The Soft Side of Pentecost 6/2/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: John 20:19-23 and Acts 2:1-13

Note: For the last fifteen or twenty years, I have institutionalized the annual observance of Pentecost on the first Sunday in June. Occasionally the liturgical calendar of Christendom concurs. Other years, not. My reasons for doing this are largely personal. I simply grew tired of trying to blend Pentecost with Mother’s Day, with Memorial Day, or with the annual children’s musical (all of which occur in May). By setting aside the same Sunday in June for a Pentecost observance, I have been able to place a singular spotlight on the celebration, to the degree that it has become (in the churches I have served) an exciting and much-anticipated Sunday morning. I add this explanation for the liturgical purists who may read these sermons, the better to explain my logic rather than reveal my ignorance.

Sermon

For as many years as I have been preaching Pentecost Sunday sermons, I have customarily begun with Luke’s wonderfully visual story from the second chapter of Acts. It’s dramatic. It’s ecstatic. Lots of sound. Lots of fury. It takes place in Jerusalem, a couple of months after the Resurrection. There are 120 people in the house and a whole lot more outside the house. That’s because it’s a Jewish holiday, a holiday to celebrate the giving of the Law. Which explains why everybody was “hanging out,” don’t you see. Because “hanging out” is one of the things you do on holidays. You don’t go to work. You don’t go to school. You don’t put the trash out by the curb. Because who is going to pick up the trash on a holiday? Nobody. So you hang out.

Which is when it happened, Luke says. It was early in the morning….too early for people to be drinking. So if (a few minutes after 9:00 a.m.) it looked like people were drunk, it must have been Spirit rather than spirits. For it looked like people were drunk, what with everybody talking funny. You should have heard it. There were sounds coming from everywhere. Multiple languages. Exaggerated cadences. High pitches. Nobody understanding it. But, in a strange kind of way, everybody “getting it.” You might say these people were “fired up.” Which is what Luke said. And I have no reason to disbelieve him.

Except to concentrate on the fire, as some of us are inclined to do, is to overlook the wind. Which was how it all began.

            When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. When suddenly a sound came from heaven like the rush of a mighty wind.

And maybe there was such a sound. And maybe there was such a wind. Or maybe Luke borrowed the sound and the wind from the occasion which created the Jewish holiday in the first place….borrowing both sound and wind from the book of Exodus when God gave, not the Spirit, but the Law. You remember it. Surely you remember it. The people were at Mount Sinai. They’d been out in the wilderness for a time. Too long a time. So much so, that it felt like God had forgotten them out there. Which made them afraid. So they said to Moses (in effect): “We can’t stand it. Why don’t you climb that mountain and find out what God wants. Then come back and tell us.” So Moses did. And scripture records that there was a storm….accented by thunder and wind….followed by fire and smoke. And then came the Commandments. All ten.

It is as if Luke is saying in the book of Acts: “Whenever God gives us something truly significant, it is always windy and fiery.” And anywhere in the Christian world where a church wants to lock in on those stories (or those images), that church is called “Pentecostal.” And if you go to one of those churches in search of the Spirit of God, you expect to shaken up by the experience. But after 37 years in places like this, I have learned that those churches ain’t us….ain’t never been us….probably ain’t ever going to be us….so that the second chapter of Acts (taken as a text) doesn’t really fit us.

But, as I told you several years ago, Luke’s version of the coming of the Spirit is not the only version. And the one that contrasts with it most vividly is John’s version. We are still in Jerusalem. We are still in a house. But there are far fewer people. And the clock is set at a far later hour. There is no holiday. There is no “hanging out.” There is just a group of disciples hanging tight. Because they’re scared. Scared for their lives. For Jesus has been put to death. And who knows who might be next?

The door is locked. But Jesus is suddenly in the room. No knocking on the door. No going to the door. No looking through a peephole in the door. No recognizing Jesus on the other side of the door. No throwing wide the door. There is nothing having to do with the door. Just Jesus….in the room. Don’t ask. I don’t know how he got there. He’s just there. And, in this visit, there is no touching of wounds….just a viewing of wounds. Touching comes a week later when Thomas comes back from the Seven-Eleven.

This time there is just a twice-repeated phrase from the lips of Jesus….“Peace be with you”…. followed by: “Just as the Father sent me, I am sending you.” And then this. He breathed on them. That’s right, he breathed on them. Then he said: “Receive the Holy Spirit.” No wind. No fire. Noblowing. No burning. No babbling. Just breathing. And that is how John says it was when the Spirit came.

Not to be outdone by Luke, John also has an Old Testament point of reference. But it’s not in Exodus, it’s in Genesis. And it’s not at Sinai, but in the Garden. Where, in that most primitive of stories, God fashioned dust into something more than dust and breathed into its nostrils. Whereupon dust became a living being.

Leading one of my esteemed colleagues to say:

What if….let’s just scare ourselves for a minute….what if God had not imparted God’s own Spirit to this being? The human would be just like the animal, don’t you see. Can you imagine people living like animals because they hadn’t received the Spirit of God? Why the whole of our lives would be devoted to eating and drinking, sleeping and eliminating, being attracted to the opposite sex, and dying. Like animals.

Now I know that animals can be trained….some of them, anyway. It makes them a lot more cute. It may also make them a tad more valuable. Some can be trained to do work. Others can be groomed to the point where they can go up on stage, do a few tricks, and people applaud them. And I suppose that, had God not breathed into our nostrils, many of us could be groomed and trained….maybe even bred….so that it could be said of us that we had good lines, came from good stock, or descended from the best families. So if God had not breathed into our nostrils God’s own breath, we could still have our shows, strut our stuff and brag about our breeding….in addition to eating and drinking, sleeping and eliminating, fooling around with the opposite sex, and dying.

Oh, but we’re so much more than that. At least some of the time. Because while God said, “I’m so proud of the squirrels. I love the llamas. I stand in awe of the elephant. And the horse, I can’t get enough of the horse,” I believe God also said (after dusting and forming and breathing): “Ah, this one is like me.”

You remember King David, of course. And I’m sure you remember the Bathsheba story. Beautiful woman. Rooftop bath. King sees her….desires her….sends for her….has his way with her….leaving her with a remembrance of their encounter that neither of them planned for. Which means that the king has to figure out a way to get her husband….her soldier husband….her loyal soldier husband….killed. Which he does….get him killed, that is. And it works (thereby enabling him to go back to eating and drinking, sleeping and eliminating, along with fooling around with the opposite sex). Until he gets a case of the guilts, that is. I mean, “severe guilts.” Which leads him to pray.

And do you remember what he prayed? Sure you remember what he prayed. Although, like a lot things from the Bible, you just can’t place it in context. David prayed: “O God, do not take (back) your Holy Spirit from me. Do not reinhale your breath….sucking it back, as it were….for then I would be an animal again.”

Which all of us are, in part. And which some of us are, in whole. Animals, I mean. Even proudly so. There was a time when, had someone said of me, “Ritter….what an animal,” I might not have minded. But I wouldn’t brag about it now. Even though I occasionally revert to it now.

As do you. And others. Both in and out of church. So what would happen to you if the Spirit be withdrawn? What would happen to me if the Spirit be withdrawn? What would happen to “church” if the Spirit be withdrawn? I’ll tell you what would happen. It would be like a zoo. Maybe even a jungle.

But back to our story. The room was locked. Jesus found his way in anyway. Where, after a bit of showing and telling, he breathed on them and said: “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Then he sent them out….as if to say: “Not everything that starts here, stays here.” To which they may have said: “But it’s safe here.” In response to which he may have said: “But I do not intend for you to stay here.”

Picture a little girl lost in a big city. There she sits, crying on the curb. A policeman finds her, puts her in his cruiser and drives her up and down the streets, hoping she’ll recognize something familiar. Which, at last, she does. She sees a steeple with a cross on it. Tears vanish. Speech returns. “That’s my church,” she says. “I can find my way from here.”

You’re not the only one, little girl.

The last time I was in aPentecostal church (I mean a really Pentecostal church), I noticed that the ones who really got the Spirit fainted. Fell right over backward. They had nurses there (or at least ladies in white uniforms dressed to look like nurses). They were there to catch the fainting people. They call that “being slain in the Spirit.” Well, whatever floats your boat, I guess.

Except I’ve got this text that seems to say that the true measurement of Pentecost is not how many the Spirit slays, but how many the Spirit sends.

Note: I first explored the differences between Luke and John (as regards the coming of the Spirit) in a sermon several years ago and have been working with the distinction ever since. I was greatly aided by Fred Craddock and his linkage of Luke with Sinai and John with creation, in a sermon preached several years ago (from which I also borrowed the title). The story about the little girl searching for a familiar landmark is one that I have borrowed (with slight adaptation) from Ann Lamott in her book, Traveling Mercies.

The Shirt Off His Back 3/29/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: John 19:23-25

Over the course of 37 Good Fridays, with a few reprieves for good behavior, host pastors for ecumenical services have been handing out assigned texts and telling me: “Here, preach on this.” By now, you’d think I would have seen them all….that my barrel would be full….and that I could quote myself (assuming that’s still allowed). But no, my good Brother Jones stayed awake well into the night, searching for a text about which I have said nothing and, if truth be told (which it should be), have read nothing. And given the sadness of his soon-to-be-accomplished sashay to Seattle, the good Brother Jones won’t even be here for payback time when next we Methodists host the service and I assign the texts.

As texts go, this one is a footnote, really. It has nothing to do with anything Jesus said or Pilate did. It’s about clothes, don’t you see. Not as in “proper attire” for an afternoon crucifixion (before Memorial Day, no less), but as in the clothes that Jesus wore….or did not wear….to his crucifixion.

There are certain facts as John reports them….“facts” in the form of numbers. The main number being four. Four soldiers. And four garments to distribute. Plus an extra. The four soldiers were Pilate’s soldiers….and four soldiers per crucifixion seems to have been a common number (although Acts 12:4 mumbles something about four squads of four, meaning sixteen).

From the soldiers’ point of view, you need to understand that “crucifixion detail” was not considered a plum assignment. I mean, nobody lined up for it. But there were some perks to it. And one “perk” was that you got to take home (with no questions asked) the clothes of the deceased. I kid you not. It was a legitimate perk. History records it. Scholars assume it. Although I doubt that the undertakers at Desmond’s and Hamilton’s still do it. But you could ask.

The gospel says that they (meaning the soldiers) divided four garments. Not stole. Not grabbed. Not made off with. But divided. So, which four?

There is common agreement about three. One soldier would have gone home with Jesus’ headpiece or turban. A second would have claimed his “tallith,” meaning his outer cloak or robe. A third would have walked away with Jesus’ “cincture” or girdle. When we get to the fourth, however, it gets tricky.

The fourth garment could have been his two sandals (considered, for purposes of distribution, as one). But some scholars say it was common to go to your crucifixion barefoot. So, in lieu of sandals, the fourth garment distributed could have been a “haluq”….worn under a tunic….meaning (you guessed it) an undershirt.

This ceremonial stripping may have left Jesus naked, which was the normal practice when Romans crucified people. Which is not pleasant to think about. But if Jesus really was “the new Adam” (“as in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive”), perhaps it is fitting for the new Adam to go out as the old Adam came in. Naked, I mean.

But given Jewish disdain for public nudity, it has been suggested that benevolent Roman leaders, not wishing to offend Jewish sensitivities during a pilgrimage period, may have allowed at least minimal coverage.

So now you know….if, indeed, you care. What you and I do not know is what is involved in this “tunic” for which dice are thrown or lots are cast. It was a fifth garment. And there were four soldiers. So, what to do? Well, you could quarter it and send everybody home with an equal portion. But what good is a quartered tunic? Or, you could submit yourself to a little game of chance and win it all (although you could also lose it all). Personally, I’d go for the chance. So would you.

Now I know that gambling anywhere….especially at the foot of the cross….is not a very Baptist-like thing to do. But we’re not talking five card stud here. This isn’t a high stakes, bet the farm, lose the rent money, “first big step on the road to degradation” poker game here. This is a means of distribution, far more than it is an act of degradation. We’ve got four soldiers. We’ve got five garments. We’ve got a Roman practice that says soldiers can take garments home. So how do you split the garments up? Color the soldiers “greedy” if you want, but I’m not really sure that’s what this text is about.

So, smart guy, what is it about? Well, I’m not really sure. But hang tough and I’ll give it a try. The clue seems to be in the word “seamless.” This fifth item of apparel….this gambled-over tunic….is one piece of cloth. And who else….by custom and tradition….wore a seamless tunic? I’ll tell you who wore a seamless tunic. The Jewish high priest, that’s who. And what was the ultimate function of the high priest? I’ll tell you that, too. The high priest was to be the liaison…. the linkage….the bridge, if you will….between God and man. This business about “a seamless tunic” is the text’s way of saying: “This is who Jesus is….the ultimate bridge between God and man.  So don’t mess with either the tunic or the bridge.”

The death of Jesus cannot destroy his status. And even the soldiers….four two-bit actors in the footnote of the drama….do nothing to disturb that. The perfect bridge wears the seamless garment. And interesting, isn’t it, that four guys who really have no reason to care have enough sense not to tear it up.

Now I could get real eloquent around that point, describing how the church through the ages has torn and quartered Jesus….ripping off a little part of him as if it were all of him, and then treating the rest of the church as if it had none of him. I live in fear that someday I am going to see on some church’s signboard: “Jesus is here, and we’ve got him.” As in grabbing him…. clutching him….hiding him….monopolizing him. I would submit that far too many….for far too long….have operated as if the part of Jesus they have is the only part there is, thereby allowing them to be “picky and stingy” about the franchise rights. But this is a cooperative day. And I’m a cooperative guy. So I won’t go there.

Instead, let me say an ancillary word about the difference between the garments and the guy. Clothes may drape the man. In a sartorial way, they may also make the man (I’ll concede that much to the tailors). But clothes are no substitute for the man.

Can’t you just see one of those soldiers putting Jesus’ undershirt up for bid on E-Bay? Or a square of his undershirt? I can hear that soldier now, sitting by his monitor singing: “Nickels, dimes, ten dollar bills, my God how the money rolls in.” If only he’d had the foresight to have Jesus sign it….in Aramaic….for authenticity….before dying. Now that would have been greedy. But smart.

The other night, at a church-based silent auction, I saw a Red Wings jersey signed by Steve Yzerman. I found myself wondering if, perchance, it was a game jersey. Meaning, did Stevie actually wear it? Better yet, had he scored a goal while wearing it? Perchance, in overtime?

As members of my congregation know, I have a daughter….a very smart and very lovely daughter….who, come June, will graduate from Harvard Business School. Where, in addition to everything else she has done, she has played right wing on the women’s hockey team. In fact, her season-ending tournament is this weekend. Yale last night. University of Michigan tonight. MIT tomorrow. Two more days and her teeth are home free.

So I actually considered bidding on Yzerman’s jersey as a gift for my daughter. I dropped out when the numbers got into the middle hundreds. Although, were she to have saved it to wear someday at her wedding, I could have gotten off cheap.

But when one considers “my daughter the hockey player,” it’s a good thing that she will soon have a Harvard degree. For there is no magic in the jersey….no magic in the name….no magic in any garment, any relic, any leftover remnant from anybody (up to and including Jesus). The hem of Jesus’ garment did not stop any woman’s 12-year flow of blood. Although faith in the man who wore it (and, as you Baptists like to say, “in his precious blood”) may have. Souvenirs don’t mean squat until you’ve experienced the main attraction.

I suspect that at the end of a long, bloody day….and a long, bloody detail….any one of those soldiers had a choice of options. A piece of Jesus. Or the peace of Jesus. Unfortunately, in scrambling to pick up the one, they may have missed the other.

Given the benefits of hindsight, don’t you make the same mistake.

The People Next Door 6/23/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

Bay View Assembly, Petoskey, Michigan

Scripture: Luke 10:25-37

In an increasingly secular culture, where churches are now printing the words to the Lord’s Prayer because it can no longer be assumed that visitors know them, I worry that fewer and fewer will know the basic Bible stories which, to me (over time), have become dearer and dearer.

There was a day when almost everybody knew a little something of the “Good Samaritan.” You didn’t have to be a Sunday school graduate to know that your town has a Good Samaritan Hospital….that your state legislature wrestles with good Samaritan legislation….and that somebody, going beyond the ordinary, to help anybody, with no concern for personal security, is commonly referred to as “a good Samaritan.” In church circles, good Samaritans are equated with good Christians. In other circles, good Samaritans are equated with good citizens. Meaning that a term born in the Bible has, long since, transcended the Bible.

I have preached the story before….four times, to be exact. I have visited the site before….four times, to be exact. I doubt it’s the real site. But it’s in the area. It’s also easy to find. You go down the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. I mean, you go “down” the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. Jerusalem is 2700 feet above sea level (meaning that it snows there). Jericho is within hailing distance of a road sign beside which tourists like to have their pictures taken….a sign proclaiming that one is standing at the lowest spot on the face of the earth, over 1800 feet below sea level….meaning that, in Jericho, they grow oranges there. How far, you ask, from snow to citrus? Twenty miles, maybe….although crows fly it shorter, given that crows fly it straighter.

For the road winds down the mountain….20 miles down the mountain….4500 feet down the mountain….with lots of places to get in lots of trouble (then, and still) on the mountain. As late as the fifth century, Jerome called it “the bloody way.” And as recently as four years ago, Etan Ritov (my favorite Israeli guide) told a few of us not to wander too far from the roadside to take pictures of Bedouins, given that all of them like money and some of them have knives.

You know the story. Local Jew takes to the road….meets robbers….who rough him up….then run off….leaving him half-dead, all-but-dead (and, for all I know, wishing he were dead). Priest comes by….Jewish priest, not Catholic priest (same title, different era). Priest passes by. Levite comes by….same religion, lesser status. Levite passes by as well. Samaritan comes by (color him the enemy….disliked enemy….despised enemy….500 years of bad blood between ‘em enemy) and, lo and behold, does the right thing. How about that, sports fans? You never know when you’re going to need help or from whom you’re going to get it.

Sunday school teachers love this story because it can be acted out. Tommy, you be the victim. Mary, you be the priest (Mary, the priest?….whatever). Freddy, you be the Levite. Billy Ritter, you be the Good Samaritan. I don’t know what kind of signals I gave off as a kid, but my Sunday school teachers always gave me the goody-goody parts. In truth, there was a time when I longed for my Sunday school teacher to say: “Billy Ritter, you play the robber. And, when I point to you at the appropriate moment in the story, you come running from behind the flannel board and beat up Tommy, all but killing him.” But no teacher ever said that to me. So I never got to beat up anybody. Instead, I got to be the kid with the bandages. Which prepared me, in a way….I suppose. And isn’t that one of the things Sunday school is supposed to do….prepare preachers (and other Christians)?

Several summers ago, I retold this story under the heading “View From the Ditch.” In that sermon I suggested inserting ourselves into the story….not in the shoes of the robber….not in the shoes of the helper….not in the shoes of the bypasser….not in the shoes of the innkeeper….but in the shoes of the half-dead victim (who, after seeing two of his own spot him and pass him, suddenly sees one of “them” spot him and help him). What must it be like when you are hurting as never you’ve hurt before, to see your last chance represented by someone your people have hated, as never they’ve hated before? At the time, I asked my congregation to imagine what it would be like to be a Jew….lying in a ditch…. opening one oozing and swollen eye, just a slit….only to realize that the one bending over your broken body was Yasser Arafat. I suppose that today you might re-image that. Same Jew. Same ditch. Same eye. Same slit. Same gaze. New face. Whose face? Osama bin Laden’s face.

If that jars you….and I would expect it to jar you….you are beginning to understand how jarring this story was (once upon a time) when Jesus first told it, the lawyer first heard it, and Luke first wrote it.

Lawyer? What lawyer? Why, the one who, while not in the story, is very much in the text. I’m talking about the lawyer who wanted Jesus to tell him what he needed to do (in this life) to guarantee placement in the next. Jesus said, in effect: “Why ask me? That’s already been answered. You can look it up. Most likely, you’ve already looked it up. So what do you read?” Leading the lawyer to answer: “Love God with mind, heart, soul and strength. Love the neighbor, too.” “See,” said Jesus, “you did know.” Leading the lawyer to say: “Neighbor…. which? Neighbor….who?” In response to which Jesus told this little story….the point of which couldn’t be clearer….couldn’t be any clearer. Point being: “Your neighbor is anyone who needs you….or who responds to the need that is in you.” “Neighbor” is not defined by proximity, geography, nationality or theology. “Neighbor” is defined by need.

About which we Christians have never disagreed. I mean, we “get” this story. Many of them, we don’t get. But we get this one. We may not always like it. And we certainly don’t always do it. But we do get it. Pardon me, but you’ve got to be a little bit dumb to miss it.

No, the thing that trips us up (here) is not so much theology as strategy. How is it that one best loves the neighbor? Do we love him best by the words we say to him….or by the things we do for him?

I mean every word when I tell you that, even after all this time, the ministry excites me as much as it ever did. Maybe more. But I will admit that there are things about the ministry that weary me and have gotten “old” for me. Still, it would probably surprise you to learn that those “things” have less to do with tiresome tasks than with tiresome debates. I have reached the point where I am tired of fighting the same old battles. And, at the very top of my list (far above the second place battle) is the one that pits the would-be evangelists among us against the would-be activists among us (the evangelists being energized around the issue of the neighbor’s conversion, the activists being energized around the issue of the neighbor’s care). Save the neighbor? Serve the neighbor? Save the neighbor? Serve the neighbor? Save the neighbor? Serve the neighbor? Most of us know it’s not an either/or thing so much as both/and thing, and that God can use us, wherever (on that spectrum) we care to participate. Some of us will lead the neighbor into the Lord’s house. Others of us will take hammer in hand and build the neighbor his own house. And 37 years have taught me that our leaning (whichever way we happen to lean) is primarily an outgrowth of our nature rather than our nurture.

Several years ago, a pastor announced (via the sign board in front of his church) that, come Sunday, he was going to preach on “The Member of This Church I Would Most Like to See in Hell.” What excitement he caused. What a crowd he drew. The church was filled with people who hadn’t been there in ages….kids who usually walked home after Sunday school….the C and E crowd….and a bunch of curious Presbyterians who wandered over from next door. Everybody was there.

Well, when he finally called a name….he really did call a name….it was the name of everybody’s favorite Sunday school teacher. Then he went on to say that the reason he most wanted to see her in hell was because he was sure that, in two or three weeks, given her saintly nature, hell would be converted and emptied. He didn’t say whether her primary means of accomplishing this would be by holding altar calls or by handing out cups of cold water. But he left no doubt that her love of God and neighbor would not allow her to rest comfortably in her place while the rest of us fared miserably in ours.

Earlier this year, at a seminar in Sea Island, Georgia, I was privileged to sit under the tutelage of Jean Bethke Elshtain, who teaches both divinity and graduate students at the University of Chicago. In the course of her lectures, she added a third slant on the save-the-neighbor, serve-the-neighbor discussion. Growing out of a decade-long study of family and culture, she told us that an interesting set of statistics are emerging. In any given neighborhood, if there is a family of practicing Christians (including school-aged children) living in one house, and a similarly-constituted family of non-practicing anythings next door, the children in the home with no religious orientation will, over time, have deviancy, truancy, and out-of-wedlock pregnancy rates that are lower than the norm in that community. Moreover, when compared to their peers, they will not only get higher grades but will take fewer drugs. Which does not mean that they are being pressured, proselytized or instructed by their church-going neighbors, so much as that their church-going neighbors are modeling their faith and practice in ways that produce benefits in those nearby. In fact, Dr. Elshtain suggested that such studies are generating increasing interest in what is often referred to as “the spillover effect”….which goes beyond what the neighbor says or what the neighbor does to consider who (in the world) the neighbor is.

If anybody should understand this, it should be those of you who summer in Bay View. For never have I seen a community quite like this one where the prime selling point has more to do with community than with geography, activity, or even theology. One might even call it associational evangelism (or “meeting Jesus” by hanging out where a lot of his friends do).

Over the years, I have heard it said: “Always remember, you may be the only Bible your neighbor ever reads….the only Jesus your neighbor ever meets….the only God your neighbor ever sees.” Which is trite. But which may just be true.

Back when I wore a younger man’s clothes, Harold Stassen (sometimes referred to as the “boy governor of Minnesota”) sought, as a political gadfly, the Republican nomination for president at eight separate conventions. Never got it. Never came close to getting it. But he never stopped going for it.

In later life, having missed out on the presidency, he settled comfortably into his role as a grandfather. In fact, so close were he and his grandson that every time the boy’s parents missed the mark….in speech or in deed….the boy would remind them: “Harold wouldn’t like that.” They thought it odd that their kid would refer to his grandfather by his first name. But they had to admit that the point was often well taken. Then, one night, they overheard the boy saying his prayers. Which, after the “now I lay me down to sleep” part, he continued with: “Our father, which art in heaven, Harold be thy name.”

Now, I ask you, how could an otherwise bright and intelligent kid fail to make a distinction between God’s name and his grandfather’s?

            Unless….

                        Unless….

The Cult of the Publican 5/21/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Luke 18:9-14

I suppose the question for some might be: “Would you want your daughter to marry one?” A publican, I mean. No, not a Republican. A “Republican” is a member of a modern political party in America. A “publican” is a first-century tax collector in Jerusalem. As to whether you’d want your daughter to marry one, I suppose it’s a ridiculous question. Not much logic to it. Not much reason, either. But plenty of emotion….raw emotion. And passion, too. When somebody deals the “Would you want your daughter to marry one?” card, they’re not dealing from the head but from the gut. Straight from the gut.

But why wouldn’t you want your daughter to marry this tax collector in Jesus’ little parable? After all, he is the hero of Jesus’ story. He is the one Jesus calls “justified” (meaning “right with God”). He is the one Jesus calls “humble”….on the way to being “exalted.” Which portrays him in rather friendly terms, wouldn’t you say? And any friend of Jesus ought to be a friend of yours, ought he not? Better yet, any friend of Jesus ought to be just perfect as a son-in-law. Dead center perfect. El centro perfecto.

Except that very few people to whom this parable was delivered would have heard it that way. True, this tax man was in the Temple. That’s good. And true, he was praying in the Temple. That’s good, too. But let’s call a spade a spade. He was a tax collector for Rome’s sake. Not that he was a Roman. He wasn’t. He was a Jew. He only worked for Rome.

You’ve heard me explain this before. Sure you have. Israel was an occupied country. Rome was the occupying party. The Jews were an occupied people. Meaning that Jews were not in control of their destiny, politically. Neither were they in control of their taxes, personally. Rome set them. Jews paid them. But even though Rome set them, Rome didn’t collect them. Rome got the Jews to collect them. And then Rome cut a deal with the Jews they enlisted to collect taxes. Rome said (in effect):

            Look, we’ll give you a tax territory. We’ll expect so much money from your territory. We’ll send you. We’ll back you. If necessary, we’ll even put muscle behind you. How you collect the taxes, we don’t care. We just want our share. So go ahead and charge what the traffic will bear. We’ll take the first cut. You get the rest.

And with that kind of mandate…backed by that kind of muscle….those first-century Jewish tax collectors did all right. In fact, some did more than all right. Maybe even made out like bandits. Which is how their own people saw them….as bandits….if not traitors to the cause. I mean, it’s one thing to work for the oppressor. But to profit, thanks to the muscle of the oppressor (I mean, come on now), that’s hard to take.

So most people didn’t….take it, I mean. Tax collectors did pretty well. But they didn’t have many friends. And very few stood in line to become their fathers-in-law. Even if it represented your daughter’s….your homely, homebound, hopelessly-hard-to-marry-off daughter….even if it represented her last (or best) chance, anything but a tax collector.

Now there is a good catch for your daughter. You can also find him praying in the Temple. Doesn’t cheat. Doesn’t steal. Doesn’t fool around. The guy tithes (not just ten percent of his agricultural yield, but ten percent of everything). Doesn’t nitpick. Doesn’t quibble. Sabbath rolls around and he fills up the envelope. Operating Fund. Home Fires Fund. Hunger Fund. Missions Fund. Endowment Fund. Habitat for Humanity Fund. Big chunk for the Christian Life Center. Two huge sacks of groceries. Doesn’t really need the groceries. Because he fasts, don’t you see. Not once a week. Not once plus an additional lunch. But twice a week. Now I ask you: “How many fasts were required by Torah?” Just one. But not one a week. One a year….on the Day of Atonement.

I mean, you can’t ask for more. Would that I had seven brides for such a guy. We’re talking “genuine article” here. Although, maybe not.

That’s because Jesus puts him down. Doesn’t have a good thing to say about him. Worse yet, Jesus suggests that God won’t have much good to say about him, either. But, then, we’ve grown to expect that from Jesus. All kinds of people nobody thinks much of become cult-like heroes in Jesus’ stories. We’re talking

            Samaritans….people with bad blood.

            Lepers….people with bad skin.

            Demoniacs….people with bad heads.

            Women….people with bad genes.

            Fallen women….people with bad morals.       

And now tax collectors….  people with crooked pencils.

When it’s Jesus telling the story, they all come out pretty clean in the wash. While the guy I’ve got my eye on for my daughter, Jesus disses. Out and out disses.

Well, he is a little “stuck on himself” (as my Aunt Marion used to say). It was her stock phrase to describe people who were good, but who made their first mistake in knowing they were good, and made their second mistake in letting her know they knew they were good. Actually, good old Aunt Marion (God rest her soul) coined a pretty darned good phrase when she talked about someone “stuck on himself”….kind of like he was both the record and the needle, allowing him to play himself over and over again to anyone who would listen. Stuck on himself. Wedged in his own groove.

Even in prayer, he figured he’d better remind God of everything he did and did not do….in case God didn’t know, or had forgotten. I mean, God has so much stuff to pay attention to. Therefore, it’s entirely possible God might miss something….like the fact that you were here today….or how good you look today….or how nice you sang today (in Latin, no less). Any group that sings in Latin ought to get big-time points. I mean, it ain’t bragging if you can back it up, is it?

Bringing us back to our Pharisee. Humble, he’s not. But I’d take him as a potential son-in-law. Because it’s easier to teach humility than ethics. That’s the way the world looks at things. Heck, most days, that’s they way I look at things. If this nice-talking, hard-working, high-tithing Pharisee doesn’t want to marry my daughter, maybe he’d like to join my church. I could make a great church out of people like that. Truth be told, I already have. Four times. I tell my colleagues: “Don’t go knocking Pharisees until you’ve taken a good look at your membership rolls. Or in your mirror.”

If only the Pharisee hadn’t looked at the tax collector with such disdain. Remember how he put it to God: “I thank you, Lord, that I am not like him.” To be sure, all of us have felt that. But most of us are smart enough not to say it. Or pray it. Because God can’t let you get away with that. I mean, what kind of God is going to let you get away with that? And would you actually sing the praises of a God who would let you get away with that?

As I’ve told you before, from time to time I tell my wife about all the “schmucks” she could have married. Whenever she says, “Name five,” I never do. That’s because I would be mortally wounded if, upon naming them, she didn’t view them as schmucky as I did. Like the time I said to the lady a couple of churches back: “You know, you’d better get with the program. I mean, I could be out of here, and you could have Rev. Smith as your preacher.” To which she said: “Really?”

What if some guy said to his wife: “Who would you rather have, me or him?” And she took him? And what if the same guy tried the same bluff on God: “Who would you rather have, me or him?” And God took him?

Well, for the moment (and for the purposes of Jesus’ little story), God took “him”….the schmuck. Why? I guess because he was a humble schmuck….and a repentant schmuck. At least that’s what the story says.

To which I can only add one thing. Be wary of making comparisons. We may lord it over somebody in the short run. But, sooner or later, we are all going to meet our match….or more than our match. And then we are going to be shown up for what we are, or what we aren’t. That’s why every prayer ought to be offered in a posture of contrition (beginning with the language of confession). Because who is prayer offered to, anyway, unless it be the one who, daily, makes me look paltry….or puny….by comparison. And the best reason for praying while sitting down or lying down is that, when all is said and done, none of us has a leg to stand on….let alone two.

William Barclay writes:

            The question is not: Am I as good as my fellow man? The question is: Am I as good as God? Once I made a journey by train from Scotland to England. As we passed through the Yorkshire moors, I saw a little whitewashed cottage and it seemed to shine with an almost radiant whiteness. Some days later, I made the journey back to Scotland. Snow had fallen and was lying deep all around. We came again to the little white cottage. But this time its whiteness seemed drab, soiled, and almost gray in comparison with the virgin whiteness of the driven snow.

According to a snow advisory that Paul W. Smith will air on WJR, the last mound will melt on the last mountain in Boyne country sometime in mid-May. And when it melts, it will be neither white nor pure….but grainy and gray. I ask you, how will that last resistant pile of shabbiness finally disappear? They tell me that the sun will do it. No kidding. That’s what they tell me. That the Son will do it.

“God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”