Disturbed by the Gospel Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18, Philippians 3:17-4:1, Luke 13:22-35 March 7, 2004, Year C 2nd Sunday of Lent The Rev. William V. Livingston, Rector Church of the Resurrection, Starkville, Mississippi My homiletics professor taught when we encounter texts that most disturb us, it is those with which we most need to wrestle. Today's Gospel presents such a text. It disturbs me in two ways. First, the parabolic reference to the narrow door and those who won't get in and, second, the awkward segue into Jesus' references to Herod and laments for Jerusalem. Those who established our lectionary readings offer the option of not including Jesus' references to the narrow door in today's reading, but hearing only Jesus' references about Herod and laments over Jerusalem. I considered avoiding the narrow door text altogether. To do so, I would have disappointed my homiletics professor's expectation that I wrestle with texts that disturb me and would ignore the narrative as the author of Luke intends us to hear it. Too often, we gloss over this reading, assuming it tells us that only those who are followers will get in, and we, who, obviously, are followers, therefore, already have our tickets punched. However, this overlooks far too much of the text. First, the questioner asks about being saved, a word I fear modern Christians throw around so glibly with little awareness of what it means. Do we mean, who will get into heaven? Do we mean who is reconciled with God? Do we mean it as the questioner meant it? This is a first century Jew - possibly a Pharisee, possibly a follower of Jesus, possibly someone who just happened to be in the crowd that day. Luke does not consider it important to offer further identification. Regardless, the questioner asks from the perspective of first century Judaism - that is "are only a few being saved from the penalties of the Messianic judgment or being allowed to receive the Messianic deliverance?" Jesus answers by instructing the questioner to enter the narrow door and describes how so many will be turned away. This disturbs me because it is not the welcoming Jesus I most often seek in the Gospels. It disturbs me because so many today somehow choose to ignore that the parabolic imagery could somehow be about us - that we may well be among those standing in front of the door yelling, "We ate and drank with you, and you taught in our streets." But, hear in response, "I do not know where you come from; go away from me, all you evildoers!" The Pharisees assumed that their tickets to the Messianic deliverance were already punched, and while he angered them, at least they had the insight that Jesus spoke about them in such sayings. It disturbs me how much we modern Christians can often prove to be such good Pharisees but not realize such parables may be directed toward us. It disturbs me that someone involved in conversations to seek resolution in our national church's conflicts shared with me that he began one of those conversations by asking, "How many of us are willing to accept we may have it wrong? How many of us are willing to accept that when we get to the next life whatever our stance in our conflict that we might have been wrong?" and the majority were not willing to accept that they could possibly be wrong. Once again, Luke's narrative reminds us Jesus' ministry was about reversals. Those who feel so certain they've got their ticket punched may find themselves left out, and those they were certain would never get in go in before them - some who are last become first, and some who are first become last." This disturbs me because it tells me my certainty should create uncertainty within me. Before I can resolve this confusion, the narrative shifts to Jesus' rebuke of the warning of Herod seeking him and Jesus' lament over Jerusalem. I do not think Luke's juxtaposition is coincidental. After all, this whole scene takes place after Jesus has turned his face toward Jerusalem. Everything must be seen and heard through the eyes and ears of the approaching passion. Because of Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ, much is being made about how Jesus died, for torture makes good theater and the sight of blood stirs human passions. But the larger point is how Jesus lived. For he knew his time would be short, and he compressed as much as possible into his days. He had no patience for the vainglory of his disciples or the empty adulation of the crowd. He wanted to love, to give, and to speak openly about this journey that we all share. He avoided grand gestures, but walked humbly, talked with a few, touched anyone who drew near, fed the hungry, and was magnanimous toward his enemies. Rather than fight or flee, Jesus gave Herod a brief lesson in time. "Today, tomorrow and the third day" are all we have, and we must not waste them in petty battles that serve only self. Jesus spoke with sad irony when he told the Pharisees that he could not avoid Jerusalem in order to stay alive. For the heart of his people's faith was corrupt. The holy city that God intended to be a beacon to the nations had chosen to walk in darkness. The city to which God had sent prophet after prophet - whose songs, lamentations and visions formed the very core of faith - was also the city that "stones those who are sent to it." There was no avoiding Jerusalem. A life lived fully will always entail suffering. The challenge in these entertainment- and addiction-soaked times is to take life seriously enough to live it. Jesus didn't lay a curse on Jerusalem, or launch an evangelistic campaign to "save" Jerusalem, or build a Jesus-reminder on every corner, or write new laws for a wayward people. He wept over the city, as he wept over Lazarus. He accepted the deep sorrow of one who loves and yet loses. He made the connection between mind and heart, between actual and ideal, between experience and vision - and that connection broke his heart. While we want God to be a fixer, a strong ruler who makes things right, a teacher who shows us the right way, what we probably need to know is God's sorrow. It is us that Jesus weeps over because we do not live into the fullness of the promise. We need to hear the sound of God walking in the garden, crying out for his beloved, and from that sorrow producing a music that tears at our souls. Until we hear that mournful requiem and join its symphony of sorrow, we will continue to assume we already have our tickets punched, and will continue to talk about peace but make war, about love but sow hatred. What is the failure of those turned away? Not because they did not seek to enter. Did they seek to enter by the wrong means? Were they, though they tried, unqualified to enter? Did they lack the faith or good works needed for entry? The owner says only, "I do not know where you come from." Yet, others will enter coming from east, west, north, and south - anywhere and everywhere. Does the reason for the rejection lie instead with the owner of the house? Therein we find the heart of the mystery of election and grace, free will and determinism. Strive, therefore, as one who dares not presume on God's grace. Strive as though admission to the kingdom depended entirely on your own doing, but know that ultimately it depends on God's grace. It disturbs me that God operates in a way so contrary to how I would have designed the world. It disturbs me that it is much harder for we who think we've earned God's blessings and much easier for those who think they will never be worthy of God's blessings. It disturbs me we cannot edit out the portions of the Gospel that remind us of this fact.