No Stupid Questions; No Small Plans
Luke 20:27-38
I’m sure all of you have heard, at some point or another, that there are no stupid questions. Well, that may be the dumbest utterance I’ve ever heard. For instance, a few weeks ago I asked myself, “wouldn’t it be a good idea to switch all my e-mail to g-mail and consolidate address books?” As many of you know by now, I’ve spent a good deal of the past week in that special little corner of hell reserved for those who change e-mail addresses. Well, “should I switch e-mails and consolidate address books?” is a stupid question – because there is only one answer: “run away! Run away!”
OK, for sure this question does not rate the level of curiosity that the question posed to Jesus does, but it’s caused me a good deal more grief than questions about the resurrection of brothers and widows ever has.
Indeed, in this passage from Luke, Jesus seems to be saying, “you know what, there are stupid questions, and I’ve had just about enough of them from the likes of you Sadducees.”
Think of the questions Jesus has been asked, according to Luke’s account. In the chapters leading up to our passage this morning he’s faced, among others, these inquiries:
• Why do you eat with sinners and tax collectors?
• On whose authority do you do these things?
• Should we pay taxes to Caesar?
Jesus just might be getting tired of it by the time this convoluted question about seven brothers comes along.
There seems to be more than a bit of pique in his response as he concludes, “Now he is the God not of the dead, but of the living.”
It’s as if Jesus is saying, “you just don’t get it, do you? It’s not about sinners and tax collectors and who you eat with or what you eat; it’s not about authority and hierarchies and pedigrees and rank or station; it’s not about Caesar vs. the religious institution; and it’s certainly not about what you cannot know while you are living.
“It’s about this – this one central, simple question: ‘are you following me?’”
So, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?
Who cares! Are we following Jesus?
What color should we paint the hallway?
Who cares! Are we following Jesus?
Should we sing this hymn or that one?
Who cares! Are we following Jesus?
Are you gay or are you straight?
Who cares! Are we following Jesus?
Do you profess a perfectly orthodox faith or do you not?
Who care! Are we following Jesus?
In Luke’s gospel, the series of stories that include the various questions I noted above includes the story of the rich young ruler who poses what I take to be a serious and faithful question – as opposed to the questions designed to test Jesus. The ruler asks, “good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Jesus begins with a retort that, if we attend to it at all, immediately casts doubt on orthodox understandings of Jesus. Remember? Jesus first says, “why do you call me ‘good’? Only God is good.” Then he goes on to cast even deeper, more consequential doubt on the rest of us.
“Remember and live out all the commandments.”
“OK, fine,” says the ruler. “Been there, done that.”
“Well, then there’s this one last thing: sell everything you own, give the money to the poor, and come, follow me.”
So, do you have great faith or are you full of doubts?
Who cares! Are you following Jesus?
Do you call yourself a Christian or do you not?
Who cares! Are you following Jesus?
Are you a liberal or a conservative?
Who cares! Are you following Jesus?
That’s the bottom line, the essential question, for those of us still taken up with this enterprise called the church.
It doesn’t mean that other questions are not interesting or worthy of consideration, and even important in their own way. But they are secondary matters.
When I say “who cares!” I’m exaggerating for emphasis. Heck, I do care – ever so slightly – what color we paint the hall. But I’m clear about this: color choice will not stand in the way of anyone following Jesus.
And it is abundantly clear, that for Jesus, that was the point: follow me. He says it over and over and over again throughout the gospels.
Now, to underscore just how far I can stray from orthodoxy, I really don’t think it matters precisely how we understand the church’s orthodox teachings about Jesus. I mean, what exactly does “begotten, not made” mean anyway? “Very God of very God”? Not sure about that one either, frankly. After all, all we have, as human beings, are words – metaphors – to aim at the truth of God.
What Jesus invites us into, over and over and over again, is a relationship with one who’s life drew so close to the reality of God that to follow him is to draw ourselves deeply into the heart of God.
We can go there, no matter what questions we might harbor, although this series of stories from Luke does seem to invite us to ask questions not so much about others, but about ourselves.
In other words, Jesus seems to lose patience with the questions that focus on the behavior or beliefs of others – “why do you eat with tax collectors?” “how come we should pay taxes to a rotten ruler?” “do you believe the same thing about resurrection as they do?”
But Jesus looks with compassion on the young man who seems to want to follow, while, at the same time, pointing out quite clearly just what stands in the way.
He seems to say, “your questions are fine; you’re on the right track. But you are weighed down by your concerns about your own material well-being. Let go of that. Live in solidarity with the poor. That’s where you’ll find me. Come on. Follow me.”
Ah, and there’s the rub.
To follow … to take up the cross and follow Jesus.
That is, indeed, no small plan.
It does mean, perhaps, giving up on our quest to pin down every answer to every question that we might have, and to risk, instead, a journey of discipleship whose every turn is not spelled out in advance.
It does mean, perhaps, giving up on our desire to achieve status in the eyes and judgment of the culture – and, perhaps, even in the eyes of our families – and to risk, instead, a journey of discipleship that takes us to places of risk and poverty that we might prefer to avoid.
It does mean, perhaps, giving up our dependence on stuff and risking dependence upon Jesus and those who follow him.
Personally, there are many times when I’d prefer not to risk any of that. I enjoy digging at the questions. But I know that the questions themselves can become, for me, an excuse – a way to avoid the deep engagement that Jesus calls me toward.
I certainly know that I’d prefer not to risk financially or vocationally. I enjoy security in that regard. But I know that Jesus calls us to risk all – even security – for the sake of the gospel of love and justice. So I’ll try to hold that call in mind as we prayerfully consider our own response to the invitation to pledge financial support of this congregation’s work. And I’ll try to hold that call in mind as we prayerfully consider together in the weeks and months ahead God’s call to make no small plans for the sake of that same gospel.
I invite you to that same prayerful work of following Jesus.
I’m sure all of you have heard, at some point or another, that there are no stupid questions. Well, that may be the dumbest utterance I’ve ever heard. For instance, a few weeks ago I asked myself, “wouldn’t it be a good idea to switch all my e-mail to g-mail and consolidate address books?” As many of you know by now, I’ve spent a good deal of the past week in that special little corner of hell reserved for those who change e-mail addresses. Well, “should I switch e-mails and consolidate address books?” is a stupid question – because there is only one answer: “run away! Run away!”
OK, for sure this question does not rate the level of curiosity that the question posed to Jesus does, but it’s caused me a good deal more grief than questions about the resurrection of brothers and widows ever has.
Indeed, in this passage from Luke, Jesus seems to be saying, “you know what, there are stupid questions, and I’ve had just about enough of them from the likes of you Sadducees.”
Think of the questions Jesus has been asked, according to Luke’s account. In the chapters leading up to our passage this morning he’s faced, among others, these inquiries:
• Why do you eat with sinners and tax collectors?
• On whose authority do you do these things?
• Should we pay taxes to Caesar?
Jesus just might be getting tired of it by the time this convoluted question about seven brothers comes along.
There seems to be more than a bit of pique in his response as he concludes, “Now he is the God not of the dead, but of the living.”
It’s as if Jesus is saying, “you just don’t get it, do you? It’s not about sinners and tax collectors and who you eat with or what you eat; it’s not about authority and hierarchies and pedigrees and rank or station; it’s not about Caesar vs. the religious institution; and it’s certainly not about what you cannot know while you are living.
“It’s about this – this one central, simple question: ‘are you following me?’”
So, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?
Who cares! Are we following Jesus?
What color should we paint the hallway?
Who cares! Are we following Jesus?
Should we sing this hymn or that one?
Who cares! Are we following Jesus?
Are you gay or are you straight?
Who cares! Are we following Jesus?
Do you profess a perfectly orthodox faith or do you not?
Who care! Are we following Jesus?
In Luke’s gospel, the series of stories that include the various questions I noted above includes the story of the rich young ruler who poses what I take to be a serious and faithful question – as opposed to the questions designed to test Jesus. The ruler asks, “good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Jesus begins with a retort that, if we attend to it at all, immediately casts doubt on orthodox understandings of Jesus. Remember? Jesus first says, “why do you call me ‘good’? Only God is good.” Then he goes on to cast even deeper, more consequential doubt on the rest of us.
“Remember and live out all the commandments.”
“OK, fine,” says the ruler. “Been there, done that.”
“Well, then there’s this one last thing: sell everything you own, give the money to the poor, and come, follow me.”
So, do you have great faith or are you full of doubts?
Who cares! Are you following Jesus?
Do you call yourself a Christian or do you not?
Who cares! Are you following Jesus?
Are you a liberal or a conservative?
Who cares! Are you following Jesus?
That’s the bottom line, the essential question, for those of us still taken up with this enterprise called the church.
It doesn’t mean that other questions are not interesting or worthy of consideration, and even important in their own way. But they are secondary matters.
When I say “who cares!” I’m exaggerating for emphasis. Heck, I do care – ever so slightly – what color we paint the hall. But I’m clear about this: color choice will not stand in the way of anyone following Jesus.
And it is abundantly clear, that for Jesus, that was the point: follow me. He says it over and over and over again throughout the gospels.
Now, to underscore just how far I can stray from orthodoxy, I really don’t think it matters precisely how we understand the church’s orthodox teachings about Jesus. I mean, what exactly does “begotten, not made” mean anyway? “Very God of very God”? Not sure about that one either, frankly. After all, all we have, as human beings, are words – metaphors – to aim at the truth of God.
What Jesus invites us into, over and over and over again, is a relationship with one who’s life drew so close to the reality of God that to follow him is to draw ourselves deeply into the heart of God.
We can go there, no matter what questions we might harbor, although this series of stories from Luke does seem to invite us to ask questions not so much about others, but about ourselves.
In other words, Jesus seems to lose patience with the questions that focus on the behavior or beliefs of others – “why do you eat with tax collectors?” “how come we should pay taxes to a rotten ruler?” “do you believe the same thing about resurrection as they do?”
But Jesus looks with compassion on the young man who seems to want to follow, while, at the same time, pointing out quite clearly just what stands in the way.
He seems to say, “your questions are fine; you’re on the right track. But you are weighed down by your concerns about your own material well-being. Let go of that. Live in solidarity with the poor. That’s where you’ll find me. Come on. Follow me.”
Ah, and there’s the rub.
To follow … to take up the cross and follow Jesus.
That is, indeed, no small plan.
It does mean, perhaps, giving up on our quest to pin down every answer to every question that we might have, and to risk, instead, a journey of discipleship whose every turn is not spelled out in advance.
It does mean, perhaps, giving up on our desire to achieve status in the eyes and judgment of the culture – and, perhaps, even in the eyes of our families – and to risk, instead, a journey of discipleship that takes us to places of risk and poverty that we might prefer to avoid.
It does mean, perhaps, giving up our dependence on stuff and risking dependence upon Jesus and those who follow him.
Personally, there are many times when I’d prefer not to risk any of that. I enjoy digging at the questions. But I know that the questions themselves can become, for me, an excuse – a way to avoid the deep engagement that Jesus calls me toward.
I certainly know that I’d prefer not to risk financially or vocationally. I enjoy security in that regard. But I know that Jesus calls us to risk all – even security – for the sake of the gospel of love and justice. So I’ll try to hold that call in mind as we prayerfully consider our own response to the invitation to pledge financial support of this congregation’s work. And I’ll try to hold that call in mind as we prayerfully consider together in the weeks and months ahead God’s call to make no small plans for the sake of that same gospel.
I invite you to that same prayerful work of following Jesus.
posted by David Ensign at
11:23 AM
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