Tag Archives: Reign of God

About that incessant competition for dominance… (August 30, AD 2026, Proper 17)

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Readings (Track 1)

It would be hard to find a sharper contrast than that in today’s readings from Exodus and Matthew. Exodus: like last week’s reading, the Egyptian oppression of the Israelites is front and center, and God is going to do something about it. “I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians…So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” On the other hand, Mattthew. Last Sunday we heard Peter’s confession: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (16:16.) That sounds promising—maybe Jesus will do to the Romans what Moses did to the Egyptians. But no, “Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”

We often hear that the Old Testament is concerned about material things, the New Testament about spiritual things. If that were true it might explain the contrast, but recall how the Romans reading ends: “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” Overcoming evil—in all its forms—is still the challenge; but how?

Moses did bring Israel out of Egypt, but Egypt—speaking metaphorically—was still in Israel. Ironically, it’s King Solomon, renown for his wisdom, who puts the Israelites to forced labor to build his temple (1 Kgs 5:13ff). When at Solomon’s death the people ask for relief, Solomon’s son Rehoboam responds “My father made your yoke heavy, but I will add to your yoke; my father disciplined you with whips, but I will discipline you with scorpions” (1Ki 12:14). Israel out of Egypt—relatively easy; Egypt out of Israel—not so easy.

Jesus doesn’t explain why he, the Messiah, “must” go to Jerusalem, but we get a partial explanation later in response to the request that James and John get the choice seats.

“You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (20:25-28).

Pulling back the camera, it’s no good focusing on the Egyptian pharaoh or the Roman emperor. The problem’s deeper, this unending competition for dominance. Jesus going to Jerusalem can’t be another version of that. And Jesus’ followers have hardly begun to learn that that’s not what he’s about.

So, in today’s Gospel: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” If we asked Matthew what that looked like in practice, he’d probably sigh and tell us to read the rest of his Gospel. That wouldn’t be bad advice.

Happily, our second reading is the second half of Romans 12. Some weeks back we heard Paul ask the Romans “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” (6:3). Baptism: an enactment of Jesus’ “take up their cross.” And he begins our current chapter with “I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice” (12:1). So, while I don’t think Paul’s writing with the Matthew scroll before him (the timing’s wrong), Jesus’ words are being passed down orally, and this chapter is a useful exploration of what “those who lose their life for my sake will find it” might look like in Rome. So Paul—still in last week’s reading—goes immediately to “I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think” (12:3). Enough with this unending competition for dominance.

It would be tedious to go through the reading verse by verse. It’s a reading to take home and tape to the bathroom mirror. One verse might show itself relevant on Tuesday, another on Friday. But let’s notice a couple of things before wrapping up.

“Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them.” Probably useful to remember when watching the news or scrolling on the smartphone. I’m struck by Ellen Davis’ definition of blessing: “Blessing is fundamentally an act of acknowledging the essential goodness of the other’s being; it is a commitment of one’s will to the flourishing of the other.”[1] Blessing isn’t about approving what the other is doing, but acknowledging that that “other” also bears God’s image, with all the potential for wonder and tragedy that involves.

“Outdo one another in showing honor.” I’d guess that competition is hardwired into our DNA. Paul’s wise enough not to try to squelch it. But he does think it can be redirected. In any parish we’re probably pretty good at honoring some, not so good at honoring others. Paul’s encouraging us to be proactive. As we heard last week, God’s given each of us gifts for the good of the body. That’s something to celebrate. More often. More comprehensively.

“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” How? The second verse of “Lead on, O King eternal” (#555) nails it: “for not with sword’s loud clashing, nor roll of stirring drums, / but deeds of love and mercy, the heavenly kingdom comes.”

Or, as the old riddle goes, “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.”

[1] Opening Israel’s Scriptures, p.28.

“This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” (Last Sunday after the Epiphany, 3/2/2025)

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Readings

The eyes and the ears: what happens if we attend to these while reading today’s lessons?

The eyes are the easy part: Moses’ face shining, Jesus’ face and clothing really shining, Paul’s promise that his hearers, having turned to Jesus, will themselves shine. Not hard to get a decent sermon out of that. And attention to the eyes can speak powerfully to us in two ways.

First within the text and—for that matter—the Church calendar. Three days from now is Ash Wednesday, when we’ll begin to walk with Jesus to his death. That’s an important walk. But as we do it, it’s easy to start thinking that Jesus went to his death because he didn’t have any choice: too many enemies, no place to hide. And that’s when we need to remember today’s reading. The Jesus whom we’ll join as he walks to his death is the same Jesus we saw dazzling white on the mountain. If he dies, it’s not because he’s run out of choices.

Second, so the light show’s over? No; here’s where we come in. St. Paul tells us that as we look to Jesus some of that light, some of that glory, starts to rub off: “all of us…are being transformed…from one degree of glory to another.” No. The light show’s not over. “The God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness’” will shine in and through us as we consent to it.

And Paul’s writing this to the Christians in Corinth. Corinth was a boisterous, rowdy seaport, and from Paul’s letters it looks like the Christians there fit right in. Paul repeatedly struggles to make himself understood. There are factions. It’s one body, but the eye is saying to the hand “I don’t need you” and the head to the foot “I don’t need you.” And precisely in that unpromising context Paul hopes for light, transformation, glory. And if Paul can hope for light, transformation and glory there, how much more can we hope for it even in our parishes in Wisconsin.

What about the ears? Let’s look at the Gospel again.

Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. 31 They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.

Jesus goes up the mountain to pray. Prayer: Luke emphasizes this practice, making it explicit where the other gospels don’t. So preparing this sermon I wondered what my devoting more time and energy to prayer might mean. (It’s a real nuisance when the text turns around and bites the preacher!)

Then there’s Luke’s summary of the conversation between Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, speaking of his departure (Greek ἔξοδος) “which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.” ‘Exodus’: while the Greek word is common enough, Luke’s using it here to point toward Jesus’ decision to time his passion with the Passover celebration, perhaps Jesus’ most important interpretation of his own death: an exodus, a liberation more radical than the one in Moses’ time.

How do you free Israel—or any nation, for that matter—from the various forms of interlocking economic, ideological, and political oppression? Flee to the wilderness like the Essenes? Continue to assassinate Romans and Roman stooges like the Zealots? Encourage meticulous observance of selected portions of the law and shun the non-observers like the Pharisees? Journey to Jerusalem for a new exodus like Jesus? Notice that the Essenes, the Zealots, the Pharisees, and Jesus are responding to the same question. It’s not a specifically religious question. It’s one of the most basic human questions: how do we maintain/create/regain (choose your verb) a way of living together that doesn’t self-destruct?

And here’s where the ears again become important. A few verses later, partly in response to Peter’s suggestion, the divine voice says “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” Listen to him. What might that mean?

Well, let’s recall what we’ve heard Jesus say. Back in the Nazareth synagogue: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.…” The Gospel writers thematize this as announcing the kingdom of God, the kingdom that this morning’s psalm celebrated (Ps 99). “O mighty King, lover of justice, / you have established equity; */ you have executed justice and righteousness in Jacob.” Magnificent. And then Jesus spoils it all with his examples: the widow at Zarephath in Sidon, Naaman the Syrian, warning us that God’s generosity extends to our enemies. Worse, Jesus’ conduct matches his words: sharing a table with tax collectors and sinners, healing the servant of a Roman centurion. That, Jesus would have us understand, is what God’s justice and righteousness look like: the Good Shepherd abandoning the ninety nine to seek out the one who’s strayed.

Perhaps you’ve seen the cartoon based on this story. Jesus shows up with the lost sheep on his shoulders and the rest of the sheep respond, “No, Lord. You don’t know how much effort it took to get rid of her!”

Turns out that while listening to Jesus is sometimes easy, it’s sometimes not so easy. How do we build a world that’s sustainable, that doesn’t self-destruct? That’s what Jesus is talking about. And we really need to hear Him, in the midst of so many voices that urge some form of identity politics. And anyone can play this game. We’re for inclusivity? Then we need to stand against those who don’t share our vision of inclusivity! (Thank goodness Lent is coming!) So, it’s not simply that Jesus came proclaiming the kingdom of God, but proclaiming that kingdom and a particular way in which He and His followers were to live on the threshold of that kingdom: forgiving, mirroring God’s generosity even to their enemies, abstaining from violence in word and deed. “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”