I don’t think we really get how out of place John’s comment was unless we remember what happened immediately before. So, to recap last Sunday’s Gospel, Mark nine, thirty through thirty-seven: While traveling with Jesus, the disciples were arguing about which of them was the greatest. When they got in the house, and Jesus was alone with the twelve, he rebuked them by bringing a child into the room, taking the child in his arms and saying, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me, but the one who sent me.” And then, while Jesus is still holding a kid in his arms, John said, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.” This is the precursor to John’s complaint, Jesus had literally just finished telling them that the mark of greatness is service and humility, he was still holding the kid he used as the object lesson, and John butts in, “OK, but there’s this guy who’s doing this thing, and we told him to knock it off.” John should maybe take a lesson from the kid still in Jesus’ arms, whose parents have certainly told him at some point he shouldn’t be a tattletale.
But that first section is not the interesting part of the Gospel text is it? The interesting part is the part where Jesus tells us we might need to cut off our hands, or our feet, or tear out our eyes. If you will permit me a potentially judgey aside; it is interesting, is it not, that for all the eagerness to read the Bible literally, no one seems too keen on reading this part literally. Certainly Jesus meant the part about cutting off our own hands as metaphor...
And of course, he DID mean it as metaphor. Jesus was certainly not advocating self-mutilation as a requirement for forgiveness. But to stop there, to dismiss these words to the realm of metaphor, is to miss the very serious statement Jesus was making.
So I want to dig into this teaching of Jesus this morning. To take seriously his words that it is better to drown than to hinder the faith of another, and to ask what those words mean for our lives. But before I do that, I want to emphasize again the audience for this teaching. Jesus is talking to the twelve. I guess the kid is there too, but kids are smarter than we give them credit for, and certainly the kid is aware that he is the object lesson not the intended recipient of the lecture. One can assume the kid is coloring by this point, or some other activity to keep him engaged. Listening like a sponge in the way kids do, but not altogether paying attention.
The point is this is insider talk. This is teaching for those who are already in. Jesus didn’t say this standing on a mountain top, or on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. He didn’t proclaim to the lost, the hurting, the hungry, or the oppressed, “if your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off,” he said it to the already initiated. This incredibly high standard of behavior is not the prerequisite for salvation; it is the expectation for those who have already been saved. So I’m going to give a warning, if you’re new to Christianity, if you’re still learning who this Jesus character is, don’t worry, this text isn’t for you yet. But if you, like me, have been around for a while, I want to invite you to let this text challenge you, let it rub you the wrong way, let it hurt. Not because your salvation is at stake, for we know from Romans that “nothing can separate us from the love of God,” but because discomfort is a mark of growth. In the same way that exercising leaves our muscles sore, a deep examination of our sins and failings leaves our souls sore. It hurts to get stronger, fitter, more spiritually in shape. Jesus knew that, but he also knew that for the disciples and for us, the stakes were too high, the time frame to short, not to push us to be better. For the disciples, this is the end of Mark chapter nine. Jesus entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday at the start of chapter eleven; we are almost to the cross. Jesus knew if he didn’t push them it would be too late; for who would shape them once he was gone. And for us too, the stakes are high, the time short. The fastest growing religious group in America right now are what the Pew Research Center call the “dones,” D-O-N-E-S, as in those who are leaving churches, done with religion altogether. According to a recent survey there are thirty-million “dones” in America, with another seven million on the edge of leaving. Interestingly, the “dones” are not leaving churches because they lost faith in God, they’re leaving because they lost faith in church, they lost faith in the people of God, they lost faith in an institution that feels judgmental, hypocritical, and more concerned about policing the morality of others than addressing more pressing issues of poverty, inequality, and economic injustice. Of course for some “dones,” the issue is even more personal. The news broke last week that Attorney General Schuette is opening up an investigation of seven Catholic dioceses in Michigan. And I’m going to be frank; I don’t care how long ago the abuse happened, I don’t care about the extenuating circumstances. If having never abused someone is too high an expectation to set for our leadership, the problem isn’t with the expectation, the problem is with our culture. I bring this up because I am well aware that for a lot of people, this collar I wear was the status symbol that gave power, and cover, to their abuser. So instead of sitting back, “Jesus, those people are doing this thing,” or questioning the victim, “Rabbi who sinned… that this man was born blind,” this passage forces me to examine my own complicity, the power that I gain from this piece of plastic and the silence it allows me to feel justified in keeping. I am responsible for my own actions, and for the effects those actions, or as we acknowledge in the confession, the lack of action, has on others. For silence can be just as complicit as committing the act itself.
And as we heard the disciples say to Jesus back in August at the end of the Bread of Life discourse, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it.” Yes, yes it is. But just like we talked about during that Bread of Life discourse, Jesus loves us too much to settle for less than difficult. Because again, this is not the bar for entry to the kingdom, this is the expectation of us who are already in. Keeping this expectation is about making space for others to receive what we have already been given, the love and the grace and the greatness of God. It is because we know how great the love of God is that we know just how high are the stakes that we might prevent that gift for someone else.
Yes, this teaching is difficult, but here’s the good news, we do not take on this hard work of self-examination alone. We do it in community and we do it with God. These hard teachings were made in love, and with an eye to the whole community, the disciples and those whom they would bring in.
We see this shift to relationship in the last two verses of today’s reading, which seem to be about seasoning but are actually about the gift of community. Throughout scripture salt is used as a metaphor for a bunch of different things and Jesus drew on all of them as he spoke with the disciples. Salt is a preservative, it keeps things from spoiling. It is a purifier, burning away impurities so that the best parts remain. It is a leavening agent, tempering enthusiasm to allow for long term growth, a seasoner, bringing out the best flavors. And it is the seal of promise, the mark of a relationship. It’s this last one we may be unfamiliar with, but in the Old Testament relationships were bound with the “salt of the covenant,” a metaphor Jesus’ disciples would certainly have known. When Jesus told them they would be “salted with fire,” all of these images, refinement, purification, determination, growth, hope, and promise would have been bound up in those words. They were to “have salt in themselves,” first, to watch their own problems, their own frailties, their own weaknesses, so that they could then “be at peace with one another.” Kind of a weird analogy, but it’s sort of like that announcement on airplanes to get your own oxygen mask before assisting others. You are supposed to put on your own mask first not because you are more important but because without looking out for yourself first you will be unable to look after others.
So be salted, dear sisters and brothers, and let these hard teachings of Jesus challenge you, shape you, and mold you to be more then you thought you could be. These hard teachings are hard, but they are not meant to be a test of your faith. Rather, they are hard because they are a testament to Jesus’ faith in you, and to the sort of disciple Jesus thinks you can be. Amen.
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