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Sixth Sunday after Epiphany, Year B

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2 Kings 5:1-15ab - link to NRSV text
Mark 1:40-45 - link to NRSV text

I was away this week at the Emergent Theological Conversation with Miroslav Volf, author of Exclusion and Embrace and Free of Charge. I'll probably blog about it in Grace Notes soon, but there was one thread in the conversation that keeps coming back to my mind, especially as I reflect on the gospel for this Sunday.

It started in a breakout group on global poverty, where the discussion generated a lot of energy and at least a little heat, particularly around the question of how much our intentions matter. Some people said things along the lines of “the important thing is that you do SOMETHING. It really doesn't matter what, as long as you do it with a heart to serve. Results don't matter; our attitude matters.” But there was something about that position I found disturbing. Let me put it this way:

If I were the mother in sub-Saharan Africa whose child might die of malaria for want of a $2 mosquito net, I would definitely feel that results mattered a great deal. If I needed a mosquito net to save my child's life and what North American Christians gave was a ham sandwich, the extent to which these people meant well wouldn't be much comfort to me as I mourned my daughter.

I thought of that conversation again in a later session with Volf as he was asked what he saw as the greatest problem in North American Christianity. The questioner noted that Hauerwas had, when asked the same question, named our biggest problem as sentimentality. Volf agreed with Hauerwas' answer, adding that our sentimentality was particularly dangerous spiritually when combined with the rigid judgmentalism that characterizes so much of the church here, and I agree. I'm not normally one to use this kind of language, but I often think that the best evidence I see around me for the existence and activity of what St. Paul called “powers and principalities” is the way that so much of the church here squanders so much of its resources on sexuality issues that seem like so much tithing of mint and dill and cumin in comparison to the immeasurably more weighty issues of justice and mercy and faith in our world. It's a distraction that might rightly be described as diabolical or demonic. At the very least, it's profoundly tragic, and all the more so for all of the good intentions involved.

And I do believe that most people's intentions are mostly good. But we Americans have far too often reduced Christianity to being about internal states. “Love” is a set of warm fuzzy feelings, and if you can drum those feelings up, that's enough. I think that's what Hauerwas and Volf were talking about when they named sentimentality as a profound danger to North American Christianity, because that's not what Jesus taught.

Indeed, Jesus taught in Matthew 25:31-46 that when he's faced with one group of people who intended to serve Jesus but did not provide for the real physical needs of those who were poor, sick, or imprisoned, and another group of people who do NOT intend to serve Jesus but who do provide for these needs, it's those with no intentionality to serve God but who do provide for the real needs of the poor who are honored by God and welcomed into Jesus' kingdom.

And besides, I remain suspicious of our intentions as long as our supposedly generous intentions perpetuate a world order that lines our pockets, increases our privilege, and kills other people's children. We can give sandwiches to the homeless or send grain to another nation, and that's something. But it seems to me that we guard most jealously something that we value more:

We hand out sandwiches, but we maintain a death grip on power. And I mean that “death grip” phrase: this puts us in a position of very serious spiritual danger. We hand out sandwiches while retaining the power to decide whose child eats and whose child dies. We get a twofold payoff from that: we feel generous, and since we're still in power, we can get off on our generosity whenever we want. We give and we take away, and either way, we get a fix of power over others, a power to which we are addicted and which rightly belongs only to God. That's idolatry of the worst sort as well as murder.

And that, at long last, brings me to the gospel for this Sunday, to a question that fascinated my first graduate-level New Testament class at St. Andrews in Scotland. In Mark 1:41, our text says that Jesus was moved with pity or compassion, but there's a fairly common variant in our manuscripts that says that Jesus was moved with “anger” to heal the leper. We found that pretty disturbing. But now, some seventeen years and many, many courses and books later, this is what I would have to say from the pulpit about the question of Jesus was moved with “pity” or “anger” to heal the leper:

It just doesn't matter. What matters is what he did. He gave everything he had to give, not to enhance his own power -- he understood that true power comes from God, and he had no interest in gaining worldly power -- but to empower the powerless. The leper that he met was an outcast with no voice at all in the community, and the man that went on his way after his encounter with Jesus was whole: brought back in to community, free to act in community to Jesus' advantage or not. Jesus didn't just give him a cure; Jesus gave him his voice.

And that's what we are called to do. Redistributing food and money is a something -- something important at that. But God is doing something even more profound in the world, and we are called to participate in it by using our power as Jesus used his: to empower the powerless. Send grain; work also for policies that share technology and make trade fair, giving people the power to feed their families. Hand out sandwiches to the homeless, but work also for policies to bring affordable housing to every community.

Does that sound overwhelming? It really wouldn't take that much. How many hours and how much effort do we spend trying to find out what would be the best computer or cell phone? Can we really not spare at least that many calories to learn what our elected officials are doing either to line our pockets or do justice toward the poor?

I'm reminded of a line from our Old Testament reading for this Sunday: “if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it?” We have no excuse to sit around complaining about how overwhelming our world's problems are as long as we're using our power, our voice, and our privilege in ways that further all of those things at the continued expense of the powerless. And we have even less excuse now that many of the world's leading economists have identified Millennium Development Goals that could end extreme poverty in this generation. Less than one percent (.7% is a figure often given) of the income (GDP) of wealthy nations would do it, and if the U.S. did no more than President Bush has already promised (but not yet delivered), we would be doing our share.

If you haven't joined the ONE Campaign yet to realize these goals, please do it today. Read websites like Oxfam's if you want more information on current events and how our participation in the world is furthering or hindering justice for the poor. We need not just to act now, but to act wisely. God has given us as a community gifts of wisdom and imagination to come up with solutions that could allow thousands upon thousands of children to live to see adulthood, and I believe that we are accountable for our use of time and imagination, our power and our voice, to further or hinder that agenda.

We can do it for Jesus' sake or for national security, we can be inspired by love or anger or both or neither. If I were preaching this Sunday, I think that would be my focus, and I'd be tempted to title the sermon “Inspired by Love and Anger,” from one of my favorite Iona Community songs:

Inspired by love and anger, disturbed by need and pain,
Informed of God's own bias we ask him once again:
“How long must some folk suffer? How long can few folk mind?
How long dare vain self interest turn prayer and pity blind?”

From those forever victims of heartless human greed,
Their cruel plight composes a litany of need:
“Where are the fruits of justice? Where are the signs of peace?
When is the day when prisoners and dreams find their release?”

From those forever shackled to what their wealth can buy,
The fear of lost advantage provokes the bitter cry,
“Don't query our position! Don't criticise our wealth!
Don't mention those exploited by politics and stealth!”

To God, who through the prophets proclaimed a different age,
We offer earth's indifference, its agony and rage:
“When will the wronged be righted? When will the kingdom come?
When will the world be generous to all instead of some?”

God asks, “Who will go for me? Who will extend my reach?
And who, when few will listen, will prophecy and preach?
And who, when few bid welcome, will offer all they know?
And who, when few dare follow, will walk the road I show?”

Amused in someone's kitchen, asleep in someone's boat,
Attuned to what the ancients exposed, proclaimed and wrote,
A saviour without safety, a tradesman without tools
Has come to tip the balance with fishermen and fools.

Thanks be to God!

February 10, 2006 in 2 Kings, Epiphany, Justice, Mark, ONE campaign/Millennium Development Goals, Year B | Permalink

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For blogging out loud! As far as I can see, these are all the blogs I was able to compile regarding the Emergent Conversation at Yale. There are some critical and positive comments on all of... [Read More]

Tracked on Feb 11, 2006 11:39:06 PM

Comments

Thanks so much for your blog!
I read it almost every week and always you challenge me. It helps with my preparation for the Eucharist each week as I reflect on the readings. This week, with your talk about sentimentality, you struck a note that has continued to be an issue for me for some time; I never articulated it but you hit the nail on the head with American Christianity.

I was a missionary in West Africa for four years and I saw the same scenario repeated over and over: short time groups would come to visit and help fix all of the problems of the African Christians. If I was able to get in on the planning, we made time for community interaction and mutual ministry where the short timers received and gave in ministry. The groups did not want such ministry, however; they wanted to get in, get the job done and go back home where they were comfortable. Some did give mosquito nets but they did not fit into the culture and many did not use them -proving that there was much more "let me fix you" in the ministry than "Let's work together and learn how we can overcome these hurtles together." The challenge for me was how to justify the good intentions and willingness to give with the inherent need to listen before acting - ministry "with" instead of minstry "to/for". In my new setting here in the US, things have changed little; the Church still struggles with how to function in mutually inclusive ministry where everyone is invited to grow and serve in Christ.

Thanks for your challenge and for your words of grace.
Tim

Posted by: Tim Reynolds | Feb 10, 2009 12:04:15 PM

Your lectionary essays are always well worth reading. This one, however is above the norm, a "10". Thank you for the work you do.
On another topic; remember that all phud dissertaions are instant coprolites. Just write a series of good B+ sophomore papers and save the magnum opus for another time. Selah

Posted by: Mickey Byrd | Feb 10, 2009 6:38:58 PM

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Dylan's lectionary blog: Sixth Sunday after Epiphany, Year B

« Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany, Year B | Main | Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany, Year B »

Sixth Sunday after Epiphany, Year B

Printer-friendly version

2 Kings 5:1-15ab - link to NRSV text
Mark 1:40-45 - link to NRSV text

I was away this week at the Emergent Theological Conversation with Miroslav Volf, author of Exclusion and Embrace and Free of Charge. I'll probably blog about it in Grace Notes soon, but there was one thread in the conversation that keeps coming back to my mind, especially as I reflect on the gospel for this Sunday.

It started in a breakout group on global poverty, where the discussion generated a lot of energy and at least a little heat, particularly around the question of how much our intentions matter. Some people said things along the lines of “the important thing is that you do SOMETHING. It really doesn't matter what, as long as you do it with a heart to serve. Results don't matter; our attitude matters.” But there was something about that position I found disturbing. Let me put it this way:

If I were the mother in sub-Saharan Africa whose child might die of malaria for want of a $2 mosquito net, I would definitely feel that results mattered a great deal. If I needed a mosquito net to save my child's life and what North American Christians gave was a ham sandwich, the extent to which these people meant well wouldn't be much comfort to me as I mourned my daughter.

I thought of that conversation again in a later session with Volf as he was asked what he saw as the greatest problem in North American Christianity. The questioner noted that Hauerwas had, when asked the same question, named our biggest problem as sentimentality. Volf agreed with Hauerwas' answer, adding that our sentimentality was particularly dangerous spiritually when combined with the rigid judgmentalism that characterizes so much of the church here, and I agree. I'm not normally one to use this kind of language, but I often think that the best evidence I see around me for the existence and activity of what St. Paul called “powers and principalities” is the way that so much of the church here squanders so much of its resources on sexuality issues that seem like so much tithing of mint and dill and cumin in comparison to the immeasurably more weighty issues of justice and mercy and faith in our world. It's a distraction that might rightly be described as diabolical or demonic. At the very least, it's profoundly tragic, and all the more so for all of the good intentions involved.

And I do believe that most people's intentions are mostly good. But we Americans have far too often reduced Christianity to being about internal states. “Love” is a set of warm fuzzy feelings, and if you can drum those feelings up, that's enough. I think that's what Hauerwas and Volf were talking about when they named sentimentality as a profound danger to North American Christianity, because that's not what Jesus taught.

Indeed, Jesus taught in Matthew 25:31-46 that when he's faced with one group of people who intended to serve Jesus but did not provide for the real physical needs of those who were poor, sick, or imprisoned, and another group of people who do NOT intend to serve Jesus but who do provide for these needs, it's those with no intentionality to serve God but who do provide for the real needs of the poor who are honored by God and welcomed into Jesus' kingdom.

And besides, I remain suspicious of our intentions as long as our supposedly generous intentions perpetuate a world order that lines our pockets, increases our privilege, and kills other people's children. We can give sandwiches to the homeless or send grain to another nation, and that's something. But it seems to me that we guard most jealously something that we value more:

We hand out sandwiches, but we maintain a death grip on power. And I mean that “death grip” phrase: this puts us in a position of very serious spiritual danger. We hand out sandwiches while retaining the power to decide whose child eats and whose child dies. We get a twofold payoff from that: we feel generous, and since we're still in power, we can get off on our generosity whenever we want. We give and we take away, and either way, we get a fix of power over others, a power to which we are addicted and which rightly belongs only to God. That's idolatry of the worst sort as well as murder.

And that, at long last, brings me to the gospel for this Sunday, to a question that fascinated my first graduate-level New Testament class at St. Andrews in Scotland. In Mark 1:41, our text says that Jesus was moved with pity or compassion, but there's a fairly common variant in our manuscripts that says that Jesus was moved with “anger” to heal the leper. We found that pretty disturbing. But now, some seventeen years and many, many courses and books later, this is what I would have to say from the pulpit about the question of Jesus was moved with “pity” or “anger” to heal the leper:

It just doesn't matter. What matters is what he did. He gave everything he had to give, not to enhance his own power -- he understood that true power comes from God, and he had no interest in gaining worldly power -- but to empower the powerless. The leper that he met was an outcast with no voice at all in the community, and the man that went on his way after his encounter with Jesus was whole: brought back in to community, free to act in community to Jesus' advantage or not. Jesus didn't just give him a cure; Jesus gave him his voice.

And that's what we are called to do. Redistributing food and money is a something -- something important at that. But God is doing something even more profound in the world, and we are called to participate in it by using our power as Jesus used his: to empower the powerless. Send grain; work also for policies that share technology and make trade fair, giving people the power to feed their families. Hand out sandwiches to the homeless, but work also for policies to bring affordable housing to every community.

Does that sound overwhelming? It really wouldn't take that much. How many hours and how much effort do we spend trying to find out what would be the best computer or cell phone? Can we really not spare at least that many calories to learn what our elected officials are doing either to line our pockets or do justice toward the poor?

I'm reminded of a line from our Old Testament reading for this Sunday: “if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it?” We have no excuse to sit around complaining about how overwhelming our world's problems are as long as we're using our power, our voice, and our privilege in ways that further all of those things at the continued expense of the powerless. And we have even less excuse now that many of the world's leading economists have identified Millennium Development Goals that could end extreme poverty in this generation. Less than one percent (.7% is a figure often given) of the income (GDP) of wealthy nations would do it, and if the U.S. did no more than President Bush has already promised (but not yet delivered), we would be doing our share.

If you haven't joined the ONE Campaign yet to realize these goals, please do it today. Read websites like Oxfam's if you want more information on current events and how our participation in the world is furthering or hindering justice for the poor. We need not just to act now, but to act wisely. God has given us as a community gifts of wisdom and imagination to come up with solutions that could allow thousands upon thousands of children to live to see adulthood, and I believe that we are accountable for our use of time and imagination, our power and our voice, to further or hinder that agenda.

We can do it for Jesus' sake or for national security, we can be inspired by love or anger or both or neither. If I were preaching this Sunday, I think that would be my focus, and I'd be tempted to title the sermon “Inspired by Love and Anger,” from one of my favorite Iona Community songs:

Inspired by love and anger, disturbed by need and pain,
Informed of God's own bias we ask him once again:
“How long must some folk suffer? How long can few folk mind?
How long dare vain self interest turn prayer and pity blind?”

From those forever victims of heartless human greed,
Their cruel plight composes a litany of need:
“Where are the fruits of justice? Where are the signs of peace?
When is the day when prisoners and dreams find their release?”

From those forever shackled to what their wealth can buy,
The fear of lost advantage provokes the bitter cry,
“Don't query our position! Don't criticise our wealth!
Don't mention those exploited by politics and stealth!”

To God, who through the prophets proclaimed a different age,
We offer earth's indifference, its agony and rage:
“When will the wronged be righted? When will the kingdom come?
When will the world be generous to all instead of some?”

God asks, “Who will go for me? Who will extend my reach?
And who, when few will listen, will prophecy and preach?
And who, when few bid welcome, will offer all they know?
And who, when few dare follow, will walk the road I show?”

Amused in someone's kitchen, asleep in someone's boat,
Attuned to what the ancients exposed, proclaimed and wrote,
A saviour without safety, a tradesman without tools
Has come to tip the balance with fishermen and fools.

Thanks be to God!

February 10, 2006 in 2 Kings, Epiphany, Justice, Mark, ONE campaign/Millennium Development Goals, Year B | Permalink

TrackBack

TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.typepad.com/services/trackback/6a00d8341c234653ef00d83424b9fa53ef

Listed below are links to weblogs that reference Sixth Sunday after Epiphany, Year B:

» For blogging out loud! from Unfinished Christianity
For blogging out loud! As far as I can see, these are all the blogs I was able to compile regarding the Emergent Conversation at Yale. There are some critical and positive comments on all of... [Read More]

Tracked on Feb 11, 2006 11:39:06 PM

Comments

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