What's Your Real Job?

What's Your Real Work? Jeremiah 11:1-5 2 Timothy 2:14-19 Luke 13:31-35 King Herod has been hard at work. He's put in many grueling hours doing either one or two things: first, he has to convince the religious authorities of the Judean province that he's taking care of their business; and second, he has to reassure the Romans that, if there's any kind of rebellious uprising on the part of those Jews, he can handle it. Herod's been hard at work. But not really. He's not authentically doing the true work of the people and for the people. In fact, by and large, professional sovereigns like Herod spend the bulk of their time preening; preening their self-centered, delusions of grandeur and propping up all the accoutrements that make it appear as if they're all powerful. And since he's not legitimately king-since he's a mere figurehead to some or a useful puppet to others-Herod has to work extra hard to get the job done. I love that scene in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy, Toto, the Scarecrow and the Tinman are finally granted an audience with the only majestic figure who can help them to realize their full potentials. The girl from Kansas, as you know, just wants to go home. The Scarecrow wants a brain. The Tinman wants a heart. But then comes the Lion. The Lion's problem is that he has to be "the king of the forest," and if he's not at the pinnacle of the food chain, he's a failure. Ironically, after delivering this great speech, he quivers and shakes before Wizard, who appears like this gigantic, disembodied, green skull. And, you see, after all the smoke clears, and the dog pulls back the curtain, what we see is a frail, disoriented old man who's been manipulating the entire show. Then, of course, comes to vociferous vitriol: Scarecrow calls the Wizard a Humbug! Dorothy call him a Very Bad Man!-and, I don't know about you, but how I wish real life worked like this! How I wish the charlatans, the con-artists, the wizards and the Herod's of this life would be so easily exposed! But it going to take work; and the question is-what kind of work? That is, do we fight the inauthenticity and the murderous rage of Herod with more of the same? I don't think so. And my suggestion to you is that the scripture passages this morning point us toward a radically different quality of work. It's not the work you get paid for. And it's not the work you do as a volunteer now that you're retired and have the time. On the contrary, Jesus describes his work in this three-fold way: 1. It involves casting out demons; 2. It offers the performance of certain cures; and 3. It's work that must be finished in the fullness of time, or as Jesus says, "on the third day." And yet, with that being said, it's instructive for us to think back to one of our first jobs. Are you there? I had a job as a clerk at a delicatessen, a manager at Arby's Restaurant and finally, a security guard. Now, you would assume that each of these modes of employment would require a different skill set. At the deli I'd slice lunchmeat, commiserate with customers and, when it was time to close, disinfect the countertops and sweep the floors. With Arby's, however, I'd have to do an actual inventory of the buns and the roast beef and the containers of Horsey Sauce, and at the end of the night, I'd have to tally up all the money we took in, and remember the combination to a safe. But then, just at the start of seminary in Princeton, New Jersey, I was given the high privilege of securing the office complex of Martin Marietta. (And in case you don't know, Martin Marietta was the predecessor to Lockheed Martin, and the end product of this company's work just happened to be the missiles and the armaments used in warfare around the world.) You would think, given what's at stake, that I'd be issued a weapon; that I'd have to undergo a complete security check; and that I'd be warned about industrial and international espionage. But instead, my boss asked me a few innocuous questions, gave me the keys to every building and to every office door; he provided me with a log, in which I was supposed to write down the names of any employees who stayed into the night. And that was it. We used to joke that if anyone would try to rob the place, the job of the security guard would be to say, "Excuse me, please. Would you mind providing me with your name and address?" And my point in sharing all this work history is the Outside Agenda. I know there's a lot of fascination with doing the work that you love-so that you'll never have to really work a day in your life. But there's also the kind of work that God assigns to Adam and Eve after they've damaged their relationship; and that is, "by the sweat of your face, you shall eat bread" (Gen. 3:19); and the inference we're to draw (I think) is the agenda that comes from outside my personal preferences. In fact, in strange, paradoxical ways, we learn best how to work when the work we must do is declared to us, and when we are called to it. And yes, by doing the work, we might get paid and our bank accounts might accrue interest. But ultimately, in Christ, we're never working for the capital gains or for the life of personal luxury. We're working for Jerusalem; and by Jerusalem I mean the genuine, the just and the compassionate community, where you and I work at forgiveness and we work at loving our neighbors and we work at reconciliation-EVEN IF IT COSTS US SOMETHING! "At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to [Jesus], 'Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.'" In other words, do you really believe that what you're doing is worth the risk? In other words, we-the Pharisees have assumed the task of keeping Herod in power. Herod acts as a buffer between the religious authorities of Jerusalem and the governance of Rome. We like it that way. We enjoy all the benefits of the status quo, and you-Jesus-are creating problems in that regard. Go away! We know you think it's your appointed task-your big responsibility-to go to Jerusalem. But we-the Pharisees-are here to tell you, 'Don't do it. You will die there...' Thomas Merton was the Trappist monk, who died in the 1960's, while engaging in conversations with his Buddhist counterparts in Thailand. Given the context of the Vietnam War, he had been trying to build a mystical bridge, Christianity and the mystical religions of the East. And among his many books is an autobiography, entitled Seven Story Mountain, where he recalls building a fort in the woods, and how his younger brother, Paul, wanted to join the club. But rather than welcome him into the camaraderie, they threw rocks at him, and told him he wasn't wanted and to go away. And here's how Merton phrased it: And there he stands, not sobbing, not crying, but angry and unhappy and offended and tremendously sad. And yet he is fascinated by what we are doing, nailing shingles all over our new hut. And his tremendous desire to be with us and to do what we are doing will not permit him to go away. The law written in his nature says that he must be with his elder brother, and do what he is doing, and he cannot understand why this law of love is being so wildly and unjustly violated in his case. You see, this moment and many others like it are painful, but precious. And why? Why is it, do you suppose, that we contemplate those experiences if not for the fact that they embody the ultimate work to which every human being is called? That is, we are called to face-to-face, to authentic community, and when that so obviously cannot be achieved, our work is to stay there and bear witness to that brokenness-to declare with our very lives, if necessary, that the disingenuous work of Herod is not the way things are. Nor does building a church resemble building a private fort in the woods while then pitching rocks at the apostle Paul... I mentioned how Jesus described the first part of his work as casting out demons, and his point, it seems to me, has nothing to do with a belief in gargoyle-like ghosts who make us spew pea soup and spin our heads in circles. To cast out a demon is to help a person shed a false, inauthentic self. To cast out a demon is to demonstrate publicly that nothing in our party affiliation, our race, our ethnicity, our gender, our sexual orientation, our level of income-nothing!-there is no true source of personal identity other than the one that says, 'I am yours, O God, save me!' Now, second on the agenda for Jesus, is performance of certain cures. And what's at stake here is really compelling and really crucial to a growing faith. First, if we are copasetic with the claim that Jesus is going to die and that somehow God reveals God's Self in that suffering and death, how can we assume so stridently that God will automatically intervene and cure every disease? For me to say this aloud is not an admission of doubt; on the contrary-I say that God sends Jesus into human suffering so that we can bear it, meaningfully and hopefully. Second, if it's true that Jesus cures people, even today (and I believe it is), the goal of that bodily health is not simply bodily health. It is to allow that healing power to transform your agenda for life, your work habits, your interpersonal relationships, your view of the world-and yes, your on-going transformation! Reynolds Price was a Duke University professor and an award-winning novelist, who became a paraplegic and one night had a dream, in which he woke up on the shores of the Galilee. Then he saw Jesus healing people, except he wouldn't say, "You're healed. You've got what you've wanted." He'd say what he eventually said to Reynolds Price, "You're forgiven." To which the dreaming paraplegic replied, "But am I healed?" And in the dream, Jesus said, "That too!" All this is to say, when I encounter someone who is ill, injured, old or suffering from any number of emotional or psychological traumas, my most authentic work isn't merely to pray for them, or to give them money or buy them trips to Disney World. Those things are great. But the more authentic work is entering into their suffering as if it were all part and parcel of the same suffering that Jesus endured. Now, let me unpack this just a little bit more. In the late 1980's I took an interest in the history of the Nez Perce tribal community and its interactions with the nineteenth century missionaries, Henry and Edna Spaulding. For me, it was just a passing curiosity. I had noticed several elders from Lapwai at a meeting, and one of them reached out to me and the next thing I knew Adrian Moody was giving me smoked tidbits of salmon and invited me to experience a sweat lodge. Anyway, during one of my trips to the reservation lands, we went to the Henry Spaulding Museum, and after observing the displays inside, we ventured outside. Adrian wanted to show me something, and as he strode out beyond the dumpster, I began to get a little nervous. Where he's going? Well, after a few more steps, this Elder from a Christian church on the reservation found this one, particular, massive tree, and embedded in the knot of that old growth were these rusted shackles. Adrian then placed his hands within the broken circles of these shackles, and he looked up. He said, "This is how they converted us." Now, in moments like that, it's important to ask what the goal is, and therefore what prosperity-from the perspective of Christ-looks like. And I believe the answer is it looks like the long, arduous journey of reconciliation and healing. And if it looks like entering into the adversity that we ourselves perpetuate when we pass the victims and the misfits and the strangers of human history. And then, you see, as we're being interviewed for the job, the only remaining question is-ARE WE WILLING? "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under your wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you..." This previous week was an awful one for me. Not only did our basement flood when a pipe burst in our sprinkler system, but the Insurance Company said they wouldn't cover the damages, according to their policy. And then, I had to go the dermatologist because of this irritating pimple I had sprouted on my nose. And I went into his office, and after burning off the lump of flesh, he tells me they're going to do a biopsy on it, but he's fairly confident that it's precancerous, which means that he's going to have to cut into my face and see if there's more basil cells. And do you know what I told him in reply? I said, "Hey, thank you for your work!" And was I really grateful? Would I rather not have heard his diagnosis and his prognosis? And the answer, of course, is yes. I'd much rather know the true condition than not know. So that I can do something. So that both he and I can get to work. And listen for this comparison: I don't know about you, but when I look around at the community of Christ, it's very rare to have people say, "Hey, thank you for exposing the roots of my sinfulness. And thank you for revealing where I've fallen short. And thank you for showing me where the Spirit of Christ would like to excise the evil of the world by cutting into my thoughts and my feelings and my soul." We don't often hear that kind of gratitude. But it comes with the job, doesn't it? Amen.