Lectionary Reflections

From "Limited Good" to Unlimited Love
 By Sarah Dylan Breuer
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
 

Lectionary Reflections for the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost (B)

Readings for Proper 9, July 9, 2006
  • 2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10
  • Psalm 48
OR
  • Ezekiel 2:1-5
  • Psalm 123
AND
  • 2 Corinthians 12:2-10
  • Mark 6:1-13

Prophets are not without honor -- except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.

It sounds odd, in some ways. Wouldn't you think that if anyone would be receptive to a prophet's ministry, it would be the people to whom the prophet could say, "But you KNOW me! You know you should trust me!" It doesn't work that way for Jesus, though. The people who think they know him best are least able to receive him as a prophet, and for at least two reasons:

The villagers of Nazareth think they know of just what stuff Jesus is made, and it isn't the stuff of a spiritual leader.
The first is clear from what they murmur to one another -- "Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?" This is what anthropologists call an honor-shame culture. In a village like Jesus' hometown, all honor is family honor, and "like father, like son" isn't just an observation about looks or character, but is a statement about a person's worth.

And Jesus is "the son of Mary." Nobody except Mary knew for sure who Jesus' father was, and Mary's story would have been fantastic to the neighbors, to say the least. The villagers of Nazareth didn't know who Jesus' father was, but they knew it wasn't Joseph, and in their eyes, Jesus was a living reminder of his mother's shamelessness in getting pregnant, a shame upon the whole family. The villagers of Nazareth think they know of just what stuff Jesus is made, and it isn't the stuff of a spiritual leader.

The second reason is harder for us to see without knowing something else about Jesus' culture -- namely that it functions according to a principle anthropologists call "limited good." In Jesus' culture, everything of value is seen as being of limited quantity -- if someone gets more, that means s/he's taken it from someone else, who has less. This applies not just to tangible goods, but abstract ones -- like honor.

Jesus has done something that was bound to get his neighbors riled: He claimed power.
So when Jesus shows up in Nazareth with words and deeds of great authority and his neighbors whisper, "Where did this man get all this?" implicit in their question is "and from whom did he take it?" Jesus has done something that was bound to get his neighbors riled:

He claimed power. He made it impossible for them to view him as an object of pity. Worse yet was how he used his power. His prophetic word claimed God's gifts for those shut out from the community -- food for the hungry, sight for the blind, freedom for the prisoner. His healings empowered those shut out by illness to return to the center of village life -- or even to choose to abandon the village entirely to follow him. He passed along every bit of power and honor he got to those on the margins.

And so Jesus' agenda of peace and freedom is a threat to the status quo, and is perceived as a threat to all who benefit from the the way things are.

We have God's love. That's power, and when we refuse to remain either objects of pity or passive beneficiaries of the status quo, that's bound to get people riled.
It explains a lot, doesn't it? I'm not thinking only of ancient Palestine, but about some of what we see in our own battles in and outside the church. Philanthropic organizations or even ministries within a single parish may begin to see one another more as competitors for resources. Sometimes that extends beyond competition for tangible resources to include intangible ones -- we compete for "compassion" as well as donations in a culture that coined the phrases "compassion fatigue" and "donor fatigue." The scarcer we believe what we value to be, the harder and meaner we battle for it -- indeed, I suspect that "compassion fatigue" and "donor fatigue" might both be masking an affliction I've observed pastorally as well as politically: "competition fatigue."

But what would happen if we questioned those assumptions that there's only so much of the "good stuff" to go around? How might we live if we took Jesus' theology of abundance to heart? We could find ourselves, our relationships, and our lives transformed as we the fishers Jesus called to from the shore in Galilee, who found in Jesus that the central questions of their lives changed from ones like "will I catch enough fish today to feed my family?" to ones like "can I gather enough people to take in all of what God has provided?" (Luke 5:1-11).

For example, I recall about a month ago, just prior to General Convention, someone asking me what I thought of rumors that African churches abroad offering "oversight" had their coffers filled with American money in exchange. I said that if our unhappy divisions have led to American parishes being that generous with their resources, at least something good has come of them. Why not strive to outdo one another in generosity in a way that will inspire it in every congregation for the world, in every leader for her people and her enemies, in every way testifying to the limitless generosity God has shown us in Christ Jesus? And what would it look like if we did this also with less tangible resources -- with encouragement, with prayers, with honor, with love?

... we know that God's love, peace, and freedom are not limited goods made less for each person who enjoys them, but are rather an inexhaustible and inexorable current made more powerful for each person included and swept up in it.
We have what we need to ride the wave God has stirred up in the world, to participate in God's mission of healing reconciling the whole world. We have resources of time, talent, and treasure. We have one another, and all of the wisdom, encouragement, and godly accountability that can provide. We have with us the Spirit Jesus sent to empower us for mission. We have the vision for human community proclaimed by the prophets and apostles, in which all are called to wholeness, and none are reduced to a stereotype. We have God's love. That's power, and when we refuse to remain either objects of pity or passive beneficiaries of the status quo, that's bound to get people riled.

We have freedom in the Spirit to hold all of this lightly and to release it joyfully to empower others, since we know that God's love, peace, and freedom are not limited goods made less for each person who enjoys them, but are rather an inexhaustible and inexorable current made more powerful for each person included and swept up in it.

Thanks be to God!


Sarah Dylan Breuer is editor of The Witness. In her spare time, she maintains a website with a lectionary commentary series and a blog, and works throughout the church on issues of liturgy and faith. Dylan may be reached by email at editor@thewitness.org.