Affirmation

 Mark 12:28-34

We’re set up for tension.  To expect an argument, a controversy, a debate.

 

After all, that’s what’s been happening anytime Jesus gets into a conversation with one of the religious leaders while he’s teaching in the Temple. They ask questions to trap Jesus, and he confounds them.

And every other time a scribe – a religious legal expert – encounters Jesus in Mark’s story, it’s to criticize his teaching or practices.

 

So when this scribe steps up to ask Jesus “What’s the most important commandment?” we’re set up to be listening for antagonism, for another trap.

 

It’s no surprise to anyone, or it shouldn’t be, when Jesus promptly quotes the Shema – the commandment so central to the faith and life of Israel that it has a one-word, instantly recognizable name, like Beyoncé.

Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.

And all your mind, Jesus adds.

 

This is the commandment that God’s people are to talk about constantly, to wear on their hands and heads, to place at the door of their houses and the gates of their towns.

 

Many rabbis of Jesus’ time – and before and since – taught this as primary. And as far as we can tell, other contemporaries of Jesus also emphasized the “second” commandment – drawn from the scroll of Leviticus – to love our neighbors as ourselves, as key to the whole law, the whole way of being that God commands of the faithful.

 

And if you hang out in church for very long, you’re certainly going to hear Jesus quoted on the importance of those commandments. You heard them quoted last week, in fact. So what Jesus says shouldn’t surprise us, either.

 

But what might be a surprise is that this is not a debate.

It’s an affirmation.

 

This particular scribe has actually set Jesus up to be right. To proclaim the fundamental truth that no one in the Temple (or since) could disagree about.

That the first thing of our faith, the most important thing, is to love God with absolutely all of us – your whole heart, your whole soul, your whole mind, your whole strength.

And – impossible to separate from this – to love our neighbors (all of our neighbors) as if they are our own whole, committed, loving selves.

 

We – the Temple faithful, scribes, Pharisees, Sadducees, unaffiliated folks, Jesus-followers, you and I – are to live as if the whole world is the love of God.

That’s the thing that matters most.

The truth we all share.

 

The scribe affirms this in his own words.

And Jesus affirms him.

And that’s the last time, in Mark’s telling of the story, that anyone questions Jesus about his teaching.

 

Mark doesn’t want anyone to miss that this isn’t up for debate. The centrality of love of God and others is the truth we all share, no matter what our other disagreements.

 

That’s our story at Trinity, too; our fundamental truth about our common life as a congregation: We’re here to grow in the love of God and neighbor.

 

In the best of times, and in pandemic times, we build our common life on that truth.

We worship together – sing and pray and listen together – as a way to love God, to bring our minds, hearts, souls, and strength into the presence of God, and offer our whole selves to that love.

We learn and study together – as children, youth, and adults – for the same purpose.

And the habits of immersing ourselves in the love of God in scripture and prayer, in harmony and in curiosity, also shape us to love our neighbors.

To practice forgiving as we have been forgiven.

To feed others as we have been fed.

To seek the face of Christ in everyone we meet, and to work to build a world of justice and peace, mutual respect and dignity, a world where, because we love God, every neighbor is loved as ourselves.

 

As the people of Trinity, we spend time together in crisis and in celebration. We love our neighbors by showing up for baptisms and funerals, in hospitals and homes; for hard work and parties. We love our neighbors with sandwiches and canned goods, warm coats and deodorant and Christmas gifts. And we do these things not just because we should, but because the practices of loving our neighbor – of thinking about someone else’s needs at the grocery store, of spending time with friends and deepening our human connection – helps us love God with more and more of our heart and soul, mind and strength.

 

Sometimes, we have differences about how we live out that love. About which kind of feeding and fundraising service activities we should focus on, and how much we can do in one month.  About when we wear masks, and when we don’t.  About where to focus staff time and what should be led by volunteers.

But the one thing we can’t differ on – that no one can disagree with Jesus on – is that the most important thing is to love our God with every bit of mind, soul, heart, and strength in us, and to love our neighbors as our own loving selves.

 

We came right back there, more than once, as our stewardship team talked this year about why we give. Opening an annual pledge drive, or talking about the church budget, often seems to set us up for tension. For debate, or at least discomfort.

But if I’ve found one thing out in my years of church, it’s that pledges and budgets are meant to be an affirmation. A recognition of the fundamental truth of the love of God in this community that we all share, no matter what our differences on how to invite people to give, or how much to spend on copier toner and youth curriculum.

 

And that affirmation of our fundamental truth is why I give a tenth of my income to Trinity every year. Because just like singing hymns and making sandwiches, just like bible study and prayer, setting that money aside, and writing that check over and over keeps me focused on and invested in our work, together, of growing in the love of God and neighbor.

Keeping the commitment I’ve made, to make my money a part of the love of God we share here, keeps me grounded in that love in the times when details or challenges threaten to overwhelm me, or steal my focus.

 

That check, that commitment, is a little like having a scribe who asks me, regularly, “What’s the most important thing?”

 

And the answer is always the affirming truth we can’t argue with: to love God with every bit of ourselves, and all our neighbors as if they are our whole, loving selves.

 

And this commandment to love is itself an affirmation. A confirmation of God’s love for us. Because you and I just can’t love that completely by our own willpower. That love comes from the certain knowledge that we are already loved that completely by God. And that we are invited to be loved that way by our neighbors.

 

It goes unsaid in the conversation we heard today, but Jesus knows, and the scribe knows, and both of them expect us to know, that this whole commitment of all the heart in us, all the soul, all the mind, all the strength in us, becomes possible because God first loved every bit of our hearts and minds, soul and strength, even the bits we ourselves are uncomfortable with.

We can love our neighbor – and can be loved by our neighbors - because God loves them; because they too are responding to that comprehensive love that God commits to us, before we ever ask it, before we ourselves begin to love God and one another.

 

That unarguable truth turns every question, every debate, about how we practice our faith into an affirmation of the faith we share. 

Of how the first word, and the last word, of our faith is love.

Given without limits, because we are loved without limits.

Awe-inspired

 Job:38:1-7, 34-41; Mark 10:35-45

“I hope I never recover from this; I hope I can maintain what I feel now.”

William Shatner’s voice almost broke as he talked about his minutes in space this week.  

“I don't want to lose it. It's so…so much larger than me and life…”

He’s not the only one. Many astronauts report an almost indescribable experience as they leave atmosphere, or see the earth from space, an experience that changes them.

They’re talking about awe.

That unnerving wonder, the sense of admiration and uncertainty, of marvelous fear and unsettling beauty that defies words, stops us in our tracks, upends our perspective, makes us feel small, makes us feel immersed in greatness.

That’s what God is talking about, too.

After Job has been asking for hours – or weeks, or months – for God to come explain why his family has died, his home destroyed, and his health lost to a disease that cuts him off from his community, God finally responds. 

And instead of reassurance or explanation, God says:

Think about the construction of the entire universe.

On what were its bases sunk; who laid the cornerstone when the morning stars sang together?

God goes on, invoking mysteries of light and darkness, animals and weather, the shape of the whole earth – what we hear this morning is just a taste.

God is telling Job – and you and me – to stare into the full force of a storm, stand in the center of the open ocean, contemplate the extraordinary complexity of both an ant and a whale. God’s telling us to feel in our bones and skin and souls the direct encounter with that overwhelming, creative, power and possibility that is so, so much greater than you or I.

I’ve felt it being ten feet from a lion for few moments in an open land rover, when the atmosphere shakes with thunder, in holding a newborn, at the top of a small mountain and at the foot of a big one.

I’ve felt it in prayer, and in music, and in the quiet darkness of an empty church.

I’m sure you have felt it, too, somewhere.

That’s awe.

It’s not the answer to Job’s question, really, but it’s what God brings to all of our questions about ourselves.

This shift in perspective – this sense of smallness and immersion in greatness – that frees us from the limits of ourselves – the limits of our experience, our reach, our ability and our desires.

Whether that’s what we are looking for, or not.

And that shift in perspective, where the whole universe is at the center and our sense of self disappears into wonder, that’s what James and John need – what all the disciples need – when they’re talking to Jesus today.

They’re still having trouble understanding what Jesus is about. He’s talked about giving up everything – money and possessions, traditions and expectations, life itself – and he’s just said again that he’s going to be condemned, rejected, abused, killed – and after three days, rise, (which last makes even less sense than what came before).

In that context, it’s a little ridiculous that James and John come to ask for the best seats in the victory party. For recognition and respect and access to power.

It’s ridiculous, but it’s pretty human, too.

Because James and John know that status can protect us in uncertain times. 

Status protects our ideas and egos from disrespect and awkward questions. Tenure – formal or informal – can protect our jobs, our livelihoods. Some kinds of status, like citizenship, even protect our lives in times of widespread danger, and give us extra resources to draw on in the middle of an evacuation or a pandemic. 

It’s perfectly human to look at a risky, uncertain future, and try to get some status that secures your own future. 

It doesn’t work for John and James, of course.

Jesus can’t hook them up with the status they want.

All Jesus has to offer is the power of sacrifice. Of risk and terrifying, powerful possibility. 

Of serving instead of being served.

And that’s where awe matters.

I suspect that the glory of Jesus that James and John think they want to share looks like comfort and deference, admiration and influence. It’s the glow of being special, in a world of ordinary. 

But Jesus’ glory, God’s glory, isn’t like winning an Academy Award or topping the Forbes rich list. 

It’s the eye of the storm, the furnace heart of the sun, the whole entire universe face to face with you in an instant. It’s the extraordinary, terrifying, beautiful wonder of a newborn multiplied by eight billion lives and more.

Getting close to that glory means feeling not special, but very, very, very small. 

And yet infinitely connected to greatness, to possibility, to others.

Astronauts frequently return from the awe of orbit strongly motivated to unify, to remove barriers and borders and bring people together.

Prophets and saints and ordinary people by the thousands and millions have experienced the awe of God’s glory, and been filled with the desire to be part of that love and power so much greater than ourselves.  Filled with the desire to serve as part of God’s healing, love, reconciliation and care; emptied of the craving for security, emptied of the desire to “be served”, to insist on our own importance and status.

That’s why we come to church, actually. We come together in worship to connect with the awe that immerses us in the immensity of God’s glory and inspires us to be part of God’s work; awe that heals the wounds of a world that claws for status and security, awe that makes us a small part of something greater than we can imagine.

The great cathedrals of the world were built with that awe in mind, that connection to the immensity of God’s power, Jesus’ love. 

So is our life here. 

Many of our prayers, much of our music, and the stories we study in the Bible are meant to link us to incomprehensible greatness, so that we feel the desire to share in God’s glory, not for our own sake, but to be a small, tiny part of the creative renewal of the universe, with Jesus.

That nearness to God’s glory that changes all our fears and hopes is what James and John actually want, I believe. They just don’t know how and why they want it, perhaps. Or how to speak the deepest desires of their hearts. 

So they ask for good seats.

And what Jesus promises them instead is an immersion in the entirety of God’s terrifying, magnificent, transformative healing and renewal; in his cup and baptism. 

He promises them awe.

And that magnificent, terrifying, hope-filled experience of glory is what will enable them to become “great” among the disciples – inspired to serve, not to be served. 

Jesus offers that to us, too.

Invites us to meet the deepest desires of our hearts – the desires that status and success and security can’t fill – by diving into awe with him, through him, and letting that transform us.

So if there’s a hunger in your heart this week, a hunger for anything – seek out awe.

If you can’t view the earth from space, you can look at the pictures. 

You can look at the extraordinary complexity of creation in the bird in your backyard, the uniqueness of the human person across the table from you. 

You can stand in a storm or on the edge of the open ocean or the foot of a vast mountain – or remember that time when you did, and your heart and soul were expanded. 

You can read chapters 38-40 of the book of Job, the whole of Psalm 104 – go beyond the excerpts we hear today – or read the story of creation right at the beginning of the Bible, and pay attention to the extraordinary scope of wonder. 

You can dive into the awe of music or prayer that focuses on God’s glory.

Seek out awe, and see what happens.

See what God’s glory transforms in your heart, what limits disappear from your sense of self.

Discover yourself as a small part of God’s immense, healing, powerful work.

See what happens when you’re awe-inspired.

The Answer You Weren't Looking For

Mark 10:2-16

It’s never a good idea to ask Jesus a question about something that’s a hot political or social issue. It’s also generally a bad idea to ask Jesus a question that’s set up to get him (or someone else) in trouble. You’re pretty much guaranteed to get an answer you don’t want.

And that’s exactly what just happened. Some folks who are trying to figure out all the rules for righteousness try to get Jesus involved in the then-hot issue of what constitutes a righteous religious ground for divorce. (The fact of divorce is not in question, it’s the exact religious standing of various reasons for divorce that’s a hot issue of the time.)

And they get an answer they don’t want.
First Jesus points out that they already know the answer to the question they asked.

It’s in scripture. In the core teachings of the “books of Moses”. Yes, it’s lawful for a man to divorce his wife. 

That’s “because of your hardness of heart,” Jesus says. Because human beings do not have the heart and the vision of God, because we do have a basic inclination to self-interest, our compassion and strength have limits, and we fail. So Moses, organizing a holy community, set it up so you’re allowed to acknowledge the failure and end the marriage.

 

But we shouldn’t. At least, we shouldn’t have to.

In the world as God created it to be, when we make a commitment to join together, to become one, we would become one. We would not fail. 

In the world as God created it to be, unity beats out selfishness, and disappointment, and loss, and human beings make marriages that stay whole and healthy and unbreakable (the life-giving commitment we intend with our vows).

If you want to know what God thinks of human relationships, Jesus is saying, don’t ask about the legality of divorce.
Ask how God created us to be.
Focus on the goal, on the whole and healed creation God intended and Jesus is bringing about.

That’s not the answer anyone wanted.

Because the folks who asked Jesus in the first place were looking for a way to prove their own righteousness about relationships and families. Or just to get Jesus in trouble.
And instead they got a law, a standard, of perfect relationship that is actually impossible for any self-righteous human to achieve. Even out of reach for the most humble of us, for that matter.

And we, two thousand years later, aren’t hearing an answer we want, either. We’re left to wrestle with what this perfect standard of relationship means for us, in a world where marriage and divorce are very very different than they were in Jesus’ time. Are we in trouble? Are the people I love, who ended a soul-killing marriage, in trouble? How can anyone achieve an entire lifetime of that perfect union that Jesus insists God intends? Does this picture of re-marriage as adultery that Jesus draws mean that lots of us are going to hell?

I don’t think so. I’ve seen clear indications of God’s healing, renewal, and creativity at work in many new marriages after divorce. 

I think that Jesus is being very blunt about the damage that can occur when relationships and commitments are ended selfishly. 

And I think Jesus is also talking about how our relationships will be in the kingdom of God, in the time when all of us are so healed and renewed and reconciled that we are living the whole, abundant, generous, unbreakable life that God intends for us, from the beginning of creation. 

Because Jesus wants us, in our daily lives, to focus on that goal. On living that whole, healed, reconciled life already, here and now. So he talks about how it is in God’s intended creation, in a world in which, when we fail, we choose our next actions so we don’t injure one another further. It’s only startling or scary when we apply it to ourselves because that world Jesus talks about is so unlike the one we’re used to living in.

The world we are used to living in shapes our daily life with pressure to focus on ourselves, and our own interests. In the middle of that, it can be hard to imagine how it would be to live in a world shaped from the ground up by unity, care and compassion for others as a first instinct, where forgiveness and renewal and generosity are the air we all breathe, and the solid earth under our feet. 

It can be hard to imagine living our everyday lives – lives with emails and groceries and being-in-two-places-at-once schedules (or nobody-comes-to-see-me schedules), and all our daily obligations and irritations – hard to imagine living these ordinary lives as perfect lives in the kingdom of God.

But Jesus has no trouble imagining that.

Jesus insists that we can live our lives in the embodiment of healing, renewal, unity, and generous love that God intends from the beginning of creation, that God reveals in Jesus, and that God is building in and around us right now.  That our ordinary lives can encompass marriages that never end badly, giving up ALL our posessions, even giving up itself – all these things Jesus envisions for us – as life-giving.

Not because we’re that good. But because God is. It’s not much later in the conversation we heard today that Jesus points out that what is impossible for humans is possible for God. And Jesus has just reminded us we enter God’s kingdom as little children, dependent on God’s power, not our own.

Which is why he directs our attention from “What makes a divorce righteous?” to “In the world God is making, there is no broken relationship, there is only life-giving unity.”

When we get stuck on the troubles and thorns of our lives; when our relationships aren’t working, because we’re human and we fail. When we can’t see the way forward; when we focus on ourselves; even when we want to get one up on someone else and try to get God involved, Jesus insistently, urgently directs our attention to the impossibly healed world that God intends for us. He insists that we start right now to live in the world as God created it to be: life-giving, renewing, generous, hope-filled, and full of possibility. 

Jesus insists that we stop trying to solve the world as we make it, and start sharing in the world as God intends it, living as though we’re already in the kingdom of God.

I’ve been so grateful – so awed and delighted and impressed – over the course of this year, in the middle of a present that’s full of unsolvable problems and unsatisfactory solutions, that so many of you have been not only willing, but eager, to stretch yourselves to commit to a future that’s about building ourselves and our physical space into something that’s just a bit closer to the kingdom of God, as we’ve planned and launched our capital campaign.

It’s not that accessible worship and fellowship spaces, air-conditioning, structural improvements, (better and more welcoming bathrooms and classrooms), and investing in new efforts to meet human need are going to turn Trinity into a physical heaven on earth. But it’s true that when we turn our attention to what will build us stronger together, and more welcoming for all God’s people, we’re turning our attention to what the healing, generous, unifying kingdom of God makes possible in our everyday lives. Focusing on the goal of the world God intends.

And choosing that focus, choosing to commit ourselves to building our buildings just a bit more compassionate, loving, generous, strong, and hope-filled, for the present and the future of our everyday lives, is choosing to live just a bit closer to the kingdom of God, here and now. 

That’s what we’re celebrating, as we officially close our campaign today.

I’m learning – today, and every day – that it doesn’t matter what question we bring to Jesus. A question of divorce, or of buildings, of physics or ethics or practical detail.  The answer we’ll always get isn’t the one we came looking for. It’s the answer God is looking for: the whole, healing, reconciled, forgiving, unbreakable life God has intended for us from the beginning of creation.
It’s an answer that’s startling and uncomfortable, sometimes, when applied to our everyday lives. But it’s always the answer that grounds us in love, and hope, and the confidence that God makes all things possible, not just someday, but here and now and always.