Beyond bellyachin’

What’s right and what’s fair

Exodus 16:2-15; Matthew 20:1-16

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Today’s scripture readings trouble me.
They make me second guess my decision
to preach from the lectionary schedule this fall.

As a matter of fact,
I looked back over all the sermons I preached
since coming to Park View,
and I have not preached any, from either one of these two texts.
None. In 21 years.
Not one sermon on these two well-known stories
that I learned in Sunday School when I was a kid—
and that we continue to tell our children.

One is the story of the Israelites complaining to God in the wilderness,
and God providing manna and quail from heaven, to feed them.
The other is Jesus’ famous parable about laborers in the vineyard,
who all got the same pay,
even those who started work near the end of the day.

I’m sure there must be a rational explanation
why I haven’t preached from these texts.
Probably, because they only show up in the lectionary in September,
a time of year that we’re usually off lectionary
and doing some thematic series.

Yeah, that’s it—I haven’t preached from them,
because I haven’t had many opportunities.

But probably a more honest answer,
is that I don’t much like these stories.
They annoy me.

And I think I was pretty young,
when they first started annoying me, or at least puzzling me.

You don’t need a lot of life experience
to see the problem in these stories.
Any young person old enough to appreciate logic,
would see the troubling puzzle in this story from Exodus.

The people of Israel, many thousands of them,
making their way in the desert,
need a reliable source of food and water.
They can’t live without it.
Understandably, they let God know about their situation.
And yes, they get a little whiny.
They do some bellyachin’, you might say.
They remind themselves that back in Egypt,
even though they were slaves,
they also had a pot of beef stew simmering nearby.
In the words of Exodus 16:3,
“we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread.”

So the Lord sends them manna from the sky.
In this act of God,
we get the distinct impression that God relented,
and capitulated to their demands,
only because they complained.

Some problems of logic come to mind right away.
If you are in the desert
you are in constant need of food and water.
Without them, you will die.
So if you are in that situation,
and responsible for children and babies and animals in your care,
and you have neither food nor water,
it’s not too big a surprise, is it,
that someone remembered the fact,
and mentioned it out loud,
that a few weeks ago,
they were lounging in the evening
beside steaming pots of beef stew,
and had plenty of bread to dip in it,
and water to wash it down.
Is that not a normal human response?
Would not an all-knowing and compassionate God
be anticipating exactly that response,
and exhibit some empathy for their perspective?

Now you might argue that God did, in fact,
respond with compassion,
and provide the manna for food.
There is no explicit mention of God’s anger here in this text.

No, we aren’t told God is angry right here in this chapter.
But there is a lot of implied impatience,
both on the part of Moses and of God,
impatience toward the people and their grumbling.
In the version of this story in the book of Numbers, chapter 11,
after some complaining by the people,
fire fell from heaven on some of them,
and they were consumed.
And a few verses later, a group referred to as a “rabble”
started complaining about having no meat,
since for months their only food was a white powdery bread.
So the quail were sent, not as a compassionate gift—
as you might think if you only read Exodus—
but, sent by God in an act of sheer desperation,
to quite a noisy and ungrateful people.

So, taken as a whole,
these texts that tell of a people who complain
because they lack the very basic necessities of life,
and God semi-reluctantly, if not angrily,
caves in to their demands and gives them what they need.

You can see the problem.
What if the people did not mention their dire straights?
How long would God have let them wait patiently in the desert,
dying for lack of food and water,
before providing some relief?
If God could have rained down manna at any time,
why didn’t God take the initiative to provide,
before their situation got so desperate?
And why would God be so angry at a legitimate complaint?

These are things I didn’t understand as a Sunday school child in Florida,
and I still don’t understand as a senior pastor in Park View.
Hence . . . my first sermon on this text.

But let me leave that story for a moment,
and go to the troubling parable of Jesus.
_____________________

I think everyone feels, on a gut level,
the disturbing message of this parable.

If you worked hard from sun-up to sun-down,
for standard wages,
and find out at the end of the day,
that those who arrived at noon,
and those who arrived an hour before quitting time,
avoiding the heat of the day altogether,
got paid exactly the same as you did,
and every other worker who worked all day,
wouldn’t you cry foul?

Such a situation is by definition unfair, and unjust.
Justice requires a basic fairness, a reasonable equity.
Less pay for the same work,
or more work for the same pay,
has started labor movements,
and industry strikes,
and motivated the whole civil rights movement.
Lack of basic fairness equals injustice,
and demands response.

So this parable is profoundly disturbing,
especially to those of us who have put in the time.
And we are even disturbed on behalf of the oppressed,
those who work longer and harder,
but don’t get any more pay for their labors.
We are disturbed that such a thing could happen,
and we are even more disturbed
that Jesus’ point in the story seems to be,
“Hey, put up with it!”
I have the right to pay whatever I choose.
If you agreed to the terms at the beginning,
you can’t complain.

The way we have learned to soften this disturbing message,
is to spiritualize it,
to make it not about any actual injustice.
So I get the spiritualized message.
I can see myself as one who arrived at daybreak, spiritually,
and worked all day long.
I’m the born and bred Christian,
the good Mennonite Christian,
who was raised to work hard for the Lord, live a good life.
I’m the good worker.
I’ve put in the time.
So I understand Jesus’ point, and I’m okay with it.
I’m not supposed to begrudge God’s love and grace,
given to those who joined late in the game,
those who may even have spent years living the high life,
and sobered up only recently,
who don’t have my middle-class faith-oriented upbringing.
I realize God loves them, just as much as me.
I get it.
I can even muster up some joy
at God’s good favor shown to people less deserving than I.
_____________________

But maybe this puzzle is not to be so quickly solved.
Maybe it’s about real-life injustice,
and not just about spiritual heritage.
And maybe, just maybe,
I’m not the one who started early in the day.

Maybe I’m the latecomer,
who is enjoying a wage greater than I deserve.
Maybe my wealth, influence, and privilege
came to me on the backs of those who arrived before me.
Maybe I’m the one who doesn’t have to work as long and hard,
because others have done the grunt work,
and I reap the benefits.

Ouch.
Now this parable is getting a bit close for comfort.

This angle on the parable was suggested by a pastor friend last week,
during our ecumenical lectionary Bible study.
It rang true to me.

Maybe this parable even has something to do with the price of bananas.
Underpaid Central American laborers work in the heat of the day,
cultivating, fertilizing, fighting pests, picking, packing, shipping.
After the middlemen get their cut,
and the fruit ships to Costco and Wal-Mart and the like,
I can buy bananas for 59 cents a pound.

Or . . . what about technology that keeps getting more sophisticated,
and keeps getting cheaper.
Do we ever think about who mines the minerals overseas
that make up these devices,
and what their wages, and living conditions, and health are like?

Or think about the economic and cultural and moral residue,
that still remains today,
from enslaving millions of African men, women, and children.
The generational wounds hurt everyone.
But African-Americans still pay a higher price,
than the white majority does.

And think about all the work still being done on the cheap
in our own community . . . today,
by the immigrant labor force,
in our poultry plants and apple orchards.
It happens all over the country.
  It benefits those of us who like cheap fruits and vegetables.

I’ve seen the impact of white privilege up close.
In college, I worked summers at a Florida tomato packing plant,
inside, on the maintenance crew, for decent wages.
I practiced my limited Spanish with some Mexican migrant workers
who worked the fields, or the packing line.
Even superficial conversation with them about their daily lives,
and living conditions,
made it impossible not to notice my privilege,
as a 20-year-old white college guy
who was friends with the boss’ son.

If I read Jesus’ parable of the laborers in the vineyard,
through the eyes of migrant tomato pickers in Florida,
it’s pretty clear which characters in the story
look more like the migrants,
and which look more like me.

So if I give the parable this kind of reading,
how am I supposed to respond to it?

Should I thank God for the grace God has shown me,
by blessing me so abundantly,
even though I arrived late in the day?
Or might I notice the injustice, and be humbled by it,
see all that I have as undeserved gift,
and be recklessly generous with all that I have?

Have you ever wondered how the 4:30 p.m. arrivals felt,
when the paychecks were handed out,
and they got a full day’s wage?
Do you think they jumped up and down,
waving their checks in the faces of the 8-o’clockers?
I don’t think so.
They probably snuck away quietly with their heads down.
I expect their response was more shame, than gratitude.

In fact, this kind of humility in response to undeserved pay,
might give us a window into how to understand
both these troublesome stories.

These stories are really not primarily about fairness, per se.
When we hear the stories,
that’s where we go right away,
because we pay a lot of attention to fairness.

No, I think both stories are about God’s extravagant mercy,
that is never deserved by the recipient,
is always a gift,
and its worth is not measured by laws of mathematics.

Fairness is an abstract principle—that of equality.
God’s justice operates in a different realm altogether.
Sometimes, in this life, the first really is last, and the last first.
God is present in times of plenty and in times of want.
God is offering us all a beautiful gift—it’s called “enough”—
and it’s available to any who recognize it as gift,
and open themselves to the joy in receiving it.

It’s not about how much we get,
it’s about how we orient ourselves toward what we have.
The failing of the Israelites in the desert, in Exodus 16,
was not that they worried about dying of thirst and starvation,
It was not the bellyachin’ itself.
Their sin was beyond bellyachin’.
They got caught up in the comparison game.
They gave in to anxiety.
They obsessed on, “We are worse off than them.
And it’s not fair.”
They looked around and saw only scarcity,
They were not able to see as gift,
what they had already received from God.

In fact, in this gift of manna, was embedded a second gift
that many of them failed to recognize.
It’s found in verse 4 and 5.
It was the gift of Sabbath.
It was the gift of enough.

Here’s what it says,
“I am going to rain bread from heaven for you,
and each day the people shall go out and gather
enough for that day.
In that way I will test them,
whether they will follow my instruction or not.
On the sixth day, when they prepare what they bring in,
it will be twice as much as they gather on other days.”

In the later part of the chapter, which we didn’t read,
it tells what happened to those who failed to see the gift.
Every day what they would gather, whether little or much,
always turned out to be enough for that day.
If they didn’t quite trust it would happen again the next morning,
and put some away overnight to eat for breakfast,
it would be crawling with maggots when they got up.
And on the sixth day, the day before Sabbath,
they were permitted to gather two days’ worth.
Those who trusted in the gift of Sabbath rest,
saved half for the next day, and it was still good.
Those who couldn’t see the gift of grace,
and operated on the assumption of scarcity,
went out on the Sabbath Day to get some more,
and there was nothing there.

When understood rightly, both these stories—Exodus and Matthew—
remind us that real joy comes from seeing all the good we have
as a gift from God’s hands, undeserved and unearned.
Joy comes from the risk of not stockpiling treasure for ourselves,
but sharing freely with others.
Joy comes from watching God give good and generous gifts to others,
without rising jealousy or resentment.

We live in a culture that has buys fully into the myth of scarcity.
That there is not enough to go around,
so get all you can for yourself, and hold on tight—
be that wealth, or possessions,
or power, or security,
or religious orthodoxy,
or even . . . love and friendship.
Gathering and clinging is what we are socialized to do.

These stories turn all that upside-down.
As the prayer of St. Francis puts it,
it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
_____________________

One way to rediscover the joy God desires us to know in life,
is to approach God in humble confession.
Let’s do that now...

one God of perfect justice, God who sees rightly,all Forgive our narrow minds and short vision.one When we are blinded by privilege,all Forgive us, Lord.one When we are controlled by self-interest,all Forgive us, Lord.one When we burn with resentment or jealousy if we don’t receive our due,all Forgive us, Lord.one God of justice, continue your work of making things right in this worldall Give us the courage to join you in your work. Help us embrace the wideness of your mercy. Amen.

(HWB 145  There’s a wideness in God’s mercy)

—Phil Kniss, September 24, 2017

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Trusting the Justice of God

Judging and Forgiving

Romans 14:1-12; Matthew 18:21-35

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Offering forgiveness and passing judgment
are two behaviors the Bible talks about . . . a lot.
So you’d think we would be very clear about those behaviors.
That we would fully understand what they are,
and when to practice them, and when not to.

But as a matter of fact, they are often misunderstood,
so the way we practice these behaviors can be distorted,
and even, potentially, harmful.

The Bible is quite clear that forgiveness is a virtue, and judgment a vice.
Jesus taught his disciples to forgive always, and judge never.

But when we get confused about what that actually means,
we sometimes play down the call to forgive,
and play up the need to sometimes judge.

So this morning,
I want us to take a fresh look at two of the lectionary texts for today,
Romans and Matthew.
And I want us to suspend our objections,
at least for a few minutes,
and assume that Jesus and Paul meant exactly what they said.

Let’s begin with Romans 14.
This is the apostle Paul’s application of Jesus’ teachings about judging.
Jesus taught, “Judge not, that you be not judged.”
Paul took that clear and simple command,
and applied it to the complex realities of the church in Rome.

That church was made up of all kinds
of strange and disparate people—
Jews and Gentiles, rich and poor, slaves and slave-owners,
those with connections in high places, and those without.
This was true in churches all over the Mediterranean world,
but especially true in the city of Rome.

So of course, the church was fraught with conflict
and sharp disagreements among its members.
They were not of one mind
about what was morally and ethically proper,
about how to apply Jesus’ teachings in their complex situation.
Rome was a long way from Palestine, you see.
In lots of ways.

Imagine some modern prophet spent his life in Harlan, KY,
teaching a whole new religious framework
for life in Appalachian mountain communities.
And after he’s gone, his followers try to spread his wisdom,
by moving to New York City,
and setting up a mission on Times Square.

That’s what it might have been like building a church in Rome,
based on the teaching of a Palestinian Jewish prophet.

They all had to work it out, on the ground,
in the moment, in that new context.
How did Jesus’ teachings in Galilee,
make sense here in this space, in this time,
with these moral and ethical issues we face?
Thus, there was conflict in the church.
One troublesome issue in particular
was whether it was permissible
to eat food that had been offered to idols.

That doesn’t even register on our radar.
But to the church in Rome, it really mattered. A lot.
It mattered theologically, morally, ethically.
It touched on matters central to their identity as Christians,
many of whom had a Jewish identity.
Idolatry—idol worship—was the underlying, foundational sin
of the Ten Commandments, and of Jewish law.

Food that had been offered to idols in a ceremony of worship,
was not all that easy to avoid.
It was commonly sold in the marketplace.
Because after the worship ceremony,
the meat was still good, had monetary value,
and supplied a dietary need.
For some Christians, eating meat tainted by idol-worship,
was dabbling in idolatry itself.
It was fundamentally sinful.

So it was not a trivial matter,
which side you came out on in this conflict.

The Jerusalem Council in Acts 15,
even settled on this as one of four basic prohibitions
that would stay in force, including for Gentiles.
No food offered to idols, for anyone, Jew or Gentile.

But Paul tips his hand in this passage, and elsewhere.
Now, years after the Jerusalem Council,
at a later stage of development in the church,
Paul is actually okay with eating food offered to idols.
He considers the food itself morally neutral.
It’s what’s inside the heart that matters.
Paul even labels those who abstain, as “the weak,”
and those who eat—he calls “the strong.”

Don’t draw too many conclusions from that choice of words.
Paul was not saying the so-called “weak” were spiritually inferior.
It wasn’t an insult.
He meant it at face value—“weak” as in “tender.”
He was simply saying they were sensitive.
Their conscience was prone to be offended
sooner than some others.
They were less hardened.

But other church members did not see it that way.
They saw this as a critical boundary marker,
separating followers of Jesus from idol-worshipers.
So there was sharp disagreement, in the church.
This is what Paul is talking about in Romans 14.

I like the way Paul frames the conflict.
I find his words of advice helpful.
I think they can help us in church conflicts today, too.

Paul does not suggest the issues don’t matter.
He does not say they are blowing something out of proportion.
He does not propose a kind of moral relativism,
where everyone does what is right in their own eyes.
He is sober about the problem.
Yet, he does not render judgment.

He said, v. 1, welcome everyone in the church—
the abstainers and the eaters—
but not for the purpose of getting into an argument.
The eaters dare not despise the abstainers.
And the abstainers dare not judge the eaters.

The kicker is v. 4,
“Who are you to pass judgment on servants of another?
It is before their own lord that they stand or fall.”
So if they stand, when facing their lord, let them stand.
It is not up to you to decide when they stand and when they fall.

V. 7, he writes that we all alike answer to the Lord.
We do not live to ourselves,
we do not die to ourselves.
We belong to one who is greater than ourselves,
whose place we should not try to usurp.

Christ is Lord, of the living and of the dead.
We need not pass judgement,
because justice belongs to God,
and we can trust God’s justice, because it is right and true.
We will all stand before the judgment seat of God.
Then Paul quotes Isaiah,
“As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me,
          and every tongue shall give praise to God.”
So then, Paul concludes, each of us will be accountable to God.

I find a lot of peace in that realization, don’t you?
We need not decide the spiritual fate of others.
Our spiritual destiny is a serious matter, of course.
We should care about our own.
And we should care about others’.
But we need not decide for others’.
We are called, rather, to humbly relinquish our desire to judge,
and instead trust in God’s good justice to prevail.

That is not mere semantics.
It shapes how we relate to others in Christian community.
It shapes how we express Christian love for one another.

To quote Paul,
we admit that
“all stand before the judgment seat of God” (v. 10),
“each of us are accountable to God” (v. 12),
and those we fear might fall—
“the Lord is able to make them stand” (v. 4).
_____________________

Our desire to usurp the role of God,
and render judgment on others,
is the source of humankind’s original sin.

That’s the story of the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden,
the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.
This point is made by Greg Boyd,
the prolific author, theologian, and pastor,
in his book, Repenting of Religion.
Boyd writes, and I quote,
“the Bible depicts the origin of our separation from God
as eating from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil,
which was in the middle of the garden (Gen 3:1-9) . . .
The essence of sin is that we play God . . .
We are not satisfied with being God-like in our capacity to love;
we also want to become God-like in our capacity to judge,
which is how the serpent tempts us.
But in aspiring toward the latter, we lose our capacity for the former,
for unlike God, we cannot judge and love at the same time.”

Now let’s be clear, judging is not the same as discerning.
No one is saying we should not be discerning.
We can, and must, observe and evaluate,
make distinctions, make decisions,
and be accountable for the choices we make.
We have a calling to reflect the love and goodness of God.

However, we are not called to render judgment on others.
As we heard in last Sunday’s reading from Romans,
we “leave room” for God to deal with things that aren’t right.
_____________________

This week a new book was released from Christian publisher Eerdmans,
titled Forbearance: A Theological Ethic for a Disagreeable Church,
by James Calvin Davis, a Presbyterian professor and pastor.
I’m quite sure Davis is oblivious to Mennonite Church USA,
and our controversial “forbearance resolution” from 2 years ago.
To our discredit,
“forbearance” has now become a trigger word for Mennonites.
Davis knows nothing about that, I’m sure.
He’s just making a very reasoned plea to the Christian church
to practice this basic Christian virtue.
I read an excerpt online, that makes me want to buy the book.

Davis is trying to “imagine a better way for us Christians
to navigate difference in our own midst,
as an opportunity to practice biblical virtue
and improve our social witness.”

At a time when public social discourse
is so full of rancor and vitriol and violent rhetoric . . .
can the church step into the public forum
with a positive witness,
when we can’t get our own house in order,
when we do so poorly talking to each other inside the church?

Davis says we should embrace the virtue of forbearance.
And he defines forbearance as “the active commitment
to maintain Christian community through disagreement,
as an extension of virtue and as a reflection of the unity in Christ
that binds the church together.”

Forbearing is not just voluntarily restraining ourselves,
or stepping back from the other.
Again, I quote Davis:
“It is actively carrying something or someone for a period of time.
It implies patience, mutual respect, the extension of time,
a certain latitude, and perhaps some affection
that motivates a person to carry the burden of disagreement.”

Carry the burden of disagreement.
I love that.
There is no illusion that doing this is easy or to be taken lightly.
Disagreement over important matters is a burden.
But a burden we are ready and willing to carry,
for the sake of our unity in Christ,
and motivated by the forbearance God already extends to us.

God showed forbearance by extending patience and grace toward us,
while we were yet sinners!
As Davis puts it,
“the forbearance we practice in a season of disagreement
is a reflection of our gratitude for—and an extension of—
the forbearance God in Christ shows us
in the face of our alienation.”
_____________________

Now this matter of refraining from judging others,
is closely connected to
the more active and positive command in scripture—
to forgive the one who has offended us.
And then to forgive again.

Actively giving forgiveness . . . and . . . holding back from judgment,
both grow out of the same basic spiritual attitude—
we trust the justice of God.
We trust the justice of God.

We refuse to usurp God’s role.
We refuse to circumvent God’s purposes and God’s timing,
and we allow God to be God.
That puts us in a good spiritual posture
to let go of our need to render judgment on another,
and to let go of our own resentment at being treated unjustly.

This was the posture Jesus was commending to Peter,
in Matthew 18, today’s Gospel reading.
Peter was sure there must be a reasonable limit
to how often he would theoretically have to forgive
a church member who offended him.
He decided to be generous in his estimate,
when he asked Jesus, “should I forgive as many as . . . seven times?”
Jesus multiplied it to the point of absurdity—77 times!
In other words, beyond counting.
You never get to the point where you have forgiven enough,
and are now justified in holding on to your resentment.

God is the only righteous judge.
When we refuse to forgive,
it’s a sign we don’t really trust God’s justice to prevail.

Again, we need to be clear on this point.
This does not imply there is no consequence
for inflicting injury or offense.
No. No. No.
This is not about quickly absolving an offender,
or helping an offender avoid accountability.
This is not even about personal reconciliation,
or restoring a normal relationship after serious injury.

It’s about releasing ourselves from the burden of playing God.
It’s about relinquishing our desire to render our own judgment,
just in case God doesn’t get around to doing it.
It’s taking a step of faith toward God, the only righteous judge.

Refusing to render judgment against someone
does not mean we lack moral courage,
or that we view all positions as morally equal.
So also, choosing to offer forgiveness,
and letting go of the resentment and hatred eating away at our souls,
does not mean the offender is left off the hook,
or that accountability is set aside.

No,
offering forgiveness, and refraining from judgment,
are both spiritual acts that require faith and trust.
They both require us to trust in the justice of God.

And as we know all too well,
we often fall short of this bold faith and trust
that God calls us daily to live into.

The only appropriate response is confession.
Turn to your bulletin insert,
and to your blue Hymnal Worship Book.
Open the hymnal to #305, “Where charity and love prevail.”
And be ready to sing that together,
after we pray, collectively, our prayer of confession.

one Holy God, endlessly forgiving, perfectly just.
all We have failed to trust your justice,
and have fallen short of your will for our lives.
east We remain silent when it is better to speak.
west We speak when it is better to listen.
east We turn our backs when you call us to embrace.
west We embrace when you call us to resist.
east We pass judgment when we need to exercise patience.
west We fail to forgive when the better choice
is to let go of resentment and trust in your justice.
one Forgive us, O God, for our sins against each other
and against you.
all Help us to mature into the people you created us to be,
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Words of assurance
one Sisters and brothers, 
the mercy of God is from everlasting to everlasting.
In Jesus Christ, we are forgiven.
all Thanks be to God! Alleluia, Amen.

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