Proper 22B2: Genesis 2: 18-24; Mark 10: 2-16
So this is about being in love.
About the romance of a lifetime.
About the passion that would carry you to the very heart and soul of
your identity. About the tenderness of
heart and longing that would draw you out of yourself. About what it is that stirs in our heart that
bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. That never ends. That surpasses the highest hymns of men and
of angels. That is patient and
kind. Not irritable or resentful. Not insisting on its own way. All about being in love.
Oh, that my ways were made so
direct, that I might keep your statutes. Echoes of Psalm 119, to hear in the background. With my whole heart I seek you; let me not
forget your commandments. I treasure
your promise in my heart, that I may not sin against you. I have taken greater delight in the way of
your decrees than in all manner of riches.
I will meditate on your commandments and give attention to your
ways. My delight is in your statutes; I
will not forget your word. Teach me, O
Lord, the way of your statutes, and I shall keep it to the end. Behold, I long for your commandments . . .
. This is my comfort in my trouble, that
your promise gives me life. Your
statutes have been like songs to me wherever I have lived as a stranger. The law of your mouth is dearer to me than
thousands in gold and silver. Oh how I love
your law! All the day long it is in my
mind. I long for your salvation, O Lord,
and your law is my delight.
For Jesus this is all about being in love, and so it is, it would be,
it could be for us. Stirring in our
hearts. That our hearts and minds, our
eyes and ears, everything about us, breathing in and breathing out, waking or
sleeping, working, resting, could all be perfectly in him, the one who is our
beloved. Unto whom all hearts are open,
all desires known. From whom no secrets
are hid. Who shaped us in his own hands
from the red clay of the earth and walked with us so tenderly in the ancient
Garden, in the early light of the first fresh morning of the world. Who breathed into the life of our first
parents his own life, whose life is nothing but love, giving himself from that
day forward for better or worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in
health. For that day forward, and at the
Cross and at the Tomb. The whole
story. And who knew us intimately, each
one of us, from the beginning of the world, from before our life was first
alive in our mother’s womb. Who knew us
and knows us. And so it is, it would be,
it could be for us. What we would
desire, long for. One heart, one mind,
one will. Teach me, O Lord, the way of your statutes, and I shall keep it to the
end. I long for your salvation, O Lord,
and your law is my delight. Love that
bears all things, hopes all things, that
does not insist on its own way. That
never ends.
For the Pharisees this morning in Mark 10 it seems like it has become more
of a game, a contest. I love your law, O
Lord, I love your will and purpose, in the way a wily tax attorney loves the
codes and regulations and footnotes and convoluted paragraphs of the Internal
Revenue Service. To apply all my wit and
craftiness here to achieve my own goals, and always within the letter of the
law. But turning it all. Not necessarily the spirit of the law, mind
you. The masters of the loophole.
The ones who pay their ceremonial tithes of mint and cumin, but who
neglect justice and mercy. Who will
raise a holy fuss about Jesus healing a blind man, because it is the Sabbath,
but who somehow miss the fact that they are standing in the very presence of
God’s miraculous power. For heaven’s
sake: he once was blind, but now he can see! Isn't that important? Whitewashed
sepulchers. Beautiful on the outside, in
perfect order, respectable, but all chaos and corruption hidden within. Loving God’s Word and Law and Will and
Presence not because they are opening their lives and their hearts to be
transformed, restored, healed, forgiven, renewed in his image and his likeness,
but because they think somehow that they can find an angle, a special power
over others. That in their mastery they
can find a weapon to intimidate and control.
What’s your angle on the divorce thing, Jesus? Their question. What's your angle?
That’s not exactly where Jesus goes.
Oh, that my ways were made so
direct, that I might keep your statutes.
With my whole heart I seek you; let me not forget your commandments.
And if the word he speaks spooks us a little at first, we would
remember who it is who is talking here.
The one who lifted the Woman taken in Adultery up from the ground,
having shamed and sent away her accusers and those who would have crushed her
to death under a mound of stones. With
all that tenderness and the blessing of forgiveness and a fresh start of life
in those words, “Go and sin no more.”
The one who healed the daughter of the Woman of Lebanon. The one who met
the Samaritan Woman at Jacob’s Well, whose words of life revived a broken and defeated
soul.
So it might be something other than fear, anxiety, distress, as we hear
his word, even in a world and in our own lives where we know all kinds of
messiness, where ends are frayed, where bright hopes have sometimes fallen into
dark shadows. You don’t have to worry
about him. Really. He’s not out to get us. Not a game, not an attack. Those first parents of ours made their exit
from the Garden long, long ago, and the story of our lives ever since has been
about whether we from this distant land would begin the journey back, about
whether we would lift up our eyes to see the Father rushing toward us with joy
and love, to sweep us into his arms, to welcome us home.
Sometimes the practices of the ancient religions seemed to prescribe a
pattern of prayers and sacrifices and ritual acts that would if performed
perfectly appease the gods, get on their good side, provide at least some level
of protection from the storms and floods and lightning strikes that they seemed
almost arbitrarily to direct against their weak and vulnerable human
subjects. But that’s not the way God is.
Yes, in the world we live in.
Falling short, forgetting, losing our way. All of us.
But we would remember who is talking here. Bad things happen. A precious vase is taken from the shelf at
the grandmother’s house, and then it falls to the floor and shatters into a
thousand pieces. And all the kings
horses and all the kings men can do nothing about it. Sometimes the story of our lives.
The Pharisees want a legal debate, about how to contort something in
paragraph 23, footnote 9, into a strategy to make things work their way. Jesus wants to talk about the one who loves
us, and who made us for love. And I know
it’s hard at first for us too, to see that and hear that. But love.
God’s intention and gift, his promise and hope. For this life and the life to come. And how even in the midst of things beyond
our ability sometimes to make right, we know that he does want what’s right for
us, and that we would desire that gift, because he is the one who gave it to
us. I
long for your salvation, Lord, and your law is my delight.
I think Mark gets it just right by setting this passage alongside the
scene that is so beautifully represented for us in the great window over our
high altar. One of those sermons that
this great place has been quietly preaching for us for a hundred and six years
now, and I hope working itself ever more deeply into our minds and hearts.
It’s not just the Pharisees who are so
focused on externals and good order that they forget the essential substance. Missing the point. Even the disciples want to send the children
to the Nursery. Get the inconvenient
people out of the way. But Jesus says
no. They may be noisy and disruptive,
and they may jostle your sense of how this all is supposed to unfold with
dignity and order. But this is why I
came, this is who I am, who I have been from before time and forever. And he takes them into his arms and gives
them his blessing. How beautiful is
that? Surprising everyone, and yet at
the same moment we know immediately that this is how it is supposed to be. The way things have been supposed to be from
the beginning.
From the beginning his gift, his plan, his purpose. All about love. For us, for one another. No betrayal, no hurt, no broken
promises. Yes, it’s about marriage. The bond and covenant of marriage was
established by God in creation, and our Lord Jesus Christ adorned this manner
of life by his presence and first miracle at a wedding in Cana of Galilee. It signifies to us the mystery of the union
between Christ and his Church, and Holy Scripture commends it to be honored
among all people. That’s our Prayer
Book, and right on target.
But also, about more than marriage.
Jesus this morning in the scriptures, and who we are and who we desire
to become. Where we are, and where we
are headed. Not about the gymnastic
legalism of the Pharisees. About the
generous love in which we were made, and to which we would return. About the song that springs from our heart
and inspires our mind and guides our feet even as we sojourn in a world that
seems so very far from home. Not about
trying to avoid facing our brokenness, our fear, our disobedience, our
limitation. But all about being in love,
and walking as best we can in the way of his love for us. This is my comfort in my trouble, that your promise gives me life. Your statutes have been like songs to me
wherever I have lived as a stranger. The
law of your mouth is dearer to me than thousands in gold and silver. Oh how I love your law! All the day long it is in my mind. I long for your salvation, O Lord, and your
law is my delight.
