Scripture:
Matthew 7:24-27
From time to time, Jesus spoke in terms
that were simple and direct. Consider,
for example: “[D]o not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of
its own. Today’s trouble is enough for
today.” Of course, we may struggle to do
as Jesus urges and to set our worries aside; but at least we understand what he
was getting at. He said it plainly.
Often, though, Jesus used language that
was more indirect and subtle. On these
occasions, Jesus did not lay out explicit instructions about what to think or
how to behave. Instead, he invited his
audience into a space—created by a question or a parable or the irony of their
own hypocrisy—where he hoped they might consider things more deeply and see the
truth on their own.
One
of my favorite examples of this approach occurs in the story of the woman who
was taken in adultery. In confronting
her accusers, Jesus might have said something ferociously straightforward,
like: “Stop. All of you are sinners, and
therefore none of you is in any position to condemn this woman. Go home.”
But he didn’t. To the contrary, Jesus
said that they could proceed to stone the woman to death if they liked—provided
they could look within themselves and conclude they were without sin. Of course, Jesus knew what they would find in
their hearts; but he wanted them to discover it for themselves.
That
brings us to today’s familiar—and deceptively simple—parable: There once lived two men: one was wise, the
other not so much. The wise man built a
house on rock. The rain fell, the floods
came, and the winds blew, but his house stood firm. The foolish man built his house on sand. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds
blew—and his house toppled over spectacularly. Jesus explains: a person who hears the word
and acts on it is like the wise man; a person who hears the word and ignores it
is like the foolish man. It doesn’t seem
all that complicated; but I think it is.
By
using a parable, Jesus is able to tell us something simply and directly. Indeed, he even explains the parable for us,
in case we missed the central point. But
his choice of the parable form is important, because it allows him also to tell
us lots of things indirectly.
Consider,
for example, this idea: a flood attacks a house from underneath; rain from
above; and winds from the sides. In
other words, Jesus suggests that in the course of this life—and in the natural
order of things—our little houses will be assailed from every possible
direction. Anyone care to argue with Jesus
on this point? I don’t.
Or
how about this: Jesus doesn’t tell us much about the houses the two men built. We don’t know if they are similar or
different; large or small; sparsely or handsomely furnished; two bedroom
bungalows without enough room to swing a cat or fifty room mansions with enough
room to swing a golf club. Without
saying so directly—indeed, without saying anything at all about the
houses—Jesus signals that for purposes of this story—for purposes of this life—only one question matters: how good
is the foundation?
But
what I want you to notice about this parable today is how much Jesus leaves
unsaid—directly or indirectly. Perhaps most importantly, there are some
important gaps (which we’ll discuss) in his description of what makes for a
firm foundation. And this is provocative
because the question of how we build such a foundation is critical: it’s one
that every person of faith needs to think through—as does every church, including
this one.
Jesus
does give us a few clues in this text as to how we should proceed. Let’s start here: Jesus notes the importance
of hearing the word. This suggests that we should make our
church one that takes seriously the business of listening to, reading, and
studying the scriptures. Of course, we
won’t all agree on what certain passages mean.
But, through study and discussion, we can work our way toward a collection of understandings that are
thoughtful, responsible, defensible, respectful of reasoned disagreement, and
consistent with the loving ministry of Jesus Christ—even if they are not
entirely uniform.
Now,
there’s a related point. I suspect that
most of us—maybe all of us—believe that the Bible is the most important and
influential book in the history of the world.
Even those who disagree with that proposition, though, would probably
concede that it is the most misquoted, misapplied, and misused of all books. People have invoked biblical passages to defend
and justify everything from slavery to genocide to torture to the oppression of
women to the abuse of children. It is an
ugly history … and it isn’t over yet.
In
Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice,
the character Antonio sums the problem up nicely when he observes that even “[t]he
devil can cite scripture for his purpose.”
The devil can indeed, and in fact does so in the fourth chapter of
Matthew. (And, sometimes, when I happen across
certain television and radio programs I think he’s still doing it.) So this church—like all churches—needs a firm
foundation in the scriptures not just because they will help guide our steps but
because, in all candor, the scriptures need all the friends they can get.
You’ll
notice, though, that Jesus suggests that hearing
the word isn’t enough. In this
passage, Jesus doesn’t distinguish those who hear the word from those who
don’t—the parable isn’t about how people don’t listen. Rather, he
distinguishes everyone who hears the word and
acts on it from everyone who hears the word but doesn’t act. In other words,
our foundation cannot just consist of sacred words and faith; those are
necessary, but not sufficient. Our
foundation must also consist of actions.
Now,
you’ll remember that earlier I suggested that Jesus sometimes creates an open
space in the text where we need to do a lot of the work ourselves. I think that this is one of those
spaces. I believe that Jesus
deliberately, intriguingly, and wisely leaves a blank here for us to fill
in. It is as though we say to Jesus “Okay,
I get it; my foundation isn’t complete until I act on your word; so what should
I do?” And Jesus says back: “What have
you got?”
Can
you volunteer to help the homeless? Do
that. Knit a prayer shawl? Do that.
Teach children? Do that. Feed the hungry? Do that.
Visit the sick? Do that. Make peace with an enemy? Do that.
Fight injustice? Do that. Sing in the choir? Do that.
Serve communion? Do that. Collect clothes for the needy? Do that.
Write a check? Do that. In fact, if you can, write several of them, and
be generous, because this business of trying to change the world is many
things, but it ain’t cheap.
*
On
this very day, thousands of people—including a number from this congregation—are
running in the Detroit marathon. I’ve
run a few marathons, but I can’t recall how many because all of them have been,
in one way or another, minor disasters so I have repressed most of my memories
of them. It took me a few tries to
discover that if you’re a big-boned 200-pound German with a 17-and-a-half-inch
neck you can do many things—but you aren’t built for speed. Still, there is a story about one Detroit
marathon that I recall and that has some bearing on what I’m saying here.
A
number of years ago, my mother (who passed away earlier this year) went through
a very difficult time. She had begun a
long and hard battle with Alzheimer’s disease.
She was packing up, leaving a house she had lived in and loved for
decades, and moving to a facility where she could receive the necessary care
and attention. It was an immensely
challenging period.
In
the course of helping mom pack, we discovered a small pin that she had received
many years ago when she graduated from nursing school. It meant a lot to her, and it gave me an
idea. So I told my mother that I would
be running a marathon in a couple of weeks and that, as a tribute to her
courage and perseverance, I would carry her pin across the finish line.
So
the big Sunday came and the first thirteen miles of the twenty-six mile run
went fine. But, then, at mile thirteen I
pulled a calf muscle—severely. My slow
run turned into a trot, which turned into a sort of sideways hobble. It wasn’t pretty.
Ironically,
because of the way the course looped, at mile thirteen I was only a few blocks
away from the finish line. All I needed
to do was hang a right, limp along a little, and quit. The alternative was to go straight, follow
the course out onto Belle Isle, and do the best I could for thirteen more
miles. I will be honest with you: if I
had not made the promise to my mother, I would have quit. But I did, and so I couldn’t. I kept going.
Somewhere
out on Belle Isle the pain and exhaustion got to me and my temper started to
boil. At just that moment, a police
patrol car with two officers in it pulled up beside me and the window went
down. “Uh, sir,” a friendly face called
out, “can we give you a ride back?” I
glared at him and growled: “No thanks. I
am going to cross the finish line if I have to crawl over it. And, when I do, I’m going to spit on the damn
thing.” He smirked and said “Well, okay
then” and the car dropped back out of my sight.
I
finally worked my way off of Belle Isle and back to Jefferson and toward the
finish line. As I turned left to limp
through the final hundred or so yards of the course, I glanced back behind
me. There was the police car. I’d had two guardian angels and didn’t even know it. Those guys had followed me around an island,
over a bridge, and down a thoroughfare to make sure I was alright. In short, they had seen someone who needed
watching—and they did that.
*
And
that, my friends, is how you build a church with a firm foundation. You welcome all who come—because all are
called. You give everyone a chance to
study the word—because everyone needs to.
You help them figure out what they can do to help—because everyone has
something to contribute. Then you put
them to work—every last one of them—in the name and for the glory of God—because
we need every last one of them. And then
you love them and keep an eye on them—because now they’re not just in His
flock, they’re in yours.
Why
am I so confident that this will work? Because
these are the construction plans followed by the Master Builder himself. This is how Jesus himself laid a foundation that has
lasted thousands of years. This is how Jesus
himself built a house that has survived floods and winds and rain—and even some
inhabitants who have tried to destroy the house from inside of it.
So
let me leave you with a few questions to ponder:
What
can you add to the foundation?
What
have you got?
What
are you waiting for?
Amen.
