Lectionary 26 September 28, 2014
Luther Memorial Church Seattle, WA
The Rev. Julie G. Hutson
Ezekiel 18: 1-4, 25-33 + Psalm 25: 1-9 + Philippians 2: 1-13 + Matthew 21: 23-32
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.
I recently found myself late for an appointment in downtown Seattle. Rather than checking traffic on my smart phone, I just jumped in the car and headed for I-5. That was a bad decision on my part. Traffic was snarled, in both directions, actually. Oh, occasionally we would move a couple of yards, just engendering the hope that I might actually make it to my appointment on time. Stupid traffic, I thought. Where are all of these people going? Haven’t they ever heard of taking the bus? Stupid traffic.
I soon approached an overpass where there is often a sign hanging that says something like “ Jesus Loves You” or “Save the Earth”. This time the sign hanging there said simply this: “You are Traffic.”
Truth telling… from a sign on the interstate.
When we read or hear a story we almost always place ourselves in it somehow….we identify with someone or something or someplace in the story and then our view of the story is from that place. This seems especially true in stories from Scripture. For example, when I hear the story of Mary and Martha, I know that I am more Martha than Mary. Or when I hear the story of the Prodigal Father or Son, I know that my first born tendencies make me very much like the older child who stayed at home and did as his parents asked.
But the Bible is never about other people. We are never called into judgment in these stories, but rather we are called into self reflection and love for the other.
This is why Jesus often used parables to make his point. We get in our own way when we wish to know something. Our motives, our questions, our agendas color what we hear and often what we ask.
In today’s Gospel, the religious authorities and the elders of the people are the ones with the ulterior motives. Jesus walks into the temple, his place of worship, and those insiders, those in charge, those religious leaders, they are the ones who want to trick him with their questions. But in his story telling, through another parable set in the vineyard, Jesus once again reveals his identity. Through this story the religious leaders and elders of the community come to understand that Jesus did not come to enforce their rules and laws, but to usher in a new kingdom, one based in love and mercy and grace.
When we hear this parable of the two sons we are again tempted to identify with one son or the other. It feels like a really big deal, this story of the son who said he’d go work in the field, but didn’t and then one who said he would not, but did. It’s like taking those Facebook quizzes….Which 80’s song are you? What color of the rainbow are you? What movie title are you? Which son in the vineyard are you?
Who are you? Who are we?
Well, that’s just the million dollar question, isn’t it? Who are we? And maybe that’s something that is also being worked through in each of our readings this morning.
In Ezekiel the question is whether the actions of one’s parents or one’s ancestors determine the fate of the children and those who come after. In the ancient culture this was the prevailing belief, but God is telling the people of Israel that it is no longer the way they should see themselves. God tells them that they will be judged for their own actions and should therefore turn to a new way of life, and live.
And in Paul’s letter to the church at Philippi, he writes to them about having the same mind and the same love. This is a tall order for any group of folks who gather and yet a repeated refrain throughout the letters of Paul. Although we would be wrong to assume that Paul is calling on them to agree about everything. Rather Paul is reminding them that by putting the needs and interests of others ahead of their own needs, they are imitating Jesus.
It must have been hard for the early Jesus followers. After all, they didn’t have centuries of tradition to rely upon. They didn’t have the law to follow anymore. And at this point, Jesus was gone; he was no longer with them to spin his stories of love and grace. So the only place they could find him, the only place they could figure out what it meant to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, was when they gathered together as community.
Because this we know is true: the community where you spend your time shapes who you are. We tell this to children all the time when they are growing up – choose your friends wisely, we say. We know it to be true in larger ways in the world, as well. Where we spend our time shapes our lives. And this is the very reason we gather together as this community of faith. It is the very reason we come together for worship, for serving our neighbors, putting their interests ahead of our own. It is the very reason we come together to sing and remember the stories that shape us. It is the very reason we come together for fellowship here, finding a place to see what it means to be with others who know that in loving Jesus there is joy and laughter.
The community where you spend your time shapes who you are.
When I wake up on Sunday morning and think that I’d really like to have that morning to myself, to read the paper or go to the Farmer’s Market early for a change, or get to the game in time to tail gate, this is what I remind myself: The community where you spend your time shapes who you are.
So, who are we? How do we know? Can we tell by where we spend our time? Do our small, daily actions say something about who we are willing to give our lives up for?
When reflecting on this story of the two sons, Barbara Brown Taylor said that she is much more concerned about the “unconscious way many of us substitute our beliefs about God for our obedience to God, as if it were enough to say, ‘I go, sir,’ without ever tensing a muscle to get out of our chairs.”[1]
Our life in Christ, as Luther reminded us repeatedly, is not dependent on our works. But the way we live out that life, the way we live out our love, speaks volumes about whether we are the one who says “Yes, I’ll go. Yes, of course, I’ll do it,” and then does nothing. And this was the hard realization for the chief priests and the elders of the people in the temple that day. That in all of their self righteousness, in all of their pride in themselves, they had clung so tightly to their old ways that they couldn’t see where John was pointing – to Jesus.
Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you.”
Of course, ahead of you didn’t mean that you aren’t going to eventually get there too. Life in the Kingdom as it is now and the kingdom as it is to come means recognizing the Gospel when we see it and it means recognizing when we are the traffic blocking the way of the kingdom. It means that we make the choice to gather as a community of faith as believers in the Gospel, even if it means foregoing that extra hour of sleep or that last day of sunshine.
But more than that and most of all, it means following a God who turns the world upside down. Who calls for love instead of fear; mercy instead of grudges; forgiveness instead of hatred. It means following a God who longs for us to live in the kingdom, not because God needs it, but because we do.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
[1] Taylor, Barbara Brown. “The Yes and No Brothers,” Home By Another Way.