Sermon: Actions Speak Louder

Text: Matthew 21:23-32

26^th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

September 28, 2008

Scripture introduction.  Before we begin our reading of the second passage this morning—from Matthew 21—it’s important to remind ourselves just where this text appears in the order of the gospel story.  The setting is Monday of Holy Week.  The conflict between Jesus and the religious leaders has been building for months.  Yesterday Jesus had made his grand entrance into the city of Jerusalem as the people cried “Hosanna!” and waved palm branches in salute.  According to Matthew, Jesus went straight to the temple and drove out the profiteering merchants.  Remaining in the temple precincts, he began healing the blind and lame.  Sunday night he spent in the city of Bethany.

On Monday morning Jesus came back to the temple, and that is where our passage for today begins.  Immediately the chief priests and elders confront him.  They want to know by what authority he did the things he was doing.  We can almost hear their critical tone: “By what right do you accept the praises of the people.  ‘Hosanna,’ indeed!  Who do you think you are—turning over the tables of the moneychangers—and offering to cure people of their diseases?” 

Jesus answered by asking them a question.  To our modern ears his question may seem unrelated to theirs, but it was very much connected.[1]  He asked them whether the authority claimed by John the Baptist was from God or from men.  This question was relevant because Jesus surely was linked in the popular mind to John the Baptist.  They were cousins, and John had baptized Jesus along with many others.  John had said that his ministry paved the way for that of Jesus.  After John was executed by King Herod, John’s mantle had passed fully to Jesus.  It was as if Jesus had said, “My authority comes from the same source as that of John the Baptist.  Where do you think his authority came from?”  Because the chief priests and elders knew John was regarded among the people as a prophet, they were afraid to say that John had no God-given authority.  Neither could they admit to themselves that his authority was from God, for John had criticized them, calling them a “brood of vipers” and challenging them to repent.[2]  So they gave no answer to Jesus.  Neither did he answer them—at least not directly—but he did tell a story that let them know what he thought of them.

Sermon.  On Friday night Amanda and I watched the first presidential debate.  On CNN, whose coverage we were watching, there was a little graph at the bottom of the screen.  The graph had three lines on it, one for each of three interest groups—Republicans, Democrats, and independent voters.  I guess somewhere each of the persons who made up these groups had some kind of enthusiasm dial.  When they heard something they approved of, they must have been able to adjust the setting of their dial.  So, as John McCain made a point that resonated with Republicans, the red line would begin to slope upward on the graph; and at the same time, the blue line for the Democrats would begin to dip.  When Obama landed a zinger, the same thing happened in reverse.  Of course the red and blue lines were fairly predictable, but the green line of the independents was less predictable and very interesting to watch.

Maybe it’s not too big a stretch to imagine the contentious conversation between Jesus and the religious leaders as a debate.  In this morning’s readings we get only a couple of these exchanges, but they go on for many more verses and finally end with Jesus actually pronouncing “woes”—almost a form of curse—on these chief priests and elders, Sadducees and Pharisees.  They keep trying to trick Jesus into saying something that will get him deeper into trouble.  But he evades their traps and in so doing makes them even madder.  In my own imagination I can almost see the approval lines for the debaters.  As Jesus makes a good point or eludes a trap, his line goes up, and we cheer in our living rooms.  When Jesus reveals the hypocrisy of the religious leaders, we applaud his cleverness and wish we ourselves could taunt them—“Really got you there, didn’t he!”

But before we get too carried away with this color commentary on BNN—Bible News Network—we need to be careful that we have correctly identified all the parties. That’s the first rule of journalism—get the names right.  So, just who were the two sons in the story that Jesus told?  In the history of Christian interpretation, it did not take long before this story was turned into a proof-text that the Jews were the son who agreed to follow the law and then did not.  Conversely, the Christians were understood to be the ones who had not been following God’s law at first but who, through the person and teachings of Jesus, actually came to do what pleased God.  But if we really read the text carefully, we have to admit that it was not about Jews and Christians, but rather concerned different Jewish groups.  There were the religious leaders—the chief priests, the elders, the Sadducees and the Pharisees—and then there were the people.  Also there were Jesus and his followers.  They were all Jewish. 

Rather than an allegory of Jews and Christians, this simple story told by Jesus has much more to do with who is doing God’s will and who is not.  At the end of the story, Jesus makes explicit what had only been implied up to that point.  Looking the priests and the elders in the eye, he said, “You think you are special and highly religious.  Well, I’m here to tell you the tax collectors and the prostitutes will enter the kingdom of God ahead of you.  They may not have been righteous before, but when they heard the message of John, and when they have heard my message, they repented and began to follow the way of righteousness.  You, on the other hand, have always claimed to be righteous.  And, indeed, what you teach is fine—as far as it goes—but the problem is that you do not practice what you preach.  You are the son who agreed to do the will of his father but then did nothing.”  No wonder these religious leaders wanted to get rid of Jesus!  No wonder that four days later he was hanging on a cross.

So now we come to the point that every sermon eventually reaches: what does all this have to do with us?  Put it a different way—who are we in the story?  I think we can conclude safely that we are not Jesus.  Nor are we John the Baptist.  Maybe we are like the Jewish people, who although fickle were obviously attracted to the message of John and Jesus.  When I look way down in my heart, however, I keep coming up with the conclusion that, among the characters in the story, I am most like the religious leaders whom Jesus criticized.  I mean, here I am standing up here trying to teach and lead a religious congregation.  Doesn’t that alone identify me with the religious leaders?  Now I don’t mind telling you that it’s uncomfortable being the only person in the room bearing the weight of Jesus’ criticism.  For that reason I suggest that many of you are right here with me.

As I interpret this story, the general population of our city, our country, or even our world is equivalent to the Jewish people in the story.  They are attracted to the gospel message of love for one another, but they are not yet committed.  When they hear the gospel, they say to themselves, “That sounds awfully good to me.  I would like have another chance at making my life count for something, but I’m not convinced it can really work.”  They are interested but watching from a distance.  We are like the religious leaders because we say that we have accepted this gospel.  We claim the righteousness that flows from faith in Jesus, but rarely do we live as persons whose lives have been transformed.  I cannot emphasize enough that the chief priests, the elders, the Sadducees and the Pharisees were the respected religious persons of Jesus’ day.  The people looked up to them.  They were the ones who, at least outwardly, observed all the rituals, who came to the temple at the appointed times, who wanted to preserve the purity of their religion.  If we look for modern-day counterparts for these persons, would we not identify the ministers, the elders, the deacons, indeed, all the people who consider themselves to be “good church folk”?

Why would Jesus be so hard on us?  Why would he speak to us so roughly?  I believe Jesus keeps up the pressure on the religious people because he knows that the other people are watching.  In the first century he knew that the people would recognize any hypocrisy in the leaders and that this would challenge their faith.  So it is today.  We may think that no one outside our walls cares what goes on in our church, but there are people who are watching us.  So, what do they see?

I think they see a lot of good things.  They see that last week we were part of an emergency, two-day effort that sent between $7,000-$10,000 worth of groceries to the residents of southern Indiana whose food had been spoiled due to power outages.  They see the efforts members of this church have made for decades to provide high-quality pre-school instruction to some of the most at-risk children in our community.  They see us reaching out to the international students in our area, providing a congenial and low-pressure place for them to practice their English language skills.  They see us poised to expend considerable resources in order to maintain a presence in downtown Terre Haute and to be a good partner in the revival of this part of the city.  Next week they will see us collect the Peacemaking Offering, which is a powerful witness for our willingness to work for peace and justice in the world and in our local community.  If Jesus were here today—and of course he is—if he were debating me, I would have all this and more as ammunition in our favor.

But I have a feeling that he would soon expose some weaknesses in our debating brief. 

·         We have members who for whatever reason have grown away from our fellowship.  How many of us will reach out to them and let them know they are loved and valued? 

·         There are people whom we see in worship on a regular basis, but they are not here this morning.  Take a moment, right now, to look around the room.  The choir has an advantage, don’t they?  They look at us all the time.  But it’s OK right now to turn your head.  Come on!  I know you’re Presbyterian, but it’s alright to move.  Probably the ones we don’t see are traveling, or maybe they have a cold.  But what if it’s more than that?  Maybe we should check in with them by phone or drop them a note—“Just thinking about you.  Hope all is well in your life.  Why don’t we have lunch together soon?” 

·         People outside the church may be attracted by some of the good things they see here.  They are spiritually hungry.  Some of the most popular books and movies are about fairly unreligious people asking spiritual questions.  They, too, want to believe that God is love and that the world is created good.  They want to see a community that is bound together in love for one another.  Do they feel welcomed when they attend, or do we shrink back because we do not know them yet or because they seem different?  Do we invite them to get to know us better by participating in some of the programs we do—maybe next Saturday’s Race for the Cure team, or maybe the upcoming Super Tuesday programs?

·         And what is our personal example in the broader world?  When church is over and we go out these doors, do people observe in us the fruits of the Spirit—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control?[3]  Or do we cut them off in traffic?  In the story of the Good Samaritan, are we the people who turn aside from our busy life journey to help the injured man on the side of the road, or do we pass him by?

Maybe a few of us would come out of this debate with Jesus with our support-lines trending upward, but not many.  As Jesus tells the story of the two sons, many of us have to admit that we are the one who made the commitment to the father, but failed to carry through on it.  Socrates warned us that “an unexamined life is not worth living.”  Take some time right now to examine your life.  If you cannot point to particular ways in which you are helping others, then consider the gifts and talents that God has given you and then start putting them to work.  If you pick wisely—if you choose something that really is in line with your own personality and gifts—you will find that it brings you joy.

The hope in this morning’s message, the hope in the story that Jesus tells, is that you can change your mind.  Even if you have said “no” to God a thousand times in the past, you can say “yes” today.