By whose authority are you doing these things? And who gave you this authority?
Sometimes it’s not about authority so much as compassion, doing the right thing, and truth. This past week I experienced a real moment of feeling lost for holy words. We convened for the Wednesday service and I realized that in greater or lesser ways, the question of Troy Davis’ execution was staring us down. How to respond, what to say? Because no matter whether you believe in capital punishment or not, and I tend to say that is a decision in the area of God’s authority, not mine, still Troy Davis might well have been innocent.
And yet he was put to death. So we prayed. Because words were not doing us any good, but prayers for justice, for peace for his family, for the victim’s family, for all involved, were our simple gift to the world this Wednesday night.
So in the moment, I felt totally lost, like I didn’t have the correct response, until I realized that for Christians, it isn’t always about having the really smart response (much as I love a good witty repartee) but about the response of the heart. Reading the gospel this week, I began to be reminded that maybe Jesus really doesn’t always want the quick or overly measured response, if it doesn’t come from the heart.
These chief priests and elders thought this all through too much, and I respect that tendency, I do it too, but the real issue was that they were purposely cloaking their hearts, shielding him from the daggers of their thoughts, unable to hear truth because it just might change their world.
This whole moment is more than a bit awkward. Listen to what Jesus is saying—that the lowest of the social low was going to be ahead of these esteemed members of Jewish society when it came to the queue into heaven? This is nothing short of shocking! It must have been a bit awkward to be a disciple that day. (Come to think of it, most days were probably a bit tough!)
And frankly, we can feel a bit awkward trying to engage Jesus in this dialogue too because we might have our orderly lives challenged a bit, too.[1]
But it’s worth it.
Because if we let go for a moment of the complex social mechanisms we use to interact with each other, we can live into the truth of who we are in Christ. Looking at the Philippians passage today, one commentator pointed out that when we hear “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,” the Greek could also be read, “Let the same mind be in you that you have in Christ Jesus.”
Basically this switches us from re-enactors of Christ to followers of Christ claiming who we already are in Christ Jesus—living into the truth of Christ that is already in us.[2]
Another way to look at this is that Jesus calls us into remembering who we really are, when we aren’t trying to play into all of the specific survival mechanisms we develop in the world. I learned this week that C.S. Lewis referred to us as eternal beings, not bound just to the constraints of who we are striving to be for the length of our human lives but running the race of eternity. As Diana Glyer paraphrased him,
“If you work hard at being a grouch for 70 years you will become very hard to be around, but if you work hard at being a grouch for 7000 years you will become a god-awful terror! On the other hand, if you strive to embody graciousness for 70 years you will be quite pleasant, and after 7000 years you will be pure light,” [I might say the embodied light of Christ!][3]
We are, after all, eternal. And Jesus invites us out of our comfort zones which sometimes double as social cages and into recognition of that fact.
What church understands being out of comfort zones more than a church in transition, so this all might sound a bit familiar.
Not that we, as good Episcopalians, give up all our social niceties, (heavens no!) but transitions do shake us up a bit. Certain non-essential things, just like the priests’ and elders’ convoluted arguments here, fall away and we begin to see who All Saints’ Oxnard is at the base—the eternal Christian presence you always have been, will be and even a bit of what you strive to be in reflecting Christ Jesus in Oxnard. Some of that is what we will be talking about when we put together a profile and so forth.
But for now, we also must do the hard and sometimes awkward, although always life-giving, work of being Christians in the world.
In this work, may you be comforted in knowing that sometimes God just wants your honest prayer rather than your calculated response, and may you find strength, as I do, in seeing God’s good work flowing through this congregation, in the genuine care that it has for this community, and for the world, as well as the love you have for each other. And I have also noticed that you are open to seeing God’s authority shared by new agents. You are not like the priests and elders here, or the priests and elders across time who have oft wished to hang onto what might they feel they have been given by God to the exclusion of the growth of new leadership. That is a wonderful sign for a church that strives to live individually and communally into being who you are as the Eternal Light of Christ, currently shining in the world.
[1] Inspired by Charlotte Dudley Cleghorn, “Pastoral Perspective: Matthew 21:23-32,” FOTW Year A, Vol. 4.
[2] David L. Bartlett, “Exegetical Perspective: Philippians 2:1-13,” FOTW Year A, Vol. 4.
[3] My rough paraphrase of Diana Glyer quoting C.S. Lewis at a talk at Glenkirk Presbyterian Church, September 20, 2011.
