I said some words in front of some people this past Sunday. I think some of the words might be helpful. I wrote this sermon after some good conversations with my friend Wes and after reading through Eugene Peterson's Spiritual Theology Quintet. I point this out, while at the same time cautioning that the words and thoughts below are my own and not Wes's, nor Allentown Presbyterian Church's, and only sometimes Eugene Peterson's.
Also, here's a link to the audio for the sermon, though the audio has some mistakes in it that I correct or nuance in the text and textual notes below. Thanks for reading/listening!
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I
love heist movies: Ocean’s Eleven, Mission Impossible, The Italian Job, the
A-Team. Everyone single one has that scene. You know what scene I’m talking
about: the montage. [Moviephone voice]: “They need to steal $400 million from
an impenetrable vault—and They only have 5 minutes to do it! The attractive
one, the brains, the brawn, the computer whiz.” The music gets our blood
pumping. [Sing the Mission Impossible Theme—you know you want to.]
Today’s
scripture is the church’s “team-up” montage. [Marc suddenly becomes two people: a rather naive and confused Voiceover Artist and a snarky Bible Scholar]
VOICEOVER
ARTIST: [Moviephone voice] From his followers, Jesus chose twelve. The apostles. The foundation of Jesus’ community. The four fishermen: Peter,
Andrew, James and John. [normal voice] Wait. Fisherman? Small business owners? Shouldn’t Jesus start with the “professional” spiritual people? Like priests?
BIBLE SCHOLAR: Nope. Fishermen. Small business men.
VO: Okay, maybe Jesus needs their business sense. Every
movement needs people who have some money and know how to deal with money.
BS: Nope. The person who handled the money was Judas Iscariot,
who ended up betraying them. [1]
VO: Huh. Okay, but Jesus calls Peter the ROCK of the church! [2]
BS: But he also had to tell him, “Get Behind me, Satan!” When
things get rough, Peter denied knowing Jesus—three times! [3]
VO: Okay. What about James
and John, Jesus gave them a nickname: the Boanerges: the “Sons of
Thunder!” [4]
BS: James and John? One day, they asked Jesus, “you want us to call down fire to consume
that town?” Jesus rolls his eyes at them. “Call down fire? No! That’s not
what we do!” [5]
VO: Wow. Four Hotheads and screw-ups. Not a great start. Okay.
Who’s next? Philip. His name
means “lover of horses.” What a great name!
BS: A Greek name. The Greeks had conquered the Jews and destroyed
their temple.
VO: Okay. What about Bartholomew.
I know that one! Great Jewish name. “Son of furrows.” A farmer!
BS: A doubter. We might call him Jesus’ first doubter. He
also went by the name Nathanael. When he first heard about Jesus’ hometown, he
said, “Nazareth? Can anything good come from there?” [6]
VO: Well what about Matthew?
BS: A nickname for Levi—the tax collector. [7] An employee of the Roman Empire, the Empire who conquered
the Jews after the Greeks fell apart. Tax collectors were known to charge more
than was required, and steal the extra. [8] Which
is how Matthew had enough money to hold a huge banquet for Jesus. Matthew—a
traitor and a thief.
VO: Thomas? Great name. Means “twin.” We don’t know
where his twin was. But he was a twin.
BS: He’s where we get the phrase “Doubting Thomas.” If
Bartholomew was the first doubter, Thomas was the last. After Jesus rose from
the dead, well, Thomas really wasn’t there. We don’t know where he was. Maybe
with his twin. But the other disciples said: “He’s alive!” Thomas didn’t really
believe it. [9]
VO: Hotheads, screw-ups, traitors, and doubters. Yikes! Okay. Finally.
Here they are. The “religious” people. James,
Son of Alphaeus. The son of one of Jesus’ first followers. A good, young Jewish
boy.
BS: Of course, that means he might not have been a huge fan
of Philip and Matthew, the traitors. Speaking of which,
you know who really wouldn’t have been a fan of Philip and Matthew?
VO: Let me guess, Simon
the Zealot?
BS: Simon the Zealot. The Zealots’ wanted to overthrow Rome
so that the Jewish people could be their own nation. They didn’t like anyone
who seemed to sympathize with Rome. [10 - Major correction to audio]
VO: Judas, son of James, AKA Jude or Thaddeus.
There are some hints that he was one of Jesus’ brothers or step brothers. [11] Surely he should have gotten things right. Right?
BS: Well at one point, Jesus mother and brothers come and say,
“Jesus. Stop it. Stop preaching this crazy stuff?” [12]
VO: That leaves Judas
Iscariot. The one who betrayed Jesus to his death.
BS: But also, Iscariot,
which may mean he was part of the Sicarii, another group who wanted to
overthrow Rome—but who disagreed with the Zealots. The name “Sicarii” means “dagger,”
and possibly alludes to a tactic in which members of the group would draw
daggers in crowded public places and stab those they thought were supporters of
Rome. They would then slip away undetected. Nowadays we might call the extreme
tactics of this group something like “terrorism.” [13]
[VOICEOVER ARTISTS and BIBLE SCHOLAR BECOME ONE PERSON AGAIN]
These
final four are the missing ingredient to this powder keg of hotheads, screw-ups,
traitors and doubters that Jesus was putting together. They would have looked
down on the first four and hated the second four. It’s a wonder the disciples
didn’t fight ALL THE TIME. We have to ask: What
was Jesus thinking?
We
know that the “religious people,” the good people, the nice people, the clean
people, were interested in Jesus. We call them the Pharisees, the pastors and
seminarians of Jesus’ day. Two of them, Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea,
became followers of Jesus. Joseph gave up his own grave for Jesus. [14] Why
not choose them?
We’re
shocked. Confused. Jesus didn’t build his community out of “churchy” people. He
didn’t choose the nice people or the people who “got it,” spiritually. He chose
doubters, traitors, thieves, terrorists. He chose the exact mixture of people for
this community to fail.
It’s no wonder the Pharisees
asked, “Why do you eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?” Jesus had a
simple answer: “Those who are well have
no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the
righteous but sinners to repentance.”
I
used to really not like this verse. I was a “righteous kid.” A church kid. I
memorized scripture. Got a lot of gold stars and toys. I went to church every
week. I obeyed my parents. I only got in one car accident, and that was in the
snow and it was the tree trunk’s fault… Didn’t
Jesus come for me, too? One day, I realized: this is an invitation. I’m sick, too. I realized that Jesus
knew the Pharisees and I are just as sick as the tax collectors and the “sinners.”
The Pharisees and I are those people who hack up a lung, hold their herniated
side, squeak, “I’m fine; I’m fine,” and never go to the doctor. Jesus says, “I
want to heal you. Just admit you’re sick. As long as you say you’re righteous
you can’t be healed. But once you admit you’re sick...”
It’s
strange that so often it’s church people who try to act like we’re not sick.
Even more, many churches say that those who are sick have to get themselves
right before they’re welcome. Well, newsflash:
Jesus founded his church on sick people.
Jesus sees community in
those who know they are sinners.
Paul—who used to be a
Pharisee, a righteous guy, who used to look down on Jesus and his followers,
but then realized his was sick—Paul put it like this: “Consider your own call, brothers
and sisters: not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were
powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the
world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the
strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not,
to reduce to nothing things that are, so that no one might boast.” [15]
Eugene
Peterson, one of my favorite writers, expands on this thought: “Jesus obviously wasn’t gathering followers
from the moral and spiritual upper-class of society…. He was openly inviting
the hurt, the diseased, the rejects—the sick and the sinners. Any time we
interpret Jesus’ invitational command ‘Follow me’ as recruitment into a select
spiritual company, we totally miss what he was doing. Any time we target our
invitations to the people we assume are especially useful to the kingdom—the
prominent, the wealthy, men and women with proven leadership abilities and skills
that can benefit the kingdom—we are ignoring the way Jesus went about it….
Jesus said ‘Follow me’ and ended up with a lot of losers. And these losers
ended up, through no virtue or talent of their own, becoming saints. Jesus wasn’t
after the best but the worst. He came to seek and to save the lost.” [16]
We
shouldn’t be surprised. Because, if we call ourselves Christ followers, we follow
a failure. A failure. Let that sink
in. By all accounts, Jesus failed. He died. On a cross. As a criminal. Jesus’ followers barely merited a footnote in the histories of their day. One of the few mentions of Jesus outside of the gospels, misspells Jesus’ title as “Chrestus”instead of “Christos.” Jesus was such a failure that his followers used these words to
describe him, words from the Hebrew Bible:
“He was despised and
rejected by others,
a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity;
And as one from whom others hide their faces,
he was despised, and we held him of no account.
Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our disease;
Yet we accounted him stricken,
struck down by God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions,
crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment that made us whole,
and by his bruises we are healed.” [17]
a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity;
And as one from whom others hide their faces,
he was despised, and we held him of no account.
Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our disease;
Yet we accounted him stricken,
struck down by God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions,
crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment that made us whole,
and by his bruises we are healed.” [17]
So, what does this all mean? Well, I hope, GOOD NEWS! In at least two
ways.
GOOD NEWS! Jesus didn’t appoint
that one singular shining star to
carry on his work. He chose twelve losers. Jesus didn’t groom a replacement; he
created a community. Which means: We
aren’t in this alone. We are part of a community of misfits—those who don’t
fit—built on weakness and humility, on a savior who “humbled himself and became obedient to death, even death on a cross!” [18] As
Peterson puts it, when we join this community, we “become fellow-sufferers and participants in the sacrificial life of
Jesus as he takes the sins of our children, the sins of our presidents, the sins
of our pastors, the sins of our friends, our sins…. We have to radically revise
our imaginations and memories in order to take this in: to see sacrifice,
offering, weakness, and suffering as essential, not an option.” [19] It takes humility, humility I often don’t have, to admit we are sick with
sin. It takes vulnerability—showing weakness. It takes considering the needs of
others, having an open heart to their vulnerability, without condemnation or
judgment.
This
is hard.
The
longer we live, the more we experience broken relationships, the more “acquaintances”
we acquire and the fewer deep friendships we make. It’s easy to harden our
hearts, after years of rejection, betrayal, always being that last person
chosen, always being the one left out. After years of getting to know more and
more people less and less well. So, we don’t let others in on our pain and we
don’t take the time to care for them. I’ve found myself in this place. After
Sarah and I moved to Princeton, we served at three churches before APC, which
meant, every year, we had to get to know 200 people all over again. We’ve been
at Princeton Seminary long enough to watch five sets of friends graduate and
move away. It takes a lot of emotional and spiritual energy to start over with
new people. But this vulnerability is exactly what this community of misfits
requires. So, thanks be to God, that spiritual energy is not our own. [20]
GOOD NEWS! God chose us. “Not,” writes Peterson, “[because of how] our parents or our
teachers or our physicians or our employers or our children define us, but God.
Not in terms derived from our employment or our education or our physical appearance
or our achievements or our failures, but God…. We are endlessly tested,
examined, classified, praised, damned, admired, despised, flattered, scorned,
kissed, kicked….With all these voices coming at us from every direction and at
all hours, how do we acquire a God-oriented identity? Looking in the mirror and
naming what we see as ‘saint’ is one way. We follow that up by redefining these
people around us as saints.” [21] “Saints.” People set apart by God. Chosen. Beloved.
God
gives us this community as a gift. We can’t earn
it. Let me say that again: We can’t earn it.
Nothing we can do makes us worthy of being loved by God. God just loves us. But we don’t ever deserve this
community. As we have been given—freely—so we should give. We don’t get to choose
who is in or out. Jesus does. We’re going to have to get used to rubbing elbows
with people we don’t like. We are going to have to get used to failure. We’re
going to have to get used to all these people around us who get on our nerves. Jesus
chose a powder keg of people to start his community, people who shouldn’t have
gotten along; he’s still doing that
today.
This
is hard. It is much easier to build
relationships, to be vulnerable with, to understand those who are like us. It
is this truth lies at the root of racism, nationalism, sexism, homophobia, and
a whole host of other human ills. It is so much easier to like someone who is
like me. It’s easier to coast through life relying on people who “get me.” Most
days I long for people who “get me,” people with whom I can have deep
conversations over the finer details of C.S. Lewis’ lesser-known Space Trilogy,
people who know what it’s like to have two young kids close in age, people who
have parents of two different races. I want people who “get me.” It’s then that
I’m reminded of how Jesus loved everyone he met; how he died for everyone who
ever lived. It’s then that I’m reminded of part of the prayer that has been
attributed to St. Francis of Assissi:
O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Let’s recap. We
acknowledge we are all sick. We are all sinners. We all need God. And we need
this community, because this community of misfits is how Jesus chose to
carry on his work of healing—through communities of humility, weakness and
vulnerability. Through mess-ups and screw-ups just like you and me. It’s this
community of misfits, many of whom will get on our nerves, will have different
opinions and political affiliations, will frustrate us and hurt us, it is this community that God chose. God did this on purpose. So all we can do is see
ourselves and others through God’s eyes—as saints. Chosen. Beloved.
Maybe
you’ve come here today knowing that you are a saint. You are fed up with all
these people who keep making it hard to just get on with the good things in
life. Maybe you’re frustrated by those in the church who are getting in the way
of our spiritual progress, getting in the way of all the good the church could
be doing. Maybe you’re fed up with people who have different theology from you,
that you can just see is toxic. God chose them for you. You need them. Because
we need this community. And we’re all sick.
Maybe
today you came here knowing that you’re sick. Knowing that you’re a misfit. You
don’t fit here. You don’t fit anywhere. How could someone love you after all
that you’ve done? You’re chosen. You’re a saint. Out of you, God made this
community.
This
is not to say we shouldn’t hope we all get better. That’s the purpose, right? If
someone is being abusive, we should stop him. If someone is an addict, we
should help her. If people are hurting others, we should confront them. If
people want to pray more, we should encourage them! That’s the purpose—receive
God’s healing, and live into it. But we
can neither exclude people from the community for being sinners and doubters,
nor leave because we think we are more righteous or less sick or have more
faith. The hard work of community is staying. Even if we sit next to that
person we can’t stand and we physically can’t say one word to them. It’s a big
step just to be here. It’s a start. This can only happen once we realize that
we’re all sick and we’re all saints.
I
admit I’m still horrible at this. I still want to be right. I don’t like going
to the doctor, saying I’m sick. Sometimes I just want to get the heck out of
Dodge and find a place where everyone is good and kind and fights never happen.
Tell me when you find that place! I’ve never experienced it. But God calls us
to be in community with each other, right here—each and every one of us a sinner;
each and every one of us a saint.
People
often think that the church’s witness to the world should be that we never
fight and that we all act perfectly. Good luck. Certainly, we should try not to
fight and we should try to do good in the world. But maybe the true witness is
how we stick together even when we fight, what we do when we fight; how we
welcome those who are far less than perfect—not because we’re going to somehow “help”
them—but because we realize that we need them, because they are the foundation
on which this church is built, the screw-ups, the misfits. We can’t be this
community without them.
Where the whole world and
all the “religious” and “righteous” people—whoever and wherever they are—where
they see sickness and mess and sin, failures and misfits and outcasts, hotheads
and traitors and terrorists and doubters—Jesus sees community. Thanks be to
God. Amen.
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NOTES:
[1] John 12:1-8
[2] Matthew 16:18
[3] Matthew 16:23; Luke 22:54-62
[4] Mark 3:17
[5] Luke 9:51-56
[6] John 1:46
[7] Compare Matthew 9:9 and Luke 5:27-32
[8] See Luke 19, the story of Zaccheus
[9] John 20
[10] NOTE: I got this backward during the live preaching event and mixed up Judas and Simon. Oops! That’s where low levels of sleep gets me. Also, as this article by Richard Horsley points out, understanding the history and context of these various resistance groups helps us not to demonize them—or any people who are under an oppressive regime. Certainly, as the rest of this sermon goes on to argue, Jesus brought two people from these groups into the nucleus of his community. The point is not to condemn the actions of the Zealots or Sicarii necessarily, but to point out the extreme diversity of people Jesus brought together—the powder keg of personalities.
[11] Mark 6:3
[12] John 7
[13] NOTE: I am intentionally using this word provocatively throughout. I really want to stretch our understanding of the people Jesus loves and invites into the community. A congregant mentioned the difficulty many might have with this word, especially in my church full of people who often community to NYC and Philly. I understand the difficult connotations here and I’m sorry if offense or confusion prevents deep engagement for anyone.
[14] Matthew 27:57-61; Mark 15:43; John 19:38-42
[15] 1 Cor. 1:26-29
[16] Peterson, The Jesus Way, 239
[17] Is. 53:3-5
[18] Philippians 2
[19] Peterson, The Jesus Way, 184
[20] NOTE: I want to nuance our understanding of "vulnerability" with a quote from Brené Brown that my friend and colleague, Tara Woodard-Lehman posted on facebook. Of course, I only saw this lovely quote after I'd delivered the sermon. Still. Helpful. From Daring Greatly (no page number): "We don't lead with 'Hi, my name is Brené, and here's my darkest struggle.' That's not vulnerability. That may be desperation or woundedness or even attention-seeking, but it's not vulnerability. Why? Because sharing appropriately, with boundaries, means sharing with people with whom we've developed relationships that can bear the weight of our story. The result of this mutually respectful vulnerability is increased connection, trust, and engagement. Vulnerability without boundaries leads to disconnection, distrust, and disengagement....Vulnerability is bankrupt on its own terms when people move from being vulnerable to using vulnerability to deal with unmet needs, get attention, or engage in the shock-and-awe behaviors that are so commonplace in today's culture."
[21] Eugene Peterson, Practice Resurrection, 78-9
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