Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] October 30, 2022 “Present or Future” Luke 19:1-10 –The Message Then Jesus entered and walked through Jericho. There was a man there, his name Zacchaeus, the head tax man and quite rich. He wanted desperately to see Jesus, but the crowd was in his way—he was a short man and couldn’t see over the crowd. So he ran on ahead and climbed up in a sycamore tree so he could see Jesus when he came by. 5-7 When Jesus got to the tree, he looked up and said, “Zacchaeus, hurry down. Today is my day to be a guest in your home.” Zacchaeus scrambled out of the tree, hardly believing his good luck, delighted to take Jesus home with him. Everyone who saw the incident was indignant and grumped, “What business does he have getting cozy with this crook?” 8 Zacchaeus just stood there, a little stunned. He stammered apologetically, “Master, I give away half my income to the poor—and if I’m caught cheating, I pay four times the damages.” 9-10 Jesus said, “Today is salvation day in this home! Here he is: Zacchaeus, son of Abraham! For the Son of Man came to find and restore the lost.” Back when I was about Luca’s age, I remember watching a video about Zacchaeus in Sunday School. Of course, a “video” in those days involved the teacher cutting biblical characters out of felt and moving them around on a flannelgraph board, making it a “motion picture.” Quite clever. As a 5-year-old, it was fascinating and obviously memorable. All the way back to those flannelgraph days, I remember watching the teacher move Zacchaeus up into a sycamore tree. We even sang a song about a “wee little man.” As kids we could relate to him. We’d all experienced missing out because a bunch of tall adults were in front of us, unable to see what was so exciting. Zacchaeus had an ingenious idea to just climb a tree. And then how wonderful to have Jesus, the one you want to see, look up and see you! For kids, the story about Zacchaeus has a lot going for it. It seems pretty simple. If you do something wrong, make up for it. Promise to make it right. Adults, of course, have a knack for making simple things complicated. So, on that morning, this guy named Jesus was going to pass through town. Was Zacchaeus just curious? Or did he wake up and say, I think I need to make a change in my life? But, if we dig deeper into the story, who needed to make a change? To answer that, let’s look at who Jesus has been telling stories about. Last week we heard about another tax collector and a Pharisee – a story told to people who were “complacently pleased with themselves over their moral performance.” In a reversal of expectation, meant to shock those complacently pleased people, Jesus praised the tax collector instead of the Pharisee who bellowed, “Thank God I’m not like him.” In the very next story, people brought their children and infants to Jesus so that he might touch them. The disciples “sternly ordered them” to stay away but Jesus called out, “Don’t stop them. Let the little children come to me; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.” Children weren’t just supposed to be quiet, they weren’t even supposed to be seen, but bring them front and center. Quite a reversal of expectations. Next, a “certain ruler” asked Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. After the man explained that he kept all the commandments, Jesus added one thing: “You must sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor.” As the man stood there looking sad, Jesus had sympathy and told the crowd, “It’s hard for those with wealth to enter the kingdom of God. Indeed, easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” That’s usually the only line we quote and it leaves people quite sad. But there’s an unexpected twist when Jesus adds, but “what is impossible for mortals is possible for God.” Then, Jesus told the Twelve their next stop was Jerusalem where he would be handed over, mocked, insulted, spat upon, flogged, killed and rise again on the third day. But, the disciples couldn't grasp what he was saying so they just kept walking. At this point they’re approaching Jericho where a blind man sat by the roadside begging. As Jesus was passing by, he cried out, “Son of David, have mercy on me,” but the crowd sternly ordered the man to be quiet. Jesus heard him cry out and healed him, but not by touching him. He simply told the man his faith had made him well. The man got up and began to follow Jesus. And now they’re entering Jericho. Jericho was a border city with lots of commerce flowing through. Lots of money to be made. Lots of inventory to tax. Lots of taxes to collect. And Zacchaeus was tax collector number one. You already know that people hated tax collectors because they were seen as collaborators with the occupying force of Rome. It didn’t really matter whether tax collectors were stealing or extorting, or whether those taxes were excessive or not. The issue was the money went to fund the people abusing you. And Zacchaeus was the best at being the worst. So, when Jesus looked up and asked to have dinner with Zacchaeus, how’d the crowd respond? Of course they grumbled. There’s only one more story before they get to Jerusalem and Jesus enters on a donkey while people wave palms and should Hosanna. A nobleman turned over his assets to ten slaves before going out of the country. Nine of them got busy investing and making more money. One was too frightened of the man to risk losing any of his money so he thought it was a good idea to bury it so he could give the entire amount back. When the nobleman returned he was very angry because the one with whom he had entrusted his treasure did nothing with it. I wanted to show how Zacchaeus is in a sequence of stories. Gospel writers like Luke always have a purpose. Luke is spinning a narrative to explain what the kingdom of God is like. Well, it’s like all these surprising people and all these unexpected twists.
The crowd grumbled at the idea that Jesus would go home with him. It wouldn’t be his first time, of course. Jesus had been routinely criticized for cavorting with gluttons and prostitutes and people about whom crowds would disapprove. "Sinners," they’re labeled. Ask religious people today for a list of who the sinners are. If you want to understand the Kingdom of God, know that Jesus will take that list and turn it right around to use as a list of special guests. Has anyone ever called you a sinner, someone who is “complacently pleased over their moral performance?” Or one of those “hate the sin, love the sinner,” kind of people? Recognize how lucky you are to be in the good company of the grumbled against. Jesus invited himself to dine with Zacchaeus. The crowd wasn’t just surprised, they were incensed, leaving Zacchaeus standing there in the middle. How did this happen to him? Maybe he climbed a tree because he wanted to see. Or maybe he woke up that day and said, “I want a new life. I want to change my ways.” Either way, was he really a sinner? Or was he just hated? That’s the twist. Jesus said nothing about any sin of Zacchaeus. But he had something to say to the crowd. “I want to go to the home of this man.” The crowd complained. It was then that Zacchaeus explained to Jesus, “I give half my possessions to the poor. And if I have cheated anyone, I repay them four times as much.” Restitution, by the way, was only 20%, not the 400% Zacchaeus was paying. Understanding who Zacchaeus is and what this story is about hinges on one Greek word. I give half my possessions; I repay four times as much. OR, does Zacchaeus say, I will do that. I will give half. I will repay. That’s what I always thought this story is about. Zacchaeus is a sinner who repented and promised to make amends. But the thing is, the particular Greek word Luke chose to use here doesn’t have a future tense. It can’t be translated “I will.” Or at least, translators can’t agree on it. Two of the most respected Bible translations, the New Revised Standard Version and the Common English Bible, both at the center of UCC-approved scholarship, disagree. One says he does it and one says he will. But it matters which it is. I fall on the side that what matters is not what Zacchaeus promises to do. Zacchaeus is not the sinner in the story. It’s the crowd. The issue began because of who he is, who he represents, and that’s why crowd was upset with Jesus’ invitation to him. Shunned by his own community, Zacchaeus was lost. But like the lost coin, and the lost sheep, and the lost son, rejoice, Jesus said, because what was once lost is now found. He too is a son of Abraham. When you place Zacchaeus in its context with all the stories leading up to it, it’s another story that explains the Kingdom of God, another example of people who belong; men, women, and children dismissed, discarded, and debased; told to be quiet or be kept out of sight. People about whom those who call themselves “religious” would complain. To understand the true nature, the true scandal of God’s kingdom is to be incensed by who it includes. That’s where I want to belong. Those are my people. How about you? If you are one of the grumbled against, know that you are in good company. And know that if you have a list of people against whom you would grumble, now is the time to get right with them and join the party.
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Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] October 23, 2022 “I Am Them” Luke 18: 9-14 –The Message He told his next story to some who were complacently pleased with themselves over their moral performance and looked down their noses at the common people: “Two men went up to the Temple to pray, one a Pharisee, the other a tax man. The Pharisee posed and prayed like this: ‘Oh, God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, crooks, adulterers, or, heaven forbid, like this tax man. I fast twice a week and tithe on all my income.’ 13 “Meanwhile the tax man, slumped in the shadows, his face in his hands, not daring to look up, said, ‘God, give mercy. Forgive me, a sinner.’” 14 Jesus commented, “This tax man, not the other, went home made right with God. If you walk around with your nose in the air, you’re going to end up flat on your face, but if you’re content to be simply yourself, you will become more than yourself.” At least the Pharisee didn’t say it to his face – “Thank God I’m not like you.” But perhaps that’s only because he was too busy praising himself. “God, you’re so lucky to have me!” Unlike most parables, this one is straightforward, easy to understand. “Don’t be like the Pharisee.” Full of himself. Arrogant. Self-righteous. “Be more like the tax collector.” Repentant. Humble. Self-effacing. Easy peezy. Amen. Thanks for coming today. But, it’s a parable, so it can’t be that easy. I like how Eugene Peterson translated the last line: “If you walk around with your nose in the air, you’re going to end up flat on your face.” Here’s a more traditional translation: “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.” You might recognize that this sounds very much like Mary’s Magnificat, the song she sang while Jesus was still in her womb. With his birth, she sang, “the humble are lifted high and those on their thrones are toppled.” Mary sang of her baby that with his birth, “God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.”[1] This story is that song in practice. A reversal of fortune. A reversal of expectations. Because one would expect the Pharisee to be the good guy and the tax collector to be bad. Well, almost. Pharisees are complicated. In our ears, we often hear the word Pharisee and associate it with negative connotations. The original audience wouldn’t have necessarily felt that way. Yes, Pharisees were often the foils of Jesus who fuss and complain and condemn… in ways that help Jesus make his point. But Pharisees were also part of his movement, even the early church. We have stories of how they have invited Jesus to dinner, Pharisees who came to ask sincere questions, some even warned Jesus to protect himself from Herod. Perhaps surprisingly, Marjorie Proctor-Smith argues that “Pharisees held to a liberal interpretation of Scripture, the aim of which was to make observance of Torah available to all.”[2] Jesus too tried to make their shared religion more accessible to everyone. We may be conditioned to think of Pharisees as nitpicking hypocrites more concerned about the letter of the law than the spirit. But Amy-Jill Levine, a Jewish scholar of Christian scripture, says that negative views of the Pharisees are often used as anti-Semitic tropes.[3] Law vs. grace. Pharisees are the caretakers of a beloved tradition yet remarkably open to new ideas. And so, to remember, while this particular Pharisee is acting arrogantly, the audience wouldn’t have immediately concluded that meant all Pharisees. They may have been quite surprised by that characterization. On the other hand, hearing the words “tax collector” would have caused a justifiably immediate, visceral reaction. No surprise there. These are not IRS agents helping us citizens follow the law to provide mutual benefits to the people of our country. Elizabeth Johnson describes ancient Palestinian tax collectors as “franchisees of a corrupt and byzantine system that gouges the poor and enriches the wealthy.” Well, maybe that isn’t so different than current tax policy, but I digress. Tax collectors were seen as collaborators with the violent oppressors of their own people. Rome allowed them to take some portion for themselves as compensation but many took much more than that. In next week’s story of Zacchaeus, he admits he defrauded people and promised to pay it back four-fold. There is no mention of that in this parable. Again, for the original audience: Pharisees were the good guys. Tax collectors were the bad guys. But, shockingly, Jesus praises the tax collector. It doesn’t shock us like it would have them. Just like no one back then would have put the words “good” and “Samaritan” in the same sentence. There was no such thing as a “good” Samaritan. We can’t fully appreciate reversals of expectations like these: Be like the tax collector who pleaded for mercy and not prideful like that arrogant, full of himself, Pharisee. Easy peezy. Amen. Thanks for coming today. But if that’s the only message we take from this parable, we’ve missed the mark because that’s the same thing as saying, “Thank God I’m not like those other people.” In fact, if you take it too far, soon we’re trying to be humble enough to take pride in our amazing accomplishment. “God, you’re so lucky to have someone as humble as me.” The reward for which will be… humble pie. There’s an important distinction between humility and humiliation. And some people don’t need extra encouragement to be humble. “Just like the self-righteous Pharisee is not a model for living, neither is a permanent spiritual posture of self-deprecation,” imposed by either ourselves or upon us by others. “The self-deprecating penitence of the tax collector is not to become our permanent spiritual posture.”[4] William Muehl wrote about his fear of preaching that is dominated by a "gospel of guilt." He said, “if this prayer was the only one the tax collector ever recited for the rest of his life, if a sense of unworthiness invaded and dominated all his thoughts and self-perception for the rest of his life, then he is the last person with whom we would want to identify. There comes a time when we need to trust that we are forgiven and accept divine grace to move beyond regret, remorse, and acknowledgment of our sins. Not until then will we be any good for anyone else.” We can’t be a blessing for others if we don’t recognize we are blessed by virtue of being a beloved child of God. I hope the tax collector left the Temple joyfully, as joyful as any of the fully healed lepers would have been as they danced away with their freedom. It’s telling that Jesus specifically addressed this parable to those who were “complacently pleased with their moral performance.” This group needed to get their minds right and change their arrogance to humility. But, “neither can we remain habitually mired in a sense of worthlessness.” God made you to be more than that. As I wrestled with this parable, I realized the challenge, no matter whether we identify as Pharisee or tax collector, “I am Them.” In the end, we are each other. In this incredibly divided country, we can’t say “thank God I’m not like those other people” because as soon as we do, we are exactly “those people.” We’re saying it about ourselves. May God have mercy for every time any of us have done exactly that. [1] Luke 1:51 [2] Marjorie Proctor-Smith, Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 4, Westminster John Knox, 2010, page 213-216 [3] Amy-Jill Levine, The Short Stories of Jesus, HarperOne, 2014, Chapter 6 [4] Alyce McKenzie, patheos.com, “The Power of Persistence” 2013 Sermons from Mission Hills UCC San Diego, California Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] October 2, 2022 “The Power of Remembering” Lamentations 3: 19-26 –The Message Jesus I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness, the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed. I remember it all—oh, how well I remember-- the feeling of hitting the bottom. But there’s one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope: 22-24 God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over). He’s all I’ve got left. 25-27 God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks. It’s a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from God. It’s a good thing when you’re young to stick it out through the hard times. The Book of Lamentations is very sad, which would make sense, I guess, since that’s its job. It’s a book of laments, 5 separate poems with 150 verses of cries and wailing and suffering. They may cry “why,” but they understand: “Our ancestors sinned; they are no more, and we bear their iniquities.” And so, now they’re in Babylon, where their captors make them sing happy songs for entertainment when all they want to do is weep. That’s one of the most beautifully mournful images in the Bible – weeping as they sit alongside the river with their instruments hung from the trees. How can we sing the songs of Zion in a foreign land? The prophets had warned for years that the true worship of God is to care for widows and orphans, the poor, strangers and the foreigners in your midst. When they didn’t adhere to the warnings of prophets like Isaiah and Jeremiah and Amos, well, now their Temple and cities lay in ruin and as the lamenting poet says, “We have become orphans, fatherless; and our mothers are like widows.” The poetry of Lamentations is sincerely brutal, as well as beautiful in its honesty and sincerity. There is utter despair right to the very last line of the last poem that ends by saying, “Restore us to yourself, O Lord, that we may be restored: unless you have utterly rejected us, and are angry with us beyond measure.” The end. Amen It’s a book of a thousand midnights, except as we heard, 5 verses out of 150, the light of one small match the poet dared to strike. Right in the very middle. “I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness, the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed. I remember it all—oh, how well I remember-- the feeling of hitting the bottom. But, there’s one other thing I remember, one; and by remembering, I keep a grip on hope: 22-24 God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, God’s merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great is your faithfulness! I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over). God is all I’ve got left. 25-26 God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks. It’s a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from God. It’s a good thing. Long ago there was a king who ruled the land. He always had at his side an advisor who had strange habits that often annoyed him. No matter what happened, the advisor always responded by saying, “This is good. This is good.” One day the king was out hunting when his horse was startled by a large snake. The king was thrown from the horse and dragged through a field. In the process, his foot was badly cut and he lost a toe. As the king’s advisor knelt beside him to help, he said, “This is good. This is good.” The king was outraged. “How dare you call this good. You’re fired!” The advisor said, “This is good. This is good.” He stood up and went to the palace to pack his belongings. The king returned home and his foot eventually healed, minus the toe. One day he was ready to go hunting again. This time he became separated from his hunting party. Suddenly he was ambushed by a group who lived in the forest. The king was nervous but everyone around was smiling at him and gesturing how happy they were. He even heard them send word ahead to the village to prepare for a celebration. Very proper for a king, he thought. The king was marched into the village to the sounds of music and dancing and heaping tables of food. Servants came to wash his body and then began to decorate it. He wondered why his own people had never treated him so well. When they finished preparing the king for the celebration, a priest came toward him with a big smile and began dancing around him. What fun! And then the priest’s assistant handed him a huge knife. The king’s smile dimmed. As the priest was dancing, he began closely examining the king’s body, a little too closely. The king grew nervous about what was happening and then remembered stories about a group that lived in the forest. These people were preparing a celebratory offering to their gods. Him! The priest continued to dance around the king, carefully inspecting from every angle, poking his skin with the knife until suddenly he motioned. “Stop the music!” “This one’s no good. He’s already been cut” and pointed to the missing toe. The priest swung the huge knife toward the king’s head and pointed the way out. They set him free. As the king raced back to his palace as fast as he could, he remembered what his former advisor had said and summoned for him. He told him the story and said, “You were right. It was good that my toe was lost. Because of it, I was not sacrificed to their gods. But why did you say ‘this is good, this is good’ when I fired you?” “There is always some good to come out of things,” he said. “I’ve got all my toes. If you hadn’t fired me, I would have been along with you and they would have killed me in your place.” “Yes, that was good,” the king said. “Very good indeed. And because of your wisdom, you shall be my advisor forever.”[1] From the Book of Lamentations, “It’s a good thing to quietly hope,” another way to say wait. But the poet’s momentary recognition of a good thing is quickly replaced with dread once again. Only a few verses later the poet declares, not so quietly, “You have wrapped yourself with anger and pursued us, killing without pity; you have wrapped yourself with a cloud so that no prayer can pass through. You have made us filth and rubbish among the peoples.” This is good? This is good? Joan Chittister is a Benedictine nun, a force for social justice and a fierce proponent for women in the church. She belongs to the Benedictine Sisters of Erie, Pennsylvania, a community with whom I’ve spent a considerable amount of time. Among other things, Sister Joan is a brilliant theologian and prolific author. Today’s scripture filled with lament reminded me of a book she wrote about the gifts that are found in struggle.[2] Most of us want a life free from struggle. Why wouldn’t we? Who wants to struggle? But, she claims, there are so many gifts waiting to be unwrapped. She calls struggle the “seedbed of hope.” For example, we may struggle with change. The world is changing so fast. But not only the swift pace of change in the world but in our personal lives, through aging, through relationship ups and downs, and more… Well, there is a gift to claim. It’s a gift that we are free to change our mind, we’re free to go in new directions. Conversion. Conversion means we have a choice to make. We’re free to live differently because we’ve learned from our failures and can try again. Praise God for failure! When you’re feeling frightened of change, imagine life without change or the possibility to change. This is good. This is good. Or struggling with feelings of isolation. The pandemic provided some people quarters that were too-close-for-comfort with their family, all day, every day. Others struggled with isolation. But when we feel isolated, for whatever reason, we might also recognize that with isolation comes the gift to claim independence. I’m not isolated. I’m independent. This is good. This is good. Fears often arise for no good reason, and often, for very good reasons. Fear is often a very rational way to feel about a threat. But if we struggle with fear, we can also claim within it the gift of courage. Fear is the seedbed for courage. When else will we develop courage and then strength than in the face of fear? Thank God for fear! This is good. This is good. If we struggle with feeling powerless, there is within it a power of surrender. Not to be imposed but for us to discern when to let go of control. This is a gift we learn in the midst of powerlessness. Or, if we struggle with feeling vulnerable, there is within it a gift to discover limitations. We have the power to set limits. This is good. This is really good. There’s more. But as Sister Joan writes, within all the scars that result from suffering, there are gifts to claim. Lamentation is a legitimate and a natural response to our fears of change, or feelings of isolation, powerlessness, or vulnerability. But the poet stops for what is good within. Yes, I remember it all—oh, how well I remember-- the feeling of hitting the bottom. But, there’s one other thing I remember, one; and by remembering, I keep a grip on hope: In the midst of their suffering, the Babylonian exiles could remember their story of liberation from slavery. It’s written into every prayer. Remember you once were slaves and you overcame. Memory is sacred. For Christians, remembering is sacramental. Do this in remembrance of me. Every time you eat this bread and drink this cup, you remember me. In the midst of the gloom and doom of lamentations, the poet stops. I remember it all – not just the good. Resurrection with crucifixion is meaningless. And that’s how I keep a grip on hope. Sometimes I struggle with the Book of Lamentations, with its nonstop misery and complaining. But I also know that a faith that only praises God doesn’t require faith. It’s not until we have experienced grief and sorrow that faith becomes real, that faith actually becomes faith. Regina Spiegel survived the concentration camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau, slave labor in Germany, and was at Bergen-Belsen when it was liberated by the Soviet army on April 20, 1945. She said, “We who survived Auschwitz or other concentration camps advocate generosity not bitterness, gratitude not violence, hope not despair. We must reject indifference as an option.” One thing we can say with certainty. The poets of lament were not indifferent. They cursed, they cried, they complained, and remembered. This is good. The power of remembering is not to stop the pain. For Christians on this World Communion Sunday, it is to remember that Jesus already overcame. And for us to ask, how far have you already come? [1] Doorways to the Soul, “That is Good,” Pilgrim Press [2] Joan Chittister, OSB, Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope, Eerdmans, 2003 |
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