Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, 21A, September 28, 2014; The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

O God of mercy, may we have the wisdom, the strength, and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth – come when it may and cost what it will.

Today our story from Exodus tells us that in the olden days, the people of God used to wonder whether God was really with (or in) them or not. As I recited last week, the people of God had survived the plagues, experienced the Passover, miraculously escaped a pursuing army, escaped slavery, cried out for food in the desert and had meat and bread delivered. Now they were thirsty. They were so thirsty that Moses was afraid for his life if he didn’t find some water for them to drink. When water came bubbling up out of the rock, Moses named the place “squabble” and “disputation” because the people couldn’t agree about whether God was among them, yes or no. Just so you know, getting enough water to quench their thirst didn’t stop the squabbling and disputation about whether God was in their midst or not. We are still grappling with this, aren’t we, whether we are counting this year as 2014 or 5775 or some other number altogether.

This is not just a story that might remind us of a bedtime scene with a pre-schooler who keeps calling out to a mom or dad for one more thing. This is a story of the politics of water – access, purity, control, which is a matter of life and death. This is a story about how following God’s lead does not always bring God’s people to places of oasis. [1] How do we know whether the Yes of God’s presence is in our collective inward part (among us) when we are thirsting for water or for justice or mercy? How can we know?

I think that this wondering lies behind the question of authority in our Gospel lesson from Matthew. Authority, exousia in Greek, has to do with ability or power or right or liberty. Who gave this guy in the temple that ability or power or right or liberty to teach what he was teaching? What was the source of the power or right or liberty of the baptism of John? It’s a question that the chief priests and elders of the Episcopal Church ask all the time, isn’t it? It seems (to me) like a good question to ask. How do we know where one’s authority comes from?

If you heard today’s passage with the whole Gospel story preceding it, you would have fresh in your minds just how strongly aligned John and Jesus are in Matthew. Matthew’s is not the sweet story of a cousin leaping in his mother’s womb – that’s Luke’s story. In Matthew there’s no mention of family ties between John and Jesus – rather the ties are political and economic and spiritual. John the Baptizer “appears,” calling out “change your mind – change your ways because God’s realm is closing in.” To the religious leaders, John is even clearer. He challenges them to “start producing fruit suitable for a change of heart.”

In Matthew’s story, Jesus came to a very surprised John to get baptized. John said, “you’re coming to ME to get baptized? I’m the one who needs to get baptized by YOU!” Matthew’s narrative moves rather quickly through Jesus’ baptism and temptation in the desert so that the hearers don’t miss this: when Jesus heard that John had been locked up, Jesus began his ministry calling out the exact thing, word for word, that John had been calling out: “change your mind — change your ways because God’s realm is closing in.” So that’s the reference in today’s Gospel reading. That’s what has been seen and not believed – that God’s realm is very near.

Jesus says, “What do you think? Even after you saw [baptizing], you did not change your minds and believe that God’s realm is very near.” And I wonder who among us has seen baptism and still not perceived the nearness of God? Some of us saw a baptism just a couple of weeks ago in Lindsey Chapel. What does it mean to believe it? One of my seminary professors used to love to joke “I believe in baptism, heck I’ve seen it!” But you know, even I don’t always behave as if I believe the nearness of the realm of God even when I’ve seen it.

Jesus asks, “What do you think? A father has two children. To the first, he says, ‘I need you to go work in the vineyard’ and the first one says ‘I don’t want to’ but later thinks better of it and goes to work. To the other he says ‘I need you to go work in the vineyard’ and the other child says ‘I will’ but doesn’t move.” Jesus asks which of the two did what the father wanted. His audience is smart and faithful. We too know the answer to this question. The first one. We know what it’s like to not want to but then to think again and go do the work that needs to be done, the work we’ve been asked to do. We want that to embody the right answer. And we know what it’s like to say yes to something and then not do it. (Well I know what that’s like anyway.)

But notice this. Jesus doesn’t confirm their answer. He doesn’t say, “right, smart and faithful people.” Jesus doesn’t actually say what the father’s will was or which child did it. Actually, both children saddened their father – the first by refusing even though he later went, and the second by agreeing and not going. I imagine Jesus shaking his head sadly and saying “you know, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the realm of God ahead of you.” Ouch. There probably weren’t any folks more despised and degraded in Jesus’ time than tax collectors and prostitutes. Tax collectors were considered thieves and traitors. In Jesus’ time, they and their families were not permitted to hold communal office or to give testimony in a court [3] – they forfeited their civil and religious rights to do their dirty work.

Prostitutes, I’d wager, haven’t changed a whole lot in the last 2000 years, nor has the society’s desire to punish the prostitutes rather than the clients. I don’t think that Jesus is threatening when he says, “You know, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the realm of God ahead of you.” He’s describing a situation with a certain sadness and regret. He’s telling them what is happening right in front of them.

I wonder if Jesus is sad because Jesus is afraid that we who are smart and decent (or not so smart, but lucky) aren’t really interested in a realm where God’s generosity is without any measure, where God’s grace is scandalous, where the doorway into God’s realm is so wide open you can’t even see the sides. I wonder if it’s not so much that God won’t let us into God’s realm all at the same time – it’s that we really don’t want to be seen as equals with anyone who we believe unclean or sinful, or even with people with whom we vehemently disagree. We don’t want to be equal in God’s eyes with thieves and whores. We want God to see us as better than thieves and whores because that’s how we see ourselves. (Besides, we work so hard.)”

What Jesus wants is for us to change our hearts so that we say yes and do yes to God whose love is so big that the differences between us are barely perceptible. Do you hear that? God’s love is so big that the differences between us in terms of good and bad, or more than/less than, are infinitesimal by comparison and we waste precious time trying to measure those differences. Jesus wants us to say yes and do yes to Love – capital L — which creates, redeems, and sanctifies life. That is God’s pleasure – the yes that creates, redeems, and sanctifies life.

I don’t know how many of you know thieves and prostitutes. (And I do not need to see a show of hands.) But whenever I hear this passage of scripture, I cannot help thinking about the many thieves and prostitutes I have gotten to know over the last eighteen years. I probably know several hundred by name. I meet them in prison. I go there because it’s a tangible way to say yes to and do the Good News of Jesus Christ – it’s a way for me to believe in my baptism. When I go to the Suffolk County House of Correction every Monday night, with a handful of other volunteers, we are, by our presence, testifying to the creative, redemptive and sanctifying love of God. What we find is that love magnified many times in the women who are incarcerated. As with all good mission work, we go to take the face of Christ into what seems like a godforsaken place, and when we arrive we meet the face of Christ in those we came to serve – every time.

But what is it about thieves and prostitutes? Perhaps they’re more able, more ready to recognize the face of God when they see it – perhaps they have the least to lose – perhaps they’re more able, more ready to rely on the grace of God than on themselves. I don’t know — but I see heaven in their eyes on a regular basis. I want to know them so that maybe they’ll take my hand and lead me there. They are going into the kingdom of heaven ahead of me every day.

Who are the unlikeliest folks that you know that who might lead you to the realm of God? Where are the thieves and prostitutes in your life, thirsty for God’s love with little or nothing left to lose in terms of their own self-respect? They’re certainly around – sometimes they’re even inside of us. Get to know them – begin to love them – and I mean take the risk to respect their dignity – take the risk to respect the dignity of people you cannot stand and risk letting them love you.

In his letter to the Philippians, written while suffering in prison, Paul says, “If then, there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete.” Paul pleads “let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” How do we do that? The way – the only way – we or anyone else can ever know that the Holy One is among us – in our inward part, [2] is through encouragement, inspiration, compassion, and sympathy – for others and for ourselves. We have the authority, the freedom, the ability, the power to spread love around and turn even bitter suffering into joy. In the words of Henri-Frederic Amiel, “Life is short and we have never too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are traveling the…journey with us. Oh, be swift to love, make haste to be kind.” That’s how we will know (and show) that the Holy One is among us.

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