It’s just like when the guy in the black hat walks into the saloon, isn’t it? As soon as we see that guy, we know conflict has arrived. We know that the piano player is going to stop in mid-verse and that the dancehall girls are going to back away from the poker tables. Whenever the guy in the black hat walks in, we know that the stage is set for a showdown, and we know that the town is going to be a little different by the end of the day.
Whenever the Pharisees and scribes show up in one of our gospel stories, we know that the stage is set for another kind of showdown. When those guys show up to watch Jesus, we know to get ready for another chapter in the ongoing conflict between the religious authorities—people who are committed to maintaining the rules, guarding the status quo, ensuring the safety of society—and the man who teaches, preaches and lives his understanding that being in right relationship with God is lived out by being in right relationship with ourselves and our neighbors.
Today’s gospel portion follows Mark’s account of Jesus’ feeding of the multitudes, his walking on the sea and calming the storm and his healing of everyone who so much as touched even the fringe of his cloak. Jesus has done marvelous things, but when the Pharisees and scribes gather around him, what attracts their attention? Do they see the powerful work he is doing? No. They see that his followers don’t always wash their hands before they eat. Jesus is leading God’s people into the healing presence of God, but the scribes—the keepers and interpreters of the law—can only see his deviation from the god they have made of tradition.
In his response to them, Jesus tells them that they abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition. Then he says something so interesting that I wonder why the folks who put together our lectionary excised the verses from the version we hear. I invite you to read those verses later on today—maybe just before you take a little nap. Jesus tells the Pharisees and scribes that supporting one’s parents—and therefore obeying God’s commandment of honoring one’s mother and father—has been overshadowed by traditions that divert resources to support the religious institution. Then he turns to the crowd who are listening to all this and tells them “there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.” It is the things we do—our departures from right relationship with God—that defile us, the people around us and the world.
At this point, I probably should point out that the Pharisees and scribes were well-intentioned people who did everything in their power to live faithful lives. They were convinced that their own salvation and that of the community depended on careful observation of all the laws and traditions that had emerged over the centuries. There were 613 laws: 248 prescriptive laws, the things people were supposed to do, and 365 proscriptive laws, things they were not supposed to do. To observant Jews, having a clearly defined set of rules to follow was the key to living in harmony with God’s will. To them, maintaining the purity and stability of the institution was a direct connection to God’s favor. To them, Jesus and his teachings were a threat not only to the status quo but to the spiritual safety that stability represented to them.
Thanks be to God!
And therein lies the danger that all human institutions pose to our relationship with God. The religious tradition of our Jewish forbears—with all its rules, patterns and traditions— didn’t burst into being in the blink of an eye. The tradition grew out of the culture in which it began, seeded with a few commandments—just a few—and over the generations, those commandments were embellished and embroidered and codified and elaborated until there was a rule for every conceivable situation. There’s a lot of security in having a rule for every occasion. There’s a lot of comfort in knowing what we’re supposed to do. And that security—that comfort—is the danger that all human institutions pose to our relationship with the Holy.
Jesus came to tell us—to tell us all—that our true security—our salvation—lies not in relying on the institutions we have made but in relying on the never-ending love of God for all creation. That message was not well-received 2,000 years ago. It’s frequently not well-received today. Relying on God’s love is risky business. Relying on God’s love requires that we give up our own control over our lives, and that’s a scary proposition. It’s risky business, but things tend not to go well when we try to be in control. The thing that startles me about our human institutions is that they frequently seem to be the result of our doing our best to do what we believe God wants us to do. We begin with a tiny collection of people who are responding to a need—driven perhaps by a yearning to do justice or live compassionately. Over time the process of responding to that need becomes more complex, roles become established, patterns find their way into the concrete of our perspective, the maintenance of the institution becomes the focus of attention, and the original purpose that small group of people felt called to serve becomes merely the lesser by-product in the larger scheme.
So. What do we do? How do we deal with our tendencies to make gods of our own human inventions? How do we extricate ourselves from our own navel-gazing? How do we know what to do? According to author and theologian Richard Rohr, the yardstick—the metric that helps us know where we are on the path—is right relationship. When there is good connectedness between people and events, people and creation, people and people and God, we are in a truly sacred culture: the Reign of God.
How do we establish that good connectedness, that healthy relationship, that right relationship? I have some fairly simple suggestions for your consideration. They are simple suggestions—not easy ones. First, keep in mind the promises of our baptismal covenant. As we make decisions, we need to measure our alternatives against the promises we have made. Second, be aware that if the means and the end are not congruent, we will never reach the end we seek. There is no path to justice; justice is the path. There is no path to peace; peace is the path. There is no path to love: love is the path. Third—and this is perhaps the most difficult—remember that there are no good guys and bad guys. There are only guys, and God loves us all.
Thanks be to God.