Hearing Christ, Hearing Each Other

A Sermon On Matthew 22:34-46


Holy God, we thank you for your words of wisdom and love spoken in today’s Gospel; We ask that you would open our ears and our hearts as we seek to understand them better and embody them in our lives; in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Too often we are guilty of hearing what we want to hear. 

There’s an episode of the TV show the Simpsons in which Marge, the wife of the family, is trying to tell her husband Homer something important, but he isn’t paying attention. Finally, in an exasperated tone, she says, “You're not listening! You're only hearing what you want to hear!” To which Homer replies, “Awh, thanks honey. I’d love an omelet right about now.”

Of course the reverse can also happen, in that we avoid hearing messages we’d rather not deal with. When I was a kid my parents became convinced that I had a hearing problem because when they’d call me from another room and I knew they wanted me to put my toys away or get ready to take a bath, I’d pretend not to hear them. This went on for so long that I eventually had to undergo a minor surgery to have ear tubes implanted. My hearing problem, however, remained. 

Of course this can happen on a broader scale… a few weeks ago, while watching the Daily Show, I saw a story about whether or not New Jersey Governor Chris Christie was going to run in the upcoming presidential race. Apparently, in spite having already denied this aspiration numerous times, the media was still buzzing with speculation about his possible candidacy. At one press conference, things got SO extreme that Gov. Christie directed reporters to a YouTube video featuring a montage of clips with him stating over-and-over again, “No! I have no intentions to run for the presidency.” Amazingly, when the media got a hold of this, pundit after pundit ran to the cameras to offer their interpretation, saying, “Well, it appears Gov. Christie has still left the door cracked open for a potential future run.”

Hearing what we want to hear becomes problematic when it blinds us to our own biases and we become unable to truly hear others. Examples can be seen in the recent debates about fiscal policy and how best to govern private industry. Ultimately, when we become impermeable to perspectives different than our own, these blind spots can impede our ability to work together cooperatively. 

Elements of similar denial and selective hearing can be found in today’s Gospel passage. Where our text picks up, we find Jesus facing the last of a series of questions put to him by Temple officials to try and trip him up and discredit him. Their efforts here are perfectly understandable, mind you, because, from their perspective, here’s this guy, who arrived at the Temple the day before, turned over tables, and then proceeded to heal people right there in the courtyard. The crowds responded by shouting “hosanna” and hailing Jesus as the “Son of David.” Seeing Jesus’ rising popularity, the Temple authorities knew they couldn’t simply throw him out, so they tried to convince the masses he was a heretic.

A legal expert steps forward. He asks Jesus, “Which commandment is the greatest?” To which Jesus responds, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.” He then adds, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” His answer effectively shuts them down with what they would have viewed as a very orthodox, non-controversial reply.

But then, Jesus turns the tables on them. He puts them on the defensive, asking, "What do you think of the Messiah? Whose son is he?" Now being highly educated, Jesus’ interlocutors knew the proper response. They answered why, "The Son of David," almost implying a, “well, of course!” to which Jesus replies, "How is it then that David by the Spirit calls him Lord?” Now, understanding this retort can be tricky. Essentially, Jesus turns their logic against them and uses it to back them into a corner. He gets them to confess that the Messiah is the “Son of David”—a name Jesus has already been called repeatedly throughout Matthew. Jesus, then, uses this opportunity to suggest with unmistakable clarity that the Messiah is more than the mere political savior they’d been expecting, but actually the Son of God. In other words, Jesus takes their attempts to chip away at his credibility and uses them as a springboard for proclaiming his divinity!

The Pharisees responded with a deafening silence. In verse 46 it says, “No one was able to give him an answer, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions.” Well then! Now surely this wasn’t because they all suddenly became convinced of Jesus’ Lordship—we all know how the story goes from here. And remember, this was Passover—floods of people from across the Judean countryside were pouring into the Temple and all of this was going down right before them. So… no. Their silence, here, betrays just how very trapped they were. In their heads, they knew they had been bested by Jesus’ logic, but outwardly they were unwilling to admit this. Doing so, would have meant acknowledging that some changes were going to have to be made!     

Much like how I played deaf as a child, the Pharisees, here, don’t want to acknowledge the truth Jesus has spoken. Doing so, would obligate them to listen to his message… a choice that would surely cost them. Doing so, would require them to try and make sense of Jesus’ table flipping antics or his placing of people’s needs over the law—not to mention the list of denouncements Jesus declares in the next chapter where he rails against the excesses of prestige and power that had been amassed by Temple officials.  

But like the Pharisees, we too sometimes fail to hear God for fear of having our assumptions challenged… and like them we also can be notoriously reluctant to make uncomfortable changes… Each of us have innate desires for things like love, security, and power; and the things linked to these drives seem to be most susceptible to our willful ignorance. When I read this, I can’t help but feel confronted by the same words Jesus puts to his challengers. Essentially, Jesus asks them… and each of us, “Who do you say that I am?” And like the Pharisees, embedded within our responses are corollary commitments we must strive to embody.

Switching gears for a moment, for the past month and a half, Susie and I have been leading a confirmation class, preparing several of St. Mark’s youth to be confirmed when the bishop visits next week. (I also know there are some adults preparing to be received or confirmed.) As Episcopalians, we are blessed to have vows within our Baptismal Covenant that brilliantly flesh out our best understanding of how a life oriented towards Christ is supposed to look—and these are the vows we will all be renewing.

I bring this up because the shape of these words could be construed as an outline for following Jesus’ commands that we love God with all our heart, soul, and mind and love our neighbor as ourselves. There are two important elements here I wish to highlight. First, as noted by one commentator I consulted, the word “love,” in this context, is better translated as “commitment.” Second, by linking these two aims together, those being the love of God and the love of neighbor, Christ communicates the necessarily communal character of this endeavor. As Methodist bishop William Willimon once noted, “Christianity is not a home correspondence course in salvation. This religion is anything but a private affair.” Read this way, Jesus implores us to commit our whole hearts, souls, and minds to God and to commit ourselves to the welfare of our creaturely neighbors, both human and, as we are becoming increasingly aware, non-human alike.

As a collective, then, we are called to measure ourselves against these standards issued by Christ, safeguarding ourselves against hearing only what we want to hear. By periodically recalling our Baptismal vows, we can re-focus our commitment to grow in God together and to listen for God’s voice together. As we come to recognize that Christ’s challenges are often made known in the needs of our neighbors and wrestle with whatever the prevailing issues of our time are, let us bind ourselves one to another and help guide each other towards holiness.

In preparation for next week’s service, I invite you to spend some time meditating on what this might mean for you, given your context and gifts. Ask yourself the question Christ puts to us, “Who do you say that I am?” Who do we say that Jesus is? And how is our answer, whatever it may be, reflected in our lives? Ask how we might better direct our energies towards others—not solely from a sense of Christian obligation—but because Christ seems to be telling us that our welfare, our relationship with God, and our devotion to one another are all bound up together. Perhaps it is here, in this never-ending, cascading dance of transactions, that we can find our ultimate hope.

Amen.