I preached this sermon at St. Lydia's on Sunday, February 6, as part of our ongoing exploration of the book of Mark. The text is Mark 2:13-17. Read it here.
I found myself wondering this week,
what was the table conversation like at Levi’s house?
Here’s everyone around the table. There, at the head, is Jesus, who’s been healing people right and left. And there’s Simon and his brother Andrew, who used to be fishermen, but seem to have given that up to follow Jesus. Then there’s Simon’s mother in law, who’s still getting over the fact that this strange man healed her from her fever. There’s the guy who used to beg at the gates to the city because he was paralyzed, but now he’s healed and walking around just fine. Then there’s the women who’s been working the corner over near the well for a couple months now, and a few of her friends, and oh yes, the host, Levi, the tax collector, who everyone knows, paid for this meal with the money he stole from all of them.*
What was that table conversation like?
Capernum was a pretty small city -- a town really. Only about 1,600 people. So, if I was sitting at that table, I’d be thinking about the last time I walked into the city and walked right by the paralytic, shaking his cup. I’d be struggling to strike up some kind of conversation with the town prostitute that wasn’t completely awkward for either of us. And I’d be seething mad at my host, Levi, whose appearance at my door a month ago meant that I had nothing to feed my kids that week.
But here we are all together at the table,
a motley crew,
gathered around a man
whose words forgive and challenge,
and whose touch heals.
Here we all are to break bread together.
There was a article a few months ago by Adam Gopnik in the New Yorker, reviewing a few books that have come out lately about Jesus. Gopnik talks about the contrast in the gospels between John the Baptist, the faster, and Jesus, the feaster. Jesus, who’s always eating.
“Jesus eats and drinks,” Gopnik writes, “with whores and highwaymen, turns water into wine, and, finally, in one way or another, establishes a mystical union at a feast through its humble instruments of bread and wine.”
He continues, “Jesus lives within a Mediterranean Jewish peasant culture, a culture of clan and cohort, in which who eats with whom defines who stands where and why. So the way Jesus repeatedly violates the rules on eating...would have shocked his contemporaries. He dines with people of a different social rank, which would have shocked most Romans, and with people of different tribal alliances, which would have shocked most Jews...
“Jesus feeds the multitudes rather than instructing them how to go without. He's interested in saving people living normal lives... rather than in retreating into the company of those who have already arrived at a moral conclusion about themselves.”
Well said, Adam Gopnik.
What do we see of Jesus in this story?
That he is a feaster, yes,
that he gathers a motley crew of followers
around an abundance of food, and probably of wine.
But that his feasts are risky, bold occasions
that confuse the customs,
turn rules on their heads,
and elicit an upheaval of upset and conflict.
These dinner parties are not about keeping everyone happy.
Instead, Jesus and his followers
gather around a table,
because it’s the only thing sturdy enough
to hold them all together:
The fishermen and the prostitutes, the thieves and the women and the beggars.
Sometimes it’s hard to know what to say to someone who’s experience is really different from your own, or someone who sees things very differently from you. I have certainly experienced moments of wondering how to speak to someone. What questions to ask, what stories to tell, that will allow me to hear something of who that person is, and share something of who I am.
The good news is, we’re gathered here to figure it out together,
and the strength of this table can bear the burden of our mistakes.
We blush or stutter as we stumble to share ourselves with each other,
but it means only that we’re getting close to something important.
Our blunders mean only that we’re learning, risking,
aiming for something that’s really hard.
And really worthwhile.
Those who are well
have no need of a physician
but those who are sick,
Jesus told them.
I’m going to the tell you a secret.
You have something in common with every one in this room.
Because every single one of us
is sick.
Every single one of us
is broken,
imperfect.
Every single one of us
has suffered,
has faltered,
has struggled.
None of us is righteous,
(not even the scribes or the pharisees)
None of us elevated.
Every one of us is in need of healing,
in need of a physician.
I’ll tell you a story about me,
because it might also be a story about you:
I used to have a hard time recognizing that I was sick.
Because I thought if I did,
I wouldn’t be able to love myself.
It turns out that in order to love myself,
I had to recognize that I was sick.
To have compassion for myself,
forgiveness for myself,
I first needed to recognize
that I needed both those things.
There’s a strange duality about it:
in order to love myself, I had to see myself as in need of love.
We’re all completely different at these tables.
Completely different,
and exactly the same.
We’re all human.
All imperfect.
All fearfully and wonderfully made.
All beloved by a God who,
no matter what we have done,
or left undone,
no matter what we have accomplished,
or not accomplished,
Loves this motley crew
whether we like it or not.
*Tax collectors in Ancient Israel were generally Jewish people who collected taxes from other Jews for Rome. They generally collected more than they needed to from their own people, keeping whatever was leftover for themselves. They were known as extortionists.
Hello Emily! My friend Alicia Brooks introduced me to your blog and ministry. I am so touched by your approach, tone, and way of communicating and inspired to see one more pastor being and nurturing church for those outside church-as-we-know-it. Please keep it up and keep in touch!
Posted by: Pastorchrisowens.wordpress.com | 02/07/2011 at 02:36 PM
That Alicia. She's a peach! Thanks for reading, Chris.
Posted by: Emily Scott | 02/07/2011 at 02:44 PM