On the Solid Rock

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.