Imagine a high
school lunchroom, on the first day of a new year.
Two new girls
arrive. One is wearing an ordinary t-shirt and jeans; the other is wearing
official US Olympic gear and a gymnastics gold medal.
What happens in
the room?
That’s an easy
one, right?
All the attention swooshes instantly to the gymnast. There’s a space for her at everybody’s table, a crowd forms – the rest of the students want to get to know her, to be friends. No one is really paying attention to the other new girl. She’s on her own to find a place at the edge of the crowd.
All the attention swooshes instantly to the gymnast. There’s a space for her at everybody’s table, a crowd forms – the rest of the students want to get to know her, to be friends. No one is really paying attention to the other new girl. She’s on her own to find a place at the edge of the crowd.
When a celebrity
walks into the room it doesn’t mean anything about what we think of the ordinary
people, like the other new girl, right?
In fact, there’s a good chance the other new girl is just as excited to
see McKayla or Jordan or Gabby at her school as anyone else in the room. It’s a normal distinction between the
exceptional and the ordinary.
But it’s exactly
what James is talking about.
We heard rich
man and poor man in James’ letter today, and it makes perfect sense that James
would be mad at people showing favoritism to the rich in church.
We already know – we’re Christians, we pay attention – that God loves poor people just as much as rich people, maybe more, and we should follow Jesus’ example of loving everyone. But our own first, unthinking, reaction would probably be different if the next two people to walk in to Calvary were one of our neighbors from PADS, and Brian Urlacher
We already know – we’re Christians, we pay attention – that God loves poor people just as much as rich people, maybe more, and we should follow Jesus’ example of loving everyone. But our own first, unthinking, reaction would probably be different if the next two people to walk in to Calvary were one of our neighbors from PADS, and Brian Urlacher
James is talking
to a community that would very reasonably assume that someone showing up in
gold and fine clothes has earned all they have, is righteous and well-loved by
God – in other words, the kind of people you’d like to have in your
neighborhood. And the belief that
wealth demonstrates character and the question about how to respond to poor
people in our world are alive and well in our own culture. Any 15 minutes of election coverage
will tell you that.
So it’s not as
simple as it sounds.
James is pointing
out that we make distinctions all the time. We get excited
about celebrities, read books and stories about the success of Steve Jobs or
Bill Gates, or get entertainment out of watching Donald Trump fire people.
When we do these
things, we judge others.
And James
suggests that when we’re more impressed by fame, fortune, athletic awards and
TV air time than by the simple image of God in our next door neighbor,
we’re failing
that “love your neighbor as yourself” commandment.
Think about it:
How many of you are famous? – raise your hands.
How many of you are famous? – raise your hands.
How many are
rich?
How many of you
are in the top one percent of anything that you do?
If we pay more
attention to the folks who are rich,
and famous, and on the top of their field than we do to the next person we
happen to meet, the people who are ordinary, like us, then we’re failing to
love as God loves
and we’re not
respecting ourselves enough.
Americans love
the top one percent – not because of tax brackets, but because we love
winners. The ten out of thousands
who make it to American Idol, the Olympics, or the top of the Fortune 500. Success
– fame, fortune, and first prize – for any
of us, maybe all of us – is the American Dream.
It’s a great
dream. But it’s not the gospel.
The gospel is
about the 99 percent. Or better
yet, the 100 percent.
Think about the
story we just heard, when a foreign woman turns up and begs Jesus for a miracle
for her daughter. And Jesus says, “You can’t take the children’s food and throw
it to the dogs.”
It’s exactly the
insult it sounds like. But Jesus is
also expressing the reasonable priorities of someone who can’t do everything at
once. He’s going to start with Israel, the people chosen to bear God’s word in
the world, before taking on all comers.
Then the gospel
is revealed when the nameless woman talks back.
“Even the dogs
eat the crumbs,” she argues.
There is already enough she says.
Enough for the
rest of us. Enough for one hundred
percent at the same time.
And she wins the
argument. Jesus gives credit to
her logic and her words when he heals her daughter. There’s enough.
Enough for one percent to be one hundred percent.
Then Jesus heads
further out into Gentile territory, and starts healing and feeding folks beyond
the obvious people of God. That woman is exactly right. There is already enough for everybody.
That’s when we
come back to loving your neighbor as yourself.
Have you ever
decided not to take your private trouble to God in prayer because it just
wasn’t important enough? Because
hurricanes and cancer and someone else’s needs were more important?
How does that
reflect on God’s love?
Listen to the
Syrophonecian woman:
Even the dogs eat the crumbs already. There’s enough, now, for the least important to be heard and seen and fed.
Even the dogs eat the crumbs already. There’s enough, now, for the least important to be heard and seen and fed.
Have you ever
gone out of your way for someone important at the expense of your spouse, or
your co-workers, or even yourself?
It’s what we
often have to do to succeed, let’s be honest. It’s normal.
But how does
that reflect God’s values?
James and the Syrophonecian
woman tell us the same thing:
The least of us – the everyday people,
the 99 percent – matter equally with
the “important” people, the top percent.
Our faith works
when we are so confident of enough
that we feed the hungry and shelter the destitute out of our own resources,
and it works
when we spend God’s time on the ordinary people.
When we turn off
the newsmakers on the TV in order to listen to and care about the ordinary news
of our grandchildren, our very average neighbor, or the relative you’ve stopped
listening to because they never stop talking.
Our faith works
when we turn our attention, and God’s, to the banal, ordinary needs for respect
and connection that each of us have, in our prayers for ourselves, in time
spent with others, and in hundreds of little, ordinary ways.
None of the “Fab
Five” Olympic gymnasts go to Glenbard or Willowbrook. And in each of those high schools are hundreds of kids who
won’t ever win a game, get the highest grade, invent the next iPhone or become
President. Your high school class
was the same.
Our faith works
when we love those neighbors as ourselves,
and we love
ourselves with one hundred percent of God’s love,
because there’s already enough,
and when we
stand up for that, everyone wins.
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