Looking A Little Bit Crazy
Sermon
Water Won't Quench the Fire
Sermons For Sundays After Pentecost
A photocopied sign was posted inside a church office. It was one of those humorous full-page slogans that people in different offices duplicate and pass among themselves. Most of us have seen this particular message, I suppose, but posted in a church office, the words took on a new meaning. There it was, taped to the cinder blocks behind a secretary's desk. The sign read, "You don't have to be crazy to work here, but it helps."
At one level, why not put a sign like that in a church? Many churches are busy, hectic, confusing places. There are worship services to plan, educational programs to run, choirs to rehearse, fellowship dinners to organize, and outreach efforts to facilitate. There is a lot going on, and things can get frantic. The running joke in one church I know is that the staff keeps saying, "Next week it's going to get quiet," but the quiet week never comes. The work load can become a little bit crazy.
On a deeper level, there is a great deal of truth to that sign. There is something strange about the church. We are not just another club or civic organization. The church's view of reality is increasingly out of phase from a lot of prevailing views. In the church, we do and say things that do not always make sense to people outside of this house. Here we are, gathered on the weekend, sitting on hard pews instead of lawn chairs. People we know are outside, working on their tans or washing their cars, while we gather here, inside, to lift our voices in prayer and song. As a lot of other people are planning a barbecue or sipping a Bloody Mary, we come together on a morning like this to break the bread and drink the cup. To some outsiders, it must look a little bit crazy.
According to the scripture text we heard a few minutes ago, this perception may reveal something of what it means to be the church. Mark tells us about the day when the immediate family of Jesus came to take him away in a straitjacket. The word on the street was that Jesus was "out of his mind." Taken quite literally, people thought he stood "beside himself." They claimed Jesus was possessed. And so, his family came to his house to take Jesus away, because the popular opinion was that he was insane.
That might sound like an odd assessment of his ministry, but it is central to how the gospel of Mark portrays the work of Jesus. From the beginning, Jesus acted . . . well, he acted as if he was different. Jesus announced that God's reign had come near. He acted as if his view of the world was different from the world we have taken for granted.
Recall some of the stories Mark tells. One day, Jesus met the town lunatic in Capernaum, and he set the man free from forces beyond his control. Immediately Jesus met a woman bedridden with a fever. The neighbors said, "I'm sorry; there's nothing we can do." But Jesus set the woman free from her sickness. He set her free for service. Then Jesus met someone with a skin disease so ugly that all its victims were quarantined from the temple. Jesus healed that person's disease, and he set that person free from segregation.
According to Mark, Jesus did not accept the world as a place of sickness, sin, and evil. He acted as if God had begun doing something new. Unlike the peasants and beggars of his time, "his eyes lacked the proper cringe, his voice the proper whine, his walk the proper shuffle."1 Jesus not only announced the nearness of God's kingdom, he acted as if God's reign had actually come. That's why some people said, "He has gone out of his mind."
The evidence still reinforces that appraisal. For every disturbed person whom Jesus healed, there are twenty people who are possessed by forces outside their control. For every headache Jesus ever relieved, there are fifty more bottles of Tylenol sold every minute. For every ugly, isolating disease Jesus ever healed, a hundred more AIDS patients are admitted to the hospital. Listen! There are forces still at work that hurt, cripple, and destroy human life.
Has the world changed? Try telling that to the family and friends of Jaco Pastorius. A former altar boy from Fort Lauderdale, Pastorius emerged during the late 1970s as a bright new star of the jazz music scene. He was a phenomenal bass player, with a keen ear for harmony and an unsurpassed technical ability on his 1962 Fender bass. He joined the well-known jazz group Weather Report and gained instant acclaim for his musicianship.
With the fame, however, came free access to cocaine and alcohol. As Jaco fell into a routine of drug abuse, he began to exhibit increasingly bizarre behavior. His substance abuse aggravated an undiagnosed manic-depressive condition, which, in turn, prompted a tragic decline into psychosis, institutionalization, and self-destruction. The self-acclaimed "world's greatest jazz bassist" lived the final years of his life as a homeless person in New York's Washington Square Park. Pastorius died in September 1987, following a savage beating by a bar bouncer. A mourner sized up his life as "brilliant goods in a damaged package."2
There are untold numbers of tragedies that happen due to human weakness. Others occur by malevolent conspiracies against us. Jesus came preaching, "The kingdom of God is at hand!" But the evidence reveals God's kingdom is a disputed sovereignty.
Has the world changed? That's the issue in the story from the third chapter of Mark. Back in the time of Jesus, some of the best theological minds summed up the evidence. They said, "It seems Jesus has great strength and ability. Yet the world hasn't changed. It appears like Jesus has power over the house of evil. But the house of evil has stone walls and an iron-clad gate."
"Jesus may be doing some good things," they added. "But what if Jesus is a trickster? Perhaps the evil powers have sent him to deceive us. What if Jesus is actually evil in disguise? What if he's been sent to get our hopes up before dashing them once again?" That is, what if this is the same gruesome, dark, demonic world that we have always known?
Admittedly, this is a curious line of thinking, especially for the New Testament. But look at the evidence. If the powers of destruction and death still rule over the world, what conclusion could make more sense?
So here's the question: Has the world changed? Is there anything qualitatively different with the coming of Jesus? I guess we will have to decide for ourselves.
At least, that's how Jesus confronted the issue. When the best minds of his generation accused him of teaming up with the side of evil, Jesus responded in a way that let people decide for themselves. "Think of it this way," he said. "A kingdom divided cannot stand. A house divided cannot stand." So far so good. That makes sense.
"If I'm on the side of evil," Jesus added, "then the house of evil is collapsing, because I would be working against my own house. And if I'm on the side of God, then I would naturally work against the house of evil."
In other words, Jesus said in effect, "Decide what you want about my ministry; decide whether or not you think I am out of my mind. But either way, know this: the end of evil is already in sight. The house of evil has been plundered."
Is that true? That is the question. Has the world changed with the first coming of Jesus? If nothing has changed, then the future is an endless string of oppression, misery, and defeat. But if the reign of God has intruded upon the status quo, then we can act like Jesus. We can do the will of God. We can confront the powers of hell as if God rules over heaven and earth. We can act in the face of death as if death has already been defeated. We can gather in a place like this, singing praises to a Savior who has already assured us of the world's redemption. We can stand around the baptismal font to claim God's promises for our children. Trusting in the final triumph of God, we can act redemptively even when the world calls us crazy. Maybe that's what we are: crazy cousins with our odd uncle Jesus. When we live as if God's reign has already come, we find ourselves in a strange new family called "church."
In our time, perhaps no one has seen the true social dimension of God's kingdom more clearly than Martin Luther King, Jr. King confronted the evil house of racism with a clear word of gospel justice. His work provoked allegations against his character and threats against his life. Yet he remained faithful to his vision until the day someone shot him. The key, as he said in a number of his speeches, was a certain maladjustment.
There are certain things within our social order to which I am proud to be maladjusted and to which I call upon all [people] of good will to be maladjusted. If you will allow the preacher in me to come out now, let me say to you that I never did intend to adjust to the evils of segregation and discrimination. I never did intend to adjust myself to religious bigotry. I never did intend to adjust myself to economic conditions that will take necessities from the many to give luxuries to the few. I never did intend to adjust myself to the madness of militarism, and the self-defeating effects of physical violence. And I call upon all [people] of good will to be maladjusted because it may well be that the salvation of the world lies in the hands of the maladjusted.
So, concluded King, "Let us be as maladjusted as Jesus of Nazareth, who could look into the eyes of the men and women of his generation and cry out, 'Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you. Pray for them that despitefully use you.' "3
Has the world changed? Every one of us must decide, just as Dr. King made his decision. We live our lives by the assumptions we make. If we assume Jesus Christ has broken into the violence-prone, death-dealing house of evil, then we must act accordingly.
A friend named Bill is a minister. He also has been accused of being a little bit nuts. Bill does workshops for churches on clowning. Not long ago, he was in a distant city, packing up after a workshop. The phone rang. Nobody was around. He answered. "Are you a minister?" somebody asked.
"Yes, actually I am."
"Come quickly," said the voice, "our child is dying of leukemia."
Bill dropped everything. He ran out to his rental car and drove to the hospital. He parked the car, ran up the steps, through the double doors, and down the hall. Suddenly it hit him: he was still dressed as a clown, with a white face, red nose, orange hair, and green suspenders. He didn't have time to change. It was an emergency. He kept going. He found the room, knocked on the door, and entered the room where a young girl in a hospital bed lay surrounded by her family.
"We called for a minister, not a clown," said the father. The child replied, "He's better than a minister. Can he stay?" No one dared to deny her request. Bill sat on the edge of the hospital bed. He sang songs. He told Bible stories. He cradled the little girl in his arms until the end. When the last moment came, she made a final request. "Would you come to my funeral?"
So that's how it happened. On the third day, crazy Bill stood with white face, red nose, orange hair, and green suspenders. He never spoke a word, yet he led the people as they laughed, and cried, and remembered the little girl's life. A few people present thought it was wrong to have a clown at a funeral, much less lead the service. They murmured afterwards, "That minister is out of his mind! He's crazy!" By all the proper canons of pastoral protocol, they were probably correct.
But there he stood, acting as if God's joyful power has already defeated death. Was he crazy? Who can say? All we know is that Bill heard Jesus say, "I am the resurrection and the life," and he acted accordingly.
"You don't have to be crazy to work around here, but it helps." Likewise, you don't have to be out of your mind to do the work of Jesus Christ, even though a faithful life can provoke the world to think of you that way. Should evil conspire against you, listen closely. You may hear Christ say, "You're my brother -- you're my sister -- you're my family."
____________
1. John Dominic Crossan, Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography (New York: HarperCollins, 1994), p. 194.
2. Bill Milkowski, Jaco: The Extraordinary and Tragic Life of Jaco Pastorius (San Francisco: Miller Freeman Books, 1995), p. 213.
3. Martin Luther King, Jr., "The American Dream,"A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches of Martin Luther King, Jr. (New York: HarperCollins, 1986), p. 216.
At one level, why not put a sign like that in a church? Many churches are busy, hectic, confusing places. There are worship services to plan, educational programs to run, choirs to rehearse, fellowship dinners to organize, and outreach efforts to facilitate. There is a lot going on, and things can get frantic. The running joke in one church I know is that the staff keeps saying, "Next week it's going to get quiet," but the quiet week never comes. The work load can become a little bit crazy.
On a deeper level, there is a great deal of truth to that sign. There is something strange about the church. We are not just another club or civic organization. The church's view of reality is increasingly out of phase from a lot of prevailing views. In the church, we do and say things that do not always make sense to people outside of this house. Here we are, gathered on the weekend, sitting on hard pews instead of lawn chairs. People we know are outside, working on their tans or washing their cars, while we gather here, inside, to lift our voices in prayer and song. As a lot of other people are planning a barbecue or sipping a Bloody Mary, we come together on a morning like this to break the bread and drink the cup. To some outsiders, it must look a little bit crazy.
According to the scripture text we heard a few minutes ago, this perception may reveal something of what it means to be the church. Mark tells us about the day when the immediate family of Jesus came to take him away in a straitjacket. The word on the street was that Jesus was "out of his mind." Taken quite literally, people thought he stood "beside himself." They claimed Jesus was possessed. And so, his family came to his house to take Jesus away, because the popular opinion was that he was insane.
That might sound like an odd assessment of his ministry, but it is central to how the gospel of Mark portrays the work of Jesus. From the beginning, Jesus acted . . . well, he acted as if he was different. Jesus announced that God's reign had come near. He acted as if his view of the world was different from the world we have taken for granted.
Recall some of the stories Mark tells. One day, Jesus met the town lunatic in Capernaum, and he set the man free from forces beyond his control. Immediately Jesus met a woman bedridden with a fever. The neighbors said, "I'm sorry; there's nothing we can do." But Jesus set the woman free from her sickness. He set her free for service. Then Jesus met someone with a skin disease so ugly that all its victims were quarantined from the temple. Jesus healed that person's disease, and he set that person free from segregation.
According to Mark, Jesus did not accept the world as a place of sickness, sin, and evil. He acted as if God had begun doing something new. Unlike the peasants and beggars of his time, "his eyes lacked the proper cringe, his voice the proper whine, his walk the proper shuffle."1 Jesus not only announced the nearness of God's kingdom, he acted as if God's reign had actually come. That's why some people said, "He has gone out of his mind."
The evidence still reinforces that appraisal. For every disturbed person whom Jesus healed, there are twenty people who are possessed by forces outside their control. For every headache Jesus ever relieved, there are fifty more bottles of Tylenol sold every minute. For every ugly, isolating disease Jesus ever healed, a hundred more AIDS patients are admitted to the hospital. Listen! There are forces still at work that hurt, cripple, and destroy human life.
Has the world changed? Try telling that to the family and friends of Jaco Pastorius. A former altar boy from Fort Lauderdale, Pastorius emerged during the late 1970s as a bright new star of the jazz music scene. He was a phenomenal bass player, with a keen ear for harmony and an unsurpassed technical ability on his 1962 Fender bass. He joined the well-known jazz group Weather Report and gained instant acclaim for his musicianship.
With the fame, however, came free access to cocaine and alcohol. As Jaco fell into a routine of drug abuse, he began to exhibit increasingly bizarre behavior. His substance abuse aggravated an undiagnosed manic-depressive condition, which, in turn, prompted a tragic decline into psychosis, institutionalization, and self-destruction. The self-acclaimed "world's greatest jazz bassist" lived the final years of his life as a homeless person in New York's Washington Square Park. Pastorius died in September 1987, following a savage beating by a bar bouncer. A mourner sized up his life as "brilliant goods in a damaged package."2
There are untold numbers of tragedies that happen due to human weakness. Others occur by malevolent conspiracies against us. Jesus came preaching, "The kingdom of God is at hand!" But the evidence reveals God's kingdom is a disputed sovereignty.
Has the world changed? That's the issue in the story from the third chapter of Mark. Back in the time of Jesus, some of the best theological minds summed up the evidence. They said, "It seems Jesus has great strength and ability. Yet the world hasn't changed. It appears like Jesus has power over the house of evil. But the house of evil has stone walls and an iron-clad gate."
"Jesus may be doing some good things," they added. "But what if Jesus is a trickster? Perhaps the evil powers have sent him to deceive us. What if Jesus is actually evil in disguise? What if he's been sent to get our hopes up before dashing them once again?" That is, what if this is the same gruesome, dark, demonic world that we have always known?
Admittedly, this is a curious line of thinking, especially for the New Testament. But look at the evidence. If the powers of destruction and death still rule over the world, what conclusion could make more sense?
So here's the question: Has the world changed? Is there anything qualitatively different with the coming of Jesus? I guess we will have to decide for ourselves.
At least, that's how Jesus confronted the issue. When the best minds of his generation accused him of teaming up with the side of evil, Jesus responded in a way that let people decide for themselves. "Think of it this way," he said. "A kingdom divided cannot stand. A house divided cannot stand." So far so good. That makes sense.
"If I'm on the side of evil," Jesus added, "then the house of evil is collapsing, because I would be working against my own house. And if I'm on the side of God, then I would naturally work against the house of evil."
In other words, Jesus said in effect, "Decide what you want about my ministry; decide whether or not you think I am out of my mind. But either way, know this: the end of evil is already in sight. The house of evil has been plundered."
Is that true? That is the question. Has the world changed with the first coming of Jesus? If nothing has changed, then the future is an endless string of oppression, misery, and defeat. But if the reign of God has intruded upon the status quo, then we can act like Jesus. We can do the will of God. We can confront the powers of hell as if God rules over heaven and earth. We can act in the face of death as if death has already been defeated. We can gather in a place like this, singing praises to a Savior who has already assured us of the world's redemption. We can stand around the baptismal font to claim God's promises for our children. Trusting in the final triumph of God, we can act redemptively even when the world calls us crazy. Maybe that's what we are: crazy cousins with our odd uncle Jesus. When we live as if God's reign has already come, we find ourselves in a strange new family called "church."
In our time, perhaps no one has seen the true social dimension of God's kingdom more clearly than Martin Luther King, Jr. King confronted the evil house of racism with a clear word of gospel justice. His work provoked allegations against his character and threats against his life. Yet he remained faithful to his vision until the day someone shot him. The key, as he said in a number of his speeches, was a certain maladjustment.
There are certain things within our social order to which I am proud to be maladjusted and to which I call upon all [people] of good will to be maladjusted. If you will allow the preacher in me to come out now, let me say to you that I never did intend to adjust to the evils of segregation and discrimination. I never did intend to adjust myself to religious bigotry. I never did intend to adjust myself to economic conditions that will take necessities from the many to give luxuries to the few. I never did intend to adjust myself to the madness of militarism, and the self-defeating effects of physical violence. And I call upon all [people] of good will to be maladjusted because it may well be that the salvation of the world lies in the hands of the maladjusted.
So, concluded King, "Let us be as maladjusted as Jesus of Nazareth, who could look into the eyes of the men and women of his generation and cry out, 'Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you. Pray for them that despitefully use you.' "3
Has the world changed? Every one of us must decide, just as Dr. King made his decision. We live our lives by the assumptions we make. If we assume Jesus Christ has broken into the violence-prone, death-dealing house of evil, then we must act accordingly.
A friend named Bill is a minister. He also has been accused of being a little bit nuts. Bill does workshops for churches on clowning. Not long ago, he was in a distant city, packing up after a workshop. The phone rang. Nobody was around. He answered. "Are you a minister?" somebody asked.
"Yes, actually I am."
"Come quickly," said the voice, "our child is dying of leukemia."
Bill dropped everything. He ran out to his rental car and drove to the hospital. He parked the car, ran up the steps, through the double doors, and down the hall. Suddenly it hit him: he was still dressed as a clown, with a white face, red nose, orange hair, and green suspenders. He didn't have time to change. It was an emergency. He kept going. He found the room, knocked on the door, and entered the room where a young girl in a hospital bed lay surrounded by her family.
"We called for a minister, not a clown," said the father. The child replied, "He's better than a minister. Can he stay?" No one dared to deny her request. Bill sat on the edge of the hospital bed. He sang songs. He told Bible stories. He cradled the little girl in his arms until the end. When the last moment came, she made a final request. "Would you come to my funeral?"
So that's how it happened. On the third day, crazy Bill stood with white face, red nose, orange hair, and green suspenders. He never spoke a word, yet he led the people as they laughed, and cried, and remembered the little girl's life. A few people present thought it was wrong to have a clown at a funeral, much less lead the service. They murmured afterwards, "That minister is out of his mind! He's crazy!" By all the proper canons of pastoral protocol, they were probably correct.
But there he stood, acting as if God's joyful power has already defeated death. Was he crazy? Who can say? All we know is that Bill heard Jesus say, "I am the resurrection and the life," and he acted accordingly.
"You don't have to be crazy to work around here, but it helps." Likewise, you don't have to be out of your mind to do the work of Jesus Christ, even though a faithful life can provoke the world to think of you that way. Should evil conspire against you, listen closely. You may hear Christ say, "You're my brother -- you're my sister -- you're my family."
____________
1. John Dominic Crossan, Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography (New York: HarperCollins, 1994), p. 194.
2. Bill Milkowski, Jaco: The Extraordinary and Tragic Life of Jaco Pastorius (San Francisco: Miller Freeman Books, 1995), p. 213.
3. Martin Luther King, Jr., "The American Dream,"A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches of Martin Luther King, Jr. (New York: HarperCollins, 1986), p. 216.
