The Rev. Josh Shipman
The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, Year B/Track2, 2015
Mark 10:17-31
The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the wordlanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that's what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.[1]
(pause)
I don’t know if the poet, Billy Collins,
who wrote this lovely poem
in praise of the humble lanyard
has any religious affiliations,
or sensibilities,
But I’m quite certain that
if he were to read today’s Gospel lesson,
he wouldagree that we have reached…
a lanyard moment.
Or perhaps a
fine weaving of
lanyard moments,
if we are to extend the metaphor.
(pause)
Here, we have a man,
Mark’s Gospel doesn’t
give us an age or
many other details.
He runs up to Jesus
and kneels at his feet.
This should cue us to the fact
that this is a discipleship moment.
Something important
is about to happen.
And can’t you just see
the excitement of this man?
He was running--
I’ve never been that excited!
He’s like those students
that most teachers have had
who are the first to raise their hands
or to inject themselves into
a conversation
to share their knowledge.
“Here is your lanyard, Jesus.”
This isn’t a test
as we’ve seen
in previous Gospel lessons—
we encounter, in this man,
someone who genuinely
wishes to follow God.
He strikes me as
a perfectionist, even,
diligently following the rules
his entire life—
but he’s left with an empty feeling.
There has to be something more, he thinks.
He’s right.
(pause)
Jesus calls for a radical
reorientation of his life:
Sell everything.
Give all your money away.
Follow me.
I wonder what the Biblical literalists
do with this one?
“Oh, surely Jesus was just using hyperbole.”
“Come on, preacher.
Tell me some comfortable words
I want to hear.”
Naturally,
the passage has had an interesting
history of interpretation—
most of the interpretations
can best be described as
evasion techniques.
Some ancient scribe
added words to the manuscript
to soften them.[2]
To this day, the King James Version reads:
And the disciples
were astonished at his words.
But Jesus answereth again,
and saith unto them,
Children, how hard is it
for them that trust in riches
to enter into the kingdom of God!
Our reading with
those who have wealth
is closer to the original intent.
(pause)
Some ninth century interpreter
made up an entire story
about a gate in Jerusalem allegedly called:
“the eye of the needle”
through which a heavy-laden camel
literally could not fit.
One commentator notes,
“Presumably, then,
Jesus criticizes only the proud rich,
or only the rich
who are not extremely determined
to enter the kingdom.
Unfortunately, no such gate
ever existed,
and Jesus' words in 10:23-25
fail to recognize such distinctions
about wealthy people's attitudes.[3]
Scores of preachers
treat Jesus as some kind of Zen Master
who saw this man’s wealth as his only weak spot
and so challenged him to address it and be enlightened.
While other preachers
demonize the poor man
and make this a lesson about
how this man must have had
a self-centered piety
relying on his own works
rather than relying on God.
None of these things are in the text.
Here is what noted preacher and
United Methodist Bishop,
William Willimon,
says about the passage:
“Jesus is not infinitely pliable,
congenial to our programs
of human betterment,
or interested in
the dilemmas of the affluent.
He isamazingly more willing
to have someone get depressed,
cast into grief,
and walk away grieving
with possessions still intact
than to crank down his gospel
to their limitations.”[4]
(pause)
Here is another “lanyard” moment
in today’s Gospel:
Peter says,
“Look what we did!
We’ve left everything behind
and followed you!
What do we get?”
And Jesus responds,
“You’ll get everything
back that you lost…
and also some persecutions.”
Somebody should tell Joel Osteen.
Ours is not a Gospel of prosperity.
In fact,
it is against the wide-prevailing
belief that those with material wealth
are greatly blessed by God
that Jesus is reacting.
Sorry, Joel.
Sorry, Creflo Dollar.
Sorry, nearly every televangelist
or megachurch pastor, ever.
(pause)
Mark’s Gospel reflects
the goings-on of Mark’s community.
To follow Jesus in the first century
often meant a break with traditional families.
People were disowned and shunned.
But in the tight-knit Christian community
these newborn Christians
who lost their biological families
found a new family.
Early Christian practices of hospitality
meant that they received food to eat,
and a place to live.
And here is something interesting:
Read the text carefully.
People will lose:
houses,
brothers and sisters,
mothers and fathers,
children and fields
And here is what they receive:
houses,
brothers and sisters,
mothers,
children and fields.
They don’t receive fathers back,
because the early Christian church
undermines the patriarchal powers
of the Roman world.
Rejected was:
wealth and power,
the absolute rule of the father,
and the patriarchal structures of marriage.
And with that came persecutions.[5]
Real persecutions—
not the imagined persecutions
of so many people
in our U.S. news media.
(pause)
My brothers and sisters,
Let’s not get too comfortable
with the Gospel.
Let’s not tame the scriptures.
Let’s not think that this message
only applies to people
in the next income bracket above ours.
Let’s not play armchair psychologist
and pretend to know the man’s motive
for coming to Jesus,
or Jesus’ motive for saying
these shocking things.
Let’s. Just. Sit.
With this Gospel.
Let’s let the uncomfortable feeling,
the uncertainty,
wash over us.
Let’s consider the question:
Do we,
the frail children of dust,
present our feeble lanyards,
made with love,
expecting them to make us even
with the Lord of Life?
1
[1]
[2]
[3] Ibid.
[4]Willimon, William H., "Preaching to Affluent Young Adults,orLord, Help Me Shove This Camel,"Journal for Preachers, 2002.
[5] Mays, James L., ed. “Mark 10:32-45.” HarperCollins Bible Commentary.