“By What Authority”
Matthew 21:23-32
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
10/1/17
One of my favorite pastoral hobbies is to mess with
impressionable minds in the youth group. There’s a lifetime of twisted joy in
the momentary look of dismay on a roomful of young faces when the preacher says
in all seriousness, that in Georgia we consider slugs a delicacy – sautéed in
herb butter with a white wine reduction. Or that no, Marianne can’t come to Brooke’s
for the bonfire.
“Why not?” they ask.
“Because,” I say, “every first Wednesday evening she has to
meet with her probation officer.”
“Oh…wait…what?!”
Such foolishness has given rise to a mantra that comes in
the form of a warning: Don’t trust Pastor
Allen unless he’s wearing his robe!
I enjoy all of this, and I’m both encouraged and humbled by
the implied regard for this priestly garment. Don’t trust him unless he’s wearing his robe is a kind of
backhanded statement of faith. It reminds me that I must choose my words
carefully, whether I’m robed or not.
Now, that doesn’t mean that I should avoid honesty, or
saying difficult things, or that I should try to please everyone. It means that
whether I’m wearing this robe or not, my words must echo the words of Jesus and
my actions must reflect his love and grace. A robe like this lays on the one
who wears it an authority and expectations similar in gravity to the authority
and expectations laid on a judge who wears a robe in a courtroom, or a doctor
who wears a lab coat in a hospital. Then again, all who are baptized wear the garments of love and grace. So our
speech and actions matter, in here, out there, on social media, even in
private. It’s about our fundamental identity.
In the course of all faith traditions, there come times of conflict
between the authority of the robed institution and its powerful defenders and
the robeless masses who know that while they may not hold power, they still hold the authority
of ones who are named, loved, and called by God.
In our story today, the robed keepers of institutional power
have had enough of the plain-clothes rabbi from Nazareth. Who is he to claim
the spiritual authority to bulldoze his way through the temple like that? Who
does he think he is calling the moneychangers robbers? Who is he to rewrite the Torah with all his “You have
heard it said…but I say to you” heresies?
Jesus may be a learned Jew. He may say and do remarkable
things, but the chief priests and elders do not regard him as one who speaks
with authority – because he challenges their
authority. He also challenges the tradition, the scriptures, and everything
comfortable to robes, rules, and rituals. So they ask him, “By what authority
are you doing these things?”
You answer my question,
and I’ll answer yours, says Jesus. When
John baptized, was he doing God’s work or his own?
John the Baptist was another un-robed speaker of daring speech.
He’s dead now, but the chief priests and elders never had use for that loose
cannon who called them snakes and illegitimate children. But the people
consider John a man who spoke for God.
These powerful men face an enfeebling quandary. If they say
that John was doing God’s work, Jesus
will scold them for not believing John. But to say that John followed his own
agenda will get them more than a scolding from the crowds who consider John a
prophet.
So, these finely-robed men muster all their decisive authority
and say, We don’t know.
That’s what I thought,
says the robeless one.
Well, what about this,
says Jesus. And he tells them the parable about the man with two sons.
Which son does the
father’s will? he asks.
“The first,” they answer, completely unaware that what they
thought was a softball was a bowling ball falling toward their toes.
“John came to you in the way of righteousness,” says Jesus,
“and you did not believe him.” Tax
collectors and prostitutes are holier than you are, he says. They trusted him, and even when you
recognized his authority you worshiped your tradition, your comfort, your
institutional power instead of the Spirit that animated John’s life and voice.
Do you see the subversive thing Jesus does? He answers the
initial question. “John came…in the way of righteousness.” And John said,
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”
Jesus,
who is known for his tradition-defying, robe-shredding welcome of those whom
the law condemns, is claiming for himself the authority of the Blessed One of whom John spoke.1
What does this say about authority? According to the Gospel,
lasting authority lies not in the hands of the powerful, but in the hands of the powerless. Authority lies in the hands and hearts of those who learn to
trust the one who comes robed not in gold-trimmed linen but in fearless
compassion and redeeming love.
Our reformed tradition is a great gift, a thing to receive
and pass on with thanksgiving and hope. And it comes to us through the bold
faith of robeless ones who risked life and limb defying the abuses of the
corrupt robes of the medieval papacy. Nonetheless, Jesus’ ministry among the
keepers of an entrenched institution says that no tradition is immune from becoming
abusive. The Priesthood of All Believers
may even be particularly at risk.
Richard Rohr writes: “There are not sacred and profane
things, places, and moments. There are only sacred and desecrated things,
places, and moments—and it is we alone who desecrate them by our blindness…[by]
our…lack of [reverence, our lack of] fascination, humility, curiosity, [and]
awe.”2
Religious and spiritual traditions are included in the
categories of sacred and desecrated things. A desecrated tradition has lost its
sense of wonder, its sense of expectation. It has lost its connection with the
holiness within all things. Those who live in desecrated traditions tend to keep
gates rather than to welcome strangers. When traditions become desecrated,
disciples tend to fear and judge neighbors rather than love and bond with them.
They tend to look at things like skin color and ethnicity while ignoring the
image of God. When our spiritual
tradition becomes too closely associated with our prevailing economic and political systems, we become entitled consumers and turners of blind eyes to injustice
and suffering.
God has given us a living story and a sacred community. God grants
to all of us authority to receive and share these gifts for Christ’s sake. When
we lay aside our desecrating quests for power and privilege, when we exercise sacred
authority with humble gratitude, we discover our inner first son, and our inner
tax collectors and prostitutes. We learn to repent, to seek and to offer
forgiveness.
On this World Communion Sunday, Christians of all nations
and persuasions gather around this table. The differences in table dressings
and robes vary not simply from hemisphere to hemisphere, but from one side of
the street to the other. But Christ is Host at every one of these tables.
So come
– all of you. And here may you find yourselves newly and differently robed. May
you find your true selves and your eternal belonging in the redeeming love of
Christ, the Host.
1Lewis Donelson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting
on the Word, Year A, Vol. 4. Westminster/John Knox Press, 2011, p. 119.
Charge
(prior to the Benediction):
As
an archetypal first son, a newly and differently-robed Paul says to the
Colossians: “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with
compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another forgive
each other…Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything
together in perfect harmony.” (Colossians
3:12-14)
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