You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!
This morning, we are going to make a
scene. Now, I know that might be a scary
thought because when we usually think of making a scene, it is a negative
thing.
You know, you are in the checkout line
of the grocery store, and your young child has taken that little bag of
skittles off the shelf three times, and you have put it back three times. Now, she is scrunching up that angelic little
face of hers into a look that forebodes only one thing. And before the major temper tantrum has a
chance to begin, you lean over, smiling but with clenched teeth, and say,
“Shh! Don’t make a scene.”
Or you are with your friend who has had
a bit too much to drink. He has been
getting progressively louder and more boisterous. Just before he puts the lampshade on this
head, you put a gentle hand on his shoulder and whisper, “Don’t make a scene.”
However, when Methodist pastor and
seminary professor of preaching Alyce MacKenzie talks about “making a scene,”
it is a good thing. Alyce MacKenzie
presented the annual Beecher lectures on preaching at Yale Divinity School,
where I was this past week to enjoy both the convocation as well as a class
reunion. Alyce’s focus was on “making a
scene” in the pulpit.
And so I invite all of you into this
first scene that I am about to make. The
scene is set on the dry and dusty road just outside of Jericho, where Jesus and
his followers are trudging toward Jerusalem.
Jesus’s mind was spinning nearly out-of-control
by this time, and pulsing bursts of thoughts were spitting out in a million
different directions. The little group
of rabbi and disciples was only a stones’ throw from the Holy City now – for
Jesus, the final destination. That much
he was sure of.
So many questions, so many loose ends
to untangle and tie up! What would
happen when he entered the Holy City?
And even before that - what was the best way to enter – a parade maybe –
a counter parade to the Governor’s planned entrance through the royal gates
which were at the other side of the city?
And what would happen when he got
inside the city walls? Would anyone –
anyone at all – welcome him and listen to what he had to say about God, about
the Kingdom of God, about poverty and justice and taking care of one
another? About love?
And how would his message stand up against that of the
Pharisees with their unbending interpretation of the law? And what about the power of Rome itself? Surely that alone was a force to be reckoned
with.
And what about his followers? Did James and John and Peter and the others
understand anything at all? He had tried
to tell them what he was in for. Three
times, in fact, he had tried to frame the story for them. But he was not at all sure they had really
heard what he had to say about life and death, about dying and rising, about
love.
And what about the other people he knew
– his Mother, Mary Magdalene, Martha, Lazarus?
What would happen to them?
So many thoughts and fragments of
thoughts swirled in his head. So much to
do; so little time: Focus, Jesus. Focus on what is coming up. Surely that is the most important thing now.
And then that piteous cry – more of a
bellow really – broke into his whirling, swirling, chaotic ruminations. “Jesus, Son of David! Have mercy on me!”
Focus, Jesus, focus on what is coming
up. Surely that is the most important
thing now. You have put yourself out to
the masses enough. There is a time and a
place for everything, and now surely time itself is of the essence. Focus, Jesus, focus on what is coming
up. Surely that is the most important
thing now.
Even his followers for once correctly sensed the urgency in
his step and his demeanor. And perhaps
that is why they tried to shut the blind beggar up. Bartimaeus was his name, and he had sat by
the side of the road for years now – in his filthy, needing-to-be-laundered
rags, his tin cup rattling, his sightless eyes looking upward at whomever might
pass him by.
God had not showered many blessings on him. That much was for certain. Let’s call a spade
a spade. He was part of the
ever-increasing impoverished and marginalized lot in the Greater Jerusalem
area.
CUT
I am going to cut this scene right here
for the moment – now that we know a bit about Bartimaeus. We know what he had and what he lacked
because we have entered into this scene.
Now, because we have been talking about
gratitude lately, I would like each one of us to reflect for a moment on our
own blessings – what we have to be thankful for.
So –
compare yourself now with Bartimaues – think about what he did not have that
you have and what he had that you have as well.
In short, what are you thankful for in your life? Now write down three of your many blessings
on the leaf that each of you has. In a
moment, our deacon will collect these leaves.
Please write legibly as what you say will be our prayer for the morning.
DEACONS WILL COLLECT LEAVES
Now, back to our scene…..
Bartimaeus was the last thing Jesus
needed right now – another roadside beggar to heal, another piece of Holy City
trash bellowing for compassion. Jesus
had healed his share of the down-and-out in the past three or so years of his
ministry. Come to think of it: Compassion had been his calling card. Focus, Jesus, focus on what is coming
up. Surely that is the most important
thing now.
But Jesus did not. He did not focus on Jerusalem. He did not focus on his own impending death
and on this last ditch effort in the Holy City to proclaim the Kingdom of God. No – Jesus chose to focus on old blind
Bartimaeus. In the end, once again,
Jesus chose love. And so he asked the
seedy beggar what it was he wanted.
“I want to see again,” was the beggar’s
swift reply. And so it was – one last
healing, one last miracle of love. And
Bartimaeus followed Jesus into Jerusalem to witness first hand all that was to
come.
That chance encounter with Jesus, of
course, changed Bartimaeus’ life forever.
I mean, what if Jesus had not come through Jericho on his way to
Jerusalem? What if Jesus had focused on
what by all rights he should have been focusing on? What if Jesus had figured he had already
healed enough of the blind and the deaf and had shown more than enough
compassion toward the halt and the lame?
What if Jesus had not stopped and Bartimaeus had not encountered
Jesus? What would have happened to the
blind man who got his life back when he got his sight back? Surely the love of Jesus changed Bartimaeus’
life forever.
Jesus is a lot like the church, you
know, at least the church at its best.
However, I guess you would expect that to be in the case. After all, the church is often referred to as
the Bride of Christ, and we, when we are gathered as one faithful community,
carry with us the label of the Body of Christ.
And because Jesus is a lot like the
church at its best, I think a similar set of questions can – and should – be
asked about the church – our church – the Raymond Village Community Church,
United Church of Christ.
What if our church did not exist? What if our church simply closed its doors
one day and ceased to be? How would our
lives be changed? How would the Town of
Raymond be changed? What impact does our
church have not only on our own lives, but on life in Raymond – and even beyond
– as well?
Now it is your turn to make a scene. You see, this is not going to be a sermon
where I speak and you listen. This is a
sermon in which you as the congregation of our church are invited to
participate. You are the scene-makers.
Here is a poem by Ted Kooser entitled “The Red Wing Church”
to set the framework of your scene:
There’s a
tractor in the doorway of a church
in Red Wing, Nebraska, in a coat of mud
and
straw that drags the floor.
A broken
plow
sprawls beggar-like behind it on some planks
that make a sort of roadway
up the steps.
The steeple’s
gone. A black tar-paper scar
that lightning might have made replaces it.
They’ve taken
it down to change the house of God
to Homer Johnson’s barn, but it’s still a
church,
with clumps of tiger lilies in the grass
and one of those boxlike,
glassed-in signs
that give the sermon’s topic (reading now
a bird’ s nest and a
little broken glass).
The good works
of the Lord are all around:
the steeple top is standing in a garden
just up the
alley; it’s a hen house now:
fat leghorns gossip at its crowded door.
Pews stretch
on porches up and down the street,
the stained-glass windows style the mayor’s
house,
and the bell’s atop the firehouse in the square.
The cross is
only God knows where.
Now, please turn to those around you and form small groups –
maybe three or four people – more than just the person you might have come with
today.
I am going to give each group a sheet of paper with some of
the sorts of questions I just asked about the church, our church, and what it
would be like if our church did not exist.
That is the scene that you are making. What would it be like if our church did not
exist?
As a group, please
take some time to talk quietly about this church – what it has given you, the
role it plays or has played in your life, what it has given the Town of
Raymond, what would be missing if it was not here. Just as Jesus changed Bartimaeus’ life
forever, let’s think about how the church has impacted your life and the lives
of those in this town – and the beyond.
DEACONS WILL COLLECT GROUP RESPONSES
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