Sermon: Let me see again (October 24, 2021)

 Full sermon can be found HERE (right at the beginning!).

Pentecost 22B/Lectionary 30
October 24, 2021
Mark 10:46-52

INTRODUCTION

I wanted to share with you a bit about the structure of Mark’s Gospel, because it matters for today’s Gospel story. This Gospel is sort of in two acts, with a hinge in the middle. The first half, the first 7 chapters, is all about healing and teaching. The last six chapters are the Passion story, which for Mark is the point of all of this. And in the middle, we get these three chapters, 8-10, which are really at the heart of saying who Jesus is. These three chapters include Jesus’ three passion predictions, and several difficult teachings about discipleship, which the disciples misunderstand every time. We’ve been working through these chapters the past 6 weeks or so.

Bookending this centerpiece, are two stories in which Jesus heals a blind man. In the first, it’s a bit of a false start (the guy says, “I see people, but they look like trees walking.”). In contrast, the second, which we’ll hear today, Bartimaeus immediately gets it and springs up to follow Jesus. Immediately following this story, Jesus will walk triumphantly into Jerusalem, as Mark begins telling the story of Jesus’ Passion. 

Though recovery from blindness can be a problematic metaphor, it is also a powerful one. The point of these bookending stories is that Jesus has, over these weeks, brought clarity to his mission and to the role of discipleship. And we will see today, not only in the story of Bartimaeus but in all of our readings, that such clarity brings restoration, renewal, understanding, healing, and hope. 

Blind Bartimaeus hears Jesus coming – as you listen today, listen for Jesus’ hope and renewal for you. Restored Bartimaeus springs up to follow Jesus – as you listen today, consider how you will approach Jesus. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Fun fact about today’s Gospel story: many Lutherans hardly ever hear it in worship because this lectionary day and this set of texts usually fall on Reformation Day, and so we swap out these texts for the appointed texts for Reformation instead. Consequently, in 10 years I have never preached on it, and you’ve likely not heard it. And that’s too bad, because, my goodness, what a rich story this is! 

Let’s walk through it, I’ll show you. First of all, Bartimaeus’s name. That he is named at all is remarkable; in fact, of all the people Jesus heals in Mark, he is the only one who is named. But just in case we missed that fact, Mark tells us twice what his name is: Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus. The Aramaic prefix, “bar,” means “son of.” Hence, Bar-Timaeus. In other words: I am saying something important by telling you this guy’s name – so pay attention!

What is that important thing, you ask? There are lots of possibilities, but this is the one I find especially intriguing. It’s laid out in Gordon Lathrop’s book, Holy Ground: A Liturgical Cosmology, if you want to read more. Now, if you know your Greek philosophy, you know that Plato wrote a work called Timaeus, in which he describes his understanding of cosmology, how the world began, how life began. It is still one of the most influential works of philosophical cosmology, and in the first century, any educated person would have read it. The Timaeus even played a role in formulations of the Nicene Creed in the 4th century. Now here we have a man named, “Son of Timaeus,” son of Platonic philosophical cosmology, a philosophy that claims to describe life. And yet, this man is blind – often used as a metaphor for lacking understand – and he is a beggar, one who lacks, who does not enjoy the fullness of life. And Bartimaeus knows it: when he hears Jesus coming, he calls out to him, “Have mercy on me!” His life is not full. He is lamenting. 

In Plato’s Timaeus, such a lament goes unanswered. For Plato, this is simply the way things are. Some people see, and get it (namely, educated, upper class men). In fact, Timaeus says that the blind man is incapable of such sophisticated thought as philosophy. And some (like, everyone else) just can’t see, and they don’t get it. (Quick aside to say, for good measure: this is a problematic, ableist, classist view. Someone who cannot see can certainly enjoy fullness of life, and someone with sight is not in any way better than someone without. Similarly, people of any class or gender are equally valuable in the eyes of God and hopefully in the eyes of all God’s children. I’m sure you know that. Just making sure.) Anyway…

So, here sits Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus, calling out for help, lamenting. He is blind and a beggar, and has been taught by prevailing philosophy that there is no hope, no life for him beyond what he currently experiences. Yet despite his blindness, he sees, something different in Jesus. And so he calls out. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” It is a lament he has called before, and heard no answer. But before, he was not calling to Jesus, the true source of all life. And this is what he recognizes in his lament when he says, “Jesus, son of David!” Bar-timaeus is the son of Timaeus, but Jesus is the son of David, the one who has been promised by the prophets to come from David’s messianic line, the conquering king, the Messiah! The one who can save me – Jesus! Those nearby shush him, because this is a politically charged statement and Romans could be in earshot. You see, to imply Jesus is the Davidic Messiah they’ve been waiting for is to say that he will overturn Roman rule. That’s the sort of thing that can get a guy killed. But Bartimaeus will not be shushed. He calls out all the louder, insistent that this giver of life, this savior, will finally hear his lament and show him the way to life.

When Jesus bids him to come near, something remarkable happens. Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus, throws off his cloak. A cloak is the garment of philosophy – for Bartimaeus, it is the garment symbolic of that which has not allotted him the life he craves. Lathrop suggests that in casting off his cloak, he is casting aside his philosopher’s robe, that way of life that was not bringing life. Now freed from that burden, Bartimaeus springs up, and comes eagerly before Jesus completely bared and ready to receive Jesus’ teachings and his grace. 

Jesus then asks him the same question he had only just before asked James and John: “What do you want me to do for you?” James and John had asked to sit at his right hand and his left in his glory. But Bartimaeus does not ask for glory or power. He asks for life. “Teacher,” he says, identifying his new allegiance, “Teacher, let me see again.” 

I am so taken by this exchange. Any time Jesus asks this question, “What do you want me to do for you?” I am drawn into wondering: how would I answer that? What indeed is my deepest longing? It can be difficult to name, I know! Occasionally I will go through the church directory and call people and say, “Hey I’m thinking about you this week, and wondered if there is something I can be praying for you?” I usually get a list of people they are praying for – “Yes, my sister is having surgery, my kid is struggling,” etc. But when I say, “I’m happy to pray for them, but what can I pray for you?” people say, “Oh I’m fine.” We are not always in tune with our own needs, our deepest longings, or, we’re not willing to share them. Or, we are more focused on how others need to change, rather than how we need God’s grace. And yet Jesus asks us to name them. He “stands still,” Mark tells us, and listens, ready to hear the desires of our hearts. Are we prepared to share them?

Bartimaeus is. He has had plenty of time to sit there on the side of the road on the edge of Jericho, thinking about what he lacks, what he desires. And what he desires is not merely sight. He longs for meaning, for insight, for understanding. He desires reconnection, belonging, and dignity. “Teacher,” he says, “Let me see again.” Let me find the way to life, the way that you offer. Bring me to life again.

Once restored, Bartimaeus follows Jesus on the way. But the narrative location of this story is crucial, for the very next thing that happens is Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. He enters the last week of his life, and his march toward the cross. And Bartimaeus follows him, follows him along the way that leads through death but ultimately to life. There is scholarship that links Bartimaeus to the unnamed man Jesus encounters as he carries his cross to Golgotha, who runs away naked (it’s a character only Mark includes), and then also to the man who is waiting for the women in the empty tomb, who is now wearing a white robe, the traditional baptismal garment. Could it be that Bartimaeus saw and walked the life of discipleship, the one Jesus’ own disciples couldn’t quite grasp, literally walked alongside him to the cross, and then having witnessed it, traded in his beggar’s cloak, his philosopher’s robe, for a baptismal garment, so that he might walk in newness of life, and be the first to announce the resurrection? 

And what about us? Are we able to cast aside our cloaks – those beliefs and ways of understanding the world and our relationships and ourselves in the world, ways that we thought were serving us, but really they are draining us of life? Are we able to cast them aside, to bare ourselves to Jesus, and to articulate our deepest longings? Are we prepared to spring into a new way of living, putting aside the ways of the world to follow in the way Christ has laid out, the way that leads to death, yes, but ultimately brings us to life? Can we pray, in earnest, “Teacher, let me see again,” and then truly look through the new eyes God gives us? Are we ready to see again?

Let us pray… God of life, we often fall victim to the ways of the world that would rob us of life. Turn our ears toward you so that we would hear you coming, and, casting off our cloaks, would share with you our heart’s desire, and follow in your way. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: God's winding path (Oct 17, 2021)

Full service can be viewed HERE. 

 Pentecost 21B
October 17, 2021
Mark 10:35-45

INTRODUCTION

For the past few weeks, we have been following Jesus on his journey to Jerusalem – a journey which he knows, and we know, will culminate with suffering and death on the cross. All along this journey, Jesus has been offering some very difficult teachings, to which we have been privy over the past month or so of Sundays. Teachings like, sell everything you own and give it to the poor, and cut off your limbs if they cause you to stumble, and be prepared to leave everything, even your families, and some tough teachings on divorce. Week after week, we’ve been squirming in our seats! Week after week we have been confronted with how difficult it is to be a disciple of Christ!

This week is no exception. Directly before this passage, Jesus has predicted his suffering and death on the cross for a third time, and then we will see James and John respond by completely missing the point (for the third time), and asking Jesus if they can sit by his side in his glory. Little do they know what they are asking! And so Jesus will put them in their place, telling them that his glory looks a lot less like what the world says power is, and a lot more like serving others. 

Our first two readings will set this up for us, giving us a glimpse of what it means for Jesus to be an obedient servant of God. All of these readings compel us to ask ourselves, as hopeful disciples: what might be required of us to be disciples of Christ? Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Big news at the Rehbaum house: both of our kids can now ride two-wheelers without training wheels! Last weekend, we all went to the school parking lot, and the kids, trembling, gave it a go. Five minutes later, they were both flying across the parking lot, and I’m pretty sure they also both grew about three inches. Certainly, their countenance did. By the next day, they were riding down the street, easily taking the turns, checking both ways at corners, completely confident in themselves and their abilities. Such confidence can be terrifying for a parent (lots of shouting, “But please be careful!!”), but also is really cool to watch. They believe now that they can do ANYTHING!

The disciples in today’s Gospel lesson had a similar confidence about themselves. Although of all the Gospels, Mark portrays the disciples as the dumbest and densest, James and John, the sons of Zebedee (otherwise known as the sons of entitlement, you can see why…) seem to think they are something pretty special. “We want you to do for us whatever we ask of you!” they demand of Jesus. Jesus expresses quite a bit of patience, I think. Where I might say, “Ah! Who do you think you are?” Jesus responds with what I’ve always imagined to be a touch of good humor, the sort of amusement a parent might have when a child makes an unexpected request. “What is it that you want me to do for you?” he asks (probably thinking, “Well this oughta be good…”).

            And then the request: “We want to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” Awfully forward request, if you ask me. They have no idea what they are asking, as Jesus points out! Do you know what this entails? Jesus asks. Can you live this life? Are you able to drink of the cup I drink – the same cup, mind you, that Jesus himself prayed would pass over him a while later in the Garden of Gethsemane. Are you able to be baptized with the same baptism I am baptized with? And they respond with a confident, if naïve: “We are able.”

            We are able. There’s the no-training wheels confidence again! Nothing holding these guys back! But really, are we so different? We are a self-sufficient people, after all, a society built upon the power of the individual and the assumption that we can do anything we dream of, as long as we work hard. We are able to make plans, and carry them out – this ability to plan ahead, in fact, is what separates us from animals. And so we pay into retirement, we buy groceries for several days in a row, we put enough gas in the car to last the whole road trip. We make plans, and stick to them as long as they are working out for us.

            But, as “able” as we may fancy ourselves to be, how often our self-set paths to glory get derailed. How often we are on a path knowing just where we’re going, and then suddenly we realize that we are left with nothing, no devices, and are completely lost. How often our plans of success, our plans of achieving glory, turn into journeys of suffering and loss.

            Michael and I watched a show some years back, about a young woman whose plans get utterly destroyed. In the pilot episode, a sweet, idealistic, 26-year-old woman named June moves from Indiana to New York City, with her life well on track. She’s engaged to the man she’s been dating since she was 14, she’s landed her dream job that has also provided her with an amazing apartment overlooking the city skyline… Her life plan is right on track: start a career, get married at 26, have her first child at 28. But then she arrives at her first day of work to find the company has shut down due to its scamming owner. With her job also goes her apartment. Soon thereafter she discovers her fiancé has been cheating on her with several women. Believe it or not, this is a comedy: hijinks ensue as she tries to get her life back in order, and come to terms with the fact that her life plan is completely shot.

On TV, this can be a comedy. But it’s not so funny for us when our real-life plans and dreams are derailed. We can plan all we want, we can demand positions of glory all we want, we can insist that “we are able” and ride on down the street with no training wheels all we want, but ultimately we have no way of keeping our plans for success and glory from turning into paths of suffering. And our plans may be very noble indeed! June wanted to start a career and a family by the time she was 30. The disciples wanted to sit by Jesus’ side in eternal glory. But to our dismay, even these noble plans may not look exactly as God intends for them to look. And suddenly we are walking down a path we have never seen before, and don’t necessarily want to be on, and don’t know where or how it ends.

            There is a wonderful prayer by Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk, that, every time I read it, really hits home for me. It goes like this: “My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore, I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.” (Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude)

            And that really nails it, doesn’t it? We don’t know where we’re going. We aren’t able, on our own. All we can do, with God’s help, is trust, even in the darkest valleys, even on the most ominous and unclear paths. All we can do is walk that path in trusting confidence, desiring God’s will, not our own.

            When “we are able” to do that, an amazing thing happens. Suddenly, where we had previously felt powerless and fearful, now we do have power, but it is not the power to enact our own plans. Rather, it is the power of Christ. It is the power to walk in the path of the one who came not to be served, but to serve. The one who gave everything he has and is for the benefit of each of us.

James and John ask to sit by Jesus, one at his right hand and one at his left, in his glory. “You don’t know what you are asking,” Jesus tells them, and they don’t. Because Christ’s glory isn’t what they think it is. Christ’s glory becomes apparent on the cross, where he is crucified with two common criminals – one on his right, and one on his left. Are you willing to do this? Jesus asks. Are you able to follow me here? To serve as I have served? To give as I have given? To be the self-sacrificing servant of God that I am?

In a sermon Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote on this text, he likens our human need for glory to “the drum major instinct.” But for Christians, that is not what it means to be great. King says, “Jesus gave us a new norm of greatness. If you want to be important – wonderful. If you want to be recognized – wonderful. If you want to be great – wonderful. But recognize that he who is greatest among you shall be your servant. That's a new definition of greatness... You only need a heart full of grace, a soul generated by love. And you can be that servant.” (MLK, “Drum Major Instinct.”)

And we can. We are empowered for that in our baptism – the one Jesus was baptized with. We are strengthened for that by the sacrament – the bread and cup that Jesus offers us. In Christ’s name, and by the grace of God, “we are able” to follow in the God-given path of the one who came to serve us all, Jesus Christ our Lord. 

Let us pray... Lord, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, down paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us the faith to go out in good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us, and your love supporting us, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Sermon: The dis-ease of stuff (Oct. 10, 2021)

Full service HERE. Gospel reading begins at 22 min.

 Pentecost 20B
October 10, 2021
Mark 10:17-31

INTRODUCTION

“Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword.” I feel like the writer of Hebrews wrote this line about today’s lectionary texts, both Amos and Mark. Both texts deal with wealth and poverty in their contemporary times, but also, as one would expect from the “living” word of God, both speak pointedly to our own contemporary issues around wealth and poverty. Jesus, turns out, talks more about money than almost anything else, and so as easy, or I should say, convenient, as it would be just to dismiss the tough teachings we will hear today as somehow not relevant to us… we do so at our own peril. Economics are clearly important to Jesus, and today’s texts in both Amos and Mark show us that faith and economics are very much related. Keep in mind also that Mark’s intention is that we would read ourselves into the story – he leaves lots of gaps in the story, that serve as spots to place ourselves. 

So, listen carefully, and take the words of all these texts seriously, and consider how your faith calls upon you to live as a person of wealth. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our father and our Lord Jesus Christ, Amen.

There was once a rich young man. As a child, he had always tried to do the right thing, though his circumstances certainly didn’t always make that easy. He was determined that he would ultimately succeed. He worked hard. He got rich. He had a nice house filled with lots of possessions, which he could afford to both acquire and keep. By all metrics of his culture, he was blessed. He was living the dream! But as he looked at his “blessed” life, nice house, and many possessions, he started to wonder… why, when I have everything I thought I wanted, everything I dreamed of… why am I still so unhappy? 

Then one day he had an encounter with a friend who had long loved him. His friend seemed so at peace. So, he blurted out, “Why are you so happy? What is the secret?” The friend told him, “You should get rid of all your stuff. Then you will find what you have been looking for.”

This is the story of Josh Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus, two men from Dayton, OH, who have come to be known as The Minimalists. They have multiple books, two Netflix documentaries, a blog, a podcast, and have helped some 20 million people minimize their lives and find true contentment. Nicodemus observes, “There was this gaping void in my life. So I tried to fill that void the same way many people do: with stuff, lots of stuff.” As sought-after speakers, who have spoken at Harvard, Apple, and Google, as well as twice on the TED stage, they proclaim a message of how to have a richer life with fewer things.

The Minimalists’ wild popularity shows what a pervasive need this is among those who are considered “rich” by the world’s standards – that is, people whose household income is at least $40,000, which would put you in the top 10% of wealth, globally. Especially in this country, we have so much stuff, that we pay other people to store it – the storage industry is one of the most lucrative in America, with a 2019 revenue of nearly $40 billion, a nearly 50% increase since 2010. And yet, even with all that stuff, Americans are also facing record unhappiness, an increase in depression and anxiety, an increase in loneliness and drug use… and while yes, some of that is pandemic-related, the picture wasn’t that much better in 2019. 

In this way, while Jesus was speaking to his own contemporary issues, he was also very much before his time, wasn’t he? A rich young man approaches Jesus. The man is a good person and has been since his youth, he has a big house filled with many possessions, and he is, by all metrics of his culture, blessed. And yet there is something missing, something his many possessions are not providing him. When this rabbi, Jesus, comes to town, he hopes he might gain some insight, and figure out what more there might be. Falling to his knees before Jesus, he says, “I’m looking for life. What do I have to do to inherit eternal life?” 

It reads like a healing story. Throughout the Gospel, people are falling before Jesus and begging for healing, and this man is no different. For all of his wealth, he is lacking something. He has a dis-ease; he is unsatisfied. And he is looking to Jesus to satisfy his longing.

In response, Jesus rattles off a bunch of commandments, several of the ones that have to do with love of neighbor. The man nods along – this is how he has been striving to live all his life. And yet he still hasn’t found what he’s looking for. Nothing has healed his dis-ease.

And then there is this wonderful moment, mentioned only in Mark’s version of this story: Jesus looks at him, and loves him. He doesn’t judge or condemn the man, nor question his intentions or his insistence that he has followed the commandments, just as Jesus doesn’t judge or condemn the hemorrhaging woman, Jairus’s daughter, or the Gerasene demoniac, whom he also healed. No, Jesus loves the man – he sees the man is in pain, he sees the man’s longing and his deep desire to find healing from his dis-ease. Perhaps this man has every-thing he could want or need on the outside, but inside, he lacks, and he knows it. And Jesus loves him in his pain.

And then Jesus names the trouble: “You lack one thing,” he says. And then, ironically, he tells the man to get rid of the things he has. Why would Jesus say, “You lack something,” and then, “Get rid of some more”? Wouldn’t that cause more lack? Ah, it would if physical things could indeed satisfy our longings, like so many of us believe they can. But of course, no-thing can satisfy our deepest longings, nor could they satisfy the longings of this man. And indeed, the one thing he lacks is not a physical thing. What he lacks, is trust. He lacks trust in God. The side effect of having such wealth and riches is that the man has learned to put his trust not in God, but in his possessions, and in the status, security, and comfort they afford him. And so, the antidote to his longing, his dis-ease, is to rid himself of those things that get in the way of his trusting God, that convince him instead of his own self-sufficiency. 

The man is not thrilled with the diagnosis, nor the treatment. Indeed, it shocks and grieves him – not unlike a cancer patient who has just learned they must lose a breast, or a testicle, to be rid of the cancer, or suffer other difficult side effects. The cancer patient experiences first a shock at the extent of treatment needed, and then endures a grief process for all that will be lost in order to regain life. The antidote Jesus offers to the man is indeed a tough pill to swallow. And so, Mark tells us, “he was shocked, and went away grieving, for he had many possessions” – so much to lose and to grieve.

We don’t find out what happens to the rich man after this encounter. Did he throw up his hands and say, “Forget it, it’s too hard. I might as well be a camel trying to get through the eye of a needle” and then go about his wealthy, comfortable life, still filled with a sense of dis-ease? Some would say he did, but I don’t believe it. If he is grieving, it is because he knows something’s gotta give, and that it is going to require some loss, and so he is doing the thing that is healthy to do in the face of loss: he grieves. Maybe he didn’t get rid of everything right away. Maybe he decided to have one last hurrah with all his stuff before he started posting it on 1st century Ebay. Maybe Jesus’ treatment needed some time to work its way into his heart, and he had to spend some time in prayer, listening to that nudging of God moving him toward trust, toward generosity, toward healing, toward transformation. 

But I believe he finally made it there. I do. I believe he did, because if he did, maybe I can, too. If he, with all his many possessions, could learn to let go of his trust in himself, and instead put his trust in God, maybe I can, too. If he could turn his heart away from hoarding that which has given him safety, comfort, and status, and turn toward generous, genuine and joyful connection with his community, maybe I can, too. After all, with God, all things are possible.

Or maybe my, our, connection to this man is even closer. Maybe the reason this character is not named (as he really should have been, if he was really so rich and thus important!), is that the character’s name is… Johanna. Or Mike. Or Jim. That is, Jesus isn’t talking to this particular young man, but rather, to each of us, wherever we happen to be in our relationship with our stuff and riches. He is bidding us to turn toward God, to trust in God rather than ourselves, to be generous with that which we believe has provided our security. 

And if we are, indeed, the rich person in the story, then guess what else is true? That Jesus looks also at us, and loves us – yes, loves us even before we have done anything, loves us even when the prospect of true discipleship is shocking and causes us grief, loves us even when we aren’t quite sure that we can do what Jesus calls us to do. Jesus looks at us and loves us just exactly how we come, with all our longings and desires, with our dis-ease, with our questions. And he assures us that in the end, there is nothing we can do to inherit eternal life, just as there is really nothing the man in the story could do – not even keeping the commandments or selling all his stuff. The gift of eternal life depends not on our morality and good works, but on God’s grace. Because for humans, it is impossible to earn that reward. But not for God. For God, all things are possible, even granting eternal life for a bunch of sinners like us. Let us trust in that God who can and does do all things for us.

Let us pray… Benevolent God, we often seek our safety and comfort from the physical things we can provide for ourselves. Turn our hearts to you, that we would put our trust in you, and then turn them toward our neighbor, that we would be generous. For you look upon us, and love us always. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: God's covenant vow (Oct 3, 2021)

Full service can be found HERE. 

 Pentecost 19B
October 3, 2021
Genesis 2:18-24, Mark 10:2-16

INTRODUCTION

Today’s texts are a doozie: Jesus tackles marriage and divorce. The Genesis and the Mark texts have been used to cause a lot of pain for Christians over the centuries, keeping people in abusive marriages, shaming people for getting divorced, limiting gender identity and marriage equality. In short, they have been used to bring about hate and rejection of other children of God, rather than love and compassion. 

As you listen to them today, as well as the beautiful texts from Psalms and Hebrews celebrating creation and God’s marvelous power, try to hear not only the centuries of pain, but also the beauty in them. For even as they remind us of human brokenness, they also paint a picture of how human relationship can be. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

When I was a new pastor in my first call, a parishioner approached me and said, “You know that text in the Gospel about divorce?” “Yeah,” I answered, already worried. “Well,” she said, “last time it came up, I was newly divorced, and the preacher that day made me so mad and hurt by what he said that I got up and left in the middle of the sermon. So… I’ll be interested to hear what you have to say about it.” Gulp. No pressure, pastor!

Truth is, it is a difficult text, on a topic that affects every single person here today, whether directly or through someone you know and love. So, what are we to do with a text like this, in a society in which half of marriages end in divorce, and in which the pandemic has been especially difficult on marriages? 

Well, the first thing to understand is that this exchange is spoken into a very different system and institution than what we currently live in. Marriage in the first century was more about economics and lineage, while today in western cultures at least, it is more about seeking mutual fulfillment with a loving partner. Observing that is not to give this passage more or less credibility, but is just to say that in some ways we are dealing with apples and oranges here. 

Still, we should take Jesus’ words seriously, especially because both this text and the Genesis text it is paired with have caused so much pain to generations of Christians. We really need to wrestle with it. So let us use this as an opportunity to think spiritually about marriage, divorce, and more generally, covenantal partnership. 

For that, let’s start with the Genesis text. Often people get stuck in this text on the genders of the two humans, using this text to justify heteronormative partnership, male dominance, and the existence of only two, clear-cut genders. More important, though, than the gendered words used here, is this: that the first human was lonely, and the second human was made to be a “fitting partner” for the first human. After a whole chapter of God saying creation was “good,” now God has seen that it is not good for the human to be alone. After a period of trial-and-error, bringing various animals to the human, God finally resorts to making another human literally out of the same stuff as the first human, taking it out of adam’s side. Adam is delighted with the result. “At last!” he exclaims. “Finally, a partner who is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.” Humans from then on would leave their families of origin to find again that partner, that other being who is made of the same stuff and complements them, so that their flesh would be reunited, not to be separated again. 

It’s a marvelous dream, isn’t it? The possibility that there is someone out there who is a fitting partner who, bound in covenantal marriage, becomes one flesh with you, never again to be separated. With this partner you become, like those first humans, a community characterized by complete empathy and mutuality, a model of equality and nurture. And maybe it would have worked… if not for that sneaky snake, the enticing fruit, and the sin and brokenness that would follow. As Adam and Eve broke through the skin of that fruit, so also broke the ability to live in this perfect covenant. As they sewed together those fig leaves, their hearts were hardened. Their freewill had led to their downfall. Today, the difficulty and pain of human relationship is all too familiar to us.

Enter Jesus and the Pharisees’ trap. Notice they make divorce into a legal question – “is it lawful?” they ask. But we know today that while the legal issues around divorce are expensive and difficult, especially in New York state, it is not the legal aspect that is most painful. Much more than who gets the house or even who gets custody over the kids, the deep and lasting concern for us today is the spiritual and emotional impact of the experience on us and those involved, the brokenness and perhaps shame we feel, the pain we must endure.

            Jesus is also concerned about that spiritual brokenness. Notice how when the Pharisees ask him their legalistic question, Jesus turns it into a spiritual one, referring to the text from Genesis, thus harkening God’s dream for a “fitting” partnership between humans, marked by mutuality, tenderness, devotion, compassion, and care. That is the intention for marriage.

            In fact, at its best, marriage can mirror our covenantal relationship with God, which is also marked by those same qualities – tenderness, compassion, devotion and care. That is what happens in our baptism, when God, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, brings us into the dance of the Trinity, the relationship of the One-in-Three and Three-in-One, and makes us a part of the one Body of Christ. In our baptism, God makes a covenant with us, just as God has made covenants with God’s people all throughout time. God makes a promise, a covenant, a vow, to be with us always, to the end of the earth, to love us always, to forgive us always. God promises in our baptism to have and to hold us, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. This is God’s solemn vow to us.

            So the gift of the marriage covenant, in this way, is one deeply profound way for us to experience in an earthly relationship the covenant that God has made with us. In marriage, we make a promise to someone, to have them and hold them, for better, for worse, in sickness and health, for rich or poor, until death parts us. And in making that promise to another human, we have the chance to more deeply understand what a Big Deal it is that God makes that promise to us! Because anyone who has been married longer than 2 minutes can tell you that marriage is really hard, that we (and our partner!) are not always loveable, that our hardness of heart is often showing. And yet God loves us anyway. Ideally, our “fitting partner” can say the same, loving us and committing to us even when our hearts are hard, and our words are harsh, when we are sick in body or mind, when we are poor in spirit or money, when we are at our best, or at our worst.

God wants that sort of depth of relationship for us. Covenant is God’s intention for humanity. That is made very clear throughout the witness of the Old Testament, starting with what we heard in Genesis a moment ago. “It is not good for the human to be alone,” God observes, and so God provides a companion, a relationship, for that first human. That is what God wants for us: for us not to be alone, and for us to be in relationship with one another.

            Marriage isn’t the only way to experience God’s desire for relationship and community, of course. We may experience it in our families of origin, or with our spouse, children, nieces, or nephews. We may experience it through friendship. We certainly can experience it here in the church. As I said, God assured us of that in our baptism, and we experience it every time we come forward to this table, like grains of wheat once scattered on a hill, now come together to become one bread. Whatever way you look at it, our God is one who desires community for us and with us.

            And so, our God is grieved when that community, or relationship, or covenant, is broken – when there is conflict in the church, when families refuse to speak, when marriages fall apart. Just like God is grieved when our relationship with God is broken. And we do have a history of breaking God’s covenant! You can read all about that too throughout the Old Testament, not to mention the entire history of Christianity since that babe was born in Bethlehem. We fallen human beings are not all that great at keeping covenants. Relationships are a great gift, and marriage can be one of the greatest gifts of all, but they can also be terribly hard to maintain. They can turn destructive, even dangerous. Sometimes they do need to end, because that very relationship that would have brought us life is instead a barrier to the life that God desires for us. Covenants do sometimes get broken, and even though it does grieve God, it is also sometimes necessary to bring about future life.

            But here’s the good news: even as we endure the pain that comes with a broken relationship, we can rest secure in knowing that even when our covenants fail, God’s never does. When we fail at our vows, God’s gracious vow to keep us in this holy family called the church will still stand, will still hold us upright. And while breaking the covenant of marriage, or any covenant, is not God’s hope or intention for us, it is also not unforgivable. Despite whatever brokenness we manage to participate in, God’s grace always manages to wiggle its way into the cracks and work a new thing. Our sin, our shortcomings, our propensity to see other’s faults before recognizing our own… none of that is too big for our God, who promises us in our baptism, and every day since then, and every time we come to this table, that we are beautiful, loved, and forgiven children of God, and that nothing can ever change that. Thanks be to God!

            Let us pray… God of the Covenant, you desire community for us, and your heart is as grieved as ours when our relationships are broken. Grant us endurance to persevere in your vision for humanity, and wisdom to know when a relationship is keeping us from the life you desire for us. Heal and soften our hardened hearts. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.