“NO DOUBT?”

 

 

A post-homiletical discourse delivered by the Rev. Dr. James R. Beebe

Rector, St. Patrick’s Church, Incline Village, Nevada, October 4, 2009

 

 

     Richard Hinkle knows a lot about wine.  He’s written a wine encyclopedia, six books and a script for the video, “Wines of a Place.”  Incidentally, that film was narrated by the late Raymond Burr (“before he died,” Hinkle adds helpfully). 

 

     At any rate, Hinkle decries what he calls the “conspiracy of pretentiousness” among his colleagues in the wine industry; namely, the “prismatic luminescence” school of wine writing.  Fortunately, he has created Hinkle’s First Law against this threatening tsunami of pride-filled pretentiousness.

 

It states:  “There are only three categories of wine:  (1) I like it; (2) I don’t like it; and (3) I’ll drink it if someone else pays for it.”

 

     The other school, however, is a bit of a conundrum.  It’s filled with heady adjectives like succulent and fleshy and decadent.  But it’s also filled with nasty put-downs, the most lacerating of which is related by an Episcopal priest from the South.  As the story goes, a winemaker in the Arkansas foothills sent one of his white wines to Arkansas State Laboratory for analysis.  The report came back said:  “Your horse needs a vet.”

 

     The wine industry, of course, is not the only group of folk who are prone to such airy pretension.  In many ways, the Church has them equaled.  We in the Episcopal Church are heirs to a most beautiful liturgy – one that combines ancient and simple Jewish and early Christian customs with the more ornate, distant and polished liturgies of the medieval church.  Our Prayer Book is filled with breathtaking turns-of-phrase and scriptural allusions.

 

     Nevertheless, I have heard these liturgies used in ways never intended by Jesus.  Sometimes they’re used to bash, to ridicule, to intimidate.  Sometimes they’re used to show up or show off.  And sometimes they’re used, Narcissus-like, as mirrors which reflect how simply fabulously and extravagantly we are worshiping God.  All of this is caused by our certainty that we are right.

 

 

 

     In the Bible, Jesus doesn’t have much to say about the evils of card-playing and cinema-watching and bad language and heavy petting.  But of one thing you can be certain – wherever there is pretension and self-righteousness, he is in the middle of the fray, identifying it and confronting it. 

 

     So it is with our Gospel reading for today.  The usual suspects have been trying to trick Jesus into making a theological mistake.  They’re asking him all kinds of questions to check out his orthodoxy (which, incidentally, they’ve already decided was markedly missing).

 

     They are trying to justify divorce by pointing to the law of Moses, which allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and divorce his wife.  In those circumstances, a divorced woman, who was little more than chattel anyway, was forced to sell herself on the streets. 

 

     Apparently, Jesus was upbraiding his male counterparts for their cruel actions.  So, as usual, he intensifies the law by telling them about God’s intent for marriage.  All of a sudden, they’re out of excuses.  No more easy divorce decrees.  Which is very inconvenient because of what they considered their superior position on the topic.

 

     Many people think that Jesus came to explain things.  Well, with folks who are cocksure of what is true and what is not true, all the explaining in the world won’t help.  They’re not open to new ways of thinking and being.  One time, in fact, his confused disciples asked him why he taught in those incomprehensible parables.  Want to know what he told them?  He said that he speaks in parables so that people will be ever seeing – but never perceiving – and ever hearing – but never understanding.  Otherwise, he said they might turn and be forgiven.

 

     Say what?  Did I read that right?  Jesus taught in parables with the deliberate intent of confusing people?  Well, the truth is, people have to be prepared for the truth.  And haughty self-righteousness – the certainty that we have the right answers – is not fertile ground for the truth.  So the only way to get people to understand is first to upset their theological applecart.  To confuse them.  To create doubt.

 

     OK, I’ve said how redemptive doubt can be.  So it’s time for a disclaimer.  Maybe, just maybe, some of us like to create doubt for its own sake.  In some circles it’s downright chic to be a skeptic.  Listen to a conversation:

 

     A Roman Catholic, a Baptist and an Episcopalian arrive at the gates of heaven at the same moment.  Apparently, because of a glitch in timing, only one could be admitted at that time.  St. Peter explained to the three that Jesus himself would interview them and determine which was to enter his Father’s house. 

 

     A moment later, there was a sound of trumpets and the voices of the heavenly hosts sang forth, and out walked Jesus.  He apologized to each of the three men for the situation and promised to look into it later.  But for now, his intention was to make this interview as brief as possible.

 

     Turning first to the Catholic, he said, “Who do you say that I am?” 

 

The Catholic paused for a moment and then said, “Well, the Pope says….” 

 

Jesus interrupted him and said, “No, no, no.  Who do YOU say that I am?”  The man answered, “Well, Vatican II….”

 

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Jesus said and, turning to the Baptist, queried, “Who do you say that I am?” 

 

The Baptist thought for a moment and said, “The Bible teaches us that….” 

 

But Jesus broke in and said, “No, I want to know who YOU say that I am!”

 

Nearly giving up, Jesus finally turned to the Episcopalian and said, “Who do you say that I am?” 

 

And the Episcopalian answered, “You are the Son of God, the Word made flesh, the Savior of the world!”

 

Obviously impressed, Jesus said, “Very good.”

 

And the Episcopalian responded, “On the other hand….”

 

     Well, so what?  As we kick off the 2010 stewardship campaign this month you might be asking what in the world this has to do with stewardship.  In a word, everything.  Stewardship is what you do with what you have.  And self-made Christians are a self-righteous oxymoron.

 

*   You have inherited a beautiful liturgy.  Are you going to use it to glorify God or to boast to everyone how superior Anglican worship is?

 

*   Many of you have inherited good health or high intelligence.  Are you going to use it to glorify God or impress everyone with how smart you are and how much money you make? 

 

*   You have inherited the story of the good news of Jesus.  Are you going to live life gratefully, helping to make outsiders insiders?  Or are you going to use that good news to divide and condemn anyone who is not in our faith tradition?

 

     How you use what you have – that’s stewardship.  And you have much – gifts and talents, skills and abilities.  IQ’s and good health.  Family and friends.  An active church that sets its sights on being the church for others.  A faith tradition that stretches back over 3,500 years.  A God who is constantly attempting to bring unity and integrity to all of creation.  So the question is, what are you going to do with all of this?  And, oh yes, the money thing.

 

     Truth can cut two ways.  It can be used for edification and hope.  Or, it can be used for self-aggrandizement.  So it is with money.  So today I ask you, brothers and sisters…

 

…to put your money where your faith is.