21Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. 22Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” 23But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” 24He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” 25But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” 26He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 27She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” 28Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.
Sometimes we don’t exactly know what to do with this passage. It tells us that Jesus travels to a place that is not his, to an unfamiliar place some distance away. It’s not the wildernesses that we’ve come to know but it IS a wilderness. When we journey through unknown territory, through places that are not our home, through places that are not ours, places that we have not planned or planted, even places for which we feel totally unprepared, there is a certain wilderness aspect to them.
And in this unfamiliar place, this woman appears to Jesus begging that he heal her daughter. Her appeals got louder and louder and more and more insistent. So, what was Jesus to do? He wasn’t there for her. She was Canaanite. She was not Jewish. (The Markan version of this story depicts her as Syrophoenician). Either way, she was “the other”. And at this point, Jesus understood that his mission was to the Jews. This would not be right. She was not one of them. But the woman kept insisting. (I will tell you, the reference to “dogs” is not a nice one. Without offense to the dog-lovers and dogs among us, in 1st century Jewish society, dogs were looked upon as unclean, as scavengers.) And, yet, even Gentiles, even the “bottom of society”, even the “dogs” gather the crumbs from the masters’ table.
But, then, Jesus changes. He stops, he listens, he changes. See, this woman gets it. Her faith sees Jesus as a sign of what’s to come. This moment is, in effect, a turning point for Jesus. (And we need to realize that that turning point is the reason we’re here. We ARE the ones to which Jesus’ mission turned and broadened to include.) I’m actually grateful the writer didn’t try to “clean up” the story. This shows Jesus’ humanness, his searching, his exploring, his changing, his realization that there was something (and someone) more. In this moment, there, in the wilderness, in the place that was not his, Jesus saw a broader vision of God and who God called him to be than even he had before.
I think that’s why Lent tends to be this sort of wilderness journey. Traversing through places with which we are unfamiliar, places that perhaps do not feel like home, perhaps will never feel like home, gives us a new perspective. Maybe we’re not called to make ourselves at home at all. Maybe we’re rather called to continuously journey through newness, continuously open our minds and our hearts just a little bit more with each turn of the pathway. I don’t believe that God calls us to stay planted where we are; otherwise, there wouldn’t be so many pesky wildernesses in the stories of faith and in our own lives. The wilderness is where we change our course, where the road turns if only one small degree and, unsettled though we are, we turn with it and continue our journey with minds broadened and hearts opened.
We can’t hold on to the familiar. We can’t just associate with those who look like us and think like us and believe like us. That’s what’s wrong with the world right now. That’s what’s wrong with our society, our country, our relationships with each other. We need to hold fast to what we believe but not at the expense of relationships. That’s what Jesus teaches us in this passage. Jesus listens to the woman and backs away a bit. He doesn’t retreat; he gets a different view. He gets a broader view. He looks at the world the way God does. God made the world diverse. Why in the world would we be meant to stay in our own little bubble? And yet, we’re arguing over the use of DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion)? I don’t get it. We need to breathe out needing to surround ourselves with comfort, with those who are like us. I mean, Jesus wasn’t even like us! He was a dark-skinned immigrant who was Jewish. What does that tell us? So, we need to breathe in the way the world is—diverse and God-made—all of us.
He drew a circle that shut me out. Heretic, a rebel, a thing to flout. But Love and I had the wit to win. We drew a circle that took him in! (Edwin Markham)
31Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. 32He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. 33But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” 34He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 35For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. 36For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? 37Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? 38Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”
We are very good at imagining who we intend to be. We are very good at attempting to write the story that makes sense for us. So, what do we do when we find out that the story is about to change? See, Peter had it all figured out. His whole identity was wrapped up in who he understood Jesus to be and who he understood himself to be in light of that. Sure, I think Peter got that Jesus was the Messiah. He knew the words. He had been taught the meaning probably from his childhood, the idea that this Messiah would come and bring victory and glory. Put yourself in his place. Here is this great man who you have grown to dearly love. This ministry that he has begun has been great. He truly IS the Messiah for which you have waited so long. What great plans for the future Peter must have imagined!
But then Jesus starts talking about his own coming suffering. This wasn’t the plan that Peter envisioned. This wasn’t the way the story was supposed to go. Most of us identify with Peter here. This cannot be! There is no way that it is time for Jesus to leave us. This was our Messiah sent here to save us, the Messiah for which we have waited for generations upon generations! Jesus’ harsh statement to Peter jolts us into reality, though. For we do often limit our thinking to things of this world. We want to protect and possess this Messiah. We want a Messiah who will save us on our terms, someone to be in control, someone to fix things, someone to make it all turn out like we want it to turn out, someone to make our lives safer and easier.
Now, contrary to the way our version of the Scriptures interprets it, I don’t think Jesus was accusing Peter of being evil or Satan or anything like that. Who could blame Peter? He’s just like us! Listen further…If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. We’ve all read that verse before. We’d like to make it read a little easier. We would rather skip through the end of Holy Week and go straight to Easter morning. That’s why this season of Lent is so difficult. It won’t let us do that. The cross is not something that we look to only in the past. The cross is not something that we look to at the end of our lives. This is not some goal for farther down the road. This is not some plan laid out for our lives. This is here; this is now. It’s talking about the journey. It’s talking about our listening to God’s calling us in our lives now. It’s talking about letting your life go NOW! If this were easy, then we wouldn’t need Christ. We’re not asked to just believe in Christ; we’re asked to follow…all the way to the cross.
I know what you’re all thinking. I’m not so sure I signed up for this. What happened to that Messiah that was going to take away all our troubles—you know calm all the storms and such? What happened to that Savior that would solve all of our problems so that life wouldn’t be so hard? Ooops! Wrong Savior! Maybe we don’t want a Messiah at all. Maybe we were confused. Maybe what we REALLY want is a superhero, you know…more of a “and they lived happily ever after” ending.
That’s not how the story is written. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I in no way believe that everything has already been laid out for us as some sort of pre-ordained path. I’m not that Calvinist. It’s much more nuanced than that. Some of you have heard me say this, but I once had the opportunity to be a part of a discussion group with John Irving (yes, THAT John Irving). One question that was asked was predictable: How did he write his stories? But his answer was unusual. He said that he writes the ending first and then rolls out the plots, themes, and chapters that will end the way he has envisioned it.
I think that’s a lot like the way this story is being written. God has a vision. We’ve been given clues and the small pieces of it that we can grasp. But the story is still being written by God and by us. God has invited us into this work. But the story is not linear. It’s not something we can predict or for which we can plan. Instead, it probably more closely resembles chaos theory. Chaos theory is a scientific and mathematical discipline that embraces patterns, rather than linear lines. The assumption is that whatever happens is a product of multiple things, including choices, weather, science, and the things that came before. You’ve heard of the “butterfly effect”. That’s chaos theory. It’s not random. And it’s not chaos. It’s ordered. Isn’t that what God does? God takes this veritable chaotic swirl of happenings and orders it. And it is very very good.
Jesus had that vision. Jesus knew the story. He was trying to help Peter understand that the chapters that would unfold were not random. They certainly weren’t chaos. But they weren’t controllable. They weren’t predictable. They weren’t the story that we would probably pen on our own. God is writing the story and invites us into it to help write it. But we need to breathe out needing it to be predictable, needing it to be what we want or envision or write for ourselves. Forget that. Breathe in the story…the one that God is writing with you.
God…leads us step by step, from event to event. Only afterwards, as we look back over the way we have come and reconsider certain important moments in our lives in the light of all that has followed them, or when we survey the whole progress of our lives, do we experience the feeling of having been led without knowing it, the feeling that God has mysteriously guided us. (Paul Tournier)
When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. 2Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:
3“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 4“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. 5“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. 6“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. 7“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. 8“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. 9“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. 10“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 11“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. 12Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
In these words, a part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, arguably the greatest sermon ever given, Jesus was laying before us an alternate way of being, a way that God calls us to be. It was a reversal of the usual value system. He was calling us to expect something different than what we see around us. It can’t have been accepted all that well. I mean, he was telling them that the way the world was was not really working, that the society that they had built was not the way it should be. You and I both know–people don’t like that.
Each beatitude begins in the present and moves to the future. So, start now but expect it to result in something different. Expect that when God finishes this new creation, justice and righteousness and peace will finally and always prevail. And in our seemingly small way, by living in this life now, by living a life of gentleness in this time of violence, a life of pure devotion to God in this time of competing allegiances, and a life in which we truly hunger and thirst for that day of expected justice and righteousness for all, we will become the future.
No longer can Christianity be seen as a philosophy of life that would make us healthy, wealthy, and wise. That whole prosperity gospel thing that is so prevalent right now, where if you pray and do right and say the right things and vote the right way, God will somehow reward you with a life of ease and plenty and you will come out on top is totally and completely debunked with this Scripture. It instead shows us a way of walking that is different from what we know. And we are expected to do something to make that happen.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer said this: Humanly speaking, we could understand and interpret the Sermon on the Mount in a thousand different ways. Jesus knows only one possibility: simple surrender and obedience, not interpreting it or applying it, but doing and obeying it. That is the only way to hear his word. He does not mean that it is to be discussed as an ideal; he really means us to get on with it.
The promise is not that being blessed means that our lives will become easier. It doesn’t have anything to do with having a nice house or a good job or living a life of ease and plenty. Being blessed means having a bless-ed relationship with God and with God’s people who share this planet with you. It means seeing yourself not as better or nicer than others, but as one who is a part of God’s bless-ed Creation. And from that standpoint, the beatitudes are meant to be not instructive but descriptive of that relationship. They are not meant to be a checklist of what makes us a better person. They are a vision of a community—an alternative community than the one in which we live. Truth be told, being “blessed” has more to do with being used by God than it does getting stuff or having your life be easier.
Christ’s coming into this world as our Messiah brought about for us the conception of what Shalom is, the vision of what God’s full and final Kingdom looks like. And even as the world groans with pain, we get a sense that perhaps some of it are the pains of birthing God’s Reign into being. We are in the midst of a holy labor, a holy gestation as God’s vision comes to be. And in our expectation of what will come to be, we find our faith. And in the meantime, what part do we play? What is expected of us? How are we supposed to live as people of faith in this sort of chaotic world in which we find ourselves now?
We live in a time when people tell us to live well and do well. But Jesus says, Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
We live learning ways to make our life the best we can. But Jesus says, Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
We live in a society that tells us to stand up for ourselves, to put ourselves first. But Jesus says, Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
We live trying to satisfy ourselves in every way. But Jesus says, Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
We live in a place that teaches us to hold onto what we have and protect it. But Jesus says, Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
We live in a place that calls us to fill our minds and live within the morals we know and the rules we have designed. But Jesus says, Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
And we live in a country that is trying so desperately to protect itself and its wa of life, so desperately to put itself first. But Jesus says, Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
It’s hard because it’s not what our world looks like. We live by expecting to be blessed not in this world but in the way that God envisions we will be. We are blessed not because we draw close to God but because God draws close to us and because of where we are, we notice.
I won’t take no for an answer,” God began to say to me when God opened his arms each night wanting us to dance. (St. Catherine of Sienna)
The next day he saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! 30This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ 31I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.” 32And John testified, “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. 33I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’ 34And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.” 35The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, 36and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!”
37The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. 38When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” 39He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. 40One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. 41He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). 42He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).
So, last week, the Scripture led us through Jesus’ Baptism and the notion of God’s claim on his life. But you know what? Jesus didn’t become who God called him to be when he was born. He didn’t become who God called him to be when people began to flock into his presence. He didn’t even become who God called him to be in that moment of his baptism. Jesus became who God called him to be when he stood, wet with the waters of baptism, and claimed it for himself. Because in that moment, as he responded, his ministry began.
It is the same for us. It is the moment when, for each of us, God calls us and God reminds us that we are a son or daughter of God with whom God is well pleased. So, what now? What happens next? What happens after we are baptized, after the Spirit descends into our lives. I mean, we can’t go back to the way it was before. So we have to go forward. We have to do something. So, what is it? What is next?
Come and see…
So, John the Baptizer comes with two of his disciples, points them toward Jesus, and then he sort of drops out of sight. He’s still part of the story but we know that he had no doubt where the story was to go next. So, the two that were with him wanted to know more. They began looking for Jesus. And Jesus’ response? It wasn’t an interview or a test of who they were. It was an invitation. “Come and see”, come and experience what God has for you. It says that they remained with him all day, no longer just hearing about Jesus, but getting to know who he was, and, in essence, becoming a part of the story themselves. In those hours as they spent time experiencing the Christ, they became disciples.
The passage tells us that it became 4:00 in the afternoon of the next day and they wanted to know where Jesus was staying. Many scholars think that that time of day and the fact that Jesus was apparently leaving to go stay somewhere implies that it was probably the Sabbath. And that’s important. Because, as you know, Sabbath was a practice that they did every week—not when the weather was good, not when they didn’t have something else to do, not when there was not a sports event. It was their way of practicing to be an artist in their spiritual walk.
So, they ask Jesus where he was staying. It’s a way of getting to know who he was, because Jesus would have stayed with his relatives or possibly some close friends for the Sabbath. It’s sort of like asking someone who their people are. And Jesus tells them to “come and see”. In other words, come go with me, come experience what I experience, come enter my life, come encounter who I encounter. Come be a part of my story. But the clincher is that BECAUSE it was the Sabbath, wherever they went, they would have to stay there. They couldn’t travel on the Sabbath so from sundown Friday evening to sundown Saturday evening, they would be, essentially, locked up with Jesus. There was no going back. Once you’re locked up with Jesus, I’m pretty sure your life will dramatically change.
Come and see…
You know, years ago, the evangelism and church growth “gurus” came up with something called an “elevator talk”. Their claim was that, as Christians, as those called to lead people to Christ, we should have in our metaphorical back pocket a 20 second “sound bite” that would lead people to Christ. Really? Are you kidding? I also thought that was bizarre. I mean, I’m not sure trapping strangers in an elevator and giving them your 20-min treatise of what you think it all means is the best method. Jesus never told anyone to do that. I mean, tell me what sound bite you’re going to use to capture the essence of all the Scriptures, all of Jesus’ life, and everything that God is. Jesus didn’t do sound bites; Jesus did relationships. Come my friend, come and see…
Come and see…
And then we are told their names. So, why does that matter? Because God doesn’t just throw a blanket over humanity to see who will pick it up. Think about it. Nowhere in the Bible does God really ask and wait for volunteers. Nowhere do we read of God pointing at someone and yelling, “hey, you”. Because we know that “hey, you” does not create relationship. No, God is much more intimate with us than that. God gives us a name, a holy act of creation, and we are called to live into that name. Jesus called each of these people one by one. And has done the same with us. Each of us has a unique part of the story to tell. It’s all there. Just come and see—all of you.
Come and see…
The Lord plays and diverts [the Godself] in the garden of Creation, and if we could let go of our own obsession with what we think is the meaning of it all, we might be able to hear God’s call and follow…When we are alone on a starlit night…when we see children in a moment when they are really children; when we know love in our own hearts…such times…provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance. (Thomas Merton)
[Verse 1] Come and see Come follow me Back to the place where He’s staying And He’ll not mind For there you will find All that your faith has been waiting
[Verse 2] Come and see Come follow me To a road where believing is seeing There’s work to do And words of Truth To find in your heart for the speaking
[Chorus] Come and see Come and see (ooo ooo ooo-oo oo oo ooo) Come and see Come and see (ooo ooo ooo-oo oo oo ooo)
[Verse 3] Come see the Way The Truth, and the Life Come see the Light that is living Come now and see How the truth sets you free Come live the life He is giving
30The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. 31He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. 32And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. 33Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. 34As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.
53When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. 54When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, 55and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. 56And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.
You know, sometimes discipleship is just downright exhausting. Oh, who are we kidding? Sometimes just being a normal person trying to keep your head above water is downright exhausting. Sometimes it seems too hard or too much or too complicated. Discipleship (and life, for that matter) is really sort of a balancing act. It is full of rhythms of converging order and chaos, beginnings and ending, and pulsing light and dark and sometimes we struggle to somehow balance all those aspects of life as we continue our journey forward.
This passage depicts a time in the life of the disciples not unlike that. Remember that the verses preceding the ones we read are the account of the death of John the Baptist (Why did we read that again?). And at this point, we are told that the apostles return from sort of their first tour of service and gather around Jesus, telling him everything that had been happening with their mission. They are excited. They have wonderful stories of healings and teachings and people that are really listening to them. They are becoming witnesses of the Gospel and things are beginning to change! And yet, they are realizing that this discipleship thing is hard; it’s exhausting; sometimes it’s just frustrating. And during this time, John the Baptist had been brutally executed. This is certain to have cast a somber shadow over their elation at the success of their mission. This had to be scary. After all, John had been part of Jesus’ work. John had, essentially, been one of them, doing what they’re doing. But, as we know, we cannot always control or predict what happens in life. And so, in the midst of their shock and sadness and grief, and probably fear, Jesus tells the apostles (and himself), to “come away and rest”. He tells them to go to a deserted place, a quiet place. It was a place of Sabbath.
Now, probably with very little effort, we, too, will identify with this busy life, the throng of demands, the ongoing needs of those around us, and, possibly, even with the dangers that somehow impede our journeys. We can even identify with those times when, like these disciples, we feel that we can’t even take time to eat, those times when there’s so much going on, when there are so many balls being juggled, that you feel like you can’t even breathe. You’ll notice here that there were verses that we skipped in this week’s prescribed lectionary passage. They are the account of the feeding of the five thousand. Yeah, I’m thinking that wasn’t a time of rest, that was NOT a deserted place. As much as the disciples wanted to serve, wanted to BE disciples, that was hard. You can imagine that they wanted so badly to go off and rest, to go off and be by themselves to grieve, to reflect, to be. So, Jesus tells them to stop, desist, take some time to care for themselves, and not to feel that they have to immediately respond to every cry in the world. Yeah, Jesus got it! Jesus knew we were human.
It is a lesson for us all. It is part of the lesson that Jesus is trying to make the disciples realize. They are not God; they are not the saviors of the world; they are limited human beings who need to rest. They are not called to do all the work themselves. Remember, they are the ones that are called to call others who call others who call others. We are not in this alone. This is part of human reality and, more importantly, it is part of that rhythmic dance of creation to which we all belong. And so, the disciples did what Jesus had said to do and got into a boat and went to a deserted place.
But, as we all know, just because we choose a time to sail away does not mean that the rhythm of life stops. We are told that there were people on the shore who recognized them and hurried to greet them. (Don’t you hate that? Leave me alone!) But these people needed something—they were hungry for what Jesus offered. Jesus responded to their needs, teaching and caring for them. The disciples were there too, perhaps a little miffed that their “deserted place” had now become a somewhat public arena. In the verses that the lectionary omits, they wanted to send them away. This was their time; this was when they were supposed to rest. But Jesus told them, “no, give them something to eat, sustenance for their bodies and food for their souls.” So, in a way that is so familiar to us, he took the food, and blessed it and gave it to the disciples to serve the people around them. Rest would come.
In her book, Sabbath Keeping, Donna Schaper says that “Sabbath is a way of living, not a thing to have or a list to complete. By observing it we become people who both work and rest, and who know why, when, and how we do either. We also recognize the occasions on which we do both at the same time. We know how to pray, how to be still, how to do nothing. Sabbath people know that “our” time is really God’s time, and we are invited to live in it. We are living our eternity now—this Tuesday and Wednesday, this Saturday and Sunday.” Isn’t that what we are trying to do—find that rhythm of life to which God invites us, that balancing act, if you will, that is God’s call to us? This is the way that our time and God’s time converge and become one. This is the way that our hearts beat the heartbeat of God and our ears hear God’s music.
The Jewish culture in which Jesus and the disciples lived was one that embraced time much more than space. The understanding was that, contrary to the way we look at time, all hours were not alike. Each hour was unique and the only one given at that moment. Each hour held its own identity and its own purpose and within all of those hours, the Sabbath, those times when God calls us to rest and renew and return to our deepest relationship with God, were like great cathedrals, the Holiest of Holies, that sanctified time from which God then sent us into the world.
But we have lost that rhythm of being sent out into the world and renewed within God’s sanctified time, as God’s work prepares us to be sent forth again. We are so busy doing our own work that we’re not allowing God to do God’s work on us. It is wrapped in this holy time of rest with God that we get this glimpse of the holy and the sacred that exists for us even now. It is what gives us the vision to do the work that needs to be done. It allows us a chance to once again get in touch with God’s purposes for us and for the world. It is a way of emptying ourselves. Mother Teresa once proclaimed, “Let us remain as empty as possible so that God can fill us up.” This is the way that God fills us up. It is the way of becoming Sabbath, the Holiest of Holies, consecrated for God. It is part of being a disciple.
This idea of the Sabbath being holy is not new. In fact, ancient Judaism saw Sabbath rest and eternity as one, of the same essence. Abraham Heschel relates a legend that claims that “at the time when God was giving the Torah to Israel, [God] said to them: My children! If you accept the Torah and observe my commandment, I will give you for all eternity a thing most precious that I have in my possession. And what, asked Israel, is that precious thing which Thou wilt give us if we obey Thy Torah? The world to come. Show us in this world an example of the world to come. The Sabbath is an example of the world to come…The Sabbath possesses a holiness like that of the world to come.”
I know. Sabbath is hard. There is just too much to do. There are just so many hours in the day. There are too many people depending on me. If I don’t do it, it won’t happen. Are any of these resonating with any of you? John Westerhoff, who is a well-known theologian, calls the phrase “if I don’t do it, it won’t happen” a proclamation of atheism. Wow! None of us are in this alone. If you don’t do it, either someone else will or it just wasn’t meant to happen. If you believe in the God who is always with you, always holding you, always guiding you; if you believe in the God who created you and loves you so much that this God would give you this gift of Sabbath to make you aware of that, if you believe in the God who calls us into this household of believers where we support each other into becoming the Body of Christ, then why don’t you believe that God will somehow empower you to find a way to get everything done that needs done? Go back and read the Gospel passage again. There was work to be done—LOTS of work to be done–and the disciples waited in the boat. “Come away and rest.”
In 1951, Rabbi Abraham Heschel wrote what I think is the quintessential classic entitled The Sabbath. In it, Heschel says that “unless one learns how to relish the taste of Sabbath while still in this world, unless one is initiated in the appreciation of eternal life, one will be unable to enjoy the taste of eternity in the world to come. Sad,” he says, “is the lot of the one who arrives inexperienced and when led to heaven has no power to perceive the beauty of the Sabbath…”
The traditional Jewish Sabbath begins at sundown, the Christian Sabbath with morning worship. In both, Sabbath time begins with the lighting of candles and a stopping—to welcome the Sabbath in. The Jewish understanding is that the Sabbath is welcomed in like a queen. It is more than rest; it is promise. It is a release from whatever enslaves us. For the early Jews, that was actually embodied slavery; for us, it is choosing to be released from clocks and commitments and phones and schedules and all those burdens that we bear. Marcia Falk writes that “three generations back my family had only to light a candle and the world parted. Today, Friday afternoon, I disconnect clocks and phones. When night fills my house with passages, I begin saving my life.” This is the beginning of sacred time. This is the beginning of eternity. This is where we find life.
Sabbath is not rest the way we think. Sabbath is connection. Sabbath is responding to God’s invitation to enter the holiest of holies, to leave ourselves behind, if only for a day, and find ourselves. Sabbath is not a nap, not a withdrawal. Sabbath is rest in the God we know, the God who is wanting us to connect, wanting us to find ourselves.
Every person needs to take one day away. A day in which one consciously separates the past from the future…A day in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. (Maya Angelou)
Peter Adams, Cristo-Redentor, Corcovado Mountain, Rio
Scripture Text: John 8:12
12Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.”
Jesus is the light of the world. We’ve heard that many times. We like that. It comforts us, give us hope for this sometimes-messed up world in which we live. So, we wait. We wait for the Light to come flooding in, for the darkness to subside, for the world to be what it is and always was meant to be. And in the meantime, we rely on faith. We look toward Jesus to lead us home.
Does that sound about right? But what if it’s different from what we imagine? What if the waiting is not for the time that the Light will come and fill our world but for the time that we will finally let the Light into where we are standing now? See, contrary to what we’d like to visualize, I’m beginning to believe that Jesus has no intention of lighting up the world like some sort of massive fluorescent light fixture. God is not dangling full lighting at us as a reward for our faith or for changing our ways or anything else.
The Light is already here. Jesus did not say “I am going to be the Light of the world” or “Someday I’ll light up the world”. Jesus said “I AM the light of the world. The Light is shining into the world. Sometimes it is hidden. Sometimes we hide from it. Sometimes we shrink away from it. Sometimes we miss it because we’re looking in another direction. But the Light is here, shining its way into the world. The world is made of Light.
This Season of Advent is not preparing us for the Light to come; it is preparing us to learn to see what is already here. It wakes us up, clears our eyes, and shows us how to focus on the Light that is shining into our lives. And if we look toward that Light, if we learn to see it even through the shadows, the darkness in which we sometimes reside will not disappear but will become a hollow space prepared for Light. Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.”
Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness. (Desmond Tutu)
Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.2The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper3Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God,4got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself.5Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.6He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”7Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”8Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”9Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!”10Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.”11For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”12After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you?13You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am.14So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.15For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.16Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them.17If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. 31When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him.32If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once.33Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’34I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.35By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
This is the night when everything changes. I always thought that the disciples assumed that they had more time, that somehow Jesus would pull it out in the end. After all, to them, the mission had just begun. How could these three years be for naught? Was I wrong to join it? Was it a waste of time? The air hangs heavy with change. Something is wrong. The wilderness seems to be overtaking them.
It’s a hard day. We know what is coming tomorrow. We have read over and over again—the story of loss and betrayal, of the disciples sleeping, of Jesus’ surrender, of Jesus being dragged off to the house of Caiaphas on this very night. We have over and over and over experienced regret and bewilderment and grief. This is the night that everything changes, when the wilderness week seems to fold onto us, almost choking us.
But can you feel it? Can you feel the love tonight? Can you feel something beyond where you were? Do we ever remember the love of this night? They came together for a Passover dinner. I always thought that they were alone, gathered in some sort of stuffy upstairs room, maybe with Leonardo da Vinci standing on the side painting the scene for posterity. But then I saw, even if it was a “traditional understanding” of the place, the Upper Room in the Old City of Jerusalem. It was big, bigger than I had ever imagined. What dawned on me was that this was Passover, the community gathering. Jesus wasn’t just there crammed into some sort of painting with the disciples; he was there with the whole community, sharing life and community and food. But at some point, he sat down with his closest friends and it became intimate. It became a dinner of love on that last night. They shared food; they shared wine; and Jesus washed their feet. Jesus showed them what intimacy and love for another human really meant–that one would become vulnerable, would do for another what perhaps was not the most comfortable thing to do, that one would change for another, as hard as that might be. Love became not a caring or a sharing but an entering, an entering into the life of another.
This foot washing thing is hard. It is way too intimate for most of us westerners. After all, we are pretty private, seemingly reserved; we honor each other’s imaginary space. But once a year, the church I once served would have a foot washing at the mid-day Maundy Thursday service. It wasn’t just a ceremonial thing to show us how it was done. There wasn’t one clergy washing the feet of some brave designated congregant. It was the whole service. Everyone came. We worshipped in silence for about twenty-five minutes and one by one, people would remove their shoes and place their feet in the water to be washed. It was completely quiet except for the sloshing of the water in the pail. Toward the end, the clergy would switch places and someone would wash our feet.
It was a small service, intimate really. I remember the first year we did it. We were reticent, hesitant to trust that people would come through. So, admittedly, we had a couple of “ringers”. Well, the ringers came and then the rest did. One by one, they all came. I sat there on the floor moved by something that I had never experienced. I was touching people’s feet. They had removed their shoes at the pew and had walked barefoot to the seat where we had the plastic tub in which water would be poured over their feet. It was incredible.
And then Caroline came. Caroline–in her full Nigerian dress and gele (the elaborate head covering they wear) and her permanent posture of prayer. She came and she sat and she placed her foot in the water. I picked up her foot. Caroline and her family were part of the Nigerian freedom movement. She had come from the tribes and had wanted more. She had worked hard, always putting aside her own desires for what she thought was important–others and God. She had lost her young husband in that movement and had raised her four young sons alone. I looked at this older woman’s foot in my hands, deep with lines of life and passion, and I had tears in my eyes. It was a foot that as a young child had run barefoot through African jungles. It was a foot that had marched for freedom. It was a foot that had known grief, and pain, and joy. I was holding life. I was not holding someone’s foot. I was holding their life. I was affirming them, praying for them, washing away for them all the things that got in the way of what they so treasured. As I was gingerly washing Caroline’s foot, she raised her hands, looked up into the ceiling, and she began to pray. They were words from one of the tribal communities in Nigeria that I did not understand and composed a prayer that I understood completely. It was incredible. It was love at its deepest level–love for Christ, love for humanity, love for each other, love for God and all that we have together.
Caroline died a few years ago. We grieved at her funeral. But we also danced, danced with joy. (I think we need to start dancing with joy at funerals!) She left the most incredible love. At her memorial service, I remembered that day when I washed her feet. I remembered that day that was filled with love, that was filled with the Presence of Christ on that night. It had changed me.
You see, love is a funny thing. It is not perfectly complete. Jesus knew that on that night. He and the disciples did not sing “Kum-ba-yah” and then leave. In Jesus’ life, love meant rejection and exile, frustration and misunderstanding, Presence and turning, welcome and redemption. This very night, Love would be apathy and betrayal, surrender and pardon. But, in this moment, Love was a bunch of friends who had a dinner together and had their feet washed. They were feet filled with lines of life and passion. Jesus washed their feet and held their life. That’s all love is about. Love is Life. Love brings us together in a way that does not subdue us into one but embraces who we are. Love takes all that we are and creates Love. Love changes us. It turns the wilderness into a place of Love. Nothing else can create itself. But Love can. That’s why we love one another. That’s why Jesus commanded us to love.
On this night, we take all that we are, sinners and saints, kings and vagabonds, the betrayer and the beloved, the anointed and the one who anoints, the nay-sayers and the ones who miss the signs of the sacred, the pharisee and the rule-breaker, the faith-filled and the doubter, Caroline and me and you–we are all here, gathered together, showered in the most incredible love imaginable. Can you feel the Love tonight? You feel it because you’ve been changed. Tomorrow we will kneel at the cross. But, tonight, in this moment, can you feel the Love?
If the world is sane, then Jesus is mad as a hatter and the Last Supper is the Mad Tea Party…In terms of the world’s sanity, Jesus is crazy as a coot, and anybody who thinks he can follow him without being a little crazy too is laboring less under a cross than under delusion. (Frederick Buechner)
Dancing to God 