Living the Questions

Mark 12:13-17, 1 November 2009, All Saints Day

Revs. Ana & Tod Gobledale

Kirkland Congregational Church United Church of Christ

Pray with me: May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable to you, O God, our rock and our redeemer.

(Knock, knock, knock!) “Trick or Treat?” Anyone visited by ghosts, witches and princesses last night? Don't you love it when all you can see are plastic masks of Frankenstein, Batman and Michael Jackson, and from behind one of the masks comes some unidentifiable squeal, “Hi Mr. and Mrs. Gobledale!” Then the question comes, “Can you guess who we are?” My mind races through everyone I know who is 3 ½ feet high, trying to puzzle out the mystery of whose voice I hear. Whose faces are hidden behind the masks? Questions and mysteries – they come in all shapes and sizes.

Some questions are easily answered, some mysteries easily solved. A peek at the accompanying parents quickly reveals the identity of the masked trick-or-treaters. But other questions and mysteries are more intriguing, more compelling, more puzzling.

The great preacher, Fred Craddock shares a compelling story of mystery and intrigue told to him by a man named Ben. Let's hear Ben's story about a question that haunted his childhood and captivated his community.

BEN: Years ago, in the Great Smokey Mountains of Tennessee, I grow up with my unmarried mother. The whole community knows there is no father in our family photos. Folks call me “illegitimate.” Shame falls on my mother. Innocent lad that I am, I still feel the community's reproach to her. I walk around town like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs. I feel ashamed.

When Mama and I visit town, I see people staring at her, and at me. “Why do they stare at us, Mama?” I ask.

“They are making guesses, trying to answer the question, 'Who is your father?' Honey, you pay them no mind!”

At school, children say ugly things to me. I play by myself at recess. I sit alone at lunchtime. After school I learn to keep my own company wandering the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee.

As I get older, my wandering takes me farther from home. The year I turn twelve, I discover the little church at Laurel Springsa, pretty good distance from our house.

My mum rarely goes to church. Whenever she does go, no one ever speaks to her. No one ever befriends her. But, I am accustomed to doing things alone. I am drawn to the Laurel Springs Church. Make no mistake, I approach the place with caution. I do not want to hear a member ask the question, “What is someone like You doing in a place like church?”

No, I wait for the service to start. Then, I enter quietly just before the sermon. I usually sit in the back row. When the sermon ends, I make my way out during the last hymn. That way I am gone before someone can ask me any questions.

What draws me to Laurel Springs? ...the minister. Everyone calls him “Reverend.” With chiseled face, heavy beard and deep voice, he attracts me and scares me. You can tell he is a holy man from the words he says. He challenges us to do the right thing. He says, “You cannot sing praises to the Lord on Sundays and then treat people like dirt on Mondays.” He tells us, “You cannot just talk the talk, you must walk the walk, too. Satan, sin and temptation lurk at every turn. Are you walking with the Lord? Would Jesus recognize you by your love?” Jeepers, I wonder what Jesus, and the Reverend, thinks of Mama and me.

One Sunday I step into church just before the sermon, as I always do, to find it packed! A baptism Sunday! The church nearly overflows with people.

I find a seat only right down at the front! The baptisms come where the sermon usually goes. The sermon arrives at the very end! I guess they done all their singing, because there is no closing hymn! Before I can exit, people block the aisle. I squirm and wiggle, excusing myself, being polite as I can be while I make for the door.

Then, in that crowd, a weighty hand falls on my shoulder. Hardly daring to turn and look, I cut my eyes around. I catch a glimpse of heavy beard and chiseled face. Yeah, you betcha! The Reverend. I tremble with dread.

The Reverend grasps my shoulders. He turns me towards him. We stand face to face, itty bitty me and big ol' him. To me, it seems as though he stares and studies my face for an eternity. Here it comes I think. The questions. The mystery. I figure the Reverend is running the question through his head, “Who is this boy's father?” I want to hang my head, but his eyes lock mine. The Reverend raises his head, keeping his eyes on mine. Then, as much to the congregation as to me, he booms, “Boy, I know who your father is!”

A hush falls over the crowd. The Reverend continues, “I see the resemblance!”

Now, the congregation crowds forward to hear their pastor's pronouncement. And I know my feelings will be hurt. I know that I will never, never return to this church.

Questions and mysteries. Sometimes all we want is an answer-- clean and polished, and preferably easy and painless. Sometimes we search the Bible for such answers. We scour Jesus's and Paul's words for answers. We want to know just what we must do to imitate Christ. We feel insecure when left with questions. But often it is the questions that arise, the mysteries that persist, not glib answers, that inspire us, that lead us to deeper understandings of life.

The Bible raises and asks some great questions, important questions, questions pondered over the centuries.

With good reason that wonderful religious study series is named “Living the Questions.” What are some of these great questions that you can think of? [Who is my neighbour? What is truth? Who do you say that I am? Am I my brother/sister's keeper? Who are my mother, brothers, sisters, father?]

In our Markan passage this morning, we read of envious Pharisees and Herodians, religious leaders trying to trap Jesus with a trick question: “As Jews, should we pay taxes to the Roman emperor, or not?”

“Yes or no” whichever way Jesus answers, he will disappoint and displease someone.

So, what does Jesus do? He answers neither yes nor no. Rather, he offers an object lesson. Jesus asks for a deneraii. The emperor's image graces the coin. Jesus says, “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor's; and give to God the things that are God's.”

Sounds easy and painless, but hardly the answer either the Pharisees or Herodians anticipated. And really, Jesus's answer only suggests more questions. What questions does Jesus raise for his listeners? When you hear “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor's; and give to God the things that are God's,” what questions come to your mind?

[What, exactly, belongs to the emperor? What, exactly, belongs to God?]

Over and over again, stories of Jesus unsettle us and raise great questions: What do we owe the emperor, Caesar? And, what do we owe God? And these in turn raise more questions...What do we owe our country? What of ours belongs to the nation, whether headed by an emperor or a president? What part of our lives can the government demand and control? Our birth? Our marriage? Our livelihood? Our worship? And what part of our lives does God demand and control? Can we agree that the least we owe God is lives well lived, lived the way God would want us to live? Does God want more than for us to simply talk the talk? Must we walk the walk?

And what walk is that, anyway? Well, that is another mighty good question. A question with an answer that seems to shift with the times. In Jesus' time, one could walk the walk and own slaves. What was once acceptable, is now an outrage. And not so long ago, it was thought one could NOT walk the walk if you parented a child out of marriage. New times, new answers. The questions of our faith demand we revisit issues, re-visit the questions, and re-evaluate their rightness or wrongness in our times.

Back in Tennessee's Smokey Mountains, a long time ago, the question “Who is the father?” haunts the illegitimate child, and captivates the community. Ben continues his story:

From the firm grasp of the Reverend, I cannot escape. A gossip-hungry crowd leans forward to learn who the pastor will pronounce as my father. As hurtful things have been said before, I will be hurt again. Teased and taunted about the mysterious man who would not make an honest woman of my mother. Teased about the man who would not make me a legitimate child. And, the worst part of all this, who even knows if the Reverend is right? I surely will never darken the door of this church again.

“Boy, I know who your father is! I see the resemblance.” Hushed, people lean forward to hear.

“Boy, you are a child of......God! I see a striking resemblance!” With a twinkle in the eye of that fearsome face, the Reverend squeezes my shoulders. He dismisses me saying, “Now, you go claim your inheritance. A child of God, no one can take your dignity from you.”

I leave that building a different person. In fact, that is really the beginning of my life.

And what a life it is. Ben Hooper, illegitimate, bastard, born of an unwed mother, went on to be elected governor of Tennessee twice in the early 1900s.

Ben Hooper...a child of God!

This All Saints Sunday, we remember the saints. We might well consider that bearded minister with his firm hand on Ben's shoulder a saint. Or Ben himself, who overcomes his stigma and serves his nation.

But first another question: Just what is a saint? Some churches have a clear-cut answer, and there are rules to keep the number limited and the riff-raff off the books. I invite us to expand our notion of “Saint.”

Are saints simply those who are proclaimed to have led holy lives and had miracles achieved through them? The Apostles, the St. Peters and St. Pauls, the St. Marys and St. Marthas? Who walks in that great cloud of witnesses we call saints? Is it those who talk the talk? Those who walk the walk? Those who live with integrity in the questions and mystery of God? Those who struggle with the questions and mystery of God? The legitimate? The illegitimate?

The Bible asks worthy questions of us. Jesus invites us to follow him, to walk with him, and to walk with one another as we live and love the questions, the great mysteries of life. As we struggle in this world to bring about God's peace and justice, we are surrounded by that cloud of witnesses who proceed us, however we define them. With gratitude, we celebrate their examples, their lives, and their invitation to ask and follow where Jesus and they lead.

In this Ritual of Remembrance, we remember those who have touched our lives. We cherish their life with us, and mourn their passing from us unto death. We celebrate their presence in God and with God, a mystery indeed. We acknowledge and celebrate the communion of Saints encircling us with love.

Let us pray.

Craddock Stories edited by Mike Graves and Richard F. Ward

Still Speaking Daily Devotional by Anthony Robinson.