9-21-14: Just Say Yes

Just Say Yes

Matthew 20: 1-16 (NIV)

“For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard. He agreed to pay them a denarius for the day and sent them into his vineyard. “About nine in the morning he went out and saw others standing in the marketplace doing nothing. He told them, ‘You also go and work in my vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. “He went out again about noon and about three in the afternoon and did the same thing. About five in the afternoon he went out and found still others standing around. He asked them, ‘Why have you been standing here all day long doing nothing?’ “ ‘Because no one has hired us,’ they answered. “He said to them, ‘You also go and work in my vineyard.’ “When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his foreman, ‘Call the workers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last ones hired and going on to the first.’ “The workers who were hired about five in the afternoon came and each received a denarius. So when those came who were hired first, they expected to receive more. But each one of them also received a denarius. When they received it, they began to grumble against the landowner. ‘These who were hired last worked only one hour,’ they said, ‘and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day.’ “But he answered one of them, ‘I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ “So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

This morning's Gospel lesson makes you really wonder what it would be like to have Jesus as the head of the company you work for.

Now, personally, I can see a lot of advantages to having Jesus as your boss. You'd get one day off every week, guaranteed, provided of course that you planned to use that day as a Sabbath day. The great healer would provide excellent health insurance benefits for all of his employees, out of his tremendous compassion for the sick. Though you may occasionally find, after you refill the water cooler, that its contents have been turned into the finest quality wine, you'd also never have to worry about bringing your own lunch, as Jesus could feed your whole company from one person's fish sandwich. He'd set the bar for all equal opportunity employers--finally, women and men would be equals in the work place, and he'd be especially generous about holding job interviews for the poor, the maimed, the blind, and the lame. He wouldn't ask for references from your previous employers. Matter of fact, he wouldn't even ask for a resume. It wouldn't matter if you used to work as a tax collector, or even as a prostitute. You'd be welcome to work for his company. And since he meant it when he said let the little children come to me, you working parents would never have to worry about child care again.

In a lot of respects, I bet it would be pretty awesome if Jesus was your boss. Except, possibly, for one major thing that might seriously hinder your company's morale: the pay.

Sure, the figure Jesus would quote you for your annual salary would look fantastic when you acctepted the job. And you would know how seriously unethical it is to compare pay checks with your co-workers. But, you're human, so you would do it anyway. And as you did, you'd quickly find out that the people Jesus hired in December reported the same annual income on their tax return as the people Jesus hired in January. And if you started working for Jesus much closer to January than December...you might find, in spite of all the perks of this great company, that you're starting to resent your boss.

And you would know you don't really have a leg to stand on--after all, what would you have to be so upset about? The Lord provides for you. The salary he'd offer you would not only be a living wage, it would be the best pay any employer has ever offered you. So you really couldn't say that what Jesus is paying you isn't fair. It's perfectly fair. It's downright generous. But what Jesus offered the people who just came on to the company right around Christmas is so much more generous--it's the same compensation as you, for far less time at work. What gives? This wouldn't be acceptable anywhere else.

But let's expand this metaphor. Because we don't have to just pretend Jesus is our boss. Jesus really is our boss. We all work for Jesus. Everyone who calls Jesus Lord works for Jesus. Jesus' company is the biggest in the world, with roughly 2 billion employees worldwide. And, inasmuch as Jesus is the most important part of our lives, he is our CEO.

And things here in Jesus' company are very different than in someone else's company. We follow a different set of rules than everyone else. That's what we agreed to when Jesus called us to our ministries--whatever that means personally for you--and we said yes.

We have a different set of rules here. Outside of this company, if you will,  out in the secular world at large, we expect fairness. We frequently don't achieve it, but we expect it. Outside of the Church, the gold standard is fairness. You get what you have coming to you. You get what you pay for. You get what you deserve. No more, no less.

What Jesus offers us is much better than fairness. Here, we get what none of us deserve. Here, we get what none of us worked for. Here, we get what none of us should have coming to us: grace.

A clean slate. A whole new lease on life. Forgiveness. Redemption. And salvation.

Your mistakes? Washed away. Jesus doesn't hold them against you. Your guilt? Gone. Jesus doesn't care. Your shame? Gone. Jesus doesn't want you to feel that way. We're emancipated. There's nothing weighing us down. We're at peace with God, and we're his.

But being part of this flock, this Church, this human family, this company, isn't fair. Jesus' decisions aren't fair. We don't see fairness among us. We see equality.

When Paul wrote to his community in Galatia, he wrote "There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus." (‭Galatians‬ ‭3‬:‭28‬ NIV)

Jesus treats all of his flock with equality because Jesus himself is equality. He frees us from the shackles of our prejudice. No more sexism. No more classism. No more racism. No more lines in the sand. We're equal. We're equally loved, and equally saved.

But that brings us back to our one gripe with our boss: the pay. We're the beloved children of God, the proud employees of the greatest boss of all time, but we're also human so we find it awfully hard to overlook what we see as an injustice. Why should Jesus be just as gracious to someone who comes to him late in the game as he is to someone who has always believed? Or, maybe more to the point: why should we bother being good people, honoring God, serving our Church and loving our neighbor if Jesus would treat us exactly the same if we spent all our lives goofing off and messing up? What do we get out of a lifetime of discipleship if it's not our works that save us? What's the point?

These are the questions this morning's Gospel lesson helps us pose. These are the questions that the laborers in Jesus' parable ask in anger. And they're misguided questions.

It's perfectly fine to ask questions. It's perfectly fine not to understand how all of this discipleship business is supposed to work. It's perfectly fine to not take what you see and hear about Jesus at face value, and to question it. But it's also okay, once you've asked all the questions you need to, to trust how Jesus takes care of each of us.

And when Jesus comes to you in the marketplace, or at your house, or at your school, or your place of work, or to your dreams, or even here to your church, and he asks you to work for him, you don't need to worry about the hours, or the nature of the work, or what you're going to get out of it, and you definitely don't need to worry about what he's asked of or given to anyone else. Jesus will take care of that. When Jesus asks you to work for him, when Jesus calls you to action and to ministry, you don't need to ask any follow-up questions at all. All you have to do is say yes, and trust your boss to handle the details.

Amen.

9-14-14: Worth It

Worth It

Matthew 15: 21-28 (NIV)

Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is demon-possessed and suffering terribly.” Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.” The woman came and knelt before him. “Lord, help me!” she said. He replied, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.” “Yes it is, Lord,” she said. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.” Then Jesus said to her, “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed at that moment.

Friends, back at the end of August I went out of order in the lectionary for two weeks, so that I could talk to you all about forgiveness. The Gospel passage that I skipped ahead to during those two weeks is the lectionary-appointed Gospel reading for this morning. So, I planned that when I got to this Sunday I would go back and look at one of the Gospel stories I skipped back in August. This morning's Gospel lesson is one of those stories, and it's a great one: Jesus and the Canaanite woman.

This is one of a few Gospel stories that leaves us scratching our heads, trying to figure out just exactly what Jesus was thinking. His behavior in this story just seems so incredibly out of character for him. Up to this point in Matthew's Gospel we've now spent fifteen chapters hearing about a young man with tremendous compassion and gentleness. Right after returning from his forty days of fasting in the wilderness, he sat down with his twelve disciples and took great care to interpret the Law of Moses for them. For all we can tell, he's hardly taken a moment to sleep since then. He's helped every single person in need that has come his way, and no request for help has been too great for him. He helped a disabled man walk, he helped a blind man regain his sight, and he prepared a lunch of bread and fish for five thousand hungry families. He's never shied away from anyone who's needed him, even when Jewish Law commanded him to. He healed a leper. Then, after a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years touched him, and made him ritually impure, he wasn't shocked or disgusted at all, he simply declared her healed. He even went into a room with a child who had just died, and brought her back to life. He helped absolutely everyone who asked for help. Without exceptions, without limits, and without prejudice. Everyone.

So when we hear the way he talked to the woman in this morning's story, we find ourselves asking, Gosh, Jesus, what's your problem? All of the sudden he's actually turning someone away. After all these times that we've seen him scold the Pharisees for getting hung up on the letter of the Law, all of the sudden he's turning around and acting like there's rules for who he's allowed to help. And, most shocking of all, after all this time that we've seen him treat everyone with a truly prophetic level of equality, he's discriminating against someone.

What's wrong with Jesus? It's not even as if we could say he's just having a bad day--the man's voluntarily homeless, just so he can spend more time on the streets with the people who need him. When he needs to eat something, he grabs a bite to eat with prostitutes and tax collectors, so he can eat while he keeps helping people. He's given up every minute he's ever had to himself so he can keep helping people. What makes this woman so different from all the other people he's saved?

Well, what's different about this woman is that she's from the wrong side of the tracks. Sure, we've seen him show mercy to countless people that had been tossed off to the margins of society--women, children, lepers, the homeless, the physically disabled, even dead people--but all of those people were Jewish. This woman isn't. And she's from a region that no upstanding Jewish person wants to be anywhere near: Canaan.

There's a deep-seated history of antagonism and hostility between Israel and Canaan that you can read all about in the Old Testament. The Canaanites were not only foreigners and Gentiles to the Israelites, they were pagans and worshipped idols. And not only was this woman approaching Jesus a pagan, she was, of course, a woman. A woman talking to a Jewish rabbi? A woman talking to a man who isn't a relative? A woman talking at all? A woman out alone in public without a male relative escorting her? Who does she think she is? There isn't a single ancient near Eastern social custom she isn't breaking by talking to Jesus.

Keeping all of that in mind, Jesus' disciples react just as you would expect them to: they lose their cool and ask Jesus to tell this woman to get lost. She's bugging them.

Jesus has a decision to make. A woman who needs help has come to him, and asked for his mercy. But helping her means crossing a giant chasm set in place by racism, sexism, and a general case of xenophobia. Everyone around him has something important to learn today, and Jesus is their teacher.

So Jesus plays into his disciples' prejudice and says, You're right, my twelve trusty companions, God's love is only for Jewish men like us. He's now challenged this woman to take a stand for her dignity and worth. And she takes a stand.

Lord, help me, she says. I'm worth it.

Knowing the disciples still don't get it, Jesus pushes the issue one more time--It's not fair to take the children's bread and toss it to the dogs.

The Israelites likened the Canaanites to animals all the time. The disciples were used to doing it, and the woman was used to hearing it. Now is the time for this woman to decide, once and for all, where her place is. Is she going to follow society's rules, take a seat on the back of the proverbial bus, hang her head in shame, drop her case, and go home to her sick and helpless daughter...or is she going to fight back?

Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master's table.

She is claiming her spot at the table. She is claiming her right to be heard, and healed. She is standing up for herself, and she is not taking no for an answer.

Lord, help me, she says. I'm worth it.

And, in the presence of his disciples, these men stuck in their ways and so sure they were better than her, Jesus commends her exemplary faith, and tells her her daughter will be okay.

There's no prejudice in the Kingdom of God. And Jesus doesn't discriminate against anyone--even when we're tempted to. The doors of salvation are wide open to everyone.

We United Methodists have become rather well-known in recent years for a slogan we've been using for outreach: open hearts, open minds, open doors. This slogan is so prophetic it's taken on a life of its own, and it's become part of a bigger project to revitalize the Church called "rethink church". (You can read all about "rethink church" here: www.rethinkchurch.org).

There's a very deep sense of public mission involved in rethink church, and one of the most important pieces of rethink church's mission has been that we need to stop thinking of the word "church" as a noun--as a building, as an experience in worship on Sunday morning, or even as a gathering of people. Rather, we need to think of "church" as a verb.

Jesus told his disciples that the world would know them by their love. When we reach out into the world and love, we go out and church. When we don't expect the people to come to us, but instead we find the people who need our love and mercy and we go to them, we church. John Wesley, the founder of what became the United Methodist Church, called this social holiness--going out into the hurting places in the world and putting a salve on those wounds with Christian love. Jesus just called this discipleship.

It's our calling as disciples to church everyone. It's our calling to reach out with radical love and mercy to everyone. And it's our calling to be a Church with open hearts, open minds, and open doors.

The Church is for everyone. Jesus is for everyone. Jesus' love extends to everyone, and he doesn't care about our prejudice, or our judgments. Everyone belongs to the Kingdom of God. Jesus spent his whole year of active, earthly ministry crossing our chasms and breaking our boundaries. If you think there's someone outside the reach of our Church, think bigger. If you think there's someone who doesn't belong here, think bigger.

And if you ever wonder if God has enough mercy for you, if you ever wonder if there's a place for you at the table, know that the bread we share, the body of Christ, is for everyone. Jesus challenges our whole human family to take a seat at the table, because we are all worth his time and grace.

Amen.

9-7-14: Agape

Agape

Matthew 18: 15-20 (NIV)

“If your brother or sister sins, go and point out their fault, just between the two of you. If they listen to you, you have won them over. But if they will not listen, take one or two others along, so that ‘every matter may be established by the testimony of two or three witnesses.’ If they still refuse to listen, tell it to the church; and if they refuse to listen even to the church, treat them as you would a pagan or a tax collector. “Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. “Again, truly I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”

This week, Rochester grieves.

On Thursday night, a young man was killed while doing his job. He was a police officer.

Daryl Pierson chased after an armed suspect who fled after a traffic stop. The suspect opened fire, killed Pierson, and injured an innocent bystander.

Daryl Pierson was an eight year veteran of the Rochester Police Department. He was thirty-two years old, and had a wife and two little children at home. And he was the first RPD officer to be killed in the line of duty since 1959.

I could tell you that life isn't fair, but you already know that. The only thing out there less fair than life is death. Death is deeply, deeply unfair. And the violent death of a man who was protecting and serving his community leaves you nearly without words.

We can complain. And we can blame. And we can dwell in the dark, dark grief. We can talk about the convicted felon who illegally possessed the firearm that took Officer Pierson's life. And then we could go on and on until the cows come home about our gun control laws. But that won't help anyone, and it won't bring this young man back to life. We can talk about the suspect, and we can talk about what kind of upbringing he must have had that would bring him to this life of crime. We can talk about absentee parents, and violence on TV, and the lack of prayer in public schools. But those unending debates won't lead us anywhere.

And then, just as I was writing these very words this week, there was an emergency news report of a private plane that left the Rochester airport, went off course, and flew for a short time over Cuba before crashing just outside of Jamaica. No one's positive what happened, but it looks like the plane's cabin lost pressure, and the pilot lost consciousness. The two people on board were beloved of the Rochester community: real estate mogul Larry Glazer, and his wife, Jane. Rochester grieves. And death is deeply, deeply unfair.

Where do we turn at a time such as this? Where do we look for light in the darkness? We look not to our own selves, but to what unites our whole human family. Love. Love unites our whole human family. And not just any kind of love.

We only have one word in English that means love--or so it may seem. But in Koine Greek, the language of those who scribed most of our New Testament, there are four words that all mean a different kind of love.

You may have heard me use and define some of these words before, and if you have, then you get to enjoy knowing where I'm going with this. But there are four words in Koine Greek that mean love, and two of them show up in the New Testament.

1) First there's "philia". Philia means a friendly, familiar, or brotherly love, as we hear when we go visit Philadelphia, PA--the city of brotherly love. Paul used this word to describe the kind of brotherly or sisterly love he wanted his communities to show one another. Philia urges us to show one another kindness and respect.

2) Then there's "storge". Storge is a family love. Storge doesn't show up in the Ancient Greek manuscripts of our New Testament, but it's the kind of love a parent shows for their child. It's a love that cares for others, and shows responsibility.

3) Thirdly we have "eros". Eros refers to a romantic, passionate love. The word eros itself doesn't show up in the Bible, but is very much the love described in the work of Old Testament poetry that we call the Song of Solomon. Eros is the love between a husband and wife.

4) But the fourth kind of love goes so far beyond the first three. Agape is more than a passionate love, more than a friendly love, and more than even a mother's love. Agape is God's love. The writer of 1 John used the word agape when he wrote, "Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love." (‭1 John‬ ‭4‬:‭7-8‬ NIV) Agape is the very essence of God. This kind of love doesn't just come from God, this kind of love is God. Agape is the love we can give to others that will allow them to know God through us.

Agape is love for a broken world. Agape is a huge love, an all-consuming love. Agape is a love that draws from the passion of eros, the brotherhood of philia, and the family ties of storge. But then grows bigger still.

Agape is the love that Paul spoke of when he wrote to his church in Corinth, and urged them to work through their differences. When he wrote, "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. (‭1 Corinthians‬ ‭13‬:‭4-7‬ NIV)," he was writing about agape.

Agape is love for a fallen world. A world where bad things happen, and people make mistakes. No other kind of love can speak to that brokenness. Brotherhood only goes so far. Passion fades. And even when you love your neighbor like your own blood, you can only do so much.

We as mere humans can only do so much. When we love even with all of our hearts, and all of our strength, we can only do so much on our own.

So we turn to a greater love. A love greater than all of us. The deepest, and purest well of love. Agape.

We can only use the Greek word itself to describe this love, because none of our English words even come close. Loving-kindness doesn't capture it. Self-sacrificing love doesn't capture it.

The only word we have to describe such a love is the name of this love incarnate: Jesus.

Jesus is the salve for our fallen world. Jesus is the healer. And from where we're sitting, there's no reason to talk about anything else. If we want to find our way in the darkness, we need to come to Jesus.

Jesus is the very face of agape. Jesus' love is the only love there is that captures this word. Jesus' love is a love that extends to everyone. Jesus' love is a love that is endlessly kind, and constantly living in the truth. And Jesus' love is a self-sacrificing love--the love of someone who loves us more than himself.

That love is what we find in our darkness, and it is the only thing that can help us. But it's more than enough.

That love is enough to bring us together. In this morning's Gospel passage, Jesus urges us to rely on his uniting love to settle our differences. He tells us, if we disagree, work it out amongst ourselves. If we need to turn to our church for help, that's fine. That's what our church is here for anyway, to help. If you need witnesses to help you work out your argument, you can find them right here. We can find whatever we need right here, together, in our church. Because we built this place out of Jesus' agape for us all. Because of that, we have all we need.

It's easy to lose hope, to lose faith, when we have a week like this one. When we barely catch our breath from one terrible death only to hear about two more, it's easy to lose hope. We grieve. And death is deeply, deeply unfair.

But Jesus' love, that agape love, is stronger even than death. There's nothing in earth or heaven that's stronger. That love bears a name and a face. And it's with us no matter where we are, and no matter what we're doing. As long as we have our community, we have that love, because, as Jesus said, "where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them."

Amen.