February 27, 2000
Rev. Eugene Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
Mark 2:13-22
Reflecting on today's text, New Testament scholar, John Dominic Crossan, writes that the kingdom announced by Jesus was a kingdom of "nuisances and nobodies." Why do you suppose Crossan would say that? And if what he says is true, is it something we would want to be a part of - this kingdom of nuisances and nobodies?
Another Biblical scholar, James Sanders, has written that when interpreting scripture, "It makes all the difference in the world where you are seated in the text." Invariably, says Sanders, we are tempted to take the wrong seats. We tell the story of the prodigal son, for example, and cast ourselves with the gracious father, waiting to receive the wayward son. We are not the wayward son. Nor are we the self-righteous older brother. We take our seats with the father, thinking this story applies to someone else.
Turning to today's text, where do we find ourselves seated? Jesus calls a tax collector to follow him. You know all about tax collectors in first century Palestine. They were Jews who not only collaborated with the hated Romans, but who also had a reputation for dishonesty, indeed downright thievery. Thus it is not hard to understand why Jesus' call of Levi would provoke immediate controversy.
But then Jesus only makes things worse. He goes into Levi's house – goes in to eat with this sinner. But not only with him, for we read, "many tax collectors and sinners were also sitting with Jesus and his disciples." In this context, "sinners," would refer to Jews who did not follow Jewish dietary and other laws. They were outside the bounds of respectable society, and no respectable person would ever eat with them. And so the religious leaders are outraged by such behavior. "Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?" Of all the people he could choose to eat with, he chooses the very dregs of society, the outcasts, the losers, the nuisances and nobodies.
You've heard some of this from me before, but I do not want us to overlook the importance of this Biblical setting...a meal with tax collectors and sinners. Crossan writes: "Table fellowship is a map of social hierarchy, economic discrimination, and political differentiation...In all societies, both simple and complex, eating is the primary way of initiating and maintaining human relationships...To know what, where, how, when and with whom people eat is to know the character of their society."
Consider, there is quite a difference between sharing in a cocktail party with all the office employees and being invited to the CEO's home for a small dinner party with the company vice-presidents. I talk a lot about reaching out to the poor and dispossessed. But it is one thing for me to give a homeless person the number for the interchurch food pantry, and quite another thing for me to invite that person into my home to have dinner with my family. Eating says volumes about who is welcome and not welcome in our homes, about the social and personal boundaries we establish between one another.
And if those boundaries are strong today, they were even more rigid in Jesus' time. Strict dietary and purity laws made it very clear who one ate with and did not eat with, who one touched and did not touch. But what does Jesus do? He eats and drinks with anybody! Again, it's hard to overstate the importance of this meal with Levi and the sinners...in Levi's house, for heaven's sake! The kingdom of God is breaking out, is taking form around the table with Jesus, and look who's invited! Where do we find ourselves seated in this text?
A colleague shares the following true story: "It was Saturday night. There was a knock at the door. I opened it to find a police officer standing on my doorstep. 'Preacher,' he said, 'could you come with me? Some of your church members have gotten into a big brawl and the chief thinks you might be able to help us settle it down.'
"I was aghast. Some of my church members? How could this be? I went with him and when we arrived at our destination, I could hardly believe my eyes and ears.
"Now cut out that shooting, Joe, and you two settle down and come on out. You're going to hurt somebody if you ain't careful,' blared the chief's voice across the debris-strewn yard. I could see broken glass and overturned furniture...It was an apocalyptic vision of chaos and battle. Another shot rang out from the house and the chief ducked down behind his car. This is no place for man of the cloth I thought as I inched my way over to the chief's car. 'How are you doing Reverend' the chief asked amiably as I joined him in his improvised bunker. 'At the moment, not all that well,' I replied.
'Joe and his wife are having a little argument, it seems, and as it has gotten a bit rough we thought that maybe you could help us settle them down, ' said the chief.
'A little argument?' I asked in amazement.
'Yes, they usually have one of these every spring.'
'You mean to tell me this has happened before?'
'Oh sure,' said the chief. 'It's not all that big a deal. They just seem to let things build up during the winter and then every spring they let it all out, so to speak.'
"I was appalled. And to think, one of my 'best' church members!
"No shots or curses came from the house for about five or ten minutes. Finally the chief pronounced, 'They have probably passed out now. It's safe to go in and get them.'
"At a safe distance, I accompanied the police into the scene of the battle. Just as the chief predicted, we found Joe and his wife passed out on their living room sofa, a bit bruised and scratched up here and there, but in surprisingly good condition for two battle-weary veterans. By that time neighbors had arrived and were clearing away the debris and helping the two groggy combatants into bed. 'Well, that ought to hold them until this time next year,' said the chief.
"As for me, I was shocked, disappointed, angry, but mainly I was embarrassed. I returned home determined to relieve Joe of his church duties as soon as possible. Was this any way for church members to act?
The next morning, in the quiet and beauty of the church, the disorder of the previous evening seemed far away. In the worship service, when we came to the time for the offering, I dutifully got the offering plates and turned to hand them to the head usher. And who should be the head usher on this particular Sunday? Joe. I nearly passed out when I turned around and saw him standing there, smiling sheepishly, bandages on his bruised hands and a cut under one eye, more or less reverently waiting for the plates. Joe – standing there before me, God, and everybody else. The nerve of the man. Had he no pride? Had he no self-respect? Can you imagine someone having the nerve to stand up before the altar on Sunday morning after a Saturday night like that?"
"Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners." A kingdom of "nuisances and nobodies," where all are invited to the table, where all are accepted by God.
A challenging text because, as much as I hate to admit it, I know where I take my seat. Oh yes, I make my occasional foray out among the "lost," but mostly I am here, with the good people, the safe people, the people who are much like me. As much as I hate to admit it, I, like my colleague, would probably be shocked to see Joe, would not want Joe as the head usher after the night he had put me and the police and his neighbors through. And yet, even as I say that, I find myself returning to Jesus sitting at that table with tax collectors and sinners; I find myself returning to the words of the poet with which we began this morning – "It's His voice that calls them and it's no use to bolt and bar the door; His kingdom knows no bounds of roof, of wall, or floor." And I realize that as tempting as it is, I cannot hunker down with my faith, holding on tightly to what I have, afraid to move out or take risks.
Yes, a challenging text. But also a hopeful one. Richard Lischer, a professor of preaching at Duke Divinity School, concludes one of his sermons by recalling the funeral of his uncle: "We went to his funeral not too long ago – with some uneasiness. He had died of cancer at the age of 53: a gifted man, a doctor and professor of medicine; he was a brash, self-reliant person – for most of his life a pagan whose nickname, 'Turk,' seemed to fit perfectly. His humor always bordered on the obscene. Before he died, we heard he became a Christian.
"As we gathered for his funeral there was this unspoken hope among the family that the priest, and perhaps even God, had not known Uncle Turk's down-to-earth ways. But that was dispelled by the priest's magnificent funeral sermon which he began with these words: 'We are gathered together to give thanks to God that he has received unto himself this outrageous, profane man.'
Says Lischer, "He knew Uncle Turk and the priest's words, like those of Jesus, were a way of saying, 'This is how God knows us all, this God who, in his mercy, is our refuge.'"
This is how God knows us all. What if God looks out upon creation and sees profane Uncle Turk, sees Joe standing before the altar with his cut eye and bandaged hand, and sees me standing here in my robe preaching this sermon; what if God looks out upon creation and really sees very little difference between and among us; what if, when Jesus said, "I have come to call not the righteous but sinners," he was talking about us?
Unlike Joe, I would not have been caught dead up there before the altar in church on that Sunday morning. I have too much pride to bring my bandaged and still bleeding wounds before the altar, before each of you, holding out my bruised knuckles as if I had come here expecting to be given some gift. Unlike Joe, I do have my pride, my self-image, my self-esteem. And yet, could it be that he knows something I don't?
The Rev. Barbara Lemmel writes about a car ride with her three-year old son Micah. "Micah was in the front seat with me. To entertain himself, he began looking in the vanity mirror on the back of his sun visor. I began a game with him. 'Who's in the mirror? Is it Daddy?' 'No!" he exclaimed. 'Is it Uncle John?' 'No!' 'Is it an elephant?' 'No!'
"Then, just to make things interesting, I asked, 'Is it Jesus?' Micah stopped for a moment. 'You know,' I continued, 'whenever you look in the mirror, you see Jesus a little bit. Jesus is always in you a little bit.'
"Micah was silent for a moment. Then, with all the theological wisdom of a three-year-old, he corrected me, saying, 'I need Jesus in me a lot!'" Ah, from the mouths of babes.
Our text suggests that we are lifted up, healed, made healthy and whole, named and valued, not on the basis of who we are, but on the basis of who Jesus is. It's humbling to come to this realization, but clearly God knows where we are seated in this text. We are all at that table in Levi's home, all of us needy, poor, driven and lost creatures; all needing Jesus to be in us a lot.
Yes, humbling, but also immensely hopeful...for what will deliver us is not positive thinking or self-esteem classes or good achievements or work or income. The key to our deliverance is God's grace, accepting us as we are, warts and all. Look at the faces on our bulletin cover – wonderful faces, such different faces, and yet also the same face. There is no us or them out there, just us – all of us – lined up on the same side of God's counter, all blessed, all called to bless one another, all invited to eat at Jesus' table.