Sermon Tone Analysis

Epiphany 6C

 

Once there was a great intersection in the ancient city of Bethlehem.

We know a little something about great intersections.

When we travel by car, we discover that the intersection of interstate highways becomes the epicenter of all kinds of activity: lots of traffic, and with the traffic come motels, restaurants, gas stations, fast food places, and more.

Furthermore, within certain cities, some particular intersections have gained worldwide fame.

The corner of Hollywood and Vine in Hollywood, Piccadilly Circus in London, Times Square in New York City -- these intersections have all gained renown beyond their towns.

And we have other kinds of busy and important intersections -- ones that are not just the juncture of roads.

Train tracks and commuter traffic made Grand Central Station synonymous with hubbub and activity.

Busy airports in cities like Chicago and Atlanta mark the modern intersections of flight connections.

And recent years have introduced us to a whole new kind of intersection: the worldwide web.

Without leaving our chairs, we are able to cross paths with people, institutions, and information from around the globe.

The ancient world, too, had its great intersections.

Trade routes, favorable harbors, and convenient terrain turned certain ancient towns into important intersections, and with that into great cosmopolitan cities.

Well, there was once also a great intersection in the ancient city of Bethlehem.

Unlike some others, however, it was not the junction of two major highways, for Bethlehem was just a bit off the beaten path.

Nor was it the corner where two or three great avenues in the town crossed, for this intersection was probably nearer to something like an alley or a driveway.

No, this was not merely the corner where thoroughfares met.

This was no less than an intersection of Heaven and Earth.

We see it time and again in the Christmas story.

When the angels above bring good tidings to the shepherds below, it is an intersection of Heaven and Earth in the fields outside Bethlehem.

When a star guides the Magi, it is an intersection of Heaven and Earth.

And, most and best of all, when Mary conceives a child by the Holy Spirit -- the Incarnation is the grandest, most profound intersection of Heaven and Earth.

In our world, you know, some roads are not allowed to intersect.

An interstate highway does not entertain junctures with ordinary residential streets or country roads.

In our world, highways are not interrupted with stop signs, runways do not cross driveways, and turnpikes do not intersect with parking lots.

Such planning would be foolish and unreasonable.

Likewise, by all rights, the intersection that took place in Bethlehem was an utterly unreasonable one.

That the immortal God should put on mortal flesh, or that the Throne should be exchanged for a feeding trough, or that celestial glory should be replaced by stable odors, or that the Almighty should confine himself to such fragility: these are all too foolish even to suggest.

What took place in Bethlehem that night was an astonishing intersection of Heaven and Earth.

And it turns out that Christmas was only the beginning.

For what begins in the Christmas story continues throughout the Gospel accounts of Jesus' life and ministry.

Luke reports that crowds from as far as Tyre and Sidon came to hear and to see Jesus.

It is the incarnate Son of God, however, who had actually made the longer trip in order to be met by them there.

Every encounter between Jesus and the crowds, therefore, was a profound intersection of Heaven and Earth.

And a gracious intersection, too.

The scene becomes especially poignant when Luke says that people were coming to Jesus to be touched by him, to be healed by him.

These are not just the intellectually curious who have come to hear a provocative speaker.

They are not merely spectators who have come to gawk at the latest magician.

No, these are a needy lot.

And when the Divine touch heals their frail bodies, when the eternal Son of God restores their corruptible flesh, it is a lovely and gracious intersection of Heaven and Earth.

In the subway systems of some great cities, the trains and their tracks do not all run at the same depth.

Some lines are deeper underground than others.

At some junctures, therefore, one line runs below another, and making connections means going up or down flights of stairs.

So, too, with the intersection of Heaven and Earth: the intersection occurs at several levels.

At the one level, there is the Incarnation itself -- Heaven and Earth intersect in Jesus Christ.

At another level, we see the angels and the shepherds, the star and the Magi, the crowds around Jesus -- Heaven and Earth intersect by contact with one another, though always at Heaven's initiative.

And, at another level still, we find the teachings of Jesus -- Heaven and Earth intersect in ethics and lifestyle.

We have before us Luke's version of the teachings we call the Beatitudes (so named because of Jesus' recurring use of the word "blessed").

The underlying Greek word, makarios, can mean "blessed," "fortunate," and "happy."

The Amplified Bible also includes "to be envied" in the connotation of the word.

It is a supremely cheerful word.

If your experience was like mine, then perhaps you grew up seeing these Beatitudes on a poster in a Sunday school room or on an embroidery in the church parlor.

We cherish these familiar teachings.

I wonder, though, what the reaction was of Jesus' original audience.

I wonder if they resisted these Beatitudes.

They are, after all, quite surprising.

Even counter-intuitive.

Blessed are the poor?

Fortunate are the hungry?

To be envied are those who weep?

That makes little or no sense to us.

Happy are you when you are hated?

Excluded?

Reviled and defamed?

These kinds of blessings I think I can do without.

We Christians say that we love the teachings of Jesus.

In fact, I have found in my years of parish ministry that most church folks typically prefer Jesus' teachings above almost every other part of scripture -- certainly over everything in the Old Testament, apart from the Psalms.

And yet, I fear that our love for his teachings is more sentimental than practical.

After all, do we strive to be poor or hated?

Of course not.

Do we actually rejoice when we are excluded or defamed?

No. On the contrary, we fuss about it and feel sorry for ourselves.

Perhaps we complain to God about it -- or even blame him for it.

And when Jesus goes on to say "woe" to those who are rich, those who are full, those who laugh, and those who are spoken well of, do we hear him speaking to us?

Here I suspect we are not so eager for a contemporary application of the scripture.

Here, perhaps, we are content to leave the teaching in its historical context, pointing at the Pharisees and other first-century hypocrites.

But the truth for most of us is that we are rich and we are full.

We don't think of ourselves as rich, for we see the income and lifestyles of others in our culture -- professional athletes, entertainers, corporate CEOs, among others -- who have so very much more than we do.

When we compare ourselves to the income and lifestyles of most of the world's population, however, then we are forced to confess that we are, in fact, rich.

And we are certainly full.

Our tummies are full.

Our closets are full.

Our drawers are full.

Our basements and attics and garages are all full.

Is Jesus saying "woe" to me?

Is that possible?

After all, I'm just an average, middle-class guy.

I haven't stolen from anyone.

I don't cheat anyone.

I don't oppress the widows and the orphans.

I'm just an ordinary guy who is trying to make a living and provide for my family, just like the next guy.

Of course, it may be that I am not meant to be just like the next guy.

Perhaps I am called to be different from him.

Even an example to him.

The Greek word ouai is what we translate "woe," or sometimes "alas."

As you might guess from trying to pronounce the unusual all-vowel word, it is not a harsh kind of exclamation.

It doesn't have the kind of bite to it that makes for a curse word.

Rather, it might better be understood as an articulate sigh, an expression of grief.

When Jesus says "woe" to those "who are rich," "who are full," "who laugh," and such, therefore, he is not shouting out a condemnation.

Rather, I would say that he is crying out his sorrow.