Proper 19 / Pentecost 17 / Ordinary Time 24
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VIII, Cycle A
Object:
Theme For the Day
It is not for us to judge the hearts of others.
Old Testament Lesson
Exodus 14:19-31
The Crossing Of The Red Sea
Because today's reading begins in the middle of the Red-Sea-crossing narrative, it is important to provide the context that, in the preceding verses, the Egyptian army has chased the Israelites to the shore of the sea, and the Lord has commanded Moses to raise his staff in order to part the waters. As this passage opens, the pillar of cloud and the pillar of fire change position, moving from the vanguard of the Israelites to their rear, in order to hold the Egyptian chariots at bay (verses 19-20). Moses stretches his hand over the sea, the waters part, and the Israelites cross dry-shod to the other side (verses 21-22). The Egyptians follow in the footsteps of the Israelites, but their chariot-wheels become bogged down in the mud of the sea-bed (verses 24-25). At the Lord's command, Moses again raises his hand over the sea and the walls of water collapse upon the Egyptian soldiers, drowning them (verses 26-28). Awed at the wonder they have just seen, "The people feared the Lord and believed in the Lord and in his servant Moses" (v. 31). There has been much discussion -- and little resolution -- of the complex historical details on which this narrative is based. Was it the Red Sea the Israelites crossed -- or a smaller, "reed sea," a swampy area periodically flooded by swift-flowing tides? The answer to this question, while historically interesting, is beside the point. The story of the crossing of the Red Sea is more a theological narrative than a historical one. It is symbolic of the Lord's rescue of the people in order to remain faithful to the covenant. That will preach.
New Testament Lesson
Romans 14:1-12
Do Not Judge
Paul addresses, here, some practical problems that have arisen in the Roman church. There is a dispute between those who believe Christians must follow certain dietary laws, and those who believe Christ has freed them from such regulations. (These are evidently not the Jewish dietary laws, because this faction is promoting vegetarianism, which is not required under Jewish law.) The standard Paul recommends is mutual forbearance: "Those who eat must not despise those who abstain, and those who abstain must not pass judgment on those who eat" (v. 3). Just as one slave would not pass judgment on a slave belonging to another master, so adherents of one code ought not to pass judgment on those who follow another (v. 4). The same is true of the observance of certain days as holy days (v. 5). "We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves" (v. 7). Those words, familiar as a funeral reading, are not about death, particularly. Rather, they point to the one to whom Christians owe ultimate allegiance. We are the Lord's. That is the single, most important observation we can make about our lives as Christians. That realization colors all our human interactions. So, therefore, we must not pass judgment on others, because judgment belongs only to God (verses 10-12).
The Gospel
Matthew 18:21-35
Unlimited Forgiveness: The Parable Of The Unforgiving Servant
This passage consists of a commandment, and a parable interpreting that commandment. Peter comes up to Jesus, asking how many times the law requires a person to forgive. A familiar rabbinic interpretation of the day specified three times as the outside limit of forgiveness; Peter thinks he is being generous in upping the maximum to seven. To this, Jesus replies, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, 77 times" (v. 22). His figure of 77 is a rhetorical device not to be taken literally. It is numerical code for "an unlimited number." Then, Jesus tells a parable about a slave who is forgiven a heavy debt he owes his master -- 10,000 talents, an unimaginably large figure -- but who then goes out and puts the squeeze on a fellow-servant who owes him a much smaller amount (verses 23-35). When the master finds out about it, he is angry that his servant has not shown the same degree of mercy he himself was shown.
Preaching Possibilities
If you were to ask people who believe in God but don't come to church why they don't come to church, what do you suppose they'd say?
You'd hear all kinds of reasons. "I prefer to worship God in the great outdoors -- why, I can worship just as well on the golf course as I can in the sanctuary!" That's a popular one. Of course, the answer to come back with is, "Okay, so maybe you can worship God on the golf course just as much as in the sanctuary -- but when was the last time you did worship God on a golf course?"
Then there's the person who says, "I don't come to church because they're only after my money." The counter-argument is, "Okay, let's assume the church is after your money. But then again, so are restaurants and grocery stores. You don't stop eating because they want your money, do you?"
Another popular excuse is, "I don't come to church because there are so many hypocrites there." Well -- you don't stop using money because there are counterfeits out there, do you?
Finally, there's the all-time favorite. This one, though, isn't so easily dispensed with: "I stopped coming to church because someone there said something judgmental that really hurt me." Sad to say, this sort of experience is all too common. If one of the functions of the church is to be a school of virtue, then the students in that school do have an unfortunate tendency to pick on one another.
It goes deeper than simply pointing out error. Just look at the various internal conflicts the church has had to deal with in the past hundred years or so: all of which can be summed up as conservative versus liberal. It hardly matters what the presenting issue has been: modern scientific theories, Prohibition, remarriage after divorce, racial segregation, cohabitation, communism, militarism, homosexuality. Whatever the hot-button issue du jour has been, liberals and conservatives have lined up on either side of it, and before long we've stopped debating in a civil fashion. We open our Bibles, take out our ammunition (because that's where we store it) and launch attacks at one another that quickly become personal.
The world looks on, and what does it see? Not what the church father Tertullian reported the pagan world saw in the early church. "See how they love one another!" the pagans said, in awe and admiration (Apology, 1, 6). No, the world looks on at the twenty-first century church and sees rampant, unrestrained judgmentalism. And then it turns away.
If it's any consolation, the apostle Paul identified exactly the same problem two millennia ago. In the letter to the Romans, Paul asks testily, "Who are you to pass judgment on servants of another?"
The presenting issue, back then, is nothing like the issues that divide the church today (or is it?). The controversy is about what kinds of food to eat. One party in the church at Rome is vegetarian. We know next-to-nothing about why -- perhaps it's some kind of radical pacifism, "do no harm to any living thing," or something similar. The other faction, presumably the majority, feels free to eat any kind of food. They resent the strict teachings of the vegetarians, who have an annoying habit of accusing them of capitulating to the secular culture. For their own part, the "eat any foods" faction loves to ridicule the vegetarians as narrow-minded, literalistic legalists.
Paul shares his own viewpoint on the issue -- he belongs to the "eat any foods" faction -- but he doesn't take sides. He's not much interested in what kinds of food people eat and seems to believe people can as be good Christians with salads in front of them as steaks. What he is interested in is the conflict that's tearing the Roman church in two: "Those who eat must not despise those who abstain, and those who abstain must not pass judgment on those who eat; for God has welcomed them. Who are you to pass judgment on servants of another?" (Romans 14:3-4).
This latter phrase, about passing judgment on another's servants, was familiar enough in a slave-labor economy like the Roman empire. Few Roman slaveowners would think of disciplining the slave of another; it just wasn't done. There's a rough corollary in modern business management: In a traditional corporate hierarchy, an employee of one division wouldn't think of telling an employee of another what to do. That would show lack of respect not only for one's fellow employee, but also for his or her supervisor.
Paul is saying to both parties in the Roman "What's-for-dinner?" feud, "Cool it, people. The decision on dietary laws is God's alone. Don't assume your opponents are acting in bad faith just because they interpret the scriptures differently from you. Talk about the issues, discuss them, even debate them. But the moment the tenor of the debate gets nasty, stop -- and leave it to God to decide."
It's a lesson we could all stand to learn better, don't you think?
Judgment is an important faculty. We are called always to judge and discern between good and evil. Yet, when it's people we're judging, we are on perilous and uncertain ground. For we cannot see into the soul of another. We cannot know what pain, what passions, what personality traits have led the other to behave in certain ways.
The clear message of Paul, of Jesus, and of our faith-tradition -- expressed in so many places in scripture -- is that the judgment of others' hearts belongs to God, not to us.
Someone has said that we are tempted to judge others by their actions, while at the same time expecting others to judge us by our intentions. Let's try to extend that same courtesy to our neighbors, giving them the benefit of the doubt, extending mercy in ways we ourselves would hope to receive mercy.
Prayer For The Day
O God who created us in your image,
you have given us a sacred charge:
to care for one another.
Yet, in our rush to judgment,
we often lose track of that duty.
Help us always to remember
that words of judgment,
even words meant for the improvement of others,
can wound the human spirit,
even kill it.
May all our relationships with others
be characterized by kindness. Amen.
To Illustrate
Bruce Wilson is an Anglican theologian from Australia. He has a little experiment he likes to try out on groups when he's asked to give a lecture. "First," he says, "I ask people to say what comes immediately to their minds when they are asked to think of someone who is very religious."
Try it. What adjectives come to your mind when you try to think of someone who's very religious?
Wilson continues: "The answers I receive most often are 'churchy,' 'rigid,' 'pious,' 'otherworldly,' 'judgmental,' 'Bible-basher'...
"The next part of the exercise," he goes on, "is to ask people... the first thing that comes into their minds when they think of someone who could be described as very human." Try it -- what adjectives present themselves, when you try to think of someone who's deeply human?
Here's what Wilson typically gets: "Once again the answers I receive are always similar. People say 'caring,' 'understanding,' 'warm,' 'kind,' 'forgiving,' 'helpful.' "
Not a very flattering comparison for us church folk, is it? It's like Dana Carvey's old comic character, "the Church Lady." What makes the Church Lady so funny is the stereotype she embodies: rigid, judgmental, unforgiving -- even nasty.
Sinclair Lewis, in his novel Elmer Gantry, tells how the young evangelist met plenty of this sort of Christian: "solemn and whiskery persons whose only pleasure aside from not doing agreeable things was keeping others from doing them" (Panther, 1927, p. 319).
Now, here's what's really surprising. Bruce Wilson says he's tried this little two-question quiz on all kinds of groups, both within the church and in completely secular settings. The answers he gets -- comparing those who are "very religious" to those who are "very human" -- are pretty much the same whether his audience is composed of church folk or of those who rarely darken the door of the sanctuary.
The church people, he says -- the ones you'd expect to be comfortable with the label, "very religious" -- typically express surprise at this. If anything, we who profess to follow Jesus Christ ought to fit the mold of being deeply human: kindly, caring, understanding. So why do we, just as much as those outside the church, tend to link judgmentalism with being "very religious"? (cited by Joseph G. Donders, Risen Life: Healing a Broken World [Maryknoll: Orbis, 1990], p. 92)
***
The Greek-speaking church fathers had a very useful word they used to pull out in situations of conflict in the church. The word is adiaphora. It's a highly useful word, as well, for the life of the church today. Diaphora means "different." Adding the prefix "a" to the front makes it negative -- so adiaphora means literally, "no difference," or "it makes no difference."
What adiaphora means, in practical usage, is "something that's non-essential," "something you can do perfectly well without," "something that doesn't matter all that much." Paul would say -- though he doesn't actually use the word here -- that the choice of the type of food we eat is adiaphora. In his eyes, there's no difference between the vegetarians and the omnivores when it comes to being a good Christian.
It's a very useful term for all sorts of church controversies -- not just the big, denomination-wide fights that make the headlines. Pipe organ or electric guitar in worship? Adiaphora. Hymns or praise songs? Adiaphora. Pews or chairs in the sanctuary? Adiaphora. Tie-and-jacket or sportshirt on the usher handing out the bulletins? Adiaphora. American flag in the sanctuary or just in the fellowship hall? Adiaphora.
It's not that these issues are of no importance -- it's just that they make no difference in determining whether or not this is a true church of Jesus Christ. A healthy sense of what's adiaphora and what's not is a highly useful tool for decision-making in the church.
***
Throughout his ministry, Jesus resisted those who would imprison the living spirit of his own Jewish religion in cages of legalism. He begins his ministry, as Luke tells the tale, by preaching his first sermon in his hometown synagogue. They just about run him out of town because he suggests that God may on occasion prefer foreigners to the chosen people, if they are more righteous (Luke 4:24-27).
In the Sermon on the Plain Jesus continues this theme. "Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn and you will not be condemned" (Luke 6:37). And again, "Why do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye, but do not notice the log in your own?" (Luke 6:41).
Shortly after, a Roman Centurion -- an officer of the hated army of occupation -- sends a message to him begging healing for a servant who's sick. To the disciples' shock and horror, Jesus declares the Roman a true believer: "I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith," he says, and heals the man's servant (Luke 7:9b).
In the chapters of Luke that follow, Jesus interacts extensively with women -- treating them, if not quite as equals by our standards, as having much higher status than most Jewish men of his age would have accorded them.
He tells provocative parables, too: of a hated Samaritan who outdoes all others in generosity and caring, even across racial lines; of a father who welcomes his wayward son back home, without a hint of punishment; and about a host who invites the riff-raff of the streets to his banquet after the usual guests all beg off with excuses.
Again and again, Jesus hammers home the point about not judging others.
***
Self-righteousness kills, not only those who are bludgeoned by it but those who wield it as well. Sometimes it kills them softly with gossip and cruel humor. Sometimes it works systemically, consigning some people to live in grim buildings with broken plumbing while others stroll neighborhoods full of thick green lawns. And sometimes it works violently, getting people in the middle of the night to light torches and break windows.
Jesus does not preach humility because modesty is becoming. He preaches it because it is the only cure for the deadly pride and arrogance that make us want to kill each other, whether the murder is as subtle as purging someone from our circle of friends or as bloody as nailing someone to a tree. The only cure is to recognize each other as kin, united by the only one who was ever right. "Why do you call me good?" even he protested. "No one is good but God alone."
-- Barbara Brown Taylor, commenting on Luke 18:19; The Living Pulpit, October/December 1992
***
Our duty is not to see through one another, but to see one another through.
-- Leonard Sweet, A Cup of Coffee at the Soul Cafe (Broadman & Holman, 1988)
***
It is one of the best-known scenes from the life of Jesus: The woman they drag in one day and throw down on the ground before him. From her disheveled hair, her heaving chest, and the bruises on her arms, it is clear that they've physically abused her. In her glassy eyes is the world-weary look of an exhausted animal -- cornered, breathless, smelling her own death.
"Teacher," they say with smug satisfaction, "this woman was caught in the very act of adultery. Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. What do you say?"
Jesus glances down at their hands and sees that each one grips a stone: a smooth, round paving-stone -- big enough to kill, if it finds the right spot on the human skull.
He says nothing at first, just bends down and writes with his finger in the sand.
A challenge. That's what it is. Jesus has been preaching his gospel of love and forgiveness, and now the scribes and Pharisees think they have him. It's a trap big enough and strong enough to catch a heretic (for such they imagine this rabbi from Nazareth to be).
What do you use to trap a heretic? Live bait. That's what this miserable woman is. Whether she lives or dies hardly matters to them. They are willing to see her brains spilled on the pavement if it will force this upstart rabbi to abandon his principles, to stop his free-thinking talk about love and forgiveness and respect the law of Moses for a change.
And if he says, "Release her"? No matter. They are more than willing to let this wretch go free, if in so doing they can pin on him a charge of lawlessness and of encouraging promiscuity.
Still Jesus says nothing. Their palms are beginning to sweat. Their fingers grow tired from gripping those stones so long.
Finally he looks up. His unblinking eyes meet theirs.
He says simply, "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her."
Jesus goes back to doodling in the sand. When next he looks up, only the defendant remains.
"Woman, where are they?" he asks. "Has no one condemned you?"
"No one, sir."
"Neither do I condemn you. Go your way and from now on do not sin again."
It is not for us to judge the hearts of others.
Old Testament Lesson
Exodus 14:19-31
The Crossing Of The Red Sea
Because today's reading begins in the middle of the Red-Sea-crossing narrative, it is important to provide the context that, in the preceding verses, the Egyptian army has chased the Israelites to the shore of the sea, and the Lord has commanded Moses to raise his staff in order to part the waters. As this passage opens, the pillar of cloud and the pillar of fire change position, moving from the vanguard of the Israelites to their rear, in order to hold the Egyptian chariots at bay (verses 19-20). Moses stretches his hand over the sea, the waters part, and the Israelites cross dry-shod to the other side (verses 21-22). The Egyptians follow in the footsteps of the Israelites, but their chariot-wheels become bogged down in the mud of the sea-bed (verses 24-25). At the Lord's command, Moses again raises his hand over the sea and the walls of water collapse upon the Egyptian soldiers, drowning them (verses 26-28). Awed at the wonder they have just seen, "The people feared the Lord and believed in the Lord and in his servant Moses" (v. 31). There has been much discussion -- and little resolution -- of the complex historical details on which this narrative is based. Was it the Red Sea the Israelites crossed -- or a smaller, "reed sea," a swampy area periodically flooded by swift-flowing tides? The answer to this question, while historically interesting, is beside the point. The story of the crossing of the Red Sea is more a theological narrative than a historical one. It is symbolic of the Lord's rescue of the people in order to remain faithful to the covenant. That will preach.
New Testament Lesson
Romans 14:1-12
Do Not Judge
Paul addresses, here, some practical problems that have arisen in the Roman church. There is a dispute between those who believe Christians must follow certain dietary laws, and those who believe Christ has freed them from such regulations. (These are evidently not the Jewish dietary laws, because this faction is promoting vegetarianism, which is not required under Jewish law.) The standard Paul recommends is mutual forbearance: "Those who eat must not despise those who abstain, and those who abstain must not pass judgment on those who eat" (v. 3). Just as one slave would not pass judgment on a slave belonging to another master, so adherents of one code ought not to pass judgment on those who follow another (v. 4). The same is true of the observance of certain days as holy days (v. 5). "We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves" (v. 7). Those words, familiar as a funeral reading, are not about death, particularly. Rather, they point to the one to whom Christians owe ultimate allegiance. We are the Lord's. That is the single, most important observation we can make about our lives as Christians. That realization colors all our human interactions. So, therefore, we must not pass judgment on others, because judgment belongs only to God (verses 10-12).
The Gospel
Matthew 18:21-35
Unlimited Forgiveness: The Parable Of The Unforgiving Servant
This passage consists of a commandment, and a parable interpreting that commandment. Peter comes up to Jesus, asking how many times the law requires a person to forgive. A familiar rabbinic interpretation of the day specified three times as the outside limit of forgiveness; Peter thinks he is being generous in upping the maximum to seven. To this, Jesus replies, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, 77 times" (v. 22). His figure of 77 is a rhetorical device not to be taken literally. It is numerical code for "an unlimited number." Then, Jesus tells a parable about a slave who is forgiven a heavy debt he owes his master -- 10,000 talents, an unimaginably large figure -- but who then goes out and puts the squeeze on a fellow-servant who owes him a much smaller amount (verses 23-35). When the master finds out about it, he is angry that his servant has not shown the same degree of mercy he himself was shown.
Preaching Possibilities
If you were to ask people who believe in God but don't come to church why they don't come to church, what do you suppose they'd say?
You'd hear all kinds of reasons. "I prefer to worship God in the great outdoors -- why, I can worship just as well on the golf course as I can in the sanctuary!" That's a popular one. Of course, the answer to come back with is, "Okay, so maybe you can worship God on the golf course just as much as in the sanctuary -- but when was the last time you did worship God on a golf course?"
Then there's the person who says, "I don't come to church because they're only after my money." The counter-argument is, "Okay, let's assume the church is after your money. But then again, so are restaurants and grocery stores. You don't stop eating because they want your money, do you?"
Another popular excuse is, "I don't come to church because there are so many hypocrites there." Well -- you don't stop using money because there are counterfeits out there, do you?
Finally, there's the all-time favorite. This one, though, isn't so easily dispensed with: "I stopped coming to church because someone there said something judgmental that really hurt me." Sad to say, this sort of experience is all too common. If one of the functions of the church is to be a school of virtue, then the students in that school do have an unfortunate tendency to pick on one another.
It goes deeper than simply pointing out error. Just look at the various internal conflicts the church has had to deal with in the past hundred years or so: all of which can be summed up as conservative versus liberal. It hardly matters what the presenting issue has been: modern scientific theories, Prohibition, remarriage after divorce, racial segregation, cohabitation, communism, militarism, homosexuality. Whatever the hot-button issue du jour has been, liberals and conservatives have lined up on either side of it, and before long we've stopped debating in a civil fashion. We open our Bibles, take out our ammunition (because that's where we store it) and launch attacks at one another that quickly become personal.
The world looks on, and what does it see? Not what the church father Tertullian reported the pagan world saw in the early church. "See how they love one another!" the pagans said, in awe and admiration (Apology, 1, 6). No, the world looks on at the twenty-first century church and sees rampant, unrestrained judgmentalism. And then it turns away.
If it's any consolation, the apostle Paul identified exactly the same problem two millennia ago. In the letter to the Romans, Paul asks testily, "Who are you to pass judgment on servants of another?"
The presenting issue, back then, is nothing like the issues that divide the church today (or is it?). The controversy is about what kinds of food to eat. One party in the church at Rome is vegetarian. We know next-to-nothing about why -- perhaps it's some kind of radical pacifism, "do no harm to any living thing," or something similar. The other faction, presumably the majority, feels free to eat any kind of food. They resent the strict teachings of the vegetarians, who have an annoying habit of accusing them of capitulating to the secular culture. For their own part, the "eat any foods" faction loves to ridicule the vegetarians as narrow-minded, literalistic legalists.
Paul shares his own viewpoint on the issue -- he belongs to the "eat any foods" faction -- but he doesn't take sides. He's not much interested in what kinds of food people eat and seems to believe people can as be good Christians with salads in front of them as steaks. What he is interested in is the conflict that's tearing the Roman church in two: "Those who eat must not despise those who abstain, and those who abstain must not pass judgment on those who eat; for God has welcomed them. Who are you to pass judgment on servants of another?" (Romans 14:3-4).
This latter phrase, about passing judgment on another's servants, was familiar enough in a slave-labor economy like the Roman empire. Few Roman slaveowners would think of disciplining the slave of another; it just wasn't done. There's a rough corollary in modern business management: In a traditional corporate hierarchy, an employee of one division wouldn't think of telling an employee of another what to do. That would show lack of respect not only for one's fellow employee, but also for his or her supervisor.
Paul is saying to both parties in the Roman "What's-for-dinner?" feud, "Cool it, people. The decision on dietary laws is God's alone. Don't assume your opponents are acting in bad faith just because they interpret the scriptures differently from you. Talk about the issues, discuss them, even debate them. But the moment the tenor of the debate gets nasty, stop -- and leave it to God to decide."
It's a lesson we could all stand to learn better, don't you think?
Judgment is an important faculty. We are called always to judge and discern between good and evil. Yet, when it's people we're judging, we are on perilous and uncertain ground. For we cannot see into the soul of another. We cannot know what pain, what passions, what personality traits have led the other to behave in certain ways.
The clear message of Paul, of Jesus, and of our faith-tradition -- expressed in so many places in scripture -- is that the judgment of others' hearts belongs to God, not to us.
Someone has said that we are tempted to judge others by their actions, while at the same time expecting others to judge us by our intentions. Let's try to extend that same courtesy to our neighbors, giving them the benefit of the doubt, extending mercy in ways we ourselves would hope to receive mercy.
Prayer For The Day
O God who created us in your image,
you have given us a sacred charge:
to care for one another.
Yet, in our rush to judgment,
we often lose track of that duty.
Help us always to remember
that words of judgment,
even words meant for the improvement of others,
can wound the human spirit,
even kill it.
May all our relationships with others
be characterized by kindness. Amen.
To Illustrate
Bruce Wilson is an Anglican theologian from Australia. He has a little experiment he likes to try out on groups when he's asked to give a lecture. "First," he says, "I ask people to say what comes immediately to their minds when they are asked to think of someone who is very religious."
Try it. What adjectives come to your mind when you try to think of someone who's very religious?
Wilson continues: "The answers I receive most often are 'churchy,' 'rigid,' 'pious,' 'otherworldly,' 'judgmental,' 'Bible-basher'...
"The next part of the exercise," he goes on, "is to ask people... the first thing that comes into their minds when they think of someone who could be described as very human." Try it -- what adjectives present themselves, when you try to think of someone who's deeply human?
Here's what Wilson typically gets: "Once again the answers I receive are always similar. People say 'caring,' 'understanding,' 'warm,' 'kind,' 'forgiving,' 'helpful.' "
Not a very flattering comparison for us church folk, is it? It's like Dana Carvey's old comic character, "the Church Lady." What makes the Church Lady so funny is the stereotype she embodies: rigid, judgmental, unforgiving -- even nasty.
Sinclair Lewis, in his novel Elmer Gantry, tells how the young evangelist met plenty of this sort of Christian: "solemn and whiskery persons whose only pleasure aside from not doing agreeable things was keeping others from doing them" (Panther, 1927, p. 319).
Now, here's what's really surprising. Bruce Wilson says he's tried this little two-question quiz on all kinds of groups, both within the church and in completely secular settings. The answers he gets -- comparing those who are "very religious" to those who are "very human" -- are pretty much the same whether his audience is composed of church folk or of those who rarely darken the door of the sanctuary.
The church people, he says -- the ones you'd expect to be comfortable with the label, "very religious" -- typically express surprise at this. If anything, we who profess to follow Jesus Christ ought to fit the mold of being deeply human: kindly, caring, understanding. So why do we, just as much as those outside the church, tend to link judgmentalism with being "very religious"? (cited by Joseph G. Donders, Risen Life: Healing a Broken World [Maryknoll: Orbis, 1990], p. 92)
***
The Greek-speaking church fathers had a very useful word they used to pull out in situations of conflict in the church. The word is adiaphora. It's a highly useful word, as well, for the life of the church today. Diaphora means "different." Adding the prefix "a" to the front makes it negative -- so adiaphora means literally, "no difference," or "it makes no difference."
What adiaphora means, in practical usage, is "something that's non-essential," "something you can do perfectly well without," "something that doesn't matter all that much." Paul would say -- though he doesn't actually use the word here -- that the choice of the type of food we eat is adiaphora. In his eyes, there's no difference between the vegetarians and the omnivores when it comes to being a good Christian.
It's a very useful term for all sorts of church controversies -- not just the big, denomination-wide fights that make the headlines. Pipe organ or electric guitar in worship? Adiaphora. Hymns or praise songs? Adiaphora. Pews or chairs in the sanctuary? Adiaphora. Tie-and-jacket or sportshirt on the usher handing out the bulletins? Adiaphora. American flag in the sanctuary or just in the fellowship hall? Adiaphora.
It's not that these issues are of no importance -- it's just that they make no difference in determining whether or not this is a true church of Jesus Christ. A healthy sense of what's adiaphora and what's not is a highly useful tool for decision-making in the church.
***
Throughout his ministry, Jesus resisted those who would imprison the living spirit of his own Jewish religion in cages of legalism. He begins his ministry, as Luke tells the tale, by preaching his first sermon in his hometown synagogue. They just about run him out of town because he suggests that God may on occasion prefer foreigners to the chosen people, if they are more righteous (Luke 4:24-27).
In the Sermon on the Plain Jesus continues this theme. "Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn and you will not be condemned" (Luke 6:37). And again, "Why do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye, but do not notice the log in your own?" (Luke 6:41).
Shortly after, a Roman Centurion -- an officer of the hated army of occupation -- sends a message to him begging healing for a servant who's sick. To the disciples' shock and horror, Jesus declares the Roman a true believer: "I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith," he says, and heals the man's servant (Luke 7:9b).
In the chapters of Luke that follow, Jesus interacts extensively with women -- treating them, if not quite as equals by our standards, as having much higher status than most Jewish men of his age would have accorded them.
He tells provocative parables, too: of a hated Samaritan who outdoes all others in generosity and caring, even across racial lines; of a father who welcomes his wayward son back home, without a hint of punishment; and about a host who invites the riff-raff of the streets to his banquet after the usual guests all beg off with excuses.
Again and again, Jesus hammers home the point about not judging others.
***
Self-righteousness kills, not only those who are bludgeoned by it but those who wield it as well. Sometimes it kills them softly with gossip and cruel humor. Sometimes it works systemically, consigning some people to live in grim buildings with broken plumbing while others stroll neighborhoods full of thick green lawns. And sometimes it works violently, getting people in the middle of the night to light torches and break windows.
Jesus does not preach humility because modesty is becoming. He preaches it because it is the only cure for the deadly pride and arrogance that make us want to kill each other, whether the murder is as subtle as purging someone from our circle of friends or as bloody as nailing someone to a tree. The only cure is to recognize each other as kin, united by the only one who was ever right. "Why do you call me good?" even he protested. "No one is good but God alone."
-- Barbara Brown Taylor, commenting on Luke 18:19; The Living Pulpit, October/December 1992
***
Our duty is not to see through one another, but to see one another through.
-- Leonard Sweet, A Cup of Coffee at the Soul Cafe (Broadman & Holman, 1988)
***
It is one of the best-known scenes from the life of Jesus: The woman they drag in one day and throw down on the ground before him. From her disheveled hair, her heaving chest, and the bruises on her arms, it is clear that they've physically abused her. In her glassy eyes is the world-weary look of an exhausted animal -- cornered, breathless, smelling her own death.
"Teacher," they say with smug satisfaction, "this woman was caught in the very act of adultery. Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. What do you say?"
Jesus glances down at their hands and sees that each one grips a stone: a smooth, round paving-stone -- big enough to kill, if it finds the right spot on the human skull.
He says nothing at first, just bends down and writes with his finger in the sand.
A challenge. That's what it is. Jesus has been preaching his gospel of love and forgiveness, and now the scribes and Pharisees think they have him. It's a trap big enough and strong enough to catch a heretic (for such they imagine this rabbi from Nazareth to be).
What do you use to trap a heretic? Live bait. That's what this miserable woman is. Whether she lives or dies hardly matters to them. They are willing to see her brains spilled on the pavement if it will force this upstart rabbi to abandon his principles, to stop his free-thinking talk about love and forgiveness and respect the law of Moses for a change.
And if he says, "Release her"? No matter. They are more than willing to let this wretch go free, if in so doing they can pin on him a charge of lawlessness and of encouraging promiscuity.
Still Jesus says nothing. Their palms are beginning to sweat. Their fingers grow tired from gripping those stones so long.
Finally he looks up. His unblinking eyes meet theirs.
He says simply, "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her."
Jesus goes back to doodling in the sand. When next he looks up, only the defendant remains.
"Woman, where are they?" he asks. "Has no one condemned you?"
"No one, sir."
"Neither do I condemn you. Go your way and from now on do not sin again."
