Author: John Drymon

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The biblical scholar and erstwhile bishop of Durham N.T. Wright once wrote that “Jesus didn’t come to give good advice.” He wasn’t an early precursor to Dear Abbey or the self-help movement; he came to reveal the truth of God and to die for mankind, not to give us helpful pointers.

That said, Jesus’ words in this morning’s Gospel might at first strike us as nothing more than some good advice:

When you are invited by any one to a marriage feast, do not sit down in a place of honor, lest a more eminent man than you be invited by him; and he who invited you both will come and say to you, `Give place to this man,’ and then you will begin with shame to take the lowest place.

How embarrassing! You arrive thinking you’re the guest of honor and you get shuffled off to the “kiddie table”.

If we take Jesus’ words in context, though, I think we’ll find that there’s a lot more here than tips about social propriety. You might have noticed something strange about the passage we read this morning. Luke 14:1, 7-14. It skips six whole verses. If I might give a tip, I’d suggest that one always be a little bit suspicious when the lectionary cuts bits out of the readings. Sometimes it cuts out the nasty bits—you know, the wrath of God and all that—and sometimes it cuts out bits for some other editorial reason. So, here’s what we didn’t hear in the Gospel:

One sabbath when he went to dine at the house of a ruler who belonged to the Pharisees, they were watching him. And behold, there was a man before him who had dropsy. And Jesus spoke to the lawyers and Pharisees, saying, “Is it lawful to heal on the sabbath, or not?” But they were silent. Then he took him and healed him, and let him go. And he said to them, “Which of you, having a son or an ox that has fallen into a well, will not immediately pull him out on a sabbath day?” And they could not reply to this.

Why was this cut out of this morning’s reading? Well, I don’t know anybody who was on the committee that revised the lectionary, but I have a hunch. The section that was cut out sounds an awful lot like last week’s Gospel reading. It’s not; it’s a whole chapter later in Luke. Just like in last week’s Gospel, Jesus is calling out the hypocrisy of the fashionably religious, who at this point had become a little less willing to criticize him for his apparent Sabbath-breaking. Anyway, the story is so similar to last week’s Gospel, that I suspect that those who revised the lectionary didn’t want the repetition, fearing we’d lose interest or get confused about what week were in or something.

In all events, it’s a shame that these six verses have been excised, because it’s these six verses that provide the context for Jesus’ words which immediately follow it, and which saves that text from sounding like a Miss Manners column.

This man with dropsy was, we can assume, not invited to the dinner party. He just kind of shows up and disappears, like a plot device. He provides Jesus a teachable moment, though, which Jesus then avails himself of by means of the parable about table manners.

What would not have occurred to the Pharisees until that night—and what would not have occurred to us if we didn’t have the six omitted verses—was that maybe this poor man with dropsy deserved the place of honor, and they were all taking it from him. They were likely not malicious, but they were probably simply ignorant of those outside their circle.

That can happen to us, too. Our own comfort with “our sort of people” can keep us from seeing everybody who deserves a place at the table. When we permit discomfort with those we consider unlovely to blind us to their very existence, we can pretty easily exclude them from the party.

The church does that, you know. Sometimes churches pretty explicitly exclude people that make them uncomfortable, but I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about when church people don’t even notice those they don’t consider “our kind of people.” They don’t consider that somebody who is “not like us” should be invited to supper at God’s Table. But if we were really paying attention to the Gospel, then we’d know that “those kind of people” are going to be given the places of honor at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb, that the lowly and the ignored and the despised are going to be faring better in eternity than the “in-crowd”.

We’ve got to wake up and open our eyes to see those to whom we were blind. We’ve got to be able to see the people whom we’ve ignored, but whom God loves just as much. I know that I’ve been as guilty as anyone of failing in that regard. I’ve been guilty of thinking “he wouldn’t really fit in, would he?” Well, friends, that’s sin motivating me, not love. This isn’t a supper club, it’s the Church of God, so let’s all be a little more willing to open up the church doors which symbolize sanctuary and acceptance. Let’s be a little more willing to open up to people that aren’t like us, knowing that as Christians all people are “our kind of people”, or at least we ought to see them like that, not just those who look like us, or dress like us, or use the same kind of language, or have the same ideas about things. If we start doing that, we might not be as surprised when we get to that great feast in that kingdom which is to come about who else is going to be at dinner.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

This morning, I want us to begin by looking at a very strong word Jesus uses in the Gospel reading. When the leader of the synagogue shames Jesus for healing on the Sabbath, Jesus responds by exclaiming “hypokritai”: “you hypocrites”. While every modern translation I’ve found uses this plural vocative form of the noun found in most Greek manuscripts, I think a case can be made for the singular vocative found in early Syriac manuscripts, rendering the classic translation “you hypocrite”, as it seems more likely to me that Jesus is not berating the crowd or anyone else here, but the leader of the synagogue specifically. The hypocrisy is not that of Judaism and the Law, by any means, but of this individual.

Now “hypocrite” is, like I said, an awfully strong word. I have heard many complain about the hypocrisy of some church people, and too often this is a reason for people leaving organized religion altogether. How many times have you heard somebody say “I can’t be in the church, because everybody’s a hypocrite”? But let’s take a look at what such critics of religion mean by hypocrisy and what Jesus means when he calls the synagogue leader a hypocrite. They are, I contend, a bit different.

Generally, when we talk about hypocrisy we mean something like “not practicing what one preaches”. At the risk of spouting what may sound like a heresy to contemporary people, there are worse things in the world than this kind “hypocrisy”. You see, this definition assumes that the so-called “hypocrite” does, indeed, have some principles, he just has a hard time living up to those principles, and he might lack charity for those who also have a hard time with it. By this definition, we are all hypocrites from time to time. I preach love, and I believe I ought to be loving, but sometimes I slip into hatred. We believe in mercy, and we try to be merciful, but sometimes we take God’s judgment as our own prerogative. This is a sad result of the fall, of our sinful nature, but the alternative is far worse, because the alternative is to have no principles whatsoever.

But Jesus means something a bit different when he calls the synagogue leader a “hypocrite”. I already mentioned that Jesus used the Greek word “hypokrita”. This noun is derived from a verb “hypokrinomai” which literally means to play-act. It means to pretend. The original meaning was not especially pejorative. If you were to land a role playing, say, Falstaff in “The Merry Wives of Windsor” you’d be a hypocrite, and there wouldn’t be anything wrong with that, unless, of course, you were a bad actor.

One of the funniest bits of television I’ve ever seen (and granted, I’ve not seen much television in the last couple of decades) was several years ago when Sir Ian McKellan was a guest star on the BBC series Extras. The protagonist of the series, played by Ricky Gervais, was always trying to get a better role in some movie or television show, and each week a different famous actor would show up and give him advice. On this particular episode McKellen went to great pains to explain the craft of acting as he understood it. “I see you don’t understand”, he told Gervais’ character. “Take the Lord of the Rings. I played a wizard, but, I am not a wizard. I had to pretend. I’d be on the set, you understand, and I would still be Sir Ian. Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Sir Ian… Action… I am a wizard… Cut… Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Sir Ian.” It was funny on a number of levels. Obviously there’s more to being a great actor than that, but at its heart pretending is all it’s about. You’re a hypocrite, pretending to be something you aren’t, and that’s okay, because it’s your job and everyone knows you’re just pretending.

The problem comes when we play-act in real life. We can pretend to be something we’re not if we’re on the playground or on a stage. When our whole life is such a forgery, though, we cause great harm to ourselves and others.

The real problem with the leader of the synagogue was not that he had some principles and failed to stick by them. The problem was that he had no principles at all; he was just pretending.

The practical problem with such play-acting in real life is that we will be found out. We cannot know the role we are playing well enough to pull it off. This is what Jesus is getting at in the rest of his dialogue, though it may not be immediately obvious. He asks, “Does not each of you on the Sabbath untie his ox or his ass from the manger, and lead it away to water it?” It’s not that there are a bunch of people breaking the Sabbath by letting their livestock out to drink. Quite to the contrary, this would have been permitted by the Law, which actually demanded that the welfare of livestock be provided for on the Sabbath. But somebody who was just acting righteous might not know the Law well enough to realize that, because he would not know the Law in his heart.

Jesus compares his own healing of the woman to this example. He wasn’t breaking the Sabbath at all, but somebody who didn’t know the Law well enough, who knew the Law only well enough to pretend to be righteous, would not have known it.

I read some time ago about a shocking finding of some research undertaken by a professor of religion, whose name and school I sadly cannot remember. Anyway, he found that people who claim to be religious tend to have more racist sentiments than the general population. Of course, racism is just the sort of backward mindset that one would expect Christian practice to chip away at in the heart of a practitioner. After some further study, the researcher determined that those who actually came to church because they wanted to have some connection to God and to be changed by it were actually far less likely to be racists than the general population. The problem was that so many of his original sample had a different reason for being religious. They wanted to fit in; they wanted to learn the “in-language”; they wanted to maintain the social cachet that was attached to being a member of a particular church. In other words, they were play-acting. One hopes that if they keep going to church, even for the wrong reasons, something of the life-changing message of Jesus will eventually sink in. In all events, there are many today who indulge in religious hypocrisy without even thinking about it. I wonder sometimes if we pay enough attention to our own motivations to ferret it out in ourselves, or if Jesus will have to call us out, just like he did to that synagogue leader.

The good news in all this is that we have a reminder to be vigilant of our own motivations. We have an opportunity to figure out if we’re really committed to the Gospel or not. And, what’s more, we have another chance to commit ourselves to those values and principles which are designed to change our lives for the better, to make us more gracious and loving. When we turn our judgment inward, not worrying so much about whether or not others are “following the rules” but rather concerning ourselves with whether or not the Good News is changing us from within, then we approach a turning point in our own Christian lives. We will be the better for it, and the Kingdom will benefit from our renewed sense of direction and resolve.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Conflict is a normal part of relationships, particularly close relationships, and we all have different ways of dealing with it. Sometimes those ways are healthy, and sometimes they aren’t. There are those that love a good fight and will launch into any which arises. At the risk of dealing in stereotypes, such pugnacious people often find there way into politics, for reasons which are obvious enough. It being a particularly divisive time in our national politics, I’ve noticed more and more friends of mine from all political persuasions who have tried to decide whether or not to even bring the issues up in conversation. My rule (as I’ve mentioned to some of you) is always to ask myself “is this a ditch I’m willing to die in?” The cost-benefit analysis is often a difficult one for me; it’s one of those examples of how my role as a pastor can complicate things. I’m called both to preach the Gospel and to be in relationship with God’s people, and sometimes the former (especially at the confluence of faith and politics) can threaten to complicate the latter. Sometimes that’s a good thing (close relationships being predicated on the acknowledgment of even fiercely held differences of opinion in order to be adult relationships), but sometimes it’s so potentially threatening to a relationship that the most loving course of action is just not going there.

That brings up the converse problem, though- there are those who avoid conflict at all costs, even when sharing the truth as one sees it, and (more importantly) as one believes God sees it, is of the utmost importance. It might seem to us the wise path, but often it means that issues of the greatest import are neglected because too few had the courage to stand up and fight for what they believe to be right. What might have been avoided if, say, Neville Chamberlain hadn’t appeased Hitler? That, of course, is an extreme example, but there are so many times when conscience may lead us into conflict, and for those of us without the natural temerity of a politician, acting conscientiously could be a most difficult thing.

Sometimes our problem is in misunderstanding the requirements of the Gospel. We’ve watered down Jesus’ teaching, domesticated it, and believe its principle command is something like “be nice”. Now, don’t get me wrong: I like to be nice and for people to be nice to me. I think I’m a pretty peaceable person, which comes in handy because I’m pretty guileless, so if I were also naturally prone to intentionally stirring the pot, as it were, I might find myself constantly in conflict. Peevishness and petulance are not a good way of showing the love of Christ. Even so, running from conflict when the stakes are high, when the truths of the Gospel and the well-being of God’s people are on the line in an effort to “be nice” can be terribly harmful for the cause in which we as Christians are engaged.

Jesus says to his disciples in this morning’s Gospel, “Do you think that I have come to give peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.” That’s Luke’s version, and Matthew’s is even stronger “Do not think that I have come to bring peace on earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.”

What follows is even more shocking. I’m sure it was upsetting to hear Jesus validate discord in families. It was to me, and it is every time I’m confronted with this hard teaching of Jesus. But put yourself back in the first century, and imagine that you were raised in a good Jewish family, or even a Greek family which had been faithful in serving the pagan gods of Rome. Then imagine that you hear the Good News of God in Christ, that you are convicted of the truth of Christ’s death and resurrection, that you wish to serve the one true and living God as His Son had revealed Him. This would not have been a popular choice. It would most certainly have led to discord, and perhaps you would have been disowned by those you loved most of all. Would it then have been better that you never received the Gospel of life? Would it then have been better to shun that glorious news for the sake of peace at home? Would God have preferred it if you had taken the path which avoided conflict? By no means!

We still have these choices today, and sometimes they can even have consequences as dramatic as the choices those early disciples had to make. For the first time in our nation’s history there is now a whole generation of people being raised by basically irreligious parents. We’re about a generation behind secular Europe in this trend, and there is still some hope as now it seems that more young people without a background in the faith or with a complicated religious upbringing are finding their way into the body of Christ. The highlight of my time on the high seas this summer was conducting the baptism of a young man who had been interested in Christianity for some time, but whose very strict Buddhist grandmother made entering the Church a difficult proposition. Perha[ps being in international waters finally made the young man comfortable enough to follow through on that to which the Holy Spirit had been calling him for some time.

And all that is not to mention all those countless people today in the less open parts of the Muslim world or in the atheistic countries of the old Eastern Bloc and China who are shunned because of their commitment to Christ and his Church. By the way, lest we start thinking of ourselves as the victims, so too are Muslims the victims of discrimination in good old Christendom and Hindus in Pakistan and Baha’is in Iran and Jews just about everywhere.

While few of us have ever faced being shunned because of our religious convictions, there are still choices we make for the sake of conscience that carry with them the danger of unpopularity or something even worse. Plenty of people became outcasts in their families or their communities when they acted on a conviction that securing civil rights for blacks was a Christian imperative. Plenty of Christians in our own country in recent years have faced fines and even arrest for breaking municipal ordinances against feeding programs, which ordinances are, not always but often, thinly veiled schemes to keep unsavory people (i.e. the homeless and the mentally ill) from congregating. Plenty of Christians faced criminal charges for their participation in the Sanctuary movement thirty years ago, and, this might be controversial, but I do wonder if we ought, both as churches and individual Christians, to be making a lot more noise these days, even getting ourselves in trouble, considering the fact that our Lord himself and his family were refugees.

By the way – this is my personal opinion so feel free to disagree – I think it’s become a lot harder to point out these problems and stand up for a Christian response because so many Christians have claimed that they’ve been persecuted when they haven’t been or had their religious freedom constrained when it hasn’t been. Whatever one thinks about the controversial issues du jour, nobody from the government has come knocking on my door to have any sermons I’ve written be subpoenaed. I think there are fruitful debates to be had on what tax revenue can and should be used for and what equality under the law looks like in the context of religious diversity, but to claim religious persecution at the outset of these debates is like the boy crying wolf when there are real, tangible ways in which our ability to live out the Gospel of reconciliation and love may be constrained either by law or custom.

In all events, I preached last week about conviction, and today I want to add to those thoughts by suggesting that Jesus requires of us the development of a virtue which compliments it. That virtue is courage. Our convictions, as I said last week, compel us to act, but we must grow in courage to make it happen. When we learn that, as that wonderful hymn put it “the peace of God, it is no peace, but strife closed in the sod”, then courage will be required if we are to confront the conflict into which our Christian commitments bring us. What all those people listed in today’s Epistle had in common was the courage to act on faith. Rahab and Gideon and Barak and Samson and Jephthah and David and Samuel and the prophets and the whole people of Israel in their flight from Egypt— all of them had the courage to risk their lives and their livelihoods and all they held dear because they were convicted by God and His promise.

With so great a cloud of witnesses, how can we but do the same? Let us, then, face strife with courage, not running away, not deciding to “just be nice”, but standing up for that which really matters. We may think ourselves too timid, but the God of Hosts is with us, and by Him are we encouraged.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.