Thoughts on the Gospel for the 25th Sunday of Ordinary Time: The fairness of Love

 

And on receiving it they grumbled against the landowner, saying,

'These last ones worked only one hour,

and you have made them equal to us,

who bore the day's burden and the heat.'

 

--Matthew 20: 1-16

 

 

There is something quite comforting in the argument for fairness.  It asserts an equilibrium in the world that often doesn’t appear to be there, but that we think should.  The argument for fairness in any situation implies that there is a minimum to what we deserve: at least what is fair.  And what we see in this week’s parable from Matthew 20, is a story of fairness turned on its head.  It is exactly the ones who are demanding it, who have already received fairness.  They received a fair day’s wages, mutually agreed upon before they went to work. And yet, when they see that others have received the same amount for less work, they feel cheated.  They –in a sense—regret their agreement, regret the terms of their contract—so to speak-- and allow themselves to hope for more; then, in their disappointment, they complain about “fairness.”

 

Why? Because none of us truly wants what is fair.  We want something more, we want abundance, we want something like grace.  Perhaps even charity.  But we hide behind a word like “fair,” because it seems safe.  It announces that we are only asking for what we think we deserve, what we feel we have earned—what is fair.

 

But the thing is, life isn’t fair.  And—my thought is: we should be grateful.  I remember a night back in 1981-82, when I was driving home from work late at night.  I think it was when I worked backstage at the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.  (I like writing that.  Actually, I was working backstage at the Tower Theater, but that was the show they were putting on when I worked there.) Anyway, I was driving home about midnight on a Friday night after a long day at UST, and then a long night guarding the stage door at the Best Little Whorehouse… And as I drove down Memorial Drive in my old white Honda Civic (a stick shift, no AC, and only an AM radio), I remember stopping at the light at Memorial and Westcott.  I pulled up right next to a police car with 2 policemen already waiting at the light.  I looked over and nodded to them. One of them nodded back. I sat there for a bit, and then something happened, maybe I was changing the radio. KILT used to broadcast a concert from Gilley’s on the radio and maybe I had been listening to it and when it went off I probably started to change the channel, looking for something else. Anyway, clearly I got distracted and for some reason put the car in gear, let off the clutch and slowly and brainlessly drove right through the still red light --with a police car sitting right next to me. Very quickly I realized what I had done and slowed down as I expected the police car to flip on its lights and pull up beside me. But, instead after about 20-30 yards, the cruiser pulled beside me and one of the officers rolled down his window and gave me a tsk tsk gesture and a silly grin. Then, shaking their heads and laughing they drove on. Fair?  I should have been pulled over and given a ticket.  But, out of kindness, out of compassion, out of grace, the officers simply let me off with a very gentle warning.

 

None of us really wants what is fair. We want grace, we want compassion, we want love. We want to know that we were noticed and that we mattered.  We want to be appreciated so much that someone would give their life for us, if it came to that. We want the love of God to overwhelm us, because—and I think this might secretly be true of a great many of us—we don’t feel like we deserve it.

 

And so, in our insecurity, too many of us resent it when another person receives abundance and seemingly undeserved blessings. We resent the new employee who receives kudos and honors their first month on the job when we have done our job for years and never felt praised or even particularly noticed.

 

And yet, there is another element to this parable that might too easily be overlooked.  Like many parable, it begins with these words: The kingdom of Heaven is like…

 

The Kingdom of Heaven is like this… It’s not a place of fairness.  It is a place of blessing.  It is a place wherein the first will be last and the last will be first. What we must learn to realize is this: if that is what the Kingdom of Heaven is like—then that is a good thing, and we must learn to see the world, through that lens, we must learn to see our own life through that lens.  We must learn from the parable to refocus our attention on the truth.  Grace isn’t about fairness, grace isn’t about getting what we deserve, our fair share; grace is about love and if we just look at the Cross, we will get a beautiful reminder of how much fairness matters to God. 

 

The Kingdom of Heaven is like… a place where everyone is welcome, no matter when or how they come, and all will receive the same thing, in the same amount: the Love of God, overflowing, more than we could have ever imagined, or even hoped for.  Because God isn’t fair, God is love.

The Parable of the Actual: some thoughts on Mark 4 and hearing God's voice in daily life

“Take the fig tree as a parable…”

--Mark 13:28

 

This invitation to “Take the fig tree as a parable…” has planted a seed in my imagination.  What I hear in this verse is Jesus telling His disciples (even today) to look at the world, at the actual and see with new eyes a parable,  a lesson, a glimpse of God’s glory revealed.  And with this in mind, I find myself contemplating the rest of Mark’s gospel through this lens—the actual.

 

First, what is a parable?  A parable is a figurative saying that draws attention to similarities between two things, often quite distinctly different things. There is often a paradox about this comparison that strikes the reader as impossible or not right.  For instance: How could the Kingdom of God be like a mustard seed? Or why would a shepherd leave 99 sheep alone and at risk while going off to search for a single stray?  It doesn’t make sense at first—but then when we let it sink into our prayer, to our soul, to our heart… it begins to reveal a kind of truth we might never have imagined.

 

Let me apply this for a moment to scripture itself: chapter 4 of Mark’s Gospel.  The main body of this chapter involves a series of parables and sayings about the Kingdom of God, interrupted by a lesson about the meaning of the parable of the Sower.  And so, one might say that this chapter seems to be a chapter about parables. Parables for Dummies, so to speak.

 

But it is also interesting to note that this chapter is framed by boats. The chapter begins with Jesus getting into a boat in order to teach the crowd that has gathered.  And ends with the famous scene of Jesus asleep in the boat during a storm.  A chapter about parables ends with a story that feels a little bit like a parable: the disciples frightened by a storm at sea, and their teacher sleeping through it. When they wake Him, Jesus commands the storm to be still, but to the disciples He only says: Do you still have no faith?  (cf. 4:40) Clearly there is a lesson to this little story about a stormy night on the water.  And it seems to have nothing to do with meteorology. 

 

But, maybe it has something to do with boats.  Jesus gets into a boat in order to teach the crowd on the shore.  And then like a farmer scattering seeds, He scatters a few lessons about; tells a story, draws a couple of comparisons between a mustard seed and the Kingdom of God, the mystery of God’s kingdom and the mystery of a sprouting seed, and then He starts emphasizing the need to see, and to hear, to look and to listen, to place your lamp on a lampstand instead of hiding it under a bed.

 

Basically, He seems to be saying: pay attention. 

 

Then, the chapter ends with that brief but very famous scene with the storm at sea; as if that storm and that boat and that sleeping Jesus were the final lesson—a kind of pop quiz, if you will.  Remember—He got into the boat so that He could teach.  And here He is in the boat—still teaching. 

In the story, it seems like the disciples have not yet learned their lesson. Jesus basically dope slaps them with his question about their lack of faith.  But—what about us?  Have we learned anything? 

 

What was the lesson? I think it has something to do with opening our eyes to the mystery of God’s presence all around us.  His grace in the storm and the struggle as well as in the tender moments of healing and joy.

 

When I feel blessed, it is easy to feel like I am in the presence of God. That I am loved. But, when I feel lonely, unwanted or unnoticed, and everything seems to be going wrong—a perfect storm of mistakes and insecurities and fear and anxiety rises up around me; in a moment like that, it is pretty hard to feel God’s love. But, I think Jesus is saying: Look. Listen. Pay attention.  Open your eyes and you will see… open your ears and you will hear—I am there. With you. Always.

 

But, how do we see God’s presence in our daily life? Through the lessons of the parables.  We have to learn how to read our daily life like it was a parable. The parable of the actual. This isn’t just about fig trees and scattered seeds.  It’s also about jammed staplers and flat tires and neighbor’s dogs that bark all night.  I hear God telling me to open my eyes and see, open my ears and listen. The neighbor with the barking dog, might need a friend. The flat tire might be God’s way of asking me to stop rushing about, stop being so independent, and to let other see me struggle, so that they will have the opportunity to stop their rushing about and offer help to an old man who doesn’t even know how to use a crowbar.  As for the jammed stapler—well, sometimes I can take these things too far.

 Take the fig tree as a parable.  Look at the real world, what is actually happening around you.  Is it possible that that is where God is revealing Himself to you? Are you the neighbor who hears the ambulance or fire truck siren and steps outside to see if someone needs help? Or are you the neighbor who notices when a sprinkler is left on and shuts it off to save someone's water bill?  Are you the one who puts bird seed out every morning for the blue jays or are you the one who carries peanuts in your pocket for the squirrels at the park? Do you notice the new people in your life? Do you notice the sadness in the eyes of a stranger? Or the smile on the face of the elderly couple who sit on their porch holding hands every morning? Look at the leaves. Look at the clouds. Look at the brown summer grass. Listen to breeze. Listen to the birds. Listen to your wife (or husband) even when they are telling you the same story for the 31st time.  Look. Listen. And really hear, really see what is really right there before you. The face of God come to meet you on your journey.

Anyway, I am trying to read my life as a kind of parable, the parable of the barking dog, the parable of the one-eyed squirrel, the parable of the lonely husband… whatever is happening, I am trying to focus less on my own reaction, and more on the actual events. And what they might tell me about God’s Kingdom.    

 

Where is God revealing Himself in your life? In a sink of dishes? In a bowl of ice cream? In a cat curled in your lap? In an uncomfortable conversation with your boss. Or in a happy hour beer with a friend. Somewhere in your day, God is calling you: Come, my beloved; come and sit with me… For myself, my hope is that I will stop looking for some mystical sign and just open my eyes to the mystery and the grace all around me.  Even in the moldy head of Romaine that I forgot in the back of the refrigerator.  I pray that for you, too.

 

Lord, open my eyes to Your Word

That I can read it more clearly;

Open my ears to Your Word,

That I can hear Your message more fully;

And open my heart to Your Word

That I will be filled with the Love

That is always found there.

 

 

Taking it personally --thoughts on reading scripture through the lens of Luke 8:10

 “To you is granted to understand

the secrets of the Kingdom of God;

for the rest it remains in parables,

so that they may look but not perceive,

listen but not understand…” (Luke 8:10)

 

 

This verse has often troubled me, because of how exclusive it felt.  The idea that Jesus would intentionally make things obscure, so that some people would “look but not perceive,” felt kind of cruel.  But recently I read this passage and was struck by a new understanding.  Let me know if you think I am crazy (or just plain wrong).  I read this passage the other morning and was caught by the word “you.”  Yep… Sometimes that is all it takes.  Because, for the first time I had the sensation that the “you” Jesus was referring to was me.  Not just me, of course. But anyone reading those words.

 

A little context, first.  In chapter 8 of Luke, Jesus is going through the town and villages teaching in parables.  And it is His disciples who ask Him—why? Why are You teaching in parables?  His answer is the verse above, and it is made when Jesus is alone with them—in private, so to speak. He says it just before He begins to explain the meaning of the parable of the sower: the guy who sows seeds on the rocky, the thorny, and the good soil. 

 

Of course, taking his personally, may sound a little bit ridiculous.  I know these stories were written down almost 2000 years ago, and their authors were often recording events that probably happened 30 to 50+ years before pen was put to paper (or papyrus, or whatever they first used).  So, it is even possible that the persona writing it down only knew these stories, these events, because someone else told them about it.  About Jesus. 

 

What I am trying to say here, is that I understand there is historical context, and a narrative context involved.  And yet, as I read this passage, I realized that in the story Jesus was saying something to His disciples that in reality also applied to me. Off by themselves, the disciples asked Jesus to explain the parable, and He says: I’m going to explain my parable to you, so you can understand it better.  Not everybody will get this lesson, but YOU will.   

 

And suddenly I heard this message in a new way. I was sitting with my Bible, alone with the Lord. Listening to His words, spending time in His presence (like one of the disciples), and as I read, He began teaching in parable (in stories).  And as I continued reading—the story about Jesus-- He continued to teach, including a special lesson to those who withdraw alone with Him. And in that moment, as I sat there—alone with my Bible—alone with God’s word, I realized: who was He explaining it to?  Me.  He was speaking directly to me. Telling me, I think, that as we read and reread God’s word, more and more of it will become clear to us, the Holy Spirit will reveal more and more of the meaning to us.  As if the real meaning of this strange verse was:  To you who spend time listening to me, who make time to hear and read and contemplate My word, to You it will be given. The Holy Spirit will open your eyes that you can see, that you might perceive, and open your ears that YOU can more fully understand God’s meaning, God’s love. 

 

Does that make sense? 

And I think the real key is, we need to take it personally.  We need to make it personal.  Because, think about it, that’s exactly what Jesus did. 

 

Here it is, Good Friday, a day to remember the hour when Jesus made it all very personal.  When He took up the Cross and went to Calvary—not for some amorphous idea but for you. Personally. And for me, personally. He died to free me from my sins.  It is my belief that He died for all of us, but not as a group.  He died for each and every one of us, individually, and very personally. That doesn’t mean we don’t need church or prayer groups or community. I don’t mean “go it alone.” We need theologians and scholars and ministers and preachers and prayer buddies to help us and guide us and keep us on track. 

 

When Jesus gave His life for you, and for me, He made it very personal.  All I am saying is, this Easter Season when you take up your Bible, why not return the favor. 

 

Those blessed sheep… a few thoughts for the feast of Christ the King

 

“Come you, who are blessed by my Father…”

--Matthew 25:34

 

Such a familiar parable, this story of the final judgment, this judgment of the king.  It comes near the end of Matthew’s gospel and is that wonderful story of the goats and the sheep being separated to the left and right because of how they behaved toward the poor, the sick, the naked, the hungry, the prisoner and the outcast; basically, those in want. It is a wonderful allegory of identity and ignorance, of revelation and reward, of charity and compassion and the sorrowful lack thereof.

 

I have too often focused on the idea of the reward in this story. The fact that the king invites the sheep into His kingdom because they were charitable, and sends the goats away with a curse because they failed to be charitable; that has always stuck with me.  As if it were a warning: be on the lookout! You never know when the king is coming; and He might be in disguise!  And I think that is one of the ways it is commonly read.  As a kind of instructional warning directed at those of us who struggle with selfishness, to be ever vigilant if we want to get invited into God’s kingdom. And I can see that this is a reasonable reading of this parable.

 

And yet, I hear something echo in that word “blessing,” that speaks to me on another level.  I looked up the word this morning. It is translated from the Greek eulogemenoi which literally means “being blessed” or “to be spoken well of; to praise” and is sometimes used to mean the conferral of something beneficial; i.e. praise or good words or a blessing!  But in this passage from Matthew the invitation to come or go is directed at those who “are blessed.” Which sounds like it could also mean that they have already received their reward. They ARE already blessed.  And as I contemplated that phrase I wondered something else.  I wondered about the kind of fable like premise of this parable. 

 

The parable implies that the king has been met and served (or not served) by these people in the guise of a prisoner or a beggar, an outcast or a sickly person.  And who is that “king,” but Jesus (God).  And so what is the reward that the sheep receive for their kindness to Him? They get to be in His kingdom, His presence forever.  And what is the punishment that the goats receive (or earn), but simply to be out of His presence forever (and to burn with hunger for it—I imagine).  And if that is the reward then what about that moment when they fed the hungry? Clothed the naked? Sat with the sick and comforted them, or visited the prisoner, welcomed the outcast?  In those actions, in those moments, when they did these things “for the least of [His] brothers,” isn’t the lesson that they [we] were doing them for Him. And so, in those moments of charity and kindness, where we serve Christ, aren’t we already in His presence? Aren’t we already in His kingdom? And if so, aren’t we already blessed? 

 

As St. Catherine of Siena famously said:  All the way to Heaven is Heaven. 

 

To be with Christ isn’t just a reward, it’s also a way of life.  Every time someone asks us for help, every time someone reaches out to us for consolation or even just a moment’s kindness, we are being invited to receive a blessing. We are being invited into the Kingdom of God.  Let us open our eyes to the glory of that invitation, and let us see in every face the grace of the one who is inviting us to come and meet Him not someday—but right here. Right now. In this moment. In this place. In this person.  And that, my friends, is truly a blessing.

 

Everytime I read my Bible, I am amazed by what I discover about God’s love.  Open your Bible my friends and take a moment to read. I promise you, you will be blessed by what you find there. 

 

Here is a short prayer you might pray before you begin to read.

 

Lord, open my eyes,

that I might read your word more clearly.

Lord, open my ears,

that I might hear your message more fully.

and Lord, open my heart,

that I will be filled with the Love that is found there.