Judas made a very common mistake. He assumed that
our love for God and for our neighbor was a zero sum
game, that we had to choose between God and our
neighbors because we couldn’t love both, not really,
not enough. Now, as we know from this reading and
others, Judas wasn’t doing a good job of loving God or
his neighbors. The name Judas has become one of our
cultural references. I could stand up here and call
someone a Judas, and you’d all know what I mean: a
traitor.
Jesus used that kind of reference all the time. His words as we have them were written down by men who knew about farming and fishing, and about the Torah.
The disciples were Jews, which means they would have studied the Hebrew scriptures, would have the words of the scriptures written on their hearts and their minds in ways that we modern Episcopalians mostly don’t. So when Jesus says “The poor you always have with you,” we hear a sentence standing on its own. “The poor you will always have with you.” And it’s not a sentence I like very much. In fact, when Carol first asked me to preach today I went and looked at the readings and thought “No, not this one. I’m going to sit this one out.” Because when I read that line what I hear in my head is “You poor schlubs are never going to get this whole social justice thing worked out.”
It’s true that some people have used this line to excuse themselves from having to do anything about social justice. Jesus said we would always have the poor with us. The eradication of poverty is an impossible task, so we just shouldn’t bother. But the line “The poor you will always have with you” doesn’t stand alone. Jesus didn’t just make it up because he wanted to smack down Judas. Jesus was referencing Deuteronomy, Chapter 15, verse 11. The disciples and other early Christians who were Jews would have caught the reference right away. I wanted to know when we were going to read that part of Deuteronomy, so I looked it up. It turns that part of Deuteronomy not in the lectionary. It’s possible you’ve never heard it, or if you have you don’t remember it.
Chapter 15 begins by establishing a Jubilee Year, in which the Israelites must forgive all debts within the community once every seven years, and then it goes on to say :
Since there will always be poor among you, therefore I command you to open your hand. That is the “Yes, and . . .” love of God. It is our duty: Yes, you will forgive debts every seven years AND you will be open-handed all the other years, too. And it is our inheritance: Yes, I will love you outrageously. Yes, I will make you in my image, and I will send you prophets, and I will send you men to lead you out of bondage. Yes, you must love me outrageously, and you must love your neighbor outrageously, too. Yes, your neighbor is the person who lives next door, and your neighbor is the man found beaten on the side of the road, wherever he might live.Yes, I will come live among you so that you may hear about outrageous love in my own voice, and I will sit with sinners and tax collectors and tell them about my outrageous love, too. Yes, I will preach truth to power even if it means my death. Yes, I will die on the cross proclaiming my outrageous love, AND I will come back to life so that you can have life, too. Yes, I will forgive you and call you back into communion again and again because I love you outrageously.
Yes, and . . .
But Judas couldn’t hear any of that. I imagine Judas had been growing ever more disgruntled. Perhaps he thought that tagging along with Jesus would lead to fame and fortune and now he finds himself in a dusty house, pushed aside, both literally and figuratively by Jesus’ favorite apostles, and now by this woman who not only displays a love that is beyond Judas’ understanding, but grabs the attention of the whole room in the process.
A generous interpretation is that Judas is simply stuck, as we are sometimes stuck. Despite traveling with Jesus all that time Judas doesn’t understand the “Yes, and . . . “ love of God. He is stuck in a small, legalistic, “no.” Judas, like the older brother in the prodigal son story, simply cannot accept the “Yes, and . . . “ love of God, because “Yes, and . . .” is so outrageous.
God does outrageous things for love of us, and we are called to do outrageous things for our love of God and our love of each other. And doing outrageous things means taking outrageous risks.
Mary did an outrageous thing. She took a bottle of nard, an expensive, imported perfumed oil, and poured it out over Jesus’ feet. Why would she do such a thing? Three-hundred dinarii, a year’s wages, poured out on the dirty feet of a traveling preacher. Have you ever felt so compelled by love that you did something absurd? Have you ever loved so much that you felt that whatever you did wouldn’t be enough?
I can imagine Mary, hearing that Jesus was in the house, being overcome with love, being absolutely frantic with love, and without a thought for the cost she took up the most valuable thing she owned and laid it at the feet of the man who had touched her heart. Was it wasteful? Yes. Was it extravagant? Yes. If she’d taken a moment to think would she have known that such an outrageous and yes, very intimate act, would have opened her up to ridicule? Yes.
And none of that mattered to her, because in that moment the only thing she knew was the love in front of her, and that she had to act. Mary had a calling, a vocation that she could not deny, and Jesus honored her for it. Maybe we should all be a little more extravagant with our love, more wasteful, more outrageous.
Over and over again the Scriptures tell us about the outrageous love of God. Over and over again we are called to love God and love our neighbor not just a little bit, but outrageously.
Over and over again we try to box it in, make it small. We utter a very human “No” to the “Yes, and . . . “ love of God. We say no because of fear. Fear of appearing ridiculous. Fear of giving up something that we’re going to need later. Fear of choosing the wrong action. Judas felt that fear. Mary’s outrageous “Yes” sent him scurrying to the safety of “No.” No, she shouldn’t have wasted that perfume, or the money or the time.
My friend Rachael has founded a non-profit organization in Guatemala that is working with the native population there to coordinate climate change adaptation strategies. As if the usual financial and procedural roadblocks weren’t enough, she also faced a deluge of questions from people who couldn’t understand why she was working in Guatemala, and not helping her “own people.” The assumption being that helping people who live next door to you is somehow more virtuous, or at least more sensible, than helping people far away.
Now, Rachael could answer her critics with examples of how Guatemala is really not far away, how 1/3 of our migratory bird species live there for 5 months of the year; that climate change pressures are forcing a family migration rate [to the US and other countries] of 85%, that many of the problems that Guatemalans now face can be traced, at least in part to a 1954 coup d’etat organized and carried out by the CIA. But that’s not why Rachael is there.
Working with the people of Guatemala is what Rachael knows in her heart she must do. Although our faiths are not the same, she and I agree that she was called by God to the place where her gifts best fit the needs of the people, and that any other work would always chafe, a little bit. She felt the same frantic, outrageous love that Mary felt, and instead of listing all the reasons why she couldn’t possibly go, she said "Yes, and . . . "
We are not all called to another continent, as my friend Rachael is, but the needs of the world are great, and diverse, and widespread. Some of us are called to the altar, some of us are called to Guatemala, and some of us are called to the kitchen.
In any of those things, and in infinitely more, we may be called to the “Yes, and . . .” love of God. We may find ourselves, as Mary did, frantic with love, eager to pour out our most valuable possessions. Or we may find ourselves trying to explain why it’s impossible, why “no” is the only sensible answer.
We may claim that we don’t have enough brains, or courage to meet the need. That’s our Judas talking. Judas says the need is too great, and I am too small. But Judas is a traitor, and when we listen to him he betrays us. Because however small you are, however much you might lack in brains, or courage, you are created in the image of outrageous love, and the world needs outrageous love in all its forms, in every shape and size, on every continent, across the oceans, and as far into space as humans can go.
The world needs you to look for that which excites your outrageous love, find it and say “Yes, and . . .”
As prepared for delivery,
St. Andrew's Episcopal Church,
College Park, MD
March 17, 2013
Lent five, Year C RCL
Jesus used that kind of reference all the time. His words as we have them were written down by men who knew about farming and fishing, and about the Torah.
The disciples were Jews, which means they would have studied the Hebrew scriptures, would have the words of the scriptures written on their hearts and their minds in ways that we modern Episcopalians mostly don’t. So when Jesus says “The poor you always have with you,” we hear a sentence standing on its own. “The poor you will always have with you.” And it’s not a sentence I like very much. In fact, when Carol first asked me to preach today I went and looked at the readings and thought “No, not this one. I’m going to sit this one out.” Because when I read that line what I hear in my head is “You poor schlubs are never going to get this whole social justice thing worked out.”
It’s true that some people have used this line to excuse themselves from having to do anything about social justice. Jesus said we would always have the poor with us. The eradication of poverty is an impossible task, so we just shouldn’t bother. But the line “The poor you will always have with you” doesn’t stand alone. Jesus didn’t just make it up because he wanted to smack down Judas. Jesus was referencing Deuteronomy, Chapter 15, verse 11. The disciples and other early Christians who were Jews would have caught the reference right away. I wanted to know when we were going to read that part of Deuteronomy, so I looked it up. It turns that part of Deuteronomy not in the lectionary. It’s possible you’ve never heard it, or if you have you don’t remember it.
Chapter 15 begins by establishing a Jubilee Year, in which the Israelites must forgive all debts within the community once every seven years, and then it goes on to say :
7 If there is among you anyone in need, a member of your community in any of your towns within the land that the LORD your God is giving you, do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbor. 8 You should rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be. 9 Be careful that you do not entertain a mean thought, thinking, “The seventh year, the year of remission, is near,” and therefore view your needy neighbor with hostility and give nothing; your neighbor might cry to the LORD against you, and you would incur guilt. 10 Give liberally and be ungrudging when you do so, for on this account the LORD your God will bless you in all your work and in all that you undertake. 11 Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.”
Since there will always be poor among you, therefore I command you to open your hand. That is the “Yes, and . . .” love of God. It is our duty: Yes, you will forgive debts every seven years AND you will be open-handed all the other years, too. And it is our inheritance: Yes, I will love you outrageously. Yes, I will make you in my image, and I will send you prophets, and I will send you men to lead you out of bondage. Yes, you must love me outrageously, and you must love your neighbor outrageously, too. Yes, your neighbor is the person who lives next door, and your neighbor is the man found beaten on the side of the road, wherever he might live.Yes, I will come live among you so that you may hear about outrageous love in my own voice, and I will sit with sinners and tax collectors and tell them about my outrageous love, too. Yes, I will preach truth to power even if it means my death. Yes, I will die on the cross proclaiming my outrageous love, AND I will come back to life so that you can have life, too. Yes, I will forgive you and call you back into communion again and again because I love you outrageously.
Yes, and . . .
But Judas couldn’t hear any of that. I imagine Judas had been growing ever more disgruntled. Perhaps he thought that tagging along with Jesus would lead to fame and fortune and now he finds himself in a dusty house, pushed aside, both literally and figuratively by Jesus’ favorite apostles, and now by this woman who not only displays a love that is beyond Judas’ understanding, but grabs the attention of the whole room in the process.
A generous interpretation is that Judas is simply stuck, as we are sometimes stuck. Despite traveling with Jesus all that time Judas doesn’t understand the “Yes, and . . . “ love of God. He is stuck in a small, legalistic, “no.” Judas, like the older brother in the prodigal son story, simply cannot accept the “Yes, and . . . “ love of God, because “Yes, and . . .” is so outrageous.
God does outrageous things for love of us, and we are called to do outrageous things for our love of God and our love of each other. And doing outrageous things means taking outrageous risks.
Mary did an outrageous thing. She took a bottle of nard, an expensive, imported perfumed oil, and poured it out over Jesus’ feet. Why would she do such a thing? Three-hundred dinarii, a year’s wages, poured out on the dirty feet of a traveling preacher. Have you ever felt so compelled by love that you did something absurd? Have you ever loved so much that you felt that whatever you did wouldn’t be enough?
I can imagine Mary, hearing that Jesus was in the house, being overcome with love, being absolutely frantic with love, and without a thought for the cost she took up the most valuable thing she owned and laid it at the feet of the man who had touched her heart. Was it wasteful? Yes. Was it extravagant? Yes. If she’d taken a moment to think would she have known that such an outrageous and yes, very intimate act, would have opened her up to ridicule? Yes.
And none of that mattered to her, because in that moment the only thing she knew was the love in front of her, and that she had to act. Mary had a calling, a vocation that she could not deny, and Jesus honored her for it. Maybe we should all be a little more extravagant with our love, more wasteful, more outrageous.
Over and over again the Scriptures tell us about the outrageous love of God. Over and over again we are called to love God and love our neighbor not just a little bit, but outrageously.
Over and over again we try to box it in, make it small. We utter a very human “No” to the “Yes, and . . . “ love of God. We say no because of fear. Fear of appearing ridiculous. Fear of giving up something that we’re going to need later. Fear of choosing the wrong action. Judas felt that fear. Mary’s outrageous “Yes” sent him scurrying to the safety of “No.” No, she shouldn’t have wasted that perfume, or the money or the time.
My friend Rachael has founded a non-profit organization in Guatemala that is working with the native population there to coordinate climate change adaptation strategies. As if the usual financial and procedural roadblocks weren’t enough, she also faced a deluge of questions from people who couldn’t understand why she was working in Guatemala, and not helping her “own people.” The assumption being that helping people who live next door to you is somehow more virtuous, or at least more sensible, than helping people far away.
Now, Rachael could answer her critics with examples of how Guatemala is really not far away, how 1/3 of our migratory bird species live there for 5 months of the year; that climate change pressures are forcing a family migration rate [to the US and other countries] of 85%, that many of the problems that Guatemalans now face can be traced, at least in part to a 1954 coup d’etat organized and carried out by the CIA. But that’s not why Rachael is there.
Working with the people of Guatemala is what Rachael knows in her heart she must do. Although our faiths are not the same, she and I agree that she was called by God to the place where her gifts best fit the needs of the people, and that any other work would always chafe, a little bit. She felt the same frantic, outrageous love that Mary felt, and instead of listing all the reasons why she couldn’t possibly go, she said "Yes, and . . . "
We are not all called to another continent, as my friend Rachael is, but the needs of the world are great, and diverse, and widespread. Some of us are called to the altar, some of us are called to Guatemala, and some of us are called to the kitchen.
In any of those things, and in infinitely more, we may be called to the “Yes, and . . .” love of God. We may find ourselves, as Mary did, frantic with love, eager to pour out our most valuable possessions. Or we may find ourselves trying to explain why it’s impossible, why “no” is the only sensible answer.
We may claim that we don’t have enough brains, or courage to meet the need. That’s our Judas talking. Judas says the need is too great, and I am too small. But Judas is a traitor, and when we listen to him he betrays us. Because however small you are, however much you might lack in brains, or courage, you are created in the image of outrageous love, and the world needs outrageous love in all its forms, in every shape and size, on every continent, across the oceans, and as far into space as humans can go.
The world needs you to look for that which excites your outrageous love, find it and say “Yes, and . . .”
As prepared for delivery,
St. Andrew's Episcopal Church,
College Park, MD
March 17, 2013
Lent five, Year C RCL
You are awfully good at this.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteOnce upon a time when I taught zoology at a Catholic school I had to explain why the Bible and evolution could both be true. The only student who understood my explanation was the avowed atheist. Impressing you with a sermon feels just like that.
This is absolutely stunning. Beautifully woven.
ReplyDeleteIt's funny ... I don't think I have trouble with the "love your neighbor" part. But fear of the wrong action ... yes, absolutely.
Outrageous love. That's a good phrase. I think I wrote, somewhere, once, about loving with abandon. I don't know where I heard that, but I think that's Biblical, too. Or it should be. And so should we.
We don't usually use the word outrageous, but my church will often talk about radical hospitality, which is what sitting with sinners and tax collectors is. It's much the same thing, and definitely Biblical.
Delete