Isaac Villegas: He descended to the dead...

February 22, 2009
Psalm 88; Mark 9:2-10; John 20:24-28

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“If I ever become a saint, I will surely be one of darkness.”
~ Mother Teresa

I used to live in a house of hospitality in Durham NC called The Rutba House. As we got to know our neighbors, we decided to invite them over for a weekly Bible study. One evening Michael joined us. He was new to the neighborhood join. We settled into our chairs in the living room. I can’t remember what Bible passage we were studying that day. But I do remember that someone got us started talking about hell. It wasn’t me, that’s for sure. If I had it my way, we’d never talk about such things.

Michael had been quiet most of the time, sitting there while the rest of us argued about hell. Finally he leaned forward in his chair and spoke up. “Hey, I’ve been there.” We all looked at him curiously. He saw the questions on our faces and continued: “That’s where I grew up… hell. You don’t know nothing about hell. I’ll tell you about this place of weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

Michael went on to tell us about what it was like to grow up in a house of prostitution, an urban brothel. We heard the sounds and sights of hell echo through his memories of childhood: the gnashing teeth of an addict’s withdrawals, and the cries of weeping women. Weeping and gnashing of teeth.

He told us about the terror of, as a child, waking up from a nap and seeing a dead man lying on the floor. The victim of a drug overdose. “That’s hell,” Michael told us. That day I learned that the flames of hell flicker among the land of the living. For many, hell is a place on earth.

I thought Jesus was supposed to save us from this kind of living hell. I thought the resurrection wiped away the pain and agony of the cross. Evil is supposed to be conquered, right? I thought Easter made Good Friday irrelevant—just a phase to pass through, yesterday’s news. As some preachers like to put it, “It’s Friday, but it’s alright, Sunday’s a coming.” Don’t worry. Sure, it’s bad. But all of this is of no consequence, no lasting effects, it doesn’t matter. All will be forgotten, erased, flushed down the toilet of history.

That’s how we want the story to go. We like an ending that makes all the bad stuff go away so we don’t have to think about it any more. But Jesus won’t let us do that. Look at what happens in our story of John 20, when the resurrected Jesus appears to the disciples. I’ll read verses 26 and 27 again:

Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Do not doubt, but believe.’

Ok. Something strange is going on here: Jesus invites Thomas to put his hand into the wound in Jesus’ side! That sounds like a bad idea, a little too uncomfortable. When I was a kid, I was trying to whittle a piece of wood with my new pocketknife and I ended up sticking the knife right through the palm of my hand. The last thing in the world I wanted was for my mom to stick her finger in there. It was bad enough that she tried to clean out the hole with hydrogen peroxide.

Anyhow, when there’s something strange and confusing going on in the text, I usually fumble around with my Greek New Testament and pretend I know what it says. So, I did that. And guess what I found? The Greek word for “into” really means “into.” Good thing I checked.

Apparently the resurrected Jesus still has a hole in his side, not to mention his hands. The resurrected body of Jesus still bears the marks of his torture and death. Nothing is forgotten. His very body remembers the agony of the cross. Resurrection doesn’t erase the pain of the past. Easter doesn’t make Good Friday go away. The wounds are there. The body of Jesus still bears wounds, open wounds, deep wounds, painful wounds. Blaise Pascal once wrote, “Christ is in agony until the end of the world.” He must get that insight from this story.

We would be happier with the transfigured Jesus from Mark 9—a shiny Jesus, spectacular, exciting, dazzling, a delightful feast for the eyes. Peter is awestruck. And he does what we would want to do. He wants to hang out up on the mountain with the shiny Jesus. “Peter said to Jesus, ‘Rabbi, it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah’” (Mark 9:6). It’s good to be here, Peter says. Let’s build a shack! We can hang out, just us, talk about important stuff—the nature of God, the problem of evil, enjoy some fellowship, maybe even bake some scones.

You have to remember what happens right before the Transfiguration. Jesus tells Peter and the others that the cross looms on the horizon. That sounds like bad news to Peter. So he takes Jesus aside and suggests some other possibilities, a way to bypass suffering and the cross. And how does Jesus respond? He looks at Peter and say, “Get behind me Satan!”

But Peter doesn’t learn. He again tries to keep Jesus from his journey of suffering and death. Hanging out in the shack sounds like a much better plan. That’s where Jesus really belongs—in transfigured glory, up on a mountain, a holy place, a retreat center, away from all the mess down below. Wrong again, Peter. But we can’t blame him. We want the same things. Peter speaks for us, and our religious sensibilities.

I should say, Peter speaks for me. I’m a pastor after all; I work for the church. My vocation depends on setting up a shack where people can hang out with Jesus. Every week I say the same sort of thing as Peter: “Jesus, it is very good that we are here, let me set things up so we can stick around for a while.” At Chapel Hill Mennonite Fellowship, we have a very comfortable religious experience—nice wooden pews with comfortable padding, candles, good singing. We don’t have scones, but we do have cookies sometimes after our worship service. You all are more than welcome to join us anytime you want, just a 4 hour drive south.

But Jesus doesn’t stay up on the mountain. Peter doesn’t get a chance to build his shacks. The transfigured and glorified Jesus heads down, down the mountain, on a pilgrimage to the cross, a journey into darkness, a descent to the dead. “…he descended to the dead.”

That’s one of the lines of the Apostle’s Creed. We just confessed it together a few moments ago. The Creed has its problems; all good Mennonites know that. The biggest problem for us is that it leaves out the life of Jesus. It goes from “he was born of the virgin Mary” to “he suffered under Pontius Pilate,” and there’s a tiny comma where the life of Jesus should be. That’s too bad.

But the Creed also highlights important parts of God’s story, key moments in the drama of how God saves us. He descended to the dead. That’s one of those key moments, one that we don’t talk about too much. Most of the time we talk about the death of Jesus as something that happens for our sins. But what about Jesus’ journey into the furthest depths, the dark recesses of the dead?—what Hamlet called, “the undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveller returns.”

Jesus dies. He descended to the dead. For three days he abides with the dead. “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Jesus says from the cross. Forsaken, yet a display of God’s love. Abandoned by God, yet always praying to God—“my God,” he says. He descended to the death.

Psalm 88 is also a prayer from the dead, a prayer that Jesus could easily pray: “I am counted among those who go down to the pit, I am…like those forsaken among the dead…. Friend and neighbor shun me; my companions?—darkness.” The end. The Psalmist takes us into the darkness and leaves us there. Michael’s voice comes back to me at this point: “I’ve been there. That’s where I grew up… in hell.” And I also hear the voice of Jesus, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

He descended to the dead. That’s good news; even if it sounds a little strange. Jesus is familiar with abandonment. Jesus intimately knows the darkness. Jesus knows the cold companionship of darkness. The furthest reaches of despair are not foreign to God. Christ has traveled to the far country, the ends of the earth, into the depths of the graves. Christ has gone to hell, to be with my friend Michael. In Jesus, God has drawn near to those whom the world has abandoned. He descended to the dead.

Now, what does this mean for us? To some of you, this is good news because you are in darkness; you are familiar with agony and pain; you know abandonment. Maybe you’ve seen too many friends die, and now you are alone. Maybe you feel the agony of an estranged relationship, a companion who has left you in darkness. Maybe it’s been a while since you’ve felt God’s presence.

Well, the good news is that God is in the darkness too—in the silence, in the darkness. Nothing shall separate us from the love of God, no height nor depth. God’s love goes all the way down. He descended to the dead. The temptation is to run. When you feel empty, the temptation is to fill yourself with whatever you can—a quick fix. But that only leads to more trouble.

Learn to wait, practice patience, be where you are, talk to the first person who crosses your path. Let go of what you thought God looks like, and instead see what turns up at your doorstep. Give up your desperate search for what you thought would make you happy, and instead take a second look at the boring stuff and the normal people. God can show up just about anywhere; Christ is known to show up in unexpected places and with unexpected people, even among the dead, even in the darkness, even with the abandoned.

Let me tell you a story about Mother Teresa. In an interview many years ago, Dan Rather asked Teresa about her prayer life. He said, “Mother Teresa, you are a woman of prayer; what is it that you say to God when you pray?” She answered: “Well, I don’t say anything; I just listen.” Dan Rather followed with another question: “What is it that God says to you during prayer?” Teresa thought for a moment: “He doesn’t say anything. He just listens.”

Teresa and God, sitting together in silence, enjoying each other’s presence… communion in the dark.

He descended to the dead. I have to take you one more step into this good news, and this is because we’re Mennonites. We believe that Jesus’ life is an invitation. Not only does Christ display God’s love for the world, but Jesus also shows us the life that is truly life. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, we follow in the way of Jesus. But what might it mean to follow Jesus’ pilgrimage to the dead? He descended to the dead. But do we have to?

The best way I can talk about what it means to descend to the dead is to tell a story, another story about Mother Teresa. It goes something like this. Many years ago a reporter was interviewing Teresa. The reporter asked her how she found the strength and hope to work day after day in the middle of so much suffering, so much death, so much darkness. Mother Teresa thought for a moment and said,

One day a woman was brought to us in Calcutta. She had a very bad case of leprosy. Her body was covered with sores. So, I sat with her and started to clean her. I began with her arms. I worked my way down to her hands. And when I reached her hand, I saw a terrible sore in the middle of her hand. It looked like it went all the way through. I stopped and thought to myself, My Lord has holes in his hands. Then I prayed, “Lord, is this you?”

You see, Mother Teresa followed the way of Jesus. She descended to the dead. And what did she find? She found Jesus. Among the dying, among the poor, among the abandoned, she discovered the wounded Christ, bodies with open wounds. Remember what we learned from the resurrection story in John’s Gospel: When Jesus appeared to the disciples, he invited Thomas to put his hand into the wound in Jesus’ side.

He descended to the dead, and Teresa followed him. Where is your Calcutta? Where do the dead live in Harrisonburg? Does hell have an address here in town? Today, this week, Jesus offers you the same invitation he offered Thomas, the same invitation he offered Teresa: touch his wounds and you will find true life, abundant live, overflowing life, eternal life. The body of Christ, broken for you. The love of God, poured out for the world.

When you descend to the dead, you may find our resurrected Savior. And you shall know him by his wounds. Just like Thomas did. Then with Thomas you can say, “My Lord and my God!”


Prayer, Hymnal # 676:
O God, you withdraw from our sight that you may be known by our love. Help us to enter the cloud where you are hidden and surrender all our certainty to the darkness of faith in Jesus Christ. Amen.

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Phil Kniss: Wholeness: Gift or Prize?

February 15, 2009
Sixth Sunday of Epiphany
2 Kings 5:1-14; Mark 1:40-45

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Naaman, army commander and leper. Amazing story.
On the one hand, we have someone mighty in power and wealth,
with all the freedom and resources to come and go,
to buy whatever he needs for a whole and healthy life.
But he is suffering deeply.
On the other hand, we have a young girl,
snatched from home by an invading army,
carried off to a country strange in language and custom,
living as a slave in the household of the very one
who carried her and her people away.
And she becomes the catalyst for his healing. Wow.

The kingdom of Aram does not have a clue who Yahweh is,
the God of Israel.
But even in such a God-forsaken place,
even in the household of an idol-worshiping army general . . .
God is present, because there is suffering.

And God works through this vulnerable slave girl.
Just as amazing is that Naaman went along with her advice
that he seek out the healing prophet back in Israel.
Of course, Naaman did it on his terms.
He knew he had to guard the power and dignity of his office.
So he worked out a quid pro quo transaction—healing for pay—
brokered at the highest level: king to king.
The king of Aram sent Naaman to the king of Israel,
along with a bunch of royal robes,
a royal chariot-load of gold and silver—
about three-and-a-half million dollars at today’s prices—
and a royal letter with the royal seal,
asking the king of Israel to cure Naaman of his leprosy.

Not surprisingly, this distressed the king of Israel,
who had just been humiliated by the king of Aram.
This was a lose-lose proposition.
He couldn’t heal anyone.
So he tore his clothes in distress.
The prophet Elisha got word of this,
and sent a message to the king,
“Send Naaman to me.”
So Naaman went, with his millions, with his servants,
to the door of the humble house of Elisha,
an old man with no position in the royal courts.
Quite an honor, for someone like Elisha,
to have someone like Naaman come knocking.
But Elisha didn’t even have the courtesy to come to the door.
He sent a servant with a message,
“Go wash yourself in the Jordan River seven times.”

It was an insult of the worst kind.
Elisha not only disrespected him by failing to greet him.
He not only refused to act like a real healer,
and perform the act in person.
His instructions were disgusting.
Wash seven times in the ordinary and insignificant
and dirty brown river of the Jews—the Jordan.
Naaman had rivers back home much more to his liking,
and far more powerful and majestic.
The Abana and Pharpar beat all the waters of Israel combined.
He turned his chariot around in a rage.
But once again, a lowly servant intervened.
“Father, if the prophet had commanded you
to do something difficult, would you not have done it?
How much more, when all he said to you was,
‘Wash, and be clean’?”

Reluctantly, Naaman washed,
and his skin became clean and smooth like a baby’s.
And in the part of the story we didn’t read,
he returned to Elisha and proclaimed his faith in Israel’s God.
But he continued to exert his power in the situation,
trying to compensate for the healing with his millions.
Couldn’t dare be beholden to such as Elisha.
But Elisha refused to take it.
Naaman left, Elisha’s servant ran after him.
and lied to get some of the gift money himself.
Which resulted in the servant getting leprosy.
_____________________

Well, in the other healing story this morning,
there was another man with leprosy.
But his posture, and Naaman’s, were polar opposites.
Where Naaman exerted power,
controlled the process,
carried certain expectations,
and offered payment to even the score,
this poor man got down on his knees before the healer,
and begged for mercy,
and said, “If you choose, you can make me clean.”

If you choose.
What a concept.
To actually release control.
To drop all pretense of deserving to be healed.
To drop any attempt to manipulate the process to his advantage.
To drop any effort to pay for it with his own resources.
To drop even his expectation that he would be healed.
If you choose.
Words of yieldedness.
Words of release.
Words of submission.
Words . . . of freedom!!
They freed the leper to simply be present and receive what came.
They freed God to work in God’s own way and time.

In both these powerful biblical stories of healing,
there seems to be this unmistakable connection
between release and healing,
between being yielded and becoming whole.
To the extent that we try to barter, purchase, manipulate,
or otherwise control the action of God the healer,
we are blocking God from doing the work.
To the extent that we yield ourselves to the healer,
we can find ourselves at rest, at peace,
and in a position to experience deep healing.
_____________________

This is a counter-cultural approach to healing, isn’t it?

Our culture obsesses about health and wellness.
I didn’t say we are healthy.
I said we obsess about health.

Probably half of the commercials on television
are for some medicine.
And if we talk to our doctor about that medicine,
and he or she puts us on it,
suddenly everything from our digestion,
to our heart, our lungs, our allergies, our bladders,
and our love life,
will not only improve dramatically,
but we will find ourselves laughing and leaping . . .
surrounded by wildflowers,
or sailing the open sea,
or strolling the beach at sunset with the one we love.

All we need is good health insurance, or plenty of cash,
and a healthy, vibrant, and happy life can be ours.

Of course, we don’t quite believe health can simply be bought.
No, we also have to work for it.
And work hard, we do.
People in our culture obsess over every possible risk to our health,
and we work anxiously and feverishly (pun intended)
to avoid these risks.
The sheer anxiety overtakes us.
There must be something we can do,
to head off the latest health scare—
be it cancer, stroke, salmonella, the flu, or . . . anxiety.
Ours might be the only culture where some of us actually
stress ourselves sick, over trying to be healthy.

You know, we can chase after wholeness
with all our energy, all our money, all our time and resources,
we can fight for health and wellness all we want.
But unless we can get to a place of simple trust
in the love and goodness of a God that desires our wholeness,
we are fighting a losing battle.
_____________________

On our wedding anniversary, Irene and I had reservations
at a fancy dining establishment in Winchester,
connected to a luxury day resort health spa in the same building.
While we were waiting on our meal,
we walked around the spa store a bit,
to see the products and services and to gasp at the prices.
The people who frequented this shop lived in a different world.
Hydrotherapy, aromatherapy, body masks of clay and seaweed.
$135 and up.
A bright yellow luxury convertible pulled into the parking lot.
The woman who got out was dressed to the nines,
and had the bearing of a celebrity.
By the license plate, I assumed the car was from the D.C. area.
The shopkeeper obviously knew her, as a regular.

I didn’t know anything at all about this person.
But she had all the appearances of not being—shall we say—
down to earth.
I cannot stand in judgment, because I don’t know her.
But just seeing her walk into that health resort made me wonder
what the story of her life really was?

Did she have a job that paid a hefty salary,
but brought massive amounts of stress into her life?
Did she have a spouse that she rarely saw,
because they both had to work such long hours
to cover the payments on their luxury cars and homes?
Did she have children who spent more time with their nanny
than they did with their parents?
Did she suffer extreme loneliness?
Were her only friends a few other women
living the same jet-setting lifestyle?
who she could never fully trust,
because they were competitors as much as they were friends?
Did she burn up five gallons of gas and two hours of time
just driving to this Resort to get some treatment to compensate
for the harm her daily life choices were inflicting on her?
I don’t know.
_____________________

But the message of today’s scriptures are clear.
It doesn’t matter who you are . . .
a poor beggar on the dusty streets of Palestine,
or the most powerful official in the nation . . .
the most dysfunctional superstar celebrity,
or a drunk in the city park.
It doesn’t matter.
If you are suffering, God knows. God cares.
God desires your wholeness.
God shows no favoritism whatsoever.

When it comes to calling on God for healing,
all of us alike, need to let go of our need to control
either the process or the outcome.
We need to open ourselves to the wholeness God has in mind.
Which may or may not be precisely what we have in mind.

This is not to say that we don’t take an active role
in our journey toward health and wellness.
I, for one, go the doctor when I’m sick.
And we should all be wise and discerning,
and adopt good healthy life practices—
eat sensibly, in moderation, in balance
exercise regularly,
lower stress factors,
like working too many hours a day,
like not spending enough time with the people we love.
And we should pray, fervently, for God’s healing to flow.

And then . . . we should rest.
We should trust.
We should thank God for whatever health we have,
and trust God to lead us through
whatever valley we need to walk to reach a life of wholeness.

A life lived in peaceful yieldedness to the One who gives us life,
and on whom we are utterly dependent for life . . .
that is what I call a whole life!!
Being whole does not mean living without
any sickness, any injury, any disability, or any loss.
No, we cannot, and should not, try to control every variable.
We cannot, and should not, try to purchase our health
through sheer effort or willpower or wealth or resources.

Wholeness is not a prize to be earned and won.
It is a gift of God to be received.

As we saw in the scripture,
there is a deep and powerful connection
between yieldedness and wholeness,
between releasing and healing,
between letting go, dropping our obsessions and anxieties,
and receiving God’s pure gift of wholeness of life.

I don’t know what that means specifically for you.
Only you can say what you are clinging to with anxiety and fear.
Only you know the ways in which you are trying to strike a deal
with God, or with others, or with yourself,
to get the relief you want.
Only you know what you are right now guarding and protecting,
or obsessing about,
in relationship to whatever brokenness you have in your life.

Most of you picked up a marble when you came into the sanctuary.
And tucked it safely away in a pocket or purse.
Let it stay there for the moment.
And let it represent whatever it is that you are holding on to,
not wanting to let go of,
not willing to release control over,
in terms of your search for wholeness.

I invite you to a few moments of prayer and meditation.
Pray for insight, for discernment.
Pray that you might know what you are clinging to,
in your own search for wholeness.
Ask God’s Spirit to speak to you
and reveal what you are being called to let go of,
to release,
to drop into the hands of a compassionate God.

[pause for silent prayer]

Now I invite you, if the Spirit has prompted in you
something you need to release,
and if you are willing to take some concrete step of letting go,
whatever that might be . . .
sharing your burden with some friends,
that they might help carry it,
or taking some other specific risk on your path to healing,
a risk that means you are not in complete control.
Just as Naaman did when he humbled himself,
and submerged himself in the waters of the Jordan,
if you are willing and ready to let go,
I invite you to come to the front,
remove the marble from its protective place,
and drop it into the water at the base of this fountain,
and let it be there.
You might need more time and more work of discernment
before you are ready to let go,
or before you even know what you need to let go of.
It’s okay to keep the marble in its safe place for now.
This is just an invitation.
Come . . . when, and if, you are ready.
While we sing together, “O healing river.”

—Phil Kniss, February 15, 2009


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Barbara Moyer Lehman: Identity and Authority Issues

February 1, 2009
Mark 1:21-28; Psalm 111; 1 Cor. 8:1-13

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Is it any wonder that crowds soon followed after Jesus? Within these 8 verses, Mark records two times that the people were amazed or extremely surprised at what they had heard or seen. Just what was it that amazed them?
Two things:

1.) Jesus taught them as one who had authority, not like the scribes of the law. (Mk. 1:22) Somehow the people immediately picked up on the fact that what they heard was different from anything they heard before. His teaching was authentic. He didn’t need to rely on past tradition or another’s interpretation. He didn’t need to quote the “authorities”, for he was the authority! He didn’t need to use what the scribes did. They studied the law. They were scholars of the law. They were the professional interpreters of the law, who were often consulted as the authorities...they had their degrees! But Jesus’ teaching was different. The Greek word for authority includes the sense of “out from oneself”. So what Jesus taught came from within. His knowledge was complete, authentic to him. What he taught was not the important part, but it was the quality of this teaching that was significant. It was authoritative, uniquely him.

2.) Jesus had power over the evil spirits/demonic forces. He spoke, he commanded. They obeyed him. There was no magic show, no ritual, no ceremony. By his power, he called the evil spirit out of the man. By his power he controlled the actions of the demon. No one else could do that.

Is it any wonder that the very people who heard Jesus teach for the first time and witnessed this first public act in the beginning of his ministry, were astonished and amazed. Surely there was much talk and speculation, as they chatted together, and finally exclaimed, “What is this? A new teaching?... and with authority?” WHO IS THIS MAN?

Yes, WE know this man. We know who Jesus is, or do we? Are we still asking that question today? Who is Jesus?

But the first verse of Mark tells us, the readers, who Jesus is. We are given this knowledge. Verse 1 states: The beginning of the gospel about Jesus Christ, the Son of God. But think about the folks with Jesus in the synagogue, hearing him teach for the first time. They didn’t know who he was. Think about those first 4 disciples with him, two sets of brothers, Simon and Andrew and James and John, fresh off of their fishing boats with barely enough time to get the fish smell off of their hands and out of their clothes, witnessing his teaching and seeing him casting out an evil spirit. They didn’t really know who he was and what it meant to follow him. They had a long way to go before they truly understood that the one who called them to follow him, that this Jesus was the Messiah, God’s Son.

With this first public act, Jesus makes a statement through his word and deed that begins to establish his identity. (done in two ways)
1.) Teaching with authority, unlike the scribes, immediately begins to set him apart from the religious establishment. It gives us a hint of what is to come and with whom he will be in conflict. After all, the scribes were the professional interpreters, the scholars. Now it appears that a new religious leader has come on the scene, one who speaks with an ‘inner authority’.
2.) By casting out an evil spirit, it shows that Jesus had power over the evil forces, the demonic, the spiritual forces, and he used that power to silence, when it was needed. And this was the time to do it, for the evil spirit was loud. It was Sabbath. This was happening among people attending synagogue. And the evil spirit cried out, “What do you want from us, Jesus of Nazareth? (apparently speaking for all the spirits). Have you come to destroy us? (or as a statement, “you have come to destroy us, for the evil spirit realizes that Jesus has come to oppose not just one evil spirit, but the demonic power structure, itself.).. I know who you are....the Holy One of God!”

What a revelation!!! Who has the knowledge here? It is the demons who know Jesus! (that is true in other parts of Mark’s gospel). There was this idea at that time that if you knew a person’s name, you could have some control or power over that person. The evil spirit thought to disarm Jesus with the knowledge he had and others didn’t, but Jesus silences and expels the demon. Jesus’ rebuke of the evil spirit was not to deny the truth of what the evil spirit was saying, but rather it was to suppress the information at that time! Even though the demons know who Jesus is, the human characters of the story are not to learn about Jesus’ identity from the demons.(part of the ‘secrecy’ theme in Mark)

In the Believers Church commentary by Timothy Geddert, he states, that in Mark’s gospel, “ discernment leading to true insight into Jesus’ identity comes in the context of discipleship, not as revelations from the divine or demonic world. “ (p. 47)

In Mark, the gospel writer wants to show that Jesus is not an ordinary human!
And by recording this first public act, we see that the witnesses noticed that something extra ordinary happened. Jesus’ teaching was like no other. His power was beyond all others. His knowledge was more than the demons, his knowledge was more than the scribes, the best scholars of that time. People knew Jesus was different, and they were amazed!!!

In the I Corinthian 8:1-13 passage for today, we read of some important insight on knowledge. The apostle Paul is writing to his congregation giving guidance and direction on the matter of whether Christians may eat meat that had been offered to idols or leftover after some pagan sacrificial rites. He writes: Now concerning your letter...
“All of us know something about this subject.” But knowledge makes us proud of ourselves, while love makes us helpful to others.(Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. RSV) In fact, people who think they know so much don’t know anything at all. But God has no doubts about who loves him.

All of us should be open to learning, growing and gaining more knowledge. But we also need to remember that knowledge gained can be used for good or for evil. It can build up, but it can also tear down. It can heal, but it can also hurt.

Paul doesn’t take sides in the dispute, but tries to challenge them in their thinking, to reconsider their actions, and suggests to them that knowledge is defective if it fails to build up the community in love. If knowledge makes us ‘puff’ up, it can soon lead to arrogance.

In Mark, we saw that the evil spirit had knowledge of who Jesus was and wanted to disarm Jesus in public by revealing his identity, wanting to take away his power. The evil spirit was using knowledge for harm.

The scribes certainly had knowledge, much knowledge of scripture. They were the professional interpreters, but often they focused on preserving and keeping the law, maintaining what was given to them to the letter. It didn’t allow for new life, for windows to be open to new, fresh interpretations. It didn’t allow for new wineskins.

Jesus used his knowledge to teach with authority, to lay the groundwork for the revealing of his identity. Jesus taught boldly, confidently, from the earliest days of his ministry, using his innate knowledge as the ultimate ‘authority’ to distinguish himself from others. His knowledge came from within.

How do we use our knowledge?
The kind of language we use tells a lot about us. The Corinthian Christians had this saying/slogan, “all of us possess knowledge”. Paul responds by saying that is not necessarily true. By saying that, you are automatically excluding those who do not share that opinion or have the knowledge that you do.
It is a little bit like if I would get up Sunday morning and say, “ We don’t have it in our hymn book, but I am sure all of you know and remember the song, How Great Thou Art. Let’s sing it together.”
Of course we don’t all know that song. Some of us might have known it, but can’t remember the words now. By what I said, and the assumptions I made, we already excluded people. As pastor it is challenging to not say, “I won’t repeat that Bible story or verse, because all of you already know that well.”. Not true!

How do we use our knowledge?
Park View Mennonite Church includes in its membership many people who are highly educated, well -read, world travelers, gifted writers, creative artists, trained musicians, skilled professionals, leaders and executives in business and medical and educational and church institutions. How do we use our knowledge? Are we using our knowledge as a weapon or as an instrument of love? Are we so confident in our beliefs, understandings and interpretations, of scripture, of ethical issues, of economics, of politics, that we leave little room for conversation and dialogue with anyone who thinks differently, who may have more or less knowledge than we do.
Sitting in one of our adult Sunday School classes on any given morning, can be pretty intimidating, if you never finished high school, or never learned to read and write, never traveled outside of the United State, or maybe even VA. For some people who can’t read music, or carry a tune, coming into our worship service and participating in the music can be a wonderful, positive experience, if you want to just sit and enjoy the harmonies. It can also be very intimidating and isolating, when you feel you can’t join in. Unfortunately, sometimes one of our strengths can also exclude.
When I first came to Park View and began my ministry, it was hard not to feel intimidated and insecure. It was nothing that you did that made me feel that way. It was within me, my own insecurities, that came to the surface. I soon realized that I would need to use the computer a lot more than I had done previously. That would be a challenge and knowing that my colleague.......well it is second nature to him and he thrives on it. It amazed me to discover that many of the older generation here at PV had high school degrees, college degrees and more, were retired professors, leaders in church and university. My parents never went beyond 9th grade. Education was valued, to a certain extent, but higher education(college) was not strongly encouraged when I was growing up, especially for a girl. I hoped that I would some day get married and have kids, but didn’t think too much about a career until I finally decided to go to college, for what purpose, well that wasn’t even clear to me. So deciding to go to seminary after our two sons were in school, and actually finishing an M.Div degree, was a huge step for this PA farm girl. I was excited to become part of the pastoral staff here at PV in the fall of 2001, but also somewhat nervous. I realized that some of the books and articles I had read and studied in seminary were actually written by some of you. I would now become your pastor. How long would it take, I thought, until you would discover how little knowledge I had of what you wrote. (I remember with clarity, the week before I started working here. I was standing in my office, surrounded with all my boxes of books, trying to place them on the shelves in some order so that I would know where to find them. Norman Kraus walked by, then came back to my door and warmly welcomed me to PV and Harrisonburg. He stood there in blue jeans and a blue denim shirt. I had just placed a few books on my shelf before he poked his head in the doorway. I knew Norman wrote a few of them. I was so nervous and probably broke out in a cold sweat, afraid that he had noticed and might ask me something about one of them. I didn’t want to expose my ignorance before I even officially started. Norman graciously welcomed me and, no, he did not ask me anything about his books.)

How do we use our knowledge?
Richard Hays who wrote a commentary on I Corinthians states this:
Every congregation will profit from looking at themselves in the mirror of I Corinthians 8 and asking whether there are ways in which they are using knowledge as a weapon rather than as an instrument of love. Whether Bible -thumping certainty about revealed truth, or serene confidence in the latest scientific findings, or passionate discernment of the “right” social causes, any “knowledge” that divides community and causes the knowledgeable ones to despise those who are ignorant or uncertain is not being used in the service of God. “ (p.145)

The key message in I Cor. 8 is that love is more important than knowledge. It is wrong to assert our rights and privileges, our strong opinions, if it is tearing apart the community. Rather we need to see that love, not knowledge, should be the guiding principle that helps give shape to our community life.

Jesus taught with authority, for he was/is the authoritative one. His knowledge is complete. For some of us, we may be in positions of “power and authority”, but we are deeply aware that any knowledge we have and any expertise we have gained in any field will always be only partial, at best.

May we use what we know wisely, carefully, constructively. May our knowledge be used for the building up of one another and the faith community. May God give us the wisdom to know how to do that in love.


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