You may remember how last week we heard about Tricky Jacob and his older brother Hairy Esau. But if you don't, here’s a quick recap: There’s a man we read about in the Old Testament, Jacob, son of Isaac, and grandson of Abraham, who was a trickster who tricked his older brother—Esau—into selling his birthright for a bowl of lentil stew. He also tricked his father, blind old Isaac, into giving him the blessing that was meant for his brother. Well, since last week, we read that Tricky Jacob has run away from home, afraid that his stronger, hairier, more manly brother would take revenge for having been tricked.
So now, when we find him, Tricky Jacob is out hiding in the wilderness. He might even be ashamed of himself for his tricky, cheating ways, but for some reason he’s just not able to change his behavior. At the very least he’s worried that it will come back to haunt him. So, he’s sleeping in the wilderness, with nothing softer than a rock for a pillow, wondering what he’s going to do now. And God, well, he’s looking down on Jacob, aware of all his tricks, but still seeing something special in him. So God speaks to him in a dream, promising him the land, the Holy Land, as a new home for Jacob and his descendants. This, of course, is a promise that our Jewish brothers and sisters have taken very seriously ever since.
But if you listened carefully you’ll have noticed that God also promises something more, something that I think is much greater than any geographical land. God promises that through Jacob and his offspring all the families of the earth, that is, all people, will be blessed. It’s a fantastic, and often forgotten promise that we will all be God’s chosen people, each and every one of us. I wonder, did you remember or notice that part of the story? Unfortunately, it seems that people of faith–whether Christian, or Jewish, or Muslim, or almost anything else–have had a hard time grasping just what this means. For some reason we can’t seem to wrap our minds around the idea either that God would love us so much, or that God would love others so much, with the same kind of fervent and everlasting love.
So what do we do? We fight, we battle over who has the right to a particular plot of land we consider “holy,” we argue over who’s right, over who God loves and who God doesn’t love (at least not as much). And in the process we’ve somehow come to the conclusion that there is not enough: not enough land, not enough love, not enough grace or blessing to go around, even from the God who is the source of all grace, all blessing, all love. And you know what, Tricky Jacob thought that, too. That’s why he tricked his brother out of his birthright. Because he thought he’d be left out. But Tricky Jacob was wrong. And so are we. Like the ancient Israelites, we’ve spent all this time wandering very long and very far in the wilderness, very long and very far from the vision of humanity that God promises to Jacob, very long and very far from God’s promises to us of grace and blessing for all people. So, that’s our Old Testament reading for today.
But then, ironically, in contrast to this promise of a blessing for all families in Genesis, we’ve also just heard the gospel parable of the wheat and the weeds, which obviously is not so much about a blessing for all people, but about the separation of those who are holy from those who are not. Personally, I much prefer the Genesis passage. Even so, this gospel is, I think, one of the better-known passages, particularly for Christians of a certain perspective who are concerned with the purity of their faith community and who see evil and unfaithfulness all around them. They take comfort in the belief that at the last day the wheat will be separated from the chaff and the godly will, as Jesus says, “shine like the sun in the kingdom of the Father.”
But here’s the thing. That theological world-view is not one that I embrace. As I look out in our congregation, I don’t see any weeds. As in Jacob’s dream, I just see the people of God. And it’s not only in our congregation, but in every congregation, and even the whole world. But here’s what we need to remember. Matthew’s church community was a challenged one. It was struggling to discern who should be allowed membership. Should it include Jews only, or should Gentiles be members as well? If Gentiles are allowed, should they be required to convert to Judaism first? Would notorious sinners be welcome, or only those whose lives had been observed as especially pure and holy? And then, in addition to these questions, they had to struggle with the fact that it seemed they were no longer welcome in the synagogue. By confessing Christ and being members of his church, the Jewish Christians were excluded from traditional Jewish religious life. They were cut off from their spiritual and cultural heritage.
The result of this exclusion was the beginning of a distinct new religion and at the same time, the possibility of persecution by the Rome Empire. So, it wasn’t in any sense an easy time. People perceived enemies all around them. But Jesus’ response to this situation in today’s gospel is to say that despite our fears and our concerns and our hesitations, we shouldn’t worry about it. Because it’s not our job to decide who is welcome and who is not, who is holy and who is not. That decision, ever and always, belongs to God. Take comfort, Jesus says, because God is in charge. Our job is simply to live as faithfully and as fully as we possibly can.
As it happens, whenever I hear this parable, I am reminded of my own family. Perhaps like many of yours, my family tree has a variety of religious branches on it. All are Christian, but it is still quite diverse. We have Irish Catholics, German Lutherans, Swedish Lutherans who turned Episcopalian and then turned Baptist (quite the progression, isn’t it?). And there’s also Finnish Lutherans. A crazy mixed up lot. I’ve told you before about the very conservative Finnish Lutherans. Women in their church may not wear make up or curl their hair, no one is permitted to watch TV or go to movies or listen to popular music, dancing is forbidden. But they do drive cars, use computers, hold secular jobs, and their church even has a website (on which you can listen their 45 minute sermons!). My friend Heather, visiting today from Minnesota, actually knows some of these Finnish cousins of mine, so she can give you the low-down during our lemonade time.
My Grandma Ellen was a lifelong member of this church when she married my Irish Catholic grandfather. As was usual in those days, a condition of their marriage was that their children would be Catholic. But it was not to be. My grandparents had only one child, my father. And as I understand it, my grandmother actually kidnapped my dad for a few hours and had him baptized in her church (so that he was baptized “right”) much to my grandfather’s surprise when he got home from his own Sunday mass.
Because he grew up in a mixed faith household, my father was always a questioner. As a teenager he even took confirmation classes in both the Finnish and Roman Catholic churches. Can you imagine any of our youth being willing to do that now—go to two sets of confirmation classes? Dad ultimately was confirmed in the Finnish church. But he wouldn’t stay a member very long. For in high school he met my mother, who was a more mainstream kind of Lutheran. They were married at age 19 and joined a large more liberal church in Minneapolis. So far as I know, my father never looked back. But his Finnish relatives were very upset. They believed that my mother had led my father away from salvation. I understand that at one point along the way my mom suggested to my dad that they rejoin the Finnish church, to be closer to his family. His response: “Are you crazy?” 19 years of that church was quite enough. Although, when my brothers and I were naughty they sometimes would threaten us with going there. There is nothing like the threat of religious extremism to shape up young boys!
My father died very suddenly when I was 15–23 years ago this month. He was the same age as I am now, in fact. My dad’s many Finnish cousins attended the funeral, as family is very important to them. But we also could tell that they were convinced that my dad would not be rejoicing with the saints, because he wasn’t holy enough, or pure enough, because he had left their church and therewith, he had left the flock of Christ. He had been, in their eyes I suppose, a weed among the wheat. But my mother took comfort in the words of our pastor, who said “Well, won’t they be surprised when they get to heaven and find that Peter is already there.” And probably not only my dad, but Roman Catholics, and Methodists, and Episcopalians, Baptists, Jews, and Muslims, and lots of other people, more than we (and my relatives) can possibly imagine.
The fact is, it’s not up to us to decide who is in and who is out, who is holy and who is not, who is wheat and who is weed. Jesus urges us to put these thoughts out of our heads. It’s not our business. It’s God’s business. Of that, we need to let God decide, we need to let God be God. Our role, instead, is to live as faithfully and fully as we can. As Jesus’ disciples we are called to heal the sick, comfort the sorrowful, and work for the God’s kingdom, where all are called to live, “shining like the sun.”
I’d like to close with a reflection on Psalm 139, which we prayed together this morning. The psalmist writes: “If I climb up to heaven or make the grave my bed, God is there. If I take the wings of the morning or dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there God will be.” That promise of God’s love and presence is for me, for you, and for all people. Jews and Gentiles, women and men, Palestinians and Israelis, Iraqis, Afghanis, gay people and straight people, Finnish Lutherans in Minnesota and Episcopalians here in Massachusetts. All of us. All of God’s people. All of God’s beloved, holy, splendid people.
As we gather here in this church, and as we go out into the world, let’s remember the amazing promises God makes to you, to me, and to everyone, as he has for thousands and thousands of years. All of us are created and loved by God, all of us are, as the book of Genesis reminds us, blessed by God, and all of us are called by God to live faithfully and fully, and to shine like the sun, filling the world with God’s light and God’s grace and God’s hope.
So, let’s do that. Let’s shine like the sun on this beautiful world of God’s, on this beautiful world of ours.
To God be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell
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