Doctrines… how do you feel when I talk to you about doctrines. Do you feel empowered and lovely inside when I state to you the lovely word “doctrines”. I’m not too fond of the word either. It reminds me of a catholic church that burns its heretics. Perhaps it should because in the past that is what happened to those who didn’t adhere to doctrines.
What about the word love. When I say the word love what do you think of. I’d have to say like you I am much more fond of the word love then I am with doctrines.
I’ve been into love lately. Love your neighbor, love yourself, love your God. And it’s fun to think about love cause its spring. Love is in the air, and it’s nice to consider the new blossoms of the trees with love. Bluebirds making nests. It’s very Disney outside. Almost Easter and everything is speaking of new life.
Speaking of new life my sister in law went into labor last night. It’s been a long night as she still is in labor. Well, to pass the time I decided to listen to an audio book that I got for my birthday: CS Lewis the problem with pain. The weird thing is that my time spent was not enjoyable. I thought I’d sit back while I wait and feel enlightened. I thought I’d maybe get something to add to my already fun jig like message about the Providence of God in light of day before entitled “the Luck of the Lord”. But as I listened to the well spoken British know it all, my relaxation turned to stiffness. As I listened, I heard about pain, not pain that you get cut shaving with but that of the anguish of people, the general pain people go through by living on earth. CS Lewis in this book answers the question “why does a God allow pain?” I don’t usually like hearing about suffering, so to hear theological underpinnings on why it must exist wasn’t really my bag. Still I listened, and as I listened I found myself not liking it even more. Here CS Lewis writes about the depravity of man, the understanding that all of us are awful. An interesting note that he adds is that perhaps we don’t have total depravity as if we had no semblance of good in us we may not even recognize the need for a savior. I’m not a big fan of sin, or talking about sin or even the talk of needing a savior. It sometimes seems out of touch but then the next part really twisted me up. CS Lewis talks about hell. Oh weee hell. Gotta love it one of my most favorite subject (notice my sarcasm much?). A Doctrine CS says that he would love to throw into the incinerator, yet can’t. and he goes on and on about why there needs to be a hell.
After listening to the book I found myself in knots. “ hey you guys, lets talk about a whole bunch of topics that I don’t like all at once! And lets talk about them in well spoken English that is well crafted and very logical.” I had a whole bunch of yuck on me and I personally was having a hard time really even agreeing with anything the book said. All I heard were doctrines doctrines doctrines. I had to look up doctrines to even know what that was: A principle or body of principles presented for acceptance or belief, as by a religious, political, scientific, or philosophic group; dogma. A rule or principle of law, especially when established by precedent. A statement of official government policy, especially in foreign affairs and military strategy. Something taught; a teaching. So the teaching I was getting: pain… the teaching: you are gross… the teaching: hell.
No wonder the word doctrine pisses me off. It seems as though the word doctrine is affiliated with concepts that make you out to be an asshole. Find a topic that causes unrest in your soul it will probably be referred to as a doctrine. YAAAAY!!!
So After my little bout with CS I hung out longer at the hospital. Tried to debrief and hang with family. I ended up having to leave to get some rest so that I could wake up and finish what I was talking to you guys about today. I was going to be clever with clover and witty with rainbows and talk of shamrocks and the providence of God or in light of St Patrick’s day “the Luck of the Lord.” Talk about weird things like in chronicles where a bad king dies because of the luck of some guy with a stray arrow. How those who consider themselves lucky find themselves thanking God they weren’t killed in a bank robbery, rather than those who don’t simply see it as a disaster. I was going to talk to you about the mindset Paul employs who trusts his intuition and sees his Jailing as a benefit for his cause. But when I woke up I realized that I was not going to talk Limericks of the Lord.
What happened? Well this morning I had a very odd situation happen. I had something happen that has never happened to me. This morning I woke up with no faith. I guess it wasn’t all gone, just the Christ part. I had no faith in Christ. It was kind of disturbing. Not only because it had never happened before, but because I was going to preach in 9 hours. Luckily not all my faith was gone. I quickly prayed “um…what’s going on? What happened? I’m going to be talking to a Christian Church in 9 hours about Jesus, and how am I going to do that without believing in him?” Luckily, though this scenario was not common, the emergency nature of Sunday morning preaching is somewhat something I can count on. Alright God you have 9 hours to restore my faith in Christ and come up with something interesting to say about it.
So I guess 4 hours is enough time to shut off your faith. Perhaps I wasn’t paying the Jesus meter. Maybe there is an angel with a clipboard and a can of dog mace that comes and shuts off the Jesus gas. I do think that the stuff that spurred it off was those damn doctrines. The teachings. The hard things that I didn’t want to hear about. That I didn’t want to look at. I couldn’t say for sure, but I know that those concepts were yucky.
Like I told you earlier those things didn’t talk about love, they talked of judgment, pain, brokenness and just seemed out of touch. I woke up this morning and said: God, I’m not sure I believe in the whole Jesus thing. The whole I’m terrible thing. The whole son of God thing dying because I was bad thing. Cause I don’t feel all that bad. I’m a pretty good guy. I’m nice, I pray for people, I tithe, I do all the things a pastor should (except for the believing in Jesus part)… I’m into the God loves me thing. I’m into the Idea of God loving me so much that he sent his son thing. But the dying on the cross thing. Was that really necessary if he loves me?
I think this was where I was: my idea of love was blocking out my acceptance of that love.
I needed to start somewhere, so I did. I asked God to guide me and a scripture came into my mind “one thing I know is Christ and him crucified” Whether it was a song or if it was the scripture from Paul I had to grapple with one image. A person Dead on a Cross, and alive 3 days later. For the time being I threw out the doctrines that were causing me so much issue and I focused on that image. Christ and him crucified. What did it mean? Why did it exist? I soon remembered the parable jesus told.
Luke 7:41-42 "Two men owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he canceled the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?"
I saw that in order for the cross to mean anything it meant that it was paying some sort of debt. This debt was acquired by me… no matter how good or how great I have been, I still need grace. The cross is right there in front of me either meaning the torture of some dude, or it means grace. Grace for stuff that I have done. I may not like it I may not even want to look at it. But that cross does mean something. I can’t take the cross to mean love if I can’t recognize that I need for that love. The cross is empty of love if I have no sin. So there I was at a crossroads. Serving a God of love, but not believing in his actions of love. I wanted so much to believe in my God of love, yet Id do anything to get away from the teachings of my own need of that love. Apparently I’d even not believe in his only son; the historical stamp of his answer for me. I would rather believe that jesus was just an enlightened man who had a lot of good stuff to say… who was misunderstood… who died at the hands of those who misunderstood him, rather than admit that I needed a savior. Anything Instead of a savior of my soul!
We’ve been going through first John and John has been talking of love and I have loved it. Loved him talking of love. Major insights have come through about my God’s love. As I was reading this morning our next scripture in 1st John he says this:
1 John 4:1-3 Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world. This is how you can recognize the Spirit of God: Every spirit that acknowledges that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God, but every spirit that does not acknowledge Jesus is not from God. This is the spirit of the antichrist, which you have heard is coming and even now is already in the world.
Dear Friends… John has been plugging through about how you see that people from god…their love. That is their nature. Because they have the nature of their father. But in this scripture he says STOP… I’ve been talking about love love love. Who can argue with love? No one. And he realizes that many people will play this love card. You hear it all over. It’s very easy to say. But John gives us something that can test these spirits. John has something that can test a teacher. He says that any spirit or any teacher that acknowledges Jesus is the savior from God you should listen to. But those who say otherwise are giving you something other than a savior. An Anti-christ is another-savior. Something else.
I wanted something other than a savior. Cause all I wanted was love. Yet really, the only way that I could receive that love is to have a savior. This placed me in humility once again before my God. I don’t know if it really happened. But I guess this morning I was born again … again.
I may continue to struggle with all of the “teachings or doctrines” but the cross will continue to do its work. I do know that I need Jesus. I know that I do know that Jesus is the Christ came in the flesh and is from God. I do know he died for my sins and rose again. I don’t have to like those aspects because no one ever does. But the reality is I do cherish the love and mercy he gives me every day.
I wanted to make my love… god. Rather than serving a God that is love. So today, what I want to say to you is not all ways lead to righteousness. In fact most ways don’t. Some ways would want you to lose your edge. Some ways would want you to focus on love. Love, how can that be bad Geoff, to focus on love is exactly what God is asking of us. Yes but are you focusing on love being your god. Is your striving asking you to serve love, do love, be love, find love. John is saying stop everything. Love is not God. God is love. The distinction is made. The nature is housed in the almighty, not the other around. John is stating that you have no source for your love except from that of the father. You have no rights to love apart from Christ. Some of you have been hoodwinked by very clever teachers and spirits out there that bring you in with fine words of love. I have heard them, taken in their game and enjoyed their merriment with my mind. John is saying stop everything. Look at the thing you are worshiping. Is it something instead of Christ; Your antichrist? Lay it down. Be born again…again. And begin seeing that Jesus is that love you have wanted all along.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
Risky Business
After Joel accidentally drives his dad's very expensive car into Lake Michigan, he must quickly think of a way to pay for the repairs. Lana suggests that since she has lots of friends that are prostitutes, and he has lots of friends who would love to use their services, he should turn his parent's home into a house of prostitution for a single night.
It's a very risky thing to do, especially since his extremely conservative parents will soon be returning. But Miles has taught Joel that once in a while, you just have to take risks in life, or as Miles would say, sometimes you just have to say "what the fuck..."
As the Oscar winning song expresses it “it’s hard out there for a pimp.”
I said fuck it 5 weeks ago. Most of you will be glad to know that I didn’t start a house of prostitution in my parents house. Rather I embarked on a dream that has been in me for quite some time. I went to an open mike and tried doing standup Comedy. A year ago I had made a new years resolution to do it because it was in me. However every time a day would go by without any progress the farther away it seemed. Sure enough 2006 came and went and I hadn’t accomplished my resolution. I felt the drive of the new year to start fresh and re-up my resolution… This year I would do it. I found the one thing that was holding me back. My fear. I had grown up admiring comics and standup and new exactly who was great and who was terrible. I was the critic. I found myself not going living up to my own standards. And sure enough whenever I wrote anything I scratched it out because it was awful. Finally 5 weeks ago I did it. I said fuck it! I went on stage and listened to crickets as I told jokes. No one laughed.
When you do Comedy and no one laughs its risky business. Those that don’t like the risk of life, they Like to have a sure thing. The gamble of the dice may not appeal to them so they gravitate towards other things. Things that may not let them say fuck it. Religion always seems like their safe bet. Bible says it, so be it, that settles it. Some as they get older become religious. If you have a bad thing that happens to you, you quickly “cling to the rock that is higher then I.” People who hate God, find themselves yelling at him when the dice turns up snake eyes.
Did I mention nobody laughed?
Bible scholars and teachers love to be right. They love to have the sure thing. No risks No gambles… if you know your words its smooth sailing. Maybe that’s why this one particular scribe, during biblical times, became a scribe. He grew up and wanted to know things that are spiritual, and he wanted them exactly right. He found comfort in the Mosaic law and tried his hardest to keep it. He did a good job. But he wanted more. It could be that he wanted to be more comfortable, and so he found that he could write exciting books about Judaism, and He ended up enjoying a nice house and a good life. But he was always worried that something would happen to his bank account. So he was always kept an eye out for a sure thing.
Another guy, not really into being right… more like he didn’t want to be risky… he had a large family and he was the oldest. His father was getting up there in age and he was the one with the duty to deal with it. Not all that fun.
Jesus is just finishing his tour on this side of the lake, healing casting out demons, enjoying the crowd. And is about to embark across the river. These two characters have been inspired by the miracles. Invigorated by the teachings, and want to be a part of this kingdom of heaven. Unfortunately because of the distance of the lake they now have a choice in front of them. If they want to follow Jesus they have to do it now. The scribe just met Jesus and was excited about his teaching on the kingdom of heaven. The disciple with the father knew there was something in Jesus too, he had been following for a little in the region… making sure maybe his sister or brother was taking care of dear ol’ dad. This is the backdrop where we read this story
Matthew 8:18-22
18 When Jesus saw the crowd around him, he gave orders to cross to the other side of the lake. 19 Then a teacher of the law came to him and said, "Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go." 20 Jesus replied, "Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head." 21 Another disciple said to him, "Lord, first let me go and bury my father." 22 But Jesus told him, "Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead."
This scribe had heard the wonderful parables concerning the kingdom. He, like all others, expected an earthly kingdom and sought to have a place in it. Perhaps his need for the sure thing, or the need for comfort let him think that Jesus was talking about a Kingdom of riches. Perhaps he was talking about a way that he didn’t have to sell his Judaism books that he would live well and be wealthy. Jesus so replied as to correct his false expectations. If this man followed him he probably would not enjoy the comfort of a bed, maybe not even that of a roof. Jesus was letting him know what he would be sacrificing in order to follow him.
And then Jesus does a bold move and tells this man that needs to bury his father that the dead need to bury the dead. After studying the man’s comment “bury my father” would be said even if your father was sitting in front of you alive. It spoke of a duty to familial obligation. The middle east is a place where family is much more inclusive and reliant on each other then the west and so this man is speaking about how he has to care for his aging dad. Not that it was ordinarily wrong to stop for burying the dead, but wrong when in conflict with a command from Jesus. God bids us recognize our duties, but rightfully insists that our duties toward him are superior to those due our parents.
Both of these men were called to follow. And Jesus presented them with a cost. An admission fee. There wasn’t a lot of time… He was crossing the river, so he needed to act fast. He took their present exuberance, and whittled it down to the one thing that would stop them. We don’t know if they went. Some think the guy with the dad was Phillip. But we don’t know if Jesus’ exposure to the costs kept them at bay or if they took on the risky business.
What is the cost of following Christ? When you count it, how much is it? It must be a lot. It must be hard. What is the price of getting a call of God? “Hello, God hey how’s it going? Oh no it’s going well so far… no I haven’t done that part yet. I know it’s really funny. What. This is collect? This is a collect call! Oh man I should probably go then. Alright you’ll see me.” What is the price of getting a call of God?
The price of admission is your fear. Here are your tickets to the ride of your life. The most exhilarating adventure that you can be on. However you do need to pay. You need to face that which you are most afraid of. Those things that stop you from moving forward.
You see, the cost of admission is not your wealth. It’s not the respect of your friends or family. The price you have to pay is your fear; your fear of poverty; your fear of looking like a fool, your fear of that which stops you from moving with the living God. We may be antsy to follow the King, but he turns around and asks us for our ticket. What is it that scares us the most? Not the horror, “Saw” type of scare, but the thing that is most holding you back from what you know is inside you. What is it that?
We find comfort in our fears. We nuzzle up close to them and make them our houses. They become our idols in which we worship. The fear of that scribe was to not have provision. And thus his money and riches became his place of worship. The desciple with a father to take care of was fearful of giving up his social duty, and so there he stood at the alter of his father’s grave. Jesus says … do you see these fears that are holding you back today? Say “fuck it” to them and follow me.
In Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith Anne Lamott describes a very difficult time preceding a movement of spirituality: That April she discovered she was pregnant. "The father was someone I had just met, who was married, and no one I wanted a real life with." So she had an abortion, and "was sadder than I'd been since my father died." Drinking and pills helped dull the pain. One night, lying in the darkness, "I became aware of someone with me, hunkered down in the corner." She knew it was Jesus. "I felt him just sitting there on his haunches in the corner of my sleeping loft, watching me with patience and love."
For the next few days she sensed Jesus following her everywhere, "like a little cat." Finally, she writes, "I took a long deep breath and said out loud, 'fuck it! All right. You can come in.' "
David Saderis, an author, writes endearingly of his brother. A man that truly knows how to say Fuck it.
“the Rooster” is what (my brother) Paul calls himself when He’s feeling Threatened. Asked how he came up with that name, he says only, “Certain Motherfuckers think that they can fuck with my shit, but you can’t kill the Rooster. You might can fuck him up sometimes, but bitch, nobody kills the motherfucking Rooster. You know what I’m saying?”
It often seems that my brother and I were raised in two completely different households. He’s eleven years younger than I am, and by the time he reached high school, the rest of us had all left home. When I was young, we weren’t allowed to say “shut up,” but once the Rooster hit puberty it had become acceptable to shout “Shut your motherfucking hole.” The drug laws had changed as well. “No smoking pot” became “no smoking pot in the house, “before it finally petered out to “please don’t smoke any more pot in the living room.”
My brother politely “ma’ams” and “sirs” all strangers but refers to friends and family, his father included, as either “bitch” or “Motherfucker.” Friends are appalled at the way he speaks to his only remaining parent. The two of them once visited my sister Amy and me in New York City, and we celebrated with a dinner party. When my father complained about his aching feet, the Rooster set down his two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew and removed a fistful of prime rib from his mouth, saying, “Bitch, you need to have them ugly-ass bunions shaved down is what you need to do. But you can’t do shit about it tonight, so lighten up motherfucker.”
Unlike the rest of us, the Rooster has always enjoyed my father’s support and encouragement. With the dream of college officially dead and buried, he sent my brother to technical school, hoping that he might develop an interest in computers. Three weeks into the semester, Paul dropped out, and my father, convinced that his son’s lawn-mowing skills bordered on genius, set him up in the landscaping business. “I’ve seen him in action, and what he does to establish a pattern and really tackle it!”
Eventually my brother fell into the floor-sanding business. Its hard work, but he enjoys the satisfaction that comes with a well finished rec room. He thoughtfully called his company Silly P’s Hardwood Floors, Silly P being his name he would have chosen if he were a rap star. When my father suggested that the word silly might frighten away some of the upper tier customers, Paul considered changing the name to Silly Fucking P’s Hardwood Floors. The work puts him in contact with plumbers and carpenters from such town as Bunn and Clayton, men who offer dating advice such as “If she’s old enough to bleed she old enough to breed.”
“Old enough to what?” my father asks. “Oh Paul, those aren’t the sort of people you need to be associating with. What are you doing with hayseeds like that? The goal is to better yourself. Meet some intellectuals. Read a book!”
After all these years our father has never understood that we, his children, tend to gravitate toward the very people he’s spent his life warning us about. Most of us have left town, but my brother remains in Raleigh. He was there when our mother died and still, years later, continues to help our father grieve: “The past is gone hoss. What you need now is some mother fucking poon.” While my sisters and I offer our sympathy long distance, Paul is the one who arrives at our father’s house on Thanksgiving day, offering to prepare traditional Greek dishes to the best of his ability. It is a fact that he once made a tray of Spanikopita using Pam rather then melted butter. Still, though, at least he tries.
When a hurricane damaged my father’s house, my brother rushed over with a gas grill, threw coolers full of beer, and an enormous Fuck it Bucket-a plastic pail filled with jawbreakers and bite size candy bars. “When shit brings you down, just say “fuck it” and eat yourself some motherfucking candy.” There was no electricity for close to a week. The yard was practically cleared of trees, and rain fell through the dozens of holes punched into the roof. It was a difficult time, but the two of them stuck it out, my brother placing his small scared hand on my father’s shoulder to say, “Bitch, I’m here to tell you that it’s going to be all right. We’ll get through this shit, motherfucker, just you wait.”
There are many things the Rooster can teach us. How to be yourself regardless of family pressure, how to let your personality color the world, or simply how to make Greek dishes with Pam. I think one of the most valuable lessons the Rooster can teach us this morning is when to pull out the fuck it bucket. We all have fears. Fears of poverty, fears of death, fear of what our parents might think of us, fears of our parents. All of these fears are holding you back. All of these fears are holding me back. For a year my fear was holding me back from a stage in which no one would laugh at my standup. You know what my fear was? That no one would laugh at my standup. When do you pull out the fuck it bucket? Something in me changed, I had enough vigor in me to finally pull mine out, stand up there, and bomb huge. It was invigorating, and it didn’t matter if people laughed that night. I did it. I said fuck it to my fears, and did it. Spending time in your fear will be time wasted, as it is time not spent on your journey.
With Christ, there are some who have decided to count the costs. Good. Do it! Know that your journey is worth knowing what you are getting into. Love of others is never easy. It always has its elements of pain, betrayal, and hoping that the person will be different than they are. Following Christ is a lifetime of prayer. A lifetime of love. A lifetime of care. You should be weary of the journey like Jesus asked of the scribe. It could be that the scribe wouldn’t inherit a kingdom of gold which he thought Jesus was talking about. He might not have a bed to sleep in. He might not have a shelter to be in. So what? Jesus was asking the Scribe to say fuck it to his fear and have God provide for him. “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? 28 "And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you,”
The boat across the river is leaving. And the disciple sees that his straddling his duty to friends and his call of God is splitting him in two. Another cost to count. Sometimes the call is not so convenient. It doesn’t allow you a lot of time. It is a risk. And the fear is coupled with spontaneity, for some may be invigorating, for others is just not the way they would have it. Jesus was asking the disciple to say fuck it to his fears of what people might think.
What are your fears that are holding you back? Miles friend says to Joel in “Risky Business” Joel, you wanna know something? Every now and then say, "What the fuck." "What the fuck" gives you freedom. Freedom brings opportunity. Opportunity makes your future.
Where is God calling you today? Is Christ asking you to follow him? Is he in the back of the room with eyes fixed on you like a cat. You feel his presence. You know what you are supposed to do but you’re trying to evade the whole situation. Be encouraged, you will be following the living God. Say fuck it to those fears that have kept you at bay for so long. Say fuck it and start your life today. Say fuck it and begin to walk with Jesus.
It's a very risky thing to do, especially since his extremely conservative parents will soon be returning. But Miles has taught Joel that once in a while, you just have to take risks in life, or as Miles would say, sometimes you just have to say "what the fuck..."
As the Oscar winning song expresses it “it’s hard out there for a pimp.”
I said fuck it 5 weeks ago. Most of you will be glad to know that I didn’t start a house of prostitution in my parents house. Rather I embarked on a dream that has been in me for quite some time. I went to an open mike and tried doing standup Comedy. A year ago I had made a new years resolution to do it because it was in me. However every time a day would go by without any progress the farther away it seemed. Sure enough 2006 came and went and I hadn’t accomplished my resolution. I felt the drive of the new year to start fresh and re-up my resolution… This year I would do it. I found the one thing that was holding me back. My fear. I had grown up admiring comics and standup and new exactly who was great and who was terrible. I was the critic. I found myself not going living up to my own standards. And sure enough whenever I wrote anything I scratched it out because it was awful. Finally 5 weeks ago I did it. I said fuck it! I went on stage and listened to crickets as I told jokes. No one laughed.
When you do Comedy and no one laughs its risky business. Those that don’t like the risk of life, they Like to have a sure thing. The gamble of the dice may not appeal to them so they gravitate towards other things. Things that may not let them say fuck it. Religion always seems like their safe bet. Bible says it, so be it, that settles it. Some as they get older become religious. If you have a bad thing that happens to you, you quickly “cling to the rock that is higher then I.” People who hate God, find themselves yelling at him when the dice turns up snake eyes.
Did I mention nobody laughed?
Bible scholars and teachers love to be right. They love to have the sure thing. No risks No gambles… if you know your words its smooth sailing. Maybe that’s why this one particular scribe, during biblical times, became a scribe. He grew up and wanted to know things that are spiritual, and he wanted them exactly right. He found comfort in the Mosaic law and tried his hardest to keep it. He did a good job. But he wanted more. It could be that he wanted to be more comfortable, and so he found that he could write exciting books about Judaism, and He ended up enjoying a nice house and a good life. But he was always worried that something would happen to his bank account. So he was always kept an eye out for a sure thing.
Another guy, not really into being right… more like he didn’t want to be risky… he had a large family and he was the oldest. His father was getting up there in age and he was the one with the duty to deal with it. Not all that fun.
Jesus is just finishing his tour on this side of the lake, healing casting out demons, enjoying the crowd. And is about to embark across the river. These two characters have been inspired by the miracles. Invigorated by the teachings, and want to be a part of this kingdom of heaven. Unfortunately because of the distance of the lake they now have a choice in front of them. If they want to follow Jesus they have to do it now. The scribe just met Jesus and was excited about his teaching on the kingdom of heaven. The disciple with the father knew there was something in Jesus too, he had been following for a little in the region… making sure maybe his sister or brother was taking care of dear ol’ dad. This is the backdrop where we read this story
Matthew 8:18-22
18 When Jesus saw the crowd around him, he gave orders to cross to the other side of the lake. 19 Then a teacher of the law came to him and said, "Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go." 20 Jesus replied, "Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head." 21 Another disciple said to him, "Lord, first let me go and bury my father." 22 But Jesus told him, "Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead."
This scribe had heard the wonderful parables concerning the kingdom. He, like all others, expected an earthly kingdom and sought to have a place in it. Perhaps his need for the sure thing, or the need for comfort let him think that Jesus was talking about a Kingdom of riches. Perhaps he was talking about a way that he didn’t have to sell his Judaism books that he would live well and be wealthy. Jesus so replied as to correct his false expectations. If this man followed him he probably would not enjoy the comfort of a bed, maybe not even that of a roof. Jesus was letting him know what he would be sacrificing in order to follow him.
And then Jesus does a bold move and tells this man that needs to bury his father that the dead need to bury the dead. After studying the man’s comment “bury my father” would be said even if your father was sitting in front of you alive. It spoke of a duty to familial obligation. The middle east is a place where family is much more inclusive and reliant on each other then the west and so this man is speaking about how he has to care for his aging dad. Not that it was ordinarily wrong to stop for burying the dead, but wrong when in conflict with a command from Jesus. God bids us recognize our duties, but rightfully insists that our duties toward him are superior to those due our parents.
Both of these men were called to follow. And Jesus presented them with a cost. An admission fee. There wasn’t a lot of time… He was crossing the river, so he needed to act fast. He took their present exuberance, and whittled it down to the one thing that would stop them. We don’t know if they went. Some think the guy with the dad was Phillip. But we don’t know if Jesus’ exposure to the costs kept them at bay or if they took on the risky business.
What is the cost of following Christ? When you count it, how much is it? It must be a lot. It must be hard. What is the price of getting a call of God? “Hello, God hey how’s it going? Oh no it’s going well so far… no I haven’t done that part yet. I know it’s really funny. What. This is collect? This is a collect call! Oh man I should probably go then. Alright you’ll see me.” What is the price of getting a call of God?
The price of admission is your fear. Here are your tickets to the ride of your life. The most exhilarating adventure that you can be on. However you do need to pay. You need to face that which you are most afraid of. Those things that stop you from moving forward.
You see, the cost of admission is not your wealth. It’s not the respect of your friends or family. The price you have to pay is your fear; your fear of poverty; your fear of looking like a fool, your fear of that which stops you from moving with the living God. We may be antsy to follow the King, but he turns around and asks us for our ticket. What is it that scares us the most? Not the horror, “Saw” type of scare, but the thing that is most holding you back from what you know is inside you. What is it that?
We find comfort in our fears. We nuzzle up close to them and make them our houses. They become our idols in which we worship. The fear of that scribe was to not have provision. And thus his money and riches became his place of worship. The desciple with a father to take care of was fearful of giving up his social duty, and so there he stood at the alter of his father’s grave. Jesus says … do you see these fears that are holding you back today? Say “fuck it” to them and follow me.
In Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith Anne Lamott describes a very difficult time preceding a movement of spirituality: That April she discovered she was pregnant. "The father was someone I had just met, who was married, and no one I wanted a real life with." So she had an abortion, and "was sadder than I'd been since my father died." Drinking and pills helped dull the pain. One night, lying in the darkness, "I became aware of someone with me, hunkered down in the corner." She knew it was Jesus. "I felt him just sitting there on his haunches in the corner of my sleeping loft, watching me with patience and love."
For the next few days she sensed Jesus following her everywhere, "like a little cat." Finally, she writes, "I took a long deep breath and said out loud, 'fuck it! All right. You can come in.' "
David Saderis, an author, writes endearingly of his brother. A man that truly knows how to say Fuck it.
“the Rooster” is what (my brother) Paul calls himself when He’s feeling Threatened. Asked how he came up with that name, he says only, “Certain Motherfuckers think that they can fuck with my shit, but you can’t kill the Rooster. You might can fuck him up sometimes, but bitch, nobody kills the motherfucking Rooster. You know what I’m saying?”
It often seems that my brother and I were raised in two completely different households. He’s eleven years younger than I am, and by the time he reached high school, the rest of us had all left home. When I was young, we weren’t allowed to say “shut up,” but once the Rooster hit puberty it had become acceptable to shout “Shut your motherfucking hole.” The drug laws had changed as well. “No smoking pot” became “no smoking pot in the house, “before it finally petered out to “please don’t smoke any more pot in the living room.”
My brother politely “ma’ams” and “sirs” all strangers but refers to friends and family, his father included, as either “bitch” or “Motherfucker.” Friends are appalled at the way he speaks to his only remaining parent. The two of them once visited my sister Amy and me in New York City, and we celebrated with a dinner party. When my father complained about his aching feet, the Rooster set down his two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew and removed a fistful of prime rib from his mouth, saying, “Bitch, you need to have them ugly-ass bunions shaved down is what you need to do. But you can’t do shit about it tonight, so lighten up motherfucker.”
Unlike the rest of us, the Rooster has always enjoyed my father’s support and encouragement. With the dream of college officially dead and buried, he sent my brother to technical school, hoping that he might develop an interest in computers. Three weeks into the semester, Paul dropped out, and my father, convinced that his son’s lawn-mowing skills bordered on genius, set him up in the landscaping business. “I’ve seen him in action, and what he does to establish a pattern and really tackle it!”
Eventually my brother fell into the floor-sanding business. Its hard work, but he enjoys the satisfaction that comes with a well finished rec room. He thoughtfully called his company Silly P’s Hardwood Floors, Silly P being his name he would have chosen if he were a rap star. When my father suggested that the word silly might frighten away some of the upper tier customers, Paul considered changing the name to Silly Fucking P’s Hardwood Floors. The work puts him in contact with plumbers and carpenters from such town as Bunn and Clayton, men who offer dating advice such as “If she’s old enough to bleed she old enough to breed.”
“Old enough to what?” my father asks. “Oh Paul, those aren’t the sort of people you need to be associating with. What are you doing with hayseeds like that? The goal is to better yourself. Meet some intellectuals. Read a book!”
After all these years our father has never understood that we, his children, tend to gravitate toward the very people he’s spent his life warning us about. Most of us have left town, but my brother remains in Raleigh. He was there when our mother died and still, years later, continues to help our father grieve: “The past is gone hoss. What you need now is some mother fucking poon.” While my sisters and I offer our sympathy long distance, Paul is the one who arrives at our father’s house on Thanksgiving day, offering to prepare traditional Greek dishes to the best of his ability. It is a fact that he once made a tray of Spanikopita using Pam rather then melted butter. Still, though, at least he tries.
When a hurricane damaged my father’s house, my brother rushed over with a gas grill, threw coolers full of beer, and an enormous Fuck it Bucket-a plastic pail filled with jawbreakers and bite size candy bars. “When shit brings you down, just say “fuck it” and eat yourself some motherfucking candy.” There was no electricity for close to a week. The yard was practically cleared of trees, and rain fell through the dozens of holes punched into the roof. It was a difficult time, but the two of them stuck it out, my brother placing his small scared hand on my father’s shoulder to say, “Bitch, I’m here to tell you that it’s going to be all right. We’ll get through this shit, motherfucker, just you wait.”
There are many things the Rooster can teach us. How to be yourself regardless of family pressure, how to let your personality color the world, or simply how to make Greek dishes with Pam. I think one of the most valuable lessons the Rooster can teach us this morning is when to pull out the fuck it bucket. We all have fears. Fears of poverty, fears of death, fear of what our parents might think of us, fears of our parents. All of these fears are holding you back. All of these fears are holding me back. For a year my fear was holding me back from a stage in which no one would laugh at my standup. You know what my fear was? That no one would laugh at my standup. When do you pull out the fuck it bucket? Something in me changed, I had enough vigor in me to finally pull mine out, stand up there, and bomb huge. It was invigorating, and it didn’t matter if people laughed that night. I did it. I said fuck it to my fears, and did it. Spending time in your fear will be time wasted, as it is time not spent on your journey.
With Christ, there are some who have decided to count the costs. Good. Do it! Know that your journey is worth knowing what you are getting into. Love of others is never easy. It always has its elements of pain, betrayal, and hoping that the person will be different than they are. Following Christ is a lifetime of prayer. A lifetime of love. A lifetime of care. You should be weary of the journey like Jesus asked of the scribe. It could be that the scribe wouldn’t inherit a kingdom of gold which he thought Jesus was talking about. He might not have a bed to sleep in. He might not have a shelter to be in. So what? Jesus was asking the Scribe to say fuck it to his fear and have God provide for him. “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? 28 "And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you,”
The boat across the river is leaving. And the disciple sees that his straddling his duty to friends and his call of God is splitting him in two. Another cost to count. Sometimes the call is not so convenient. It doesn’t allow you a lot of time. It is a risk. And the fear is coupled with spontaneity, for some may be invigorating, for others is just not the way they would have it. Jesus was asking the disciple to say fuck it to his fears of what people might think.
What are your fears that are holding you back? Miles friend says to Joel in “Risky Business” Joel, you wanna know something? Every now and then say, "What the fuck." "What the fuck" gives you freedom. Freedom brings opportunity. Opportunity makes your future.
Where is God calling you today? Is Christ asking you to follow him? Is he in the back of the room with eyes fixed on you like a cat. You feel his presence. You know what you are supposed to do but you’re trying to evade the whole situation. Be encouraged, you will be following the living God. Say fuck it to those fears that have kept you at bay for so long. Say fuck it and start your life today. Say fuck it and begin to walk with Jesus.
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