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Sermon at The Church of
the Holy Apostles, New York City,
October 15, 2006, The Nineteenth Sunday of Pentecost:
Year B
The
Reverend Barry M. Signorelli
Amos 5: 6 - 7, 10 - 15
Psalm 90
Hebrews 3: 1 - 6
Mark 10: 17 - 31
“Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
In the Name of
the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, the Mother of Creation.
Amen.
I’ve always felt more than a little sorry for the
rich man in today’s Gospel. He claims to have done all the right
things religiously for his whole life – paid his tithes, made the
appointed sacrifices, kept the Ten Commandments, everything he was
expected to do he did willingly. And yet, something still wasn’t
quite right for him; he felt as if there were something missing,
some “thing” that he had yet to find or do, some final piece of
the puzzle that he just couldn’t put his finger on. And so, when
he has the opportunity to consult Jesus, he kneels in supplication
before him and asks to be told what it is that he’s searching
for. Jesus essentially tells him, you already know the answer –
you’re aware of what the commandments are. Yes, yes, the man
replies, and I’ve done all that. What happens next is to me one
of the most poignant moments in Scripture: with this earnest man
kneeling before him, so desperate to break through to
self-understanding, having done everything he knew but still
fallen short – Mark says that Jesus looked down on him and
loved him. Jesus was aware of the great turmoil going on in
the man, and how much he wanted to find the final answer – and
doubtless Jesus knew how hard it would be for him to hear that
answer. “…go, sell what you own, and give the money to the
poor…then come, follow me.”
Oh, no! we can almost hear the rich man thinking; of
all the things he could have said, why did it have to be that? He
couldn’t have said, build a shrine to God, or make a pilgrimage,
or fast for forty days, something that’s within my reach to do?
He must have been heartsick, as if Jesus had told him to cut off
an arm or a leg – and well, actually, that almost is what Jesus
told him to do. The rich man’s wealth had become so important to
him that it practically was a part of his body, an integral
piece of his self-identity. It was just too great a sacrifice for
him, and he went away knowing that his soul’s satisfaction would
remain just out of reach.
What is true for individuals can be true for nations,
as well. The prophet Amos had the unenviable task of preaching
the harsh word in good times. The 8th century B.C.E.
was particularly prosperous for the northern kingdom of Israel;
its territory stretched farther than ever before, its riches were
vast, and its people were at peace. Small wonder, then, that
there was such resistance to Amos, who, after all, wasn’t even a
native; he was born in the southern kingdom of Judah. God called
Amos to go north and preach at the shrine of Bethel, and the words
he was given to pronounce fell hard on the ears of the
Israelites. Far from acknowledging that their wealth and
prosperity were affirmations of God’s favor, Amos warned that
without strict adherence to God’s will, all would be lost. He
denounced Israel’s reliance on military power, her indifference to
injustices done to the poor, and her public piety, outwardly so
lavish and extravagant, yet hollow and meaningless within. (Does
any of that sound familiar?) So fierce was the opposition to
Amos’ words that he was banished from Israel, and forbidden to
prophesy there ever again.
For both the Israel of Amos’ day, and for the rich man
of Jesus’ day, prosperity was the stumbling-block keeping them
from fully entering into relationship with God. In both cases,
they did the “right thing” outwardly, keeping the forms and
appearances of religious observance, perhaps even with the best of
intentions; yet without accepting that the inner workings of the
heart trump all, it could never be enough. Now, I’m not saying
that wealth and prosperity are bad things, nor is religious
observance – I’m especially not saying that on the day of the
Ingathering of the Pledges! Wealth gives one the ability to do
much good in the world, and a rule of life based on religious
principles and behaviors can give positive shape to our
existence. And God appreciates these things, more so than if we
hoard our money and stumble through unstructured, unexamined
lives. But ultimately, what God wants is not our good behavior,
but the yearning in our souls to merge with the divine will, so
that whatever good flows from us into the world is not something
we plan and execute, but rather springs naturally from a heart
that brims with the desire to emulate God’s goodness and love.
In order to do that, we must be free from whatever
holds us back; we must allow nothing from our earthly life to take
on more importance than the nature of our relationship with God.
In other words, what would we find most difficult to give up in
order to find union with God? And I don’t mean a Lenten kind of
giving-up, setting aside for a period, but absolutely
relinquishing forever? What would feel to us like cutting off an
arm or a leg in order to enter the Kingdom of Heaven?
It may not be money; it could be a cherished prejudice,
or a fondness for a honored place in the community. It could be a
reputation, a concern with “what the neighbors think.” Perhaps
it’s an ability to influence decisions, to impose our will through
behind-the-scenes machinations; maybe it’s our overwhelming desire
to be liked, or our reluctance to rock the boat. It could even be
a long-held fear, or the anxiety we treasure most. Whenever any
of these things becomes so important or essential to us that they
interfere with our ability to respond to God – as Mark’s Gospel
says, “immediately” – then we know we are in the same dire straits
as that rich man who went away shocked and grieving. And we hear
the echo of the ancient challenge, “Choose this day whom you will
serve.”
Because ultimately, it’s about power. The form that
that power takes is inconsequential – what matters is that by
holding on to our favorite stumbling-block, we are retaining
personal power over our lives and our place in the cosmos. The
rich man was shocked at the idea of giving up the wealth that gave
him leverage in the community, that insulated him from being
unimportant, un-influential, no better than a beggar to be
ignored. Israel to whom Amos preached could not fathom the idea
of relinquishing her military might and territorial acquisitions
and so lose her leverage with the nations all around her. Neither
of them could let go of the security they had built for themselves
and trust that God would hold them with more surety and security
than they could ever construct on their own. Better to be
confident in the safety they knew than fling themselves into an
unknown existence based on an ancient promise from God.
Because God does not promise peace and prosperity, at
least in the short term, nor are safety and security assured to
us. God may take us in new directions, along unfamiliar paths on
which we might not otherwise choose to go. We may be blown along
by the wind of the Spirit, challenged and changed by unexpected
experiences, thrown into brave new worlds we had never imagined.
We are practically assured that if we do let go of our earthly
loves and follow Jesus, our lives will be turned upside-down. But
we are also assured that God will be with us, and that we will
live and move and have our being wrapped safely in God’s love.
And if we don’t? Well, look at our nation today: in
our quest for power and security we have devolved from a beacon of
freedom and human rights into a bastion of aggression where civil
liberties are imperiled and torture is acceptable. Look at our
Church, and the Anglican Communion: in the struggle to hold onto
the “traditional” teachings and power structures, some are
fighting to keep the community “pure” by keeping “them” out,
whether “they” be gays and lesbians, women, liberals, or just
people who think. Imagine what our nation could be if we let go
of our self-image as “savior of the world;” imagine what our
Communion would be like if we let go of our fears and greed and
took a chance by listening to what the Spirit may be trying to
teach us. Until we are willing to make these sacrifices, the
potential of the Church, the nation, and the world will be forever
unfulfilled – and each will walk away shocked, grieving, and mad
as hell.
Having heard so many times that “God is on our side,”
I’ve come to realize how utterly false that always is. I don’t
think God is on anyone’s side but God’s, and the question is
whether we are on God’s side. I also have come to doubt that God
uses the nations of the world as giant chess pieces, playing one
against the other; and I don’t think God really cares that much
whether the Anglican Communion splits up or not. I believe that
what God is truly concerned with is you and me, each of us as
individuals, a few billion times over around the globe. For that
is the only place where real change can happen, it is only through
individual human beings, transformed by God and joined into
communities similarly transformed, that God’s will can take shape
in the world. And so we come back to the scene of the rich man,
kneeling in the dust at Jesus’ feet, imploring him to help him
break through with that final answer.
Imagine yourself in that scene. Imagine asking Jesus
what you can do to inherit eternal life. Imagine he tells you to
give up that precious thing that holds you back from God.
Will you do it?
Amen.
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