St. John's Episcopal Church

Sermon for Sunday, March 28, 2010 (Year C, Palm Sunday)

On this day he entered the holy city of Jerusalem in triumph, and was proclaimed as King of kings by those who spread their garments and branches of palm along his way. (BCP p. 271)

Passion Sunday affords us an overview of Holy Week — a view of Holy Week stripped down to its essentials.  There is a practical reason for this.  Most Christians are unable to attend services during Holy Week.   Without today’s rehearsal of our Lord’s arrest, trial, and execution, one might go directly from Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem to his resurrection.  That would be like reading just the first and last paragraphs of a whodunit — going from, “It was a dark and stormy night…” to “Quietly satisfied, Miss Marple poured herself another cup of tea,” with nothing in between!  For most Christians, then, Holy Week would be a plot-driven story without a plot!  So Passion Sunday fills in some important blanks.

However, in our effort to provide this overview, we tend to rush past Jesus’ arrival in Jerusalem.  We know what happened, of course.  Hollywood shows us everything we need to know in The Greatest Story Ever Told. There’s Max von Sydow on his donkey… there’s the vast crowd hailing him as king… and then it’s on to the temple and those pesky money-changers.  But important questions can get lost in the shuffle.  Was Jesus’ arrival really “triumphant”?  Why did Jesus enter Jerusalem on a donkey?  And what does his arrival mean for those who witnessed it and for us who remember that event two thousand years later?

To begin with, we have to note that the gospel accounts do not agree on one very important detail.  Matthew tells us, “When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’  The crowds were saying, ‘This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.’” (Matt. 21:10-11, emphasis supplied)  John agrees, saying, “the great crowd that had come to the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem” and they were at the gates to greet him, palm branches in hand (John 12:12-13)  So, if you imagine that Jesus entered the Holy City with an escort of thousands, and that the whole of Jerusalem was electrified by his arrival, you may cite Matthew and John in support of your view.

But then consider that 1st century Jerusalem, with an estimated normal population of from 200-500,000 souls, was inundated by pilgrims during the annual Passover festival.  They came from all over the region and from every distant outpost of the Jewish Diaspora.  That flood may have increased the city’s population by half, and most of these people had never even heard of Jesus.  With word-of-mouth being the primary means of communication, how likely is it that the whole town would be electrified by the arrival of some obscure Galilean rabbi and his friends?

Mark and Luke describe a more modest entry.  The group that made the 150 mile pilgrimage from Galilee to Jerusalem included, in addition to Jesus, the twelve male disciples, four or five female disciples, and probably a few others, for a total of perhaps 25-30.  Luke says that when Jesus rides in on a borrowed donkey, he is surrounded by “the whole multitude of the disciples” who loudly call out, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” (Luke 19:37-38, emphasis supplied) and “Hosanna!” (a praise shout which roughly translates as “Save us now, we beseech thee!”).   No doubt other pilgrims join in the fun as this little group makes its way from the Mount of Olives down into the city, and they probably draw the attention of others in the immediate vicinity.  But is this enough to throw the whole town into turmoil?

To strike a rough parallel, imagine that you and 20,000 others are walking to The Joe for the Stanley Cup Playoff, and somewhere off in the distance there is a group of maybe one or two hundred people shouting, “Save us now, we beseech thee!”  Would you pay much attention?  I suspect that most of Jerusalem did not know, much less care, that Jesus and his followers had come to town.  Matthew’s and John’s reports about huge crowds may reflect the importance a later generation of Christians attached to this event.

Next, consider that 1st century Jerusalem was the occupied capital of an oppressed nation.  The eastern Mediterranean had been dominated by Rome for nearly a century, and in the year 6 B.C., about the time of our Lord’s birth, the Jewish homeland had been swallowed up by the Empire.  The Roman Province of Judaea served as a buffer against people living beyond the empire’s eastern border.  For Romans, it was about as far from the political and cultural center of things as one could get.  For a Roman official, Judaea was a hot, dusty, unsophisticated place filled with people who took their religion far too seriously.  That is probably why Judaea did not attract Rome’s best bureaucratic talent.  The current governor, Pontius Pilate, was arrogant and brutal.  He extracted taxes and maintained order with no pretense of a velvet glove.

Passover made Pilate’s task of keeping order even more difficult.  This festival marked the moment when God freed the slaves in Egypt, but now God’s people were little better than slaves of the Roman Empire.  Passover reminded the Jews how much they had lost.  Nationalist feeling and resentment of Rome ran high during the festival, and anti-Roman violence was frequent.  To keep a lid on the Passover situation, Pilate reinforced his Jerusalem garrison.  Riots were ruthlessly suppressed, and crucifixion was the punishment-of-choice for those who defied Roman rule.  For their part, the Jewish priests and aristocrats also wanted to avoid violence, because they were dependent upon Rome’s support for their own authority and affluence.  Public order helped maintain the status quo.

In short, during Passover Jerusalem was a powder keg.  I cannot imagine that Jesus would enter the Holy City in a way sure to cause widespread turmoil and place scores, perhaps even hundreds, of lives at risk.  That would be utterly irresponsible.  On the contrary, I suspect that Jesus’ entry was not triumphal, but intentionally modest.  Moreover, as Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan contend in their book, The Last Week, Jesus planned this event as a demonstration, as a small but carefully crafted message for an important audience.

To understand that message, remember that Jesus spent three years proclaiming the kingdom of God, which he understood to be taking shape in and through his own work.  By healing the sick, feeding the hungry, and teaching people to love one another Jesus hammered away at this key idea.  In Galilee he said: God is doing a new thing!  God is breaking into human history!  God is throwing wide the doors of his banquet hall and scouring the highways and byways for people who will join the great celebration.

Now Jesus intends to proclaim the coming of the kingdom in Jerusalem, at the very heart of his nation and his faith.  To set the stage for this final phase of his ministry, our Lord reaches back some 500 years to the words of the prophet Zechariah.  In a passage rich in messianic symbolism Zechariah had proclaimed the coming of the king of peace, saying,

Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion!  Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!  Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey… and he shall command peace to the nations; his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth. (Zechariah: 9:9-10)

Seated on a borrowed donkey, with his disciples and others waving branches and crying out, “Hosanna!” Jesus proclaims his vision of new Israel, the peaceable kingdom built on the foundation of divine compassion.  But this is not a message some want to hear.  The Pharisees in the crowd demand that Jesus stop his disciples from proclaiming the coming of the king. (Luke 19:39)  Like Jesus, the Pharisees know their Old Testament.  Like Jesus, they have read Zechariah.  They recognize that our Lord is challenging the fundamental assumptions of his religion and society in a way the authorities will not ignore.

But Jesus refuses to back down, because it is to the authorities — to the chief priests and Sadducees, to Israel’s aristocrats, to the great and powerful — that his message is addressed.  These officials are the shepherds who have neglected and abused and abandoned God’s flock.  These are the leaders who will use any base tactic, from betrayal and torture to judicial murder, to protect the status quo.  Jesus wants them to know that a new day — a new and peaceable kingdom — is coming!

That message, first delivered at Jerusalem so long ago, is still fresh and vigorous.  You and I are called to join with our Lord in proclaiming the coming peaceable kingdom of God.  We do that work in a world which hungers for a new day and a new hope.  We address that message especially to the great and powerful who must choose between doing what is easy or what is good.  We make that message a living reality every time we practice love instead of hate, forgiveness instead of contempt, justice instead of oppression, service instead of self-indulgence.  And each time we proclaim that message, by word and deed, the peaceable kingdom comes a bit closer.

In this most Holy Week, and in the months and years beyond, may we walk faithfully in the way of our Lord’s suffering, and share in the triumph of his resurrection.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year C, Palm Sunday: Palm Gospel — Luke 19:28-40  •  At the Procession — Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29  •  Lesson — Isaiah 50:4-9a  •  Gradual — Psalm 31:9-16  •  Epistle — Philippians 2:5-11  •  Passion Gospel — Luke 22:39-23:56

Collect for Palm Sunday:

Almighty and everliving God, in your tender love for the human race you sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and to suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, March 21, 2010 (Year C, Lent 5)

Jesus said… “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” (John 12:8)

Jesus’ comment about the poor always being with us has led to much discussion over the centuries.  When Jesus says, “You always have the poor with you…” some people have concluded that the poor are just a fact of life and their needs are therefore beyond our ability to meet.  And again, when Jesus says, “…but you do not always have me” some have said that our Lord is assigning higher priority to serving him, or more properly his Church, than to serving the poor.  From this perspective Jesus seems to pull us off the hook of personally serving the poor.  We can support the Church and then let the Church do the grunt work.

Perhaps that is why ministry with the poor and needy has been given short shrift in certain American churches over the past few decades.  The Social Gospel movement, with its emphasis on serving those in need, lost favor after World War I.  By the middle of the 20th century many churches were more concerned with orthodox belief about biblical inerrancy and the authority of scripture, sanctity of life, sexuality, marriage, and the role of religion in politics.  In many places caring for the poor and needy has ended up far down on the to-do list.  With a culture war raging, the poor lack pizazz.

I’m not sure what version of the Bible many of my brother and sister Christians are reading, but the one I read suggests that Jesus had a serious hang-up on this business of the poor.  The word poor is used 37 times in the New Testament.  Eighty percent of those uses are in the four gospels, most refer to poor people, and the vast majority are on Jesus’ lips.

For example, in Matthew and Luke, as our Lord begins his public ministry in the synagogue at Nazareth, he declares that God is acting because “the poor have good news preached to them.” (Matt. 11:5, Luke 4:18)  In Mark our Lord expresses his love for the rich man by urging him to “sell what you have, and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven….” (Mark 10:21)  Again in Mark’s gospel Jesus calls attention to what the poor widow has put in the treasury, as compared to the wealthy. (Mark 12:43)  In Luke Jesus declares, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” (Luke 6:20)  And again in Luke, when John the Baptist inquires from prison whether Jesus is “the one who is to come,” Jesus says to the messengers, “Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them.” (Luke 7:19-22)

If you add to this all the healings — because then as now, poverty and sickness go together — then one cannot say that the poor are merely a side issue for Jesus.  Rather, the poor are the primary focus of his public ministry.  It is to the poor in particular that he proclaimed the coming of God’s kingdom.  Therefore, when Jesus responds to Judas in this story of the anointing at Bethany, he is not discounting the poor.  In fact, he is quoting Deuteronomy, from the discussion in chapter 15 of the Sabbatical Year, the seventh year, when debts are supposed to be remitted.  The passage is worth quoting in full, because it provides the context for our Lord’s response to Judas:

If there is among you anyone in need, a member of your community in any of your towns within the land that the Lord your God is giving you, do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbor.  You should rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be.  Be careful that you do not entertain a mean thought, thinking, “The seventh year, the year of remission, is near,” and therefore view your needy neighbor with hostility and give nothing; your neighbor might cry to the Lord against you, and you would incur guilt.  Give liberally and be ungrudging when you do so, for on this account the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in all that you undertake.  Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.” (Deut. 15:7-11, emphasis added)

In the story of the anointing, Mary, being spiritually insightful, anticipates our Lord’s death and burial by anointing him with costly ointment.  Judas, being spiritually blind, dismisses her prophetic act with an offhand comment about tossing some money at the poor.  I think what Jesus says in response is: “You always have the poor with you [and therefore your duty to them is unceasing], but you do not always have me [to show you how to fulfill your duty to the poor].  Judas is hard-hearted, tight-fisted, and entertains mean thoughts about Mary and about the poor — all of which God warns against in Deuteronomy.  But what Jesus urges upon those who were listening at Bethany — and urges upon us today — is that we give liberally and be ungrudging when we do so, for on this account the Lord will bless us in all that we undertake.

This seems to me a good time to open our hands toward Haiti.  I realize that many of us made donations in the wake of the January 12th earthquake.  I’m sure those immediate contributions have been and still are a great blessing to the people of Haiti — where the death toll is now close to a quarter million souls.  The generosity of many nations and people around the world — including many sitting in this room today — has gone a long way toward funding the initial response to this crisis.

However, I am struck by how quickly a major catastrophe fades from view.  Haiti is rapidly becoming old news, in much the same way New Orleans and the Gulf Coast became old news after the flood waters receded and the TV crews went home.  In fact, four and a half years after Hurricane Katrina, people are still rebuilding their homes and lives.  Last month friends of mine spent a week in Mississippi, doing what volunteers have done since August 2005.  Clearly, it takes a long time to recover from a major natural disaster, even in America where all the resources at our fingertips.

Unlike America’s Gulf Coast, Haiti has nothing at its fingertips.  Among the nations of the earth, Haiti is the bottom of the barrel.  It was the poorest of the poor before January 12th, and now is in even worse shape.  The United Nations estimates that rebuilding the country will require $11.5 billion over three years — and I suspect the likelihood of getting anything close to that amount is very slim.

One measure of the need is the fact that tens of thousands of Haitians are now living in temporary camps, often in shelters consisting of little more than a plastic tarp.  The rainy season has begun, and in ten weeks the hurricane season will be upon us.  Many of these temporary camps will soon become mud wallows.  Outbreaks of disease in the camps will simply add to the death toll.  So yes, as Jesus might say, the poor are with us — in their tens of thousands, in Haiti.

Another measure of Haiti’s need is its school system.  The nation is so poor that prior to the earthquake the government operated very few schools.  Rather, the educational system has been dominated by for-profit schools operating in storefronts and charging steep fees.  According to the Inter-American Development Bank, only one in ten Haitian teachers was a qualified educator, and one third of all teachers had themselves not completed the 9th grade.  The earthquake damaged or destroyed 80% of the schools in the quake zone, and killed 700 teachers and 4,000 students.  Haiti’s schools remain shut down today.  One result is that Haiti’s children, or at least those who could afford to attend school, no longer receive a noon meal, which was often their primary source of daily nutrition.  So yes, as Jesus might say, the poor are with us — in their tens of thousands, in Haiti.

The situation is truly awful.  But it is not without hope. If you want to know a bit more, please attend the Mission and Outreach Committee’s forum this morning in the Guild Room.  We will talk about the outreach work going on here at St. John’s, and about opportunities to assist in Haiti.

One good way to help is through Episcopal Relief and Development, the disaster response arm of The Episcopal Church.  As you may know, ERD responds to situations both at home and abroad.  It channels its assistance through local Episcopal or Anglican dioceses — in this case the Diocese of Haiti.  To date ERD has provided food, water, vehicles for transporting supplies, fuel for those vehicles, camping equipment for use as shelter, and medical supplies.  The agency reports that it is working to expand the Diocese of Haiti’s capacity to help 25,000 survivors at 60 mission sites in eight localities.

As it happens, prior to the earthquake ERD helped the Diocese put together a network of 28 community development workers who, among other things, were trained in disaster management.  These people have now completed disaster assessments in their own communities, and the data they have collected will help ERD and the Diocese set goals and priorities for relief and recovery efforts in the months ahead.

Yes, as Jesus might say, the poor are with us always, and our obligation to serve is constant.  Moreover, in his gospel Jesus teaches us how to fulfill our duty: just keep at it! In this light let me suggest that you consider making a donation to Episcopal Relief and Development, earmarked for Haiti.  In fact, I ask that you join me in making a monthly donation for the next several months, so that ERD will have the funds it needs to keep its work going.  While the amount one gives is important, I suspect that the cash flow — the continuing availability of funds, long after Haiti has become old news — is even more important.

By opening our hand to Haiti, and by being liberal and ungrudging when we do so, we can live up to our ongoing responsibility for the poor and, like our Lord, proclaim the coming of the kingdom.  In this, and in all that we undertake, may God bless us.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year C, Lent 5: Lesson — Isaiah 43:16-21  •  Gradual — Psalm 126  •  Epistle — Philippians 3:4b-14  •  Gospel — John 12:1-8

Collect for Lent 5:

Almighty God, you alone can bring into order the unruly wills and affections of sinners: Grant your people grace to love what you command and desire what you promise; that, among the swift and varied changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, March 14, 2010 (Year C, Lent 4)

Then the father said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.  But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours… was lost and has been found.” (Luke 15:31)

As those who attend our Monday Bible Study know so well, the Book of Genesis is a treasure trove of information about God and humankind and how well or badly we and our Creator get along.  It is also the story of one family which is given the privilege of carrying forward, from one generation to the next, the promise of a special relationship with God.

One might assume that a family so blessed would be, like Caesar’s wife, above reproach.  In fact, this family is so awash in dysfunctional characters and outright chicanery that, by comparison, J.R. Ewing and his Southfork family look rather prosaic.  For example, Abraham, the first to receive God’s promise, has the moxie to bargain with the Lord over the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah, but then meekly submits to Sarah’s demand that he drive out his firstborn son Ishmael, and later agrees to God’s outrageous request that he sacrifice his beloved second son Isaac.

Again, warned that Sodom is about to be destroyed, Abraham’s nephew Lot loiters about and has to be literally dragged by the hand out of harm’s way.  Lot’s wife can’t follow directions any better and ends up a pillar of salt.  With his mother’s help, Jacob cons his elder brother Esau out of his birthright, and then tricks his elderly, blind father Isaac into giving him Esau’s blessing.  Jacob himself is tricked into marrying both of Laban’s daughters.  Jacob’s sons sell their brother Joseph into slavery and lie to their father about Joseph’s fate.  Later, when he has become Pharaoh’s right-hand man, Joseph gets his pay-back by manipulating his starving brothers.  What a twisted family tree!

And presiding over this multi-generational mess is God, who (to be perfectly frank) doesn’t quite measure up — certainly not to the expectations of those who imagine God to be the cosmic disciplinarian in control of everything.  The Almighty seems more like a teacher who cannot keep discipline in his or her classroom.

Something tells me that Jesus had Genesis in mind when he told the Parable of the Prodigal Son.  The family in the parable is just as dysfunctional as the family in Genesis, and the underlying message is quite similar in both the Genesis stories and the tale of the Prodigal Son.

A little background might be helpful here.  In an agrarian society like that of the Holy Land in Jesus’ day, farming and animal husbandry are the primary means of supporting oneself and one’s family, and land is the main form of wealth.  Land is passed down from father to first-born son upon the death of the father, thereby guaranteeing that elderly parents are supported by their children, and that the family’s wealth is kept intact for the benefit of succeeding generations.  Land also establishes the family’s place and status in the community.  To be without land — as Joseph and Mary and Jesus apparently are — is to be near the bottom of the socio-economic ladder.

With this in mind, we can assume that those who first heard this story of the Prodigal Son — people who themselves were members of an agrarian society — would have found much of this tale outrageously offensive.  For instance, when the Prodigal goes to his father and demands “the share of the property that will belong to me,” (Luke 15:12) this young man dishonors his father by treating him as if he were already dead.  His “dissolute living” in “a distant country” (v. 13) is not only morally improper, but involves giving his (and therefore a portion of his family’s) wealth into the hands of Gentiles.  Eventually, the son becomes no better than a Gentile, because he hires himself out to a pig farmer.  Finally, hunger drives this wastrel back home where the best he can expect is to be a slave in his own house.

If the Prodigal’s behavior is contemptible, what must that original audience have thought of the Prodigal’s father?  This man received his land as a precious inheritance from his own father, with the expectation that he will eventually hand it on to his elder son.  Instead, the father divides his family’s property — which probably means he sells off some of the family’s land, possibly to Gentiles — in order to accommodate the improper demand of a willful and ungrateful child.  By doing so the father fails to maintain discipline and thus places his and his family’s future in jeopardy.  This madness is only compounded when the father welcomes back his son so warmly, waving aside the boy’s carefully rehearsed apology and ordering up a celebration.

To Jesus’ first audience, the father’s behavior must have seemed at least as outrageous as that of the Prodigal.  He has failed in his duty as a proper father.  He has jeopardized his family’s place in the community.  So, the angry protest of the elder brother — who has been unfailingly respectful, never disobedient, laboring like a slave, in short, everything that his younger sibling is not — indeed, this man’s protest must have seemed altogether appropriate, and long overdue.

Many of us would feel the same way.  Perhaps in your family or among your friends you have watched in dismay as a child gone out of control sucks up parental time and energy, and lays waste to the family’s financial resources.  You can hardly blame the other children for being resentful, because their futures are being compromised by the acting-out of their sibling.  Yes, a mother’s or father’s love is powerful, but common sense says there has to be a limit.  Common sense says we live in a world of scarce resources.  Common sense says that what an undeserving sibling gets comes at the expense of the other, more deserving children.

Sometimes in this world the other children, feeling threatened, decide to protect their own position.  I suggest that America’s handling of Chinese immigration is a case in point.  The Gold Rush of 1848 brought an influx of Chinese to work in the mines.  After a few years, when the flow of gold dwindled, white Americans began to see these Chinese as competitors for jobs, and the Chinese were forced out of the mines.  In the 1860s the Central Pacific Railroad brought in large numbers of Chinese workers to help build the railway network.  This led to opposition from labor unions, newspaper editors, and even church leaders, who warned that “the yellow peril” was placing America’s economy and security at risk.

Congress responded in 1882 with the Chinese Exclusion Act, the only law in U.S. history to prohibit immigration by a specific racial group.  This legislation excluded unskilled laborers, prohibited Chinese from obtaining American citizenship, outlawed marriage between Chinese men and Caucasian women, and made reentry into the U.S. so difficult that many Chinese could not reunite with the wives and families they had left back home in China.

In 1895 the Supreme Court barred challenges to the Exclusion Law.  The law was renewed in 1888, 1892, and 1902, and in 1924 was extended to include other Asians.  It was only in 1943 — just two years before my birth! — that the Chinese Exclusion Act was repealed, but an annual quota of only 105 Chinese immigrants was imposed from then until 1965.  Chinese began coming to the U.S. in significant numbers only in the 1980s.

The arguments in favor of these restrictions on Chinese immigration — and more recently, arguments about Hispanic immigration — are essentially those of the elder brother in the parable: “Common sense says we live in a world of scarce resources.  I am deserving, while my younger sibling is not.  Whatever he gets, I necessarily lose.”

Jesus is not heedless of the problem of scarce resources.  His insistence that the better-off must take responsibility for the less-well-off makes this abundantly clear.  However, the Parable of the Prodigal Son is about the divine economy, in which resources are unlimited, and about how this reality ought to shape our thinking about the world we live in.

Too often, we think that God ought to be like a responsible human father, rewarding the children who are dutiful and loyal, and meting out harsh discipline to those who wander off into a far country and squander their share of divine grace in dissolute living.  If one of these rascals should come limping home, full of remorse and hungry for forgiveness, he or she should be treated like a slave, or perhaps even excluded from the family — certainly not welcomed home with a robe, a ring, and a great celebration.  Indeed, some may question whether a God who is so careless of divine resources, and so unmindful of the sensibilities of the faithful, deserves respect.  Common sense asks, “What good is a God who cannot maintain discipline in the classroom?”  Thus do we impose the assumptions of this world on the divine economy.

But Jesus knows that his Father commands an unlimited supply of grace, and bestows his loving-kindness with abandon.  When God gives away part of his “wealth” to the “less-deserving,” the “more-deserving” lose nothing, for they already have everything that God has to offer.  If this were not so, would the rebellious Hebrews have been given manna to sustain them on that forty year journey in the desert?  If this were not so, would God have sent his servants the prophets to reclaim his people when they ran after false gods and abused their neighbors?  If this were not so, would God have restored the fortunes of Zion after the exile in Babylon?  And if this were not so, would God have offered his Son as a sacrifice on the cross?  In other words, if grace really is in short supply — as common sense so clearly indicates — then you and I would have run through our share a long time ago!

We have to remember that common sense does not dictate divine action!  What Jesus wants us to know is that God’s love for his family, however dysfunctional we may be, is without limit.  God’s passionate desire to be reconciled with his children — to be reconciled with us! — is constant.  God has given us the freedom to make a mess of our lives, even if by doing so the Father appears derelict in his duty and becomes an object of contempt.  Moreover, God has assured us that if we simply pull ourselves out of the mud and go back home, hungry for reconciliation, the Father will see us at a distance and forgive us even before we can express our regret and beg divine mercy.  Then there will be rejoicing in heaven, because the one who was dead is now alive, and the one who was lost has been found!  This is the “uncommon sense” by which God operates.

But Jesus takes this a step further.  He asks us to consider how we will live.  He asks how we will treat our brothers and sisters who happen to arrive home a few hours, or a few days, or a few years after we do.  “Uncommon sense” makes it clear God will throw a party for the late-comers.  Will we stand outside and sulk?  Will we begrudge our siblings the forgiveness we ourselves have so recently received?  Will we pass some kind of exclusion act to protect our interests against those who offend us?

Or will we respect what “uncommon sense” tells us — that we are all one family under one Father?  And knowing this, will we become ambassadors for Christ, carrying his message of hospitality, justice, and reconciliation to all who will listen?

By continuing to keep a holy Lent, may we prepare to celebrate once again the fulfillment of the promise given to Abraham and his descendants forever.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year C, Lent 4: Lesson — Joshua 5:9-12  •  Gradual — Psalm 32  •  Epistle — 2 Corinthians 5:16-21  •  Gospel Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Collect for Lent 4:

Gracious Father, whose blessed Son Jesus Christ came down from heaven to be the true bread which gives life to the world: Evermore give us this bread, that he may live in us, and we in him; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, March 7, 2010 (Year C, Lent 3)

“Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it.” (Luke 13:8)

From what we read in the New Testament, one might conclude that Jesus didn’t like figs and fig trees.  The references all seem rather negative.  This morning’s gospel includes the parable of the Barren Fig Tree, a story only Luke tells.  Matthew (24:32-35), Mark (13:28-31), and Luke (21:29-33) all have the Lesson of the Fig Tree, in which Jesus says that the leafing out of the fig signals the coming of summer, just as certain signs will indicate the coming of the apocalypse and the kingdom of God.  And Mark (11:12-14, 20-24) and Matthew (21:18-22) have the story of Jesus cursing a fig tree.  All these stories are pretty grim.

So, does Jesus have it “in” for fig trees?  I doubt it.  The gospels don’t provide a full reflection of Jesus’ feelings about figs or many other subjects, such as divorce and remarriage (Matt. 5:32; Mark 10:12; Luke 16:18) or “rendering unto Caesar” (Matt. 22:21; Mark 12:17; Luke 20:25).  The gospels are statements of faith in Jesus Christ.  They tell us what we must know about our Lord; they do not tell us everything we would like to know.

However, we can assume that Jesus was very familiar with, and enjoyed the fruits of, fiscus carica, better known as the common fig.  This shrub or small tree, growing 20-30 feet in height, with smooth gray bark and distinctive leaves, is native to the eastern Mediterranean, Iran, and northern India.  It is almost certainly one of the first plants ever cultivated by human beings.  Archaeological evidence indicates that the fig was domesticated more than 9,000 years before Christ, and before the cultivation of wheat, barley, and legumes.  Some consider it the first clear example we have of agriculture.

Our early ancestors who sampled the fruit undoubtedly figured out what science has confirmed — that figs are not only tasty, but good for you.  Dried figs are an excellent source of fiber, vitamin K, calcium, magnesium, potassium, and other essential minerals.  Figs became a major part of the diet where grown, and when dried, they were a valuable trade good.

Moreover, the fig has the distinction of being the first plant specifically mentioned in Holy Scripture.  When Adam and Eve recognize they are naked and are afraid to stand starkers before God, they fashion coverings made from fig leaves.  Medieval painters carried on this tradition, and today we speak of using a “fig leaf” to cover up something embarrassing.

Scripture is rich in fig symbolism and metaphor.  In Deuteronomy we read that “the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land… a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates… where you will lack nothing….” (Deut. 8:7-9)  So figs are symbolic of abundance.  But what the Lord gives, the Lord can take away.  In Amos we read, “‘I smote you with blight and mildew; I laid waste your gardens and your vineyards; your fig trees and your olive trees the locust devoured; yet you did not return to me,’ says the Lord.” (Amos 4:9)  Figs may also symbolize deprivation.

Grape vines and fig trees are frequently paired in scripture, so we can assume that farmers often grew both in close proximity.  For example, the author of the First Book of Kings notes that during “Solomon’s lifetime Judah and Israel lived in safety, from Dan even to Beersheba, all of them under their vines and fig trees.” (1 Kings 4:25)  This image of safety and security is repeated by the prophet Micah who predicts that those who are faithful “shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree, and none shall make them afraid….” (Micah 4:4)

However, not all figs are created equal.  Fig trees typically bear two crops each year.  The first, on the previous year’s shoots, are not so good.  The main crop, which develops on the current year’s shoots, is superior in quantity and quality.  Thus the prophet Hosea says of those who whore after the false god Baal, “Like grapes in the wilderness I found Israel.  Like the first fruits on the fig tree, in its first season, I saw your fathers… [they] became detestable like the thing they loved [that is, Baal].” (Hosea 9:10)

Perhaps the fig tree’s habit of producing two crops, one superior to the other, is the origin of Jeremiah’s striking metaphor of the two baskets of figs.  This comes from the time of the Babylonian Captivity.  In 598 B.C. Nebuchadrezzar II, king of Babylon, conquered Jerusalem, plundered the city and temple, and took into captivity King Jeconiah of Judah, many of Jerusalem’s leading citizens, and some 10,000 others.  Nebuchadrezzar then appointed Zedakiah, Jeconiah’s uncle, as a client king to rule over what was left of Judah.  However, the exiled Jews never accepted the puppet Zedakiah as their true king.  In exile, then, the prophet Jeremiah reports having a vision of two baskets of figs, one good and one bad.  The good figs are the faithful Jews languishing in exile in Babylon, while the bad figs are Zedekiah, his court, and those Jews who remain in Judah but do not follow the Lord’s ways. (Jer. 24:4-9)

It would appear, then, that when Jesus speaks of a fig tree which bears no fruit, he is intentionally tapping into a rich range of associations for his listeners.  These are people for whom figs are a major part of their diet and livelihood.  Figs are also a potent religious symbol, sometimes of God’s gift of abundance, peace, and security, and sometimes of the loss of God’s favor because of humankind’s transgressions.

Still, having said all this, the meaning of this parable of the Barren Fig Tree is not easily discerned.  What is it that Jesus wants his listeners — and us — to understand about this tree which gets a stay of execution?  We can see that the vineyard owner is impatient.  After three seasons without a crop, he is frustrated.  So he instructs the gardener to cut down the tree.  But the gardener pleads with him, saying,  “Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it.  If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.” (Luke 13:6-9)

This sounds to me like a parable about neglect.  We know that our own vegetable gardens don’t grow well without weeding and fertilizing.  Perhaps this fig tree has been neglected, and the gardener is saying that some additional effort will produce a good harvest.  Perhaps Jesus tells this parable so that his listeners will see that the gardeners in the Lord’s vineyard — the Pharisees and Sadducees — have been neglectful of their responsibility for God’s people, and that proper care by a dedicated gardener will result in the people bearing good fruit.  Or perhaps the people themselves have been negligent, and must work harder.

Neglect — the failure to take proper care of something — is a common failing in so many areas of life, and its results are rarely helpful.  One memorable example of negligence drawn from our common political life is a proposal in the late 1960s by Daniel Patrick Moynihan, then serving as urban affairs advisor to President Nixon, that the issue of race could benefit from a period of “benign neglect” in order to allow racial tensions to ease after the struggle over civil rights in the 1950s and early ‘60s.  About that time a Rand Institute study found that most of the fires in the South Bronx and Harlem neighborhoods of New York City resulted from arson.  Moynihan apparently felt that arson was an unavoidable “pathology” characteristic of impoverished urban areas, and recommended that fire departments not waste their resources trying to fight arson — in short, they should practice “benign neglect.”  Unfortunately, further analysis of the Rand Institute data failed to show that arson fires occurred more often in the South Bronx and Harlem, populated predominantly by African-Americans, than in wealthier, more Caucasian neighborhoods of New York City.  Thus Moynihan’s term “benign neglect” became a catch phrase for government abandonment of urban areas and their minority residents.

Another example of neglect cropped up in the February 21st edition of the New York Times Book Review. The book in question is The Death of American Virtue, by law professor Ken Gormley.  It deals with the 5-year investigation of Bill Clinton, first for financial wrongdoing, and then for extramarital adventures; his impeachment by the House of Representatives in 1998; and his trial before the Senate in 1999.  Reflecting on this memorable period, reviewer Richard Berke says: “In today’s world of suicide bombers and a ravaged economy, [the Clinton impeachment] seems not merely frivolous, but ludicrous.  And it’s especially disconcerting to think that while so many were preoccupied by [the impeachment], Osama bin Laden was most likely preoccupied with attacking the United States.” (NYT Book Review, 2/21/10, p. 10)

In my view, Berke makes a valid point.  When our national political discourse degenerates into something like a food fight in the school cafeteria, important public business, and even our national security, is neglected.  We have been in a period of hyper-partisanship for at least 15 years, and probably longer.  Both political parties bear responsibility.  And I am not convinced that our elected representatives in Washington really care, or are prepared to do something about it.  Such neglect can be very costly.

Neglect is certainly not confined to the realm of politics.  During my time as interim in the churches at Grosse Ile and Romeo, I saw credible research which indicated that students in these very affluent communities had significantly more likelihood of using drugs than students in less wealthy school systems.  The reason was quite simple: in general, Grosse Ile and Romeo students had more money to spend than their poorer peers, and quite a few spent their “discretionary income” on drugs.  I’m sure the parents of these students thought they were doing their children a favor by giving them extra spending money, and that they were honoring their children’s autonomy by not inquiring too closely how they spent all that cash.  If someone characterized their behavior as neglectful, I’m sure these parents would have been deeply offended.  But as Jesus says, fig trees require attention, and even some manure, if they are to be healthy and productive.  So do children.

And, of course, we may neglect our spiritual lives.  The Litany of Penitence in our Ash Wednesday service — which makes good reading at any time during Lent — offers us a whole vineyard full of neglected fig trees.  This prayer reminds us that we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves… have not forgiven others as we have been forgiven… have yielded to our self-indulgent appetites and ways while exploiting other people… have envied those more fortunate than ourselves… and have been negligent in prayer and worship.  The list goes on and on, so much so that we may feel God is being unfair, too critical, too unwilling to provide us …a fig leaf!

But Lent is a time for honesty — a time to be honest with ourselves and honest to God.  God knows our sins and shortcomings far better than we do.  God sees when we turn a blind eye.  God wants good fruit from us, and desires only that we recognize that the tree won’t produce figs without some digging, and a bit of manure, provided by attentive gardeners.

Let us remember Paul’s words to the Corinthians: “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.” (1 Cor. 10:13)  The Lord does not demand more than we can offer.  And what he does demand will make us stronger in faith, better stewards of his vineyard, and more grateful recipients of his abundant grace.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year C, Lent 3: Lesson — Exodus 3:1-15  •  Gradual — Psalm 63:1-8  •  Epistle — 1 Corinthians 10:1-13  •  Gospel — Luke 13:1-9

Collect for Lent 3:

Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.