sermon preached
at Church of the Good Shepherd, Federal Way, WA
by the
Rev. Josh Hosler, Rector
The Eighteenth Sunday
after Pentecost, Proper 20B, September 23, 2018
I
was hanging out with a friend recently, and she commented, “Sermons are when
the preacher tells the people what to do.”
I
was taken aback. “What?”
“Sermons
are when the preacher tells the people what to do. And the people who come to
church are those who are willing to be told what to do.”
I
was intrigued. “And then they do it?”
“Oh,
no, of course not,” she replied. “But they’re willing to sit there and be told.
It’s a time-honored social convention lived out in all our churches every
Sunday.”
“Do
I do that?” I wondered aloud, reaching for my smartphone and its store of all
my sermons in the cloud.
My
friend laughed. “Probably! Wait … are you checking right now?”
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| A Word Cloud of 268 sermons ... |
I
scanned a couple old sermons, looking specifically for imperative verbs.
“Choose … live … practice … listen … come … bring … immerse!” They were all
over the place. Some of the verbs were very gracious and open, while others specifically
ordered the congregation in a certain direction. It turns out that, in ways
subtle and not-so-subtle, I’ve been telling congregations of people what to do
for fifteen years!
I
noticed something else, too. I noticed that my best sermons—the ones I’m
personally proudest of, at least—were the ones with fewer imperative verbs—the
ones in which I shared a personal story or made an observation—and then just
let it be.
It
took me 286 sermons to learn this. (Ah, the things computers can tell us!)
Well,
if we have any humility at all, we learn to revel in the fact that we never
stop learning. So naturally, the next place I looked for imperative verbs was
in today’s readings.
Jeremiah
has only one; he is telling his own story, a lament that there are people
seeking to murder him. Then he implores God, “Let”—oh, what a nice, gracious
verb! Oh, wait: “Let me see your retribution on them.” Well, I guess if there
are people trying to kill you, you might want to see them hurt a little. It may
not be especially honorable or enlightened, but it’s at least honest to include
that part in your prayer.
The
Psalmist is in a similar situation, and at least for storytelling purposes, we can
understand today’s Psalm as being sung by David, before he is King of Israel,
when he also is running from potential murderers. So David’s imperatives are
also aimed at God: “Save,” “defend,” “hear,” “give ear,” “render,” “destroy.”
It’s the same story: Rescue me from my enemies, God, and while you’re at it,
get rid of them for me, will you? Understandable.
In
the Letter of James, we find something very different, but there is a line in
it that makes me chuckle: “You want something and do not have it; so you commit
murder.” I can see you all nodding your heads—yes, that’s right. I can relate to that. I’ve been there before.
Maybe James has been reading in his Bible about Jeremiah and David.
James,
throughout his letter, is full of specific advice in the form of imperative
commands. Today we hear these: Show your gentleness. Do not be boastful and
false. Submit yourselves to God. Resist the devil. Draw near to God. James’s
letter really does sound like a sermon, doesn’t it? And I’ll leave you to
decide whether it’s good, solid advice. I just note that he is specifically telling
the people what to do.
And
then we get to the Gospel. Jesus says several things in this passage. How many
imperative verbs do you see?
That’s
right: None. Even in the face of being misunderstood, even in the face of an
argument among his disciples, Jesus doesn’t command anything.
Instead,
first he tells them what is going to happen: “The Son of Man is to be betrayed
into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he
will rise again.” We mused last week about how problematic it would be to
accept such a fate for God’s Messiah.
Next
Jesus asks them a question: “What were you arguing about on the way?”
Then,
after the disciples’ shamefaced confession that they were trying to one-up each
other, Jesus tells them the way things work in God’s domain: “Whoever wants to
be first must be last of all and servant of all.” He doesn’t tell them what to
do. He tells them how to get what they want, if that’s truly what they want, and
to suspect that what they thought they wanted might not be the best thing to
want. Then he leaves it up to them to work it out.
And
once more, Jesus speaks: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes
me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” Again,
he’s telling nobody what to do. He’s just telling them the way things are in
God’s world. If you choose, you can stop arguing and be a servant, and you will
be blessed. If you choose, you can welcome all the vulnerable who are of no use
to you.
This
is, after all, how children were generally viewed in the ancient world. They
were a necessary nuisance. Young children were takers, hoarding valuable
resources in a hand-to-mouth economy, all on the off chance that they would not
get sick and die, but instead grow into valuable, strapping young farm workers
and mothers of the next generation of children. You had to have children to
take care of you in your old age. But until they hit puberty, at least, you
just had to put up with them. Sorry, kids—that’s the way it was then. Aren’t
you glad it’s usually different now? It might make you feel differently about
washing the dishes, at least.
So
Jesus doesn’t instruct his disciples to welcome children, at least not in
Mark’s telling. He simply tells the disciples what will happen if they welcome
the child, or the one the metaphorical child represents.
Now,
this is not to say that Jesus never used imperative verbs. Off the top of my
head I can think of many: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” “Work
for the food that endures.” “Rejoice and be glad.” “Go and make disciples of
all nations.” Today’s readings are not a scientific sample. But they do make me
wonder, more broadly, which gospel writers are more in the habit of placing
imperative verbs in Jesus’ mouth. How often, really, did Jesus command people
to do things? How often did the gospel writers use their platform to tell
people what to do, in Jesus’ name?
We
can only develop theories. But this I have learned: every imperative verb is a
“should.” When I, from the pulpit, say, “Let us do such-and-such,” I am using
the authority the church has invested in me as an opportunity to plant a
“should” in your head. Some preachers really use this authority strongly: “I’m
the preacher, and I say you should only use your sex life in these specific
ways. I’m the preacher and I say we as a congregation should become a refuge
for persecuted immigrants. I’m the preacher and I say you should vote for candidate
so-and-so.” (That last one, by the way, will put a congregation’s tax-exempt
status at risk, per the Johnson Amendment of 1965!)
I
may want you to do all sorts of things. I may want us to embark on all sorts of
things together. And sometimes I’ll say exactly what I think our “shoulds”
should be. But I’m not going to do that today, because I’m paying attention to
Jesus and the way he preached. I’m also paying attention to Jeremiah and the
Psalmist, who leveled their commands at God, a task that I think is fair game,
and which we do all the time when we pray.
But
to you? Today, I’m not going to implore you to do anything. And this is because
I have heard the Gospel. I have heard the voice of the Messiah who knew they
were going to kill him … the one who saw his own followers begin to attack each
other and didn’t let that raise his anxiety level … the one who let his eye be
caught by a young child instead. It’s almost like he was thinking, “They just
don’t want to hear me talk about my own death, so they’re stressed out, and
they’re taking it out on one another, and they’ll hash it out eventually, but while
I’m waiting I’ll just go over here and play with this kid.” And lo and behold,
the kid turned out to be a helpful metaphor. Want to welcome Jesus into your
life? Want to welcome the one who sent Jesus? Hmmm, then you …
Nope.
No imperative verbs today. Not going to go there. Wouldn’t be prudent.
Years
ago I had a spiritual director who noticed that I was using the word “should” a
lot. I was anxiously complaining about things I “should” be doing and ways I
“should” be behaving, and finally he smiled gently and said to me, “The further
I have gone on my journey into spiritual maturity, the more I have found that
my ‘shoulds’ just fall away, to be replaced with what I may decide to do next.”
Hey!
God loves you. Did you know that? Well, I’m telling you now. Theologian Marcus
Borg put it this way: “God is besotted with you.” Now, there’s some news! So … once
you hear this Good News, what next?
Well,
how would a child react? If Jesus’ ultimate example is to welcome small
children, then perhaps God welcomes us as if we were small children—even infants
at the breast. Drinking milk. Receiving sustenance, like the Psalmist says: “It
is the Lord who sustains my life.” We are being sustained. God is sustaining us
this very moment. And all we need to do is whatever comes naturally in order to
receive that sustenance.
Thomas
Keating puts it this way: “The only thing God wants from you is your consent to
be loved.” Wow.
So …
I wonder what we’ll all do about that?
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