Sermon Archive #3, St. Mary's Episcopal Church, Big Spring, Texas

This Sunday's Sermon

The Lessons for today:  Hosea 5.15--6.6; Psalm 50; Romans 4.13-18; Matthew 9.9-13
 

A list of Sunday Scripture readings, with links to the Biblical Text:

Season After Pentecost
 

Holy Week Preaching, 2005
 

Back to St. Mary's Homepage
 

Fr. Jim Liggett
P.O. Box 2949; Big Spring, TX  79721
(432) 267-8201 (phone)

Stmarys@stmarysbst.org 

The page background is courtesy  of  Windy's Page designs.

This page last updated on November 18, 2006

There are all sorts of ways to read the Bible, and there are all sorts of ways to understand God, and to approach God, and to come at this peculiar business of the Christian faith. After all, there were, as of yesterday, at least fifty churches listed in Big Spring’s Southwestern Bell yellow pages; and I doubt that is much more than half of what the town has to offer. And they’re all more or less different. There are real, powerful and varied visions of the Christian life and the Christian faith out there; and that needs to challenge us, and that needs to make us think.

Most of you know more about this than I do, since I am part of a very distinct minority of ‘cradle Episcopalians’ in St. Mary’s. I have always known the faith as it has been received and lived in our Anglican tradition. Most of you came here from someplace else. And you came for a reason. While it is certainly true that we have more in common with our Christian brothers and sisters in other churches than we have differences; still, each of us has a perspective, a particular approach that we bring to our common faith.

I got to thinking about this because all of the lessons today, in very different ways, point to some of those particular insights, some of those particular perspectives on the Christian faith, that we Episcopalians find so central, so distinctive. Now, this isn’t all there is to say about us, not by a long shot, but it is a good place to begin. It’s simple but it’s basic; it has to do with law and grace, with love and fear, and with maintenance and mission.

A place to start is with the section from Exodus that we just heard. What’s going on is that God is getting ready to give Israel the law. God is just about to haul Moses up Mount Sinai so Moses can bring down the ten commandments. Notice what God says, and what God does not say, to prepare the people for this. God does not prepare the people for his law by saying that he is bigger and stronger than Israel is, so Israel had better get ready to obey. God does not say that he is mad at Israel and that the only way Israel can stay out of real trouble is to pay close attention and do the right thing. None of that.

Instead, God starts out by reminding Israel of what God has done for them. God starts out by making it very clear that he cares about his people and that he has great plans for them. God does not give the law so that by obeying the Law Israel will persuade God to save Israel. God has already saved Israel. God does not give Israel the law so that, by obeying it, Israel will make God love her. God already loves Israel. Israel is not called to believe and obey because if they don’t God will get them. Instead, Israel is called to believe and obey because of the wonderful things God has already done for the people; and because of the great things God has planned for them. God does not give the law so that Israel can go from being bad to good, but rather so that a beloved people can be a servant to the world.

Now, there are all sorts of ways to read the Bible, and there are all sorts of ways to understand God, but I am convinced that both the Biblical story and the Orthodox faith of the Church insist that our faith and our behavior are a response to what God has already done for us, and that they are not a way for us to earn God’s favor. We begin with God, and with God’s love—the point is not that we have to be good so that God will decide not to destroy us. The point is that God knows us and loves us and calls us to Himself.

You see, grace always come before law, and the basis of what we do is love and not fear. Before God gives Israel the ten commandments or any other commandments, God does not threaten Israel. Instead, God loves Israel, and God saves Israel, and God takes care of Israel. The Psalmist is right,
... the LORD is good;
his mercy is everlasting; *
and his faithfulness endures from age to age.
This is really central. And it makes a difference.

This is what Paul is talking about in that vital section of Romans when he says “While we were still weak...Christ died for the ungodly”. Before we did anything right, before there was any response or any goodness from us, before there was one earthly reason to care about us, Christ died for the ungodly. The deal was not “If you are good enough, I will take care of you.” It was not, “If you are worthy I will love you.” And the deal for us today is not, “If we can just clean up our act, God will love us”. None of that. Grace always come before law; and we are called, first, by love to love, and not by fear to a cringing obedience. There is plenty of room for awe and majesty, for discovering that when we begin to enter the mystery of God we are getting in way over our heads, and for realizing that our own acceptance God’s love has serious consequences for our lives and for our behavior. There is plenty of room for that, but that is not where we begin.

Our faith begins, not with fear, but with love—not with God out to get us, because God is not out to get us—but with the reality that God has already seen us, and known us, and reached out for us. We have to decide what to do about that love; but we do not need to make it happen.

The business of how we behave is part of our invitation to love God back. We are invited, and called, and challenged, to allow our own hearts to beat with that divine love which quietly fills the heart of creation. We are given a vision of what it means to be fully human and fully alive, and we are given the chance to respond to what we have received. Look, Israel was not to be “a priestly kingdom and a holy nation” for Israel’s own sake, so Israel could somehow maintain its privileged status with God. Israel already had that. Israel was called to be “a priestly kingdom and a holy nation” for the sake of its mission, and not for either maintenance or for special privilege. Israel was called for the sake of a world that desperately needed to know what God had shown Israel.

In the same way, in the Gospel, Jesus sends out the disciples (and this part is not about Bishops or clergy, this part is about everybody). He tells the disciples to do what he has done, to teach, to heal, to live out in public the kingdom of God. Jesus doesn’t tell them to do this or else. Jesus doesn’t tell them to become servants to the world in order to save their own skins or their own souls—those things are not at stake here.

Instead, Jesus says “You received without payment; give without payment.” The love we have been given is to be shared; and in sharing it, we are to reveal the true nature of God to the world. We don’t do this because God will nail us if we don’t, we don’t do this to maintain ourselves, either as individuals or as an institution. We do this, again, because it is our big chance to love God back; and God is counting on us to do that. The gift of God’s love is not given to be hoarded and protected, it is not a fragile or a tentative thing. It is absolute and certain, and that’s why we are free to reach out in mission and ministry.

There are all sorts of ways to read the Bible, and there are all sorts of ways to understand God, and to approach God, and to come at this peculiar business of the Christian faith. But we Anglicans begin here. We insist that grace comes before law, and that the driving power behind our faith is love and not fear, and that we are therefore called to mission, and not to maintenance. It’s a good place to begin—and it’s the truth.

The Lessons for today:  Exodus 19.2-8a; Psalm 100; Romans 5.6-11; Matthew 9.35--10.8-15
 

A list of Sunday Scripture readings, with links to the Biblical Text:

Season After Pentecost
 

Holy Week Preaching, 2005

Back to St. Mary's Homepage
 

Fr. Jim Liggett
P.O. Box 2949; Big Spring, TX  79721
(432) 267-8201 (phone)

Stmarys@stmarysbst.org 

The page background is courtesy  of  Windy's Page designs.

This page last updated on November 18, 2006

Pentecost V, Proper 7, Year A, June 19, 2005

By Deacon Janice Byrd   

There are two parts to the gospel that I want to touch on this day --- mission and slavery.

Christian missionaries were sheep; unbelieving Jewish leadership perceived as persecutors of the Christian community are wolves---a reversal of gentiles being cast as wolves and Jewish people as sheep; the point for Matthew being the disciples’ discernment and single mindedness illuminating them as innocent. This text is taken by Matthew from Mark and is a discourse on mark 13 where Jesus is pictured as looking beyond the resurrection to the time of the living church. By bringing these words into the mission discourse that occurs earlier and applying it to the mission of the Easter disciples Matthew does three things:

1. He breaks down the temporal distinction between the there and then story of pro-Easter Jesus and the here and now mission of his post-Easter readership.

2. He underscores the mission of the church to the nations not as a mundane history project initiated and carried on by persons who want to impose their religious views on others but as God’s plan to bring up nations to the kingdom of God. This is the trouble and persecution the church must endure that will precede the coming of God’s kingdom here pictured as the Advent of the son of man. The church will not be surprised at fiery trials it must endure for suffering is not incidental to mission; mission brings tribulation.

3. Matthew casts the whole mission in the perspective of his motif of the conflict of kingdoms already introduced. The floggings referred to here are not random violence but official punishment for those considered guilty of blasphemy or gross violation of the torah. Matthew’s churches apparently still had some relations to the synagogue which subjected Jewish Christian missionaries to its discipline. The fate of the disciples corresponds to that of their master; the key expression is “handed-over”—God hands over the servant for our sins. This text may ultimately be the background of the early Christian usage of this word for the passion of Jesus. John the Baptist also stands in this tradition in Matthew and Mark. Jesus used the words in reference to his own passion. The disciples like Jesus will suffer for the sake of divine mission in the world.

Prior to Easter the disciples did not carry the mission, suffer in Jesus’ name or stand before governors and kings. Today’s discourse modulates more clearly into the past Easter address to the Christian disciples in Matthew’s time. The unsuccessful mission to Israel already lay in the past for Matthew’s church which now carries on a mission to all nations. Matthew emphasizes this turn to the gentiles is not to make an easier task where people are more receptive—not only were early missionaries brought before Jewish courts but gentiles persecute faithful Christians.

A word of encouragement is given that the Holy Spirit will tell them what to say at these times—the courtroom is not only a place of trial but an opportunity for mission. Matthew touches on the deeply rooted family loyalties that would break down under the approaching end. These occur as a result of the Christian commitment. In this discourse the disciples hear their lord charging them with a mission that extends from the time of the earthly Jesus to the end of the age. Matthew’s instructions could be heard in his church as applicable to the coming mission to Israel as part of the church’s mission to all nations. Matthews words are as vibrant to us today as the day that they were written.

Another part of today’s gospel mentions slavery and since today is an anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation of Abraham Lincoln freeing all slaves in America; I think it appropriate to discuss the state of slavery in this country today. We did not invent slavery in this country; we just perpetuated it and it is alive and well in America today. Slavery which involves body and mind has been listed since the beginning of the written word as an accepted way of life; conquerors had slaves—all kinds of people were enslaved—royalty, bond-servants, conquered nations—countries were founded on the effort of man to escape slavery. Slaves accepted their lot in life, generation after generation; some were at a loss when they were freed which is very understandable.

God gave us love and freedom and let us look at what this looks like in America today:

Slavery to substances- alcohol, drugs tobacco, chocolate

Slavery to a life style- car, house, country club, certain political party; certain church; certain college; power and position

Slavery to abuse- physical, sexual, mental

Slavery to money- make more; need more

Slavery to credit- buy, buy, buy

Gastronomic slavery- eat, eat, eat or diet, diet, diet

Slavery to emotions- following the way that you feel at the moment; gotta have that high

Slavery to sports- following a team, forfeiting all else; you paint your body; buy their memorabilia and sportswear and cheer and attend every game or spend all afternoon and evening to catch every play (to be rehashed the next day at work)

Slavery to sin- anything to an excess

Slavery to gambling- money that could be spent for things that you really need

Slavery to exercise- too much or too little

Slavery to an image- importance of our appearance; eating disorders; steroids

Today’s gospel and my discussion centered on mission and I added slavery as another emphasis. Can a Christian be a slave and still be a missionary?

You can’t serve two masters—the choice is yours—you were given the freedom to choose; as the gospel said---the spirit will guide you (if you let it)
 

The Lessons for today:  Jeremiah 20.7-13; Psalm 69.1-18; Romans 5.15b-19; Matthew 10.16-33
 

A list of Sunday Scripture readings, with links to the Biblical Text:

Season After Pentecost
 

Holy Week Preaching, 2005

Back to St. Mary's Homepage
 

Fr. Jim Liggett
P.O. Box 2949; Big Spring, TX  79721
(432) 267-8201 (phone)

Stmarys@stmarysbst.org 

The page background is courtesy  of  Windy's Page designs.

This page last updated on November 18, 2006

We are well into some of the tougher sayings of Jesus. That’s because he is right in the middle of his instructions to the disciples about what they are to expect as they go about the business of doing what Jesus has called them to do. Last week we heard him talk about persecutions—about the problems they would encounter ‘out there’ in the world. Today, Jesus moves from ‘out there’ and starts getting closer and closer to where we really live.

First, quoting the prophet Micah, Jesus says that the family—those closest to the disciples, would very likely be a place where the demands of faithful living would be felt with particular sharpness. Christians have always believed that family loyalties are at their very best, and their very strongest, when they are built around a shared faith and a common commitment to ministry and service. Without that shared faith, the demands of the Gospel can bring a sword even to these relationships, just as they will cause division between us and the world around us. Only if God comes first can other relationships be as strengthening, as supporting, and as fulfilling as possible. Jesus insists upon this. We can never put family values above Kingdom values.

Then Jesus moves even closer to home. He has talked about the outside culture, the government, the religious establishment, and even the family as possible sources of conflict for those who follow him. Now he takes the final step and says that it is the disciples’ own self, what goes on inside each of them, each of us, that will be the ultimate battleground, the final place the Lord will find opposition.

This is the place where the disciples will experience their greatest struggles and conflict. Listen to Jesus: “He who does not pick up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me...he who loses his life for my sake will find it”.

Isaiah would have understood. When Isaiah spoke about what had to die so that God could be supreme over all of creation, and over each of us, he was talking about the same thing Jesus was talking about when he warned about crosses. Here Isaiah again: “The haughtiness of people shall be humbled, and the pride of everyone shall be brought low.” For God to rule, be it in the world, in our families, or in our lives, everything in the way of that rule must die.

About the year 200 AD one of the finest theologians of the day, a man named Tertullian, was approached by a fellow citizen. They both lived in Carthage, a prosperous Roman city in Northern Africa. This was a time when Christianity was often seen as a threat to the overall good of the society and Christians were publicly ridiculed and occasionally persecuted. It was also a time when the Church was very strict about what was required for membership. Tertullian’s friend had a problem. He wanted to be both a faithful Christian and a successful Carthaginian. He knew that he was to be completely loyal to Christ—yet the Church had identified a real conflict between the way he made a living and the demands of that loyalty. (We don’t know what his job was, it could have been anything from being a silversmith to being an accountant for the public games.) Anyway, he went to Tertullian looking for some theological help in the arranging of a compromise. He explained his situation (doubtless with great drama) and summarized his predicament by asking: “What can I do, I must live?” Tertullian looked at him for a long time and replied, softly, “Must you?” When Jesus speaks of losing one’s life in order to save it, he is asking “must you” to all of our ‘I must’s’; to all of them.

There are so many things we must do, there is so much we must have, there are so many victories we must win, and so many points we must score. There is so much pride we must maintain, and so many hurts we must avenge, or cuddle; there are so many obligations we must fulfill—if we are to live; if we are to live the way we have decided to live, if we are to live the way we think it best for us to live. Like that second century Christian, we carry these ‘I must’s’ around with us; and we take them out and wave them around and say, sometimes with real confusion and anguish, “What can I do, I must...”. And the Lord says, “Must you?”

As Jesus said “those who find their life will lose it.”

Paul talks about this theologically in the reading from Romans. He says “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?...so, you must consider yourself dead to sin.” Paul is right; baptism is the central sign, and the central reality, of the death that Jesus demands. But for that reality to be constantly alive and present, it needs to be renewed and lived out.

And, in a powerful and real way, whenever we choose death—death to self, death to sin, death to “the haughtiness of people”, we are renewing and living into our baptism. Indeed, we are making the power of our baptism present, and we are allowing the presence of the Holy Spirit, given us at baptism, to become a present and felt reality. This truth gets lived out over and over again. Here is another true story: There was an alcoholic who, in a fit of determined (if hung-over) remorse, had promised his minister that he would never drink again. Well, not very long after that, things got a little tough, and the fellow got real thirsty.

So the drunk went back to his minister, told him his tale of woe, and ended by proclaiming passionately “If I don’t have a drink, I’ll die!” To which the minister, being no fool, replied, “So, go home and die”. Well, the drunk went home. It was a long night. The next morning, he called back to say “I died last night.” That was when the real recovery, the real healing, could begin. It is when the “I”, the self at the center, finally dies, (even a little) that real life, and real freedom, can begin. Again, the Lord said, “Whoever loses his life, shall find it.”

So Jesus calls us to move forward, leaving bits of our own corpse behind us— learning to die over and over, so we can begin to learn how to live. And discovering in both the living and the dying the presence of the Christ.

Jesus said, “I have not come to bring peace but a sword”. It is a sword that divides us so that we might discover unity, a sword that tears us apart, so we may be whole, a sword that leads us to death, so we can finally find out what life is really like. “Go home and die” that’s good advice. That’s the way to begin.

The Lessons for today:  Isaiah 2.10-17; Psalm 89.1-18; Romans 6.2-11; Matthew 10.34-42
 

The Lessons for today:  Zechariah 9.9-12; Psalm 145.8-14; Romans 7.21--8.6; Matthew 11.25-30
 

Everybody knows the old bit about optimists and pessimists—how a pessimist says the glass is half empty and an optimist says the same glass is half full. It’s a familiar platitude. But do you realize how terribly important the issue here is? It really does matter how you understand that glass. What if someone asks you to share whatever is in it? What if you wondered whether you were blessed or needy, rich or poor? What about choosing to live gratefully and generously, or resentfully and selfishly?

One perspective (the glass is half empty) easily inspires one way of living; just as the other perspective (it’s half full) inspires a radically different way. Yet they are both based on the same objective facts. The same glass, the same amount of stuff in it. It matters how we see things. The parable Jesus just told us has at its heart this notion of perspective, of how you see things.

I want to suggest that the best way to get at this parable today is by seeing ourselves as the sower; and not primarily as one sort of soil or another. (When there is an allegorical interpretation given for a parable, the meat of the story is usually in the parable itself and in the situation where it was first given [and not in the allegory]) So, we are the ones called to “go out to sow”, to spread the word, to try to live as our faith calls us to live, to try share that faith in word and deed with those whom God puts in our path; to reach out in love and service and to share that gift of love which God has so abundantly given to us.

And that means doing stuff—it means action. It involves reaching out to people; it involves sharing, serving, caring, and risking—all sorts of things like that. We know this. However, when we actually try to do this, when we try to offer ourselves, our time, our energy, our caring, to others, then before very long, (like, pretty much immediately) we’re going to wonder whether it’s worth it; we’re going to wonder whether anything of value or meaning is going to come from all of our efforts. We will wonder that because we will notice—pretty much immediately—that a whole lot of what we do is wasted. Nothing much seems to come of it. Isn’t that right? A lot is wasted. Hold on to that thought, I’ll come back to it after another look at the parable.

The first people who heard this story knew all about a sower going out to sow. They saw it happen, they did it, year after year. They knew that seed was usually sown broadcast. That is, the farmer would walk along and toss it out every which direction. The land was plowed later, after it had been sown. This means that when you were tossing out the seeds, it was virtually impossible to tell what sort of soil it was landing on. It all looked pretty much the same from the point of view of the one who was out there planting. (What’s more, if you stopped every few yards to take a soil sample, the whole town would probably starve.)

So, everything that Jesus said about problems—thin soil, rocks, fat birds, thorns, weeds, whatever—this was old news to them. That was the way it always worked. Much, probably most, of what you sowed was wasted. They knew that.

Now, if the important part of this parable were about the soils, and the difficulties that come with planting anything, and the dangers involved, and the seeds that would be wasted, then there was no big deal at all. There was nothing new or interesting—the folks listening already knew all about that.

However, there is one thing that was really shocking to the first people who heard this parable. That was the yield, the harvest. Seven or eight fold was what was hoped for; that was a very good year. Ten fold was phenomenal, and anything above that was simply unheard of. Yet even the poorest yield in the parable was beyond their experience; and the greatest almost beyond comprehension. To promise this sort of result was more than optimistic—it was to live in a whole different order of creation; it was to operate out of a totally different vision.

To sow with this sort of hope and vision is to have the perspective of the Kingdom of God. When you have this sort of vision and hope, you don’t mind the rocks or the birds or the thin soil or whatever else may get in the way. All of that stuff just doesn’t matter. It is swallowed up in the promise of the whole enterprise. This perspective, the promise of a vast harvest, is the heart of this little story.

Remember, we already know that much of what we do is wasted. We know that very well. We already know what it is like to try and try and try to care and to make a difference and not get anywhere, or not be noticed, or not succeed, or (perhaps worst of all) not even be appreciated. We know what is it like to reach out a hand and pull back a bloody stump. We know what it’s like to make mistakes, or to have the best of good intentions and careful planning backfire on us. We know all about that. If the parable is about that, then it doesn’t have much new or interesting to say to us, either.

Instead, the point of the parable, and the point of what we do, is that, by the grace of God and in spite of how things may seem at the moment, the harvest will be great beyond measure, great beyond belief, great beyond imagining. What God will make of our efforts is more than we can imagine. Much will be wasted—that’s the way it is; but that’s all right.
And the one who sows—that’s us—does not need to worry about this. The one who sows is simply called to scatter the seed—to love and to—and to trust. The rest will be taken care of. This is not because of our abilities; it is but because of the power of God.

This perspective of hope and confidence is the gift of the parable. There is a carefree abandon to this image. We are to love and to serve broadcast—knowing full well that much of what we do is wasted, that bad things that are going to happen—but trusting none the less in the incomprehensible abundance of the harvest. Certainly, much that we try won’t amount to much, at least as we see it. Maybe even our very favorite seed, our best, most self-sacrificing good deed, our smartest remark, our greatest insight, will end up on a rocky path, or inside some fat bird. But that is not ours to control; it is not ours to fix; it is not even ours to worry about.

Each one of us individually, (and our parish itself, all of us together), have at our feet fields to walk and seeds to sow. We are called to do this. This parable is a gift to lighten our step and extend our reach. It gives us the wonderful gift of perspective. So we can wave at the birds and smile at the weeds—they are not our concern.

For the love we offer in the Lord’s name is the word of the Kingdom of God. And that word, God promises, will not return to Him empty—but it shall accomplish that which God intends for it; and it will prosper in the thing for which it is sent.
 

The Lessons for today:  Isaiah 55.1-5, 10-13; Psalm 65.1-14; Romans 8.9-17; Matthew 13.1-9, 18-23
 

By Deacon John Marshall

The Lessons for today:  Wisdom 12.13, 16-19; Psalm 86; Romans 8.18-25; Matthew 13.24-30, 36-43
 

The Lessons for today:  I Kings 3.5-12; Psalm 119.121-136; Romans 8.26-34; Matthew 13.31-33, 44-49a
 

Sometimes the Bible talks Bible. That is, sometimes what’s being said in Scripture is so much a part of other Biblical images and ways of thinking that, without that background, most of the meaning of what is being said is lost.

That’s why you have these odd bulletin inserts. The story of Jesus walking on the water is really about the first creation story in Genesis, and it’s about the stories of Jonah and Noah and Moses, and the world that is described in these stories. To get at the Gospel story, we need to look first at these other, older stories. And, as so often seems to be the case, the best place to begin is with the first verses in Genesis: Think about that story. Do you remember how, before God began to create, “Darkness was on the face of the deep”. Before God began His work of creation, all that existed was a dark and watery chaos—the deep is a great sea that had no limits, and no shape, and no bounds. It was a dangerous and formless mess.

So God’s work of creation consisted, first and centrally, of controlling the waters of chaos, and putting them in their place. So God first created “a firmament in the midst of the waters, and separated the waters from the waters”. Then God gathered together the waters that were under the firmament, and so the dry land appeared. This first mass of dark water, this endless sea, was separated, and by separating it, and holding it back, God made a place for a new beginning, for creation. So begins the first chapter of God’s great story of love and redemption.

The result of all of that looks a little like the picture in the insert. This is how Israel believed the world was put together. Floodgates hold back the waters above and below the earth. These waters are powerful, and dangerous and chaotic; and they are always threatening to return, and to overwhelm and engulf creation.

Indeed, that’s what happens the story of the flood later in Genesis. When human sin runs rampant, “the fountains of the great deep burst forth”, Genesis 7 says, and the windows of the heavens were opened. Here are the windows. You see, the story of Noah and the flood is a cosmic story—it isn’t about a regular flood, or regular rain.
It’s about these floodgates being opened, and creation falling apart. In the flood story, what God did in creation—separate the sea from the dry land—is undone. The evil, chaotic sea bursts through, and destroys everything. It is only through God’s special favor toward Noah and his family that they are kept from the waters, and so survive for a new chapter in God’s great story.

Something very similar is going on in the story of Moses and the crossing of the Red Sea. The people stand on the banks of the Sea, with Pharaoh’s army behind them and with the sea, the same waters of Chaos and destruction, in front of them. Once more, it is God’s power over these waters that makes a new beginning possible. So Moses and the people cross over on dry land. By this action, Israel is formed as a community, and God’s great story of redemption opens a new and powerful chapter.

All of this is to say that in the language and the imagery of the Bible, which pretty much was the language and imagery of Jesus’ day, the sea was not just a bunch of water. The earth’s waters were seen as remnants of the great deep that preceded creation. The sea was a bit of that same chaos God had to control in order for creation to happen, and for God’s new things to begin. It was the deep that had stood in God’s way at the very beginning, and that had stood in Moses’ way as God’s chosen people struggled to be born.

This was what stood between Jesus and his disciples. This was what Jesus walked all over, to come to the first members of the Israel of God, the new creation of Jesus we call Church. Walking on the sea was not just a neat trick. (Jesus wasn’t showing off.) It was an event packed with meaning and power. It meant that Jesus could do what only God could do. It meant that Jesus had mastery over that chaotic darkness that surrounded and threatened to destroy all of creation. And it meant that, like God at creation, and like Moses at the Red Sea, Jesus was about to begin a new thing.

This story about Jesus and the storm is not only about creation and Israel and the power of God, is also about us. For Jesus walks on the sea for the same reason God created a firmament in the midst of the waters, and for the same reason the Red Sea drew back. It is so a new and definitive chapter may begin in God’s great story of redemption.
From this story, we get one of the very oldest images of the Church (and the reason why this part of the church building is called the nave, as in navy.) It’s the image of the people of God, tossed in a boat, a long way from the land, and surrounded by that chaotic darkness that is always just a step away from destroying everything. Yet at the same time that boat is protected and watched over by the Lord who is master even of the storm, the Lord who walks as if the deep were not there.

Now, we don’t use maps like this any more. And we don’t believe anymore that if you go up or sideways far enough you will strike water. The most important points of these accounts in Genesis are theological. Still, all of these stories remain profoundly true stories. That’s because we also know, on a level of real depth, that there is great genius in this picture—that it describes the world, not on the level of geography, but on the level of true depth and meaning.

Somehow, in our world of molecules and quasars, of subatomic particles, big bangs and radio telescopes probing millions of light years out, somehow we know that there is also a chaotic darkness just at the edge that would overwhelm and crush us were it not for the goodness and power of God. We know, from our own lives and from the world around us, that the power of sin and darkness are strong enough to obliterate even the best we can do and much that God cherishes. And we know what it is like to be in a boat a long way from land with the wind against us and Jesus, it seems, off in the hills somewhere praying.

And I suspect that we know, if only just a little bit, every now and then, what it is like for Jesus to come, walking on the great deep, and telling us to take heart, and not to be afraid. For that is real, too; as real as the storm, as real as the danger.

And it has been that way since the beginning. Since the very beginning.

There is one more part. Peter, bless his heart, Peter got it right; if only for a moment. Peter instinctively knew that to recognize Jesus as Lord even of the great deep was to be more than impressed and comforted. To recognize Jesus as Lord is also to be called out. It is to be called out of the boat—just when the boat is finally safe.
To recognize Jesus is to be called to join him in the midst of the storm, in the midst of the danger, and in the midst of the chaos that surrounds us. It is to be called to do his work, to live his life. It is to be called to be servant.

And for a moment or two we, like Peter, can actually do that; we can take a few steps, and be where Jesus calls us to be. Then we see the wind, and start to sink, and beg the Lord haul us back into the boat. We know about that, too. That’s all right. That’s part of it, too. We struggle, and we fall, and He is there; and we start over—beginning here, in the boat.

It’s been that way, too, since the beginning, since the very beginning.

The Lessons for today:  Jonah 2.1-9; Psalm 29; Romans 9.1-5; Matthew 14.22-33
 

A list of Sunday Scripture readings, with links to the Biblical Text:

Season After Pentecost

Advent
 

Holy Week Preaching, 2005

Back to St. Mary's Homepage
 

Fr. Jim Liggett
P.O. Box 2949; Big Spring, TX  79721
(432) 267-8201 (phone)

Stmarys@stmarysbst.org 

The page background is courtesy  of  Windy's Page designs.

This page last updated on November 18, 2006

There are in the Bible, in both the Old Testament and the New, passages which have been especially important, especially formative, to me as a person, as a Christian, and as a Priest. These are passages I see as vivid examples of a golden thread that runs through the Bible and our tradition—a thread that reveals the heart of God, and of our faith. They are passages that have changed my life. The section from Matthew’s Gospel we just heard is one of these. When I first studied it so long ago in Seminary—and I spent a lot of time on it both then and since—it was an “Aha” moment; a moment of clarity and of gift.

What’s going on is this: Jesus is in the region of Tyre and Sidon. These were pagan cities in Syria, North of Israel. (In fact, this is the only time the Bible records Jesus being outside Israel). Some commentators have suggested that Jesus is on vacation, or on retreat.

It is here, on pagan soil, that he is met by a Canaanite woman. We need to be clear on what that means. It wasn’t like Jesus was an Episcopalian and she was a Methodist, (or even a southern Baptist). No, she was a real pagan. A full-fledged, totally unclean, pork-eating, law-breaking, idol worshiping, funny-language speaking, differently colored, uneducated, Sabbath-ignoring enemy. And all that is in addition to be woman —which, the sad fact is, back then was bad enough.

This woman starts nagging Jesus about healing her daughter and Jesus simply ignores her. He walks on.

She keeps talking and Jesus keeps walking. In fact, if the disciples had not asked him to shut her up, the chances are that Jesus never would have responded. Now, there is no hidden agenda, no subtle planning behind this silence.

And when he finally speaks, there is no secret affection behind his initial rejection of her request, or to the insulting way he put it. He really meant it. There is just no way to call someone’s desperately ill daughter a dog and be nice at the same time. Jesus simply wasn’t about to waste the children’s food. He was convinced that his mission was only to the lost sheep of Israel—and he meant just exactly what he said. To use an analogy from a restaurant, this just wasn’t his table. Jesus knew where he was, and who she was; and what’s more, he was off duty.

In rejecting both her and her request for healing, Jesus is standing firmly and clearly within his tradition. There were well over 1,000 years of religious and historical precedent behind what he said and did; and both the Scriptures and the social and legal realities of the day were nicely summed up in his reply. Besides, if you healed too many of those pagan foreigners, they might multiply and move in and do awful things, who knows—take jobs away from people who really counted, spread disease, whatever. So, the disciples asked Jesus to run her off and Jesus tried to do just that. All of that is ordinary. It is what everyone expected—including, no doubt, the woman herself.

Now here’s where it gets special. I am convinced that the next few moments in this story are not ordinary moments; instead, they are powerful moments of insight and of revelation—they are a time of God breaking in. What happens looks simple enough: the woman talks back to Jesus and holds her own, point for point, in what amounts to a running argument. And in that argument, and in this woman, Jesus saw something that must have astonished him. He saw beyond her tenacity and her wit (both things he admired). He saw beyond her gender, and her status, and every sort of identity the world and its institutions gave her. He saw beyond all of that to a faith that could not be denied, a faith that could only be a gift from God.

In her, Jesus saw his Father’s hand at work, his Father’s presence—his Father’s call to him. I believe that this was one of the times that Jesus experienced a moment of revelation; and with it a sort of crisis. Something dreadfully important was going on, and he had to choose.

He could choose to change his mind—he could rethink and expand the scope and the meaning of his calling, indeed the scope and the meaning of God’s very nature. Or he could just keep doing what he and everybody else had been doing for so long, and walk past the dog that did not deserve the children’s food.

So the Lord stood there and looked and listened. And God’s word came to him—not in the form of a dove sent from heaven, not in words that sounded like thunder to those watching, not in a flash of light or a familiar quotation. God’s words came to him in heavily accented Aramaic, from an alien face, in a foreign and unfamiliar place. And at that sacred moment, as the will and mind of his Father were revealed to him in the most unexpected of ways, Jesus chose, and the world shifted a bit. The daughter is healed, and the kingdom of God, and the meaning of the vocation of the Son of Man, are suddenly a whole lot bigger than they had ever been before.

Notice also that after he healed her daughter, Jesus did not lecture the woman, he did not require that she change and become a Jew, he did not demand that she follow the religious or the moral law that Jesus held so dear. He saw her faith, and that was enough. There was simply the gift of that moment, and the choice to be made.

From that day on, questions like, “Who’s in and who’s out?” “Who counts and who doesn’t?” Questions like “how do we know what God will have us do?” and “Is there any reason to change?” and even “where do we look to find an answer?”—these questions were never the same to Jesus, and they will never again be the same to those who, like the Canaanite woman, call him “Lord.”

Something very important happened that day in the district of Tyre and Sidon.

Here is one little example of how I try to struggle with this. You all have your own examples—look for them. In the course of every week, at least a dozen people come by or call the parish office asking for something, for some sort of help—usually help with medicine, bills or gasoline or suchlike. Too often they are chronic repeats; too often they are folks who simply cannot manage their lives; too often they are profoundly other in terms of the values and behavior I value, indeed cherish; too often I quite frankly don’t know what really helping them might look like. But I try to remember this story, and to look, and to listen. Sometimes I discover that my assumptions and preconceptions are, like Jesus’, being met with a new and different word from the Father. Sometimes this helps me figure out what to do; sometimes it doesn’t. But each time I run into the stranger, the other, the one who is irresponsible, or simply wrong, or powerfully different, I try to remember what happened back then.

This story does not tell me, or anybody else, what specific things we should do every time our preconceptions are challenged, or our comfort zone is tested. But it can remind us that it is not enough just to respond automatically, by category, reflex or habit. It can remind us that God’s word just might come to us in all sorts of ways, from all sorts of faces.

This story can call us to pause, to look closely, to listen carefully to those we might call ‘dogs’, or worse, and perhaps, to hear the Word that Jesus heard, the word that the kingdom, and the reach of those who seek and serve the kingdom, are bigger than we ever imagined.

My life has never been the same since I realized this. I just wanted to share that with you.
 

Do you remember as a child the excitement you felt buying a birthday gift for your mom and dad? We counted our money we had saved and spent long hours trying to decide what to buy with our meager change. Then we would spend even longer at stores looking for that perfect gift. We couldn’t wait to see their expressions.

What happened to that excitement—why has that feeling gone away? Although it often seems that people give only to receive, I believe that beyond all our desires to be appreciated, rewarded and acknowledged, there lies simple and pure desire to give. Giving gives us a warm fuzzy feeling; it’s probably one of the most moving experiences of life, whether it’s giving a smile, a handshake, a kiss, a hug , a word of love, a present. It’s sad to see that in our highly competitive world, we have lost touch with the joy of giving.

I’m sure you’re asking yourselves, Why is she talking about giving? It’s not Christmas—it’s not time yet for talks about stewardship. Every day I think about what I am not doing in the name of Christ. My gifts seem so inadequate. I thought maybe that being human, most of you might be feeling the same way. Why is that we think of giving only during the stewardship campaign?

I thought maybe it was time we all had a little reminder.

Our greatest fulfillment lies in giving ourselves to others. Paul Harvey once reported of a woman who called the Butterball Turkey Company to ask a question. She stated she had had a turkey in her freezer for 23 years, and wondered about its advisability for cooking. The company spokesperson told her that if the freezer had been on throughout that period, the turkey would probably be okay. However, after all of that time it wouldn’t taste very good. “Oh, that’s what I thought,” she replied. “I guess I’ll donate it to the church.” I don’t think that’s what God meant when he said to give of ourselves.

Christian stewardship is not just about money or pledging to the church or mission. It’s so much more than that. Christian stewardship is first and foremost about recognizing that all life is a gift, and that everything has been entrusted into our hands to care for and to manage wisely, faithfully, and lovingly as gifts from God.

Do you know what God’s greatest gift is to us? It’s US—you and me. Why can we not remember that and act accordingly?

Christian stewardship is about being a care manager of the whole of our lives. Being a faithful Christian steward means seeing everything through the eyes of Christ. And, through those lenses, it’s about how we manage and care for such things as our bodies, our minds, our souls, our time, and our resources. It’s about how we balance and care for our work, our families and our other significant relationships, our play, our self-care, and our volunteer investment of our time and energies in the community and the Church.

It’s about how we spend and consume, and about how we work for peace, reconciliation, understanding, and justice in our communities and the world. It’s all of that.

Paul tells us that the mystical body of Christ, is like our human body. Each member has a role, a function, a ministry. Each member is necessary and important. Each member is inter-related to each other member. And when we all cooperate together under the leadership of the head, Jesus Christ, the ministry of the local church is powerful and very effective.
Now I want everyone to look around you. Look at the people in front of you, in back of you, and beside you. These people are the Church. They are not all like us. They each have different gifts, different ministries. But we are not complete without them. We need them and they need us. We all need each other in the Church. You see none of us is called to go it alone. Now, because we are all necessary and important, there is a certain responsibility we have toward one another-- and with that responsibility comes accountability. You see, if we need one another, then when one of us lays down on the job, the other suffers. We have a responsibility to exercise the gifts and ministries God has given us.
I mentioned earlier about how I don’t feel I do enough. As a deacon, I feel very inadequate because I am not out there beating the bushes helping others. Sometimes I wish I were a type A person, but I’m not. There is much guilt on my shoulders and trust me it is beginning to weigh a ton. What am I doing about it? Well for starters I pray for forgiveness—a lot. And I pray that soon I will have the motivation for some big project. In the mean time I am concentrating on the little things. Praying for those in need, being nicer, offering a smile, a hug, letting someone go ahead of me in the grocery line. There are so many so many opportunities in this town to offer our ministry. The main thing I see are the great number of elderly around. I am trying to be more astute and constantly on the look out for little ways to help them. (holding open a door; helping them negotiate a curb; reaching for store items high on a shelf). You too can do this—and more.

I borrowed this statement from John Wesley, (a Methodist through no fault of his own!) It made such an impression on me that I now have it on the front of my refrigerator and want to share it with you: “Do as much good as you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, for as long as you can. If we all abided by this statement—how powerful would that be?

The prayer of St. Francis is the essential prayer of Christians desiring to be stewards in their lives. It goes like this:

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace; Where there is hatred, let me sow love; Where there is injury, pardon; Where there is doubt, faith; Where there is despair, hope; Where there is darkness, light; And where there is sadness, joy. Oh, Divine Master, Grant that I may not so much seek To be consoled as to console; To be understood, as to understand; To be loved as to love; For it is in giving that we receive, It is in pardoning that we are pardoned, And in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Jesus is coming—look busy. AMEN

The Lessons for today: Isaiah 51.1-6; Psalm 138; Romans 11.33-36; Matthew 16.13-20
 

Pentecost XVI, Proper 18, Year A, September 4, 2005

By Deacon Janice Byrd

The instructions in the gospel passage today concern a matter not only of personal relations but also of preserving and reconciling a straying member of the community while preserving the community integrity as the holy covenant of people of god. Matthew’s community orientation and our individualistic one come into sharp conflict. He offers a solution to something we hardly perceive as a problem since we are inclined to see our sin as a matter between ourselves and god or at most between us and the person who has wronged us. That it is a matter of the Christian congregation to which we belong and may damage its life comes as a surprise to both them and us if they are as individualistic as we are. What ever we think of the solution Matthew offers we might first ponder the nature of the Christian life it presupposes. A doctrine of the church as the people of god is here presupposed. To be Christian is to be bound together in community; to pray is to say “our father” even in the privacy of our own room.

Likewise the setting of these instructions is what makes them both necessary and possible. Serious and stringent though these procedures are they are in the content not of self-righteous vindications but of radical caring for the marginal and the straying and of grace and forgiveness beyond all imagining. The offended person or community is to take the initiative. In some cases the offended person maybe unaware of the offense. This is a somewhat different case than today when the offended would some times just prefer to be silent and sulk and therefore let the offense come to no conclusion; hurting both parties and communities and never accomplishing the Christian goals.

Discipline is a difficult thing for anyone to do and I am one to speak to this as a veteran in the game of making myself do things that I may not want to do; also in not being far sighted in the consequences of my lack of self discipline. I would like to refer you to a book written on rules which I have found to be an amazing pool of early Christian discipline written about 530 ad by a fellow known as saint benedict. Let me read from the beginning of the prologue: “Listen carefully, my son, to the master’s instructions and attend to them with the ear of your heart. This is advice from a father who loves you, welcome it and faithfully put it into practice.

The labor of obedience will bring you back to him from whom you have drifted through the sloth of disobedience. This message of mine is for you, then, if you are ready to give up your own will, once and for all, and armed with the strong and noble weapons of obedience to do battle for the true king, Christ the lord”. His book covers all such things as treatment of others; proper etiquette; elections and receipt of brothers; and how much food to eat and who is to wash the dishes; in other words rules for a successful community. Pretty insightful words even for today.

On the other side of the coin is forgiveness which again I am a master at not mastering or recognizing the importance of it to the community. I found a good article in a recent periodical written by a Rick Warren; I do not know his profession but I was struck by some of the things that he said that spoke to the importance of forgiveness and reconciliation. He says that learning to forgive is absolutely essential to healthy living. He says people may feel that some offenses are too serious to forgive; but that forgiveness does not minimize the seriousness of the offense; it is to be saved for the big stuff not confused for tolerance and patience. He goes on to say if you have been seriously wronged do not play it down.

When you do this you cheapen forgiveness; do not say it doesn’t matter; it does. He says that the reason people are reluctant to forgive is that they think that if they forgive they have to be ready to resume the relationship just the way it was and they are not ready to do that. But forgiveness doesn’t mean reuniting or resuming your original relationship; it will change in significant ways. He stresses that forgiveness is something you do privately and without the other person’s cooperation while reconciliation takes two; he goes on to state the steps that must be taken to effect a reconciliation and says whether this is ever accomplished or not-- the key to emotional freedom is forgiveness.

Ultimately, he says you need to forgive others because you will need forgiveness yourself in the future. Jesus taught that it was a two way street: “for when you forgive others when they sin against you, your heavenly father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your father will not forgive you.” We cannot receive what we are unwilling to give.

So how is a community to survive? Just think they are a bunch of people who look, act, smell, talk and think differently than I do. One writer defines a community as that place where the person you least want to live always lives. The real Christian community is one where when one suffers they all suffer and when one rejoices all rejoice. It does not seem to work that way some of the time and that is where the forgiveness and the discipline will make a difference and the individuals become as one with a common goal of being the holy covenant people of god.

Janice Byrd, Deacon

I want to start out with a notion from the philosophy of science, a term that is pretty badly overused these days, but one that really fits in nicely with both the Gospel story we just heard, and the fact that today we begin our Christian Education program for another year. The term is ‘paradigm shift’, and it first came from a fellow named Thomas Kuhn back in the early 1960's.

A paradigm shift means a complete change in the way the world is perceived, a total reorientation of the way we think because of a new and radically different perception of reality. Kuhn talked about paradigm shifts around things like changing from a view of the universe with the earth in the center of everything to a view of the universe with the sun in the center of a solar system that is just a tiny part of a tiny galaxy; or the change in the way we think about nature, motion, time, and space that Newton, and then Einstein, started.

These are big changes; changes so big that not just the answers change, but the questions themselves change; and it doesn’t make sense to ask the same questions under the new paradigm that it made perfect sense to ask under the old one. And even though this term has been co-opted and trivialized by everyone from fashion designers to car companies, it’s still possible to grasp the vastness, and the significance, of its original meaning—a real paradigm shift means that everything is going to be different, not just the answers, but even the questions.

That’s behind what’s going on in Peter’s little debate with Jesus about forgiveness, and that’s at the heart of what we aim to have going on in our Sunday School, and in all of our parish’s efforts at Christian education and formation. Let’s start with Peter, bless his heart. Peter was probably mad at James or Andrew or John or somebody like that and wanted to know how long he had to put up with their nonsense. Being no fool (at least not all of the time), Peter guessed that Jesus would be harder on him than the Pharisees—and the Pharisees insisted that you had to forgive your brother three times. So, Peter took that number, doubled it and threw in one extra for good measure. “Must I forgive even seven times?” Not bad—he probably figured he was being extraordinarily generous, and he doubtless thought he was at least in the ball park. (Think about it. How many times have you honestly forgiven the same adult seven times for something really serious? Peter was trying hard; he was stretching himself.)

Jesus’ response is stunning. Jesus’ point was not that Peter’s arithmetic was wrong—that he missed the right answer by 70 or whatever. Jesus’ point was not that Peter was giving the wrong answer, but that he was asking the wrong question. The Lord had come, and the world had change altogether; the paradigm had shifted and you just couldn’t think the same way anymore. Jesus knew that what Peter was really asking was a question about himself, and about the Christian Community, about us. He was asking “When do I get to be a person who does not have to forgive anymore?” He was asking, “How bad do they have to be, before I get to be like them?” And he was asking the same things about all of us. He was asking the old questions, questions about ‘them’, questions about keeping score, questions about getting even. But he was asking those questions to Jesus, and that just won’t do.

So Jesus tries to push things, to show how totally different the world had become now that he was in it. In his reply to Peter, Jesus is saying that there is never a good time for Peter, or for you, or for me, or for anyone, to become a person, or to become a community, that does not forgive.
Jesus is saying that there can be no limit to forgiveness; and that’s the way it is, not because of what ‘they’ do, but because of who Jesus is, which is who God is, which is therefore how we are created to be. The world just isn’t like it used to be. After we start to see who Jesus is, we have to start looking for new questions to ask about forgiveness, just like we have to start looking for new questions about all sorts of other things, too.

So Jesus doesn’t say we are to forgive primarily for the benefit of the people we forgive—so they will be impressed and so become better people or whatever—we all know that this can maybe sometimes happen, but it usually doesn’t. And Jesus doesn’t say that forgiveness a way to “stick it to ‘em” by making them feel guilty or embarrassed. That happens even less. Instead, the call to forgiveness is a command to us and to the Church for our own sake; for the sake of our own life, health, and ministry. It is given to us so we might discover our own selves, and so begin to become who we are meant to be.

This means that the issues with Jesus’ demands for forgiveness are not primarily issues of international policy, criminal law or civil liability—although these can become involved. And the point is neither that we should allow ourselves to be abused nor that it is just fine for people to hurt us or others.

Instead, the real issue has to do with the choices we make, and so with the sort of person we thereby choose to become—a person who, for better or for worse, is going to end up living with God for a very long time. Remember, the paradigm has shifted, and everything is different.

I wonder how many other perfectly reasonable and ordinary questions we ask look different when we begin with the idea that we can see who we are created to be and how we are created to live by looking at Jesus. Ponder that. How many of our questions about success and failure—or winning and losing; how many of our questions about why we are here, and what our lives are for, and who we see when we look at another person—how many of our questions about these sorts of things are not just questions we don’t know the right answer to, but are really questions it plainly doesn’t make any sense to ask in the light of who Jesus is, or in the shadow of the cross?

All of this is why it is my prayer that, gradually but intentionally, we can begin to help ourselves and our children both to discover and to live in this new reality, this new paradigm, that Jesus brings; and that we can help them (and ourselves) to see ever more clearly that, since Easter, all of creation is different, everything about us is new, and everything important has changed—even, and perhaps especially, the questions themselves.
 

Life is preparation for heaven, for the kingdom of God. Now this can be tricky. Life is not preparation for heaven the way one grade in school is a preparation for the next grade, or even like school is preparation for a job. That is, the point isn’t that you have to take a bunch of tests and then if you pass you get to go to the next place, or to the good place.

Instead, your life is preparation for the kingdom of God the way your life as a child is preparation for your life as an adult. It’s preparation the way your child’s watching your marriage is preparation for the sort of husband or wife your child will be. It’s preparation the way how you live is preparation for how you will die. It’s preparation as practice, as formation. It’s about getting used to that paradigm shift I talked about last week.

Nowhere is that clearer than in the parable of the laborers in the vineyard. You all know the story. Folks are hired for a fair day’s wages, and some work all day. Others begin working at various times during the day. A few of these worked only an hour or two. The owner pays everybody exactly the same amount—those who worked all day, and those who worked only an hour. The ones who worked all day were unhappy, they grumbled; they were convinced there was something unfair going on.

How about it? Does something about this story bother you? Would you like a new employee at your job to show up on the 27th and get the same monthly check you get? Even if you thought your pay was fair? It bothers me. There is just something wrong here somewhere, and we can feel it.


At the same time, it is difficult to point out just exactly what is wrong. The parable takes that on pretty directly; and in fact it’s nearly impossible to spell out why the situation is not fair to the workers who complained.

Try it. If I worked all day, and you worked an hour, then why is paying you as much as I contracted to get unfair to me? To you maybe; but why to me? But it still feels wrong.

Be that as it may, I suspect that the most important thing here is not to understand why we feel that story is unfair. What’s at stake in this parable is too important for that. The most important thing here isn’t to understand. The most important thing is to repent. There is real judgment in this story.

You see, at the moment those laborers were being paid, they were, all of them, regardless of when they arrived, living in the kingdom of God. All of them had received from the master’s hand. God gave each of them all that there was to give. That’s a pretty good picture of the kingdom.

But some of them, the good ones, the ones we sympathize with, the ones we are most like, the ones we understand and know about and try to justify, these were miserable. They were living in the kingdom of God, and they hated it. There was a party going on all around them, they were surrounded by joyful, thankful, blessed people. They were honored guests at the party, and they were miserable.

Life is preparation for heaven, for the kingdom of God.


Jonah would have understood why the laborers who worked all day were unhappy. Jonah was called by God to be a prophet to Nineveh. The reason Jonah got thrown overboard in a storm and ended up in the belly of a fish was that Nineveh was to his east and Tarshish was to his west and when God told Jonah to go to Nineveh he headed straight for Tarshish.

The storm and the fish were God’s way of encouraging Jonah to reconsider.

So Jonah reconsidered. He preached doom and destruction to Nineveh, just as God commanded. In fact, he preached so well that Nineveh heard and believed and repented. From the king to the farm animals, everyone put on sackcloth and ashes, and begged for mercy.

And so, of course, God also repented—He does that. God changed His mind and spared the great city.

This made Jonah furious. It wasn’t fair. Jonah had promised destruction, and there was no destruction. So Jonah looked the fool (at least to himself); besides, he missed the glorious display of fire and brimstone he’d been counting on. So Jonah went up on the mountain to pout; and what we just heard was God trying to make the same point to Jonah that the owner of the vineyard tried to make to the laborers who worked all day.

After all, there was a wonderful party going on in Nineveh. And there sat Jonah, up on his hill, miserable, and insisting on staying miserable. God is inviting Jonah to join the party, which is for Jonah as much as it is for anybody—he would doubtless have been an honored guest.

But notice this: as much as God wants Jonah at the party; He did not offer to destroy Nineveh just to make Jonah feel better. (Just like the owner of vineyard did not offer to take part of the money away from some, or give the others more, just to make them feel better.) The kingdom of God isn’t fair like that. The kingdom of God is a whole lot of things, but it isn’t fair like that.

Now, these stories are huge hints about what the kingdom of God is like, and because of this, they should be absolutely terrifying. Remember, both Jonah and the laborers who worked all day are the folks we usually relate to. And there they were, smack dab in the middle of the Kingdom of God, and they were absolutely miserable.

Life is preparation for heaven, for the kingdom of God.

It’s sort of a joke, really. Look at those fools, at Jonah and the laborers—invited guests to creations’ greatest banquet. They have it all, and they can’t enjoy a single minute of it.

It’s funny if you get the joke, if you see the humor, the plain silliness, of these hard working, self-righteous, small-spirited folks doing their best to be unhappy in the midst of God’s abundant mercy.

But if you don’t get the joke, then it isn’t funny—it’s tragic and it’s scary. If you don’t get the joke, then think about this. The folks who were unhappy, and who could well choose to be miserable throughout all eternity; those were the folks who paid special attention to themselves, to what they did and to what they deserved and to how they could be offended.
The folks who were happy, and for whom life in the kingdom was a joy, these were the folks who focused their attention on God and His mercy.

With both of these readings God is both inviting us into his kingdom, and showing us what life in that kingdom is like. The idea is that we can practice it a bit here and now, so things will be easier when we get there.

Jonah and the laborers who worked all day are fools; in fact, to be theologically precise, they are damned fools. They are also comic characters. But we need to be able to see a