Practically Christian
Commentary
I parked next to a car yesterday that looked like a bit of a junker. It was pretty banged up
and featured several significant rust spots. As I got out of my own car to go into the store,
I walked next to the junky car, and I noticed that it wasn't a thing of beauty on the inside,
either.
Now the car I drive does not clear, by much, the bar of "basic transportation," so I don't have any sort of superiority attitude about cars. And yet, I was struck by how shabby this particular car was. Apparently the owner of the car knew how bad it looked, for he had a bumper sticker to answer people who thought what I was thinking. The bumper sticker said, "At least it runs."
I laughed to myself as I walked into the store, for I thought how right the bumper sticker was. At a couple of points in my life, I have found myself in a car that stopped running, for one reason or another. I know that, when push comes to shove, that is the most important issue with a car: does it run?
This jalopy in the parking lot was not sporty or stylish, but it got its owner where he needed to go. And if I, by contrast, had a very sporty car, with a plush interior, state-of- the-art navigational equipment, and a top-of-the-line sound system, but my car didn't run, then the guy with the junker would still be ahead of me.
The law, the wisdom writings, the prophets, the epistles, and the teachings of Jesus all call us back to such practicality. Religion that is shiny on the surface -- superficially attractive and seemingly sound -- but doesn't actually "run" isn't worth much. That was a problem for the people of Judah (Isaiah 58:4-7), the people of Israel (Amos 5:21-24), and the Pharisees (Matthew 23:23-28). It is a concern we see in our selected passages for this Sunday, as well, as we hear the call to be "practically" Christian.
Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23
One hallmark of the wisdom literature is its balanced perspective on wealth. The writers of Proverbs, Job, and Ecclesiastes do not rush to some indefensible extreme: either that prosperity is an unqualified good and a proof of God's blessing, on the one hand, or that all wealth is always bad, on the other. Instead, we discover in these wisdom books, in general -- and in Proverbs, in particular -- a nuanced view of wealth.
On the one hand, the writer of Proverbs offers plenty of counsel on how to succeed and prosper. His are not the questionable get-rich-quick schemes of certain email offers or late-night infomercials. Rather, he is an advocate of basic virtues: discipline, prudence, careful planning, and hard work, and he warns against all sorts of imprudent behavior and choices. Prosperity, therefore, is seen as the predictable cause-and-effect result of wise living.
Yet, as we see in our brief selected passage, wealth is not satisfactory as a highest goal. The bumper sticker jokes, "The one who dies with the most toys wins." But the writer of Proverbs knows better. The mere accumulation of things is not the final measure of success, and such accumulation does not, according to our lesson, rank as high as these three significant matters: 1) a good reputation, 2) generosity, and 3) justice.
I suppose it would be easy target practice for a preacher to cite certain individuals from the headlines or notorious characters from history to illustrate each point.
We have certainly become acquainted in the not-so-distant past with executives who risked, and eventually lost, their reputation because of their greed. They may read with sad appreciation the proverbial wisdom that "a good name is to be chosen rather than great riches." And every adult in our congregations knows -- some, perhaps, from painful personal experience -- that a reputation is a difficult thing to change or to repair.
Your reputation is what the rest of the community knows about you and thinks of you. And so it becomes both the community's conclusion about you and the basis for what they will or will not believe about you at once. When an allegation is whispered about the man whose reputation is already sullied, the hearers nod and say, "Well, I'm not surprised." But when such gossip is spread about the man whose life has been impeccable, the hearers shake their heads, saying, "Oh, no, that can't be right. I just don't believe it!" Such is the power and protection of a good name.
The wise author also implicitly ranks wealth lower than generosity. While the pursuit of a good name may sometimes clash with the pursuit of wealth, generosity always seems to clash with the pursuit of wealth. On paper, they are competing interests. Giving vs. getting -- sharing vs. hoarding. These are the seeming contradictions that Proverbs invites us to suspend as we live with an interest broader than our own. And we do so with a faith that says there is more to be calculated than mere credits and debits, for we live before a God who made us all, and whose jurisdiction it is both to bless and to despoil.
At the other end of the spectrum from generosity, meanwhile, is perhaps a surprising vice. It is not mere stinginess that opposes generosity, but something still more diabolically selfish. Injustice. The stingy person merely keeps what he has acquired. The unjust and oppressive person, however, acquires what he has at the expense of others. That person sets himself up to be judged by the one who pleads the cause of the poor and the oppressed.
Almost every soul who hears us preach this Sunday will know or know of someone who sacrificed a good name for greed, who is more miser than benefactor, or whose wealth came through either subtly or blatantly unjust treatment of others. The trick is that they will know or know of someone else. The challenge for us in the pulpit, of course, is to help our folks see the application to their own lives.
Most of the people in our pews do not regard themselves as wealthy -- a debatable point in the larger context of the world and of history -- and so the potential virtues and vices outlined in this passage may seem to apply only to others. We blithely assume that these matters are the province of only the high stakes players in life, but not us. We are challenged this week to hear the wisdom of Proverbs for ourselves, not just for others.
James 2:1-10 (11-13) 14-17
The wizened writer of Ecclesiastes insisted, "There is nothing new under the sun" (1:9b). You can't prove a negative, but the juxtaposition of our experience within churches in twenty-first-century America and James' critique of first-century churches in the Near East may lend support to Ecclesiastes' claim. There's nothing new. What was a problem then is still a problem here and now.
Have you seen, as I have, an embarrassing difference in how various visitors to our churches are treated? The young, white-collar couple with two children is fawned over. Enthusiastic church members line up to greet them, to answer their questions, to find out their interests, and to extol the virtues of the church's children and youth ministries. Meanwhile, the gentleman who wandered in late, who looks and smells not recently bathed, is not warmly and frequently greeted. Instead, he is monitored cautiously from a distance. "What do you suppose he wants? Is he looking for a handout? Do you suppose he'll make trouble?"
The stunning element of this passage, of course, is the whole premise with which James begins the discussion. Without pussyfooting, James challenges the people with this almost insulting question: "Do you ... really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ?"
Some of our congregations have the tradition of reciting one of the great creeds of the church during each Sunday morning worship service. Perhaps a gutsy preacher might take James' tack, following the creed with a sermon that begins, "Do you really believe?" And not "believe" in the sense of some theoretical and detached doctrinal adherence, but rather "believe" in the sense of something practical and manifest. James does not ask, "Do you with your words -- your memorized creeds and recited confessions -- really believe?" No, but rather, "Do you with your acts ... really believe?"
It is, of course, characteristic of James to emphasize works. It is not, as some mistakenly assume, a case of works-righteousness. Rather, James is a pragmatist who knows that a tree is supposed to bear fruit (as in Psalm 1:3; Luke 6:43-44). If a sign in front of the tree says "Apple Tree," but the tree is growing oranges on its branches, we will dismiss the sign and believe the fruit. And, likewise, James contends that a "believer-in-Jesus" tree ought to produce some "believer-in-Jesus" fruit. If it does not, then it must not be what it claims to be.
While we observed earlier that the Old Testament wisdom books take a nuanced position on wealth and the wealthy, James is more polemical. The poor, he asserts, are especially chosen and favored by God. The rich, meanwhile, are the ones who oppress and blaspheme.
Interestingly, James' remarks suggest that the congregation to whom he writes are not themselves among the rich. Rather, he reminds them that they are victims of the rich. The church's problem is not merely a homogeneity issue -- we just want our own kind here. But these Christians of apparently more limited means are showing deference to the wealthy ones who come their way.
Apart from James' dualistic paradigm concerning the rich and the poor, the two underlying issues of this challenging passage are partiality and faith. Throughout scripture, showing partiality is portrayed as a form of injustice. In the Old Testament law, for example, the issue is not merely to spare the downtrodden and vulnerable from being oppressed; the Israelites are commanded not to show partiality in favor of the poor, either (Exodus 23:3). The concern is not that we should choose some against-the-grain group of people to treat preferentially, but rather that we should show no partiality at all. After all, God himself shows no partiality, but "makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous" (Matthew 5:45).
Finally, there is this matter of faith. While James is sometimes juxtaposed with Paul on a faith vs. works spectrum, the fact is that James stands very much in the mainstream of biblical theology. Isaiah (ch. 58) alerts the people of his day to ineffectualness of ritual piety that is unaccompanied by righteous living. Samuel scolded King Saul for failing to understand that "to obey is better than sacrifice" (1 Samuel 15:22). Jesus condemned the scribes and Pharisees who were self-consciously deliberate about external and superficial obedience, while remaining corrupt within (Matthew 23:23-28). And, of course, his sheep-and-goats teaching challenges those who call him "Lord" but whose religion does not manifest itself with compassion and charity (Matthew 25:31-46).
Mark 7:24-37
We -- and the people in our pews -- have all sorts of pictures of Jesus that we cherish. Some of those pictures very likely adorn our church hallways and Sunday school rooms. Some are portrayed in stained glass in our sanctuaries and chapels and many of them are vivid in our hearts and minds. They are pictures of Jesus teaching the crowds on the green hills near Galilee, surrounded by the children, calming the storm, feeding the multitude, healing the sick, standing at the door and knocking, and Jesus as the Good Shepherd. We have untold numbers of pictures of Jesus that we cherish.
We do not have and do not cherish, however, a picture of Jesus turning down or turning away someone in need. Yet that is the picture Mark seems to paint for us at the beginning of this week's Gospel Lesson.
Mark's picture is the gentler one. Matthew also offers an account of this episode (15:21- 28), and his picture presents an even more disturbing picture of Jesus at the outset. In both cases, a desperate woman's need is initially ignored. And then, when the woman is finally addressed by Jesus, it is in a language we find unacceptable.
Jesus' response to the woman is offensive to our modern ears. We are accustomed to hearing Jesus speak in metaphorical language: indeed, we love it. We may even welcome the image of Israel as "the children" here, but when this poor, frantic mother, along with her people, is categorized as "the dogs," then we are surprised and offended. Couldn't the Gentiles have been cast as, say, "the neighbor kids" instead?
Still, though we are initially troubled by what Jesus did say, we must remember what he did not say. He did not say, "No." He did not say, "Go away." His word to the woman left room for a response, and her good response delighted Jesus.
An inescapable reality of this passage is Jesus' withdrawal from the crowds. It is not the point of either story in this passage, and yet it plays a part in both stories.
One reasonably assumes that Jesus' reason for going to the region of Tyre in the first place was to get away from the crowds. He could not go anywhere in Israel, it seems, without being pursued and surrounded (see, for example, Mark 3:7-8; 3:20; 6:31-33; 6:53-56). What is implicit in his departure from Israel to a foreign territory becomes explicit when he enters a house there "and did not want anyone to know he was there."
Likewise, in the next episode, we see Jesus take the deaf man aside, "away from the crowd." The healing is performed in as much privacy as Jesus was able to attain: a brief, undisturbed moment with a man in need.
That second event can help to cast light on the first. If we had the first only, we might think that Jesus was simply trying to avoid people and their needs, including people like the Syrophoenician woman and the deaf man. But Jesus' distancing himself from the crowds even while healing the man suggests a different purpose than merely being alone or getting away. It may be that the desires, assumptions, and intent of the crowds were getting out of hand (as in John 6:15). He had come on a particular mission, he knew what it was, and he was not going to take shortcuts (as in Matthew 4:8-10) or allow himself to be detoured by anyone else (as in Mark 8:31-33).
Application
So here are two cars in a parking lot. One is a fine-looking driving machine. The other looks like a piece of junk. Both drivers get in and turn their keys, but only the junky car actually starts and goes. The other driver is only able to sit there looking good in the parking lot because his car doesn't work.
Practically speaking, then, what good is good-looking when the car doesn't work?
The mechanic pulls up. I believe his name is James. He takes a look at the car and concludes, "Your car is dead."
The owner is offended. "It's not dead! Look at it -- it's beautiful! Look at that shine, the interior, the features. How can you say it's dead?"
"Because it doesn't work," James replies. "A car that doesn't work is dead. What do you think: will that car get you home?"
Alternative Applications
Mark 7:24-37. "Just For That." Talking back usually gets people into trouble. Many earnest parents have worked hard to prove to their children that talking back will never get them what they want.
That is so often the context of backtalk, isn't it? A child wants something, he gets turned down, and so he responds with some angry and frustrated reply. "That's not fair" seems common to almost all ages. Tantrums, pleading, whining, arguing, bargaining, and angry personal attacks are also frequent forms of backtalk.
Seldom does talking back achieve the originally desired result. And sometimes it even gets the child in more trouble. "Just for that," the mother or father sternly replies, "you go to your room" or "you can't go to that sleepover this weekend" or "no television for you tonight" or some other such punishment.
In our Gospel Lesson, a woman wants something -- needs something -- and she comes to Jesus to ask for it. Initially, it seems that he turns her down. Admittedly, his response is not a clear-cut "No." He does not simply send her away. But his response is surely discouraging. It could easily sound like "No" and prompt a person to walk away in disappointment and despair. But not this woman. No, she stays there and talks back to Jesus.
Now, certainly this isn't backtalk that in the sense of being angry or disrespectful, but it is a retort. She is saying, "Yes, but ..." to Jesus. And he responds, essentially, by saying, "Just for that ... just for that, you have what you came for!"
This Gentile woman is patron saint for a certain kind of faith: a faith that does not get easily discouraged; a faith that is persistent and insistent; a faith that comes to Jesus, and a faith that gets what it came for.
You and I and most of our people know what it is to be disappointed by the seeming lack of response to some prayers along the way. Let us persist with a hopeful, "Yes, but...." And perhaps, in response, we will hear him say, "Just for that, you have what you came for!"
Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23. "Greatest Common Factors." We observe this recurring theme, which is evident in verse 2 of our reading from Proverbs: what things various types of people have in common -- the wise and the foolish (Ecclesiastes 2:14), the oppressed and the oppressor (Proverbs 29:13), the clean and the unclean (Ecclesiastes 9:2). And, in our selected Old Testament lesson, the rich and the poor (Proverbs 22:2).
At a glance, of course, and from a worldly point of view, it's easy to think that the rich and the poor have nothing in common. Stand them side-by-side as caricatures, and they seem worlds apart.
The one appears manicured and sophisticated. He seems so successful, with his importance and his influence, his corner office and his built-in pool. His neighborhood looks like a contemporary Eden, and his home a kind of palace. He is the picture of the consummate individual: well-dressed, well-bred, and well-to-do.
His opposite number, meanwhile, seems to be an undesirable character. One wonders about his competence and/or his character. He is comparatively shabby to look at, and his neighborhood makes other people uneasy. He is the sort of person no one wants to be when he grows up.
And yet, time and again, the wisdom writers of the Old Testament take the big-picture view: recognizing and identifying what these two dissimilar people have in common. And what they have in common, we discover, is always big stuff: life, death, and their Creator. Compared to this, primary things that the rich and poor have in common, what they drive, how they dress, and where they live all seem quite insignificant. And if we remember that, then our churches will not fall into the trap of preferential treatment that James names and condemns.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 125
Trusting in God is the most challenging and basic element of faith. It is the foundation upon which everything else rests. It is the very core around which everything else is arranged. This trust, though, is harder than generally advertised. Moreover, it is not a task which is achieved or a project that gets completed. Trusting God is a lifelong struggle for every person of faith. The trusting ones may be, as the psalm tells us, as unmovable as mountains. But that doesn't mean that trust comes easily.
The thing about trusting God is that it means that we automatically do not, then, trust in other things. If we place our trust in God, it is absolute. We do not trust in economic systems or governments, we trust in God. We do not trust in culture or social norms, we trust in God. Perhaps most difficult is the reality that we dare not trust in our own efforts and machinations. We trust in God and God alone.
This is a tall order. It puts one in sympathy with the rich young ruler in the Gospel of Matthew (19:25). If this is the deal, "who then can be saved?" Actually trusting in God puts us out of step with the world in which we live. It calls us out of structures, out of prevailing attitudes, and into a context of grace. And yes, it's hard to do.
Partly because this is so difficult, the culture of church has managed to reduce faith to a list of doctrinal dictates. All one needs to do is nod in assent to these articles and poof! You're a believer. Belief, however, is not a mere assent to a list of biblically dubious propositions. It is about trusting in God. Indeed, the English word for "belief" in much of Christian scripture is actually the Greek word, pistus, which means trust.
The church's understanding of belief is largely a ruse. It is a pantomime of faith calling us to mutely act out doctrines and to trust in them rather than in God. Such doctrines and institutional trappings are only appropriate if they lead to trust in God. This is what Jesus meant when he said that the sabbath was made to serve us. We were not made to serve the sabbath (Mark 2:27).
Yes. The trusting God stuff is not easy. But it is a source of joy. When we manage to let go of our egos and our need to be in charge, when we give it all to God, the sense of joy that emerges is amazing. When we can devote our energies and passions, not to our wants and needs, but to God's, there is a freedom that is nearly indescribable. Paul tries to get at it in Romans 8:21, where he refers to this as the "freedom of the glory of the children of God."
If the church could lean into this kind of trust, revival and church growth would not be an issue. If Christians could leave behind their ideology-laden agendas and trust in God, divisions would cease. If each of us, each day could reach for this kind of trust, what a world we could build. What a world we could build.
Now the car I drive does not clear, by much, the bar of "basic transportation," so I don't have any sort of superiority attitude about cars. And yet, I was struck by how shabby this particular car was. Apparently the owner of the car knew how bad it looked, for he had a bumper sticker to answer people who thought what I was thinking. The bumper sticker said, "At least it runs."
I laughed to myself as I walked into the store, for I thought how right the bumper sticker was. At a couple of points in my life, I have found myself in a car that stopped running, for one reason or another. I know that, when push comes to shove, that is the most important issue with a car: does it run?
This jalopy in the parking lot was not sporty or stylish, but it got its owner where he needed to go. And if I, by contrast, had a very sporty car, with a plush interior, state-of- the-art navigational equipment, and a top-of-the-line sound system, but my car didn't run, then the guy with the junker would still be ahead of me.
The law, the wisdom writings, the prophets, the epistles, and the teachings of Jesus all call us back to such practicality. Religion that is shiny on the surface -- superficially attractive and seemingly sound -- but doesn't actually "run" isn't worth much. That was a problem for the people of Judah (Isaiah 58:4-7), the people of Israel (Amos 5:21-24), and the Pharisees (Matthew 23:23-28). It is a concern we see in our selected passages for this Sunday, as well, as we hear the call to be "practically" Christian.
Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23
One hallmark of the wisdom literature is its balanced perspective on wealth. The writers of Proverbs, Job, and Ecclesiastes do not rush to some indefensible extreme: either that prosperity is an unqualified good and a proof of God's blessing, on the one hand, or that all wealth is always bad, on the other. Instead, we discover in these wisdom books, in general -- and in Proverbs, in particular -- a nuanced view of wealth.
On the one hand, the writer of Proverbs offers plenty of counsel on how to succeed and prosper. His are not the questionable get-rich-quick schemes of certain email offers or late-night infomercials. Rather, he is an advocate of basic virtues: discipline, prudence, careful planning, and hard work, and he warns against all sorts of imprudent behavior and choices. Prosperity, therefore, is seen as the predictable cause-and-effect result of wise living.
Yet, as we see in our brief selected passage, wealth is not satisfactory as a highest goal. The bumper sticker jokes, "The one who dies with the most toys wins." But the writer of Proverbs knows better. The mere accumulation of things is not the final measure of success, and such accumulation does not, according to our lesson, rank as high as these three significant matters: 1) a good reputation, 2) generosity, and 3) justice.
I suppose it would be easy target practice for a preacher to cite certain individuals from the headlines or notorious characters from history to illustrate each point.
We have certainly become acquainted in the not-so-distant past with executives who risked, and eventually lost, their reputation because of their greed. They may read with sad appreciation the proverbial wisdom that "a good name is to be chosen rather than great riches." And every adult in our congregations knows -- some, perhaps, from painful personal experience -- that a reputation is a difficult thing to change or to repair.
Your reputation is what the rest of the community knows about you and thinks of you. And so it becomes both the community's conclusion about you and the basis for what they will or will not believe about you at once. When an allegation is whispered about the man whose reputation is already sullied, the hearers nod and say, "Well, I'm not surprised." But when such gossip is spread about the man whose life has been impeccable, the hearers shake their heads, saying, "Oh, no, that can't be right. I just don't believe it!" Such is the power and protection of a good name.
The wise author also implicitly ranks wealth lower than generosity. While the pursuit of a good name may sometimes clash with the pursuit of wealth, generosity always seems to clash with the pursuit of wealth. On paper, they are competing interests. Giving vs. getting -- sharing vs. hoarding. These are the seeming contradictions that Proverbs invites us to suspend as we live with an interest broader than our own. And we do so with a faith that says there is more to be calculated than mere credits and debits, for we live before a God who made us all, and whose jurisdiction it is both to bless and to despoil.
At the other end of the spectrum from generosity, meanwhile, is perhaps a surprising vice. It is not mere stinginess that opposes generosity, but something still more diabolically selfish. Injustice. The stingy person merely keeps what he has acquired. The unjust and oppressive person, however, acquires what he has at the expense of others. That person sets himself up to be judged by the one who pleads the cause of the poor and the oppressed.
Almost every soul who hears us preach this Sunday will know or know of someone who sacrificed a good name for greed, who is more miser than benefactor, or whose wealth came through either subtly or blatantly unjust treatment of others. The trick is that they will know or know of someone else. The challenge for us in the pulpit, of course, is to help our folks see the application to their own lives.
Most of the people in our pews do not regard themselves as wealthy -- a debatable point in the larger context of the world and of history -- and so the potential virtues and vices outlined in this passage may seem to apply only to others. We blithely assume that these matters are the province of only the high stakes players in life, but not us. We are challenged this week to hear the wisdom of Proverbs for ourselves, not just for others.
James 2:1-10 (11-13) 14-17
The wizened writer of Ecclesiastes insisted, "There is nothing new under the sun" (1:9b). You can't prove a negative, but the juxtaposition of our experience within churches in twenty-first-century America and James' critique of first-century churches in the Near East may lend support to Ecclesiastes' claim. There's nothing new. What was a problem then is still a problem here and now.
Have you seen, as I have, an embarrassing difference in how various visitors to our churches are treated? The young, white-collar couple with two children is fawned over. Enthusiastic church members line up to greet them, to answer their questions, to find out their interests, and to extol the virtues of the church's children and youth ministries. Meanwhile, the gentleman who wandered in late, who looks and smells not recently bathed, is not warmly and frequently greeted. Instead, he is monitored cautiously from a distance. "What do you suppose he wants? Is he looking for a handout? Do you suppose he'll make trouble?"
The stunning element of this passage, of course, is the whole premise with which James begins the discussion. Without pussyfooting, James challenges the people with this almost insulting question: "Do you ... really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ?"
Some of our congregations have the tradition of reciting one of the great creeds of the church during each Sunday morning worship service. Perhaps a gutsy preacher might take James' tack, following the creed with a sermon that begins, "Do you really believe?" And not "believe" in the sense of some theoretical and detached doctrinal adherence, but rather "believe" in the sense of something practical and manifest. James does not ask, "Do you with your words -- your memorized creeds and recited confessions -- really believe?" No, but rather, "Do you with your acts ... really believe?"
It is, of course, characteristic of James to emphasize works. It is not, as some mistakenly assume, a case of works-righteousness. Rather, James is a pragmatist who knows that a tree is supposed to bear fruit (as in Psalm 1:3; Luke 6:43-44). If a sign in front of the tree says "Apple Tree," but the tree is growing oranges on its branches, we will dismiss the sign and believe the fruit. And, likewise, James contends that a "believer-in-Jesus" tree ought to produce some "believer-in-Jesus" fruit. If it does not, then it must not be what it claims to be.
While we observed earlier that the Old Testament wisdom books take a nuanced position on wealth and the wealthy, James is more polemical. The poor, he asserts, are especially chosen and favored by God. The rich, meanwhile, are the ones who oppress and blaspheme.
Interestingly, James' remarks suggest that the congregation to whom he writes are not themselves among the rich. Rather, he reminds them that they are victims of the rich. The church's problem is not merely a homogeneity issue -- we just want our own kind here. But these Christians of apparently more limited means are showing deference to the wealthy ones who come their way.
Apart from James' dualistic paradigm concerning the rich and the poor, the two underlying issues of this challenging passage are partiality and faith. Throughout scripture, showing partiality is portrayed as a form of injustice. In the Old Testament law, for example, the issue is not merely to spare the downtrodden and vulnerable from being oppressed; the Israelites are commanded not to show partiality in favor of the poor, either (Exodus 23:3). The concern is not that we should choose some against-the-grain group of people to treat preferentially, but rather that we should show no partiality at all. After all, God himself shows no partiality, but "makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous" (Matthew 5:45).
Finally, there is this matter of faith. While James is sometimes juxtaposed with Paul on a faith vs. works spectrum, the fact is that James stands very much in the mainstream of biblical theology. Isaiah (ch. 58) alerts the people of his day to ineffectualness of ritual piety that is unaccompanied by righteous living. Samuel scolded King Saul for failing to understand that "to obey is better than sacrifice" (1 Samuel 15:22). Jesus condemned the scribes and Pharisees who were self-consciously deliberate about external and superficial obedience, while remaining corrupt within (Matthew 23:23-28). And, of course, his sheep-and-goats teaching challenges those who call him "Lord" but whose religion does not manifest itself with compassion and charity (Matthew 25:31-46).
Mark 7:24-37
We -- and the people in our pews -- have all sorts of pictures of Jesus that we cherish. Some of those pictures very likely adorn our church hallways and Sunday school rooms. Some are portrayed in stained glass in our sanctuaries and chapels and many of them are vivid in our hearts and minds. They are pictures of Jesus teaching the crowds on the green hills near Galilee, surrounded by the children, calming the storm, feeding the multitude, healing the sick, standing at the door and knocking, and Jesus as the Good Shepherd. We have untold numbers of pictures of Jesus that we cherish.
We do not have and do not cherish, however, a picture of Jesus turning down or turning away someone in need. Yet that is the picture Mark seems to paint for us at the beginning of this week's Gospel Lesson.
Mark's picture is the gentler one. Matthew also offers an account of this episode (15:21- 28), and his picture presents an even more disturbing picture of Jesus at the outset. In both cases, a desperate woman's need is initially ignored. And then, when the woman is finally addressed by Jesus, it is in a language we find unacceptable.
Jesus' response to the woman is offensive to our modern ears. We are accustomed to hearing Jesus speak in metaphorical language: indeed, we love it. We may even welcome the image of Israel as "the children" here, but when this poor, frantic mother, along with her people, is categorized as "the dogs," then we are surprised and offended. Couldn't the Gentiles have been cast as, say, "the neighbor kids" instead?
Still, though we are initially troubled by what Jesus did say, we must remember what he did not say. He did not say, "No." He did not say, "Go away." His word to the woman left room for a response, and her good response delighted Jesus.
An inescapable reality of this passage is Jesus' withdrawal from the crowds. It is not the point of either story in this passage, and yet it plays a part in both stories.
One reasonably assumes that Jesus' reason for going to the region of Tyre in the first place was to get away from the crowds. He could not go anywhere in Israel, it seems, without being pursued and surrounded (see, for example, Mark 3:7-8; 3:20; 6:31-33; 6:53-56). What is implicit in his departure from Israel to a foreign territory becomes explicit when he enters a house there "and did not want anyone to know he was there."
Likewise, in the next episode, we see Jesus take the deaf man aside, "away from the crowd." The healing is performed in as much privacy as Jesus was able to attain: a brief, undisturbed moment with a man in need.
That second event can help to cast light on the first. If we had the first only, we might think that Jesus was simply trying to avoid people and their needs, including people like the Syrophoenician woman and the deaf man. But Jesus' distancing himself from the crowds even while healing the man suggests a different purpose than merely being alone or getting away. It may be that the desires, assumptions, and intent of the crowds were getting out of hand (as in John 6:15). He had come on a particular mission, he knew what it was, and he was not going to take shortcuts (as in Matthew 4:8-10) or allow himself to be detoured by anyone else (as in Mark 8:31-33).
Application
So here are two cars in a parking lot. One is a fine-looking driving machine. The other looks like a piece of junk. Both drivers get in and turn their keys, but only the junky car actually starts and goes. The other driver is only able to sit there looking good in the parking lot because his car doesn't work.
Practically speaking, then, what good is good-looking when the car doesn't work?
The mechanic pulls up. I believe his name is James. He takes a look at the car and concludes, "Your car is dead."
The owner is offended. "It's not dead! Look at it -- it's beautiful! Look at that shine, the interior, the features. How can you say it's dead?"
"Because it doesn't work," James replies. "A car that doesn't work is dead. What do you think: will that car get you home?"
Alternative Applications
Mark 7:24-37. "Just For That." Talking back usually gets people into trouble. Many earnest parents have worked hard to prove to their children that talking back will never get them what they want.
That is so often the context of backtalk, isn't it? A child wants something, he gets turned down, and so he responds with some angry and frustrated reply. "That's not fair" seems common to almost all ages. Tantrums, pleading, whining, arguing, bargaining, and angry personal attacks are also frequent forms of backtalk.
Seldom does talking back achieve the originally desired result. And sometimes it even gets the child in more trouble. "Just for that," the mother or father sternly replies, "you go to your room" or "you can't go to that sleepover this weekend" or "no television for you tonight" or some other such punishment.
In our Gospel Lesson, a woman wants something -- needs something -- and she comes to Jesus to ask for it. Initially, it seems that he turns her down. Admittedly, his response is not a clear-cut "No." He does not simply send her away. But his response is surely discouraging. It could easily sound like "No" and prompt a person to walk away in disappointment and despair. But not this woman. No, she stays there and talks back to Jesus.
Now, certainly this isn't backtalk that in the sense of being angry or disrespectful, but it is a retort. She is saying, "Yes, but ..." to Jesus. And he responds, essentially, by saying, "Just for that ... just for that, you have what you came for!"
This Gentile woman is patron saint for a certain kind of faith: a faith that does not get easily discouraged; a faith that is persistent and insistent; a faith that comes to Jesus, and a faith that gets what it came for.
You and I and most of our people know what it is to be disappointed by the seeming lack of response to some prayers along the way. Let us persist with a hopeful, "Yes, but...." And perhaps, in response, we will hear him say, "Just for that, you have what you came for!"
Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23. "Greatest Common Factors." We observe this recurring theme, which is evident in verse 2 of our reading from Proverbs: what things various types of people have in common -- the wise and the foolish (Ecclesiastes 2:14), the oppressed and the oppressor (Proverbs 29:13), the clean and the unclean (Ecclesiastes 9:2). And, in our selected Old Testament lesson, the rich and the poor (Proverbs 22:2).
At a glance, of course, and from a worldly point of view, it's easy to think that the rich and the poor have nothing in common. Stand them side-by-side as caricatures, and they seem worlds apart.
The one appears manicured and sophisticated. He seems so successful, with his importance and his influence, his corner office and his built-in pool. His neighborhood looks like a contemporary Eden, and his home a kind of palace. He is the picture of the consummate individual: well-dressed, well-bred, and well-to-do.
His opposite number, meanwhile, seems to be an undesirable character. One wonders about his competence and/or his character. He is comparatively shabby to look at, and his neighborhood makes other people uneasy. He is the sort of person no one wants to be when he grows up.
And yet, time and again, the wisdom writers of the Old Testament take the big-picture view: recognizing and identifying what these two dissimilar people have in common. And what they have in common, we discover, is always big stuff: life, death, and their Creator. Compared to this, primary things that the rich and poor have in common, what they drive, how they dress, and where they live all seem quite insignificant. And if we remember that, then our churches will not fall into the trap of preferential treatment that James names and condemns.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 125
Trusting in God is the most challenging and basic element of faith. It is the foundation upon which everything else rests. It is the very core around which everything else is arranged. This trust, though, is harder than generally advertised. Moreover, it is not a task which is achieved or a project that gets completed. Trusting God is a lifelong struggle for every person of faith. The trusting ones may be, as the psalm tells us, as unmovable as mountains. But that doesn't mean that trust comes easily.
The thing about trusting God is that it means that we automatically do not, then, trust in other things. If we place our trust in God, it is absolute. We do not trust in economic systems or governments, we trust in God. We do not trust in culture or social norms, we trust in God. Perhaps most difficult is the reality that we dare not trust in our own efforts and machinations. We trust in God and God alone.
This is a tall order. It puts one in sympathy with the rich young ruler in the Gospel of Matthew (19:25). If this is the deal, "who then can be saved?" Actually trusting in God puts us out of step with the world in which we live. It calls us out of structures, out of prevailing attitudes, and into a context of grace. And yes, it's hard to do.
Partly because this is so difficult, the culture of church has managed to reduce faith to a list of doctrinal dictates. All one needs to do is nod in assent to these articles and poof! You're a believer. Belief, however, is not a mere assent to a list of biblically dubious propositions. It is about trusting in God. Indeed, the English word for "belief" in much of Christian scripture is actually the Greek word, pistus, which means trust.
The church's understanding of belief is largely a ruse. It is a pantomime of faith calling us to mutely act out doctrines and to trust in them rather than in God. Such doctrines and institutional trappings are only appropriate if they lead to trust in God. This is what Jesus meant when he said that the sabbath was made to serve us. We were not made to serve the sabbath (Mark 2:27).
Yes. The trusting God stuff is not easy. But it is a source of joy. When we manage to let go of our egos and our need to be in charge, when we give it all to God, the sense of joy that emerges is amazing. When we can devote our energies and passions, not to our wants and needs, but to God's, there is a freedom that is nearly indescribable. Paul tries to get at it in Romans 8:21, where he refers to this as the "freedom of the glory of the children of God."
If the church could lean into this kind of trust, revival and church growth would not be an issue. If Christians could leave behind their ideology-laden agendas and trust in God, divisions would cease. If each of us, each day could reach for this kind of trust, what a world we could build. What a world we could build.
