Confusing the Powers

It is almost Christmas.  Retailers hope you will be awake bright and early, sitting in your cars out in the parking lot, or hovering just outside the main store entrance.  In fact, some retailers are experimenting with Thanksgiving Day hours this year or every weekend has “door buster” savings.  The 2009 Christmas retail season began sometime back in July at least locally, when a Christmas tree display appeared in the middle of an area retailer with a sign encouraging you to think about Christmas shopping needs.  Why Christmas in July? The retailer hoped to catch early shopping dollars from families in search of “back to school” supplies…..

     The Church seems rather out of sync with the shopping malls and 4^th quarter sales projections.  Next week, we start the Church’s lead-up to Christmas Day by not singing Christmas carols every week.  Rather we will gather for the next four Sundays hearing scriptural texts, offering prayers, lighting a series of candles slowly, one by one, and singing hymns of anticipation, not of being immediately in Bethlehem on the blessed Christmas morn.  Advent worship for Christians is off the script of retail America.  Advent is a contrary word to cultural and economic understandings of “Christmas”.  We wait, we watch, we yearn, we pray.  Our rituals say plainly: “Wait”. 

    Now that’s what happens next week.  Come prepared to rehearse waiting for the Christ.

    For this week, we come to the rather quiet end of the Christian liturgical year.  Today, we finish up a journey that started last Advent, going through the cycle of Advent/Christmas/Epiphany, then off to Lent and Easter, then Eastertide for a spell, and then Pentecost (this past one came complete with Catholic trumpeter, the American Baptist General Secretary, a visiting rabbi, and some very fine cheesecake made by local Russian Orthodox nuns.  We threw quite the birthday party for the Church.)  Then we enter into a long stretch we call “Common Time”, where the lectionary settled into telling familiar gospel stories and other parts of the bible, and the colors for the season called for lots and lots of green. (The altar guild got very creative with this long season, didn’t they?)  So here we are at the last Sunday of the year.  The cycle ends with what is called “Christ the King Sunday”.  We recognize Christ’s rightful place and authority in the world and the greater cosmos, yet, as you heard the gospel reading from John, you might be wondering why this reading is used for today?  This gospel text sounds more like a Holy Week reading, not what we expect just before Advent. 

     The irony of this reading strikes me:  while America gears up for “Black Friday”, the Church hears of Good Friday.  Why aren’t we talking about “manger” and dwelling instead on the looming “cross” awaiting Christ on trial?  Jesus is in custody, betrayed by one of his own into the hands of the religious and state powers that be.  Jesus will be tried and crucified.  And the powers that be in Pilate’s court and the Temple’s ruling class will go about their business, figuring they have gotten rid of one less rabble-rouser.

    If it sounds a bit stark, this is exactly the tone of John’s story of Jesus’ trial before the powers of “Temple” and “Empire”.  Jesus is considered a threat to the Temple’s rulers and they conspire to solve their “problem”.  As for himself, Pilate seems a bit perfunctory in his treatment of Jesus being brought before him.  Pilate is that middle-management sort of ruler, a bit off put that this situation has landed on his desk.  While the gospel writer urges the reader to hear the story of true authority in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, Pontius Pilate is irked that these provincial rulers are trying to entangle him in something that seems a local matter.  The religious elite involve Pilate as they claim Jesus has been a threat to the Empire as well as the Temple.  On that count, Pilate has to get involved.  Nobody questions empire.  Rome was built on that premise.

    So we encounter an odd image just before Advent begins, and we start getting ready to wait.  The Christ who shall be celebrated as the babe in the manger stands as the adult Christ, roughed up and in custody after a late night betrayal by an inner circle disciple.  It has been a long night already by the time Pilate is brought into the picture.  Christ is on trial, considered a threat to religion, and barely worth a second glance by the representative of the state.  Pilate will soon tire of this matter and leave Jesus’ fate in the hands of the crowd, who take a brigand (a highway robber) named Barabbas over a rural rabbi as the one for Pilate to release.  It is a grim story, as the world takes leave of Jesus, and the gospel tells of his journey to the cross.

    The challenge for the reader is to hear what Pilate and the Temple rulers did not: the authority of Jesus is not like theirs.  Indeed, Jesus’ ministry is quite contrary to the types of authority exercised by Rome or the Temple.  Jesus is a ruler who is most decidedly not like the high priest or local Roman rule.  To read this passage, we are given a review of the broad strokes of John’s portrait of Jesus:  Jesus is of God, God made flesh whom dwells among us. As you hear Pilate’s half-bored questions, recall the first chapter’s irenic meditation on Jesus as “Word made flesh”.  Recall Jesus’ teachings as he engages Nicodemus on being born again, anew and in God, no longer “of the world”.  Reflect on the words of Jesus, who teaches he is “the way, the truth, and the light”.  Rome and the Temple have their own teachings, and they are not in step, or in remote agreement, with Jesus’ claim to truth.  Jesus is not a king of this world.  His disciples will not turn to violence.  Indeed, these are strange words for Empire to hear, a kingdom deeply vested in having the right amount of troops, weaponry, and control at all times. 

    Pilate wants to know what sort of king and kingdom Jesus claims.  Jesus’ answers are lost on Pilate, as Jesus is not the sort of king of a kingdom that Pilate can understand.  Pilate’s career was built upon the dominance of empire.  The Temple elite vested their authority through mostly economic maneuverings.  In his fine robes, Pilate seems the epitome of “the ways things are to be”, whereas Jesus, roughed up from his captors’ handling, appears to bear the consequence for speaking against “the way things are to be”.   Indeed, Pilate’s question about kingship is turned to a question of truth.  Not the “truthiness” of Empire or Temple, the sort of truth that is good for the moment, Jesus seeks to witness, to embody even, the truth of the world as God intends it to be.  The truth of Pilate and the Temple will unveil itself within the next generation as a local uprising will result in the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple itself.  As for the Church, the early Christians will experience great hardship and persecution themselves, yet it will be the truth Jesus offers that shall allow them great strength and endurance. 

     Pilate’s cynicism demonstrates the hard heart of the world.  In hearing the truth, Pilate only hears what he wanted to hear.  “What is truth?” is not the beginning of a new sort of conscience taking root.  Indeed, with a dismissive sneer, Pilate sends Jesus away for the next step toward the cross. 

    What sort of people, what sort of “kingdom” is formed by this story?  It seems to end with tragedy, yet the gospel reshapes the status quo in the resurrection of Jesus.  The kingdoms of Rome and Temple, the “middle men” of Pilate and the Temple elite, shall not stand, even though they seem to hold all of the cards right now.  What sort of people does this story intend to empower?

    I recall the writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German Christian whose career as a gifted theologian and teacher was cut short by the tumult of the Second World War.  Bonhoeffer saw the effect of another sort of Empire on the rise, growing in power and might, rising about the reproach of question and fashioning its own “truth” as the way things out to be.  While Bonhoeffer would die in the last days of the Second World War at a concentration camp (sentenced to death as part of a failed plot to kill Adolf Hitler), his writings remain as a counter-witness to the powers of his day. While living in the turbulence of the times, Bonhoeffer offered a counter-witness to the “way things are to be” being impressed upon his nation.  As he taught seminary students in the mid-1930s, he offered lectures that became his book called “Discipleship”.  Therein, Bonhoeffer mentions this same Johannine text in passing as he describes what sort of discipleship is required by the gospel.  He writes,

“If it engages the world properly, the visible church-community will always more closely assume the form of its suffering Lord” (Discipleship, Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works, vol. 4, English translation.  Fortress Press, 2003, p. 247-8). 

    The same question that confused the powers is the same question that challenges (perhaps “haunts”?) the Church.   How do we hear this story?  Is through ears and hearts shaped by the world, or by those shaped by the gospel?  There are stories at competition within us, being of the world and not of the world.  What does it mean to take leave of “the ways things are to be” and “more closely assume the form of [our] suffering Lord”?

Why We Gather (Hebrews 10:11-25)

The book of Hebrews often gets a short shrift in New Testament study.  In churches, Hebrews is sprinkled lightly across the three year cycle of scripture readings we follow.  In seminaries, the situation is not much better.  The story goes that a seminary professor of preaching assigned each student a different New Testament passage to preach on.  A student (in fact one nearing graduation) noted his assigned text came from Hebrews.  “Hebrews!” he was heard to exclaim. “I don’t want to preach from the Old Testament.”  So it goes, a person who attended church, even went to seminary, had such a fuzzy memory of this book even being in the canon of Scripture. 

            The book of Hebrews is considered one of the finest New Testament writings, a complex exhortation to live in Christ.  Of course, describing the book of Hebrews as “a complex exhortation” has yet to get people excited enough to say, “Let’s read Hebrews! We love complex exhortations!” 

            So why did the Epistle writer decide to exhort so complexly?  The writer wanted to exhort his readers.  (By the way, “to exhort” means to encourage or to urge strongly.)  The Epistle is sent to a group of Christians who are faltering in the faith.  In fact, the epistle writer describes his readers as people with “drooping hands” and “weak knees” (cf. Hebrews 12:12), which gives us an interesting image that does not say “church vitality”. The Epistle aims to remind, to stir up, and to bring alive a church gone complacent.   The book of Hebrews reminds the Church throughout the ages that we will go through times when we feel a bit wore down, yet in Christ, we find hope and renewal. 

Indeed, many Christians (even those who get fuzzy on which side of the canon the book appears) can recall the book’s roll call of the heroes of the faith, culminating with Jesus, the one who has run ahead of us as the pioneer and perfecter of the faith.  Imagine if you will, the Epistle likens the journey of faith as a pilgrimage as well as that last lap around the track, where the crowd cheers you on.  The life of faith knows hardship and challenge, yet Jesus calls to us, not as someone aloof from the world, as Jesus has lived a life that also knew the fragility and frailty of human life.  The Epistle writer sets up his encouraging word by summoning the church to remember who they are.  You are not a people of drooping hands and weak knees. You are the people who can run with strength and grace, following the Christ and those in Christ who have gone on before.

As part of the encouragement, the epistle writer turns to worship.  Why does worship matter?   It serves as a weekly reminder, a gathering with fellow believers to pray, to sing, and to remember, a rhythm by which Christians live their lives.   Contemporary preacher and scholar Thomas G. Long notes that worship ought to be “the nuclear reactor” of a congregation, the place where we are energized anew and sent forth.  The Epistle to the Hebrews notes a gathering of Christians able to run the race of faith remembers the waters of baptism, confesses their faith with full heart, encourages one another, and lives expectantly for the Promised End. 

A few weeks ago, the Comparative Religions course students from Southern Vermont College visited First Baptist and Saint Peter’s Episcopal Church.  At First Baptist, we began with the students sitting in the pews, where they listened to my lecture on Baptist worship.  We sang a few hymns, and then I talked about the communion service.  Then came the big moment as the students helped me move the altar out of the way and I had the students come up to the chancel and observe me demonstrating when it comes to baptism, Baptists prefer drowning sinners good.

The baptistery did not have water inside. We simply worked with a student serving as the baptismal candidate as I simulated how we “dunk”.  As I explained this ritual, I found myself growing tearful, which puzzled me a bit.  I don’t tend to cry all that often or easily. 

Later that evening, I thought about why I reacted so.  As I pondered the experience, I realized that of all the elements of Baptist worship I could speak about objectively, that is, as a religious professional explaining ritual practices, I could not explain baptism only in matter-of-fact terms.  I know the biblical, historical, and theological discussions about baptism backwards and forwards.  Yet standing there as a sort of liturgical “tour guide” for a group of students on a field trip, I could not talk about baptism in a baptistery without feeling something deep within.  My baptism happened twenty-five years ago, yet the experience has not ended with toweling off afterwards.  Knowing myself as a baptized Christian is not a mere moment long ago. Baptism defines us and inaugurates the journey ahead of us.  Indeed, you cannot just talk about being baptized.  The ritual and the commitment shape a Christian all the way along the pilgrim journey.  In turn, baptism is part of the things that hold all Christians together in common. 

The epistle writer offers that we confess our faith as another way of grounding ourselves in Christ.  It is thought that the Epistle actually opens with a quotation, a creedal statement attesting to the faith of the congregation:

Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds.  He is the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being and he sustains all things by his powerful word.  When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name has inherited is more excellent than theirs. (Heb 1:1-4)

While we Baptists tend to forgo the reciting of creeds in worship, the role of creeds are important to note, as they give a pattern to belief.  Sometimes when you are feeling a bit lost or listless, words of faith can draw us back to what matters.  A few years ago, the late historian Jaroslav Pelikan spoke to a group of theological librarians about a research project that turned out to be his last major project:  a multi-volume exploration of the creeds of Christianity.  Pelikan and a colleague assembled every creed or statement of faith known.  Pelikan talked about his experiences researching creeds and helping document why these statements of faith helped various Christian groups testify to their beliefs.  In the midst of all of this work, Pelikan claimed creeds are best understood as words to which you have given your heart.  To a church in need of renewal, the Epistle writer reminds them to remember those words that shape their lives together and indeed remind us why “fear” is never the last word.  The exhortation makes good sense: “Hold fast to the confession of hope”.  Reminding ourselves we are a people of resurrection and Easter hope makes possible a new way through the sin-fractured, broken world.

For churches, the next reminder is perhaps one of the most critical.  For individual believers and the congregations alike, the epistle writer asks for the people to encourage one another.  It might sound a bit remedial, something we already think we know how to do, yet the epistle writer is quite wise in suggesting encouragement in the same breath as our baptism and our confession.  Churches need that constant reminder to be hospitable, welcoming to the stranger.  To be reminded to be encouraging to one another is also of importance, sharing a word of support or a sign of care with a fellow believer going through a struggle or enduring hardship. 

Think about the times in your life when that card or note appeared unexpectedly in the mailbox or on the computer screen.  Remember the times when it did not.  Quite a difference between the two experiences!  One enriches the mutual relationship we have in congregations.  The other leads down the path to flagging energies and stagnation.  We need the ministry of encouragement.  Harvard chaplain and American Baptist minister, the Rev. Dr. Peter Gomes observed this vision of a “New Testament church” is quite winsome.  Such a fellowship of encouragement is “short on doctrine and rules and long on fellowship and encouragement”.  (“A Word of Encouragement”, The Christian Century, November 5, 1997, p. 1001)  This is the sort of fellowship First Baptist aspires to be: a place welcoming the stranger and providing mutual care for one another.  It is hard work, yet in its results, rewarding and remarkable.  As I say to someone in hospital at the end of a visit, “Remember, the church is praying for you”, it is part of that ministry of encouragement.  Nothing is more inclusive than encouragement.  Nothing is more alienating than the absence of encouragement.   A congregation that encourages is able to grow and flourish.  One can have the (supposed) “right” evangelism outreach book or program, yet if the congregation cannot encourage one another, how can anyone expect to make it all along life’s journey with a confident faith?  We need one another in order to grow in Christ.

One final word:   The epistle presumes baptized, hope confessing, mutually encouraging Christians look forward to the End Times.  This is where a number of Christian movements falter: some obsessing about the End Times (and coming up with increasingly arcane and insular views of theology and practice) and others pay little attention (admittedly to avoid coming off like the “other side”).  Christians affirm there is a promised End, when Christ shall return, when all things shall be made new and the old order of things is no more.  While some traditions within Christianity take the “odd interpretation” route, Christianity in its most robust sense believes the future is God’s to bring about.  For the people first reading the epistle we call “Hebrews”, they had little energy and hope, letting the discouragement eclipse the encouragement, allowing their baptismal promises be a distant memory and their confession uncertain.  The epistle writer offers a rousing reminder of the past (remember the saints who have gone before us) and the future (live with confidence that God shall have the last word), all in order to exhort them to live a new sort of present, one less given to buckling and just calling it a day.  Christians are to live as they believe.  When we believe with hope, we live by hope.

Recently, I read a definition of Baptists that I like.  The British Baptist scholar Keith G. Jones calls us to be “a community changed and increased by the dynamic work of the Spirit” (cited Christopher Ellis, Gathering, SCM Press, 2004, p. 244).  It sounds quite consistent with the Epistle to the Hebrews:  a people on the pilgrim way, living and confessing together in Christ’s hope, living together as mutual encouragers, and looking forward to the times yet to come.  It is a word for the church in any generation. It is a word for First Baptist.

Lift up your hands, O people!  Strengthen those knees!  Keep to the journey! 

The Might of the Mite (Mark 12:38-44)

The “widow’s mite”—it is a fairly well known story to long-time Christians.  The old widow joins the crowd standing underneath the banner “Sunday School Stories Annual Reunion”. It’s that place within our memory where we keep those beloved stories from religious education and Vacation Bible School long ago.  The guest list is a veritable “who’s who”: the Prodigal son looking sheepish after hitting rock bottom and starting his career as a feeder of pigs, the rich young ruler still hoping he can bend the rules and still take his overstuffed backpack wedged somehow through the Pearly Gates, and just for old times’ sake, the shepherds from the Nativity narratives turned up, bleary eyed from staying up to watch their flocks by night.  (Conspicuously missing are the three kings.  They said they were coming, but they’re running late. You know what they say, wise women should have been sent out to seek the baby Jesus.  After all, at least wise women know how to stop and ask for directions.....).

            The widow’s mite doesn’t sound that exciting of a story. A poor woman gave two coins, which does not sound like much, yet it is said these two coins are the sum of all she owned.  Standing there at the annual reunion of the stories learned in Sunday school, the rich young ruler sees the widow with her two coins and looks away.  Doesn’t look like much, what she has there, just holding the coins.  Why, money should have a fine purse if you’re going to carry it around!  He shifts the weight of all he owns on his back and wonders why he has yet to find the path to eternal life.

The prodigal looks at the two coins and starts weeping.  He had great wealth—half his father’s estate and yet he spent it all living the high life.  He ponders whether he’ll ever be welcome at home again…. (For the record, remember, the prodigal is always to be welcomed home.) 

The shepherds look at the widow and nod.  They understand her predicament.  More often than not, shepherds are lucky to have much money on them.  You don’t make much working the shepherd third watch shift.  You’re more likely to be serenaded by angels than make a decent living in this work….

            As grownups, the widow’s mite is heard around stewardship time. The widow is celebrated as a sign of all that is good about giving to church:  give with a sense of sacrifice, give to God with glad hearts, and the like.  The “Widow’s Mite” becomes a phrase, sort of churchly “code language” for someone who has given generously, sacrificially even, “out of very little”.

            For American Baptists, the “widow’s mite” is recalled by our denomination’s pension board.  Each year, churches give to a “thank you!” offering to retired ministers and missionaries and their spouses who have served our denomination.   The American Baptist congregation that gives the most, despite being one of our smaller churches, receives an award for their generosity.  The award remembers a time back in the early days of the Retired Ministers and Missionaries Offering (RMMO), commemorating

the anonymous gift in 1981 of a Vietnamese refugee woman worshipping with the First Chinese Baptist Church in Fresno, California.  Not knowing the full intent of the offering, but understanding the words ‘thank you’ printed on the offering envelope she slipped off her wristwatch, her only possession of value, and placed it in the envelope”.  (MMBB press releases)

            A wristwatch does not sound like much, yet it serves as a reminder of the sort of generosity that has made many of our denomination’s institutions possible.  Over the years, American Baptists have supported seminaries, care homes, neighborhood centers, and regional and national programs, thanks in part to donors who give out of their love for Christ and their desire to promote the gospel.  Our denominational history sometimes gets told as a cavalcade of the big name donors, yet a true history also remembers the witness of the multitude of donors who have made our denomination’s past possible and provided for our future through their generosity. 

Recall the witness of the Love Gift, a historic ABWM initiative, started out when the Great Depression was underway and our denomination’s national offices were in critical need of financial support.  To this day, the Love Gift boxes are still providing to help our denomination.  In 2009, the Love Gift, again just from the “spare change” and devotion of ABWM groups and individuals nationwide, provided over $400,000 as of September 30, 2009, to United Mission support—pretty impressive feat for a little cardboard box that sits on the end table, collecting coins one by one. Indeed, before the name “Love Gift” came into widespread use, the little boxes were called “mite” or “might” boxes, recognizing the humble gifts making big things possible.

            I note these stories of “the might of the mite” with due thanksgiving.  I also note that the story of the widow’s mite often gets taken a bit out of its context.  While upheld as a model stewardship lesson, the actual story within Mark’s gospel has a rather disturbing “rest of the story”.  The story appears in Mark and Luke as part of Jesus’ criticism of the corruption within the Temple.  Reading the story in the midst of its appearance within Mark’s gospel, one realizes the story has a tragic dimension.  As one scholar notes, “Although Jesus praises [the widow’s] generosity, the tragedy of her desperate situation remains. Her house has been completely devoured [by the scribes].”  (Harry Fleddermann, “A Warning about the Scribes”, Catholic Biblical Quarterly, 1982: 67)   

The widow comes to the Temple treasury and gives her two coins. Jesus observes this act and recognizes her devotion. He extols her faith while exposing the corruption of Temple.  Reading Mark’s gospel, the reader discovers that Jesus sustains an ongoing critique against the religious establishment.  Read onwards in Mark as the religious establishment will collaborate with the Roman local government to get rid of Jesus.  This story of the widow’s mite comes after the “cleansing” of the Temple, where Jesus declares the commerce of the Temple improper worship.  And just after the teaching about the widow’s mite, Jesus claims the grandeur of the Temple will not last, predicting its destruction later in the first century.  The widow is a model of faithfulness in the midst of a place where organized religion has become a racket.

            Here Jesus singles out the scribes, religious authorities Jesus describes as the well-dressed, pious, high society types. Throughout Mark’s gospel, the scribes appear as the challengers to Jesus’ authority.  When Jesus begins his ministry, it is said he taught “as one with authority”, affirming Jesus’ status as teacher and healer. In the same breath, Mark notes that as Jesus is recognized, he is not decidedly nothing like the scribes.  Jesus criticizes the scribes for the limelight yet keeping some pretty shady practices.  The scribes are unveiled as pious and predatory. 

            Read any passage in Mark where the scribes are mentioned, and you find in the scribes’ behaviors and practices the opposite of Jesus’ teachings on discipleship.  Jesus tells his disciples to be servants, stating the first is last and the last is first.  The scribes maneuver for “first place”. The disciples are told to go out with few supplies and clothing to proclaim Jesus’ word.  The scribes wear long robes to signal their status to any onlookers. The scribes pray and then prey on the vulnerable.  Jesus’ prayers turn his followers back to the needs of the marginalized.  The widow gives modestly, the scribes devour immodestly.  (I am indebted to the Fleddermann article for his reading of the contrary witness of Jesus’ way versus the scribes’ ways.)

How do we rightly read sacred text?  The same scriptures that Jesus stood upon, those we call the “Hebrew Scriptures”, called for the faithful to protect “the widow, the orphan, and the sojourner in your midst”.  The scribes claimed expertise in these same texts while creating exploitative systems of religion. Standing upon the prophetic tradition, Jesus envisioned an alternative to the Temple, a community of humble servants given to a new understanding of authority and abundance where the widow is not least.  In her, the fullness of the gospel is made known.

From time to time, I recall in my sermons the witness of Baptists who identified strongly with this facet of the gospel.  I note that the great “social witnesses” of Baptists (folks like Walter Rauschenbusch, Clarence Jordan, Martin Luther King, Jr.) heard the clear call of Jesus to wed “gospel” with “justice”, only to experience many a cold shoulder from other Baptists who considered work among the poor and advocacy for social concerns to be less important, if at all, to the “real” work of the church. Jesus cared passionately about those who were forgotten, and yet the Church tends to keep the fuller gospel at arm’s length.  The widow’s mite challenges us to speak with humility about our stewardship and our religious ideals.  How do we live out the ways of Jesus, given as they are to humility, service, and care for the least of these? 

The widow walks through the midst of the Church. Some look at her with nostalgia, fondly remembering her giving but neglecting “the rest of the story” of the harsh life she lived.  Others yearn for her to tell us anew the might of the mite, how to give to God with integrity and hearts open to the gospel. What lessons still await us in the pondering of this teaching about the widow’s mite?

      Old widow, take us by the hand. Teach us your ways. Show us in the midst of the hardships of life the faithfulness that keeps you close to God.  Help us give of ourselves, so that we might draw closer to the One who gave away his very life.

A People of the Last Word (Revelation 21:1-6a)

A People of the Last Word

        The book reviews keep coming in.  Reviewed in last weekend’s Bennington Banner, or perhaps you read about it in the New York Times, Slate.com, or on NPR.  A “graphic novel” (comic book) of The Book of Genesis, readers might be surprised to find out the illustrator is the “underground comic” artist R. Crumb, whose body of work makes an odd statement indeed to add the title of “bible illustrator” to his resume.  Crumb spent the past four years drawing the book of Genesis, taking care to read biblical scholarship to develop his take on Genesis.  Surprisingly, for such an iconoclast, Crumb offers a fairly earnest depiction of Genesis, demonstrating his skill as an artist as well as the complexities of the actual text of Genesis.  For a book about God, creation, and humanity’s “origins”, Genesis does not R. Crumb’s help being controversial.  On its own, Genesis is a challenging set of tales replete with human failings, violence, and an “R” rating.  Sacred stories are closer to our lives than we sometimes want them to be.

        On the other end of the Bible, we encounter a story of “the End”.  Ironically, some folks tend to sugarcoat Genesis, yet people tend to remember the Book of Revelation more for its violence than its scenes of great hope.  I grew up in Kansas churches that loved the rainbow over Noah’s ark yet lived in fear of Revelation’s scenes of “the End Times”.  (You would not believe some of the books I found in shopping mall Christian bookstores growing up out in the Midwest….)   The book of Revelation is filled with stories of the nations of the world going into disarray, armies battling, and Evil’s forces battling it out with the heavenly powers.  To say the book of Revelation tends to be inscrutable and difficult to understand is an understatement.  Nonetheless, if you read the whole book, you see a different story at work, not like the version of Revelation you might hear preached about on many AM radio stations in parts of the Midwest and the South.  The violence, the battle between forces above and below, all of this is in the text, yet a powerful theme resounds throughout: not of fear, but of hope.

        The end vision of Christianity is hope.  In the End God shall have the last word.  After much tumult, suffering and pain, the world described by Genesis shall pass away and a new heaven and earth, a new frame of reality, shall take its place.  Reading Revelation, the careful reader recalls T.S. Eliot’s poetic line:  “In my end is my beginning”.  The book of Revelation unveils the brokenness of our world and the transformation, the magnificent future, God alone shall bring about.  Revelation is a passionate book, calling the reader not to live in fear or speculation.  Rather, the Christian is encouraged to live in anticipation and hope.   We live as a people who already know what the last word shall be.  It will not be “anxiety”.  It will not be “fear”.  It will not be even “death”.  In the end, we shall hear “Behold, I make all things new”.  This is the story that Christians live by.  You cannot understand us without it.

        Stories have a powerful way of shaping our lives.  Over the years, I still remember my Grandmother Hugenot reading the story of “Stone Soup”.  I have the book among my books, and I will never part with it.  The physical book is precious to me.  The story of “Button Soup”, a tale of a miser who learns to be generous by sharing of his abundance with his neighbors, is one that I claim as a “core story” I retain from my childhood.  I remember with great fondness my grandmother reading me many stories over and over, yet that particular story, a variant of “Stone Soup”, is the one that nestled down deep within me.  The story makes sense of the world, or the way the world ought to be.

        As a grownup, I find myself telling people another story, one that I find deep down in my bones just like “Stone Soup”.  You heard Marion tell that story to you a bit earlier, as told by the book of Revelation.  Where I tell this story is less a matter of standing in a pulpit and more when I stand on a hillside.  It’s a quiet time when I tell this story.   It’s time for that final ritual up there among family and friends.  We have been telling stories already, sometimes told with rollicking detail during an eulogy delivered by a friend (clergy sometimes blanche at the stories of the deceased that get told at funerals).   Now it’s approaching time for that last word.  What will it be?

At the graveside, I tell one story.  It’s really the best one for times like these.  As the liturgy draws to a close, I am nearing the amen, but I still have this story to tell.  I say in the midst of the sadness and as that sense of finality hangs a bit thick in the air:

“We look forward to that time, when the one who has made us shall not leave us in the dust.  For as scriptures promise, there shall be an end to death, and to crying and to pain, for the old order has passed away”.

The Christian cannot speak of any other last word.  We sometimes forget when the anxieties of the day make us think things are otherwise contrary to our knowledge of the promised End.  Indeed, there are times when we lose sight of that which is promised, or we let another story take precedence.  Those who are able to stay the course, those who are able to keep “their eyes on the prize”, we have a word for these sort of folks:  saints.   The book of Revelation mentions saints quite frequently, the people who live a faithful witness on the earth, even in its broken down state, and once up in the heavenly choirs, just can’t stop praising the Lord. 

The saints are those who live in this world with the same frailty and fallibility as any other human being, yet they are able to live a faithful and unshakable witness to Christ.  It does not happen overnight for these folks: the process varies, yet the result is the same:  people who are able to be the faithful and beloved of Christ.  They take the long view, knowing that God will have the last word, not the powers and ideologies of the day, or the belief that things will end in disarray or without meaning.  They see the world as a place where the gospel can indeed take root, no matter how tough and stubborn the soil appears to be.  The Baptist saint Clarence Jordan lived through the difficulties of mid-20^th century racism as a witness to racial reconciliation and peace.  Only a saint could take the long view, despite the many forces against him.  Jordan spoke prophetically when he observed, “Hope is believing in spite of the evidence and watching the evidence change”.  In other words, God shall have the last word, and it shall be one that is glorious and just.

Now the Church has various traditions and practices about counting the saints.  Some parts of the Church have quite a process to declare a person officially a “saint” of the Church.  The New Testament, though, takes a fairly broad definition of the term, depicting the saints of the Church as those who live a faithful life, one testifying to the gospel.  In other words, no list shall be ever exhaustive of the saints.  Saints are great and obscure alike.  Saints are plentiful, yet not all of them can ever be named adequately.  So, I want to make sure that we remember “All Saints” aright this day.  We are not just looking at the people known far and wide.  I ask us to enter into a time of recalling those saints who made the gospel come alive in your witnessing of their lives.  Let us remember “all saints” this day, those who know how the story shall end, and remind ourselves that we are likewise called to be a people of the last word.

The Invisible Man and the Impaired Church (Mark 10:46-52)

      The trip into Jerusalem was crowded and noisy.  Hundreds of people were coming into the holy city for the Passover. 

The chatter of dozens of conversations

 the cry of merchants hoping for pilgrim seasonal business,

the arguments of misunderstandings

and the laughter of people giddy with joy that they have finally arrived.

      In the midst of the cacophony, can you hear it?

      “Alms!  Alms!  Alms for the poor!”

      In the midst of the crowd, you could almost miss it, that voice trying desperately to be heard above the din of pilgrims.  In fact, the one trying to be heard is fairly desperate himself.  He is off to the sidelines, sitting along the road, barely visible there on the ground with the sea of humanity passing by.  The blind man cries out, hoping to be heard, but knowing that he’s likely ignored by most. 

            In the New Testament, disability carried a great deal of stigmatism.  While such attitudes still exist today, we consider such ways discriminatory.  In our North American context, we work to protect the rights and dignity of persons with disabilities.  Our culture is predisposed to improve the lives of those with disabilities.  In fact, First Baptist is home to a non-profit organization, the Vermont Center for Independent Living, who works to advocate and empower persons with disabilities.  Each week, persons come to First Baptist for one-on-one counseling and benefit assistance, support groups, and other opportunities.  In addition to this non-profit, our building upgrades have made First Baptist a more accessible place for all persons.  The additions of a handicap accessible bathroom and the lift, which was installed just about a year ago, increase our “welcome” to our community. 

            In the world of the New Testament, such a culture of support and most certainly the “religious value” of disabled persons were largely absent.  It was an incredibly difficult life to live if you were a person who was hearing or visually impaired, persons with chronic diseases, persons with some sort of physical challenges, and the list goes on.  This blind man sitting by the side of the road suffered a religious element to discrimination.  He was considered lesser because the prevailing religious worldview placed high value on full physical ability.  Great emphasis was placed upon a person’s gender, ability to keep ritual purity, and lack of physical impairments.  Thus, at the very center of the religion of the day is the observant male, who was fully able bodied and kept purity laws.  If you are a woman, if you are purity challenged (due to a whole host of caveats), if you are a Gentile, if you are physically impaired in some fashion, the further away you are from the heart of religious righteousness.  The blind man sitting by the side of the road was pretty much about as close to the Temple, the heart of his religion, as he would have been on the religious worldview map we just sketched out.  Here was a person that society and religion opted to write off, and with no great irony, his name was Bartimaeus, which means “son of Timaeus”.   In turn, “Timaeus” means “unclean”.  There is no irony lost here:  the crowds bustle by in search of the Temple, ignoring “son of the unclean”.

            “Alms for the poor!”

      You have heard this voice, haven’t you?  You hear it in many places: walking into a shopping mall and there’s the faithful volunteer for the Salvation Army, ringing a bell, saying “bless you” or “happy holidays” to persons, even those who just keep walking by.  Or, when you are at a store and a group of high school students are selling baked goods for humanitarian organizations or service projects.  You hear it when they offer you some homemade banana bread for $5 bucks.  There’s that voice as you walk down a crowded street in just about any major city street of the world:  “Hey! Can you spare some change?”

      On the latter count, it’s often a time for judgment calls.  Do you stop and give this person money, a person who appears out of nowhere, an old Styrofoam cup with loose coins, maybe a dollar or two at best, standing there in an old ball cap, unkempt hair, perhaps a slight odor.  For some, it’s an immediate response.  The sort of response differs for folks:  some reach into a pocket for whatever coin you have, or just as quickly, some keep walking, trying desperately to avoid eye contact.

When Bartimaeus hears Jesus is on his way, the blind man starts making some noise.  He cries out for Jesus:  “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”  He keeps crying out, uncertain where Jesus is in the crowd, but he cannot risk being ignored by this man.  He knows that Jesus is someone who stands out in the midst of the world, one whose name stirs up a hope within Bartimaeus.  The name of Jesus has gone out among the villages of rural Galilee and word must be reaching the city, not only among the powerful who wish Jesus ill.  The great teacher and great healer is here!  Bartimaeus begins to cry out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

What happens next is telling.  The crowd tries to silence the beggar, pushing him back to the margins.  For Bartimaeus’ life, that is exactly where he has been told to stay put.  Out of sight, out of mind is what he is told.  Bartimaeus, like so many told to be silent, to be content with the margins, knows that sometimes you have to “holler to be heard”. (See Brian Blount and Gary W. Charles, Preaching Mark in Two Voices).  Bartimaeus had heard of Jesus’ goodness, his reputation, his compassion for the least.  He could not be silenced.  He could not contain the hope he felt deep within.

Back in Kansas City, an American Baptist affiliated ministry serves an inner city neighborhood.  We call them “NAPs”, or Neighborhood Action Programs.  This particular NAP, Bethel Neighborhood Center, has been serving the urban poor for decades, providing a safe place for children to learn and grow, hospitality to seniors, and providing a spiritual presence in a part of the metropolitan area often ignored or underserved.  A few years back, Bethel received a special award for its service.  A seminary student was on the staff at the time, and he recounted the experience of going to the awards banquet with the executive staff and a few consumers, aka those who utilized the center’s ministries.  When the award was given, one of the consumers, a boisterous elderly woman, came up front with the rest of the crowd and just started shouting excitedly about the award.  It made quite a spectacle, as a woman could barely contain her joy at this place that made such a difference in her life, was receiving recognition from the greater community. 

Throughout Mark’s gospel, many people approached Jesus, seeking his wisdom, yet most could not embrace the costs Jesus assigned to true discipleship.  The man of means approached Jesus, bringing along a lifetime of diligent piety, yet the great privilege he enjoyed kept him from following Jesus. The disciples followed Jesus and learned many things about the kingdom of God, yet they fought among themselves, hoping that they would be the greatest or the most favored.  Jesus could not get them to listen attentively enough.  They still thought power was where God’s glory would be revealed.  This cross looming large over Mark’s latter chapters still goes unnoticed and misunderstood.

Bartimaeus, the unclean, Bartimaeus the blind, Bartimaeus the forgotten—here was a complete stranger, unknown and obscure, who names and knows Jesus correctly.  When Jesus encounters Bartimaeus, it is a tender exchange, encumbered not by pretense but faith.  After reading of people who come to Jesus with pretexts and caveats, it is amazing to witness this trading of words.  Jesus needs no great gesture to heal this man.  Bartimaeus’ faith has created his own bridge to healing.

Bartimaeus models a maturity in his discipleship that the man of means could not accomplish after a lifetime of piety, a faith the disciples could not accomplish after accompanying alongside Jesus through the villages of Galilee.  Bartimaeus leaves his cloak, his only “possession” aside.  He risks the scorn and ridicule to get closer to Jesus.  He cries out Jesus’ true name, even as the story prepares to tell of the haunting days ahead when even the disciples shall scatter, trying to hide their brave, yet fragile allegiance to Jesus when the tides turn against them. 

In the 1984 film Places in the Heart, John Malkovich plays a blind man named Mr. Will.  It is said that Malkovich learned how to play a blind man through an unique method.  He did not close his eyes or walk around blindfolded to learn the part.  Instead, he claimed that he learned his part by looking within himself at the places where he himself was blind. 

The story of Bartimaeus offers an opportunity to examine ourselves.  Are we too much like the inner circle disciples, so close and comfortable with “the faith” that we miss the non-conformist message of the gospel?  How can we be like those in the crowd, who in our own haste to be religious, we walk by or ignore those in the margins?  How do we see those our culture or other Christians might label as “unclean” or “not like us” as persons capable of great faith and of sacred worth to Jesus?   Bartimaeus is out there, in the midst of the world, pitied and misunderstood by most, yet the one whom Jesus would claim as one of his own.