Awed Possibility

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Mark 10:2-16

What a difficult Gospel passage!

I mean, it’s got it all!  Marriage, divorce, adultery, children—we might say this passage is pregnant, just waiting to give birth to all sorts of conflicting opinions and hasty judgments from family and friends.

There’s the uncle whose mind is already made up.  No matter what, the parents always seem to be doing something wrong as they raise their child.  They’re either too controlling, on the verge of being helicopter parents; or too permissive, producing a child who is a law unto himself.

Then there’s the aunt who’s twice removed.  At family gatherings, she looks on the child from across the room only as a spectator.  The child is interesting to her, but as a lizard in an aquarium is interesting, only to observe, never to engage.

Then there are the parents themselves.  That’s us, you know, the mainline Episcopal Church.  Our child is growing before our eyes and has begun to form her own take on the world—and it’s not always the same as ours!  In fact, sometimes we catch ourselves wondering if she is deliberately choosing the other side of the debate, just to spite us!

Whatever the case, it’s left us uncomfortable.  Why does she think the way she does about divorce, marriage, human sexuality, adultery, and children?  Doesn’t she know better?  Doesn’t she understand and value what Jesus teaches?

Still, some of what she’s saying seems to make sense.  It’s not what our parents taught us, no way, no how.  But—we’re second guessing ourselves now—maybe they didn’t know everything either, just as we know we don’t know everything.

Well, what does Jesus teach about divorce, marriage, and children—and maybe even human sexuality—in this passage?

A lot, it seems!  On the surface anyway.  At least there’s a lot in here about divorce.

But, then, why does the narrative about little children follow right on divorce’s heels?  Is it because children are the most innocent of victims in a divorce, as more than one commentator has noted?

While this may be true in general, and certainly has been so in specific cases, no, I don’t think this is why Mark brings children into the immediate context—at all!  Instead, this exchange between Jesus, some Pharisees, the disciples, and the little children runs much deeper than just wise instruction about marriage and divorce: this exchange is about worldview.

Are you familiar with this term, worldview?  It’s how we see things.  It’s our perspective.  It’s the governing lens through which we as individuals interpret all that goes on in the world around us.

Now, you’ve been to those scenic viewpoints with the coin-operated viewers, right?  I think there’s one on the rim of the Grand Canyon.  So, let’s say we’re on a trip together to the Grand Canyon and we stop to use this viewer.  You walk up to it, put a quarter in, and look through.  Then, when you’re done, I have my turn.

Now, despite the fact that we use the same viewer, you and I don’t see exactly the same things through it.  Right?

Well, this is like the worldview Christ calls us as Christians to have.  You and I look through the same lens.  But we don’t always focus on the same things.  And when we do, we often interpret them differently.  You might shop at Albertson’s while I prefer Fry’s.  You might vote for a different presidential candidate than I.  Or, coming closer to today’s passage, you may not have experienced divorce as a child; but I did.

Nevertheless, despite our differences in interpretation, Jesus calls us to a common worldview.  As followers of Christ, we should agree on perspective.

But all too often we don’t. We answer questions differently, questions like:

  • Is it ever okay for Christians to divorce?
  • If so, when?  Is it only okay to divorce in cases of abuse or neglect or adultery?  What about incompatibility?
  • Are Christians allowed to drink alcohol?  And, if so, is it ever okay for a Christian to get drunk?
  • Is it permissible for a man to marry a man?
  • Is it okay to ordain a woman?
  • And—a question from this summer—is it okay if a young woman going through a transgendering process is my son’s counselor at camp?

We tend to fixate on—and argue about—what’s permissible.  We like lists of dos and don’ts.

But isn’t this just what the Pharisees are doing in today’s passage: asking what’s permissible?

Verse 2 tells us they come to Jesus to test him with the question, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”

Already, there’s a negative tone.  The Pharisees’ question is focused on the dissolution of marriage, not on the purpose of it or the blessings to be found in it—not on the positive.

At its core, their question is about what’s permissible.

But Jesus masterfully avoids the Pharisees’ trap by reframing their question.  After asking them what Moses says—an assent to their recognized, mutual authority—Jesus turns from what is permissible in marriage to marriage’s potential.

God created Adam and Eve in God’s own image.  Marriage is thus a divine joining of two people into one flesh.  It is based on mutual respect and shared dignity.

For Jesus, it’s not what is permissible but what is possible.  And this is the lens through which Jesus calls us to interpret the world.

So let’s return now to our viewer. We’ve been looking through it for a while now.  It’s still helpful, sure.  We wouldn’t trade it for another one.  And every now and then, still, we catch a glimpse of a new vista that brings a renewed excitement to our walk with Christ.  But, let’s face it: it’s starting to feel, well, I don’t know, normal.  Routine.  Status quo.  Ho hum.

And so you and I start to compare notes.  We like the way that particular bend in the canyon wall looks, especially when the light hits it in the early morning.  And we like the noises, the music—most of the time anyway.  But haven’t you noticed how crowded it’s getting lately?  And what kind of riffraff is the leadership letting into this place now?  Why, just last week someone left a banana peel on the ground and I hear it adversely affected a bear’s digestion.  The nerve!  Someone around here ought to get a list of rules together and enforce them before things really get out of control.

But then we see an unfamiliar, young child mount the steps and look through the viewer for the first time—the same viewer we’ve been looking through for so long now, about which we’ve begun to feel ho hum.  And—do you see?—a huge smile overwhelms his face and he lets out a sound of wonder: “Wow!”

And I am cut to the heart as I remember Jesus’ words: “It is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.”

It’s not about what is permissible but what is possible.

So, how do you look at marriage? How do you look at divorce?  How do you look at issues surrounding human sexuality?  How do you look at the kingdom of God?

Maybe you’re like that critical uncle.  You’re a part of the church, sure: you’re a Christian.  But in your opinion the Episcopal Church is either too controlling or too permissive and will never be quite right for future generations.

Maybe you’re like that twice removed aunt.  You like to view the goings on in the Episcopal Church as a spectator, aloof, not really engaged.  Yuma’s a good place to do so, because, after all, we are rather isolated out here.

Maybe you’re like the parents, caught in a tug of war, second-guessing yourself and the traditions to which you’ve grown so accustomed, not sure how to make sense of all the various voices that vie for your attention; not quite sure if you’re bringing up the next generation in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.

Or, maybe, just maybe, you’re like that small child, lost in wonder, love, and praise at the glories of the kingdom of God; not at all burdened by what is permissible but awestruck by what is possible.

In Jesus Christ, it’s not about what is permissible but what is possible.

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2 Responses to “Awed Possibility”

  1. Fantastic, Tim!

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