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| SERMON 4th Sunday of Lent March 14, 2010 The Rev. Charles W. Messer |
| 667 Mount Road, Aston, PA 19014 610-459-2013 |
| Small Parish - Big Heart The little church you've been looking for! All are welcome! |
| Our Mission: To worship the Lord To serve the community To grow the church |
Joshua 5:9-12 Psalm 32 2 Corinthians 5:16-21 Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32 |
To contact us: Calvary Episcopal Church 667 Mount Road Aston, PA 19014 610-459-2013 OFFICE The Rev. Charles Messer, Rector Fr. Chuck: frmesser@calvaryepiscopalrockdale.org Website: mail@calvaryepiscopalrockdale.org Office: calvaryoffice1@verizon.net |
A long time ago, way back in the late 80’s, I wanted to have a wedge
bowl was used to cut around someone’s head. It looked ridiculous; I can’
t believe I wanted one. Although it wasn’t polyester pant suits and bell
bottoms I wanted; I wanted the right haircut to be like Abe Bell.
Abe was the coolest guy I knew. He always wore black and white
checkerboard vans, a faded concert t-shirt and a wedge haircut. His
buddies wore similar uniforms. Thanks to his mother who owned a hair
salon, they all had identical haircuts.
Abe and the crowd he ran with were, like my dad used to call them, ‘a
bunch of wild Indians.’ They were known for streaking through a local
McDonalds, throwing toilet paper into trees in the yards of their
teachers, and skipping school. They were fun, rebellious, and my
parents couldn’t stand them – which meant they were a perfect match
for me.
Unbeknownst to my parents, I became pals with Abe and his friends.
Soon after, Abe started giving me a ride to school. I hung out at his
house and went out with Abe and his buddies on the weekends. “Watch
out for the crowd you’re running with, boy,” my dad would say as I walk
out the door.
Jesus ran with a bunch of wild Indians, an unsavory crowd that
respectable people wouldn’t be caught dead with. He would be very
open with who his friends were. What was most offensive to the
religious big shots was the fact that this good, God-fearing, righteous,
Jew would eat in public with sinners. In those days, sinners fell into five
basic categories: people who did dirty things for a living (such as pig
farmers and tax collectors), people who did immoral things (such as
liars and adulterers), people who did not keep the law up to the
standards of the religious authorities (such as you and me), Samaritans
and gentiles.
Being this far removed from ancient Palestine, the offensiveness of
Jesus’ company is lost on us. If I were putting together a table of
sinners down at Tom Jones Diner, it might include an abortion doctor, a
registered sex offender, an unmarried woman on welfare with three
kids from three different fathers, a drunk, a prostitute just getting off
work, a crack addict and a drug dealer with Jesus at the head of the
table.
The drunk spills his coffee, again. The prostitute complains that there
isn’t any more strawberry flavored pancake syrup because the children
of the single mother have used it all. The crack addict is looking around
the room for anyone he hasn’t asked to bum a few bucks from. The sex
offender is talking politics to the drug dealer while Jesus – sitting at the
head of the table - waves the waitress down so that the abortion doctor
get another cup of coffee before going to work.
If that offends you even a little, then you are almost ready for what
happens next. Because what happens next is that the local ministerial
association comes into the diner and sits down at a large table across
from this motley crew. The ministers all have good teeth and there is no
dirt under their fingernails. This is a very dignified group, proper. When
their food comes, they hold hands to pray. They are all perfectly nice
people, but they can hardly eat their eggs over easy and scrapple for
staring at the strange crowd at the table across from them with Jesus in
the middle of them.
The prostitute is still in her neon pink high heeled boots and the drunk
reeks of spoiled meat. The sugar induced insanity has hit the children of
the single mother and the ministers cannot believe what they are
seeing. They are crushed. Disappointed and offended, quite frankly, in
the company Jesus keeps. But the true heartbreaker for these ministers
is that Jesus appears to be fine with it all. “Doesn’t he know what kind
of message he is sending?” the Baptist says to the Presbyterian. “Who
is going to believe he speaks for God,” the Episcopalian says to the
Methodist.
While this seems to be a different story from the Prodigal Son, it really
isn’t. Luke begins with a complaint about Jesus table manners. "This
fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them," the religious authorities
grumble, and everything that follows is Jesus’ reply to them.
Jesus seems to understand the man with two sons, who cannot get his
family to sit down at the same table either. The younger son is so
warped by his sense of unworthiness that he is prepared to live with
the hired hands in the servant’s quarters. The older son is so inflated by
his sense of entitlement that he will not eat with anyone who has not
earned a place at the table. Both boys suffer. Both suffer from the
illusion that they can be in relationship with their father without being
related to each other.
What this father does is to prepare a feast, a meal for the whole family.
He lets the brothers figure out what to do about each other. This is fairly
easy for the younger son, who is so glad to be back at the table again
that he is not about to cause trouble for his older brother or anyone
else. It is more difficult for the older son, who isn’t even told when
supper is ready. By the time he shows up and finds out who has come
slithering home, he is convinced that he has been displaced. It is as if
there were only two chairs at the table, as if no one father could love
two such different sons. In spite of his father’s assurance that
everything the old man has is his, the story ends with the older son
standing in the yard, while the father goes back inside to sit down with
the sinner.
However you approach the story of the Prodigal Son, you’ll find it
alarming and disconcerting. It is about hanging out with the wrong
crowd, being seen with a bunch of wild indians. It is about throwing
parties for losers and asking winners to pay for it. It’s about the
obscenity of God grace. It’s about how shocked we’ll be when we get to
heaven and see who’s there. It is about giving up the idea that we can
love God and not being able to stand each other. You cannot be
Christian if you claim to love God yet hate your neighbor. It’s about the
love that refuses to abandon or give up on us in spite of us.
bowl was used to cut around someone’s head. It looked ridiculous; I can’
t believe I wanted one. Although it wasn’t polyester pant suits and bell
bottoms I wanted; I wanted the right haircut to be like Abe Bell.
Abe was the coolest guy I knew. He always wore black and white
checkerboard vans, a faded concert t-shirt and a wedge haircut. His
buddies wore similar uniforms. Thanks to his mother who owned a hair
salon, they all had identical haircuts.
Abe and the crowd he ran with were, like my dad used to call them, ‘a
bunch of wild Indians.’ They were known for streaking through a local
McDonalds, throwing toilet paper into trees in the yards of their
teachers, and skipping school. They were fun, rebellious, and my
parents couldn’t stand them – which meant they were a perfect match
for me.
Unbeknownst to my parents, I became pals with Abe and his friends.
Soon after, Abe started giving me a ride to school. I hung out at his
house and went out with Abe and his buddies on the weekends. “Watch
out for the crowd you’re running with, boy,” my dad would say as I walk
out the door.
Jesus ran with a bunch of wild Indians, an unsavory crowd that
respectable people wouldn’t be caught dead with. He would be very
open with who his friends were. What was most offensive to the
religious big shots was the fact that this good, God-fearing, righteous,
Jew would eat in public with sinners. In those days, sinners fell into five
basic categories: people who did dirty things for a living (such as pig
farmers and tax collectors), people who did immoral things (such as
liars and adulterers), people who did not keep the law up to the
standards of the religious authorities (such as you and me), Samaritans
and gentiles.
Being this far removed from ancient Palestine, the offensiveness of
Jesus’ company is lost on us. If I were putting together a table of
sinners down at Tom Jones Diner, it might include an abortion doctor, a
registered sex offender, an unmarried woman on welfare with three
kids from three different fathers, a drunk, a prostitute just getting off
work, a crack addict and a drug dealer with Jesus at the head of the
table.
The drunk spills his coffee, again. The prostitute complains that there
isn’t any more strawberry flavored pancake syrup because the children
of the single mother have used it all. The crack addict is looking around
the room for anyone he hasn’t asked to bum a few bucks from. The sex
offender is talking politics to the drug dealer while Jesus – sitting at the
head of the table - waves the waitress down so that the abortion doctor
get another cup of coffee before going to work.
If that offends you even a little, then you are almost ready for what
happens next. Because what happens next is that the local ministerial
association comes into the diner and sits down at a large table across
from this motley crew. The ministers all have good teeth and there is no
dirt under their fingernails. This is a very dignified group, proper. When
their food comes, they hold hands to pray. They are all perfectly nice
people, but they can hardly eat their eggs over easy and scrapple for
staring at the strange crowd at the table across from them with Jesus in
the middle of them.
The prostitute is still in her neon pink high heeled boots and the drunk
reeks of spoiled meat. The sugar induced insanity has hit the children of
the single mother and the ministers cannot believe what they are
seeing. They are crushed. Disappointed and offended, quite frankly, in
the company Jesus keeps. But the true heartbreaker for these ministers
is that Jesus appears to be fine with it all. “Doesn’t he know what kind
of message he is sending?” the Baptist says to the Presbyterian. “Who
is going to believe he speaks for God,” the Episcopalian says to the
Methodist.
While this seems to be a different story from the Prodigal Son, it really
isn’t. Luke begins with a complaint about Jesus table manners. "This
fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them," the religious authorities
grumble, and everything that follows is Jesus’ reply to them.
Jesus seems to understand the man with two sons, who cannot get his
family to sit down at the same table either. The younger son is so
warped by his sense of unworthiness that he is prepared to live with
the hired hands in the servant’s quarters. The older son is so inflated by
his sense of entitlement that he will not eat with anyone who has not
earned a place at the table. Both boys suffer. Both suffer from the
illusion that they can be in relationship with their father without being
related to each other.
What this father does is to prepare a feast, a meal for the whole family.
He lets the brothers figure out what to do about each other. This is fairly
easy for the younger son, who is so glad to be back at the table again
that he is not about to cause trouble for his older brother or anyone
else. It is more difficult for the older son, who isn’t even told when
supper is ready. By the time he shows up and finds out who has come
slithering home, he is convinced that he has been displaced. It is as if
there were only two chairs at the table, as if no one father could love
two such different sons. In spite of his father’s assurance that
everything the old man has is his, the story ends with the older son
standing in the yard, while the father goes back inside to sit down with
the sinner.
However you approach the story of the Prodigal Son, you’ll find it
alarming and disconcerting. It is about hanging out with the wrong
crowd, being seen with a bunch of wild indians. It is about throwing
parties for losers and asking winners to pay for it. It’s about the
obscenity of God grace. It’s about how shocked we’ll be when we get to
heaven and see who’s there. It is about giving up the idea that we can
love God and not being able to stand each other. You cannot be
Christian if you claim to love God yet hate your neighbor. It’s about the
love that refuses to abandon or give up on us in spite of us.
