One and the Same

Sermon for June 6, 20010

by Rev. Marcus R. Ingram

Scripture: Mark 6: 1-6

 
Life is complicated.

In the same moment that oil catastrophes, the deaths of young people, and political chaos dominate our news cycles, environmental consciousness is increasing, some students are beginning a post-graduate season of life, and the interconnectedness of a world community is becoming inescapable. As we mourn the loss of perceived purity, invaluable life, and relative calm on the one hand, we can, too, embrace the possibilities of renewal, rebirth, and hope on the other.

All too common, the very things that seem to overwhelm us in a present moment may eventually emerge as a source of great blessing. Growing up, I was often the tallest and most curious student in school. In ways that moved beyond phenotype, I stood out in class. Other students would make fun of me as unlike them, or roll their eyes because the teacher invited my inquisitiveness. I was not excited to be cast aside or ridiculed. I have battled sadness and wrestled with self esteem because of that period in my life. Scars are healing, but I still know the story well.

Interestingly enough, it has been my height and curiosity that has often gotten me noticed; together, the two have opened up opportunities for me over the years. In fact, I inquired about a person in a photograph nearly four years ago, and now, she is my life partner. Should you ask to hear the story of our first in-person encounter, Dineo hardly ever fails to remark about how she, approximately 5’8”, was taken by my 6’4” frame. Today, I won’t overstate my fiancée’s care for me and thus improperly inflate my ego, but our love story does provide a context for why I am preaching what I am preaching this morning. Here’s how:

As we prepare for our intercontinental wedding ceremonies, some of my closest friends have expressed deep interest in traveling to South Africa in December to experience the country and be present for our nuptials there. Recently, I had a conversation with one couple who has been on the “going” list since Dineo and I got engaged last July. As we dialogued, catching up on the goings-on of our respective lives, the conversation took a sharp turn. I heard an unsteady voice share with me that they were pregnant! The news warranted celebration, but noticeable dis-ease in the delivery suggested that there was more to be said. I wasn’t wrong. It turns out that the expected due date for this gift of God will prevent our friends from making the trip to South Africa in December.

I was struck by how quickly and fluidly my emotions went from excitement to disappointment to joy. Dineo and I were excited to be hosting them in her home country, but life opportunities have made it so that disappointingly, they will be unable to be present. But their joy at being trusted to bring forth life almost immediately became our joy. As I have taken the time to meaningfully reflect on these recent happenings, I am reminded of a principle that is resonant in the witness of Jesus, and is at the core of our chosen text for today.

As chapter six of Mark’s Gospel unfolds, we find that Jesus has returned to his home town of Nazareth. Undoubtedly with the debris of miracles just hanging from him, Jesus takes to teaching in the synagogue on the Sabbath. In the surrounding areas, Jesus had healed the mind of the Gerasene demoniac, restored the body of a woman with hemorrhaging issues, and revived to life Jairus’ young daughter. But, those gathered on that Sabbath day were astounded at his teaching. Certainly, Jesus has been experienced as one who performs mighty works or has supernatural powers, but it is his wisdom that stuns the Nazareth congregants.

Perhaps he was opening up the nuances of some perplexing parable. Or maybe Jesus was beginning to describe the relevance of his presence, impending death, and eventual resurrection. Whatever the subject in question, hearers were in wonder. Can you see them in your mind’s eye, nudging their neighbors and catching glances from worshippers across the space? I can hear them whispering, and maybe not so much, “Where did this man get all this?” or “What wisdom is this that has been given to him?”

Their astonishment, though great, was short-lived. Whether by the same congregants or no, the responses to Jesus and his teaching began to shift. What began as wonder birthed from appreciation, transitioned to folks essentially wondering “who does this Jesus think he is?!” Townies begin to detract from the worship experience by invoking what they perceive to be the ordinariness of Jesus. “Is not this the son of Joseph the carpenter and Mary, and brother to James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?”

Initial remarks about Jesus’ impressive presence soon (d)evolved into commentary about how unimpressed they were with him; in fact, their discussion about Jesus’ relatives suggests that he must be quite ordinary and in no way, remarkable. So what happened between verses two and three?

Verse two: Who is this wise teacher before us? Verse three: This is just the sibling of Mary and Joseph’s other kids.
What deeds of great power are being done by his hands! Are not he and his father carpenters?!

If we accept an “either-or” approach to the world and a binary view of scripture, something must have transpired from one verse to the next. I hear them saying: “Jesus, you are either a handyman or a miracle worker. And we know you! Your attempt to make us think you are something more than what you are is offensive! Prophets may be without honor in their own home, but prophets do not deceive!”

The text goes on to share that it was Jesus’ turn to be amazed. And he was, at their unbelief. Upon reading the first five verses of Mark chapter 6, it is logical to associate the unbelief of which Jesus speaks with the people being unable to accept him as a messenger of God. In fact, verse five tells us that he could do no deed of power there because of this unbelief.

I’m open to the aforementioned interpretation, but I am unsure if it satisfies me. May I commend to you this morning that Jesus may have been astonished by at least one detail further. Here is my supposition: Why was it so inconceivable that the ordinary Jesus perceived in verse three could also be the extraordinary Jesus found in verse two? How could those who were clearly human, be unable to grasp the complexity of life and identity as expressed by this sage “homeboy” in the synagogue?

Perhaps it was like meeting a favorite famous person for coffee and conversation. For me, shock may become a companion should Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu become frustrated with the barista for taking ten minutes to make his frappuccino, only to find out upon first sip that they used whole milk instead of soy. But then again, maybe not. Here’s why…

In his latest text that was co-authored with his daughter entitled Made for Goodness, the Tutu ministerial duo weave together personal stories to explain why believing that we were created for good makes all the difference. Given my broad description, it is quite possible for this type of written work to come across as irrelevant and inaccessible. But, the text is very much the opposite. In the preface, the authors Tutu invite readers on a pilgrimage that is guided by three truths: (1) we are all designed for goodness; (2) we are perfectly loved with a love that requires nothing of us; and (3) God holds out to us an invitation to wholeness. Along the journey, the authors foreground narratives of their own human frailty and insufficiency which inspires community with the reader. In one of my preferred tales, Archbishop Tutu shares of a time he believes that he missed God. In his own words:

I had completed my regular Friday rounds and was asked to visit a parishioner in the section not scheduled for visits. I had been told that the old lady was not well. A visit would have been more than was strictly required of me, but it would have been no great inconvenience. [The town] was not very big, and her home was not too far from where we lived. I could have gone. But it wasn’t the week for pastoral visits in that section. I didn’t go. I went home. A few days later, before I got around to visiting her, she died…That failure was a very humbling experience. It helped shape my ministry…God had my attention (Tutu, 2010, p. 112-113).

Without doubt, I would likely esteem Archbishop Tutu differently if I had been introduced to him through the aforementioned ministry story instead of through his rich devotionals or his leadership of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Interestingly enough, I esteem him differently now that I know the story. I laud him more. In fact, I find his striking humanity very attractive. And, that he is willing to stand behind all of himself in print has a stunning appeal for me. I am able to identify with the reality of Archbishop Tutu’s story.

In a similar way, I am drawn to the characterization of Jesus in the sixth chapter of Mark’s Gospel. The sage described in verse two lives up to the image I have of God’s begotten, and he resonates well with the person I would like for my Jesus to be in the world. Thus, I am tempted to take issue with the sources of the voices described in verse three because of their attempt at belittling the Great Teacher by invoking his homeliness. I have moved from a place of offense to empathy. Trapped in a binary view of the world, the hecklers in verse three likely believed that those who are learned and worthy of a listen must meet certain prescribed criteria. One step further, they probably questioned: “How could a messiah who was to be champion of salvation for all the world be an ordinary carpenter from among us?”

Herein lies the fantastic wonder of God’s love letter to us embodied in Jesus of Nazareth, who could simultaneously be all that we have imagined, and nothing of what we imagined! At the core of the Nazareth congregation’s dilemma and even our own theology is how we understand Jesus’ relationship to God. Amidst this ongoing, spirited conversation that transcends traditional boundaries like culture, class, faith, and geography, I have embraced the idea that somehow God is Jesus and Jesus is God!

Biblical scholars and theologians may prefer the term homoousios to explain that the Divine Creator and Her begotten are “of the same essence.” Another approach that I find compelling is offered by musical greats CeCe Winans and Take 6. The richness of six-part harmonies harmonizes the “mystery of [Jesus’] holiness and the wonder of his humanness” as one and the same. They go on to intone:
I scarcely understand how a simple servant can be called the Great I Am/ How the son of God is still the son of man/ Both the shepherd and the lamb/ The healer and the wounded/ Father and the only Son/ Are one, one and the same/ I can’t do [them] justice with any one name/ The holy God of heaven and the humble man who bore my shame are one and the same.

As this soundtrack plays in my mind’s ear, I am convinced that if we can manage the frustration, it is moving to consider how a being that far excels and exceeds us puts that Self in a physical container that is recognizable to us. But as the chorus of God’s care for us repeats, the beauty of this message resonates, perhaps without end: God will do whatever it takes to remind us that, like Jesus, we may be what we see, but we are also more than what we see!
The story of Jesus in the beginnings of Mark 6 shows how tempting it can be to experience life in a one-dimensional way. Such a perspective only allows for a singular understanding of a person, place, thing, or idea. Problems become periods, and not commas. Challenges are more easily seen as what defines our story rather than that which can refine it! In a world of singular dimension, Jesus has to be either a carpenter or a miracle worker, a wise teacher or just one of Mary and Joseph’s many children.

Howard Thurman tells us that the dream is the bearer of a new possibility, the enlarged horizon, and the great hope. Whether it is your first time, your first time in a long time, or if it is as close to you as breath, dream with me today.

Dream of a God who, even when clothed in humanity, loses not the essence of God’s Self.
Dream of a Creator who, in her infinite wisdom, honors the complexity and nuance of life by having lived it.
Dream of a Divine Parent who loves us enough to be as committed to building furniture with his hands as he is to building relationships with his spirit and heart.
Dream of a Holy Presence that can walk as near to us as our closest companion and still be the greatest power in the universe.
May dreams of this multi and perhaps trans-dimensional God breathe new life into the way we see the world. And along the way, may we come to know a God who makes a grammatically limiting phrase like “one and the same” burst at the seams because of divine fullness and possibility.
Amen.

Rev. Marcus R. Ingram

June 6, 2010

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