Values clarification
Commentary
Sometimes in conversation with friends, we will amuse ourselves -- or torment ourselves
-- by wondering what we would do when confronted by certain kinds of choices. If you
inherited enough money to become independently wealthy, would you keep working your
current job? For what one thing would you like to be remembered after you die? If you
could go back and change one thing that you said or did in the past, what would you
change? If you could only rescue one item from your burning house, what would it be?
And so on.
Such questions are more than a mere amusement. They help reveal what things are most important to us.
Jesus was asked a similar sort of question. "Which commandment is the first of all?" The episode is perhaps so familiar that we have lost our sense of wonder at either the question or the answer. Imagine, therefore, that same question in a more extreme form: "If you had to toss out all of the commandments from God except one, which one would you keep?"
It's a dramatic question that asks the Son of God to prioritize the commands of God. He does so, apparently without hesitation, and his marvelous answer reveals what is most important to God.
The star of the show this week is love. Ruth embodied it. Jesus came, lived, and died because of it. And we discover that love is the thing that is most important to God.
Ruth 1:1-18
If you're reading the Bible cover-to-cover, the book of Judges is still fresh in your mind when you read the opening lines of Ruth. Immediately in the wake of the candid report of Israel's dismal and violent frontier days, the opening line of the book of Ruth rings true. "In the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land." That famine is just one more grim detail from a harsh, even gruesome era in Israel's history. Furthermore, that famine may read like a metaphor for the spiritual and moral destitution that seems to have characterized the land all of the days between Joshua and Samuel.
The author of Judges concludes his book with his terse verdict on the times: "In those days there was no king in Israel; all the people did what was right in their own eyes" (Judges 21:25). And when we turn the page, the author of Ruth begins with a comparably bleak summary of the era: "In the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land."
And if the setting is inhospitable when the curtain opens on the story, the plot soon matches scenery. Within just a few verses, we see a series of tragedies that is reminiscent of Job. Naomi and her family are forced to flee their famine-stricken homeland to make a new life for themselves elsewhere, only to have her life partner die there in that foreign place. She is not left alone, however, for her two grown sons are with her. They marry local girls, and it seems that there is promise for new life and a future in the adopted place. Then, unbelievably, both of Naomi's sons die. This seemingly cursed woman finds herself to be a grieving, childless widow in a foreign country.
Absent some physical ailment, it's hard to draw a much more desperate picture. The sorrow of a woman who has lost her whole family to premature deaths. The alienation of a person who is forced to live as a refugee in a foreign land. The helplessness and vulnerability of a woman in that time and place with no father, husband, or son to support her. Naomi is a portrait of sadness and desperation.
The great pivotal moment of the passage, of course, comes when the three widows are about to part company. Naomi says significant things to her daughters-in-law.
She tells each of them to go back to their mother's house. Why not to their father's house? Were their fathers also already dead? Were men such an uncertainty that the mother was a greater image of stability and comfort for these three women? Or was she reminding them that, while she was a kind of mother to them, they had their actual mothers back home, ready to receive them?
Next, Naomi pronounces a kind of blessing over them: "May the Lord deal kindly with you, as you have dealt with the dead and with me." It is a blessing conspicuously tied to their goodness rather than to the Lord's. In other words, may they be properly rewarded by the Lord for their goodness to others. But Naomi is unable to say, "May the Lord deal kindly with you, as he has with me," or some such. And, a moment later, she reveals more straightforwardly her issue with God: "The hand of the Lord has turned against me."
Then Naomi launches into a bit of exaggerated reasoning. Mindful that her connection to these two young women was through their marriage to her sons, she explains at length that she can no longer provide for them in that way. The whole proposal is a preposterous one, but it reflects a kind of resignation that the rationale for their relationship with her is permanently ended, and they should move on with their lives.
The one daughter-in-law, Orpah, is persuaded, and she says her tearful good-bye, but the other daughter-in-law, Ruth, pledges her allegiance to Naomi. In the process, Ruth articulates a whole-hearted loyalty that becomes a metaphor for conversion, a model for discipleship, and a historic turning point with ramifications that could not have been imagined by those two destitute widows on their way between Moab and Judah.
Hebrews 9:11-14
Our selected lection from Hebrews for this Sunday is not one of the conventionally beautiful passages of scripture. This is not the cherished territory of Psalm 23 or John 14. It does not have the familiar loveliness of the Beatitudes or the fruit of the Spirit. But there is great beauty in these verses, and skillful preaching will reveal that beauty to congregations that may be mostly unfamiliar with this epistle and its contents.
I am imagining a jigsaw puzzle. The finished product may be a very lovely picture of some beautiful scene, yet the individual pieces, by themselves, are not especially beautiful. Indeed, taken individually they are completely incoherent.
So it may be with this passage from Hebrews. It is a single piece or two from a much larger picture, and those pieces may make little sense to the person who is unfamiliar with that picture. Our task, then, is to help our people see the whole picture and thus discover the beauty contained and reflected in this one small passage.
The beauty of the passage is seen within three larger contexts.
First, there is the larger context of the Old Testament. That, of course, may be the most unfamiliar puzzle to so many of the people in our pews, but that is precisely the larger picture that the author of Hebrews has in mind as he writes. The beauty of the passage -- as with the entire epistle -- is found in the author's marvelous translation from law to gospel. He takes the dots of rituals, symbols, figures, and themes from the Old Testament Levitical code, and he connects them to reveal a picture of Christ. The particular pattern seen in this passage is characteristic of the book as a whole: namely, what Christ is and does was anticipated by Old Testament people and practices, yet what Christ is and does is far superior to those antecedents.
Second, then, there is the larger context of the person and work of Christ. This goes hand- in-hand, of course, with the first matter, for it is that Old Testament context that reveals to us the person and work of Christ. Here, specifically, Christ is understood as both the high priest who offers blood and the sacrifice whose blood is offered. Within the original Old Testament context, the mixed roles would seem ridiculous. In Christ, however, they are mysteriously combined, and the very mixture bears witness to how wonderful and superior he is.
In this regard, we do well to remember -- and to remind our people -- that this is arguably the central beauty of the entire New Testament. From the gifts of the wise men to the song of Simeon, from the confession of Peter to the preaching of Paul, and from the writings of the evangelists to the Revelation of John, the person and work of Christ is the central issue, message, and beauty of the entire New Testament.
Finally, the image of Christ as both high priest and sacrifice leads us to the third larger context of this passage, that is, our relationship with God.
The author's original audience understood the role of the high priest and of the blood. The former was the go-between: the one who, on the day of atonement, entered into the presence of God on behalf of the people. The latter was the actual means of that atonement: the blood that purifies and sanctifies. The beauty of Christ's work, then, is that he is the one who does all of these things for us: he represents us before God, he sanctifies us, and he purifies us. Our entire relationship with God is by him and through him.
The initial context of that relationship, of course, is sin. That is the condition in which we find ourselves. Filthy humanity at odds with its holy Creator. Men and women afflicted with a fatal disease they cannot treat or cure by themselves. Humankind hopelessly, helplessly distant, until God himself lovingly comes to the rescue. And, at his own expense, Christ offers "eternal redemption," "sanctifies those who have been defiled," and purifies both their flesh and their consciences. That is the third beauty: the sublime beauty of what is available to us in Christ.
Mark 12:28-34
We know from Mark's gospel in particular, and from all of the gospels in general, that the final week of Jesus' life was an eventful one.
He entered the city to a conspicuous and triumphant welcome on Sunday. It was no doubt an unnerving development for the Jewish leaders who were already antagonistic toward and suspicious of Jesus. And it may have caught the attention and raised the concern of the Roman officials in Jerusalem, as well.
Monday may have been the day when he cleansed the temple. That disruption was a condemnation of and challenge to the leaders of the people, including especially the chief priests. If Jesus had wanted to lay low and stay out of trouble, he would not have made this move in the temple. That dramatic act was surely sticking his hand into the hornets' nest.
Still, each day that week Jesus and his disciples, who were apparently spending their nights outside of town on the other side of the Mount of Olives, came into Jerusalem, and he taught daily in the temple.
From early in the gospel story, we see evidence that the leaders who were antagonistic toward Jesus were restrained by their fear of the crowd. Jesus' great and growing popularity created a nearly impossible situation for them. As a result, they ultimately had to do their dirty deed under the cover of night, and without the presence or knowledge of the crowds. Indeed, given the low-profile nature of the arrest, the clandestine late-night meeting of the council, the expedited process, and the detail that Jesus was on the cross by nine o'clock on Friday morning (Mark 15:25), one wonders how much of the adoring crowds even knew that Jesus was being executed until it was too late.
During that eventful week, therefore, the leaders were seeking a way to get Jesus without incurring the wrath of the crowd. Their first method of choice was to ask Jesus challenging questions. The questions were designed to be traps, forcing Jesus to say something that would either get him in trouble with Rome, cut across the grain of scripture and the Mosaic law, or offend and alienate the crowds. In each case, however, Jesus responded with a wisdom and skill that both kept him out of trouble and dumbfounded his opponents.
Immediately prior to our gospel lection, Mark records three such question-traps, which prompts the scribe in our passage to pose a question of his own to Jesus. This particular scribe, about whom we know nothing, is an interesting case within that larger context. While others -- including, no doubt, some colleagues and associates of this scribe -- had been trying to trick Jesus with the questions, only to be confounded by his wisdom, this man was differently motivated. His question was no trap. Rather, he was attracted to Jesus' wisdom, and so he asked a legitimate and earnest question.
On the one hand, "Which commandment is the first of all?" may have been a kind of theological shibboleth. Perhaps (as we will explore further) the question is designed to reveal just where an individual is in terms of theology, ethics, and priorities. In our day, we might ask a person, "Which amendment in the Bill of Rights do you think is most important?" and we would no doubt find that how a person answered that question would reveal a good deal about that person.
On the other hand, "Which command is the first of all?" may have been a very personal, even tortured, kind of a question.
A scribe in that day was regarded as an expert in the scriptures. That made the scribes both theologians and legal scholars. They were looked to for the proper interpretation of scripture in general, as well as the authoritative interpretation and application of the Mosaic law. This particular man, therefore, was asking Jesus a question from his own area of expertise, his own field of study.
How easy it is for experts to become almost lost within all the minutiae of their expertise. And how easy it is for those who become professionals in the things of God to become disoriented -- needing to be reminded of the basics, needing to return to the simple faith and truth they once knew before they came to know so much more.
Perhaps this scribe needed Jesus to throw him a lifeline, rescuing him from the endless theoretical debates of his profession. Perhaps he needed Jesus to provide him with a compass, reminding him which way was up and where to find God.
In any case, what Jesus said rang true for the scribe. He enthusiastically echoes Jesus' answer, adding an emphasis of his own: "This is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices."
That sort of theological triage -- conferring a greater importance and urgency on matters of the heart than on prescribed rituals -- is not new. We see the same priority reflected periodically in the psalms and the prophets. Still, it was a significant insight for the scribe to articulate, and perhaps especially right there within the confines of the temple.
Jesus, who had answered wisely so many questions himself, "saw that (the scribe) answered wisely." Jesus said to him, "You are not far from the kingdom of God." Interestingly, while the proximity of the kingdom is the theme of the early preaching in the gospels (see, for example, Mark 1:15), here Jesus depicts it the other way around: that is, in terms of the individual's proximity to the kingdom.
Application
On the one hand, we should be properly shocked by Jesus' answer to the scribe's question. With all of the detailed ritual and rigid regulations of the Levitical code, how does an ethereal instruction to love God rate the top spot? With all of the emphasis, in law and prophets alike, on idolatry and the exclusive worship of God, why doesn't "have no other gods" keep its designation as the first commandment? And with all of the trouble caused by Adam and Eve, why not make a simple "obey God" the most important command of all?
On the other hand, we shouldn't be at all surprised by Jesus' answer. It is absolutely consistent with what we know about this God. Love is his chief motivation (John 3:16) and his quintessential attribute (1 John 4:8). It is the most important gift of the Spirit (1 Corinthians 12:29--13:13) and ranks first among the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22- 23). It is Jesus' new commandment (John 13:34) and the telltale characteristic of his followers (13:35).
Ask God the questions that clarify and reveal what is most important to him, and we will be delighted to discover the answer. Love. If it were anything else -- holiness, perfection, obedience, doctrine, purity, faith, works -- we'd be in trouble. But love is number one with God; and that is very good news for us, indeed.
Alternative Application
Mark 12:28-34. "Personal Best." The question that the scribe asked Jesus may have been a theoretical question. Perhaps this Sunday we should turn it around and make it a very personal question.
Which commandment is first? There are hundreds and hundreds of commandments in the scriptures; but which one shall we regard as most important?
An individual's answer to that question may serve as a kind of x-ray: a revealing, even diagnostic glimpse into a person's soul. Assuming that we regard all of God's commandments as important, the one that we consider most important reveals a great deal about the kind of person we are. Perhaps my answer would show that I am a legalist, or a libertarian. Perhaps it would reveal my sentimental side, or a certain vindictiveness. Perhaps it would demonstrate whether I lean more toward justice or more toward mercy.
Of course, if I know this story, then I know the answer to the question. If I know this story, then when someone asks me which commandment is most important, I can simply quote Jesus' answer.
But that does not automatically make it my answer, does it? Just knowing Jesus' answer is not quite the same as recognizing my answer. For, you see, my answer to that question is not found in what I say but in how I live. What I regard as the most important commandment is more revealed than replied.
That Jesus identified the commandment he did reveals volumes about him and about God's will. We can learn so much from considering the answer he gave and the answers he didn't give. However, a look in the mirror may be in order. Based on how I live my life -- my priorities, my emphases, my decisions, my nonnegotiables -- what is apparently the most important commandment to me?
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 146
Many Christians can be heard in or out of worship these days as they lift up their voices and say, "Praise the Lord!" The phrases are familiar, almost rote. Mouths open and words emerge. Pastors and liturgists remind the faithful that this God is not only worthy of our praise, this God sort of requires it of us. This God is a jealous God (Exodus 20:5) who brooks no competition from other gods we might pursue. Yes, God is worthy of praise. Right?
After all, we are not in the habit of offering empty praise, are we? The boy who has done a good job raking the yard deserves praise. The worker who completes a task with excellent workmanship deserves praise. The spouse who is faithful over long years deserves praise. The question comes with halting hands raised from the back of the room. Yes, yes. We have heard it all before. God deserves our praise. But, if you don't mind the question, what has God done to be worthy of our praise?
The psalmist clears the throat and steps up to the plate with some answers. For starters, God made the universe, including us. Looking around, that seems pretty sufficient cause for praise. Yet that's not the end of the story. This psalm lists the reasons for praising God with stunning clarity. God is faithful. God gives justice to the oppressed. God feeds the hungry and sets the prisoners free. God opens the eyes of the blind and lifts up those who are bowed down. This God loves justice and watches over the strangers. This God looks out for the vulnerable ones in our midst.
If we deem a God who stands for such things as worthy of praise, then it stands to reason that we, too, should be standing for them. In fact, one could read this psalm as a call to partnership with God. Let us praise God with our voices, to be sure. But let our lives articulate the praise we have for this God who is the standard bearer for righteousness, this God who stands with those who are hurting, this God who calls us to be part of the juggernaut of justice.
What would such a partnership look like? How would we connect with the holy as we lift our hearts, voices, and lives in praise? What would our churches look like as they aligned their lives toward what could be labeled as "praise activism"? Let these questions stir hearts and stimulate conversation. Let the vision of partnership with the holy lead the church into a new day of praise and faithfulness.
And let the people live the words, "Praise the Lord!"
Such questions are more than a mere amusement. They help reveal what things are most important to us.
Jesus was asked a similar sort of question. "Which commandment is the first of all?" The episode is perhaps so familiar that we have lost our sense of wonder at either the question or the answer. Imagine, therefore, that same question in a more extreme form: "If you had to toss out all of the commandments from God except one, which one would you keep?"
It's a dramatic question that asks the Son of God to prioritize the commands of God. He does so, apparently without hesitation, and his marvelous answer reveals what is most important to God.
The star of the show this week is love. Ruth embodied it. Jesus came, lived, and died because of it. And we discover that love is the thing that is most important to God.
Ruth 1:1-18
If you're reading the Bible cover-to-cover, the book of Judges is still fresh in your mind when you read the opening lines of Ruth. Immediately in the wake of the candid report of Israel's dismal and violent frontier days, the opening line of the book of Ruth rings true. "In the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land." That famine is just one more grim detail from a harsh, even gruesome era in Israel's history. Furthermore, that famine may read like a metaphor for the spiritual and moral destitution that seems to have characterized the land all of the days between Joshua and Samuel.
The author of Judges concludes his book with his terse verdict on the times: "In those days there was no king in Israel; all the people did what was right in their own eyes" (Judges 21:25). And when we turn the page, the author of Ruth begins with a comparably bleak summary of the era: "In the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land."
And if the setting is inhospitable when the curtain opens on the story, the plot soon matches scenery. Within just a few verses, we see a series of tragedies that is reminiscent of Job. Naomi and her family are forced to flee their famine-stricken homeland to make a new life for themselves elsewhere, only to have her life partner die there in that foreign place. She is not left alone, however, for her two grown sons are with her. They marry local girls, and it seems that there is promise for new life and a future in the adopted place. Then, unbelievably, both of Naomi's sons die. This seemingly cursed woman finds herself to be a grieving, childless widow in a foreign country.
Absent some physical ailment, it's hard to draw a much more desperate picture. The sorrow of a woman who has lost her whole family to premature deaths. The alienation of a person who is forced to live as a refugee in a foreign land. The helplessness and vulnerability of a woman in that time and place with no father, husband, or son to support her. Naomi is a portrait of sadness and desperation.
The great pivotal moment of the passage, of course, comes when the three widows are about to part company. Naomi says significant things to her daughters-in-law.
She tells each of them to go back to their mother's house. Why not to their father's house? Were their fathers also already dead? Were men such an uncertainty that the mother was a greater image of stability and comfort for these three women? Or was she reminding them that, while she was a kind of mother to them, they had their actual mothers back home, ready to receive them?
Next, Naomi pronounces a kind of blessing over them: "May the Lord deal kindly with you, as you have dealt with the dead and with me." It is a blessing conspicuously tied to their goodness rather than to the Lord's. In other words, may they be properly rewarded by the Lord for their goodness to others. But Naomi is unable to say, "May the Lord deal kindly with you, as he has with me," or some such. And, a moment later, she reveals more straightforwardly her issue with God: "The hand of the Lord has turned against me."
Then Naomi launches into a bit of exaggerated reasoning. Mindful that her connection to these two young women was through their marriage to her sons, she explains at length that she can no longer provide for them in that way. The whole proposal is a preposterous one, but it reflects a kind of resignation that the rationale for their relationship with her is permanently ended, and they should move on with their lives.
The one daughter-in-law, Orpah, is persuaded, and she says her tearful good-bye, but the other daughter-in-law, Ruth, pledges her allegiance to Naomi. In the process, Ruth articulates a whole-hearted loyalty that becomes a metaphor for conversion, a model for discipleship, and a historic turning point with ramifications that could not have been imagined by those two destitute widows on their way between Moab and Judah.
Hebrews 9:11-14
Our selected lection from Hebrews for this Sunday is not one of the conventionally beautiful passages of scripture. This is not the cherished territory of Psalm 23 or John 14. It does not have the familiar loveliness of the Beatitudes or the fruit of the Spirit. But there is great beauty in these verses, and skillful preaching will reveal that beauty to congregations that may be mostly unfamiliar with this epistle and its contents.
I am imagining a jigsaw puzzle. The finished product may be a very lovely picture of some beautiful scene, yet the individual pieces, by themselves, are not especially beautiful. Indeed, taken individually they are completely incoherent.
So it may be with this passage from Hebrews. It is a single piece or two from a much larger picture, and those pieces may make little sense to the person who is unfamiliar with that picture. Our task, then, is to help our people see the whole picture and thus discover the beauty contained and reflected in this one small passage.
The beauty of the passage is seen within three larger contexts.
First, there is the larger context of the Old Testament. That, of course, may be the most unfamiliar puzzle to so many of the people in our pews, but that is precisely the larger picture that the author of Hebrews has in mind as he writes. The beauty of the passage -- as with the entire epistle -- is found in the author's marvelous translation from law to gospel. He takes the dots of rituals, symbols, figures, and themes from the Old Testament Levitical code, and he connects them to reveal a picture of Christ. The particular pattern seen in this passage is characteristic of the book as a whole: namely, what Christ is and does was anticipated by Old Testament people and practices, yet what Christ is and does is far superior to those antecedents.
Second, then, there is the larger context of the person and work of Christ. This goes hand- in-hand, of course, with the first matter, for it is that Old Testament context that reveals to us the person and work of Christ. Here, specifically, Christ is understood as both the high priest who offers blood and the sacrifice whose blood is offered. Within the original Old Testament context, the mixed roles would seem ridiculous. In Christ, however, they are mysteriously combined, and the very mixture bears witness to how wonderful and superior he is.
In this regard, we do well to remember -- and to remind our people -- that this is arguably the central beauty of the entire New Testament. From the gifts of the wise men to the song of Simeon, from the confession of Peter to the preaching of Paul, and from the writings of the evangelists to the Revelation of John, the person and work of Christ is the central issue, message, and beauty of the entire New Testament.
Finally, the image of Christ as both high priest and sacrifice leads us to the third larger context of this passage, that is, our relationship with God.
The author's original audience understood the role of the high priest and of the blood. The former was the go-between: the one who, on the day of atonement, entered into the presence of God on behalf of the people. The latter was the actual means of that atonement: the blood that purifies and sanctifies. The beauty of Christ's work, then, is that he is the one who does all of these things for us: he represents us before God, he sanctifies us, and he purifies us. Our entire relationship with God is by him and through him.
The initial context of that relationship, of course, is sin. That is the condition in which we find ourselves. Filthy humanity at odds with its holy Creator. Men and women afflicted with a fatal disease they cannot treat or cure by themselves. Humankind hopelessly, helplessly distant, until God himself lovingly comes to the rescue. And, at his own expense, Christ offers "eternal redemption," "sanctifies those who have been defiled," and purifies both their flesh and their consciences. That is the third beauty: the sublime beauty of what is available to us in Christ.
Mark 12:28-34
We know from Mark's gospel in particular, and from all of the gospels in general, that the final week of Jesus' life was an eventful one.
He entered the city to a conspicuous and triumphant welcome on Sunday. It was no doubt an unnerving development for the Jewish leaders who were already antagonistic toward and suspicious of Jesus. And it may have caught the attention and raised the concern of the Roman officials in Jerusalem, as well.
Monday may have been the day when he cleansed the temple. That disruption was a condemnation of and challenge to the leaders of the people, including especially the chief priests. If Jesus had wanted to lay low and stay out of trouble, he would not have made this move in the temple. That dramatic act was surely sticking his hand into the hornets' nest.
Still, each day that week Jesus and his disciples, who were apparently spending their nights outside of town on the other side of the Mount of Olives, came into Jerusalem, and he taught daily in the temple.
From early in the gospel story, we see evidence that the leaders who were antagonistic toward Jesus were restrained by their fear of the crowd. Jesus' great and growing popularity created a nearly impossible situation for them. As a result, they ultimately had to do their dirty deed under the cover of night, and without the presence or knowledge of the crowds. Indeed, given the low-profile nature of the arrest, the clandestine late-night meeting of the council, the expedited process, and the detail that Jesus was on the cross by nine o'clock on Friday morning (Mark 15:25), one wonders how much of the adoring crowds even knew that Jesus was being executed until it was too late.
During that eventful week, therefore, the leaders were seeking a way to get Jesus without incurring the wrath of the crowd. Their first method of choice was to ask Jesus challenging questions. The questions were designed to be traps, forcing Jesus to say something that would either get him in trouble with Rome, cut across the grain of scripture and the Mosaic law, or offend and alienate the crowds. In each case, however, Jesus responded with a wisdom and skill that both kept him out of trouble and dumbfounded his opponents.
Immediately prior to our gospel lection, Mark records three such question-traps, which prompts the scribe in our passage to pose a question of his own to Jesus. This particular scribe, about whom we know nothing, is an interesting case within that larger context. While others -- including, no doubt, some colleagues and associates of this scribe -- had been trying to trick Jesus with the questions, only to be confounded by his wisdom, this man was differently motivated. His question was no trap. Rather, he was attracted to Jesus' wisdom, and so he asked a legitimate and earnest question.
On the one hand, "Which commandment is the first of all?" may have been a kind of theological shibboleth. Perhaps (as we will explore further) the question is designed to reveal just where an individual is in terms of theology, ethics, and priorities. In our day, we might ask a person, "Which amendment in the Bill of Rights do you think is most important?" and we would no doubt find that how a person answered that question would reveal a good deal about that person.
On the other hand, "Which command is the first of all?" may have been a very personal, even tortured, kind of a question.
A scribe in that day was regarded as an expert in the scriptures. That made the scribes both theologians and legal scholars. They were looked to for the proper interpretation of scripture in general, as well as the authoritative interpretation and application of the Mosaic law. This particular man, therefore, was asking Jesus a question from his own area of expertise, his own field of study.
How easy it is for experts to become almost lost within all the minutiae of their expertise. And how easy it is for those who become professionals in the things of God to become disoriented -- needing to be reminded of the basics, needing to return to the simple faith and truth they once knew before they came to know so much more.
Perhaps this scribe needed Jesus to throw him a lifeline, rescuing him from the endless theoretical debates of his profession. Perhaps he needed Jesus to provide him with a compass, reminding him which way was up and where to find God.
In any case, what Jesus said rang true for the scribe. He enthusiastically echoes Jesus' answer, adding an emphasis of his own: "This is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices."
That sort of theological triage -- conferring a greater importance and urgency on matters of the heart than on prescribed rituals -- is not new. We see the same priority reflected periodically in the psalms and the prophets. Still, it was a significant insight for the scribe to articulate, and perhaps especially right there within the confines of the temple.
Jesus, who had answered wisely so many questions himself, "saw that (the scribe) answered wisely." Jesus said to him, "You are not far from the kingdom of God." Interestingly, while the proximity of the kingdom is the theme of the early preaching in the gospels (see, for example, Mark 1:15), here Jesus depicts it the other way around: that is, in terms of the individual's proximity to the kingdom.
Application
On the one hand, we should be properly shocked by Jesus' answer to the scribe's question. With all of the detailed ritual and rigid regulations of the Levitical code, how does an ethereal instruction to love God rate the top spot? With all of the emphasis, in law and prophets alike, on idolatry and the exclusive worship of God, why doesn't "have no other gods" keep its designation as the first commandment? And with all of the trouble caused by Adam and Eve, why not make a simple "obey God" the most important command of all?
On the other hand, we shouldn't be at all surprised by Jesus' answer. It is absolutely consistent with what we know about this God. Love is his chief motivation (John 3:16) and his quintessential attribute (1 John 4:8). It is the most important gift of the Spirit (1 Corinthians 12:29--13:13) and ranks first among the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22- 23). It is Jesus' new commandment (John 13:34) and the telltale characteristic of his followers (13:35).
Ask God the questions that clarify and reveal what is most important to him, and we will be delighted to discover the answer. Love. If it were anything else -- holiness, perfection, obedience, doctrine, purity, faith, works -- we'd be in trouble. But love is number one with God; and that is very good news for us, indeed.
Alternative Application
Mark 12:28-34. "Personal Best." The question that the scribe asked Jesus may have been a theoretical question. Perhaps this Sunday we should turn it around and make it a very personal question.
Which commandment is first? There are hundreds and hundreds of commandments in the scriptures; but which one shall we regard as most important?
An individual's answer to that question may serve as a kind of x-ray: a revealing, even diagnostic glimpse into a person's soul. Assuming that we regard all of God's commandments as important, the one that we consider most important reveals a great deal about the kind of person we are. Perhaps my answer would show that I am a legalist, or a libertarian. Perhaps it would reveal my sentimental side, or a certain vindictiveness. Perhaps it would demonstrate whether I lean more toward justice or more toward mercy.
Of course, if I know this story, then I know the answer to the question. If I know this story, then when someone asks me which commandment is most important, I can simply quote Jesus' answer.
But that does not automatically make it my answer, does it? Just knowing Jesus' answer is not quite the same as recognizing my answer. For, you see, my answer to that question is not found in what I say but in how I live. What I regard as the most important commandment is more revealed than replied.
That Jesus identified the commandment he did reveals volumes about him and about God's will. We can learn so much from considering the answer he gave and the answers he didn't give. However, a look in the mirror may be in order. Based on how I live my life -- my priorities, my emphases, my decisions, my nonnegotiables -- what is apparently the most important commandment to me?
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 146
Many Christians can be heard in or out of worship these days as they lift up their voices and say, "Praise the Lord!" The phrases are familiar, almost rote. Mouths open and words emerge. Pastors and liturgists remind the faithful that this God is not only worthy of our praise, this God sort of requires it of us. This God is a jealous God (Exodus 20:5) who brooks no competition from other gods we might pursue. Yes, God is worthy of praise. Right?
After all, we are not in the habit of offering empty praise, are we? The boy who has done a good job raking the yard deserves praise. The worker who completes a task with excellent workmanship deserves praise. The spouse who is faithful over long years deserves praise. The question comes with halting hands raised from the back of the room. Yes, yes. We have heard it all before. God deserves our praise. But, if you don't mind the question, what has God done to be worthy of our praise?
The psalmist clears the throat and steps up to the plate with some answers. For starters, God made the universe, including us. Looking around, that seems pretty sufficient cause for praise. Yet that's not the end of the story. This psalm lists the reasons for praising God with stunning clarity. God is faithful. God gives justice to the oppressed. God feeds the hungry and sets the prisoners free. God opens the eyes of the blind and lifts up those who are bowed down. This God loves justice and watches over the strangers. This God looks out for the vulnerable ones in our midst.
If we deem a God who stands for such things as worthy of praise, then it stands to reason that we, too, should be standing for them. In fact, one could read this psalm as a call to partnership with God. Let us praise God with our voices, to be sure. But let our lives articulate the praise we have for this God who is the standard bearer for righteousness, this God who stands with those who are hurting, this God who calls us to be part of the juggernaut of justice.
What would such a partnership look like? How would we connect with the holy as we lift our hearts, voices, and lives in praise? What would our churches look like as they aligned their lives toward what could be labeled as "praise activism"? Let these questions stir hearts and stimulate conversation. Let the vision of partnership with the holy lead the church into a new day of praise and faithfulness.
And let the people live the words, "Praise the Lord!"
