What Do You Want Me to do for You?

The Gospel of Mark, from which are assigned readings over the course of this year have been drawn, has two major sections.  In part one we read stories exploring Jesus’ identity.  Who is this person who does such amazing things, teaches with incredible insight and authority, and forgives sins?  Part two deals with his final journey to Jerusalem and all the events that transpire there. 

Part one concludes when Jesus and his followers go to Caesarea Philippi, a pagan center about 30 miles north of their home base of Capernaum on the Sea of Galilee.  Caesarea is an area riddled with springs that combine to form the Jordon River.  These water sources create lush greenery in a region otherwise arid, desolate, and darn near uninhabitable. 

Jesus “flees” to this remote location after Herod has John the Baptist beheaded.  Jesus rightfully considers he might be next.  Caesarea is in a region ruled by Herod’s brother Philip and thus is beyond the grasp of the ruthless tyrant who murders Jesus’ cousin.  Think of it as being like fleeing to Elizabeth City if the governor of Virginia wants to do you in.

It is here Jesus asks his disciples who people believe him to be… a prophet, Elijah, who?  And then he asks who they believe him to be.  Peter famously responds, “You are the Messiah, the Christ, the one sent from God.”  During this time of relative safety Jesus has the opportunity to reflect, to pray, and to strategize.  He determines he must go to Jerusalem to confront the principalities and powers, even though he surely will die by doing so.

Jerusalem is about 105 miles from Caesarea Philippi.  Tom Coxe and I made the journey last month by bus, but of course Jesus and his followers walked it.  Their route took them through a lush, even swamping valley surrounded by barren mountains similar in scale to the Blue Ridge.  Eventually they descended to Capernaum.  After a brief rest they traveled down the Jordon River valley to the city of Jericho. 

Now the valley itself is quit wide, flanked on either side by step cliffs and mountains.  It is an extension of a continental rift running from deep in Africa to Lebanon.  The Jordon River empties into the Dead Sea and is surprising narrow, no more than 25 to 30 feet across.  Over the past few Sundays we have heard readings detailing the conversations of the travelers as they made their way leisurely along the riverbanks.  Who is the greatest?  What should we do about people not a part of our group who use Jesus’ name to heal?  Does Jesus want to be bothered by children who approach him?  What must a person do to inherit eternal life?  Which of Jesus’ followers will sit at his side in paradise? 

This morning Jesus and his entourage pass through Jericho.  It is the oldest known city on earth, first inhabited more than 10,000 years ago.  Our tour group spent a night there in an upscale hotel.  From what I could tell, it was the only upscale thing in Jericho.  The city today is located in a poverty ravaged, Palestinian-controlled region.  Trash, rubble, and vacant lots abound.  There is little greenery and little growing.  The homes and neighborhoods we passed make Suffolk’s roughest areas look richly suburban.  I noted several compounds – a block or two of dwellings surrounded by barbed wire topped walls with guard towers at the corners.  Whatever ruins exist in Jericho either are not worth seeing or are not safe to visit because we loaded in our bus in the morning and took the main highway out of town.

Jericho is only 15 miles from Jerusalem so you might imagine Jesus and his followers have an easy day’s stroll to complete their journey.  However, Jericho lies more than 800 feet below sea level, while Jerusalem sits on a mountain nearly 3,500 feet above sea level.  Even our bus struggled to gain elevation at certain points along the way.  Jesus and his band walk up the Wadi Qelt, a dry streambed carved in between deep, steep limestone cliffs.  When I say there is nothing but rocks and dust in this wilderness, I mean there is NOTHING but rocks and dust in this wilderness.  It is a shocking, yet magnificent sight.  As a side note, Jesus uses this bleak location as the setting for his parable of the Good Samaritan. 

Surely as they leave Jericho there is no more discussion about who is the greatest.  They are thinking only about the arduous, physical task ahead.  It is at this point a blind beggar by the name of Bartimaeus cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.”  At first the disciples try to silence the beggar, but Jesus stops and asks them to bring the man to him.  “What do you want,” he asks?  The response, “I want to see again.”  Jesus, noting his faith, pronounces the blind man to be healed and immediately his sight is restored. 

The text tells us Bartimaeus follows Jesus on the way.  Take note he joins at the most physically demanding part of the journey.  Presumably he is a part of the Palm Sunday experience, the events of Holy Week, is somewhere nearby when Jesus is arrested, is aware of the Crucifixion, and no doubt, along with the rest of the disciples, has some kind of encounter with the Risen Christ.

You don’t need to have lost your physical sight to be blind.  John Newton, the former captain of a slaving ship, wrote in his hymn Amazing Grace, I once “was blind, but now I see.”  If you will permit me to speak personally, let me tell you a little bit about my recent blindness.

It has been an amazing year for me.  In addition to going to the Holy Land in September, in May I was able to go with a group of friends on a walking pilgrimage in North Umbria on the Scottish/English border.  Our final destination was the Holy Island of Lindisfarne.  Castle Beach, along the eastern side of the island on the North Sea, is strewn with round, smooth rocks of all sizes that are perfect for stacking.  There are literally thousands of stone cairns along the stony beach, each one marking someone’s individual creation.  Many are tangible signs of a personal prayer.  It truly is an inspiring, holy location.

Some person or group took the time on a grassy area to make a labyrinth out of the stones (those of you this summer who attended the pot-luck dinner when I made a presentation about my trip will remember the pictures I showed of it).  I said a brief prayer and entered into it.  When I walk a labyrinth I move slowly and patiently toward the center, being mindful of everything I bring with me – who I am, where I have come from in life, my hurts, my joys, my losses, my loves.  You all are a blessed part of what I carry with me as I wind my way to the center. 

At the center of the labyrinth a pilgrim encounters God.  It is a way of coming into God’s presence, or so the theory goes.  The few times I have undertaken this spiritual exercise I stand quietly and wait, trying to let go of what is on my mind in order to be open to whatever might happen.  I don’t know how long I stood in this beautiful seaside setting on a sun-splashed day, but at some point a thought came to me, an insight from beyond I hold to be the still, small voice of God: “I want to know that my life matters to me.”  I want to know that my life matters to me.  Had I been talking aloud it would have left me speechless.  It was as if I had been given a diagnosis for something ailing me spiritually for a long, long time.  After a while I began the slow, deliberate journey out of the labyrinth.  I always use this time to ponder and pray over what I am to do with what I have received.

I know my life matters to a great many people.  My “little hiccups” this have certainly confirmed it.  And I believe God loves me deeply.  So please don’t get me wrong, I am not suicidal, but I came out of the labyrinth with an unsettling awareness I am not sure why my life matter to me.  I have lot of blessings to be sure: people who love me, people who care about me, a vocation I love, a place to serve as a priest I love and know that I am loved, God’s unfailing and unflinching love… I could go on and on.  I know I matter to a great many people, but I am just not sure I matter to me.

I talked about this with maybe a half dozen people or so and learned I am not alone.  It seems many of us locate our “matterness” in others.  “My children need me.”  “My grandchildren need me.”  “People at work depend on me.”  None of this is a bad thing at all.  But maybe, like Job, if all of it was taken away, why would your life matter to you?

I have been living with this question now for several months.  My “health hiccups” have helped me to “see” a few things to which I have been blind.  I never felt like I was going to die, so facing my own mortality has not induced in me a panic-driven desire to live.  Your thoughts and prayers have overwhelmed me.  With all I am and all I have I thank you. 

Here are the two things I thought about early last Sunday morning as a lied in the ER for a third time this month.  First, I hated that you all would come to church, learn I had a setback, and be anxious and worried sick about me.  I just hated putting you through that.  Like the Monty Python movie, I could have lost an arm and all I wanted to do was let you know it was just a slight flesh wound.  And while what I am dealing with is serious – and I am taking it seriously – compared to some of the people we are praying for, I am in a very, very good place health wise.

The other thing I thought about is I want to be dependable.  When you come to church on Sunday your first thought ought to be something like “I wonder how I will meet God this morning” or “I can’t wait to offer up my prayers for myself and those I love”, not “Will Keith be here this morning?” 

I want to know that my life matters to me.  There is still much in this to which I am blind, but like Bartimaeus I am regaining some of the sight I had lost.  My life matters to me because I am privileged beyond anything I can describe or deserve to stand in a place bridging for people the ordinary and the holy.  I am not perfect at it, to be sure, but there is such a thing as amazing grace and I am absolute proof of it.

I always seem to end my sermon with a question and this one may be the most challenging, puzzling, or disturbing one ever.  Yet I think it is profound and significant.  Why does your life matter to you?  If you have a ready and real answer consider yourself blessed.  If you don’t, I invite you to join me in a prayerful journey of discovery.  I invite you to join me in pleading, “Jesus, I want to regain my sight.”  It will not be a one-time prayer, I promise you.  It is more like walking the twisting path of a labyrinth where answers and insights give themselves up only over time.  It is a journey I am willing to walk and to explore with you.

The Need for Recognition

 

I love our bulletin board in the hallway leading into the church – you know, the one where we post newspaper clippings featuring parish members.  The other day I was looking at it and learned we have at least two budding artists in our congregation.  Caroline Webb is pictured with some of the work she created this summer at a camp at the Cultural Arts Center and Margaret Laney Cross is pictured with her painting of James and the Giant Peach, which won best in show award at the North Suffolk Library.  Congratulations to both of you.  We are very proud of you.

I spent some time reflecting on my early experiences of receiving public recognition.  Every week in Sunday School we were sent home with a bible memory verse.  If we could recite it the next Sunday we got a star next to our name on a chart of the class’ students.  That was a kind of recognition.  The Akron Metro Parks had another.  They gave children hiking sticks and for every trail you walked a park ranger gave you a little sticker to put on your staff.  I remember being very proud of the numerous stickers I collected and displayed on my hiking stick. 

Beyond being something that makes us feel good, recognition is a fundamental human need.  Abraham Maslow famously created his hierarchy of needs.  At a most basic level he says we need food, water, shelter, and warmth.  At the next level we need safety, stability, and freedom from fear.  After this we need a sense of belonging and love – family, friends, and perhaps a spouse.  After these basic levels are met, Maslow says we strive for self-esteem, for a knowledge that our life matters.  This includes mastery, achievement, respect, and recognition.  Mother Teresa, who saw a lot of poverty in her life, once said there is more hunger for love and appreciation in this world than there is for bread.   

Think about this for moment.  Once our most basic needs are met, there is something in our human nature craving to be connected with others (the drive to belong) and needs to know we are making a valuable contribute in life (the drive to matter and make a difference).  How powerful is this drive?  Research indicates 43% of employees who quit a job cite lack of recognition as a factor.   Dale Carnegie observed people work for money but go the extra mile for recognition, praise, and rewards.

All of this brings us to this morning’s reading from the Gospel of Mark.  James and John – brothers – come to Jesus with an audacious request.  When Jesus presides in glory they want to sit at his right and left side.  Matthew tells the story a little differently.  He has the boys’ mother making the request.  Luke’s version is even more different for he has all the disciples arguing about who deserves this honor. 

It is understandable why this is on their minds as the group walks to Jerusalem.  Even though Jesus has told them three times he will be killed there, they seem to believe he will lead a messianic uprising, expel the Romans, and reestablish the throne of David.  Given this belief, the disciples essentially are vying for cabinet positions in Jesus’ new administration.  Imagine how crushed they must be not only when their friend is killed but when their vision of glory dies on the cross.

Now you or I, if we were in Jesus’ position, might be offended by the disciple’s blatant request for status.  We might respond, “Who do you think you are?”  But Jesus sees through their inappropriate appeal and perceives something very human in it.  The brothers are asking for recognition.  They want to know they matter to Jesus and have contributed something important to his ministry.  So Jesus does a remarkable thing.  He does not put down James and John, rather he teaches them about what “greatness” looks like in his kingdom.  It is not about sitting in a position of great power and prestige, as they suppose.  It is about being a servant to all.  It is about giving and giving and giving yourself to others. 

Abraham Lincoln famously advised not to worry when you are not recognized, just continue to strive to be worthy of recognition.  I think Jesus would applaud this.  Treat other people the right way.  Look for ways to be helpful.  Use often phrases like “Thank you”, “That is a job well done”, and “You add so much to make this a special place.”  Do more than you are asked or expected to do and do it with a smile on your face and a laugh in your heart.  Do this and you will find others recognize and appreciate who you are and what you do.

Stuff

Many years ago, when I was just starting out and raising young children, I heard a retired bishop give a talk about some of the tasks necessary to retire.  Like many clergy back in the day, he spent his entire career living in church-owned housing.  For he and his wife, the first task of retiring was finding a place to live.  The second task involved downsizing.  They had much more stuff than they could fit into their new home.  Nowhere was this more evident than with the things the bishop kept in his office – again, a church-provided space.  Specifically, he had way more books than he could ever hope to store in his home and truthfully most of them he no longer needed.  Apparently the local library had little use for forty-year-old theology books.  Neither did his seminary.  Eventually he was able to box them up and ship them to a newly forming school in Africa. 

That talk has stayed with me over the years because it reminds me everything I have one day will have to be given away, disposed, or sold.  Somewhere after I bought my current house and outfitted all the rooms I crossed a threshold in life.  I am no longer accumulating stuff, but I have not yet begun the process of letting go.  I am just sitting on it.  Kings and queens are said to possess the throne by sitting on it.  Sometimes I wonder if I am sitting on my possessions or if they are sitting on me.     

Do you know there are nearly 12,000 Starbucks coffee shops in America, there are over 14,000 McDonalds, and almost 32,000 post offices?  Care to guess how many self-storage facilities we have in our country?  Almost 53,000 and growing by 2,000-3,000 a year.  There is over 2.3 billion square feet of storage space – three times the size of Manhattan and equal to seven square feet for every person within our borders.  Now, some of this space is used to keep items while in transition, but 50% of what is stored simply won’t fit into a person’s home, even though the average size of a typical house has grown dramatically since the 1950’s.  We Americans have a lot of stuff, so much in fact, we have nowhere to put it. 

Perhaps we have no better biblical figure with which to identify than the person who approaches Jesus in today’s gospel reading.  We never learn his name, but he is often referred to as “the rich young ruler”, even though the text does not tell us he is rich or young or a ruler.  He asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life.  This, it seems to me, is another great obsession in our country, at least for some.  Who here has not been “evangelized” by a well-meaning person who asks “If you were to die tonight do you know where your soul would go?”  I wonder if the man who approaches Jesus wants to have this ‘heavenly’ question answered so he can be at peace as he gets back to the earthly business of collecting stuff. 

Interestingly, Jesus points him to the Ten Commandments dealing specifically with how one is to treat a neighbor, but not to the ones describing our relationship with God.  The man says he has kept these laws all his life.  “There is one thing you lack,” Jesus says to him, “Go and sell all you have, give the money to the poor, store up for yourself treasures in heaven, and come follow me.”  I wonder if I will ever get to the point where I have done so many good deeds I will need a self-storage space in heaven to keep all the spiritual treasures I have accumulated. 

On hearing this, the text tells us the man is shocked and goes away “grieving” for he has “many possessions.”  The Greek word translated here as grieving literally means ‘gloomy’, ‘overcast’ or ‘clouded over’.  The man’s possessions cloud his vision and he cannot see past them to anything that lies beyond.  They obscure his sight to such a degree he cannot see the Kingdom of God Jesus offers to him.  He loves his possessions so much that they prevent him from knowing the love of God. 

If Jesus invited you to follow him, would you be able?  What would hold you back?  Some of us – especially those with small children – understandably are not able to drop everything on a whim and follow.  But many of us – far too many – are impaired by financial commitments and obligations.  Who will pay your mortgage, your car payments, and your student loans?  Perhaps you have already maxed out a couple of credit cards and can’t afford to take on any more debt.  Maybe you are saving for a boat or a vacation home.  The things we have and the things we want can inhibit us from being the person God is calling us to be.

As I said, I feel very blessed to be at a point in life where I no longer feel the need to accumulate stuff.  It probably has more to do with my age and where I am in life than any kind of spiritual awakening, so it is not something for which I take credit.  But it is something for which I am deeply grateful.  I am better positioned to channel my resources to things that matter and make a difference.  Some time ago, without really trying, I became a tither, giving away at least 10% of what I earn, which is the biblical measure of generosity.  This was hardly possible when I had young children, but now is something I can do without giving it a second thought. 

In a couple of weeks St. Paul’s will ask you to make a financial pledge to support the work of our parish in 2019.  Your Vestry and I appreciate every dollar you give us and we do our best to make it count for something good.  I encourage you to examine where you are in terms of your giving.  The average person gives away 2% of what they make.  Often this is done without any kind of plan or commitment.  Many of us give when we feel motivated to give.  I want to challenge you to stretch yourself.  If you are giving away 2% of your income, can you push it to 2.5%?  If you give away $25 a week, can you make it $40?  Little by little and over time, these sacrifices begin to add up and one day you will find yourself tithing, in that place where God invites you to be in right relationship to your wealth and possessions.  

I don’t know who said it first, but more than one person has said, “I have never met a former tither.”  This simple spiritual discipline becomes a way to live which is consistent with our faith and open to accepting God’s invitation.  Getting there is a part of our life’s journey and with each step you will sense yourself not inheriting eternal life, but living with it here and now.

A Salty Purpose

At one level or another each of us is trying to figure out this ‘life’ thing.  We want to know why we are here and what we are supposed to do.  Every now and then a clue comes our way.  The Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw provides this valuable insight:

This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

Do you have a mighty purpose in life?

I think Jesus would like this question.  He raises it in today’s gospel reading when he makes three statements about salt.  The first is “everyone will be salted with fire,” which scholars say is one of the most enigmatic things Jesus ever uttered.  And while not entirely clear, it seems to be related to animal sacrifice.  Prior to being offered on a fire, an animal carcass was rubbed with salt to draw out the blood.  Once this was accomplished, it was roasted over a fire and offered in sacrifice or served for human consumption.  The salt was useful in this process, but once used, it lost the properties that made it useful.  Hence, the second statement: “How can saltiness be restored?”  The final expression, “Have saltiness in yourselves, and be at peace with one another,” hints at the work we need to do to be in proper, healthy relationship with one another.

Do you have a mighty purpose in life, something at least as useful as what salt does when rubbed on meat and exposed to fire?

On his blogsite, Brandon Phillips offers ten signs you don’t have a mighty purpose, but simply are living life as a feverish selfish little clod:

1.    You mostly talk about yourself and every conversation focuses mainly on you.

2.    You litter.  It is a way of saying the world is your trash can and someone else will take care of it.

3.    You don’t consider the impact of your actions on others or, if you do, you don’t care.  (I call this the “Shopping Cart Blocking the Aisle Principle”) 

4.    You see the world through “you-colored” glasses and consider only how something affects you personally.  

5.    You have an entitlement mentality and expect to reap without sowing.  For example, if you are somehow inconvenienced, your first thought is how you can sue and win money.

6.    You don’t fulfill the responsibilities and commitments you’ve made.

7.    You only see extremes in every idea, person, or organization.

8.    You think anything causing you discomfort is bad and therefore you’re entitled to complain, worry, and moan.

9.    You think people who are different from you are the problem with the world.

10. You give only when you expect to get.

Now, I am confident none of us here this morning can say to any one of these, “Oh, that is me.”  I am also confident each of us knows at least one person who, by this definition, is a feverish selfish little clod.  And sadly, for most of them, once their saltiness is gone it can never be restored. 

Today’s gospel reading begins with what surely is not one of the Apostle John’s shining moments.  He complains to Jesus about a person not in the group who evokes Jesus’ name to cast out demons.  He and the other disciples try to stop the person because “he is not following us.”  The disciples, in fact, are on a roll.  In last week’s reading we learn they are debating amongst themselves who is the greatest. 

For Jesus, who has largely completed his ministry and has set a course for Jerusalem where he knows he will die, this must be very disheartening.  He has invested three years of his life in this group, and now, in the last weeks of his life, they just don’t get it.  He has offered them an expansive vision of what life can be, which he calls the Kingdom of God, but they are still trapped in small, me-centered, provincial thinking. 

Their mindset manifests itself as a competitive spirit, asking who is the most important and fretting over who is getting credit.  No wonder Jesus reactions as strongly as he does, recommending you cut off any body part that causes you to stumble.  The graphic imagery and startling teaching tells us Jesus will have nothing to do with the pettiness of his followers.  He is not interested in cultivating feverish selfish little clods.  He wants salty followers who know how to give themselves to others for the betterment of all.

There is more to George Bernard Shaw’s famous quote.  He offers this as well:  

I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can.

I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live.  I rejoice in life for its own sake.  Life is no “brief candle” for me.  It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.

A mighty purpose.  A splendid torch.  Salting all you touch and do.  Had Brandon Phillips focused on what this looks like rather than on the clod side, perhaps it would have written something like this:

1.    In every conversation strive to learn at least one thing you did not know about the other person.

2.    Make it your goal to leave no wake and no foul residue as you move through life.

3.    As you tend to your business consider how  your actions might make life a little easier for others.  (I call this the “Honor the Turn Signal of the Other Car Principle”) 

4.    Imagine how the world looks though the eyes of another person.  Ask “What blesses this person?” and “What challenges does this person face?”     

5.    Learn how to let go of privilege.

6.    Keep your word and honor your commitments, especially when it is difficult, costly, or inconvenient.

7.    When encountering a new or different idea, person, or organization discern what you have in common and decipher where connections are possible.

8.    Embrace hardship and struggle with good cheer, being grateful for the opportunities it brings for growth, resiliency, and strength.

9.    Aim to understand how people different from you add richness to the tapestry of life.

10. Give and give and give of yourself, expecting nothing in return except for a larger, more generous soul... and then be open to seeing what happens.

Jesus said, “Have salt in yourself.”  Me might take this to mean we should add flavor and zest to the taste of life.  This may not sound like much, but it is indeed a mighty purpose.  Focusing not on what you get but on what you give, not on how you are treated but on how you behave, not on what you are owed but on what you can offer is the essence of a salty life, a mighty purpose, and a splendid torch.  

The Problem with Legalism

A rabbi in the 3^rd century counted all the commandments in the Hebrew Scriptures and determined the number to be mitzvoth — 613.  Of these, 365 are “negative”, telling us what not to do.  Supposedly, it is not coincidental this corresponds with the number of days in a year.  There are 248 “positive” commands prescribing what we are to do, the same number as bones and main organs in the human body.  Following the destruction of the Temple many of the commands can no longer be kept.  74 positive and 194 negative commandments still can be observed.

This may sound like a lot, but it isn’t, at least for some people.  By Jesus’ day, religious leaders have developed an oral tradition of thousands upon thousands of laws describing how to keep the commandments.  Many, with great specificity, deal with how to keep the Sabbath and what is required for a person to be pure and undefiled.  Today’s gospel reading gives us just a hint about the minutia involved. 

Paul Walker, in a book we have been assigned to read in preparation for our pilgrimage to the Holy Land, makes the case that in first century Palestine keeping these traditions has a lot to do with national identity.  Parts of Israel, especially where Jesus lives and carries out his ministry, are much more cosmopolitan than we might imagine.  Observing the traditions is a significant way a person identifies himself or herself as a Jew — “This is who we are and this is what we do.”  Disregarding the traditions is intolerable because it is perceived as a threat to collective identity.  It stirs the same kind of emotion and controversy we find in our day when athletes kneel during the National Anthem.  

At some level, we all want to know what is required of us.  What does it take for me to be a good citizen or a good friend or a good Christian?  It is comforting to have a check list of Do’s and Don’ts to let us know we are doing it the right way.  For some, the check list is a guide, while for others it becomes an obsession.  In fact, following the check list to a T can actually become more important than role it attempts to define.  We have a word for this.  We call it legalism.

Philip Yancey, in his book What’s So Amazing about Grace?, writes about his experience of attending a bible college where things like jewelry, make-up, dancing, bowling, and reading the Sunday paper were frowned upon.  In fact, incoming students were given a sixty-six page rulebook spelling out what was not allowed, complete with biblical references to back up all of it.  It described why a woman’s skirt had to fall below her knees and why a man’s haircut must be above his ears.  In short, it told each student how to be a ‘good Christian’.  Some rejected the rules and left the school.  Still others followed them, but were resentful.  And still others followed the rules and by doing so believed they were special in God’s eyes; not sinners like the girls who wore mini-skirts and the guys with long hair.

Yancey came to discern there are several problems with legalism.  First, it focuses on externals, valuing a person who looks and acts a certain way.  Over time, this emphasis has a tendency to morph from an attempt to please God into an effort to impress others.  Sure, the Pharisees hands were washed spotlessly clean for everyone to see, but more hidden and more important was how they cultivated dark and hateful hearts.  Jesus called on people to be perfect as God is perfect and no amount of external conformity can mask internal corruption and decay.

A second problem with legalism is over time it gives way to extremism.  More and more rules are added and no possible detail is overlooked.  Did you know there are elevators in Israel programmed to stop at every floor on the Sabbath day?  This is done so no person will have to do the ‘work’ of pushing a floor button.  [I read this in Yancey's book.  On Saturday Joe Liberman mentioned it in his eulogy of John McCain]   This kind of extremism may seem silly, but some people take it so darn seriously.

Finally, Yancey is critical of legalism because it focuses on trivialities.  He notes his college cared more about skirt lengths than it did about nuclear war, racism, and the world hunger.  The Pharisees made sure their cups and pots were cleaned the right way, but became enraged when Jesus healed a person on the Sabbath.

Yancey tells the story of Samuel Tuke, a 19^th century English reformer who introduced a new method of treatment for the mentally ill.  At the time, patients routinely were chained to a wall and beaten, in a mistaken belief this punishment would drive out evil spirits.  Tuke, finding this approach barbaric and ineffective, began to teach mentally ill patients how to behave at church and tea.  He even dressed them so they would look like everyone else.  On the outside they appeared and behaved appropriately, but on the inside nothing had changed.  They were still mentally ill and suffering.

Perhaps this is the single biggest problem with legalism.  It requires outer conformity without inner transformation.  As Yancey writes, “It is possible to know the law by heart without knowing the heart of it.”  Jesus turns the tradition of the elders outside in, saying it is not what one does on the outside that defiles, it is who one is on the inside that matters.   

Christianity is a religion of a forgiven and renewed heart.  We invite God’s Spirit to live within us in order to recreate us.  The old is gone and something new begins.  We begin to feel what God feels.  We begin to see what God sees.  We begin to love as God loves.  This is the Kingdom of God as Jesus presents it.  It is not focused exclusively on externals but rather seeks healing and wholeness on the inside.  It does not heap more and more demands upon us, but becomes a burden which is easy and a yoke which is light.  And it does not obsess over trivialities, but rather concerns itself with the things that lead to human flourishing and faithful living.

Lazy Maps

Jesus turns to his disciples and asks, “Do you also wish to go away?”  With this we come to the conclusion of five Sundays focusing of the feeding of the 5,000 and its meaning.  All the people who have been following Jesus, crisscrossing the Sea of Galilee several times, take offense at what he says and leave.  Only the Twelve are remain.

Jesus does not make it easy for the multitude.  His language seems intentionally designed to confound and repulse.  “The one who eats my flesh and drinks my blood will live forever.”  Actually, “eats” is not the most accurate translation.  The verb Jesus uses literally means “to gnaw.”  “The one who gnaws on my flesh…”  The cannibalistic overtones alone are offensive enough, but there is more.  The bible strictly forbids the eating of flesh with its blood still in it because it associates blood with life.  Those who hear Jesus take his words to be blasphemous and an abhorrent violation of God’s commandments.  Sure, Jesus gave them food so they all ate and were satisfied, but even this sign is not enough for them to stomach his teaching.

Do you also wish to go away?

I mentioned a few weeks ago I have been re-reading Scott Peck’s book The Road Less Travelled.  In it he talks about the process of transference:

Transference is that set of ways of perceiving and responding to the world which is developed in childhood and which is usually appropriate to the childhood environment (indeed, often life-saving), but which is inappropriately transferred into the adult world.

He describes a patient who, as a child, was constantly disappointed by his parents.  They forgot his birthday, didn’t follow through on a weekend trip, and never got him a promised bicycle.  Gradually he learned he could not trust his parents and remarkably accepting this realization made his young world a better and safer place for him.  The problem was he transferred this into adulthood, holding to the notion you can’t trust people.  As a result, he could not hold down a steady job and his marriage failed. 

Peck calls an idea like “I can’t trust my parents” and “I can’t trust other people” a ‘map’ by which we navigate life.  There are nearly as many different maps as there are people.  One person’s map may indicate “God will love me no matter what I do” while another’s may state “God will be angry with me if I make a mistake.”  If we are going to pursue what is true about life we must be open to challenge what we believe because the maps we carry can and do become outdated.

Challenge and change can be a very scary proposition.  It is easier to cling to the known, to the tried even if not true, than to set off into unchartered waters.  Peck contends there is only one single impediment to spiritual growth – laziness.  Summarizing his book in the late chapters he writes:

In examining discipline we were considering the laziness of attempting to avoid necessary suffering, or taking the easy way out.  In examining love we were also examining the fact that nonlove is the unwillingness to extend one’s self.  Laziness is love’s opposite.  Spiritual growth is effort.

Peck contends laziness is the original sin residing in each one of us.  Adam and Eve were lazy because they did not challenge the words of the serpent.  Their spiritual growth and health required them to go to God and ask more questions about the command not to eat the forbidden fruit; to test the words of God against the words of the serpent.  Either they were not willing or did not see the value of mustering the energy necessary to question their maps.  Laziness is not about how hard or how little you work.  It is about your willingness to engage or to avoid spiritual growth and health. 

All of this provides a helpful lens through which to ponder today’s reading.  The multitudes following Jesus all around Galilee are operating off outdated maps.  Jesus needs to demonstrate who he is if his words are to be believed, but when he feeds the masses they want to make him their king.  They want to shoehorn him into their map of a messianic political figure sent from God to liberate them from foreign control. 

For four weeks now we have listened to Jesus challenge them with his new vision of the Bread of Life and what he has to offer.  For four weeks now we have sensed they do not get it.  They do not understand this new sacramental thinking and how it can lead to spiritual growth and health.  They are content with sacrificing the flesh and blood of animals.  They cannot conceive of consuming God’s flesh and blood as a means of life and eternal life.  So the walk away offended, disappointed, and… lost in their laziness.

So Jesus turns to his disciples and asks, “Do you also wish to go away?”  Peter, in his most shining moment, answers, “To whom can we go?  You have the words of eternal life.  We have come to believe and know you are the Holy One of God.”  The remaining disciples are open to challenge and willing to do the work required for growth.  The creedal statement we have come “to believe and know you are the Holy One” is interesting.  It is worth noting belief comes before knowledge.  You have got to believe in the process before you experience the results.  You have to put your trust in God before growth can happen.  You have to believe in yourself and your ability to change before change begins to take root.  Or you can just walk away.