God's Dinner Bell
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
"God's Dinner Bell" by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"I Sent You A Boat And A Helicopter..." by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"A Modern-Day Job" by Richard A. Jensen
"Jesus And Politics" by David E. Leininger
What's Up This Week
When things go wrong, we are often obsessed with finding who is at fault -- and this week's stories offer some intriguing thoughts on the all-too-human impulse to find someone else to blame for our troubles. Richard Jensen's modern parable illustrates the absurd lengths that people will sometimes go to in order to absolve themselves, while David Leininger shares a stimulating meditation on this week's Gospel reading that suggests we might want to focus less on the "specks" in others' eyes and more on the "logs" in our own.
But once we own up to our own faults -- then what? Rick McCracken-Bennett humorously shows the lengths to which God will go to save us (if only we are open to his methods) -- and in our featured story, "God's Dinner Bell," he provides a heartwarming analogy for the love and forgiveness that God freely gives to us in spite of our foolish pride and sin.
* * *
God's Dinner Bell
by Rick McCracken-Bennett
Isaiah 55:1-9
Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food.
-- Isaiah 55:1-2
Growing up, I always thought we should have had a dinner bell. My friend Jim, who lived on another farm a mile or so away -- less if you trekked through the woods, through the swamp (what we now more elegantly call a wetland), across his dad's fields, and up his lane to his house -- he had a dinner bell. The bell was gold-colored, probably brass. There was a rope that hung from some sort of rocker deal on top of the bell. It was mounted on a post, right near the side door that led to the kitchen, and if you were in the kitchen, you could go out the door and walk a few steps to the summer kitchen, where it was a lot cooler to cook on those hot summer days.
In the summer we would play together almost every day. And just before noon, if it had already been cleared with my mother, the dinner bell would ring and we would race to the house to clean up and sit down to a real farmer's meal, complete with all the foods that most of us have banned from our diets years ago. She didn't have to ring twice. She didn't have to say, "Stop your fooling around and get your fannies in here." She just had to give it a ring and we would take off running, brushing the dirt off of our jeans in puffs like smoke, salivating like a couple of Pavlov's dogs.
After a prayer, we would stuff ourselves and drink gallons of sweetened ice tea (which, for reasons that are lost in my childhood memory bank, we called "bug juice"). There was always enough food. Actually, there was always more than enough. If I brought my little brother along, there was enough. If we invited Steve up the road and Randy rode his bike over, there was enough. "Come and get it," the bell would say. "Eat up!" it rang. And we would eat and talk and laugh and tell stories. I remember feeling that I was just about the luckiest kid around, to have such good friends, and to have such wonderful food to eat.
We were always allowed to play in their barn. But one thing was off limits. It was a rope -- a big, thick, rough rope that hung from one of the rafters and had a huge knot on the end. His folks would warn us to never, ever swing from that rope. It was too dangerous. But, of course, we did swing from it...every day we played together. One afternoon it was my turn to swing out of the hayloft and down to the floor. Apparently I grabbed the rope at a lower place than usual, and like a modern-day bungee jumper who miscalculated the distance to the ground, I hit the floor and the momentum dragged me several more feet, pulling my shin over the head of a nail that was sticking out of the floor. I still have the scar. We were afraid to tell his mom, but what could we do? My jeans were ripped and bloodied. As expected, Jim's mother hit the roof -- just like my mom would do an hour or so later. Jim's mother cleaned it up, poured on something that both stung and stained, and after applying the bandage, she sent us out to the porch to sit and not say a word while she called my mom to come and get me. I don't know if the wound or the scolding hurt more.
I didn't return to Jim's for a couple of days. It was probably my punishment. And when I was finally allowed to go over I thought that things would be different, that his parents wouldn't treat me the same, that there would be more and stricter rules. But as I climbed their front steps his mother greeted me with an ice-cold glass of sweetened bug juice. She said that she expected me to stay for dinner. And it was all like before, except that now I knew what it meant to have done something wrong, received the punishment I deserved, and then be welcomed back to the banquet. And what a wonderful feeling it was!
I Sent You A Boat And A Helicopter -- What More Did You Want?
by Rick McCracken-Bennett
1 Corinthians 10:1-13
No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.
-- 1 Corinthians 10:13
I was in a Bible study years ago when the topic turned to the hopeless and helpless ones in our world. As we discussed the plight of the poor and the homeless, one of our members became increasingly agitated. Since he was not known for his shyness I simply waited him out, and in time he interrupted, "The Bible says, 'God helps those who help themselves.' " And that was supposed to be the end of it. I probably would have left it alone, but one of the other participants couldn't. She snapped back, "That's not in the Bible." And again, that was supposed to be the end of it. Except that our Bible misquoter retorted, "Well... it should be!" And that was the end of it.
Years before, I remember being at a funeral home. A long parade of people lined up, and one by one they expressed what (I suppose) passed as condolences. As I listened to a blur of "sorry for your loss" and "he's in a better place," one statement struck me. It was directed at a family member who was taking things very hard. The person said, "God will not let you be tested beyond your strength." And I flipped. I was sure that wasn't in the Bible... that it was more likely found on a Hallmark card. I remarked, "That isn't in the Bible." The person responded, "I'm afraid it is." To which I thinking, "Well... it shouldn't be!"
I've hated that verse ever since. I should say, I've hated that part of the verse ever since. I found it no comfort whatsoever. When I would visit someone in the midst of a tragedy or after receiving a lousy diagnosis, I would never use those words. I would rather be tongue-tied than spout what I considered to be nonsense. What kind of a God would let anything like this happen and then call it testing within their limits?
But of course, I was doing what I often accused others of doing -- I was taking a small piece of scripture out of context. What I missed, in all my huffing and puffing, was: "but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it" (v. 13b). Regardless of how I feel about the first half of the verse, the second half has been and continues to be a great comfort to me.
No matter what happens, no matter what I have to endure, God is there providing me a "way out" of the mess I'm in. I don't have to behave like the man in the well-worn story who is trapped on the roof of his house after a flood and prays that God will rescue him. When a boat comes by, he refuses the lift because "God is going to rescue me." When a helicopter lowers a gurney, he refuses to get on it because "God is going to rescue me." And so on. Finally the man dies, and in heaven he asks God why God didn't rescue him. God replies, "I sent you a boat and a helicopter -- what more did you want?"
I don't have to be like that poor man. What I want to be is a person who looks for that boat and that helicopter -- and then is not afraid to hop aboard.
Rick McCracken-Bennett is an avid storyteller, an Episcopal priest and church planter, and the founding pastor of All Saints Episcopal Church in New Albany, Ohio. Rick began his ministry as a Roman Catholic priest, and he has also served as an alcohol and drug treatment counselor and as the director of an outpatient treatment center for adults and children. His doctoral thesis, Future Story, explores how stories can be used to help bring about change in the church. McCracken-Bennett is a graduate of Findlay College, St. Meinrad School of Theology, and Seabury-Western Theological Seminary.
A Modern-Day Job
Richard A. Jensen
Luke 13:1-9
American culture is a culture of fixing blame -- fixing blame on others. Whenever the president of our land slips a bit, the media asks, "Why? Who is to blame?" When our favorite sports team loses, we ask, "Why? Who is to blame?" And on and on it goes -- we are anxious to fix the blame somewhere. This "blame" culture may nowhere be so clearly seen as in the mountain of court cases brought in our land. It's getting to the point that when anything wrong happens to anyone, the first thought is to go to court in order to assign the blame to someone else.
There lived a man whose name was J.B. J.B. was a lot like an Old Testament character named Job. J.B. protested his innocence when anything went wrong. His method of choice for assigning blame was a lawsuit. J.B. was a rugged, athletic man who was very proud of his body. He boasted of his feats of strength. So when the local YMCA advertised a "refrigerator race" J.B. signed up immediately. In this race a refrigerator is strapped to participants' backs, and the one who can most quickly move ten yards with a refrigerator on his back wins the race. This was just the kind of stuff that J.B. loved. He strapped on the refrigerator, and away he went. And then the strap broke -- down came J.B., refrigerator and all. His back was hurt, to be sure, but his pride was hurt more than his back.
"Who is to blame?" J.B. thought. His answer: the company that made the strap. What to do? He thought it over and said, "I'll sue." He sued the strap company for $1 million. They were to blame. He was innocent. He sued and he won! The blame was not his!
On another occasion J.B.'s equally physical son crashed the seat of a swing into the head of another young man. The other boy suffered brain damage. What was more important to J.B., however, was the damage to his own reputation. "Who is to blame?" J.B. thought. His answer: the company that made the wooden swing seat. What to do? He thought it over and he said, "I'll sue." He sued the company that made the swing seat for making a seat that could hurt someone. They were to blame. He was innocent. He sued and he won! $2 million this time! The blame was not his!
J.B. lived in suburbia. He took pride in his house and his yard. One day while he was out working in his yard, he noticed that his neighbor Mike was also working on his yard. They each paused for a bit in their work and talked over the hedge. They began discussing the fact that the hedge between them needed trimming. Since Mike was standing with his lawnmower, J.B. suggested that they hold the lawn mower up by its four wheels, two men on each side of the hedge, and use the lawn mower as a hedge clipper. Great idea! And it worked -- for a while. Then J.B. stepped into a hole, lost his balance, and went down with the mower on top of him. His hand was badly cut.
As always, J.B.'s first thought was, "Who is to blame?" It just couldn't be his fault. It couldn't be his stupidity. The last place he would think of looking to assign blame was to himself. Who is to blame? The lawnmower company, of course. Nowhere in their directions did they indicate that this machine should not be used as a hedge clipper. What to do? He thought it over and he said, "I'll sue." And sue he did. The lawnmower company was to blame. The court agreed. He was innocent. The blame was not his!
P.S. The legal facts in this parable are true!
Richard A. Jensen is professor emeritus of homiletics at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, and he also served as the dean of the Doctor of Ministry in Preaching program for the Association of Chicago Theological Seminaries. He is well-known for his decade-long stint as the speaker for the weekly national radio ministry Lutheran Vespers. Jensen is the author of several acclaimed books on the art of preaching, including the CSS titles Thinking in Story, Preaching Matthew's Gospel, Preaching Mark's Gospel, and Preaching Luke's Gospel. This story appears in Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 57 Stories for Cycle C.
Jesus And Politics
David E. Leininger
Luke 13:1-9
This is an intriguing lesson. First, the reflection on an apparent atrocity perpetrated by the Roman Governor -- folks beaten and killed in the midst of their religious observance. Apparently, Pilate was flexing Roman muscle to make sure no Jewish Zealots would consider fomenting an insurrection. Too bad. But those Galileans should have kept to their own territory rather than coming down to Jerusalem to further their political schemes. As painful as it might be to admit, perhaps Pilate had to do what Pilate had to do. They got what they deserved.
Then there was that story of the 18 people crushed by the horrible collapse of the tower of Siloam, a construction project gone drastically wrong. Word on the street was that the disaster would never have happened had not Pilate stolen the money to fund it from the Temple treasury*; people said anyone who worked on it was participating in a blasphemy against God. God made that tower fall. Anyone who cooperates with evil gets evil in return. Period. Bottom line. People get what they deserve.
There's nothing unique in that kind of thinking. People get what they have coming to them, and if something bad happens, at some level, somehow, somewhere, they were asking for it. A prostitute is murdered, her body dumped in a ditch -- divine retribution, some say. A young woman is attacked; "Well, what do you expect -- look what she was wearing!" Uh-huh. AIDS. Why? Lifestyle. Sex. Drugs. And when we are brought low, we whisper, "Why, God? What have I done to deserve this?"
Do you believe that all suffering is the result of some evil that the tormented person has done (or if the victim is too young or obviously innocent, it must be the fault of parents or grandparents)? Lots of folks do. Psychologists call it the "Just World" theory -- everything that happens is just and right, as it should be, even if it does not appear to be. Such a belief helps folks explain the inexplicable.
What do you think, Jesus?
"Well, I will tell you what I think... unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did."
Huh?
Perhaps it would be helpful to note that some scholars see these verses against a background of an attempt to enlist Jesus in the revolutionary plans of the day, and that would not be unexpected. After all, the traditional understanding of the arrival of the Messiah was that he would come as a conquering hero, a charismatic commander who would rally the people to defeat the forces of Caesar and overthrow the Roman oppressors. Add to that the fact that he was a Galilean like those Zealots who died with their sacrifices, plus being a religious man who would have been as offended as anyone by the misuse of temple funds for the Siloam tower -- then we see the logic of the approach. But instead of joining in the revolution on one side, or aligning with the "go along to get along" group on the other (both of which were probably in his audience), he says, "I tell you, unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did."
Repent from what? If Jesus is warning against inappropriate political priorities (as the context seems to indicate that he is), then the message is to get back to the business at hand -- as a community set apart by God, you do what you are supposed to do; you be all that you can be. Be the "light to the nations" (Isaiah 42:6) that you are called to be. If you fail in that task, the consequences are as grave for you as those experienced by the martyred Zealots or the crushed construction workers. Jesus' message was no fire-and-brimstone threat; rather it was dispassionate observation on what would lie ahead if the current course would be followed to its natural conclusion. And, as you historians know very well, the disaster did come -- a generation later, the nation was laid waste. Rome destroyed Jerusalem.
What is the message for us who encounter it after 2,000 years? Fortunately, we do not have to worry about upsetting Rome. However, inappropriate political positions are as problematic now as they ever were. In our day they might involve issues such as school prayer or abortion or gay rights or what is to be taught in our public schools. They might involve obvious and unmistakable partisanship that would alienate those of a different political persuasion from the church. The message, loud and clear, is the same as it was 2,000 years ago: be careful about political maneuverings and equally careful about deciding which position is sinful and which is not. There is plenty of sinfulness to go around, just as in Jesus' day, no matter which side of the spectrum you are on.
[* This is extrapolated from Josephus, who reports that Pilate killed Jews who opposed him when he appropriated money from the Temple treasury to build an aqueduct in Jerusalem (Jewish War 2, 9, 4 pp. 175-77; Antiquities 18, 3, 2 pp. 60-62).]
David E. Leininger is the pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Warren, Pennsylvania. He has also served congregations in North and South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. Leininger is a graduate of the Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary in Columbia, South Carolina (M.Div) and Erskine Theological Seminary in Due West, South Carolina (D.Min.). His most recent book is A Color-Blind Church (CSS), the account of an intriguing match of two congregations -- one black, one white -- in a small community following the reunion of the northern and southern streams of the Presbyterian Church (USA) in 1983.
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StoryShare, March 11, 2007, issue.
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What's Up This Week
"God's Dinner Bell" by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"I Sent You A Boat And A Helicopter..." by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"A Modern-Day Job" by Richard A. Jensen
"Jesus And Politics" by David E. Leininger
What's Up This Week
When things go wrong, we are often obsessed with finding who is at fault -- and this week's stories offer some intriguing thoughts on the all-too-human impulse to find someone else to blame for our troubles. Richard Jensen's modern parable illustrates the absurd lengths that people will sometimes go to in order to absolve themselves, while David Leininger shares a stimulating meditation on this week's Gospel reading that suggests we might want to focus less on the "specks" in others' eyes and more on the "logs" in our own.
But once we own up to our own faults -- then what? Rick McCracken-Bennett humorously shows the lengths to which God will go to save us (if only we are open to his methods) -- and in our featured story, "God's Dinner Bell," he provides a heartwarming analogy for the love and forgiveness that God freely gives to us in spite of our foolish pride and sin.
* * *
God's Dinner Bell
by Rick McCracken-Bennett
Isaiah 55:1-9
Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food.
-- Isaiah 55:1-2
Growing up, I always thought we should have had a dinner bell. My friend Jim, who lived on another farm a mile or so away -- less if you trekked through the woods, through the swamp (what we now more elegantly call a wetland), across his dad's fields, and up his lane to his house -- he had a dinner bell. The bell was gold-colored, probably brass. There was a rope that hung from some sort of rocker deal on top of the bell. It was mounted on a post, right near the side door that led to the kitchen, and if you were in the kitchen, you could go out the door and walk a few steps to the summer kitchen, where it was a lot cooler to cook on those hot summer days.
In the summer we would play together almost every day. And just before noon, if it had already been cleared with my mother, the dinner bell would ring and we would race to the house to clean up and sit down to a real farmer's meal, complete with all the foods that most of us have banned from our diets years ago. She didn't have to ring twice. She didn't have to say, "Stop your fooling around and get your fannies in here." She just had to give it a ring and we would take off running, brushing the dirt off of our jeans in puffs like smoke, salivating like a couple of Pavlov's dogs.
After a prayer, we would stuff ourselves and drink gallons of sweetened ice tea (which, for reasons that are lost in my childhood memory bank, we called "bug juice"). There was always enough food. Actually, there was always more than enough. If I brought my little brother along, there was enough. If we invited Steve up the road and Randy rode his bike over, there was enough. "Come and get it," the bell would say. "Eat up!" it rang. And we would eat and talk and laugh and tell stories. I remember feeling that I was just about the luckiest kid around, to have such good friends, and to have such wonderful food to eat.
We were always allowed to play in their barn. But one thing was off limits. It was a rope -- a big, thick, rough rope that hung from one of the rafters and had a huge knot on the end. His folks would warn us to never, ever swing from that rope. It was too dangerous. But, of course, we did swing from it...every day we played together. One afternoon it was my turn to swing out of the hayloft and down to the floor. Apparently I grabbed the rope at a lower place than usual, and like a modern-day bungee jumper who miscalculated the distance to the ground, I hit the floor and the momentum dragged me several more feet, pulling my shin over the head of a nail that was sticking out of the floor. I still have the scar. We were afraid to tell his mom, but what could we do? My jeans were ripped and bloodied. As expected, Jim's mother hit the roof -- just like my mom would do an hour or so later. Jim's mother cleaned it up, poured on something that both stung and stained, and after applying the bandage, she sent us out to the porch to sit and not say a word while she called my mom to come and get me. I don't know if the wound or the scolding hurt more.
I didn't return to Jim's for a couple of days. It was probably my punishment. And when I was finally allowed to go over I thought that things would be different, that his parents wouldn't treat me the same, that there would be more and stricter rules. But as I climbed their front steps his mother greeted me with an ice-cold glass of sweetened bug juice. She said that she expected me to stay for dinner. And it was all like before, except that now I knew what it meant to have done something wrong, received the punishment I deserved, and then be welcomed back to the banquet. And what a wonderful feeling it was!
I Sent You A Boat And A Helicopter -- What More Did You Want?
by Rick McCracken-Bennett
1 Corinthians 10:1-13
No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.
-- 1 Corinthians 10:13
I was in a Bible study years ago when the topic turned to the hopeless and helpless ones in our world. As we discussed the plight of the poor and the homeless, one of our members became increasingly agitated. Since he was not known for his shyness I simply waited him out, and in time he interrupted, "The Bible says, 'God helps those who help themselves.' " And that was supposed to be the end of it. I probably would have left it alone, but one of the other participants couldn't. She snapped back, "That's not in the Bible." And again, that was supposed to be the end of it. Except that our Bible misquoter retorted, "Well... it should be!" And that was the end of it.
Years before, I remember being at a funeral home. A long parade of people lined up, and one by one they expressed what (I suppose) passed as condolences. As I listened to a blur of "sorry for your loss" and "he's in a better place," one statement struck me. It was directed at a family member who was taking things very hard. The person said, "God will not let you be tested beyond your strength." And I flipped. I was sure that wasn't in the Bible... that it was more likely found on a Hallmark card. I remarked, "That isn't in the Bible." The person responded, "I'm afraid it is." To which I thinking, "Well... it shouldn't be!"
I've hated that verse ever since. I should say, I've hated that part of the verse ever since. I found it no comfort whatsoever. When I would visit someone in the midst of a tragedy or after receiving a lousy diagnosis, I would never use those words. I would rather be tongue-tied than spout what I considered to be nonsense. What kind of a God would let anything like this happen and then call it testing within their limits?
But of course, I was doing what I often accused others of doing -- I was taking a small piece of scripture out of context. What I missed, in all my huffing and puffing, was: "but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it" (v. 13b). Regardless of how I feel about the first half of the verse, the second half has been and continues to be a great comfort to me.
No matter what happens, no matter what I have to endure, God is there providing me a "way out" of the mess I'm in. I don't have to behave like the man in the well-worn story who is trapped on the roof of his house after a flood and prays that God will rescue him. When a boat comes by, he refuses the lift because "God is going to rescue me." When a helicopter lowers a gurney, he refuses to get on it because "God is going to rescue me." And so on. Finally the man dies, and in heaven he asks God why God didn't rescue him. God replies, "I sent you a boat and a helicopter -- what more did you want?"
I don't have to be like that poor man. What I want to be is a person who looks for that boat and that helicopter -- and then is not afraid to hop aboard.
Rick McCracken-Bennett is an avid storyteller, an Episcopal priest and church planter, and the founding pastor of All Saints Episcopal Church in New Albany, Ohio. Rick began his ministry as a Roman Catholic priest, and he has also served as an alcohol and drug treatment counselor and as the director of an outpatient treatment center for adults and children. His doctoral thesis, Future Story, explores how stories can be used to help bring about change in the church. McCracken-Bennett is a graduate of Findlay College, St. Meinrad School of Theology, and Seabury-Western Theological Seminary.
A Modern-Day Job
Richard A. Jensen
Luke 13:1-9
American culture is a culture of fixing blame -- fixing blame on others. Whenever the president of our land slips a bit, the media asks, "Why? Who is to blame?" When our favorite sports team loses, we ask, "Why? Who is to blame?" And on and on it goes -- we are anxious to fix the blame somewhere. This "blame" culture may nowhere be so clearly seen as in the mountain of court cases brought in our land. It's getting to the point that when anything wrong happens to anyone, the first thought is to go to court in order to assign the blame to someone else.
There lived a man whose name was J.B. J.B. was a lot like an Old Testament character named Job. J.B. protested his innocence when anything went wrong. His method of choice for assigning blame was a lawsuit. J.B. was a rugged, athletic man who was very proud of his body. He boasted of his feats of strength. So when the local YMCA advertised a "refrigerator race" J.B. signed up immediately. In this race a refrigerator is strapped to participants' backs, and the one who can most quickly move ten yards with a refrigerator on his back wins the race. This was just the kind of stuff that J.B. loved. He strapped on the refrigerator, and away he went. And then the strap broke -- down came J.B., refrigerator and all. His back was hurt, to be sure, but his pride was hurt more than his back.
"Who is to blame?" J.B. thought. His answer: the company that made the strap. What to do? He thought it over and said, "I'll sue." He sued the strap company for $1 million. They were to blame. He was innocent. He sued and he won! The blame was not his!
On another occasion J.B.'s equally physical son crashed the seat of a swing into the head of another young man. The other boy suffered brain damage. What was more important to J.B., however, was the damage to his own reputation. "Who is to blame?" J.B. thought. His answer: the company that made the wooden swing seat. What to do? He thought it over and he said, "I'll sue." He sued the company that made the swing seat for making a seat that could hurt someone. They were to blame. He was innocent. He sued and he won! $2 million this time! The blame was not his!
J.B. lived in suburbia. He took pride in his house and his yard. One day while he was out working in his yard, he noticed that his neighbor Mike was also working on his yard. They each paused for a bit in their work and talked over the hedge. They began discussing the fact that the hedge between them needed trimming. Since Mike was standing with his lawnmower, J.B. suggested that they hold the lawn mower up by its four wheels, two men on each side of the hedge, and use the lawn mower as a hedge clipper. Great idea! And it worked -- for a while. Then J.B. stepped into a hole, lost his balance, and went down with the mower on top of him. His hand was badly cut.
As always, J.B.'s first thought was, "Who is to blame?" It just couldn't be his fault. It couldn't be his stupidity. The last place he would think of looking to assign blame was to himself. Who is to blame? The lawnmower company, of course. Nowhere in their directions did they indicate that this machine should not be used as a hedge clipper. What to do? He thought it over and he said, "I'll sue." And sue he did. The lawnmower company was to blame. The court agreed. He was innocent. The blame was not his!
P.S. The legal facts in this parable are true!
Richard A. Jensen is professor emeritus of homiletics at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, and he also served as the dean of the Doctor of Ministry in Preaching program for the Association of Chicago Theological Seminaries. He is well-known for his decade-long stint as the speaker for the weekly national radio ministry Lutheran Vespers. Jensen is the author of several acclaimed books on the art of preaching, including the CSS titles Thinking in Story, Preaching Matthew's Gospel, Preaching Mark's Gospel, and Preaching Luke's Gospel. This story appears in Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 57 Stories for Cycle C.
Jesus And Politics
David E. Leininger
Luke 13:1-9
This is an intriguing lesson. First, the reflection on an apparent atrocity perpetrated by the Roman Governor -- folks beaten and killed in the midst of their religious observance. Apparently, Pilate was flexing Roman muscle to make sure no Jewish Zealots would consider fomenting an insurrection. Too bad. But those Galileans should have kept to their own territory rather than coming down to Jerusalem to further their political schemes. As painful as it might be to admit, perhaps Pilate had to do what Pilate had to do. They got what they deserved.
Then there was that story of the 18 people crushed by the horrible collapse of the tower of Siloam, a construction project gone drastically wrong. Word on the street was that the disaster would never have happened had not Pilate stolen the money to fund it from the Temple treasury*; people said anyone who worked on it was participating in a blasphemy against God. God made that tower fall. Anyone who cooperates with evil gets evil in return. Period. Bottom line. People get what they deserve.
There's nothing unique in that kind of thinking. People get what they have coming to them, and if something bad happens, at some level, somehow, somewhere, they were asking for it. A prostitute is murdered, her body dumped in a ditch -- divine retribution, some say. A young woman is attacked; "Well, what do you expect -- look what she was wearing!" Uh-huh. AIDS. Why? Lifestyle. Sex. Drugs. And when we are brought low, we whisper, "Why, God? What have I done to deserve this?"
Do you believe that all suffering is the result of some evil that the tormented person has done (or if the victim is too young or obviously innocent, it must be the fault of parents or grandparents)? Lots of folks do. Psychologists call it the "Just World" theory -- everything that happens is just and right, as it should be, even if it does not appear to be. Such a belief helps folks explain the inexplicable.
What do you think, Jesus?
"Well, I will tell you what I think... unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did."
Huh?
Perhaps it would be helpful to note that some scholars see these verses against a background of an attempt to enlist Jesus in the revolutionary plans of the day, and that would not be unexpected. After all, the traditional understanding of the arrival of the Messiah was that he would come as a conquering hero, a charismatic commander who would rally the people to defeat the forces of Caesar and overthrow the Roman oppressors. Add to that the fact that he was a Galilean like those Zealots who died with their sacrifices, plus being a religious man who would have been as offended as anyone by the misuse of temple funds for the Siloam tower -- then we see the logic of the approach. But instead of joining in the revolution on one side, or aligning with the "go along to get along" group on the other (both of which were probably in his audience), he says, "I tell you, unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did."
Repent from what? If Jesus is warning against inappropriate political priorities (as the context seems to indicate that he is), then the message is to get back to the business at hand -- as a community set apart by God, you do what you are supposed to do; you be all that you can be. Be the "light to the nations" (Isaiah 42:6) that you are called to be. If you fail in that task, the consequences are as grave for you as those experienced by the martyred Zealots or the crushed construction workers. Jesus' message was no fire-and-brimstone threat; rather it was dispassionate observation on what would lie ahead if the current course would be followed to its natural conclusion. And, as you historians know very well, the disaster did come -- a generation later, the nation was laid waste. Rome destroyed Jerusalem.
What is the message for us who encounter it after 2,000 years? Fortunately, we do not have to worry about upsetting Rome. However, inappropriate political positions are as problematic now as they ever were. In our day they might involve issues such as school prayer or abortion or gay rights or what is to be taught in our public schools. They might involve obvious and unmistakable partisanship that would alienate those of a different political persuasion from the church. The message, loud and clear, is the same as it was 2,000 years ago: be careful about political maneuverings and equally careful about deciding which position is sinful and which is not. There is plenty of sinfulness to go around, just as in Jesus' day, no matter which side of the spectrum you are on.
[* This is extrapolated from Josephus, who reports that Pilate killed Jews who opposed him when he appropriated money from the Temple treasury to build an aqueduct in Jerusalem (Jewish War 2, 9, 4 pp. 175-77; Antiquities 18, 3, 2 pp. 60-62).]
David E. Leininger is the pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Warren, Pennsylvania. He has also served congregations in North and South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. Leininger is a graduate of the Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary in Columbia, South Carolina (M.Div) and Erskine Theological Seminary in Due West, South Carolina (D.Min.). His most recent book is A Color-Blind Church (CSS), the account of an intriguing match of two congregations -- one black, one white -- in a small community following the reunion of the northern and southern streams of the Presbyterian Church (USA) in 1983.
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StoryShare, March 11, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
