Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
February 12, 2006
Mark 1: 40-45
A few weeks ago, early on a Saturday morning, a number of us in the church went to see the Disney production of the C.S. Lewis classic story, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. If you have not read the book, it is a much-beloved story of the four Pevensie children, who are sent out of London at the height of the blitz in World War II to live in the home of a rather mysterious and eccentric professor. Exploring the huge house, they discover that the back of a wardrobe opens into a mystical realm called Narnia, where they encounter all sorts of strange creatures, both good and evil, most predominantly an evil, enslaving White Witch and a redeeming, Christ-like lion named Aslan.
I enjoyed the film and if you haven’t seen it, I would recommend it. My chief critique of the film is the time it spends on the great final battle between the forces of good led by Aslan and the children and the forces of evil led by the evil White Witch.
The battle scene, that looms so large in the film with any number of horrific creatures being slain, lasts very briefly in the book itself – just a couple of paragraphs. I have to agree with Ralph Wood, of Baylor University, when he insists that the heart of the story, the real tension in the story, is not the great final battle, but is found in one of the children’s -- Susan’s – early question of Mr. Beaver. When she learns that Aslan is a lion, she asks if he is a safe lion. “Course he isn’t safe,” replies Mr. Beaver, “But he is good.” Another of the children, Peter, then says, “I’m longing to see Aslan, even if I do feel frightened when it comes to that point.” Says the narrator of the story, “People who have never been to Narnia sometimes think that a thing cannot be good and terrible at the same time.” But Lewis himself once wrote: “God is the only comfort. God is also the supreme terror: the thing we most need and the thing we most hide from.” “Course he isn’t safe; but he is good.”
“A leper came to Jesus begging him, and kneeling he said to him, ‘If you choose, you can make me clean.’ Moved with anger Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, ‘I do choose. Be made clean!’” The great New Testament scholar, Vincent Taylor, suggested that this word which is translated “pity” or “anger, “indignation” or “passion”, can also have the meaning of “snorting” or “boiling over.” Now there is a great image: Jesus snorting and boiling over. Again, not what you would call “safe.”
But why? Why would Jesus respond to the leper’s request with anger? There are a number of possibilities: is he angry because this unclean man even dares to approach him, to touch him, thus violating the religious law, thus making him unclean? Is he angry because maybe the man is using a little manipulation here: “Go ahead, prove that you are who you say you are. Heal me, make me clean, I dare you!” I’ve experienced a little of that. “You’re a minister, you have to help me. What kind of a minister are you anyway?” And I admit I can feel my anger rising when I am meeting with someone who is manipulating me in that way. Might this explain Jesus’ anger?
No, I don’t think so. I think he was angry because of the man’s sickness, because of what this sickness had done to this man, ravaging his body and isolating him from any hope of human community and contact. Recall that according to biblical law, the man was unclean and was therefore excluded from any public gatherings, and that would include worship. No one would dare touch him. As one colleague writes, “I believe Jesus was angry at the evil of it all. This was not the way God intended life to be. This was not the way God intended the world to be…And so Jesus, moved by anger, moved by righteous indignation at the utter injustice of it all, reached out and touched the man and healed him. And, having healed him, moved him, literally, from death to life, putting him back into contact with the rest of humanity.”
When Jesus comes face to face with evil in the world, when he sees God’s purposes being frustrated or denied, he does not philosophize, doesn’t spend a lot of time debating why bad things happen to good people, he doesn’t write letters to the editor. He gets angry and takes action. He reaches out, he gets involved, he touches and he heals. And lives are changed.
Do you recall the famous line from the film, Network, probably one of the more memorable film lines ever uttered. The crazy news anchor, knowing those who are watching him are as frustrated and angry with the world as he is, finally urges everyone to go to a window, open it, and cry out at the top of their lungs, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!” And millions of people do just that! I may have gone home and done it myself after watching that movie. And no doubt millions of people felt better. They expressed their anger. But, as the movie cynically points out, nothing really changed.
Lucy is in one of her moods. She goes through the house ranting and raving. “All right, I give up! I can’t get along with this family! I give up!” She storms out of the room. After she leaves Linus sits there for a moment, then asks, “Where do you go when you give up?”
Our text poses a similar question. You see evil in the world; perhaps in your life, things are not going as God intended. You see so much pain and hurt all around you. What are you going to do? Where are you going to go? What choices are you going to make? It may make you angry, but what are you going to do with that anger? Are you just going to open your window and shout at the night sky? Jesus didn’t do that.
We have had a bit of a population explosion around the church in recent months – really since Christmas. There has been a significant increase in the number of homeless people sleeping on our porches, in our doorways, in our parking lot, even in our outside restrooms if they are left unlocked. It’s been frustrating and I confess I have felt my anger rising. But what am I angry about? Am I angry at them for coming here, leaving their stuff on the porch, getting in my way, nightly challenging my patience and compassion? Am I angry at the untreated mental difficulties and addictions many of them seem to have? Am I angry with a seemingly prosperous country, and certainly a prosperous part of the world – Sonoma County - that doesn’t seem to have the will to confront this problem? Am I angry at my own apathy and my unwillingness to get involved? Could it be I am angry with this lingering and haunting image of an angry Jesus saying to a broken man, “I do choose, be made clean.” He chooses. He takes action. I don’t want to choose. And I begin to understand, this Jesus may indeed be good, but he sure doesn’t feel very safe.
Congress just passed a new budget. Big cuts in Medicaid, big cuts in health care for the poor. Wasn’t Jesus was a healer? Scott Morris, executive director of the Church Health Center in Memphis, writes, “Martha was blind until four years ago, when Medicaid paid for her to have a corneal transplant. For the first time in her life she could see. Now she has a job. But with recent cuts in funding, Martha has lost her Medicaid. She can no longer afford the anti-rejection medicine she must take daily because of her transplant. And without the medicine she will slowly go blind once again.” And then, of course, she will lose her job. How many thousands of Marthas will there be in the coming years?
A woman came to see me last week. I knew her. She used to work with church members in Fellowship Hall, packing food baskets and providing clothing for the poor. She got a job, was able to get into one of the affordable apartments across from Fiesta. Then she developed diabetes, had kidney problems and will soon be on dialysis. She came to see me because her increased medical expenses mean she can no longer pay her utility bill. Heat or medical care? Food or rent? This is a hard country in which to be poor. And I am angry. Then I hear the words of an angry Jesus: “I do choose.” And I realize that if I am going to follow him, more will be required than simply being angry. How am I going to put my anger to work? What will I choose? Again, Jesus is hardly safe.
But even as I stand here and preach this, even as I try to relate this text and its challenges to my life, I am well aware that my anger may not be yours. You may not share my outrage over the federal budget; you may not share my frustration over homelessness in our city and county. You may have other, very real concerns. And I hope you know that the by-laws of our church do not require you to believe the way I do or that you always agree with me. That would be neither open nor affirming. But whatever your concerns, what I hope you hear is this unsafe anger of Jesus. Because his anger means some things. His anger means that he refuses to accept the reading of reality which is the majority opinion, even if that refusal puts him at great risk. His anger means he will not hesitate to violate propriety, reason and good public order, not when human need is involved – remember, no one would touch a leper. His anger is shattering, opening and inviting – conjuring a new future that no one believed possible, a future quite different from the one intended by the forces of domination. His anger leads to new beginnings precisely where none seemed possible, and people begin to notice that life has been strangely and inexplicably changed.
You don’t have to agree with me. But please consider this: where is this Jesus unsafe for you? Where in your heart and soul does he not let you rest easy? For when Aslan, the Christ figure, finally leaves Narnia, what he leaves behind are not easy victories of good over evil, but rather radical conversions of hearts and wills. Where might this Jesus, where might this Spirit be converting you? In the words of the great Spanish philosopher and man of faith, Miguel de Unamuno, “May Christ deny you peace and give you glory.” A good thing, but not necessarily a safe one.