Pentecost 2 B: The Heart of the Law
Dear Partner in Preaching,
I’m not if sure there is a more universal story in Scripture. To unpack that, I want to just notice with you how incredibly interesting it is that Jesus’ first confrontations are with those who are most religious.
Mark’s Gospel is a narrative whirlwind. In the first chapter, Jesus is baptized, tempted, announced his ministry, calls his disciples, casts out an unclean spirit, heals many people gathered at Simon Peter’s home, goes on a preaching tour, and cleanses a leper. All in a mere 45 verses! And by the end of all this, his fame has spread so far and wide he finds it difficult to move about without attracting a crowd.
The second chapter follows apace, with Jesus continuing to heal all those in need. But Mark introduces a new element in these stories, and that is the beginning of opposition. The first time is when Jesus heals a paralyzed man and tells him his sins are forgiven. Scribes – what we might think of as first-century biblical scholars – are offended, as only God, they assert, can forgive sin. Jesus questions whether it really matters that he says, “Your sins are forgiven,” or “Take up your mat and walk,” as each has the same end result. Jesus then not only calls a tax collector to be one of his disciples, but also dines with him and his friends of ill repute. Again, the scribes, this time also joined by the Pharisees – the first-century equivalent of your church council, board of elders, and lay ministers – are deeply offended. Next comes a minor squabble over the practice of fasting, as Jesus disciples, unlike the Pharisees and, for that matter, John’s disciples, are not fasting.
All of which brings us to today’s reading, another confrontation with the religious authorities, this time over two issues related to the Sabbath. In the first, Jesus and his disciples are walking through some grain fields and, hungry, the disciples pick some of the heads of the grain to eat. The Pharisees, by now vigilant regarding all things related to Jesus, complain that they should do no work – neither travel nor pick grain – on the Sabbath, the day of rest. Jesus responds by sharing a story about King David doing something even more sacrilegious – eating food that only priests were supposed to eat – in order to justify that law gives way to need. Immediately afterward, Jesus is in the synagogue and meets a man whose hand has been withered and desires to be healed. Knowing that the religious authorities are waiting to chastise him if he heals on the Sabbath, he asks his would-be accusers whether it is lawful to do good and to save life on the Sabbath or, by implication, whether he should honor the Sabbath even if it means refraining from helping someone in need.
Both of these disagreements are summed up by Jesus’ pronouncement midway through these scenes that, “The Sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the Sabbath.” And this is precisely where these stories extend well beyond their original first-century context to encompass and address us all. The biblical witness is clear: God gives us the law to help us get the most out of life and, in particular, to help us get more out of life by helping others, by looking out for them, by taking care of them and, by extension, each other. In this way, the law creates a level of order that makes human flourishing more likely. Law offers a measure of protection, particularly important to those who are most vulnerable. Law establishes a modicum of stability that makes it easier for us to prosper. All of these things the law does. Which is why God’s law is holy and we are taught to know, revere, and follow the law.
But as important as the law is, it is – and shall always be – a means to an end, a tool, a mechanism in service to a greater purpose. It is not an end in itself; following the law is not itself the purpose of the law, and the law not capable of granting us identity but only helps us live into the identity of beloved child given us by God.
And that’s where these good religious folk – and many of us good religious folk today – get confused. We mistake the law for its end. We think following the law is the point and forget that the law was established to help others. We establish our identity based on our ability to obey the law – or at least to obey it better than whatever comparison group we devise – rather than using the law to help those we would compare ourselves against.
Lately, I’ve been reading Jon Meacham’s The Soul of America, his attempt to synthesize decades of historical research to clarify what it is that makes America America, focusing particularly on American presidents. One of the chief attributes of exceptional presidents – indeed, the duty of every president – Meacham asserts, is to look out for the country’s good. It is not about the president, but about the country. It is not about gratifying one’s ego, but serving the nation. It is not about profiting, but about helping others to prosper. And finally it’s not even about remembering all this yourself, but constantly reminding the rest of the nation that we prosper together or we don’t prosper at all. Meacham has helped me understand something I’ve long puzzled over, as I never quite understood why Thomas Jefferson – surely one the brightest minds and most able writers in our history – didn’t reach higher when describing our unalienable rights? “Life, liberty” – of course. But “the pursuit of happiness”? That’s where I’ve always felt Jefferson fell a little flat, wishing that he had reached for more than individual fulfillment. But, as Meacham points out, in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, “happiness” was not an individual or private matter at all. Rather, happiness, was societal happiness or, perhaps better, societal flourishing. One could only be “happy” in those conditions where everyone had the potential to flourish (pp.40-41).
The story we are invited to preach this week, Dear Partner, is powerful not simply because Jesus offers a corrective to those most religious then or now that we should not achieve our religiosity at our neighbors’ expense, but rather because he demonstrates how powerfully attached we are to the notions of law and order at any expense. God created us to love and support each other. God gave us the law to help us to do that. Out of our insecurity, we think if we hold the law close, even to the point of ignoring or abandoning the need of our neighbor, we’ll be okay, or even demonstrate our fidelity. But in point of fact, it’s only when we abandon our own claims to righteousness and are willing to put our neighbors need above our own that we live into the God’s dream and desire that all God’s children flourish.
But not only does Jesus talk about this truth or even enact God’s love of neighbor, he also takes on the scorn and resentment of insecure and established religious folk – then and now – and overcomes it in love. The opposition Jesus faces in these scenes is the opposition he always faces: the contempt and fear of those who realize Jesus is calling them out, calling them away from the safety of justifying themselves and into the vulnerable and even risking world of just loving each other. We, perhaps understandably, prefer safety. Jesus calls us to vulnerability. But he doesn’t just call, he goes to the most vulnerable of places, continuing to love, embrace, and help all those he encounters even when it leads to his capture and crucifixion. Jesus goes to the cross because he will not deviate from his commitment to love everyone, even those who accuse him falsely.
But that is not the end of the story. Through the resurrection, God promises that those who love will triumph. That in the end, love is stronger than fear, hate, and death. That love is stronger even than our penchant to do anything for the illusion of safety that law and order offers. We are called to send our people out to love, to put the law to use for our neighbor, and we know they will try, sometimes succeed, but often falter and fail. And yet the crucified and risen Christ is still there, forgiving, beckoning us forward, and loving us, even when we fall short. At the heart of the law, it turns out, is love, and that love, in time, redeems all.
It’s a universal story, Dear Partner, because it’s our story, and we need to hear it again, not just the part that diagnoses our shortcomings, though that’s surely a part of it, but the whole story, and especially the end, as Jesus refuses to give up on us, on any of us, even refusing to give up on you and me. Thanks for the courage to share this story, and for your faithfulness to the call to preach the Word, as it continues to shape and save lives.
Yours in Christ,
David
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