SUNDAY SERMON
3 Pentecost, Year C, 2004
June 20, 2004
Gospel: Luke 9:18-24
When I was a kid growing up in the forties, there was a man who, everyday, drove his horse drawn wagon down our street delivering ice for our ice box. He would stop at each house and lug a big block of shiny, crystal clear ice up the steps and into the kitchen. He was also a master with the ice pick, cutting hundred pound blocks of ice into manageable sizes. Often, we kids would hover near by, begging small pieces of ice from him-our free, if tasteless popsicle. We all called him, "the ice man."
If the Ice Man had asked us kids as we gathered around him, "who do people say that I am," we would have been puzzled, but would have quickly answered, "why, the Ice Man, of course." As if saying he was the Ice Man would say everything about him that needed to be said. We all knew the Ice Man-a big, strong, friendly, deeply tanned, heavily lined man who gave ice chips to little kids. We could have described him to anybody. We were sure we knew who he was. But the truth is, we didn't know him at all.
We also had "the coal man", the "paper boy" and the "rag man" who visited our neighborhood. They too were familiar, but nameless men and boys who did for us what needed to be done, but who otherwise were unknown to us. Did these people struggle to live? Did they go home to warm houses and friendly families? Did they laugh and dance on Saturday night? When Sunday came, did they worship? They seemed so familiar. My Mom was always polite to them; when my Dad paid the paper boy, he was pleasant and friendly. We treated them like real people. But, we didn't have any idea who they really were.
Jesus' situation in the Gospel was similar. He has been walking among the people of his land, seen every day by hundreds. He's touched the eyes of the blind and they have seen. He's spoken a word and lepers' skin has become as soft and pure as a newborn. He's looked deeply into the hearts of men and women and pronounced that they are forgiven. He's taught in the synagogue and in the street; he's taught on the plain and on the mountain side. But when he asks his disciples the question, "who do others say I am," their answers are as empty as "ice man," "coal man," and "paper boy." "Well, Jesus," they might have put it, "there are lots of opinions out there. Some people say you are John the Baptist back from the dead. Others think you are Elijah; still others think you're an ancient prophet, but they're not sure which one."
Jesus might have answered, "That's interesting. All those different opinions. All seem to think I'm somebody I'm not. That I'm like somebody who lived in the past. Well then, who do you say I am?" Peter had a quick answer: "The Messiah of God." "Really," Jesus might have replied, "the Messiah we've always talked about and expected? The Messiah we all have such a clear image of? The liberator?" "Well, yeah," Peter would have answered. "Jesus you are so weird sometimes."
Jesus did often seem weird to his followers. And I bet they were completely caught off guard by what he said next. "Don't tell anyone. Your Messiah, your liberator, is going to have to suffer, be rejected by religious folk, be killed, and raised from the dead."
"Something's wrong here," they must have thought. The Messiah they all expected would not experience any such things. That Messiah was going to come with an army and overthrow the army of occupation, the Romans. Any day now, Jesus was going to call for the rebellion that would start that. That Messiah was going to build fortifications and protect the land from the next wave of invaders, and the wave after that, and the wave after that. That Messiah would establish them as a power again.
It looks as if nobody really knew Jesus. As Tom Ehrich, a writer on religious things put it: everybody was looking back to try to understand Jesus. They tried to compare him to some former hero, returned to life. Even his closest friends were using an outdated and stale conception of Messiah to identify him. Nobody seemed able to imagine that God could do a new thing. The Ice Man can only bring ice; the coal man can only bring coal; the Messiah can only be a mighty warrior.
Ehrich seems to say they, and by extension, we, are trapped in our stereotypes. That can't be good. For example, here on this Father's Day, we all know that our Dads didn't fit anybody's stereotype. Oh, sure there might have been some similarities to the stereotype: the hard working, dedicated family man; the gruff, but tender-hearted giant; or the Dad who encouraged his kids to "do better than" he did-get an education, have a good job. No matter how alike our Dads might have been, each was uniquely different for us. Our Dads weren't stereotypes-and most of us would resent anybody saying they were!
In that same vein, stereotypes, ancient images, old paradigms may have their place in helping us understand something. But the time comes, doesn't it, when we have to move from stereotypes. We have to confront the fully living, breathing reality of an exper-ience or person. We can never really know our Dads through the Dad Stereotype. We can't know the Ice Man or the Coal Man though a stereotype. Do we really think we can know our Lord through one? It does a great injustice to Jesus and ourselves to be stuck in some model of him rather than to engaging him in his fullness.
Maybe this will help. I have been attending a contemplative prayer experience for the first time in my life. We sit quietly and listen for the Lord to speak to us. There is information about how to quiet our minds and focus on being open. I read it all. I listened to the instructions. Then I tried it. The first few sessions all I heard were traffic sounds, the air conditioner, the tinnitus in my ears-everything but the Lord. I found if I wasn't listening to those things, I was thinking about something I needed to do, some problem I needed to solve. I was beating myself up for not being able to do it. I was trying to gently coax myself back into the quiet. Nothing. I was about ready to give up, sure that I would never be able to hear God's still, small voice. Then it came to me: God is speaking to me! He's speaking through all this stuff that is running in my head. God is telling me something about me, my life, my work, his desire and will for me. I was trying to force God in to my stereotype of how he had to speak and God just wouldn't cooperate. I no longer berate myself for not being able to clear my mind. Instead, I listen excitedly to God in the whoosh of the fan, in the nagging problem that I think I need to solve, in the traffic sounds and learn what he wants to teach me. So far it's been incredible.
Are you stuck in a stereotype of Jesus? I don't think you'll find life there. I don't think you'll find the comfort, support and direction there you may need. I could be wrong about this, but I think in the same way the apostles had to experience a Messiah who rode on a donkey and burst out of a tomb, we must be open to a God who does unexpected things in unexpected ways. We must-for God's sake.