Power and Vulnerability (Easter 2)

THE CHURCH IN (com)MOTION
You Shall Be My Witnesses
Mark 6:7-13; Acts 1:1-14

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If you are still basking in the glow of last Sunday’s

glorious Easter worship, good news!

Easter isn’t over.

Last Sunday was just Day One of the Easter season—

a season sometimes called “The Great Fifty Days.”

It starts on Easter morning, celebrating resurrection,

and ends 50 days later on Pentecost,

celebrating the Holy Spirit.

The word Pentecost, in case you weren’t aware,

literally means 50th.

It gets its name by counting days.

In worship,

now is the season for the church to remember and reflect

on the post-resurrection life of the disciples,

and on the difference resurrection made

for their life of following Jesus.

We don’t limit ourselves to that brief period.

We think broadly about the development of the early church.

Our lectionaries direct us to spend time

in the book of Acts,

and in some of the letters to the churches.

So as I looked over the texts for this season,

I noticed two things going on in the church.

They were experiencing rapid change.

And they were experiencing conflict.

They were a church in motion,

and therefore,

they were also a church in com-motion.

Often, the two go together—

rapid change and conflict.

So could it be? just maybe? the church of today

could find something here to identify with?

_____________________

In today’s readings from Acts 1 and Mark 6,

the commotion that awaits them is not yet obvious.

We’ll get into more of that in upcoming Sundays.

But these texts set the stage for the conflict yet to come.

They call for followers of Jesus to be in motion,

to be on the move,

to not live defensively,

but to embrace the power given to them,

and to go . . . go take risks.

So let’s look first at Acts 1.

One thing that strikes me,

is how daring and difficult the mission seems,

for a group of traumatized people.

These disciples are only days or weeks

after Jesus’ suffering and violent death,

and after the terror and turmoil that overcame them all,

that buried them in an avalanche of grief, and fear,

and panic, and confusion.

Yes, Jesus’ several unexpected appearances did also

instill in them a strange sense of hope,

but it was still so new and so full of mystery and unknowing.

It’s obvious from the post-Easter Gospel accounts

of Jesus’ appearing to the disciples,

that the resurrection was kind of a mixed bag.

The disciples were both joyful, and still full of dread and fear.

Then, in Acts 1, we have this scene of Jesus’ farewell,

and here’s what he tells them:

“Go back to Jerusalem and wait . . . but only for a bit.

Soon you will be given further reassurance, and then, then . . .

you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you,

and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem,

in all Judea and Samaria,

and to the ends of the earth.”

From the get-go,

Jesus tells his followers to stay in motion,

to be a pilgrim people,

to look for the pain of the world,

and move toward it.

This is not a new idea coming from Jesus only after resurrection.

No, other times during his ministry years,

he almost literally pushed his disciples

into their zone of discomfort,

saying, “Go, do the work of the kingdom . . .”

“This is not about you or your comfort or personal preference.

There are broken people and broken systems out there in the world.

There are people getting pushed to the side and forgotten.

Go, get close to them.

Be in the healing business.

Be in the release from bondage business.

Be in the compassionate inclusion and restoration business.

Because all of that is God’s business.

So make it yours, too.

_____________________

Our other text, Mark 6, tells about

one of those times early in Jesus’ ministry that he told his disciples

to get on the move and do kingdom work.

Mark says he “gave them authority” and sent them out in pairs.

Go, free people, heal people, give good news to people.

But there’s a surprising twist.

There’s a curious and uncomfortable part 2 of the instructions.

I say curious, because it sure doesn’t sound like

the way Jesus people have typically worked.

Over the long history of the church,

we’ve done Part 1 quite well.

We’ve been sending people out, with power and authority,

for 2,000 years.

We’ve been sending them everywhere,

even into hard and uncomfortable and desperate places.

But this second part doesn’t sound very familiar.

And it doesn’t even sound like a great idea.

Verse 8, and I quote: “Jesus ordered them to

take nothing for their journey except a staff:

no bread, no bag, no money in their belts,

but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.

He said to them, ‘Wherever you enter a house,

stay there until you leave town.

In other words, dear church,

go into the world with authority and power,

but go with nothing.

Be vulnerable.

Be utterly dependent on

those . . . to whom . . . you . . . are . . . sent.

Would you go, under those terms?

All you have, as a resource,

is this intangible and invisible thing called “authority.”

And even that’s not something you can prove you have.

No signed certificate.

No keys to the city.

No special access code.

No one even knows you have “authority,”

until you can demonstrate it in some convincing way.

Instead, the posture you take,

as you present yourself to the world as a representative of Jesus,

is a posture of utter neediness. Vulnerability. Dependency.

And with one tunic, almost, nakedness.

Who does this?

Jesus expected his disciples to.

And I just have a hunch, he still does.

No, I’m not being a literalist, here.

It’s no sin to pack a suitcase when you travel.

But I think what we are asked to do,

is just as difficult,

as going somewhere with literally nothing on our backs.

We are asked to be vulnerable and exposed,

while we are stewards of the power of the Gospel.

You might know that the church, as an institution,

doesn’t have a very good track record with vulnerability.

We build protective structures around us.

We strike a pose that asserts power.

When we make mistakes, we usually dig in.

We protect our assets.

We have often packaged the Gospel into handy containers,

so we can go out to those who need it,

and distribute it like goodie bags,

from a position of power.

Because we have it and they don’t.

Jesus is preparing his followers to live out the Gospel,

in power, and with vulnerability.

Both . . . at the same time.

Hmm. No, I’m not saying the church,

or we as individual disciples,

must divest ourselves of everything we need to survive,

and start bumming off everyone else—

being a parasite,

instead of providing for ourselves.

Jesus’ decision in Mark 6 to send out his disciples

with nothing in their hands,

had a specific context and time and purpose,

that doesn’t exist for us right here, and right now.

But I do believe, within Jesus’ instructions was a universal principle,

just as relevant today, as it was then.

And that is this:

Know that the Gospel has power to transform this world,

and to transform lives.

Know that you can be a channel of that power to others.

But go toward others with a deep humility,

a profound awareness of your own need

and your own brokenness.

Go toward others knowing they have something of great value

that they can offer you.

And put yourself in a position to receive it.

Learn to not be self-sufficient.

Approach others with honest curiosity.

Desire to know them more deeply,

and be prepared to love and respect them—as they are—

not as you hope they will someday become.

When we can pair that kind of power with that kind of vulnerability,

I think we will have learned what Jesus was teaching his disciples.

And I think we’ll find that others will see that character in us,

and experience it as authenticity and authority.

I see far too many Christians today who live life on the defensive.

From the local level to the national level,

Christians are organizing to assert their power

in coercive ways.

Dare I say, even violent ways.

Christian Nationalism is a dangerous ideological movement,

being actively promoted by

many political and religious leaders,

to impose Christian authority on a society, on a state.

The Jesus I read about in the Gospels,

must shudder in anger and grief,

at what has become of his Gospel.

But it’s not just those more extreme examples

that we should be concerned about.

Defensive Christianity is a temptation for every congregation,

and every follower of Jesus.

I’m often guilty of it, and so are we all.

We do like having control.

We do like holding on to what’s ours, to our stuff,

to our power, to our position in the community.

If the Gospel has the power to transform us all—

and I believe it does—

then Jesus’ invitation is to let go of our controlling grasp,

and allow the Gospel do its healing and transforming work—

in us and in those around us—

and let its authority speak for itself.

We’re not doing the Gospel any favors

by striking a defensive posture.

The Gospel doesn’t need us to validate it, or prove its worth.

It can stand on its own feet.

We only need to be able to notice and say “no,”

whenever we see this defensiveness in ourselves,

or whenever we are expected to go along with

those who try to co-opt the Gospel,

for personal or institutional or political gain.

May God give us grace, and give us clarity.

Join me in our confession that we offer together.

one God who calls us to be on the move together,

all Forgive us when we stay put.

one God who calls us to exercise the 

compassionate power of the Gospel,

all Forgive us when we fail to recognize the gift we have to share.

one God who calls us to follow Jesus in humility and vulnerability,

all Forgive us when we build systems that protect and stockpile.

[silence]

one The God whose mission is to save, redeem, and heal the world,

freely forgives us for faltering in our witness, 

and invites us yet again to steward the Gospel 

with confidence and in deep humility.

—Phil Kniss, April 7, 2024

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Easter Morning Grunt Work (Easter)

Mark: The Urgent! Gospel
EASTER SUNDAY: NOW - we run toward resurrection
Mark 16:1-8

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Of the four Gospel accounts of Jesus’ resurrection,

Mark’s version is the most discomforting and disturbing,

and discombobulates the most Bible scholars.

So, naturally, it’s my favorite.

We get more out of the Bible when we have to wrestle with it.

What befuddles us is how Mark ends—

so abruptly . . . and so unsatisfyingly.

The King James, and other old Bibles have a longer ending for Mark.

But after the King James was published,

more ancient scrolls and fragments were discovered.

Turns out the oldest and most reliable manuscripts,

have a shorter ending.

Most Bible scholars agree,

the original Gospel of Mark ended at verse 8,

by saying the women (quote) “fled from the tomb,

for terror and amazement had seized them,

and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

End of story. End of book.

At some point, maybe early in the 2nd century, we think,

well-meaning editors finished Mark’s story.

They added 12 more verses, combining parts

of the Matthew, Luke, and John resurrection story,

and tacking it on to Mark.

Since Mark ended with three women running from the tomb

and not telling a soul,

it’s kind of obvious why an editor wanted to finish the story.

The question is, why Mark didn’t.

_____________________

So let’s think about resurrection in first-century Jewish context,

before it became the stuff of sunrises and white lilies,

and white-robed angels strolling in the garden.

Now, I love the tradition of filling Easter with

blooms and colors and songs and Alleluias!

I love it, and embrace it. Don’t get me wrong.

There is goodness and joy and beauty

in God’s victory over death.

Easter is, to the core, a story of hope and triumph.

But . . . let’s not forget what it was like, in the moment,

as Mark brilliantly told the story.

Remember, we assume Mark’s Gospel emerged

from Jesus-followers in Rome,

during the Roman war against the Jews.

So maybe Mark had a deeper grasp

on how terrifying and complex resurrection is,

for people in the crushing grip of a violent empire.

Of course, there was deep joy.

The disciples loved Jesus, and were thrilled to have him back.

But think about what else it meant.

There’s a reason they were terrified.

They’d gone into the previous week thinking this was the end

of Roman occupation and oppression.

The Empire would be chased out of Judea,

they would be free at last,

Jesus would be enthroned in Jerusalem,

and usher in an era of peace.

But their hope came crashing down.

Jesus was defeated and humiliated by Rome,

publicly crucified,

suffering a barbaric execution like any other insurrectionist.

I think by Sunday the disciples were already considering

how to reset their lives.

Their goal was to disappear into the woodwork,

become invisible,

get on with some other way

of making a life for themselves in a brutal Empire.

One of the other Gospels tells how Peter did exactly that,

convincing some of his former fishing buddies

to go back out on the Sea of Galilee,

and pick up where they left off three years earlier.

I imagine the rest went through a similar thought process.

It’s called disillusionment.

“Okay. So we got Jesus wrong.

We can’t take back the last three years.

Let’s get real, and figure out a new life.”

So . . . when news began to sink in that the tomb was empty,

and that Jesus, in some way or another, was still with them,

that completely disoriented them again.

Because Rome had not gone anywhere!

Herod still lived in the palace.

Soldiers were still everywhere.

The religious hierarchy, who were threatened by Jesus,

were still in power.

The resurrection seemingly had zero impact on Jesus’ enemies.

So . . . if Jesus was still alive,

and his enemies were still in power,

and doubling down on their oppression,

it meant the disciples could not disappear

and make a new life.

Their mission was not yet accomplished.

They had to re-engage the freedom struggle.

That’s asking a lot for recently traumatized people.

It’s pretty easy for us, 2000 years later,

to see hope and joy in resurrection.

But were the disciples willing to live the nightmare all over again?

Even if Jesus showed up in the flesh, and built another following,

the powers of the world

would have every one of them in the cross-hairs . . . again.

Their end would be even more violent and horrific,

than a single crucifixion.

Were they ready to risk that?

That, I believe, was the terror that seized them.

_____________________

You know, celebrating resurrection is wonderful.

But it never means the struggle is over,

or the hard work is done.

It might only be getting started.

In some ways, this short story in Mark,

of the women going to the tomb on the first day of the week,

is a perfect metaphor for what’s required

of us today as Jesus followers.

What’s required is to show up for the hard stuff.

We have a misleading mental image

of the two Mary’s and Salomé going to the tomb.

We picture a Sunday morning walk in a garden,

flowers and blooming trees everywhere,

sun rays peeking over the horizon,

a perfect sunburst against the blue sky.

We imagine three women sprinkling perfume and spices

on Jesus’ wrapped up body,

spending a few quiet and sacred moments in grief,

paying homage to a dear friend.

That’s a nice image. But it’s not true.

This was no stroll in a garden.

This was the first day of the week;

day after Sabbath, same as our Monday morning.

They were there to do a very unpleasant job.

As if Monday morning wouldn’t be bad enough

after a horrifying weekend,

they had agonizingly difficult work to do first thing.

This was grunt work—in the extreme.

Monday morning grunt work.

The job of these women was to unwrap Jesus’ lifeless body,

dead and stiff in the tomb two days,

wash it,

rub in the necessary anointing oil and spices,

their way of embalming,

and re-wrap the body and put it back where it belonged.

Normally this was done soon after death.

But the circumstances of Jesus’ crucifixion didn’t allow that.

So they were intent on this one thing—one hard job to do—

to give Jesus a proper burial,

and then to get out of there,

and get on with sorting out what life looks like

without Jesus in it.

But instead, they found an empty tomb, with an angel inside it.

A whole new disturbing reality was foisted on them.

It overtook them.

It seized them.

_____________________

We will have a better grasp of Easter,

when we realize what it took for these women,

just to show up and do the grunt work that needed to be done.

They did this while their hope was still crushed.

They didn’t want to do it.

But it was the right thing to do.

We live in a world today that needs a lot of grunt work from us.

There is injustice everywhere we look.

Violence and hatred and inhumanity is pervasive.

The work of repairing this world—

which is the mission of God—

and which we are invited into as partners—

is grueling work.

It is not a stroll in the garden.

Sunrises and blooming lilies may be few and far between.

The work may be difficult and off-putting,

maybe tedious,

certainly risky,

and maybe not with any immediate reward or payback.

We may not feel like doing it today.

We might even feel hopeless.

It just happens to be the right thing to do.

So, because of the ultimate hope we have,

because of God’s victory over death and the grave,

because of the Holy Spirit of God breathing

strength and courage into us,

we go on, we keep at it, we keep showing up,

Monday morning or Tuesday or any day.

Most days it might seem like nothing happened.

But every now and again,

we encounter resurrection.

And we are overwhelmed.

That is the good news of Easter.

Let’s celebrate today,

and be ready for the grunt work tomorrow.

God helping us.

—Phil Kniss, March 31, 2024

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First word, last word, same word (Lent 5)

Mark: The Urgent! Gospel
LENT 5: NOW - we prepare for the great reveal
Mark 13:1-8, 24-37

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Today, again, I have the joyful privilege of expounding on

one of my very favorite types of biblical literature—

apocalyptic—

the kind of Bible verses that

scare the you-know-what out of most people . . .

and that, when I was a kid, used to keep me up at night,

sweating bullets,

and having bad dreams . . .

and that describe in horrifying detail

the terrible things that will happen in the end times,

and why we all need to live our lives on edge,

ready for the disaster to come.

I would thank my lucky stars for the chance to preach from this text—

except, those stars fall from skies in this text,

and the sun and moon go dark.

You think I’m being facetious,

calling this kind of text one of my favorite to preach on?

Well . . . I’m not.

You want to know why it’s my favorite?

Well . . . I’ll tell you.

I just love helping us think differently about scripture.

I love taking texts that we (and I’m including myself here)

that we have long misinterpreted and therefore,

have been too afraid of, to take a second look,

and so we ignore them.

It’s our loss to ignore life-affirming scripture—

which is what this is—

just because we don’t understand it.

So let’s dig in.

And first, context reminder.

Mark is likely being written from Rome,

from the heart of the Roman Empire,

right from the belly of the beast,

written by a community of Jewish exiles,

who were followers of Jesus,

led by the likes of Peter and John Mark,

and it was 30-plus years after the time of Jesus,

while the Empire, in whose capital they resided,

was in the process of trying to destroy their people,

their Jewish religion, and all their sacred buildings.

When these apocalyptic words were put to paper,

Jerusalem was about to, or already had,

fallen into rubble at the hands of the Empire.

We should never read Mark without keeping that in mind.

We should give careful thought

to what motivated the writers and editors of these words,

and to whom they were first intended to be read.

That’s the first important step to keep us from

misreading what is meant to be good news,

and turning it into bad news.

So, if you lived in the heart of the militaristic Roman Empire,

and you were either a Roman citizen empathetic toward the Jews,

or you were a Jew yourself, and feeling threatened,

or you were already a follower of Jesus,

and trying to figure out what you had gotten yourself into,

then you, too, would have read these words of Jesus,

and been filled with hope and joy.

You would have spent zero time

worrying or sweating or having nightmares

about the terror that was going to befall you,

because you, as an individual, had sinned,

and were on the wrong side of God’s anger.

We should read it like the first readers read it.

So Mark has Jesus predicting the destruction of the Temple,

in vv. 1 and 2.

Now, the destruction of the Temple

would have thrown all Jews off-balance,

spiritually, socially, politically, emotionally.

In every way, it would have been devastating—

for mainstream Jews and Jewish leaders,

and for the sect within Judaism that saw Jesus as Messiah.

The Temple is where the Holy Presence lived,

and where Yahweh promised

that his Holy Presence would never leave.

We really don’t have any concept

for the impact of such a disaster.

If tomorrow our church building would be leveled to the ground,

by a bomb, or tornado, or asteroid,

that would be awful,

but from a religious and spiritual standpoint,

it’s a far cry from the Jews’ loss of the Temple.

Because our theology says this is just a building,

a physical place, an artifact.

It’s not equal to God’s presence.

But the Temple was imbued with Holiness, with Divine Presence,

with the eternal promise of God.

Its destruction would have forced serious doubt

about whether God could be trusted,

or whether God was even still with them.

And again, this was true for mainstream Judaism,

and for Jewish followers of Jesus.

Now . . . one more thing to remember.

We read in the Gospels that after Jesus’ resurrection,

as he ascended to heaven,

Jesus left his followers with a promise.

He said, “I’m coming back, to finish the work we began.

Live as though the Kingdom of God is right around the corner.”

To the ordinary Jewish follower of Jesus,

this meant Jesus would return

to restore the throne of David in Jerusalem.

That he would rule spiritually and politically,

and that the palace and temple would be brought back together,

under one unified Jewish rule,

like in the good old days of David.

So, naturally, seeing how Rome was in the process of destroying it all,

people would be doubting Jesus’ promise.

They might start forgetting Jesus’ life-giving ministry

of love and healing and reconciliation,

and start thinking he was a fraud.

It seems to me this Gospel of Mark

is making every effort to help people keep the faith in Jesus,

and in Jesus’ promise to return to restore life—

full and free and fruitful life.

So this apocalyptic recitation of terrible destruction

on earth and in heaven,

is not meant to scare anyone.

It is meant to say,

these things you see happening all around you

should not undo your faith in God’s loving purposes.

These terrible things are bound to happen,

because the powers of the earth act this way,

with violent destruction and devastation.

I think we read way too much into these words,

if we think God’s intent is to destroy humanity again.

Like this phrase from Mark 13, verse 7—

“When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed;

this must take place.”

I used to read the words “this must take place,” to mean,

“God will make sure this happens.”

As if Armageddon is God’s idea and God’s plan.

No. The most straightforward reading here,

is that war is the inevitable result of human rebellion and sin.

It’s where systemic violence leads us.

Wars will happen, because that’s the nature of things

when the powers rely on coercion and violence

to exert their will on others . . . which is always.

But—Mark says—but . . . do not give up on God’s promise.

Because God’s purposes are firm.

God’s passion for life is not impacted by human evil.

The God of love always has been, and always will be,

focused on creating life and fruitfulness and shalom.

I don’t know why that core life-giving characteristic of God

isn’t what strikes us first when we read an apocalyptic text like this.

Instead, what seems to loom large in Mark 13

is the picture of destruction, and international warfare,

and earthquake and famine.

That’s not God’s doing.

That’s what’s going on because of human rebellion.

The Gospel word is this,

Take a look around at all these things that are causing pain.

And then think about them as God’s birth pangs.

That’s what it says in v. 8,

“This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.”

This is what it looks like when our mother God

is giving birth again.

Yes, this is all a great metaphor for the persistence of life.

In the beginning, God created life.

God made the earth and its creatures live.

And God’s ruach, God’s spirit-breath,

blew life into humanity.

And God has never stopped doing that.

And will not stop, until the end of all things.

God’s first word and last word is the same word: LIFE.

According to Mark, at the end times, Mother God will still be at it.

Still pushing out life.

Still in the birth pangs of creating life.

The metaphor is taken even further in Mark 13, verse 28.

“From the fig tree learn its lesson:

as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves,

you know that summer is near.

So also, when you see these things taking place,

you know that Jesus, the Son of Man, is near, at the very gates.”

And is bringing life.

That is why we are urged to keep awake—

not to keep us from inadvertently being struck down

by the sword of God’s wrath!

No, no, no!

We keep awake, so we can realize the truth of the matter,

that God is in labor,

and is about to give birth to the life we’ve been waiting for.

We keep awake, so we notice those tiny buds on the fig tree,

and are reassured that the time of life is near.

This is why I love preaching from the apocalyptic writings.

Yes, it’s a strange form of literature for our times.

We rarely read it, and never write that way.

So I get how we misunderstand it.

But I urge us to stop reading it in a way

that makes us worry about God striking us down.

Read it as reassurance of God’s unquenchable commitment to life.

and to the long arc of justice, of shalom,

of all creation being redeemed,

because that’s really the Great Reveal,

in Biblical apocalyptic writing.

God is for life and wholeness. Always.

And why does that make a difference in your life and mine . . . today?

Because living with hope will always get us farther ahead,

then living with fear and despair.

It’s not about turning our back on the terrible things going on.

It’s not about wearing blinders.

It’s about having enough hope still alive in us,

to make us walk toward it.

The March issue of our newsletter, From Across the Fence,

just came out on Thursday.

If you haven’t read it yet, do it soon.

And if you already read it, read it again,

especially the accounts of three households from Park View

who went to our nation’s capital in January

to join other Mennonites from around the country

to protest the war in Gaza, and call for ceasefire,

including, for some, being willing to be arrested

in order to let their voice be heard.

You will see, when you read their stories,

that they did not do that action because they were hopeless.

They did it out of hope in a God who is intent on bringing life,

a God who the Bible compares, in many places,

to a woman in labor.

May we also live our lives with such hope.

Today’s prayer of confession is also a prayer for courage.

Let’s read it together.

one God of all life, we humble ourselves before you

in worship, in gratitude, in repentance.

all As we go into a world filled with 

death, destruction, and despair,

we ask for courage to tell a different story.

one Strengthen us for the task, we pray,

all in the name of the God who creates life,

in the name of the Savior who loves life,

in the name of the Spirit who is the fire of life.

first 5 lines by Phil Kniss

last 3 lines by Philip J. Newell (Scotland), © 2005

—Phil Kniss, March 17, 2024

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Whose head is on it? (Lent 3)

Mark: The Urgent! Gospel
LENT 3: NOW - we are tested for loyalty
Psalm 86:8-13; Mark 12:13-17

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Kyrie eleison, Lord have mercy on us

as we listen to, reflect on, and live out the Gospel in today’s world.

So many beautiful, moving, and important things in our service today.

The dedication of young lives,

with their parents and us

committing to support and shape those lives.

This powerful Kyrie, still moving us,

200 years after Schubert wrote it.

And soon,

an invitation to gratefully come to the Lord’s Table.

Any of those could stand alone,

but they are tied together beautifully, as one,

by today’s Gospel from Mark 12.

In our journey through Mark, the shortest of the Gospels,

this will be my shortest sermon.

Whose head is on it?

That’s the crucial question Jesus asked his opponents,

when backed him into a corner

to declare loyalty to their agenda.

His opponents here were Pharisees and Herodians,

two parties within Judaism, with different goals,

but both Pharisees and Herodians agreed,

Jesus must make no trouble for Herod or Caesar.

They wanted to accommodate the Empire,

keep the peace,

and not offend those in power.

They asked Jesus whether we should pay tax to Caesar, or not.

Jesus knew their question was bigger than that.

So he gave a bigger answer.

After he got them to identify whose head was on the coin, he said,

“Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s

and to God the things that are God’s.”

Clearly, Jesus was talking about more than a silver coin.

That question, “Whose head is on it?”

is a question that still works today.

It’s a way to say,

Whose claim, whose purposes, whose goals are being served

by going along with this particular action

or collective social behavior or belief?

Who has a vested interest in what we do?

Who has their moral imprint on it?

That’s a question we should be asking even more often today,

in our politically polarized world.

“Whose head is on it?”

Whose moral imprint is on the coin of, say,

our culture’s fear of undocumented immigrants?

Whose likeness is on the coin of growing Christian nationalism?

Whose imprint is on the recent backlash

against having open respectful public discussion

on social issues like race, the legacy of slavery, climate change,

the rights of sexual and gender minorities?

Whose claims are being served when we are morally outraged

by Russia’s indiscriminate bombing of Ukraine,

but take a pass when Israel indiscriminately bombs Gaza?

When our leaders to tell them to please bomb a little more carefully,

and then veto ceasefire resolutions?

Isn’t intentional mass killing of children and adults always evil,

no matter who does it?

Every person of faith and goodwill should see that,

and oppose it, every time.

But . . . Caesar’s head is on that coin.

And we don’t want to offend the Empire.

Maybe because we benefit from being part of it.

_____________________

The Gospel of Mark is a gift to us for our time.

The goal of Mark is to bring clarity about who are loyal to—

to the Empires of this world,

or to the Reign of God, embodied in Jesus.

This short and pointed Gospel, aimed at Gentile Roman citizens,

is meant to convince the hearers to take the leap,

and live for the kingdom of heaven, not for the Empire.

In the opening words of the Gospel,

Mark boldly rejected titles Caesar claimed for himself—

divine Savior, and Son of God—

and said, no, those titles belong to Jesus.

Now in chapter 12 we hear it again, in no uncertain terms:

“Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s

and to God the things that are God’s.”

That’s a Gospel word for us today.

It seems to me that nearly every choice we are presented in life,

whether those are choices of what to buy, what to consume,

where to live, where to work,

what to do with our time and talents,

what to do with our bodies,

how to vote,

how to treat our immigrant neighbor,

how to run our business,

how to respect those closest to us,

how to honor the dignity of those who are different,

all these choices can be discerned by asking ourselves,

“Whose head is on it?”

Whose agenda is getting a boost by the choice I make?

Is it the Empire?

Or is it God’s Kingdom of Justice and Peace?

Whose moral imprint is on the choice I’m about to make?

Is it the systems of power who operate from the top down,

who depend on coercion to maintain stability,

and keep their hold on power?

Or is it God’s kingdom that starts from the bottom up,

and spreads like mustard plants?

and restores the broken and protects the vulnerable?

In dedicating their children this morning,

two households made a choice.

They came into this space, stood in front of us all,

and said we are part of you, God’s kingdom people.

We are not shaping the future of our child,

on the assumptions of Empire, or of dominant culture,

but on God’s kingdom of justice and peace and love.

And we want you to walk with us and support us

as we do that.

And when we come to the table in a minute,

we will all have another chance to declare our choice,

to pledge our devotion and our allegiance to God’s reign,

by partaking of symbols of the kingdom of Christ—

the bread and cup of suffering, and salvation.

This is why we are here today, doing what we are doing.

May God help us.

—Phil Kniss, March 3, 2024

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