in misery-loves-company-camps outside the village.

            On top of that, when they sought help, and he gave them an order, they were obedient and followed the prescription the great physician spelled out for them. Along with number ten, the nine are all examples of people whose faith is displayed in an act of radical trust.  The movement of the story is similar to the Old Testament story of Naaman, the Syrian Army commander. He also suffered from leprosy. He too, was given a command by a man of God to go do something before there was any evidence that healing would occur.

            To their credit, the ten men with leprosy reacted better than the Syrian General.  When the prophet Elisha sent a messenger out to him with instructions to dip himself into the Jordan seven times, he balked. He ranted and raved that the holy man should at least come out to say a prayer over him. Only after one of his enlisted men said “what do you have to lose by giving it a try?” did he dip his toe and the rest of him into the waters that held his cure. Words matter.

            As Luke tells it, the ten men with leprosy are healed while following instructions.  They believe healing will somehow occur even though their damaged skin has not shown any sign of clearing up. It is in the act of obedience, in the wild belief that because Jesus has spoken to them as if they already were healed, that the healing will happen. And it did. Words matter.

            One lesson to draw from the story would, be much like the one that emerges from both the Naaman story of 2^nd Kings, and the words we heard this morning from Jeremiah: When the holy man tells you to do something, do it. Even if those words seem odd, like go wash in an insignificant river, or put down roots while in exile, or show yourself to the priest even though you’ve not yet been healed, do it. The teachings of Jesus are full of such simple commands: “love your enemies;” forgive repeatedly; “do not worry about what you will eat, or drink or wear; seek first the kingdom and all these things will be yours as well.”

            The disruption of life caused by the leprosy experienced by Naaman and the ten in today’s reading might be compared to the upheaval caused by the exile of the Jews to whom Jeremiah was writing.  His instructions to them probably seemed to them just as ridiculous. Yet embedded in those words is a prescription for coping when life presents us with an unexpected detour on our journey. Suzie Park explains:

            “By telling a community that had been dispersed and displaced that it ought to try to live a good life, God is not simply requesting a lifestyle shift but a radical adjustment of their theology. By telling the exiled Israelites to build houses, go to work, marry, and pray for their new communities, God is, in fact, telling the Israelites to resist their feelings of despair, dismay, depression, and numbness. To make the best of a bad situation. To try and move forward and survive.”[iv]

            Words matter. As I read the newspaper and watch the news, and as my fingers cramp from hitting the mute button as the political ads come on, I find Suzie Park’s insights to be helpful, especially when she goes on to admit, that “Like Naaman, we too find it challenging to follow God’s simple directives. Moreover, like the Israelites in Jeremiah 29, many of us also resonate with the feeling that the world we live in is increasingly chaotic, insecure, unfamiliar, and foreign; that our country or town is no longer recognizable; that we need complicated maneuvers to survive in such a place.”

She concludes: “God’s command to the Israelites simply to accept and make do, despite feelings of bitterness, hopelessness, depression and disorientation, is also a call to us and to the church as a whole to endure, try our best, and hope amid our metaphoric exiles.”[v]

            Words matter. So do actions.  The trick is to put them together while trusting that God will take care of us.  So, in the end, it comes down to words my boyhood pastor saw on a sign on the outskirts of his ancestral village in Ireland, words filled with “Blessed Assurance:”

“We don’t know what the future holds,

but we know who holds the future.”

Amen!

[i] Anne Russ, Sunday, September 11, A Season of Peace, Presbyterian Church, (USA) www.presbyterianmission.org/seasonofpeace/tag/daily-reflections
[ii] R. Alan Culpepper, The New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. IX, Luke, John, (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995), p. 326
[iii] Debie Thomas, “Living by the Word, October 9, 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time,” The Christian Century, September 28, 2016, p. 20
[iv] Song-Mi Suzie Park, Connections – A Lectionary Commentary for Preaching and Worship, Year C, Volume 3, Season of Pentecost, Green, Long, Powery & Rigby, editors, (Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox Press, 2019), p. 377
[v] ibid., p. 378

 

Increase Our Faith- A Sermon preached at First Presbyterian Church, Clarks Summit, PA on Sunday, October 2, 2022, based on Luke 17. 1-10 

            It began as just another interview with an athlete who has written a memoir.  Topics covered included the time and effort necessary to reach the top of one’s game and the discipline required to sustain such a high level of performance.  Mention was made of broken relationships with loved ones.  Before the conversation ended there was talk of one’s influence on others.  Thankfully, the gifted individual didn’t play the “I didn’t choose to be a role model” card.  Instead the competitor said she hoped the sharing of her struggles would help others meet their challenges.

            Like it or not, whether we seek to be or not, we all end up as examples for  others to embrace and follow or reject and avoid.  Maybe you’ve heard the country song where the four year old in the back seat lets loose with a four letter word when his happy meal is dumped in his lap by a sudden stop. Later, the little buckeroo is heard “sayin his prayers “like he was talkin’ to a friend.”  The child had learned both behaviors by observing his father and striving to be “just like” him.  The song is a cautionary tale. It lines up with the “how to live as a disciple lessons Jesus shared with his closest companions on the way to Jerusalem.

            “Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to anyone by whom they come!” is how he begins. Then he says it would be better to take a long walk off a short pier wearing cement shoes than cause another to stumble. No pressure there! First thing to notice is that Jesus doesn’t pretend that things can or will go smoothly all of the time.  It reminds me of the saying printed across one of my many hats: “Lead me not into temptation, I can find it myself.”  Only this time the warning is: don’t lead anyone else astray!

            Jesus puts it out there: everyone’s going to mess up. He’ll get around to talking about how we recover from that in a minute.  For now, though, we look to the second half of the sentence where he lifts up the communal nature of the family of faith: “but woe to anyone who causes another to mess up.  Using the absurd picture of a person being thrown into the ocean with a millstone around their neck, Jesus issues a caution against causing “one of these little ones to stumble.”  He’s not just talking about the little buckaroo or ballerina in the back seat.

            He’s talking about attitudes and behaviors that lead others to give up on God, to fall away from the community, to act and speak in ways contrary to the way Jesus teaches:  Telling stories that perpetuate prejudice when Jesus advocates loving our neighbor.  Withholding help from those in need because we don’t think they deserve it. Denying forgiveness while Jesus looks down from the cross and prays “Father, forgive them…”

            Around the time Jan Edmiston was elected co-moderator of the General Assembly or our denomination, she wrote of an incident which she was a new pastor in a small town.  She went to the hospital to take communion to a fifty-year-old white man from her congregation, named Joe. Joe’s hospital roommate was a black man, named Mike, who told the pastor that he too was a Christian.

            The three of them chatted together.  The pastor served communion to both men and they prayed together.  Said Jan: It’s what you do.  Mike was certainly interested in being included.  It was lovely.”

            A week later, she visited Joe at his home where the following conversation took place:

“Joe:  Thank you for coming to the hospital, but you wouldn’t believe what happened after you             left. I really saved you!

            Jan: What do you mean?”

            Joe: (Laughing) Do you remember Mike?

            Jan: Of course.

            Joe: Well, I really saved you! (Still laughing.) After you left, Mike said that he thought
                    you were nice and he might like to visit our church sometime, but I told him that we
                    don’t allow black people in our church.

            The pastor was stunned; she was speechless.

            Joe:  Boy, I really saved you! Can imagine if a black man had walked into our church
                    some Sunday?”

            Looking back, Edmiston admitted:  “Even now, I can barely type these words, but they are true: A member of a congregation I served barred a person from worship be-cause of skin color. My response to Joe was a mixture of anger and shock.”[i]

            Joe’s placement of a stumbling block in the path of a seeker was blatant.  Jesus warns us to be on guard against the more subtle impediments we place in the path. Be on your guard! Says he; will a word to the wise be sufficient?

            Jesus addressed another challenge to his disciples. It too is based in reality.  It has to do with sin and forgiveness within the community of faith.  There will be sin. There will be need for forgiveness.  To pretend otherwise is folly.  As he speaks, Jesus pictures a network of relationships so strong that it can stand up to confrontation and correction among its members.  “If another disciple sins, you must rebuke the offender, and if there is repentance you must forgive.” 

The confrontation is not offered in order to condemn, but to correct.  Jesus words grow out of the wisdom shared in the Book of Proverbs:

“Do not reprove a scoffer, or he will hate you;

reprove a wise man, and he will love you.”

Give instruction to a wise man,

and he will be still wiser;

teach a righteous man and he will increase in learning.”

            It is helpful to remember at this point that the words of Jesus here are directed to his disciples. Rather than general principles applicable for anyone, these are insider words meant to provide guidance for living within the community of faith. Life within the community is not always easy. People, being themselves, keep messing up. There goes Peter once again making an impetuous promise he can’t possibly keep. Here comes Martha, clearing the coffee cups off the Bible Study table before the lesson is over. Meanwhile, Judas is demanding a receipt from the disciples for the loaves and fish that boy handed over to feed the crowd.

            Even among the saints, people do and say things that get under each other’s skin, rub people the wrong way. Beyond the minor annoyances, the repetitive slights, the thoughtless words tossed off, selfishness or self-absorption lead to hurts inflicted, grudges nursed, and misunderstandings allowed to fester.

            Embedded in my memory is a little ditty Andy McElwee, one of my pastors growing up used to work into a sermon quite often:

“To live above the saints we love,

ah that will be glory.

But to live below with the saints we know,

Well, that’s a different story.”[ii]

            If you’ve been following the on-line Season of Peace meditations that go along with the Peace and Global Witness offering, you might recall a piece by Anne Russ. She tells of “having a workout tank top that reads “Weights and Wine: Because punching people is frowned upon.”

            She continues: “Now, I have never punched anyone. Ever. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to. I am really bad at being angry. While some people are energized by anger, it absolutely exhausts me. And when I am tired, I get cranky. And when I’m cranky is when I am most likely to resort to violence. For me, violence is more likely to manifest itself in shouted or hurtful words, but we all know (contrary to what we learned as children) that words DO hurt and cause wounds that can take years to heal.  Sometimes words inflict the kind of pain that never heals.

            In response, Anne writes “So, when I’m ready to punch someone (literally or metaphorically), I know it is time for me to take a step back. Sneak a 20-minute nap. Have a snack. Drink some water. Maybe even pray about it.”   And then she concludes: “We often don’t think of self-care and soul care as tools of nonviolence, but peaceful responses to stressful, upsetting and tension filled situations require energy and imagination on our part.”[iii]

            Thus the need to forgive and to be forgiven!

Jesus doubles down on forgiveness by anticipating a question as to how often we must be ready to forgive.  In doing so puts the responsibility for granting forgiveness on the forgiver.  There is to be no judgment as to the sincerity of another’s repentance.  “And if the same person sins against you seven times a day, and turns back to you seven times and says, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive.”                

If we are honest, we can’t help but put ourselves alongside the disciples, who, upon hearing Jesus speak of serial forgiveness, cried out:  “Increase our faith!”  And with them, we wait for some tips on how to grow our faith bigger so we can face the tough times and, to our way of thinking, the “unforgivable” we hear experience.

            Only, Jesus doesn’t give the disciples a three-point plan to increase their faith.  Instead, he tells them they’ve got enough already. As he so often did, Jesus takes what the disciples already know and uses it to deepen their understanding. 

“If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree,

‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea, and it would obey you.”

            Forget for the moment the other parable that contrasts the size of the mustard seed with plant it produces. For now, remember that it is among the smallest seeds on earth.  This time put the tiny seed alongside a mulberry tree, thought to be a sycamore, which one source describes as “a large tree (up to 60 feet high) with deep roots.)[iv]  Add into the mix the notion of pulling up such a deep-rooted tree and planting it in the ocean, which seems both impossible and absurd.

The late Fred Craddock’s insight is helpful here, when he gives us a tutorial on the Greek language, which he says, “has basically two types of “if” clauses: those which express a condition contrary to the fact, (as in “if I were you…{which I am not}). (A second type of ‘if’ clause ex-presses a condition according to fact (as in “If Jesus is our Lord.”{and he is}). It is this second type that Jesus uses in his answer to the disciples, so you could translate it this way ‘If you had faith the size of a mustard seed [AND YOU DO!” Dot, Dot, Dot. Jesus’ response, then, is not a reprimand for the absence of faith, but an affirmation of the faith they have and an invitation to live out the full possibilities of that faith.”[v]

            Another commentator puts it this way: “The point is not that they need more faith; rather, they need to under-stand that faith enables God to work in a person’s life in ways that defy ordinary human experience. The saying is not about being able to do miraculous works or spectacular tricks. On the contrary, Jesus assures the disciples that with even a little faith they can live by his teachings on discipleship.”[vi]

            For the past few weeks, as Bill Carter has opened for us the parables of Jesus found in Luke, we’ve seen how Jesus tells a story in way that starts in one place and ends in quite another.  A man asks “who is my neighbor?” Jesus answers by telling a story of an unexpected helper but asks his questioner: who acted as neighbor to the man who needed help?” So, in the last part of today’s reading, Jesus starts by talking about the expectations a master would have of a slave.  Distance yourself from any thoughts and feelings about the institution of slavery, and let the story play out.  He ends up speaking about someone doing what is expected. He’s taken us from considering what the master does to pondering what a person should feel if they’ve fulfilled their responsibilities. Lest disciples pat themselves on the back for putting their little bits of faith to work, we are reminded that is what we are called to do.

Putting faith to work; that is what Jesus was telling his disciples.  That is what he is say-ing to us…with this final story to tell them and us to carry on our discipleship in response to God’s grace, not in the expectation of receiving further reward for doing what we are called and empowered to do.

     

What have we been called and empowered to do within the community of faith?

Avoid causing another believer to stumble.

Confront the sin we see in each other.

Accept correction when it is valid.

Forgive sin as often as it is asked for.

Trust that God can make something of our tiny seeds of faith.

Serve as Christ did, without expecting reward.

            These challenges are steep; the cost of being disciples is high; the depth of relationship able to offer and receive correction or offer and receive forgiveness is bottomless.  When we contemplate it all, it leads us to the same prayer voiced by the disciples: “Increase our faith!”

            Thankfully, the answer to that prayer is the same now as it was then. “Even a little bit goes a long way.  Trust God. Put it to work.”  We come to the table this morning to be strengthened to believe that. We come to be empowered to live it.   Amen.

[i] Jan Edmiston, The Once and Future Church: “How Much Has Changed?” Presbyterians Today, SEPTEMBER/OCTO-BER 2016, p. 5.
[ii] The Rev. Dr. Andrew A. McElwee, of blessed memory.
[iii] Anne Russ, Sunday, September 11, A Season of Peace, Presbyterian Church, (USA) www.presbyterianmission.org/seasonofpeace/tag/daily-reflections
[iv] R. Alan Culpepper, The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume IX, Luke – John, (Nashville, TN, Abingdon Press, 1995), p. 322
[v] Fred B. Craddock, Luke – Interpretation – A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching, (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1990), p. 200
[vi] ibid. Culpepper