Sermons

Showing Up Counts

It seems like Jesus is having yet another tedious conversation no one answers. Yet at the start of Chapter 21, Jesus enters Jerusalem, and a crowd shouts, ‘Hosanna.’ (Palm Sunday) He came to the Temple, overturned the money changers’ tables, and expelled those who were buying and selling. He also healed a number of people; children’s voices could be heard in the Temple, and the high priests and the elders were angry while the whole city was agitated.

The next day, they asked him, “On what authority are you carrying out these actions, and who has given you this authority?” Now, Jesus, in his most Jesusy manner, replied by asking them a question.

Jesus, a good Rabbi, understands the real issue behind the question. This question of authority matters. The high priests and the elders are not ordinary people who happened to show up on the street; they are officials who hold power, carry responsibilities, and have much to lose.

Jesus has just disrupted the whole system that they are responsible for maintaining. That is why he asks them about John’s baptism. At this point, they start discussing it among themselves. If they say it came from heaven, he asks why they did not believe John. But if they describe him as a human, the crowd will become angry since they regarded John as a prophet.

Thus they defend their religious authority by stating “We have no idea.”

“I do not know” is frequently the most honest thing one can say, but this is not the kind of “I do not know”; it is “I know exactly what I think of it, but I don’t want to say it out loud.” These are two different things.

Jesus knows the difference, so he tells them a parable: a father sends his two sons to work in the vineyard. The older son refuses, but afterward decides to go. The younger son agrees but then doesn’t go at all. Jesus then asks, “Which of their actions was in line with the father’s?”

Jesus isn’t saying that saying yes is always better than saying no; he is making it clear that what we do with our answer matters. The first son replies no, then changes his mind and goes, while the second says yes but never shows up.

And showing up counts. Sometimes I say yes, and later I find that agreeing to do something and actually carrying it out are two entirely different things.

Sometimes we say no. I’m sorry, I can’t do that. I am not ready. That isn’t for me.

Then something occurs; we get changed by a person or a community. God attracts our attention, and in that way a negative response becomes a positive one.

A while ago, Judith and I began a community choir. My aim was to create a situation where people could build a sense of community, since not everyone attends church. I planned to attend the first few rehearsals, help get the choir off the ground, support Judith and those who came, and then return to my usual routine.

That was a splendid plan. Especially since Caitlin is leaving, and I’ve already decided I’m not going to add anything more to my life right now, I like to sing, yet I’m not very good at it. In many ways, the timing doesn’t work for me; Monday is my day off, and coming into work is a bummer. Yet in other ways, joining the Community Choir on Monday nights has opened something up in me. Because I am willing to say yes and be bad at something.

I’m used to knowing how to do something. I’m used to taking on the role of the priest, the leader, the person who has an answer, or is expected to. On Monday night, I am a person searching for the note. I might arrive a bit early or late. I might make a mistake. I cannot fully know what I am doing.

No one seems all that concerned about it. We just keep singing. I have no idea what is emerging in me, but I am certain that being willing to be incompetent at something has made me a bit more willing to take risks. It has allowed me to stay curious, not know, and discover something without already knowing what it should turn out to be.

I believe that benefits me. I also think it benefits the community. We need spaces where we can be present without having to be good at everything, places where we can try something, make a mistake, and still carry on. Some of the most significant experiences of my life with God have come from showing up, not when everything was clear to me, but in the space between what I thought I knew and what I was only beginning to discover.

That’s where I usually encounter God, or the divine spark. Perhaps that is exactly what’s happening with the son in this parable. His initial reply is a no, but that no doesn’t end the story. Something changes between his “no” and his walk into the vineyard. He changes his mind. He changes his direction. He shows up. That is the section of the story that I admire. He is allowed to change his mind. He still holds a position in the vineyard. He still has some value to add. He still has a part in what God is doing.

I believe that is one of the greatest blessings of being part of a Christian community. We can realize that the understanding we thought we had might have been only part of the whole. We can hear things differently because another person has helped us do so. We can also see something we never noticed before because someone else pointed it out.

Sometimes we say, “I had come here intending to help someone else,” only to find that God also meant to give us something. We arrive thinking we know why we’re there. God, in the way God so wonderfully irritates people, might have a completely different idea.

God/the divine spark/the good orderly direction is working in you.

At times, God works in us by changing our minds. Sometimes God acts within us by changing what we value. God acts within us by making us uneasy about something we were once completely at ease with.

This is precisely the situation that is described in the gospel. The authorities face the challenge because they are unwilling to change. They see Jesus, they saw John, and they see people getting better.

They are seeing a brand-new situation unfold before their eyes.

Nevertheless, they will not let what they see affect them. When we see people change, the Gospel starts to feel personal and relevant. The question which we need to decide upon is not simply, “Do we believe. The question is, ‘What are we willing to allow to change?’ What are we ready to see differently? What kinds of things are we willing to care about differently? Maybe God is urging us to reconsider something?

We can become very good at saying yes to God while also developing strong resistance to changing our lives. We can show compassion and still avoid the person who makes us uncomfortable. One can agree with justice and still be unwilling to listen when justice asks us to do something.

We can agree that there is to be a community and still want it to operate entirely in line with our own preferences. We can agree with God and then get annoyed when He starts rearranging the furniture.

Jesus always invites us to go into the vineyard. The good news is that we don’t need to have everything correct to move forward. The boy who refused to agree may still go. The possibility of going still remains for the one who has been misunderstood. The individual who needs to effect change can, of course, do so. There is still some work to be carried out, to be carried out, to be carried out and to be carried out. People still need healing. Tables still need turning. Walls still need opening.

“Are you prepared to have your answer changed?”Sometimes the most sacred thing we can say is, “I was wrong.”The most faithful thing we can do is to say, “I didn’t understand.”Sometimes the beginning of new life is simply, “I see it differently now.”And sometimes the Gospel is as simple as this:

You can change. I can change. We can change.

And the road back to the vineyard is always open.

Amen.