Sermons

Fifteenth Sunday After Trinity
Sunday 19 September 2004 at 10am
Simon Cowling

Readings: 1 Timothy 2. 1-7; Luke 16. 1-13

A new Vicar was being given conflicting advice about whether it was the tradition for the congregation to stand during the eucharistic prayer or to kneel. The situation had become so volatile that the Vicar decided to visit her predecessor but two, now very elderly, who she thought would be distanced enough from the issue to give impartial and accurate advice.
"Father, was it the tradition in your time for people to stand during the eucharistic prayer?", the young Vicar asked.
"No," replied the elderly priest, "that wasn't the tradition."
"Well was it the tradition for people to kneel then?"
"No," came the reply, "that wasn't the tradition either.
"Well what was it?" asked the young Vicar in some frustration. "During the eucharistic prayer I've got half the congregation kneeling, half standing and both halves looking daggers at each other and taking no notice of the prayer."
"Ah yes," said her predecessor but two, now misty-eyed with nostalgia, "that was the tradition."
A variation on an old theme - and of course arguments about tradition are not confined to Christians, although we do seem to specialise in them. But arguments about tradition very often reveal - I would say usually reveal - more about those who are arguing than about the issue itself.

What is true about tradition is also true about scripture, and that's the theme I want to explore this morning. Take any moral issue: divorce, human sexuality, physical chastisement of children, pacifism, to name only a few. Christians of all traditions (that word again!) who hold particular views about these - or any other - issues will often appeal to scripture to support their argument. The problem arises when disagreements emerge between Christians about how particular passages of scripture are to be interpreted or indeed which passages of scripture are most relevant to the issue in question. Sadly this is often a dialogue of the deaf rather than an honest search after truth and sends out a confused message about the genuineness of Christians' commitment to love each other, never mind the world we are called to serve; and just to put all this in a longer perspective, we might take some guilty comfort from goings-on in the very early Church: for instance, the fact that many of the early Jewish Christians wanted to exclude non-Jews from the fellowship of the Church if they were unwilling to receive circumcision or follow the Jewish dietary laws. This argument was at least partly to do with what relative weight was to be given to different passages of the Hebrew scriptures, our Old Testament.

As it happens the passage of scripture I want to focus on this morning, today's first reading, might at first sight seem an unlikely one to arouse great moral passion. The writer of the first letter to Timothy is urging the fervent use of prayer by Christians for all in authority in pursuit of what he describes as a 'quiet and peaceful life.' It's these apparently innocuous verses especially that have led some Christians - and not just in the twentieth century - to accuse the writer of being undemanding and rather bourgeois, middle-class we might say, in his outlook and his assumptions. From one perspective it's easy to see why. Where's the grit in this particular scrtiptural pearl? Prayer is fine and good, but what status quo are we supporting and is it the kind of quiet and peaceful life that we want? Remember this letter was written at a time when Christians were being regularly persecuted for their faith. Is such a humdrum, shrinking violet response to persecution worthy of the successors to Stephen, who willingly embraced martyrdom by stoning, or to James the brother of John, put to death by the sword by Herod? Is a 'quiet and peaceful life' the same as taking up our cross, as Jesus commanded his disciples?

Before we jump to easy conclusions about that question I want us to remind ourselves that Christianity's self-identity, our sense of who we are as God's people, derives ultimately not from a text, or set of texts, but from a person: Jesus Christ. Jesus is the Word of God, the living Word of God, who is our Way, our Truth and our Life. 'What would Jesus do', is a deceptively simple question, but it is in answering that question - or seeking to do so - that we are likely to be led into a deeper understanding of what scripture might be saying to us. Let's begin to apply that test to this morning's passage from the first letter to Timothy. Jesus' undoubted concern for and interest in the powerless and the marginalized is balanced at various points in the Gospels by his willingness also to associate with - and, yes, often to challenge - those who have authority or influence. For instance, Luke and Matthew tell us how Jesus heals the centurion's servant in Capernaum: he does not dismiss the soldier as a representative the power of an alien and occupying authority; he meets him at a point of need and answers that need. Again, John recounts how Jesus spends a long time in conversation with Nicodemus, a Jewish leader and teacher and therefore one of whom we might expect Jesus to be suspicious. Instead Jesus spends time explaining to Nicodemus who he, Jesus, is and why he has come, answering each question fully and patiently. Finally, according to Luke Jesus does not refuse an invitation to dine with Simon the Pharisee, a representative of a conservative religious establishment. He accepts the invitation and uses the occasion of the meal as an opportunity to teach about human sinfulness and the forgiveness of God. If we map these responses of Jesus onto our first reading we begin to see why it might sometimes be appropriate advice to Christians to attempt to live peaceably under the authority of a state which is not necessarily friendly and sometimes downright hostile. To do so might actually afford us more opportunities to communicate the Gospel than outright confrontation would.

Jesus was alive to context. In discerning the real concerns and the true motives of the individuals and groups he came into contact with in many different situations he was able to reach to the heart of the matter. That is a good guide for our approach to scripture. The Bible is not merely an instruction manual or a blueprint: such things have no life, whereas the word of God, as we learn in the letter to the Hebrews, is 'living and active.' Nor is the Bible there to back up our human prejudices and preferences, a set of unconnected texts we can bring into play when it suits us in order to score points off opponents. That was not Jesus' way. Like him, we need to look at our context, to discern the true motives and the real concerns of those whom we encounter; and to use scripture prayerfully and faithfully in the light of our commitment to follow Jesus as our Way, our Truth and our Life. Such a commitment might sometimes require us to overthrow the equivalent of the money-changers' tables or to condemn the hypocrisy of latter-day Pharisees; but it might also require us to live the quiet and peaceful life commended in today's first reading which also points out that it is God's will for all to come to know the truth about the one who brings God and human beings together: Jesus Christ our Lord.

© St Edmund's Church, Roundhay - Charity Number 1131904