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"Crashing Through the Barriers to
God "
St. Mark’s Episcopal Church
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
James 5:13-20
Mark 9:38-50
The Rev. George Smith
It was minutes before the wedding procession was to begin.
The bride in her flowing white dress stood next to her father
in the church vestibule. After months of planning and worrying
about all of the details for the biggest day of her life, the
bride was overcome with the weight of the moment – that
in a few moments she would be walking down the aisle to her
soon-to-be husband and future life. She told her father, “I’m
not sure that I can go through with this – I’m so
nervous and overwhelmed…” Her father remained calm
and told his daughter, “Look, you can do it. You love
this man and all you need to do is put one foot in front of
the other and keep your eyes and mind on three things: the aisle,
the altar and your groom. Say this with me, aisle (pause), altar
(pause), him (pause); again: aisle, altar, him; aisle, altar,
him; I’LL ALTER HIM!
This piece of humor reminds us of the all too common attitude
– that we will be able to change others, to fix their
bad habits or re-make them into what we want them to be. It
is a horrible recipe for marriage, and really any relationship,
including our relationship and understanding of God.
Today’s Gospel selection from Mark is difficult. On a
scale from 1 to 10, 10 being the hardest, it is probably a 9.1.
Perhaps that is why it is paired with the reading from Esther
– allowing us to divert our eyes from amputations, gouged
eyes and salty fire. But it often true that when the Gospel
gets difficult, it is more important than ever to pay attention
– and not run away.
The first thing that today’s Gospel shows us is that
there are no – or very few - true Biblical literalists.
I have yet to see anyone who has cut off their hand, foot or
torn out their eye, following Jesus’ clear instruction.
Now of course, we tell ourselves that Jesus didn’t really
mean that we should do this, right? The threshold is so low
– simply any stumble of the eye, the hand or foot, and
we are to self-mutilate? Why don’t we take Jesus at his
word here, but elsewhere we do? Someone might say that they
haven’t stumbled. Really? Who has an eye that hasn’t
wandered, a foot that hasn’t gone on the wrong path, a
hand that hasn’t hit? So Christians have taken this passage
and treated as metaphor – more than literal, and found
much more meaning in it by doing so. There are no true literalists
– and this is a good thing.
The Gospel passage is not about literalism. That is my side
point. The message at hand is of utmost importance: the very
nature of God. It should be clear to us by now that Jesus faces
stubborn and entrenched attitudes about God and religion. We
see it over and over again in the Gospels and all of the Biblical
texts – that people in all areas of society want to set
up barriers that prevent those beneath or different from them
from getting to God. And by doing so, those who face barriers
have internalized them – they will not dare to cross those
boundaries and blockades. If there’s any one issue that
makes Jesus angry, this is it.
The root of this section of the Gospel is about not stopping
anyone, especially “children” – the little
ones. What does Jesus say exactly? – “If any of
you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who
believes in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone
were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea.”
These little ones are children, but also the sick, anyone who
is shoved aside, ignored or unseen by the society.
The reality is that this Gospel message applies to us today
as much as it did to the early Christians, 2000 years ago. Perhaps
today’s attitudes are more subtle – but just as
deep and damaging. Let us consider God as the Mona Lisa, Leonardo
da Vinci’s famous portrait painting, which today hangs
on a wall in the Louvre Museum in Paris. The Mona Lisa is one
of the most recognized and valuable works of art in the world.
Its beauty is powerful and mysterious. Yes, people are allowed
to see it, but they must stand at a distance, separated by a
stanchion and electronic trip beam. Yet we want to get close
and touch it – touch the smooth, empty darkness that the
woman seems to float in – touch her hands, touch her sleeve.
But we may not – and for good reason. She would be quickly
destroyed by human touch, the masterpiece of paint and canvas
ruined forever with thousands and millions of greasy fingerprints,
oil and human sweat. So we must keep the painting at a distance
and out of reach. And for many, God is like the Mona Lisa –
powerful beyond our understanding, and beyond our touch and
closeness. Stay back – only let the experts get close,
those who are trained and authorized handle the valuable masterpiece.
It is this impression of God as Mona Lisa that Jesus is out
to change. Jesus says that anyone who welcomes a child welcomes
him and welcomes the one who sent him – God the Father.
What this means is that it is the child, the unseen, a begging
nuisance who is the real Mona Lisa – who is Jesus and
God the Father. On the one hand, this makes no sense and is
all mixed up. Those who are on the outside are the domain of
God’s love and beauty – they are the image of God,
if only we can see it. How can we re-image God from the roped
off Mona Lisa to globs of red, yellow and blue Play Doh –
where all are welcome to get close, touch and create. In a black
and white world, where religion is almost always cast with a
desire for clarity, the Gospel gives us the reality of a profound
tension – we have God who is both Mona Lisa and Play Doh.
Yesterday I walked into the church at around 9:30 a.m. At that
time, with the lights off and sun in the eastern sky, the round
window above the altar was lit – the stained glass images
of host and chalice glowing in gold, yellow and blue. There
it was - high up, an image of God’s love, out of reach;
but it is also within our reach, our hands and mouths, the body
and blood of Jesus, which all are invited to eat and drink this
morning.
For centuries, the church has put up barriers to communion
of all things – requiring confession and a sense of worthiness
before receiving it. At one point in the Middle Ages, the barrier
was so high that people only looked at the host and chalice
from the pews – daring to receive perhaps only once a
year. Who is ever worthy to receive? Communion is the most powerful,
the most needed, the most recommended for those who feel least
worthy. The fear is that Jesus, like the Mona Lisa is too valuable
to be exposed to the dirty hands of children. Let everyone touch
the Mona Lisa. That is what Jesus is telling the world. From
today’s Gospel, “Do not put a stumbling block before
one of these little ones who believes in me.”
What are the barriers that we put up that separate others and
ourselves from God? They come is all shapes and sizes, from
physical, to emotional to procedural. One example from today’s
Gospel is the barrier of jealousy. The disciples tell Jesus
that they tried to stop someone from casting out demons. Why?
– because this person wasn’t following them –
and we know that the disciples themselves had been unable to
cast out demons. They didn’t succeed in stopping this
person – and hope that Jesus himself will intervene. Jesus
assures them that unless the person is against them, he is to
be considered an ally. When people are finding God and doing
God’s work even in ways that are different or perhaps
better, bless them. Jealousy has often caused a church to destroy
itself, as it worried that the barrier to God were being breached,
that the path to God was not under its control.
How many people today are intimated by churches? A visitor
to a typical Episcopal Church is handed a bulletin with mystic
codes – BCP 365, Nicene Creed, Hymnal S125, and terms
like sursum corda and proper preface. They are asked to navigate
through a red book, a blue book and often a myriad of inserts.
Unless you know how to do this and what all of this means, you
are an outsider.
Again yesterday, early in the afternoon, I walked into a darkened
narthex to find two people standing there. Somewhat surprised
to see them looking around, I said hello and then asked, “How
did you get in?” They told me that the front doors were
unlocked. The barrier was down – and they were in. As
it turned out, these two people were here in Glen Ellyn for
their high school reunion, and had attended St. Mark’s
in the 1950s. They wanted to see the church – and it turns
out we all know people in common, in Colorado and Indianapolis.
Those details are for another time, but sometime, go to the
front doors during the week when they are locked. See what it
feels like to pull on the handle of the door, with absolutely
no give. It is the experience of utter shutness. It says to
anyone, the church is closed. The museum is closed. As would
have it, not yesterday.
The good news of God in Christ is that the barriers are crashing
around us. The doors are open, the outsiders are in, and are
told in no uncertain terms to march right in and touch the Mona
Lisa.
We are called to take down the barriers – the barriers
within ourselves, between us and others and the barriers that
separate anyone from Jesus and love of God. We must look around
and notice the barriers we have taken for granted, ones that
have become invisible to us. Jesus has brought sight to the
blind, to us, so that we might see God with new eyes and the
barriers that block the path to. Are you feeling blocked from
Jesus? It is because of busyness, boredom, a sense of unworthiness?
Let the barriers fall away. Crawl, walk or run into his arms.
Admire the Mona Lisa up close – the power, the love, the
mystery. Go ahead, touch. On the night he was handed over the
suffering and death, Jesus said, “This is my body given
for you. This is my blood.” And today all are invited
to take and eat because these are the gifts of God for the people
of God. Amen.
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