Listening Abroad

Today we have two stories before us.   Both from the gospel of Matthew, but one is better known that the other. They are both important stories to Matthew, but admittedly, the tradition of Christianity thereafter has blessed one with better press.

Every time I went to seminary chapel services, there it was. A large oil painting of a boat out on churning waters, the men inside the boat with their arms outstretched to the figure approaching across the sea.   Every time, I walked in to chapel, I would see that painting and think to myself, “What an ugly painting!”   (And included in my list of ugly religious paintings, I note this one right after “Praying Hands” on crushed velvet.)  

The painting was a product of the 1970s, and even though I myself am a product of the 1970s, I must say that this painting was a victim of its time: lurid colors that looked out of place even hanging on an off-white wall of an otherwise austere sanctuary.

I suspicion that it was kept around because it represented a story good for pastors in training to see often. To the future leaders of the Church, the story reminded that in the midst of the tumult, Jesus comes to us, and yes, even calms the chaotic waters. And, we pastors need to keep that in mind. You go from seminary out into the open sea of ministry.   When faced with a congregation in conflict, when offering a comforting word to a grieving family, or when leading in a time of sudden crisis, that painting might come to mind, this story of the miracle that turbulent waters can be calmed down and indeed God is with us.  

 

By contrast, I have never seen a painting of the Canaanite woman talking, well, better said, verbally sparring with Jesus. In fact, it was not until seminary that I heard anything of her story.   Odd to think that I grew up in church, hardly missing a Sunday since elementary school, and still, this story that appears just down the narrative road from the tale of the bold, yet wet behind the ears Simon Peter, never was heard from the pulpit or in a Sunday school lesson. Why was this story of the Canaanite woman somehow missed in my religious upbringing?   Why did Simon get the 1970s oil painting and the Canaanite woman get forgotten in the text, passed over in the shuffle of sermon planning and Sunday school quarterlies?

On one hand, it could be that some stories just don’t get their day in the sun. They’re good stories, but somehow, another story gets picked up, being oft-told, considered grand, and enshrined in memory. Moreover, that other story, that poor little story, just sits there, wondering when its turn shall come.

Another perspective would be the relative inattentiveness of the Church to the stories of women in the Bible. Very little has been said historically about the women of the faith, and the centuries of patriarchal (male dominated) perspectives have shaped the Church in ways that we are still trying to bring to light and cast aside.   Thus, we frankly name these omissions and work towards a more attentive engagement with the biblical text.   Lifting up the Canaanite woman’s story is part of attuning the Church to a vision of humanity consistent with the New Testament, “There is no Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female, for you are all one in Christ”   (Galatians 3:28).

 

Let’s be honest. If we read the second story, I imagine the story of the Canaanite woman rattles our cages a bit. Here, we find Jesus’ interactions with the woman to be quite contentious. Just as the arguments play out with the Pharisees and other religious leaders, the encounter between the Canaanite woman and Jesus is back and forth, each side bantering back and forth, almost as if a tennis match. Unlike the other arguments, here the Canaanite woman bests Jesus; the only time that Jesus loses an argument in the Gospels.

Jesus’ inattention to the Canaanite would be well grounded in the “ways things are” type logic of first century Judaism. Jesus understood his mission to be primarily among the house of Israel, not among the Gentile outsiders. The Canaanite woman was everything that Jesus should not be dealing with: a Gentile from the wrong side of the tracks. There were social, religious, ethnic, and gender barriers put there by tradition and custom, and yet, here comes the woman asking for Jesus’ help, and Jesus largely unmoved by her request.   That is, until she makes a point that Jesus must concede.   The analogy chafes, comparing a person to a dog begging for table scraps, but Jesus acknowledges her faithfulness and her fortitude.   The excluded are to be included as part of Jesus’ mission.

 

  You might wonder why these two stories go together, seemingly different images of a disciple trying to walk on water and a woman who takes on Jesus in a flurry of words. In reading Matthew, I cannot read one story without reading the other. The two stories may be different, but they have some common issues. Both Peter and the unnamed woman deal with crises: a boat out in stormy waters and a child whose life is at risk. Both call out to Jesus as “Lord”. Both persons encounter Jesus and receive a word from Jesus about their faith. The two stories are complimentary to one another, as one story illustrates a failure of nerve and the other an abundance of belief.   And I suspicion Matthew is making a more subtle point than we might care to admit: the outsider is the one who gets it, not the person that you’d expect.

Simon Peter, the rock, the most prominent disciple in the Gospels, the one who is promised the very keys to the kingdom, falls into the water and is told he has “little faith”.   The Canaanite woman, so marginal to what the disciples believe is the message of Jesus’ gospel, so obscured from any consideration of status or “sacred worth” by so many religious laws and labels, is commended by Jesus for her “great” faith. She receives answers to prayer, while Simon Peter is all wet.

What I really wish would have been hanging up in the chapel was a picture of what happened after Jesus was sighted out at sea (or literally, out “on” the sea!). The image of Jesus patiently fishing the bold yet doubting disciple Simon Peter out of the water would be a good and prudent word for impressionable young seminarians (or seminarians in sore need of being impressionable).   Church leaders, especially the ones in training, can be too smug and certain for their own good.   It would have been a humble sight to walk in each time for chapel and see a reminder that our faith is “little”, which one scholar says is Matthew’s way of talking about a faith that is “neither perfect nor absent”, just little, a measure that still needs more to be full.   As I put it, a “little” faith is “there”, but more faith is needed!  

When we read these two stories, it is a cautionary tale for the Church. We can sometimes be skeptical (or outright indignant) about the idea of some folks being able to be part of the Church. Some churches, even denominations, operate with a velvet rope approach to God: only the ones who fit the pre-determined, ironclad criteria can get in.  

Would the Canaanite woman have a fighting chance of being heard in such a crowd?   She’s always there in the form of a person who believes in Jesus as their Lord. She’s there as the one who takes the Gospel to heart yet finds the modern day “inner circle” too skeptical, too ready to hasten Jesus onwards.   I’ve spotted her on the edges of worship services and denominational meetings, hoping to be recognized, hoping to be heard.   I find myself ashamed and angry that when spotted by the majority, she’s scorned and cast aside.   Pass a policy, keep her at arm’s length, don’t bother Jesus with her.    To be honest, if this is the way the Church works, I’d rather not be in the middle of the entourage, which is where preachers find themselves by vocation and church politics alike.   I’d rather be with her, off over to the side, asking questions, hoping to be heard.

 

I say to you this morning, as one who knows that he does not walk on water (and for the record, cannot swim either!), that I want to be careful in being part of the Church, because quite frankly, I take the Gospel at its word. The Church can get sometimes too certain that it forgets to honor the reality that we falter.   Look at the scope of church history, and you see the opposite of Matthew at work: the insiders can silence the outsiders quite easily, quite handily, and quite readily.   As I prayerfully read Matthew and the other gospels, I would be remiss if I did not point out that a gospel value is found along the way. The outsider is welcome, not as the sum of all the labels stamped upon them by the majority, but as the beloved of Jesus.   The Canaanite woman is worthy of Jesus’ love and affirmation, just as surely as Jesus loves that inner circle of disciples out on the stormy seas.   AMEN.

It was a dark and stormy night, the type of night where you wonder if the roof will stay on in the midst of the winds and sheets of rain. From across the bed, I heard the rather annoyed voice of my wife, “Why is the dog in bed?” I awoke to the realization that our dog was wiggling frantically between the two of us. Then another gust of wind blew, thunder clapped, I sat up in bed, and I found myself with the dog perched on my head like a hat—a quivering, whimpering hat. “I don’t know, honey. Go back to sleep.”

We kept wondering why the dog was more than her usual basket case. It was a heavy storm, but we also heard that a hail cannon had been blasting away at the night. Then came the headlines the day after that about the noise ordinance issues and the complaints to the town office (and my dog wrote a letter to the editor—she was fair but ruff…).

In the midst of the hail cannon saga, some folks might have missed completely the bigger story afoot: the fear.

It was not the fear of decibels, town ordinances, or sleep deprived hounds. The story of the hail cannon is really one of fear: the fear of crop failure. The orchard owners are concerned about losing a crop of apples to a hailstorm, so they went to the extraordinary length of buying a $30,000 piece of equipment.

Farmers and other food growers worry a lot about crop failure. They might not look it, standing there with a cup of coffee in their overhauls, but when the weather forecast comes on the early morning news, the house grows silent as they listen for any bad weather predicted. Hail, too much rain, too little rain, heavy winds, early frosts, deer treating your fields like a buffet, bugs, you name it. In the mind of any farmer I have known, there is a fear deep down of crop failure.

So you buy the best seed you can afford, you hope to have a good season of the right mix of rain and sun, you hope for a decent price when it’s time to sell to the grain elevator. You go to extraordinary lengths trying out the latest techniques (or locally, the latest cannon). But deep down, even the most religiously indifferent farmer will say muttered prayers, “Please, O Lord, no hail. No floods. No drought. No market crash. That’s all I ask.”

The parable of the seed scattered is not a good one to tell. It gets worse before it even thinks about getting better. New Testament scholar Warren Carter points out that of all the seed scattered, three-quarters of that seed “will come to naught.” This is not a story I pick up the phone and call my retired farmer dad to say, “Have you heard this one?” The seeds that “come to naught”, besieged by birds, thorns, stony ground, none of that really makes for delightful conversation with dad. Instead, the parable reminds a farmer about those times when you glumly survey the dashed dreams of a bumper crop just disappearing before your very eyes.

It makes that one quarter of seed, the seed that produces considerable crops, that much more important. Go down to the grain elevator and listen to the old timers, retired from running combines, but not from running their mouths, holding court over greasy glazed doughnuts and stout coffee in mugs marked “John Deere”. Then you will hear of the “little seed that could”: “Oh yeah? Well, I put in that seed in the worst land I had, Roy, and I came away with the best yield ever.” “Earl, you got eighty bushels an acre? Try ninety two!”

The parable goes from bad (birds, thorns, rocks) to overwhelming (100 fold, 60 fold, 30 fold). The parable adds an unexpected plot twist to end the story of harsh reality (the likelihood of crop damage, low yield, and crop failure) on a much different note. The seed that could have failed just as easily as all the rest, but it did not. Instead, the retired farmers drop their doughnuts on the floor as the young whippersnapper shows up with a truck overloaded with seed. “How many fields did you cut to get all that?” one asks. “About half of the first one. I’ve got three more fields just like it.” With that, the John Deere coffee mugs clink together like champagne glasses on Wall Street.

The parable of the seed reminds me of the concept of “euchastrophe”. You have heard of “catastrophe”, where everything that can go wrong goes wrong. The British writer JRR Tolkein, author of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, suggested that there are stories that end on unexpected but abundantly good notes. The parable plays out the story of a sower who scatters the seed, the unfortunate reality that not all seed takes root or really has a chance of growing, let alone being harvested. Then there is the seed that literally hits pay dirt. An abundant harvest is the last thing that you are prepared to hear when everything else is a tale of woe. Then “euchastrophe” strikes, and you couldn’t be happier!

In the words of parables scholar Bernard Brandon Scott, the parables of Jesus offer the listener a chance to “reimagine the world”. You know the world of crop failure all too well, but this notion of an abundant crop, even with the odds against you, well, that seems to require a bit more engagement on our part. We have to take what we know as “how the world works” and see God in the middle of that world, pretty much disrupting it. Abundance in times when there ought to be not much at all is not the stuff of reality. This parable presumes that with God in the fray, things will go according to an altogether different plan!

Hence, we have the conversation after the parable. The parable itself could have been just there to hear and interpret, but Jesus offers a bit more insight about this parable. He tells the crowds who gather that you might think you have listened to the parable, but many of you have not heard it. If you have to ask, you might not get it at all. Then, he whisks away to talk with his inner circle, leaving the crowds to mull what he has said.

The parable of “a sower goes out” appears in the gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, however, each one of them puts their own spin on the parable. Here, Matthew adds quite a bit of interpretation about this seed and the mostly bad, save one, places where it was sown. Jesus tells the disciples to pay attention to where the seed never took root. The seed is “the word of the kingdom”, in other words, Jesus’ message of the Kingdom of Heaven, this vision of what Jesus’ ministry was bringing into the world. Those who take it deep into their hearts, the results are amazing. Jesus says, “ But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.”

Have you met someone who lives out this parable? We can name the saints, great and small, who have contributed greatly to the cause of the Gospel and the mission of the Church. Scattered with astonishing liberality, the seed works in mysterious ways. You see it germinating as that person who has “no time” makes time to ladle soup at a homeless shelter. The seed takes root when a retiree finds that it’s kind of fun to read to kids down at the library. The seed buds when that youth on a mission trip becomes less of a vacation and more a summons to a vocation.

Just like scattered seeds, the Word does not flourish everywhere it is given. Whether it is sin, apathy, or temptation, some folks simply will not hear the Word and take it to heart. We can also name some folks that we know who have not lived out this parable, who, for a variety of reasons, have very little interest in the faith, keeping it, living it out, or confessing it. For every baptism, every confirmation class, every parish record book known to be on file throughout the Church universal, it might seem that this parable’s mulling over crop failure seems a bit apropos.

Then I recollected a sermon I heard years ago given by Fred Craddock. [1] Craddock turned this parable into a very careful reminder that we should not get too caught up in labeling folks as to whether or not they were likely to be crop failure. He reminds us that it is God doing the work, not us, so we would best leave things alone. What looks like crop failure instead might turn out differently, might be the seed that caught on and created a good yield by the time that the harvest rolls around.

Fred Craddock observes, “No farmer puts a seed in the soil and then screams at it, ‘Now, come on, get up!’” Instead, we take a step back and let the growing process happen. It is not for us to question whether the crop will fail or show a big yield. We could try to shout at the seed and the soil to perform, but again, it’s that curious mystery where we cannot predict the yield, only to take Jesus at his word that with attentiveness to God, great things become possible. Some folks might want to prejudge the crop even before the seed is scattered. Others might think that the soil will never be good enough, or there is always too many birds and rocks and thorns to contend with. Instead, let the sower do her work.

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[1] I heard Craddock’s sermon on this parable originally as an audio recording, collected by the CD collection available from Bell Tower Records. The sermon “At Random” was subsequently transcribed and published as part of The Cherry Log Sermons, published by Westminster/John Knox Press in 2001.

Have you been to the movies lately? A new Disney/Pixar film called WALL-E awaits you, but, for a children’s film, it might seem a bit bleak at first. A jaunty tune plays, juxtaposed over a junk-filled landscape. Set sometime in the future, abandoned by the human race, Earth is desolate, with only robots left to clean up the trash. The camera zeroes in on a robot toiling away, gathering trash, compacting it into neat little cubes, and then busily stacking the cubes into piles taller than the skyscrapers of the abandoned city. Day in and day out, the robot (perhaps the last one still functioning) gathers, compacts, and stacks the seemingly endless trash.

Yet, there is still that music playing away, the song drifting across the dunes of rust and refuse. The little robot itself turns out to be the source of the music, playing the song on a tape deck augmented onto its body. The robot gathers curious trinkets of a human race in absentia, collecting light bulbs, garden gnomes, Rubik’s cubes, old videotapes that the robot retrofits to play on an I-pod screen. The little robot, known as “WALL-E” (Waste Allocation Load Lifter—Earth class) but sounds more like “Wally”, has created a homey little life for itself, doing his work and then returning to a storage bunker at night to entertain itself (and its little cockroach friend) with whatever “treasures” it has found that day.

The apocalyptic scene is not due to war or atomic devastation. Instead, the earth has fallen victim to humanity’s consumerism and thoughtless treatment of the world’s resources. Oh yeah, humanity still exists, off in the stars, living a plump and vacuous existence on a colony ship, and so with some irony, it is implied that WALL-E is the most “human” character of the film, finding beauty and meaning even in the middle of the abandoned public square.

Jesus said,

But to what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another, ‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn.’

Jesus is under duress, insulted by his detractors among the religious establishment. Fiery old John the Baptist is tossed in prison, and all indications are evident that Jesus is somewhere near the top of the list to go there next. Called all sorts of names, dismissed by the recognized religious “powers that be”, Jesus is being disregarded and considered an irrelevant nuisance. Even John has started to wonder himself, struggling with the jailhouse blues.

Jesus sends word back to depressed John. “Go and tell John what you hear and see,” he tells John’s disciples, “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

Jesus is frustrated with the inattentiveness of those around him. The religious leaders think him an unclean, unorthodox lout who mixes too casually with the folks from the wrong side of the tracks. The people around him (even his own disciples) keep thinking that Jesus ought to be something “more”, trying to pigeonhole him into the most expected understandings of “messiah”. He has shown his message through his teachings, healings, and other acts of ministry, yet the people around him seem complacent with their own expectations and disinclined to see something else being possible as the sign that God’s kingdom was being brought about. God is hearing the mournful pain of the world in Jesus’ ministry. The tune of messianic hope sounds out in Jesus’ words and deeds, yet few wish to rise up and join the dance.

A little later in the film, WALL-E finds itself blasted off into space, and soon on the colony ship where he encounters the descendants of the human race. Floating around in lounge chairs, busily chatting away to a computer screen hovering in front of their faces (sometimes to the person right beside them!), these humans are big, doughy grownup babies, uncertain what to do if the screen shuts off or they fall out of their floating chairs. They are so caught up in their comfort that several hundred of them can be around the ship’s hospitality area and never realize once that it was created for them to exercise, play games, or even wade in the area’s huge swimming pool.

The captain of the ship, likewise obese and oblivious, is charged with preparing the ship for a return to earth once any evidence comes back that life has returned to earth. When a probe returns with a plant sample, the captain is dumbfounded at the thought that seven centuries later, they could return. More perplexing, however, is the captain’s lack of knowledge about what life on earth looks like. Not just the sea, the soil, and the vegetation, but the culture of a people who work, play, and live out the day-to-day life that was once the common experience of human existence. The captain becomes enraptured as the ship computer continues to answer his questions patiently, explaining simple things like how plants grow and “how to dance”.

In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus and his disciples are seen as outsiders. Jesus freely moves among those otherwise written off by Temple and Empire alike. The claim that the blind, the lame, the deaf, the dead, and the poor are evidence of Jesus’ ministry would be an encouraging word to John and a befuddling riddle to the establishment. John came preaching a message of repentance, and Jesus came preaching of a Kingdom of heaven. The parables, the miracles, the healings, the other times of teaching, all of this works together to be signs of God at work in the world. Yet, only a few were stirred enough in their encounters with Jesus to learn the Gospel-shaped life that Christ offers. As Jesus would say, “Those with ears to hear, listen!”

Jesus says,

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

A healthy religion asks hard questions of us. While Jesus is offering an open-handed invitation to discipleship, he also speaks of us taking up his yoke. Yokes were used to hitch up animals like oxen to plows and till the ground. Jesus emphasizes the lightness of this labor, yet one might shy away from the idea of being tethered. To be a disciple of Jesus means to reorient one’s way of thinking and living. You take seriously a worldview that finds the poor and the dispossessed to be the blessed ones among us. You read the Sermon on the Mount not as wishful thinking but as an invitation to live more freely. You start finding yourself yearning for things to be “as on earth as it is in heaven”.

I find that there is a certain danger to religion becoming a list of duties, responsibilities, and a vague sense of guilt to go along with it. Later in Matthew’s gospel, chapter 23, Jesus offers a criticism of the Pharisees and scribes, “They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them”. Garrison Keillor once described his religious upbringing in a very conservative pietistic Christianity as the type of religion where “you never felt like you were forgiven, just on parole”. The saying of Jesus here is a note of grace to those who take his words to heart. Words of grace, not guilt, are the signposts along which the Christian disciple follows the path set before them.

The yoke given by Christ is not one that diminishes or wears us down. Jesus does not burden us, even if his followers inadvertently told you something to the contrary along the way. Indeed, if you take Matthew’s word, taking this yoke offered to you allows a person to start a different sort of pace to life. We go about living the life of the gospel, tending this broken world, hearing a graceful little tune that causes us to find a bit of beauty in life. We move along to the rhythms of the Gospel, helping till the indifferent soil of the human heart so that the kingdom of heaven might take root.

Note: As I wrote this week's sermon, I added some footnotes about my sources consulted. Readers will find a number of online resources to look at for further reflection.  JHH

As I read this week’s Gospel lesson and reviewed the relevant commentaries that help me “hear” the text with better understanding, I noticed that I was mistaken in my first read-through the text. Jesus speaks of “little ones”, and I imagined Jesus surrounded by children who are at his feet, listening to his words. That scene was in my imagination, until I read the commentaries that offered a different understanding of “little ones”. [1] In Matthew’s gospel, the phrase “little ones” is used not exclusively to speak of children. Rather, it is Matthew’s term for the early Christians themselves, a term that recognized that first century Christianity was vulnerable and in need. [2] The “little ones” were the followers of Jesus, called to go forth and hopefully received with good grace. Even the mere gesture of kindness (a cup of cold water) by someone encountered along the way was a sign that you were welcomed and Jesus was welcomed as well.

With our 21^st century ears, we forget that religions can be vulnerable, as we worship freely in a house of worship in a religious tradition long established and well rooted in this country. We are adherents of Christianity, part of the 78 percent of Americans who at least tell the recently completed Pew Forum study on American religious preferences [3] that they identify as “Christian” even if our pews nationwide seem emptier than we would prefer. Certainly, we are not vulnerable in the same way as the first century Christians, the original recipients of Matthew’s gospel. Yet here is this reminder to share the faith, be mindful that there is danger, and pray that you will be received well by others along the way, so what do we make of it as U.S. Christians and as Baptists, one of the many variants who nonetheless are counted together as the largest Protestant movement in this country? [4]

Once while in Montpelier, Vermont, I was walking back to the little back street where I parked, and I ran into two young fellows who asked me for directions to the capital area. They wore identical clothing: white shirts, black slacks, and black ties. A little name badge noted their names and their organization: the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, a.k.a. “Mormons”. They walked up and down the streets knocking on doors. Then, they were a bit embarrassed to note that they were turned around. I gave them directions and introduced myself as a Baptist minister. We talked for a few minutes, and as we parted ways, the Mormons noted (with gratitude) that I was surprisingly civil toward them. Apparently, some other folks who identified themselves as Christians when answering the door gave them few words of welcome. Then to run into a pastor (a Baptist even!) and get a word of hello meant something after a difficult afternoon on a cold winter’s day.

This contemporary story helps us get into the Matthean teaching before us. In the time of the New Testament, it was difficult for followers of Jesus to move about and proclaim their faith with freedom or acceptance. And it was a tough calling to be the apostles, those sent out in Jesus’ name. While the Mormon missionaries might have gotten an off-putting word or a slammed door in their faces in today’s America, [5] the early Christian movements of the first century Roman world dealt with frightening persecutions from religious and imperial powers alike.

In this country, we affirm the right of Mormons, Baptists, and all other religions to speak of their faith freely. We are a country that affirms freedom “for” religion without legally or constitutionally making one religion “the” religion of the state. For first century Christians, the official religion was the one endorsed by the state, and it most certainly was not Judaism or this new movement called Christianity. To go out in Jesus’ name was to endure rejection, persecution, and was a subversive act.

In the early stories of Christianity as told by the New Testament and other first century sources, we learn of the challenge of a faith facing hostility. Jesus speaks of the welcome that one should expect: to be received well and as if Jesus himself is being received. This courtesy is expected of others for Christians, so it informed my own interaction with the two Mormon missionaries. While I may not agree with the Mormons or their teachings, one religion extending respect and hospitality to another religion seems quite consistent with the Bible. It is also a helpful and corrective word when reviewing the history of Christianity, which is filled with stories of Christians persecuted and Christians as persecutors. We should remember that we may have our faith that we deem well, true, and of great meaning and hope for the world, but we should not share or spread our faith by dominating or belittling others.

As I think about this latter point, let me share some childhood memories back in rural Kansas. It was common for folks to react negatively to other religions. The Protestants tended not to associate with the Catholics. The “steeple church” Christians looked a bit askance at the Pentecostals downtown in their storefront church. And, at a county wide ecumenical hymn sing (well, just the Protestants for the most part), I remember a preacher talking about how to greet Jehovah’s Witnesses when they came to your door. He reached under the pulpit and pulled out a rifle.

While you gasped a bit, the audience laughed a bit. His point in bringing the rifle was in his opinion “humor”, not meaning to say that this was “the way” to greet “J.W’s”, as they were called. Nonetheless, the image still haunts me a bit as I read of the real world violence of Christians being persecuted by others, and yes, Christians persecuting others. We have to be careful in our actions as well as our attitudes and speech about other religions, so that even in what we might feel is jest, there is not another message being sent.

Over the past few months, the Bennington Interfaith Council has been in a process of reexamining its identity and mission. One of the results of this work has been a subcommittee’s work in crafting a mission statement that reads as follows:

The mission of the Greater Bennington Area Interfaith Council is to give witness to the unity our faith communities share, based in justice, peace, and compassion; and to celebrate the diversity of our traditions. Together we seek to maximize and coordinate the ways we care for and minister to one another, our congregations, and the greater Bennington community.

While we do not agree on all matters, we believe and practice different paths of faith, something good happened in Bennington in the last generation. A group of religious communities opted to work on meeting common ground needs. Together, we provide aid to those in need through the Food & Fuel Fund to tune to $50,000+ per year. And, again, even though we have different takes on divine matters, we create some wonderful opportunities for building a stronger community and providing a word of hope to the neighbor, the stranger, and the vulnerable in need. Further, I would trust, it sends a message to one another about the authenticity of the faiths that make up our religious landscape around here. I would much rather be known as a Baptist who cooperates! (We seem to be a rare breed!)

In August 2008, First Baptist will host a public event, featuring a rabbi and a Muslim who are stand-up comics. [6] Locals will know Rabbi Bob Alper from his long-time residency in Bennington County, and you will be delighted to meet Azhar Usman, a young Muslim comic, who is likewise a gifted performer. Both of them will be here in the sanctuary performing their touring show “Laugh in Peace”. I think it is a good opportunity to help our community see not only interfaith cooperation but also a spirit of mutual respect while also poking a bit of fun at some of the fears, stereotypes, and lamentable attitudes that our society harbors.

As we consider taking up the call to be Jesus’ followers, his apostles who go forth sharing his good news, we have much to celebrate as well as much to remember. We celebrate the faith that we are committed to sharing with the world while being mindful that it is a challenge to share the faith when religious toleration is low as well as when we ourselves are in majority or minority situations.

In the end, I believe we are being quite faithful to our Christian identity. I believe that the gospel communicates more profoundly through our willingness to be in the midst of the world. Christ calls us to go out to the whole world. We are called likewise receive one another in a spirit of welcome, hospitality, and humility. We proclaim the Christian faith while also assuring that all persons are free to practice their faith, whether in a country where religious freedom is challenged or in that moment’s encounter just down the street.

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[1] For this sermon, I consulted the following commentaries: M. Eugene Boring, “Matthew”, New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. VIII (Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1995); Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2000); Daniel J. Harrington, Matthew, Sacra Pagina series (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1991); and Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew, Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, 2007).

[2] Matthew 10’s instructions to the apostles, a.k.a. the disciples sent forth, reflect the tension of the early Christians as a new movement as well as the thought that the original audience of Matthew’s gospel being followers of Jesus experiencing tension with the Jewish leaders and synagogues. A sensitive interpretation of these sort of texts requires that we do not confuse first century inter (intra?) religious strife with giving warrant to continued tension between modern day Christianity and Judaism. Carter’s commentary is quite helpful as is the work of Ronald J. Allen and Clark M. Williamson, Preaching the Gospels without Blaming the Jews: A Lectionary Commentary (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 2004).

[3] “The U.S. Religious Landscape”, conducted by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life”, 2008. Accessible online via: http://religions.pewforum.org. For insightful commentary, see the essay “Crunching the Numbers” written by James P. Wind, President of the Alban Institute, accessible online via: http://alban.org/conversation.aspx?id=5818.

[4] In a May 2008 essay, J. Brent Walker, executive director of the Baptist Joint Committee on Religious Liberty, reflects on the concerns that Baptists in the United States have (or ought to have!) for domestic and global challenges to religious freedom. He shares some of the questions encountered in a recent dialogue with Argentinean Baptists, who are less than one percent of their nation’s populace, a different context than the U.S. where Walker notes Baptists are in “the overwhelming majority and dominate the culture”. See his “Religious Liberty is an International Issue” via the BJC website, accessible online: http://www.bjconline.org/news/news/052108%20_Reflections.htm.

[5] By coincidence, as this sermon was being readied for preaching, the local newspaper’s weekend featured an article about Mormon missionaries making the rounds in Bennington, Vermont. See Mark E. Rondeau’s “Men on a Mission: Far from Utah, Men Bring Their Faith Home to Vermont” (published on Saturday, June 28, 2008). Accessible online: http://www.benningtonbanner.com/local/ci_9727294.

[6] Rabbi Alper and Mr. Azhar Usman are receiving great reviews. See the stream video online the CBC Sunday website: http://www.cbc.ca/sunday/2007/09/091607_4.html. Quite recently, the New York Times reviewed the show in their May 31, 2008, edition. See the article by Marek Fuchs, “Jesters of Different Faiths Use Laughs to Bridge the Divide” online via http://www.nytimes.com.