A sermon preached at Thankful Memorial Episcopal Church in Chattanooga, Tn for Proper 21, September 30, 2018.
Readings: Esther 7.1-6, 9-10, 9.20-22; Psalm 124; James 5.13-20; Mark 9.38-50
We would have been swallowed up alive. The waters would have overwhelmed us. We would have been prey for their teeth. We were entrapped, like a bird in a snare. So says our psalm for today. The psalm is pointing back to some unspecified time in Israel’s history when things were not going well. And it credits God with the nation’s salvation. The Psalm opens and closes with praises to God, confidence in God’s saving help: the LORD is on our side, and our help is in the Name of the LORD.*
What is extraordinary about this psalm and so many others is its honesty. It does not sugarcoat circumstances. It doesn’t pretend as if nothing is wrong. It’s honest. And it is bold enough to point to God as the source of salvation and deliverance.
We’ve all had times in our lives when we felt like the psalmist today. We’ve felt overwhelmed, confused, bewildered, and even fearful. We’ve gone through valleys of despair. But our eternal hope is that God will carry us through. Can we find the courage to pray with such boldness and confidence?
I was told once that the simplest prayer we can offer is, O God, help. It’s the simplest prayer we can pray, but also the most honest and direct. We all need to pray that prayer. But so often, it’s the prayer we resist the most. We like to think we can carry ourselves along and be our own saviors.
But we can’t. We can’t do this without God, and we can’t do it without our community of faith. And that’s important. We cannot follow Jesus without one another. We are knit together as one body.
In our gospel reading today, Jesus is continuing to instruct his disciples about how to follow him and be a community. This teaching began a couple of weeks ago when he said we must take up our cross and follow him, and that to save our lives we must lose it. Last week he said the greatest must be the least. He took a child in his arms and said we welcome him and God the Father when we welcome the little ones among us.
This week the rhetoric is much more intense. If you put a stumbling block in front of a little one, Jesus says, it would be better if you were cast to the bottom of the sea; if your hand or foot or eye cause you to stumble, get rid of it. This is intense and even dangerous language.
Jesus is using hyperbole and exaggeration to emphasize his point. He intends to be outrageous and catch us off guard. It’s a strategy he uses to underscore the importance of his message. Jesus is talking about particularly harmful sins and their consequences in the community of his followers. It’s referred to as a stumbling block or stumbling. But the actual language is much stronger; in Greek the word is skandalon, close to the word scandal. Jesus is not talking about this sin as if it’s like a banana peel in the middle of the road, something we might slip on but could easily sidestep. It isn’t like a ditch we can hop over. Instead it’s like a blow to the knees that causes us to fall suddenly and violently.** It is incapacitating. It is traumatic, an experience that prevents us from going on our journey of discipleship. We are so horrified that we cannot go on with our journey of faith. It’s a scandal.***
And it’s important to note that Jesus is still talking about little ones. By this he certainly means children, those who depend on us for what they have and can give nothing in return. But he also means those who are considered little ones in the eyes of those in authority, those who can’t stand up for themselves, the vulnerable among us who are taken advantage of, the poor and needy and suffering. So Jesus is saying, if any of you attacks one of these little ones with your words or actions, it would be better for you if a great stone were tied around your neck and you were drowned in the sea. It is not difficult to think of examples of the kind of sin, the kind of scandal, Jesus was talking about. This is serious stuff with serious consequences and we must take it seriously, because Jesus is very serious about this.
Of all places, of all communities, this must be a safe place where all are cared for, especially the little ones. Social standing means nothing here, for we serve a God who became incarnate in Jesus Christ, a poor man in an occupied land. Wealth has no currency here, for our Lord had nowhere even to lay his head. Power and strength are different here, for we serve a God whose power is shown in weakness and death on a cross.
We are called to nothing less. We are called to be a place where we help one another, care for one another, especially the little ones, the most vulnerable, those who are otherwise sidelined or ignored or dismissed. This is a place where God’s grace and mercy flow freely, a place of love and healing.
Last week Molly and I went hiking in Sewanee. Part of the trail was quite steep and muddy, and we had some trouble getting down and then back up the trail again. On the way back up, we were both sliding around, trying to find our footing. Molly said something like there’s nothing to hold on to. As she said that, we each extended our hands out to each other. There was nothing to hold on to except each other.
That’s what this place is. God is here for us, wherever we find ourselves. We ask for strength and grace and forgiveness and guidance. We pray that simple prayer, O God, help. We reach out our hands and God catches us with the hands of our neighbor.
*Carol J. Dempsey, OP, “Psalm 124: Exegetical Perspective,” in Feasting on the Word, edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press), 105-109.
**Thanks to Dr. Kyle Sanders for this image.
***Sharon H. Ringe, “Mark 9:38-50: Exegetical Perspective,” in Feasting on the Word, 119.
Storied Grace 