Listening 101
Sermon
Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!
Cycle A Gospel Sermons For Lent And Easter
Somewhere in my life I heard someone say something like, “The challenge with John (the gospel writer) is he is better at theatre than at writing.” The implications of this comment were about passages such as this one about Jesus and the woman of Samaria.
Today’s reading is long enough that when read you begin to lose your place. But as drama (theatre) you can remember it well. You remember a woman coming to a well and an encounter with a strange man at a historic landmark of faith. You recognize that this man is not of the woman’s tribe but of a rival tribe and not always to be trusted due to the “bad blood” between the two tribes. You remember the man’s impertinence in asking her to give him water (rival tribes don’t usually mingle like that) and her evident wariness. You recall his questioning of her — perhaps even belittling her — and her attempt at hiding her life, then his uncovering it.
You remember how the strange man then spoke more boldly, telling her that this thing over which both tribes would have claim, this well named after Jacob, was now meaningless as a sacred space. You see again how flabbergasted she was that such things should be uttered. But he claimed he was the Messiah. She turned in her own confusion to certainty... it must be so, and any space he was in, was sacred.
The drama, if left there, would be sufficient. However, the foolish disciples entered the picture, and like a typical Gilbert and Sullivan light opera, being stupid and wondering. What did she want, why was he talking with her? But they dare not say aloud what they were thinking but surely anyone present would likely have seen the disdain on their faces. She left, not to escape possible abuse, but to tell her tribal brothers and sisters what she had witnessed. It’s like she knew the disciples who just arrived were about to receive the same as she got.
The foolish disciples turned to their rabbi’s needs but in their dimwittedness, he gave to them what he gave to the woman, a quick rebuttal that stings, “I have food to eat that you know nothing about.” They did not understand. And then, even in their confusion over what they did wrong, the woman’s tribe comes out, stands, and listens, and understood who this Jesus is, even better than his own disciples understood. The other tribe got it; his own did not. He was the Savior of the world. How could those closest to him be so dim, and those so distant be so smart?
It is great drama, worthy of multiple sermons such as the importance of women as those who get it, or the reality of “bad blood” and probably more accurately in today’s terms, racism, that affected perceptions of who was in the know. Perhaps the focus on physical water and spiritual water, and which of them really quenches? Or maybe a reality check on how much we invest in proclaiming “sacred places,” or “sacred organizations,” or any of the other things we make sacred that Jesus makes clear are unrelated to what he has to offer.
Jesus offers us a means of going somewhere no one else has ever gone — the importance of every person. He offers us the importance of all space, the importance of giving and receiving water both as a practical and profoundly spiritual event. Are these the key teachings of this scripture?
What if we were to turn ourselves to making it more personal, not just universal, by applying the standard of who we are in the drama? Are we the dimwitted disciples who don’t really get it? Are we the woman, knowing the darkness of her own life, but willing to have Jesus shed light and life upon it? Are we part of a tribal group that looks down its collective noses at a different group? Are we the people who are willing to listen and acknowledge that Jesus knows what he is talking about? Surely we are, in some way, all these people, are we not?
Many of our own tribal statements could be written into today’s text if we were to put out a new Bible edition reflecting our own situations. We could divide ourselves by North and South, East and West. We might think of ourselves in terms of being haves and have nots. We might think of how the world would be better if the Democrats, or the Republicans, would just die their deserved political death. We can hardly turn around without more debates on immigration, guns, taxes, economics, politics, all couched in convenient tribal language. “Let us take back America” slides easily off the lips of everyone. Take it back from whom? It seems we have not learned anything since the Civil War when each church, North and South, was talking about how gloriously God was on their side. And of course, let’s not talk of race. After all, I’m not a racist. And, I’m not prejudiced, I just hate stupid people. Or my favorite, “I’m tired of all this political correctness!” Which is really another way of demanding, “Why should we be sensitive to others’ perceptions. It’s America — love it or leave it.”
Would the woman be an ‘illegal alien’ somehow taking away something from us, invading a space she had no right to use, and, God-forbid, have direct conversation with a man to whom by spiritual law she shouldn’t be talking? Who does she think she is anyway? One of those women who is uppity and thinks she has rights? After all, her job is to serve men isn’t it? And Jesus, that socialist, nut-case liberal who thinks people should be forgiven rather than punished. Why do such religious people want to give away what is supposed to be earned, anyway?
I could go on. Perhaps a more sensible “sermon” would include rewriting the gospel account in the sophomoric nonsense that serves as our discourse these days. We’d likely hear it in the tone it was heard. But you are here, listening to this, and however comforting my own lambasting of our tribalisms may sound to my own ears, it would, in the end, not solve the real issue. As often pointed out, describing a problem doesn’t necessarily produce a solution to the problem. Besides, I do think that Jesus gives us the first step in solving our knee jerk tribalisms: Listen.
In verse 42, Jesus went to stay with the Samaritan tribe. For two days... they listened, he talked. And in the end they changed — “for we have heard for ourselves.” How simple. They listened. Do we really listen to one another? Obviously, the Samaritans and Jews hadn’t for a long time. The divide between them was great as evidenced by all the players in this drama.
Reading this story is like watching one of the cable shows that passes for news coverage that I was watching the other day. That show, which will remain nameless and with names changed to protect the guilty, had, as they are wont to do, one voice lecturing the other in well-rehearsed and well-worn sound bites. But in this case, for once, the host, rather that just firing back with more retort and judgment looked at one of the guests and said, “Well Bob, tell me, name one small thing you would do to solve the problem.” Out came an answer. And in return the moderator said to the other, “Martha, do you think we could do that?” And Martha said, “Yes.” Then, the moderator said to Martha, name one small thing you would do to solve the problem. And Martha shared her thought, and the moderator said to Bob, “Could you do that? and Bob said “Yes.” The moderator, finding himself in unfamiliar territory of not having to cut off rancor simply said, “It’s a beginning.”
All good solutions begin with listening. The Samaritan woman listened to Jesus. The disciples listened to Jesus. The Samaritan men listened to Jesus. And while it doesn’t always end up with the same wonderful results, it is clear that it begins with listening.
My brothers and sisters, it would be so easy to bring our own tribalisms to the table of this scripture, just as the original hearers, the Samaritans and Judeans, did. We might speak of Muslims and Christians, evangelicals and mainline, illegal immigrants and citizens, pro-life and pro-choice, organic and genetically modified plants adherents to name only a few. The tribal lists and differentiations are long. But if this story is about nothing else, it is about the fact that Jesus did not allow anyone to get lost in their own narratives. It is about the importance of listening to one another. Just listen. Then, perhaps, we can ask a simple question like the one asked by the reporter to get ourselves headed in the right direction. “Tell me one thing you would do to solve the problem?”
What is one thing I can do, you can do, that we can do to get together toward finding a new way as we meet in this sacred space with our Lord? Which of our own tribalisms do we want to start with? Amen.
Today’s reading is long enough that when read you begin to lose your place. But as drama (theatre) you can remember it well. You remember a woman coming to a well and an encounter with a strange man at a historic landmark of faith. You recognize that this man is not of the woman’s tribe but of a rival tribe and not always to be trusted due to the “bad blood” between the two tribes. You remember the man’s impertinence in asking her to give him water (rival tribes don’t usually mingle like that) and her evident wariness. You recall his questioning of her — perhaps even belittling her — and her attempt at hiding her life, then his uncovering it.
You remember how the strange man then spoke more boldly, telling her that this thing over which both tribes would have claim, this well named after Jacob, was now meaningless as a sacred space. You see again how flabbergasted she was that such things should be uttered. But he claimed he was the Messiah. She turned in her own confusion to certainty... it must be so, and any space he was in, was sacred.
The drama, if left there, would be sufficient. However, the foolish disciples entered the picture, and like a typical Gilbert and Sullivan light opera, being stupid and wondering. What did she want, why was he talking with her? But they dare not say aloud what they were thinking but surely anyone present would likely have seen the disdain on their faces. She left, not to escape possible abuse, but to tell her tribal brothers and sisters what she had witnessed. It’s like she knew the disciples who just arrived were about to receive the same as she got.
The foolish disciples turned to their rabbi’s needs but in their dimwittedness, he gave to them what he gave to the woman, a quick rebuttal that stings, “I have food to eat that you know nothing about.” They did not understand. And then, even in their confusion over what they did wrong, the woman’s tribe comes out, stands, and listens, and understood who this Jesus is, even better than his own disciples understood. The other tribe got it; his own did not. He was the Savior of the world. How could those closest to him be so dim, and those so distant be so smart?
It is great drama, worthy of multiple sermons such as the importance of women as those who get it, or the reality of “bad blood” and probably more accurately in today’s terms, racism, that affected perceptions of who was in the know. Perhaps the focus on physical water and spiritual water, and which of them really quenches? Or maybe a reality check on how much we invest in proclaiming “sacred places,” or “sacred organizations,” or any of the other things we make sacred that Jesus makes clear are unrelated to what he has to offer.
Jesus offers us a means of going somewhere no one else has ever gone — the importance of every person. He offers us the importance of all space, the importance of giving and receiving water both as a practical and profoundly spiritual event. Are these the key teachings of this scripture?
What if we were to turn ourselves to making it more personal, not just universal, by applying the standard of who we are in the drama? Are we the dimwitted disciples who don’t really get it? Are we the woman, knowing the darkness of her own life, but willing to have Jesus shed light and life upon it? Are we part of a tribal group that looks down its collective noses at a different group? Are we the people who are willing to listen and acknowledge that Jesus knows what he is talking about? Surely we are, in some way, all these people, are we not?
Many of our own tribal statements could be written into today’s text if we were to put out a new Bible edition reflecting our own situations. We could divide ourselves by North and South, East and West. We might think of ourselves in terms of being haves and have nots. We might think of how the world would be better if the Democrats, or the Republicans, would just die their deserved political death. We can hardly turn around without more debates on immigration, guns, taxes, economics, politics, all couched in convenient tribal language. “Let us take back America” slides easily off the lips of everyone. Take it back from whom? It seems we have not learned anything since the Civil War when each church, North and South, was talking about how gloriously God was on their side. And of course, let’s not talk of race. After all, I’m not a racist. And, I’m not prejudiced, I just hate stupid people. Or my favorite, “I’m tired of all this political correctness!” Which is really another way of demanding, “Why should we be sensitive to others’ perceptions. It’s America — love it or leave it.”
Would the woman be an ‘illegal alien’ somehow taking away something from us, invading a space she had no right to use, and, God-forbid, have direct conversation with a man to whom by spiritual law she shouldn’t be talking? Who does she think she is anyway? One of those women who is uppity and thinks she has rights? After all, her job is to serve men isn’t it? And Jesus, that socialist, nut-case liberal who thinks people should be forgiven rather than punished. Why do such religious people want to give away what is supposed to be earned, anyway?
I could go on. Perhaps a more sensible “sermon” would include rewriting the gospel account in the sophomoric nonsense that serves as our discourse these days. We’d likely hear it in the tone it was heard. But you are here, listening to this, and however comforting my own lambasting of our tribalisms may sound to my own ears, it would, in the end, not solve the real issue. As often pointed out, describing a problem doesn’t necessarily produce a solution to the problem. Besides, I do think that Jesus gives us the first step in solving our knee jerk tribalisms: Listen.
In verse 42, Jesus went to stay with the Samaritan tribe. For two days... they listened, he talked. And in the end they changed — “for we have heard for ourselves.” How simple. They listened. Do we really listen to one another? Obviously, the Samaritans and Jews hadn’t for a long time. The divide between them was great as evidenced by all the players in this drama.
Reading this story is like watching one of the cable shows that passes for news coverage that I was watching the other day. That show, which will remain nameless and with names changed to protect the guilty, had, as they are wont to do, one voice lecturing the other in well-rehearsed and well-worn sound bites. But in this case, for once, the host, rather that just firing back with more retort and judgment looked at one of the guests and said, “Well Bob, tell me, name one small thing you would do to solve the problem.” Out came an answer. And in return the moderator said to the other, “Martha, do you think we could do that?” And Martha said, “Yes.” Then, the moderator said to Martha, name one small thing you would do to solve the problem. And Martha shared her thought, and the moderator said to Bob, “Could you do that? and Bob said “Yes.” The moderator, finding himself in unfamiliar territory of not having to cut off rancor simply said, “It’s a beginning.”
All good solutions begin with listening. The Samaritan woman listened to Jesus. The disciples listened to Jesus. The Samaritan men listened to Jesus. And while it doesn’t always end up with the same wonderful results, it is clear that it begins with listening.
My brothers and sisters, it would be so easy to bring our own tribalisms to the table of this scripture, just as the original hearers, the Samaritans and Judeans, did. We might speak of Muslims and Christians, evangelicals and mainline, illegal immigrants and citizens, pro-life and pro-choice, organic and genetically modified plants adherents to name only a few. The tribal lists and differentiations are long. But if this story is about nothing else, it is about the fact that Jesus did not allow anyone to get lost in their own narratives. It is about the importance of listening to one another. Just listen. Then, perhaps, we can ask a simple question like the one asked by the reporter to get ourselves headed in the right direction. “Tell me one thing you would do to solve the problem?”
What is one thing I can do, you can do, that we can do to get together toward finding a new way as we meet in this sacred space with our Lord? Which of our own tribalisms do we want to start with? Amen.
