Coconut
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"Low-Rent Righteousness"
Matthew 21:28-32
And Jesus said, "Truly, I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the Kingdom of Heaven ahead of you, for John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him. The tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him."
Her name is Electra. She is four and lives with her mother in a welfare motel among prostitutes and drug abusers. At a church Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless in our parish, we met Electra and her mother and invited them to stay with one of the families of the parish one weekend. This led to Electra visiting the family often and attending our nursery school. Electra noticed that her new friends with this family and in the school and church prayed before meals, and she implored them, "Please, teach me the God words." She has since taught them to others in the motel. In fact, her mother says that the child can no longer bite into a peanut butter sandwich without making everyone around her, tax collectors and prostitutes, sinners, drug dealers, the poor, say the God words with her.
Eventually, Electra and her mother came to the baptismal font and were included in the family of Jesus through Holy Baptism. In the way of Jesus, the least becomes the most and mourning becomes Electra.
Jesus tells a story in today's Gospel about two sons seeking their power. But consider the context for this story. Jesus has just entered into Jerusalem, the very power of God to the acclaim of the cross. He then seeks out the temple, the place of the chosen, and the religious, and he sees that they've lost their power. They're so busy attending to their own needs, their own lives, their own rituals, their own internal rhythms, that they are oblivious to the world around them. Jesus cleansed the temple of those who had lost their religious power and were simply buying and selling religion. After he did that, the blind and the lame came to the temple seeking God's power and Jesus cured them.
The religious leaders, though, wanted no part of that. They observed the children, the Electra's in the temple, praising Jesus for turning towards the poor and the ill, and the religious leaders became angry. "Do you hear what they're saying? They're calling you the Son of God?" These children had found their power and they knew the identity of Jesus as the Son of God.
And Jesus said, "Yes, but have you never read, 'Out of the mouths of infants and nursing babies you have prepared praise for yourself?'" There were many Electra's in Jesus' time.
From the temple, Jesus curses a fig tree that is bearing no fruit. After that his authority is questioned by the religious leaders and then he tells the story in our text for today. A story on the road to the cross. A man had two sons. He went to the first and said, "Son, go to work in the vineyard today." And the son answered, "I won't." But later he changed his mind and went. The father went to the second and said the same, and he answered, "I go, Sir!" but he didn't go. Which of the two did the will of the Father? And they said, "The first!" And then Jesus said, "Truly, I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the Kingdom of God ahead of you, for John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe. And the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed in Him. And even after you saw it, you did not change your mind and believe him."
Well, dear friends in Christ, this is a parable for the church today. It is about where we find our power, where we focus our identity and our mission. Is our identity in our own righteousness, our own rituals, our own right worship, our own history, our own routines and rhythms, or is our identity, our focus, our power, focused on this world for which Christ died and on going into that world with the message of God's love, especially for tax collectors, sinners, prostitutes, the stranger, those on the margins, those with little hope and little solace? Those the world regards as absolutely nothing. Like the children in the temple or the lame and blind who came for healing, totally dismissed by the religious leaders.
As we saw from Electra, God will give the task of proclaiming the Gospel not to the righteous or self-righteous but to those whom God has embraced at the edges and below and on the margins. It was Electra who taught the God words, wasn't it? Electra taught the God words after receiving them. Jesus was asking those in the temple something like this, "Will you translate your teachings, your life, your offerings, into the healing of the blind and the lame? Will you bring them into the temple?" It is a question of focus, identity, and mission.
The church is asked today, and we as individual Christians are asked today too, "Where is our power?" Is it in Jesus who was going to the cross to give his life away? Is our focus on this world for which Christ died or on ourselves, on our churches, on our internal things? Following Jesus means identifying Jesus as the Son of God, the One who goes to the cross, who gives his life away, who calls our churches and Christians to open their doors and their windows to the life around them. For that is also our mission. If we identify with Christ, we identify with the one who brought the lame and the blind into the temple, cured them, and then walked out of the temple and died in a public place for the life of the whole world.
Allow me a true, modern-day parable about identity and mission. We began to find our power as a congregation in New Jersey as a matter of being a place where you can go when there's no where else to go. When you invite the poor and the homeless, they do come such as Edgar. He is by anybody's standards a strange character. He lives alone in the nearby welfare motel better known for drug addicts and prostitutes than for the righteous. For some reason, he adopted our church and there are times when he pushed our understanding of what we mean when we say that all God's children are welcome. I mean he would sit in front of me in the first pew and if he didn't like what I was saying in the sermon, he'd kind of laugh, "Ho, ho, ho! You don't mean that, do you?" And I'd have to tell him, "Edgar, chill out!" He was rough around the edges. Some of the social graces had been rubbed raw from years of trying to survive in an inhospitable world. To those who do not know him, he can be kind of scary. On occasion, he got loud and demanding and if the truth be told, my heart sank on Palm Sunday when he was waiting in the sanctuary for me after a full day of liturgies, first communions and pastoral intensity. I know that when he's waiting for me he wants something--a ride, some of my time--and he'll often complain about this and that.
And this is my confession to you. I was the first son in the parable. Okay, Lord, but I didn't want to go. I wanted to go home. But by the grace of God, I became the second son. On the drive to the motel, he talked my ear off and I prayed for patience. Yet something strange and wonderful began to happen as I pulled into the parking lot of the rundown motor inn by the George Washington bridge. A door opened and an elderly woman emerged. She knocked on another door and another elderly woman emerged. They limped toward our car. Others waited at the edges of the parking lot followed. They had been waiting for us. I was in someone else's church now. For the first time I noticed that Edgar Lee Hill's hands grasped a bunch of palms. He had promised them that he would bring them palms from our Sunday liturgy, tangible evidence of the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem which is the context of our story for today.
Well, mothers and their children, addicts, prostitutes, the mentally ill, those who came to the temple after Jesus cleansed it, gathered around the car. The first lady was by the door. Soon the car was surrounded. I looked at Edgar. Jesus said to them, "Truly, I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the Kingdom of God ahead of you for they believed in Him."
I looked at Edgar. This man was the only one who has ever passed for a pastor in this backwater parish of broken souls. There could be no more fertile soil for church growth, spiritually understood, than this concrete parking lot and its waiting children of God. He gave her a palm through the window. This lady knew her pastor. She just clutched her palm as if she had been given the most precious gem and called the waiting group over to the van. "Get out of the car," said Edgar. I could only watch in awe. He thrust the palms in my hand. "Give them the palms!" And I distributed them among those waiting. Bless them," Edgar demanded. I blessed their palms. I placed my hand on each forehead and pronounced the benediction. If I would have had bread and wine in my possession, I would have fed them right there.
Children, find your power. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I caught a glimpse out of my rearview mirror of this continuation of our Sunday morning Holy Week liturgy as a grumpy old man walked back to the motel with a group of children of God who are mostly forgotten and despised.
It is always that, in the way of the Gospel and in the following of Jesus, we are pulled in directions that we would rather not go. We are pulled from our comfort zones and we are pulled from our self-righteous religion. And we are reminded that we are no different than children of God like Electra and Edgar. That all of us wait for deliverance and that our deliverance has come in the One who entered Jerusalem and cleansed the places of our religion and replaced our righteousness with the cross and the empty tomb and a relentless compassion. Amen.
Will you pray with me? As you pray, please think with me about those out-of-the-way places in your neighborhood, in your life, in your congregation, where those who are deemed the least need so much the witness of your faith and of the church.
day1.net / Bishop Stephen Bouman /New York
Matthew 21:28-32
And Jesus said, "Truly, I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the Kingdom of Heaven ahead of you, for John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him. The tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him."
Her name is Electra. She is four and lives with her mother in a welfare motel among prostitutes and drug abusers. At a church Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless in our parish, we met Electra and her mother and invited them to stay with one of the families of the parish one weekend. This led to Electra visiting the family often and attending our nursery school. Electra noticed that her new friends with this family and in the school and church prayed before meals, and she implored them, "Please, teach me the God words." She has since taught them to others in the motel. In fact, her mother says that the child can no longer bite into a peanut butter sandwich without making everyone around her, tax collectors and prostitutes, sinners, drug dealers, the poor, say the God words with her.
Eventually, Electra and her mother came to the baptismal font and were included in the family of Jesus through Holy Baptism. In the way of Jesus, the least becomes the most and mourning becomes Electra.
Jesus tells a story in today's Gospel about two sons seeking their power. But consider the context for this story. Jesus has just entered into Jerusalem, the very power of God to the acclaim of the cross. He then seeks out the temple, the place of the chosen, and the religious, and he sees that they've lost their power. They're so busy attending to their own needs, their own lives, their own rituals, their own internal rhythms, that they are oblivious to the world around them. Jesus cleansed the temple of those who had lost their religious power and were simply buying and selling religion. After he did that, the blind and the lame came to the temple seeking God's power and Jesus cured them.
The religious leaders, though, wanted no part of that. They observed the children, the Electra's in the temple, praising Jesus for turning towards the poor and the ill, and the religious leaders became angry. "Do you hear what they're saying? They're calling you the Son of God?" These children had found their power and they knew the identity of Jesus as the Son of God.
And Jesus said, "Yes, but have you never read, 'Out of the mouths of infants and nursing babies you have prepared praise for yourself?'" There were many Electra's in Jesus' time.
From the temple, Jesus curses a fig tree that is bearing no fruit. After that his authority is questioned by the religious leaders and then he tells the story in our text for today. A story on the road to the cross. A man had two sons. He went to the first and said, "Son, go to work in the vineyard today." And the son answered, "I won't." But later he changed his mind and went. The father went to the second and said the same, and he answered, "I go, Sir!" but he didn't go. Which of the two did the will of the Father? And they said, "The first!" And then Jesus said, "Truly, I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the Kingdom of God ahead of you, for John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe. And the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed in Him. And even after you saw it, you did not change your mind and believe him."
Well, dear friends in Christ, this is a parable for the church today. It is about where we find our power, where we focus our identity and our mission. Is our identity in our own righteousness, our own rituals, our own right worship, our own history, our own routines and rhythms, or is our identity, our focus, our power, focused on this world for which Christ died and on going into that world with the message of God's love, especially for tax collectors, sinners, prostitutes, the stranger, those on the margins, those with little hope and little solace? Those the world regards as absolutely nothing. Like the children in the temple or the lame and blind who came for healing, totally dismissed by the religious leaders.
As we saw from Electra, God will give the task of proclaiming the Gospel not to the righteous or self-righteous but to those whom God has embraced at the edges and below and on the margins. It was Electra who taught the God words, wasn't it? Electra taught the God words after receiving them. Jesus was asking those in the temple something like this, "Will you translate your teachings, your life, your offerings, into the healing of the blind and the lame? Will you bring them into the temple?" It is a question of focus, identity, and mission.
The church is asked today, and we as individual Christians are asked today too, "Where is our power?" Is it in Jesus who was going to the cross to give his life away? Is our focus on this world for which Christ died or on ourselves, on our churches, on our internal things? Following Jesus means identifying Jesus as the Son of God, the One who goes to the cross, who gives his life away, who calls our churches and Christians to open their doors and their windows to the life around them. For that is also our mission. If we identify with Christ, we identify with the one who brought the lame and the blind into the temple, cured them, and then walked out of the temple and died in a public place for the life of the whole world.
Allow me a true, modern-day parable about identity and mission. We began to find our power as a congregation in New Jersey as a matter of being a place where you can go when there's no where else to go. When you invite the poor and the homeless, they do come such as Edgar. He is by anybody's standards a strange character. He lives alone in the nearby welfare motel better known for drug addicts and prostitutes than for the righteous. For some reason, he adopted our church and there are times when he pushed our understanding of what we mean when we say that all God's children are welcome. I mean he would sit in front of me in the first pew and if he didn't like what I was saying in the sermon, he'd kind of laugh, "Ho, ho, ho! You don't mean that, do you?" And I'd have to tell him, "Edgar, chill out!" He was rough around the edges. Some of the social graces had been rubbed raw from years of trying to survive in an inhospitable world. To those who do not know him, he can be kind of scary. On occasion, he got loud and demanding and if the truth be told, my heart sank on Palm Sunday when he was waiting in the sanctuary for me after a full day of liturgies, first communions and pastoral intensity. I know that when he's waiting for me he wants something--a ride, some of my time--and he'll often complain about this and that.
And this is my confession to you. I was the first son in the parable. Okay, Lord, but I didn't want to go. I wanted to go home. But by the grace of God, I became the second son. On the drive to the motel, he talked my ear off and I prayed for patience. Yet something strange and wonderful began to happen as I pulled into the parking lot of the rundown motor inn by the George Washington bridge. A door opened and an elderly woman emerged. She knocked on another door and another elderly woman emerged. They limped toward our car. Others waited at the edges of the parking lot followed. They had been waiting for us. I was in someone else's church now. For the first time I noticed that Edgar Lee Hill's hands grasped a bunch of palms. He had promised them that he would bring them palms from our Sunday liturgy, tangible evidence of the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem which is the context of our story for today.
Well, mothers and their children, addicts, prostitutes, the mentally ill, those who came to the temple after Jesus cleansed it, gathered around the car. The first lady was by the door. Soon the car was surrounded. I looked at Edgar. Jesus said to them, "Truly, I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the Kingdom of God ahead of you for they believed in Him."
I looked at Edgar. This man was the only one who has ever passed for a pastor in this backwater parish of broken souls. There could be no more fertile soil for church growth, spiritually understood, than this concrete parking lot and its waiting children of God. He gave her a palm through the window. This lady knew her pastor. She just clutched her palm as if she had been given the most precious gem and called the waiting group over to the van. "Get out of the car," said Edgar. I could only watch in awe. He thrust the palms in my hand. "Give them the palms!" And I distributed them among those waiting. Bless them," Edgar demanded. I blessed their palms. I placed my hand on each forehead and pronounced the benediction. If I would have had bread and wine in my possession, I would have fed them right there.
Children, find your power. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I caught a glimpse out of my rearview mirror of this continuation of our Sunday morning Holy Week liturgy as a grumpy old man walked back to the motel with a group of children of God who are mostly forgotten and despised.
It is always that, in the way of the Gospel and in the following of Jesus, we are pulled in directions that we would rather not go. We are pulled from our comfort zones and we are pulled from our self-righteous religion. And we are reminded that we are no different than children of God like Electra and Edgar. That all of us wait for deliverance and that our deliverance has come in the One who entered Jerusalem and cleansed the places of our religion and replaced our righteousness with the cross and the empty tomb and a relentless compassion. Amen.
Will you pray with me? As you pray, please think with me about those out-of-the-way places in your neighborhood, in your life, in your congregation, where those who are deemed the least need so much the witness of your faith and of the church.
day1.net / Bishop Stephen Bouman /New York
