Matthew 23:1-12
Presented October 30th, 2005, by J.D. Kline
The Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost
In his book The Different Drum M. Scott Peck tells a story entitled “The Rabbi’s Gift.” It’s the story of a monastery that had fallen upon hard times. All that remained of what had once been a great order was the decaying motherhouse in which lived five monks—the abbot and four others, all over seventy years of age. Clearly it was a dying order.
In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little hut occasionally used as a hermitage by a rabbi from a nearby town. Through their many years of prayer and contemplation the monks had developed a spiritual sensitivity, so much so that they could always sense when the rabbi was in the hermitage, and they would whisper to one another, “The rabbi is in the woods, the rabbi is in the woods again.” Agonizing over the plight of the monastery, the abbot decided to seek out the rabbi and see if he might offer any advice that could help save the monastery.
The rabbi welcomed the abbot to his hut. But when the abbot explained the purpose of his visit, the rabbi could only commiserate with him. “I know how it is,” shared the rabbi. “The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore.” So the abbot and the old rabbi wept together. Then they read parts of the Torah and quietly spoke of deep things. When the time came for the abbot to leave, the two embraced one another. “It has been a wonderful thing that we should meet after all these years,” said the abbot, “but I have still failed in my purpose for coming here. Is there nothing you can tell me, no piece of advice you can give me that might help save my dying order?”
“No, I am sorry,” the rabbi responded. “I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you.”
When the abbot was back in the monastery his fellow monks gathered around him to ask, “What did the rabbi say?”
“He couldn’t help,” answered the abbot. “We just wept and read the Torah together. The only thing he did say, just as I was leaving—it was something cryptic—was that the Messiah is one of us. I don’t know what he meant.”
In the days and weeks that followed, the old monks pondered this and wondered whether there was any possible significance to the rabbi’s words. The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one of us monks here at the monastery? And if so, which one of us? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone, it must be the abbot, who has been our leader for more than a generation. On the other hand, perhaps he meant Brother Thomas; certainly Thomas is a holy man. Everyone knows Brother Thomas to be a person of light. Certainly he could not have meant Brother Elred, who gets crotchety from time to time! But come to think of it, even though he’s a thorn in people’s sides, when you look back on it, Elred is virtually always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Elred. But surely not Brother Philip who is so passive—a real nobody. But then, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. Maybe Philip is the Messiah. Of course the rabbi didn’t mean me. He couldn’t possibly have meant me. I’m just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? O God, not me. I couldn’t do that much for You, could I?
As the monks contemplated in this manner, they began to treat one another with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off, off chance that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.
Because the forest in which the monastery was situated was beautiful, it so happened that people still occasionally came to picnic on its lawn, to wander along some of its paths, and even now and then to enter the dilapidated chapel to meditate and pray. As they did so, without even being conscious of it, they sensed an aura of extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five old monks and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely attractive, even compelling about the monastery. And so many would return frequently to picnic, to walk, to pray, to reflect. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends.
Then it happened that some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks, and after a while one asked if he could join them. Then another. And yet another. So within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order, and thanks to the rabbi’s gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality.
As I considered this morning’s Gospel lesson, the story of “The Rabbi’s Gift” came to mind, for it offers a remarkable alternative to Jesus’ critique of the religious leaders of his day. In this morning’s Gospel lesson Jesus reminds the crowds that the scribes and Pharisees “sit on Moses’ seat” (23:2); that is to say, they follow in the line of Moses, serving as teachers with authority. But their authority is limited, for the religious leaders do not heed their own instructions. And so Jesus continues, “Do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they preach” (v. 3).
The abbot and his four brother monks, without fully realizing what was happening among them, began to embody the compassion and grace, the self-giving love and tender mercy of Jesus. They began to practice in their relationships with each other that which they had long preached, that we are to be as Christ to one another. Throughout our history, at our best, we Brethren have stressed that words of faith alone are not enough, that following Jesus is so much more than giving voice to a prescribed set of beliefs. Discipleship involves embracing a whole new way of living, seeking to embody the spirit and the teachings of Jesus in all we say and do.
Surely this is why Jesus minces few words when urging the people of his day not to follow the example of the scribes and Pharisees. Not only did they not practice what they preach; even more, they proclaimed a law that had become burdensome rather than freeing, weighing people down rather than setting them free to love and serve others. Many of the religious leaders of Jesus’ day missed the heart of the law, which is to love God wholeheartedly, and to love one’s neighbors as oneself. The monks in “The Rabbi’s Gift” discovered this truth, that the life of faith is to be lived out in the midst of a loving community of people who are seeking together to become more than they presently are—a community of people who grapple with what it means to do justice, love tenderly, and walk humbly with God, a people who challenge and encourage one another to go the extra mile in relationships, to love one’s enemies and seek reconciliation in the midst of human conflict, to strive to embody those things that make for peace, to celebrate the wonder of God’s creation all around us, to endeavor to give thanks for God’s gracious love in all we say and do. The life of faith involves putting on a whole new way of living. Writing about a prayerful life, Henri Nouwen asserts,
The word prayer stands for a radical interruption of the vicious chain of interlocking dependencies that leads to violence and war, and for an entering into an entirely new dwelling place. It points to a new way of speaking, of breathing, of being together, of knowing—truly, to a whole new way of living.
Back in the days of the desert Christians, in the fourth and fifth centuries, many seekers of faith had become convinced that the church had lost its way. And so they withdrew to the desert, hoping to connect anew with God. Others would approach these desert fathers and mothers, yearning to receive from them kernels of spiritual truth. One story has it that a would-be disciple approached one of the desert fathers, asking, “Holy One, is there life after death?” The spiritual guide responded, “Ah, that is an interesting question. But it is not the greatest of spiritual questions.” When pressed further, the desert father added, “The greatest of spiritual questions is: Is there life before death?”
The early Brethren put a great deal of stock in the brief letter of James, precisely because the writer challenges us to put our faith into practice, to consider the shape of life before death. The writer prods us to be “doers of the word,” “not merely hearers” (James 1:22), and reminds us that faith without works is dead (2:17, 26). It is a call to be the hands and feet of Christ’s love.
Since the days of the Reformation, however, much of the church have given far less attention to James than have the Brethren, no doubt in large part because Martin Luther, the great leader of the Reformation, believed that the message of James contradicted the apostle Paul’s proclamation that we are saved by faith through God’s grace. Luther found it troubling that James would assert that faith without works is dead. Indeed, Luther felt so strongly about this that he recommended deleting James from New Testament, labeling it as an “epistle full of straw” that should be burned.
In contrast, we Brethren have seen the letter of James as a valuable record of how the early church sought to apply the words of Jesus in their daily lives and relationships. You may remember the account of Alexander Mack, founder of the Brethren, being asked early on, “How shall the Brethren be known?” Mack’s answer: “By the manner of their living.” By a willingness to practice what we preach; by the intention to serve those in greatest need; by a willingness to “wash feet;” by a passion for peace and right living among all peoples; by a hungering and a thirsting for the coming of God’s kingdom in all its fullness—in all these ways we Brethren, at our best, may be recognized.
Salvation and new life do indeed come to us as gift—as gift we cannot earn, as gift we seldom deserve. As the anthem puts it, “O, to grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be!” But our hearts and lives are changed as we receive this remarkable gift. Our calling is to spend our time, not anticipating a pie-in-the-sky future, but rather beginning here and now to experience a new quality in our living. It is a call to put our faith into action, to practice what we preach. And along the way, we begin to understand what Jesus had in mind when asserting, “The greatest among you will be your servant. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted” (Matthew 23:11-12).
Sisters and brothers, this is our mission—to humbly embrace the call to be servants one of another, to practice what we preach, to become the kind of community in which each is treated with extraordinary respect and gracious love, to reflect Christ’s spirit of compassion, peace and self-giving love. Amen.
Pastoral Prayer
O God, how easy it is for us to spend our time fretting and worrying—worrying over struggles within our families, worrying over future direction for our lives, worrying over our world’s continued reliance upon violence and warfare as solutions to human differences. Pour your Spirit now upon us, that our fretting might be transformed, that we might experience a growing sense of your wholeness in our lives, that we might trust that in your presence all things come together for good.
Spirit of Christ, transform our hearts. Renew us. Refresh us. Redeem us, as we seek to live as a community of your people. Keep us from being too easily satisfied with simply mouthing words of faith; guide and strengthen us, so that we practice what we preach, and that we reflect your compassion and grace, your peace and self-giving love. Save us from weak resignation to life’s evils. Guide us along paths of service. Spirit of God, grant us wisdom and courage for the living of these days.
Hear us now, loving God, as we hold before you those in special need of your healing presence…
God of justice and peace, bring healing to our land and to our world. Take away our thirst for vengeance, and plant your spirit of reconciliation throughout all creation. We pray in the name and spirit of Jesus the Christ. Amen.