 Rev. Scott A. Harmon |
Who
Is This Man?
Sermon:
Scripture: |
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And so
Mark’s Gospel begins as a man named John, down by the
Jordan, baptizes a fellow from the small town of Nazareth. His
name is Jesus. A little later, Jesus is walking along the
shore of the local lake, called the Sea of Galilee. There he
meets some men (they are fishermen): Peter, Andrew, James and
John. He says, “Follow me, and I’ll show you a different
kind of fishing.” And
they follow him. They head to Capernaum, Peter’s home
town. And there things begin to happen, making people wonder:
Just who is this man? They
went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the
synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for
he taught them as one having authority, and not as the
scribes. Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an
unclean spirit, and he cried out, “What have you to do with
us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who
you are, the Holy One of God.” But Jesus rebuked him,
saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” And the unclean
spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out
of him. They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one
another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He
commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” At
once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding
region of Galilee. (Mark 1:21-28, NRSV) Nowhere are
we told what Jesus said that day. No content was ever
recorded. But wouldn’t it have been great to be there?
Because what stuck in the hearts and minds of those who heard
was the way he spoke. They were used to the scribes quoting
“Rabbi so-and-so saying such-and such.” And this teacher
saying that… If
you have seen the movie Yentl, you know the verbal
jousts were won by the one who could out-quote the other.
But Jesus apparently didn’t play that game. He knew
the game—we see later where he was remembered as a master of
the verbal game—but that’s not what is remembered here in
Capernaum. Here a man is remembered who came among them, who
destroyed and cleared out what was unclean. One for whom it
was more than an academic exercise, compartmentalized in its
own little box. One for whom it was real, this living life in
communion with God. And
they were amazed. In
his first book of the series, titled simply Joshua, Fr.
Joseph Girzone writes a parable of a young man, coincidentally
named Joshua. (Jesus is actually the Greek directive of the
original Hebrew name, Joshua, much like John and Johan, or
Mike and Mikeal.) It’s a story of someone much like Jesus
coming to live in a community not at all unlike ours. In
the story, Joshua has come to town, settled down and rented a
house. Everyone is talking about this stranger in
town, but no one
meets him. It’s up to Charlie, the local mailman, to check
things out. He knocks on the door (with the pretext of asking
where he would like his packages left, if any come). And
Joshua invites him in. Charlie is elated. He can hardly
contain his excitement at what he’s accomplished. In the
kitchen… Joshua
pulled out a chair and offered Charlie a seat. He sat down and
continued to eye everything in sight, much to the amusement of
Joshua, who knew he was being given a thorough going-over. “Would
you like a bowl of soup?” Joshua asked. “I’m just having
lunch, and I’d be happy if you would have some with me.” Charlie
was shocked by this casual familiarity of someone who was
almost a total stranger. “No, well, yes, I think I will,”
Charlie stammered as he rubbed his chin and cheek with the
palm of his hand. The
aroma of fresh chicken soup filled the kitchen. Joshua took
the loaf of bread lying on the counter, cut two thick slices
with a sturdy butcher knife, and placed them on the table with
no dish. He dished out the soup in two heavy pottery bowls,
then took the jug of wine and poured some into two water
glasses. Not used to repressing his curiosity, Charlie asked
bluntly, “How come you had everything ready? Were you
expecting someone?” Joshua
chuckled. “I had a feeling someone might stop by so I
thought I’d put on a little extra, just in case.” “You’re
beautiful,” Charlie said in bewilderment as he sipped his
soup. “You don’t put on airs or act like a snob, and
everybody’s curious. Would you mind if I brought some of my
friends over to visit sometime? You’d like them; they’re
real people. They’re related to practically everybody in
town, and if they like you, you’re in, if it means anything
to you.” “I’d
like that very much,” Joshua said with an appreciative
smile. Joshua took a piece of bread as Charlie watched. He
broke the bread in half and offered a piece to Charlie. The
mailman was amazed. How unusual! Here was a total stranger
offering a piece of his own bread as if he had been a friend
for years. Half embarrassed at the intimacy of the gesture,
Charlie took the bread and blurted out, “Thanks, Josh,” as
if Joshua had given him a gift of great value. When
have you experienced that kind of intimacy? When were you
surprised at how you were treated, and felt God’s
presence—Jesus himself—in another’s eyes? That’s what
the church is: the place where all those who would follow this
man Jesus can come and be reminded what true intimacy—that
deep-down vulnerability before God—really is. In
Capernaum, we’re told, they heard a new teaching. They saw
an unclean spirit—all that held a man back from communion
with God—utterly chased away. Tonight
there’s no new teaching to be heard, just an old, old story
of love, struggle and redemption. Ultimately it is a story of
knowing and being known, of sharing soup and a little bread
with the Holy One of God. That’s pretty intimate stuff, not
always clean and neat. (There’s always something to clean
off the counter when you’ve made good brownies.) But it’s
real. That’s where the good news is. Church
researchers like George Barna tell us that most people choose
a church based on the quality of its worship. But for a fellow
by the name of Rich Mullins—a Christian musician who died
just a few years ago in an auto accident—the important
ingredient wasn’t how dynamic the leaders were, it was the
devotion of the people. Rich was in a worship service only a
few days before his death. Some friends wanted to have a
gathering for praising God and they invited everyone who had
an instrument to bring it and play. The music was awful. Even
those who led the singing sang out of tune. Someone saw Rich
and asked him to lead the group for the rest of the evening.
Rich went up to the microphone and said: I
love to be in the church. I love to listen to people sing and
play with their hearts. In
my profession (contemporary Christian music), we worry about
being in tune and sounding good. But this music is the music
that is most pleasing to God, because it is so real, and it
comes from the hearts of the children of God. And as he said that, he got choked up. It was the last time anyone saw
Rich Mullins cry. For Rich,
church was an emotional experience, not because of how
exciting the worship was, but because he felt that he was
communing with the saints, with all those who through the
years had been welcomed to the table and offered a piece of
bread. No pretense. Nothing to hide. Just the redeeming love
of God that astounds and puzzles us even to this day and makes
us wonder: Who is this man? Tonight,
together with all those around us, we
are the church. Christ has set a table, feeling that
someone might stop by. He doesn’t ask where we've been. He
doesn’t ask if we’ve followed all the rules, or what
someone else thinks. He simply welcomes us in and invites us
to stay. We remember that special invitation as we join him
symbolically at this table and remember how he took bread,
gave thanks to God, broke it and said all are invited to share
in the Eucharist (communion). Go now, you are part of Christ and Christ is
part of you. Amen.
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