Jeremiah 2:4–13; Luke 14:1, 7–14
Presented September 2nd, 2007, by J.D. Kline
The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost
I recently read a fascinating book entitled Three Cups of Tea, the story of a mountain climber named Greg Mortenson who, losing his way after a failed attempt to scale Pakistan’s K2 Mountain, wanders into an impoverished village. The title of the book is taken from the wise words of the village chief, who explained to Mortenson that in the remote villages of Pakistan and Afghanistan, “we drink three cups of tea to do business; the first you are a stranger, the second you become a friend, and the third, you join our family, and for our family, we are prepared to do anything—even die.”
Touched by the villagers’ compassionate care as he gradually regained health and strength, Mortenson felt as if he had indeed found family, and before he fully considers all the implications, he promises to return and build a school for the children of the village. Mortenson had been appalled to discover that, with no school building and only a part-time teacher, the children knelt on frosty ground, out in the open, for their lessons.
Three Cups of Tea tells the story of Greg Mortenson making good on his promise to a people who had experienced many unmet promises in the past. That promise became an all-consuming passion, both as Greg struggled to raise funds back here in America, and as he learned the ropes in rural Asia. Eventually the first school was built in the village of Korphe—and over time, more than 50 additional schools as well, each stipulating education for girls as well as boys.
By the time the events of September 11, 2001 unfolded, Greg Mortenson had long since come to be viewed with deep respect and affection by many in the mountainous areas of Pakistan and Afghanistan, and only days later, as yet another school building was being dedicated, a key Muslim leader spoke words of appreciation for Mortenson—describing him as a Christian who came “halfway around the world to show our Muslim children the light of education.” And then the leader continued, “I request America to look into our hearts and see that the great majority of us are not terrorists, but good and simple people. Our land is stricken with poverty because we are without education. But today, another candle of knowledge has been lit. In the name of Allah Almighty, may it light our way out of the darkness we find ourselves in.”
Mortenson’s story offers a simple yet profound reminder that the dangers of terrorism lessen, not by dropping more and more bombs nor by creating greater and greater destruction and fear and suspicion, but by building relationships of trust. The author of a 2003 article in Parade magazine asserts,
As the U.S. confronts Saddam Hussein’s regime in Iraq, Greg Mortenson, 45, is quietly waging his own campaign against Islamic fundamentalists, who often recruit members through religious schools called madrassas. Mortenson’s approach hinges on a simple idea: that by building alternative schools and helping to promote education—particularly for girls—in the world’s most volatile war zone, support for the Taliban and other extremist sects will eventually dry up.
While others have long made idle promises to a people caught in poverty and lack of education, Greg Mortenson followed through on the promise he made, and hope became reality in the lives of many of the villagers.
It’s so easy for us to lose sight of the fundamental truth that we have been created for relationship. In generation after generation, among all manner of people, the temptation to forget our common humanity has been strong. Jake Greenberg, a 13-year-old from the suburbs of Philadelphia, became so fired up by reading the Parade article about Greg Mortenson’s work that he donated more than $1000 of his bar mitzvah money to Central Asia Institute [the organization Greg founded] and volunteered to travel to Pakistan and help out himself. Said the 13-year-old, “When I heard about Greg’s story, I realized that, unlike me, children in the Muslim world might not have educational opportunities. It makes no difference that I’m a Jew sending money to help Muslims. We all need to work together to plant the seeds of peace.”
But sadly, it does make a difference to many people, and as a result, opportunity after opportunity to plant seeds of peace is lost. This morning’s Gospel lesson begins with the simple observation that many of the religious leaders of Jesus’ day “were watching him closely” (Luke 14:1). There is a way of watching others that enables us to stretch and to grow. As Christians, we look to Jesus as our example; as Jesus displays compassion, so we seek to be compassionate in our relationships with one another; as Jesus offers gracious love and seeks to build the things that make for peace, so, as we watch Jesus closely, we may well become bearers of that same grace and peace.
But there’s a second way of observing and watching—with a critical eye, yearning for the other to trip up, to make the kind of faux pas that enables us to dismiss his or her example. Sadly, this is the way many of the religious leaders of the day watched Jesus. Yet perhaps the most amazing thing about today’s Gospel lesson is the extent to which Jesus is aware of his critics’ motivation. A leader of the Pharisees has invited Jesus to his home, along with a significant number of others who apparently believed they were worthy of high position. As these individuals gathered in the Pharisee’s home, Jesus observed them jockeying for positions of honor. Indeed, they were so eager to maintain their own position that they could not grasp that Jesus had come bearing a message with a new twist, that life as it is currently lived is to be turned upside down. Old barriers of suspicion and separation are now to done away with. God’s love is to extend to the least among us, to the broken and the maimed, the poor, even those long labeled as “the enemy.”
Yet the religious leaders of the day are not eager to hear such a message. And so it is not surprising that they would be shocked and appalled to hear Jesus prodding them, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your brothers or your relatives or your rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid.” Instead, says Jesus, “invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind” (Luke 14:12-13).
New Testament scholar Tom Wright describes this mealtime encounter as a confrontation between “the small-mindedness which pushes itself forward and leaves others behind,” on the one hand, and on the other, “the large-hearted love of God.” Indeed, it is this confrontation that stands at the heart of the ministry of Jesus. Over and over again Jesus challenges the people of his day to embrace a life of connectedness—connections with our large-hearted Creator God, and connections with one another as sisters and brothers created in the very image of this large-hearted God.
We continue to be challenged by the notions of Jesus, do we not? We are inclined to want to go it alone in life, to act as if we have no need of one another. Yet, as United Methodist preacher William Willimon reminds us,
Christianity is training in the art of dependency. We are those who know our dependence upon God’s grace and upon our neighbor’s help. We are also those who, having acknowledged our dependency, seek to be helpful to those who are in need of our help. In a society that values independence and self-help, Christianity is a faith that, inspired by the example of Jesus, cultivates dependency and admission of need.
Martin Luther King, Jr. recognized this fundamental truth, reminding us that “we are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly.” And on another occasion King asserted that humankind faces a simple yet profound choice—“nonviolent coexistence or violent coannihilation,” “chaos or community.”
Centuries before Jesus, the Israelites of old had lost sight of this demanding choice. This morning’s lesson from Jeremiah, chapter two, is set in the days leading up to the fall of Jerusalem and the subsequent exile of the people to Babylon. As spokesperson for God, Jeremiah laments that the people have forgotten what it means to be the people of God. Elsewhere, the prophets bemoan that the people have become cold-hearted, no longer even noticing—let alone responding to—the poor in their midst. And at the crux of that lack of compassion, asserts Jeremiah, is a forgetting of the covenant between the people and God. “My people have changed their glory,” cries the prophet, “for something that does not profit” (2:11). Isaiah offers similar lament, crying out, “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen careful to me …Incline your ear, and come to me; listen, so that you may live. I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love….” (Isaiah 55:2-3).
Instead, the people of that day were inclined to go their own way, so much so that the prophet cries out,
Be appalled, O heavens, at this,
be shocked, be utterly desolate, says the Lord,
for my people have committed two evils:
they have forsaken me, the fountain of living water,
and dug out cisterns for themselves,
cracked cisterns that can hold no water ((Jeremiah 2:12-13).
In other words, the people have chosen to live as if they had no need of relationship with God. Forsaking the fountain of living water, they have lost sight of their calling—to be a community of God’s compassionate people, to be light to the nations, to be bearers of peace and beacons of hope. Unwilling to acknowledge their need for God and one another, the ancient people of Israel chose pathways of self-centeredness and selfish living that led to a period of judgment and exile.
What about us? It’s tempting, in these days when daily news is filled with reports of terrorism and warfare and greed, to assume that we have no alternative but to live lives bound by fear and prejudice, by suspicion and hostility, by brokenness and division. Indeed, it is their fears and their hatreds that bind all too many people today, and many of our politicians have become expert at playing upon those fears. But the Christian faith carries a very different perspective. You and I are called to find new ways of embracing a network of mutuality, new ways of affirming our common destiny with all manner of people, new ways of doing justice, loving tenderly, making peace, walking humbly with God and with one another.
What binds us together, if not our common need for a God who is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in times of trouble, a God who creates us and calls us to the ways of justice and peacemaking, the ways of mutual servanthood, the compassionate ways of Jesus our Lord. May it be so this day, and all our days. Amen.