Cross-shaped Activism

Bread Line

As the 2012 election season gets underway, we Americans, once again, find ourselves facing several major decisions. Up for discussion are brewing tensions with Iran, our nation’s handling of the environment, the economy, abortion, and our country’s treatment of its poor and sick. At stake, are matters of dignity, justice, responsibility, stewardship, and compassion, to name a few. That said, if there’s anything I haven’t the time or energy for it’s another discussion of these matters along typical, partisan lines. Contrary to the media’s framing of these things, I know no one who sees the standard left/right divisions as helpful or effective as means of problem solving. The reduction of issues to two-sided, binaries leaves no place for complexity, flexibility, or thoughtfulness. For us to have any hope of mending these wounds and the rifts they have created, we must break free from such thinking to embrace creative, multidimensional, and loving efforts to cultivate justice. 

Fortunately, for Christians, our faith provides us not only with a rich tradition of theological and ethical discourse to help sort through these issues, but also with an impressive array of saints, past and present, from which to draw inspiration. Believing these resources to be valuable for escaping our culture’s dualistic tendencies, my aim here will be to explore a uniquely Christian means for engaging social and political ills, in hopes of finding helpful avenues that will help as I and other Christians struggle to follow Christ and usher in a world transformed by God’s goodness. Because an endless number of voices and lives could be brought into this conversation, I have chosen to narrow my focus, considering only Pope Benedict XVI’s encyclical entitled, Caritas in Veritate, alongside the courageously compassionate lived example of Dorothy Day.

       

When considering how best to properly address sociopolitical matters, rarely do we hear coverage of these complex challenges exceeding the depth of bumper-sticker-like sloganeering. It’s not uncommon to hear social-critiques and comedians lambasting our nation for its shallowness and lack of forethought. To some, this trend is seen as an outgrowth of today’s largely-secular, postmodern ethos, which distrusts certainty and questions all values as relative to the eye of the beholder. This view argues that, if there is no such thing as “God” or “truth,” there also must not be such thing as a foundational “good” from which to base our actions. Pope Benedict XVI pushes back against this saying, “Without God man neither knows which way to go, nor even understands who he is.”[1] He sees truth as most evident in the person of Jesus, whose life provides a revelatory window into the nature of God.[2] From Jesus’ life and teachings, Benedict extracts a description of God’s nature as “love” adding that, “Everything has its origin in God’s love, everything is shaped by it, everything is directed towards it.”[3] At first glance, this might sound like a fluffy feel-good statement that could easily be brushed aside, but actually, it captures the very essence of Christianity’s understanding of what it means to be both human and creatures of God. Finding our very being in God’s overabundant outpouring of love, we, as made in God’s image, are called upon to embody that same love, sharing it with one another and, ultimately, returning that love to God. It is from this theological premise that we as Christians (and those willing to consider any wisdom Christianity has to offer) can begin to explore how God wills for us to handle social ills like poverty, violence, oppression, and other self-inflicted humanly wounds. 

Here, it is helpful to consider the lives and examples of inspiring, dedicated Christians from ages passed. One such exemplar is Dorothy Day, whose work in the early 1900’s brought about the establishment of hundreds of Catholic Worker groups who run soup kitchens, houses of hospitality, and other endeavors serving the impoverished, outcast, and downtrodden. One year, one of these houses of hospitality gave out 460,000 meals and 18,250 nights lodging, alone![4] Dorothy’s inspiration came from the life and message of Jesus Christ—most notably from the words of Matthew 25:31-46 and in the Sermon on the Mount.[5] She saw these passages as the clearest path for obeying the two commandments Jesus identified as greatest:  Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind and love your neighbor as yourself.[6] Dorothy strove to embody these words by seeing Christ in people she encountered day after day.[7] This highlights a key ideological difference underpinning her rationale for serving those in need and the motivations propelling more conventional political/labor groups. 

Whereas groups like the AFL and CIO sought change on the basis of “enlightened self-interest,” Dorothy’s motivation sprang from religious zeal to follow Christ’s example, feeding the hungry, healing the sick, and generally trying to uplift the downtrodden.[8] She recognized the presence of the Holy in those she met. For instance, Dorothy believed such a vision of others was the only effective means for convince the wealthy not to treat their workers as chattel, but with respect, honor, and due pay.[9] In her writings, we see the inner yearnings a person continually working to remind herself that people are never just mouths to feed or bodies to be housed, but creatures of God with bodies and souls. Such reflections brought joys as well as hardships. One time, she took in a homeless man, feed him, gave him a place to stay, and tried to help him find work, only to discover when he left that her valuables had been stolen.[10] In places, she wrestles with what it means to see Christ, not just in the downtrodden, but in the corporate executives and politicians responsible for suffering of others. This facet reveals the communal dimension Dorothy saw as relevant to this endeavor. She recognized not only the inter-related affects of people’s actions, but also the need for accountability this truism in infers. 

Such a claim has broad ramifications when we consider the cost embodying such Christ-like love demands. Whether considering a possible war, making cuts to social safety nets, or our handling of environmental concerns, Christ’s calling for us to care for the least among us requires that we go deeper than our present two-dimensional structure allows. We must discern our dealings with Christ-inspired compassion. If this sounds laborious or grim, fear not. If Pope Benedict XVI’s earlier description of God’s nature as love is true and it is true that humans were created to share in that love, then our task enacting justice via the emulation and embodiment of Christ’s love runs congruent with our created nature and will therefore be experienced as a deep, abiding joy. In fact, Benedict goes as far as to describe this task as our “vocation” and as “planted [in us] by God.”[11] We see evidence of this joy in the hundreds, if not thousands of people who have found inspiration in Dorothy’s work, joining in to contribute where they could. Such a dynamic points to a truth that, whether convincing to today’s postmodern sensibilities or not, has brought about many compelling acts of generosity and enabled much transformation.   

As attested to by Dorothy’s many accomplishments towards these ends, Benedict describes this “love” we are called to be about as, “an extraordinary force which leads people to opt for courageous and generous engagement in the field of justice and peace.”[12] There is a going-the-extra-mile quality to this kind of love that seems contagious. As such, there is an inherently evangelistic component to love’s nature. God’s ever-abundant love spills over to us, which we, in turn, spill onto others—it’s an endless cascade. Love is a sending force, necessitating our action or follow through. It shatters binaries, thin descriptions, and clichéd political jargon. When grounded in the self-giving nature of Christ, which is our truest icon for seeing and knowing the Trinitarian God, love is much more than warm emotion. It is a force that compels us to become our brother’s keepers. If this sounds triumphant or grandiose, let us not forget that Christ’s trajectory ultimately ended in failure. As Dorothy points out, Christ was crucified for his radical behavior. Although we as Christians know of his resurrection and ultimate glorification, taking comfort in the knowledge that, one day, we too will share in this promise, we would be wise to admit the immediate realities making such stands is likely to elicit.   

So, how can Christians can engage the needs of the world while dismissing fallacious premises embedded within our culture’s construal of these matters? We can start by recognizing how things are often framed as either/or, but should, in actuality, be both/and. When politicians describe peace as only possible by way of threatening military force, we can offer another vision. When we are told we cannot simultaneously have a free and prosperous economy and protection from harmful pollutants, we can call into question such assumptions. When the abortion issue is reduced to Pro-Life or Pro-Choice, we can expand the conversation. Like Dorothy, we must challenge ourselves to live into the example set by Christ. We must be willing to “love to the point of folly.”[13] Was Jesus’ instruction to turn the other cheek simply metaphorical? When he says feed the hungry, did he mean only giving our money towards such aims? What about loving our enemies?  Referencing Matthew 25, Dorothy recalls the words of St. John of the Cross who said, “Love is the measure by which we shall be judged.”[14] We are called to recognize Christ in each other and serve each other accordingly. Such acts should spring forth naturally as outgrowths of our love for God. We are to be fools for Christ. Such sacrifices will cost us, as was true for Christ, but these pains will not be met without reward and, ultimately, our glory is found in oneness with God the Father.  

---

[1] Pope Benedict XVI, Caritas and Veritate, 50.

[2] Pope Benedict XVI, Caritas and Veritate, 2.

[3] Ibid, 2.

[4] Dorothy Day, Dorothy Day: Selected Writings, ed. Robert Ellsberg, (Maryknoll, Orbis Books, 2010), 104.

[5] Dorothy Day, Dorothy Day: Selected Writings, 97.

[6] Matthew 22:37-39

[7] Dorothy Day, Dorothy Day: Selected Writings, 248.

[8] Dorothy Day, Dorothy Day: Selected Writings, 242.

[9] Dorothy Day, Dorothy Day: Selected Writings, 242.

[10] Dorothy Day, Dorothy Day: Selected Writings, 99.

[11] Pope Benedict XVI, Caritas and Veritate, p.2

[12] Pope Benedict XVI, Caritas and Veritate, p.2

[13] Dorothy Day, Dorothy Day: Selected Writings, 99.

[14] Dorothy Day, Dorothy Day: Selected Writings,  265.

Caught amidst the Consumption

A Sermon in honor of Saint Matthias' feast day, February 24

Like a scene from a bad horror film, Matthias found himself in a dark, cellar-like room, chained in place by the ankles, surrounded by the zombie-like groans of men and women too drugged up to realize they’d been captured. Light from a doorway spilled into the room as two guards entered from the side. They began stooping over, checking the tags on the wrists of all the prisoners. “Oh, here he is,” one of them said, to which the other replied, “Mmm… a nice, plump one.” They then heaved their victim onto a cart while tossing recipe ideas back and forth. 

Finding himself a prisoner in a dungeon in Mirmidonia, a city known for its cannibalism, you might be surprised to learn Matthias had not been driven mad with fear. There he was, in the very pit of despair, the captive of a most heinous society, and yet Matthias possessed a quiet confidence. Upon being seized, he had called out to the Lord and the Lord answered him promising his eventual escape to safety, after 27 days... As the guards left and the door swung to a close, darkness once again fell across the room… Sitting there, waiting in the bleak shadows, he drew hope from the promise of one day setting foot in the sunlight, again.
    

Apocryphal lore tells us that the Apostles cast lots to divvy up regions for going out and spreading the Gospel. The lot to go and evangelize the city of cannibals, fell to Matthias. This was his second great twist of fate by such means. His first landed him as the 12^th apostle, replacing Judas, as we heard in today’s reading from Acts. In fact, little is actually known of St. Matthias, except for this.

We know he met the criteria laid out by Peter for Judas’ replacement, which means he must have been a follower of Jesus from the time of Jesus’ baptism by John to his death, resurrection, and ascension. From this we can gather that the remaining apostles must have considered it important that their newest colleague had witnessed Jesus’ entire life and ministry. Also, there must have been a sense that Judas’ successor needed to be strong where he had been deficient. We know this weighed on their minds because Peter recounts Judas’ fate, before their selection of candidates. 

In today’s Acts passage, we learn what Judas did with his ill-gotten winnings.  He had purchased a field, on the outskirts of Jerusalem, apparently intending to spend his remaining days forging a livelihood from the land – not a wholly un-noble sounding endeavor. Judas’ hunger for independence and security, his retirement plan, if you will, seemed like reasonable aims, until we consider the acts they drove him to… Rather than depending on the welfare of strangers as Jesus had taught, he tried to secure his life by the sweat of his brow – an impulse we, too, no doubt feel. In trying to pluck his fate from God’s hand—in his break from Christ and Christ’s community—we see the first appearance of schism in the Church born from such a seemingly reasonable impulse.

Matthias, then, presents us with a portrait, of a life wholly given over to his Lord. By meeting Peter’s requirements we know he had spent years journeying by Jesus’ side, most likely, at great personal sacrifice. And not unlike like the friends I used to have who would tour the country following bands like the Grateful Dead or Phish, such nomadic ways weren’t likely profitable, not even in 1^st century Judea. Also, during those years, he stuck by faithfully even though he never wore the fancy title “apostle.” Holding fast to what he had attained, Matthias exemplifies both humility of spirit and dedication, as is so well captured by the story of his mission to the cannibals.

And like his time in Mirmidonia, we too find ourselves in a culture seemingly caked in unhealthy consumption, promoting concern for self over the interests of others. We too are tasked with bearing witness to the risen Christ in a culture that would rather continue withering in its ways of death. 

This Lent, if we find ourselves (as I have so many times) feeling as if we are counting down the days until the Light returns, let us take heart in the witness of brother Matthias, who reminds us that, truly, as members of Christ’s body, our strength can come from recognizing our weaknesses… our need for one another... and for fidelity to Christ. And as John reminds us in today’s Gospel, our strength to glorify God, bearing fruit in due season, comes not from our own wills, but by abiding in our common foundation as branches on Christ’s vine. So let us, therefore, cling onto that which God has grafted us, that we might bear fruit, like Matthias, in Christ’s name.   

Born In The Wrong Era

So many lives cast in limbo, walking public roadways between parcels of fenced off private property.

Rounded up, boxed out, with beautiful country all around, but each fleeting bend lies just out of reach.

Evening strolls dictated by green-eyed men in cahoots with county bureaucrats wielding fabricated barriers.

Could one think of a more heinous plot?

And all this without more than a scare murmur of discontent.   

Learning from Joseph of Arimathea

A Sermon on Mark 15:42-47 

42 When evening had come, and since it was the day of Preparation, that is, the day before the sabbath,  43 Joseph of Arimathea, a respected member of the council, who was also himself waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus.  44 Then Pilate wondered if he were already dead; and summoning the centurion, he asked him whether he had been dead for some time.  45 When he learned from the centurion that he was dead, he granted the body to Joseph.  46 Then Joseph bought a linen cloth, and taking down the body, wrapped it in the linen cloth, and laid it in a tomb that had been hewn out of the rock. He then rolled a stone against the door of the tomb.  47 Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses saw where the body was laid. 

Perhaps you know someone like Joseph of Arimathea; dutiful, always busy behind the scenes doing work that needs to be done, and often without thanks. Although Joseph was no follower of Jesus, we are told he was a respected council member and that he was waiting expectantly for God’s Kingdom. Most scholars understand this council he belonged to, to mean he was a member of the Sanhedrin – the very same body that petitioned Pilate to have Jesus put to death. So how is it that we now see him acting to honor Jesus in this way? 

It could be that his was a dissenting voice and that he was simply out-voted, but we aren’t told this, so we’d just be guessing. What we do know is that Joseph wasn’t a disciple and yet he is the one we see act justly here—it is he who insures that Jesus receives a proper burial. By this time, most of Jesus’ followers had fled. We didn’t hear it today, but earlier in the story, we are told that some women who were followers of Jesus, including Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and Salome had remained at the crucifixion site, but even they watched from a distance.

Roman custom, dictated that those who were executed forfeited all their rights and worldly possessions. As a result, those killed mostly wound up in trash heaps outside the city. Getting permission to bury a crucified prisoner took a special writ of permission; something Pilate surely would not have granted one of Jesus’ disciples or family members. But Joseph, being from the Sanhedrin, wasn’t viewed with such suspicion. Jewish custom differed from Roman practice in that it recognized the rights of even enemies to receive a dignified burial. And so, we see Joseph boldly request permission to bury a man he most likely saw as a troublemaker.  

At times, I think we, as followers of Christ, don’t know what to do with people like Joseph—people whose lives reflect kingdom values and yet they are not “one of us.” In this sense, Joseph can be seen as representative of people sincere in their own traditions, but not Christian, or perhaps, as like those without any tradition at all. I’m reminded of two women I met while working as a hospital chaplain. Each of them worked as Emergency Room social workers, frequently pulling all-nighters, and each of them were dedicated to the often distressed people they served. Once, while chatting, our conversation veered towards deeper matters and I learned that both of them were very happily agnostic.

Or there was this guy I met in India named Alan. He has spent over nine years volunteering at a clinic established by Mother Teresa. Each day he trolls through markets and train stations looking for people so sick or starved they are barely alive to bring them help. Every year, he returns home to the Netherlands for a few months to work odd jobs, saving just enough money to finance another year in India. Despite having worked alongside Catholic nuns for years, Alan, one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met, remains staunchly non-religious.

My guess is that each of you can think of someone like Alan or these social workers. I see wrestling with how we as Christians respond to and interact with our non-Christian brothers and sisters as part of our Christian duty. And it’s here that I think Joseph’s story is helpful.

Perhaps ironically, leading up to this moment in Mark’s Gospel, we hear of many instances where Jesus’ followers either mess up or miss his message entirely. I think of the disciples and their petty squabbling or their inability to stay awake in Gethsemane. Perhaps most prominently, we see this in the story of Judas Iscariot. Only hours before today’s moment in the story, we see Judas betray Jesus, thereby facilitating his murder. Here, one of Christ’s own, after having walked and ate and learned beside Jesus for some time, turns against him. 

If we held Judas up in comparison with Joseph of Arimathea (a man who may or may not have even been familiar with Jesus’ message), judging which of the two’s actions correlate with Christ’s self-giving, other-oriented nature would be no contest. In fact, Mark explicitly identifies Joseph as, “waiting expectantly for the Kingdom of God.” He associates this man, who isn’t even a disciple, with a phrase synonymous for Jesus’ life and message. “Kingdom of God”—it’s like a shorthand way of referencing Jesus’ solidarity with the outcast, sick, and poor. Hearing it conjures memories of Jesus healing the blind man Bartimaeus or the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter. We think of a world healed, free of power struggles, where inhabitants share freely in creation’s bounty. 

So what of Mark’s linking of this glorious ideal with Joseph of Arimathea? Is Mark merely identifying Joseph as sympathetic to Jesus’ vision, or could Mark be drawing our attention to his piety, irrespective of his religious beliefs? Maybe it’s neither. Maybe Mark is suggesting that, when it comes to righteousness, actions speak louder than words. But… I’m not comfortable with any of these. I see Joseph’s presence as a challenge, like he’s asking us to embody all that we—Christ’s followers—say we stand for.  

Remember, Judas Iscariot was one of Jesus’ closest students—a member of his inner circle. And even he, despite having learned first-hand about God’s Kingdom, is remembered for failing to live into it. Judas, like us, was guilty of many things, but ignorance wasn’t one of them. There seems to be a need for coupling right thought with right action. Or maybe it’s more proper to envision the two feeding into one another. But the fact remains that Jesus wasn’t crucified for coming up with provocative ideas—it was for their bold enactment—for his new way of being. That’s what made the authorities nervous. So maybe Joseph’s witness to us is as a reminder that God wills for our heartfelt convictions to take form in this world through obedient action.  

And if we see those not part of the Church, like Joseph, busy with compassionate, self-giving work, a hunger for newness and possibility ought to awaken within us. What might have happened had those women who loyally stayed with Jesus, watching his crucifixion, crossed over to Joseph and offered their help? What might have been, had Joseph and those women recognized their mutual aims and worked together? And where, in today’s world, are such opportunities? What might we be allowing ideological divides or boundaries of our own fashioning to keep us from? My prayer for us is that we might become awakened to these divides so we can move into them fearlessly, working side-by-side with anyone about the Kingdom’s work.

Austin Area Hiking Guide -- by Jeremiah Griffin

Balcones Canyonlands National Wildlife Refuge

As an avid hiker, who lives in Austin and loves to take advantage of its many easily accessible trails, I thought I'd post a short list of my favorite nearby hikes with some brief descriptions. As I get to it, I will add to and refine this list. Enjoy!

Balcones Canyonlands National Wildlife Refuge ***** -- (24518 FM 1431 Marble Falls, TX 78654) Known mostly for its bird watching opportunities, there are actually several great trails within the refuge, but the trail nearest Austin is a good 45 minutes away. The trails are well developed, well marked, and one even has numbered plant identification guides at the trailhead. From the trail, there are several great views of Lake Travis, which was very low on the day we went. Also, the trail has good tree canopy coverage for most of its distance, which is a plus for us paler outdoorsy folk. On the day I hiked here, I only saw two other people. I got sense that these trails, although immaculate, were lightly used. A good hike, if you have time for the requisite drive there. 2 miles plus per trail.

Bright Leaf

Bright Leaf Nature Preserve ** -- (4200 Old Bull Creek Rd., 78731) Visitors to this area must attend guided group tours to be allowed on the trails. See website for tour times here. Because hikes are guided, they are good opportunities to learn about native plant and animal species as well as learning about the area's history. Unfortunately, the trails are restricted from general public use, so you can't simply decide to hike here and show up. Also, although the preserve is nice, the land and its features are no different from other nearby hiking areas, so don't expect to be wowed by anything particularly spectacular. Lastly, the scheduled tours usually draw decent sized crowds, so don't expect to move quickly or get much exercise. This would probably be a good choice for those with young, curious children. 4 miles total length, but it can be shortened. 

Bull Creek

Bull Creek Trail ** -- (6874 Lakewood Drive, Austin, Texas) A good, nearby choice if you don't mind wading through a field of crazed, leash-free dogs at play to get to the trail. Upon crossing the creek (which usually has enough water to demand some wading and shoe removal), one finds several trail choices leading in divergent directions. I usually head to the left and eventually climb high on a ridgetop trail that wraps around the entire length of the preserve. The ridge climbs several hundred feet over the adjacent valley, so there are many good views, but unfortunately the 360 highway stays front and center for most of the hike and, at times, can be quite noisy. Still a favorite of mine, when the mood strikes and worth a visit. 1.5 miles in length, but what it lacks in distance it makes up in elevation gains, twists, and turns.   

McKinney Roughs Nature Park *** -- (1884 SH 71 West  Cedar Creek, TX 78612) A bit out of town and there was an $8 day usage fee the few times I've been. This park is maintained by the LCRA, so its facilities are well kept, but it lacks many old growth trees. As a result, little shade can be found -- something I consider a must for hiking in Texas' hot summer sun. As usual, I recommend this place if you have worn out other haunts and are looking for new ground to cover, but this place isn't high on my list for scenic beauty. Despite it's rather plain/typical Central Texas landscape, it does boast nearly 18 miles of possible trail combinations, which is certainly notable. For more info, click here.  

Falls on the Austin Greenbelt

Mopac Turnaround Greenbelt Access Point (Twin Falls) *** -- (Location: From Mopac and 360 intersection, follow Mopac feeder road and then park on the right side of the road, trailhead is down by metal guard rails) While this spot is no "hidden" gem, it is a gem, nonetheless. I've hiked here more than any other area and I like it for many reasons. During years when we receive rain, this area offers several great places for swimming. The two more popular areas are found down the hillside and to the right. Lesser frequented sites, with rope swings, can be found across the creek and to the left (not far past the Mopac overpass). From this starting point, one can walk for miles in either direction. Trails line both sides of the creek, but the North side always has fewer people. Several great caves and cliff escarpments can be found in either direction, along with some popular spots for repelling. It's no wonder that this portion of the greenbelt receives the most foot traffic. The total length of the Greenbelt is rumored to be 9 miles, although I've never done the whole thing in one day. If one were to try this, I suppose it might be a better choice to start on one end (like Zilker Park) and head towards the other, rather than jumping in at the middle, as this entrance point does.   

St. Mark's Episcopal Church Greenbelt Access Point *** -- (2128 Barton Hills drive, 78704) Another great spot to access Austin's Greenbelt trail network. This particular entry point features a nice meditation trail cared for by the church, which has several great benches, some crosses, and a labyrinth. The trail's easy grade makes this a great place for the elderly, disabled, or those with small children. If one follows the trail down into the creek basin, the creek bottom can be reached in 15 minutes.

Turkey Creek Trail

Turkey Creek Trail **** -- (1600 City Park Rd. 78730, On the right, just outside of Emma Long City Park). I adore this trail! It features some of the most interesting topography in the Austin area and it has excellent tree canopy coverage for most of its length. There are great views of neighboring hills (from the upper portions of the trail), a few 50+ foot cliff escarpments, and it is well marked. The first leg of the trail follows a wet weather, runoff creek that usually has some water (which the dogs love to play in). The second portion heads fairly gently up a hill to catch some nice views and then circles back around to the creek-side leg. The main trail's length is about 2 miles, but there are smaller break-away paths at the top of the hill if you wish to make the hike a bit longer. This trail is dog friendly and fairly heavily trafficked on the lower portions.


Wild Basin Wilderness Park ** -- (805 N. Capital of Texas Hwy., 78746) A nice place to head if you're burned out on your favorite trails or looking for new terrain. On the day I went, it was very quiet--in fact, we practically had the place to ourselves. I got the sense that this place was off the radar of most Austinites, so it might be a nice place to head if you're seeking solace within city limits. It's also a nice place for bird watching. To hike here they expect a small $3 donation, well worth the quiet if you ask me. For more info, click here.

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.