Fifth Pentecost (Proper
9)
Mark 6:1-13; II Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10; II Corinthians 12:2-10
It happened at the 4th of July block party we have each
year on our cul-de-sac—Everyone knows we are the pastors of Holy Spirit
and that we take turns preaching—at one point in the conversation with
one of the newer families on the block I was asked, “So, are you preaching
this Sunday?” “Yes,” I replied. “Anything interesting?”
she asked. “I’m always interesting.” I replied with a smile.
“Right,” she said smiling back at me, “It’s the people listening
who are sometimes dull.” I appreciated her pun as she turned to help her
son get something to drink.
This is the Fourth of July weekend—There is a certain part of most people on this weekend that wants to just relax a little—to settle back and enjoy the lazy hazy days of summer. This is not a good weekend to be too interesting—because no body would notice all that much anyway. To my knowledge there are no candidates announcing a run for the presidency this weekend—no new policies being proclaimed or initiatives being started—This is a weekend for the stump speech—a weekend for the President and politicians to praise liberty and pump up patriotism—not a time for bold new ventures. The familiar—the comfortable—Jesus came to his home town—Yesterday the many villages of the northern suburbs had their Fourth of July parades—Chris and I walked down to the Lincolnshire parade—watched to see who we might know in the parade—chatted with the many folks we met along the parade route. After eleven years we can’t really walk a block without meeting a number of people we know—And as we greeted them we quickly rehearsed their stories in our heads—The kind of thing we all do quickly—almost unconsciously—when we meet someone. Who they are—where they work—What their life has been like in the past few years or so—Children—health struggles—career changes—it all adds up to who someone is.
Jesus came to his hometown—a place we estimate to be only a few hundred people—smaller then all but maybe the smallest Chicago suburb—A place where everyone not only recognizes everyone else but also knows a story about them—a story maybe from years before that gives a certain identity to the other person. Those of us who grew up in rural communities know how common this practice is—to identify someone by place and past—we do it just as much today as it was done in the first century A.D. My one brother up in Minnesota has lived for over 15 years on land that is still known as the Swenson grove.—My sister has now spent a decade remodeling, residing, redecorating, adding a deck and two car garage to what is still called the old Landahl house—She, by the way, married the younger Wenzel boy whose brother is a banker and whose parents have lived for the last 45 years on the old Moreim farm. As one of my other Minnesota brothers has observed—the land is never really yours until everyone who remembers who first owned it is gone—and people live a long long time around here Jesus returned to his hometown teaching in the synagogue—the synagogue in his home town where those who heard him remembered him as a boy in his father’s carpenter shop. They remembered him as the one who ran for the nails—helped his father square the frame—leveled the table—worked with wood. (It’s interesting that Mark doesn’t mention Joseph by name possibly because he was dead and it was not proper to speak of the dead—but everyone knew that Jesus was the carpenter’s son which gave him his identity also as a carpenter) Identity is important—important if for no other reason than that it provides us with the ego strength we need to make good choices—wise decisions.
We know that the single most important factor in predicting the ability of young people to thrive in school and society in general is ego strength which comes most often from a clear sense of identity and centeredness. We know that teen-age girls do best at handling the pressures of sexual choices and adolescent boys handle peer pressure regarding a number of wrong choices when their self worth and identity is most clearly defined. We know that young people with a clear sense of family identity and values are more likely to succeed in school and life in general. There is immeasurable value in knowing the values of your family and to believe in them “In our family we don’t steal—In our family we don’t lie—In our family we take responsibility for our actions and accept the consequences for our actions”. Children who move communities and schools too often seldom have the ego strength to succeed. They lack a sense of place identity—while other young people from dysfunctional families struggle to find the center of their being that will enable them to grow and thrive. To have a clearly defined moral and spiritual center is not something that happens automatically. The foundations of faith are laid early—the moral categories defined young. The development of these gifts takes nurture—too easily ignored There was a time when it was the norm to build one’s life from a spiritual center—when the whole community recognized the importance of faith based experiences—when families shared in tasks of service and community building. The need for such centering of lives remains but comes today with a need for far greater internationality. To know and explore the world from a faith center.
But we are a modern people and many no longer remember where their faith began It is harder and harder to find our moral and spiritual center. It is easier to try to build a center from physical action or achievement To develop a sport skill or artistic talent comes more naturally to our success oriented culture—We cultivate the résumé of achievements to give us our identity.—The government can mandate academic achievement tests that attempt to measure knowledge—but how do you measure the inner forces of our being?—reverence for life, empathy, esthetic sensitivities, civility—those things that make us truly human. How do we measure moral success or spiritual strength? In the first five chapters of Mark’s Gospel Jesus collects his disciples and begins his ministry—mostly of teaching and healing—like the dramatic healing of the Gerasene demoniac—the hemorrhaging woman—and raising Jarius’ daughter from the dead. We are told that those who were healed believed and many who witnessed also believed—so we should expect that when Jesus finally enters his own land among his own people that they would be grateful for his ministry and receptive to his teachings. This turns out not to be the case. There may be a certain irony to this rejection Jesus appears to be rebuffed not so much because of his message but for the perceived violation of familial or community standards of some kind. It is not that Jesus’ teachings in the synagogue were wrong-headed or even heresy.
The Gospel writer makes it clear that the hearers were astonished and maybe even edified. Jesus’ offense is that he said something new and different in terms of the codes of thought and behavior that were ingrained in the community of Nazareth. The issue is not that the people perceived it as blasphemy or heresy it is that they perceived one of their own doing or saying something and “that’s not the way we do things or say things around here.” It is a phrase too often repeated: “We don’t do things that way around here”? or maybe “The way we always do things is…” The other day Pastor Chris started talking to me about Sunday School Rally Day this September and the first use of our newly constructed gathering and classroom spaces—She suggested that maybe on the first Sunday in September we should have just one worship service followed by a great celebration of the use of our education space. I heard her say one service and immediately reacted by saying, “I don’t know, we really have people oriented toward two services.—We always have two services.” It is so easy to stay with the familiar and routine—To expect the familiar and routine to be the norm—the way we do it. Most of us have spoken such words or at least thought them—maybe about something in the worship service—or Sunday school or choir—maybe about something in the community or our work. It is part of the way we relate to our families and community. We develop routines and expectations of behavior and identification—we can tell a Smith by the way he dresses or a Jones by her vocation. Brian Childs of Columbia Theological Seminary suggests that what gives us our identity as believers Is the story we tell about ourselves and our relationship with God. We also create stories to help us identify those around us
The simplest stories are based on place—she’s from Madison—he grew up on a farm in Indiana—or—based on work or family—he has two boys—she works for Baxter He is a carpenter from Nazareth. Home town knowledge comes with familiarity—it packages us prematurely—limits who we are—what we have become—what we are capable of being and doing. I think of classmates of mine and wonder—would I be able to be comfortable with the classmate who became a surgeon operating on me when I remember the way he mowed down the neighbor’s flower bed that one summer—or how about the optomologist performing that delicate eye procedure when everyone remembers that fumble that cost the game back in ’69—We lock people into their past sins and triumphs—and we limit the present and close off the future. Based on what the hometown folks knew about Jesus—we are told their unbelief closed them off from the miracles and wonder he brought and proclaimed It is often tempting to embrace Jesus by what we can claim about Him—We know Jesus—many of us have known him all our lives—we are old friends from Bible camp—confirmation retreats.—We have our stories to tell about him—A lot of Sunday school stories actually that provide for us a Sunday school faith—What is your earliest memory of Jesus?—More importantly, what is your most recent experience with Him?—When Jesus stood before his old friends in Nazareth he was not a past memory but a present reality—unfortunately few could see the one who stood before them.
Each Sunday—each day—we are confronted by the words and power of the present Christ—but like the people of Nazareth it is easy to interpret the present through the filters of comfortable past memories. And Jesus was amazed at their unbelief. We don’t like to see our world change—most of us are overwhelmed by change We like to hold on to some things the way they were—to the order of things the way we like them. But people move on—Our God moves on—into the future That is what life is all about—change—not always in the ways we would like or prefer On this Sunday after the 4th of July I find myself thinking of those who were not afraid to move on—Who had visions of a future that was far more interesting than the past. In their day there were some who called them traitors—but we remember them as patriots. We have become so familiar with the freedoms we enjoy thanks to those who signed the Declaration of Independence—We have celebrated so many 4th of July’s But those who signed did so immediately following the words “And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.” A traitor would not live—a patriot should not be forgotten. But there are names we have forgotten—William Williams of Connecticut—James Smith of Pennsylvania—Button Gwinnett of Georgia. We forget—we are too removed from the full meaning and emotion of the moment—We do not see ourselves as part of this story any longer.—Which allows us to move easily into the future—free of guilt and baggage of the past—but it also means our future has lost a bit of its center and its direction—For we are unable to hear clearly the vision and the dreams that brought us to this moment. Jesus spoke but the people could not hear—they had not kept him in the stories of their lives—they had kept him in their past memories only—Words of truth cannot live from the past—they live in the present and lead us into the future.
History is filled with those who spoke to their communities words of vision and future possibility—In the Bible they are prophets—in our world today they take other forms—artists—scientists—politicians—engineers—preachers—teachers—mothers—grandfathers—and so many more. We do not give up our old ways easily—A prophet in their own home town can be a bit unnerving. Now, there is certainly nothing all that prophetic about changing the worship service schedule for one Sunday.—A far more radical idea would be to cancel church all together and have everyone who would normally be in church take that time to visit an unchurched member of our community and invite them to meet the Jesus we know. That, of course assumes that the Jesus we would introduce them to is some one interesting—someone worth meeting. We’ll have to think about that But that’s what grace is all about—Jesus standing in the hometown synagogue Jesus in the most familiar places and most expected moments Surprising us in words and deeds that take us just a bit beyond what we had considered. Inviting us to discover new ways of seeing what we think we already understand Encouraging us to welcome new neighbors to share in God’s table of grace Opening our hearts and minds to discover new meanings to familiar old sayings Familiar sayings about—love of neighbor—life everlasting—hope in the face of despair In the midst of a comfortable summer weekend it is good to hear a familiar voice—Jesus speaking once more—with words well known and yet—What is this wisdom that has been given to him?
It is still important to come home now and then—to
remember where we come from To know whose we are—baptized by grace To know
where we come from—God’s table of grace To know where we are headed—God’s
kingdom awaits With this sense of place, purpose and direction Jesus sent forth
his disciples—With this sense of place, purpose and direction—Jesus
sends us forth. Amen.
Amen.