Jesus(es) In Conversation

207 days. A little less than seven months. That’s all the time I have left at APTS before I graduate. Even looking at the date right now as I talk with you all, it’s a date that’s both exciting and intimidating. Ideally, sometime within that 207 days my family will have found a church that would like to receive us, we’ll be packed up, saying some goodbyes, and making our way out to a new home.

The other thing I hope for personally is that some of the convictions I’ve found in my education somehow solidify themselves. Who am I as a preacher in looking at text? In preaching?

One way that I have found myself convicted is to preach the lectionary. For me, there’s something about losing some of the control of picking my own texts and trusting that the Holy Spirit speaks through Scripture over the liturgical year. We find ourselves in the easy passages, and in the regrettable ones, too. 

Of course, even the best of convictions have their complications, like today. 

Two passages, both alike in dignity,

In fair Sunrise Beach, where we lay our scene.

We have the text from Matthew that is set to the 21st Sunday after Pentecost, and the text from John for the 500th Anniversary of the Reformation. Both important, and so I had been left with a bit of a dilemma, until I read an article from Karoline Lewis, the Chair of Biblical Preaching at Luther Seminary. She writes that instead of picking one or the other, to put them into conversation, because “when it really works to put texts in conversation with each other, you remember that the Bible is not a book, but a library. It is a collection of open-ended conversations that when juxtaposed, elicit rather fascinating insights into the heart of the biblical witness -- giving testimony to God’s revelation. None of the biblical writers had as a goal to be Scripture. Rather, they are efforts toward making sense of the character and activity of God that when allowed to talk to one another, generate some rather interesting dialogue and considerations.”¹

This week I tried to imagine Jesus in conversation with Jesus - Matthew in conversation with John. My convictions? Well, parochus semper reformanda: the pastor’s always being reformed.

At first glance, when we look at and hear John, it sounds like a classic refrain followed by pastors and parents alike - follow the rules and things will be alright. The believing Jews don’t seem to connect at the beginning, arguing that they’ve never had a problem in the first place - they’ve been free all along. Jesus then counters by saying that we’ve all been rule breakers, and so we all need to follow the rules. But upon further consideration, I wonder if there’s something more to it. It may be helpful to consider the word “continue” in 8:31. The root of the word in Greek (meno for anyone who is curious) means not just “continue” but has more of a sense of being and place - it’s almost better to translate the word as “abide” or “stay within.” Moreover, John’s Jesus always had a different sense of who he was in relation to word, or logos. The Jesus in John is speaking less of rules and more of relationship. In the end, it’s not the rules we follow at all, but the space we reside in and the company we keep that is our grace. Nothing that we are able to construct ourselves - our heritage, nor our self-initiated systems will give what we hope for what we want; none of the things we do alone, will grant us the freedom we crave - or that we even believe we have without dwelling within the Word, logos, Christ.

But yet, as we put the Jesus in John with the Jesus in Matthew, we are confronted with a juxtaposition - freedom and commandment together. But again, it seems as though when Jesus is speaking about the commandments, it’s not in regards to the commandment or the law itself - the lawyer asks one question to try to trick Jesus, but Jesus ultimately responds to the deeper, unspoken question. Reading the passage again and working on a translation, I was struck by the way that the commandment itself is structured.  It’s not necessarily anything particularly fancy, but I think when we hear passages like this over and over, the words begin to fade into the static of our functional faith; designs on the wallpaper in the homes of our personal theology. 

But what had jumped out this time is the way that the Greek orders the words. If I were to translate more directly, I would say something like: “Jesus said to them: You shall love the Lord God of you in all the innermost depths of you, in all of the soul-life of you, and in all of the way of thinking of you.” The commandment from Jesus reads less like edict, and more like invitation. And when placed with John, we begin to trace a different narrative: the freedom of abiding in Jesus is one that completely reshapes our self, permeating our core essence in ways that very little else does. For instance, I don’t know how many of you regularly keep up with sports news, but of particular note of late is how my beloved soccer team, the Columbus Crew SC, might be moving to Austin Texas at the behest of the owner. They are literally coming in through the front door while I’m heading out. And while I am devastated about the idea of a team that has been a part of the way I identify myself as an Central Ohioan, I realize that I have not been existentially altered because my life still makes sense, even if it isn’t exactly what I want.

With Jesus in Matthew, we’re encouraged to witness the wholesale change of an individual who now has his or her home within the logos. Jesus continues with the lawyer and follows up with another commandment that we love our neighbor the same way we love ourselves. In light of the first commandment as invitation, we can imagine the second one as invitation as well - the chance to help others taste and see the goodness of the Lord. That in them lies the spark of complete and total transformation - and total freedom. That total freedom is being redeemed, reshaped - reformed. 

I think about today being Reformation Sunday, and that for half a millennia we have tried to figure out what it has meant to be always reforming. When Luther found himself scandalized by the wealth in Rome, it was because he knew his neighbor in Wittenberg. When Thomas Muntzer took on both Luther and the Catholic Church and led the German Peasants in revolt, it was because he knew his neighbor. When Richard Allen parted with the Methodist church to found the AME, it was because he knew his neighbor. And when Jarena Lee did not give up in her preaching, leading the way for other women (and women of color in particular) to preach, it was because she knew her neighbor. And moreover, for both these men and women countless other reformers, it was because they followed the freedom of commandment and were transformed by it. Their whole selves were reoriented to a new way of thinking - previous convictions aside, parochus semper reformanda.

And so, with 207 days left now with this sermon, I’m recognizing that the call of the seminarian at the end of their journey may not be just to the convictions of craft but to the conviction of freedom; one that asks me to abide, live into, and have my shape in a completely transformational Word. That same space is for you, too, beckoning you to a life constantly renewed - life constantly reformed. Amen.

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¹ Lewis, Karoline. “Freedom and Obligation.” From Working Preacher. http://www.workingpreacher.org...