Proper 20B
The lectionary this morning provides us with an interesting contrast of lessons — the first two speak about wisdom and the gospel narrates the second of three predictions about the passion, followed by instruction about discipleship. When the texts are placed together, one can find a thread that links wisdom with discipleship.
The Letter of James draws heavily from the writings of Ben Sirach (in the apocrypha) and Wisdom, both of which witness to the practical morality expected of Jews in their personal, family and business lives. James is a concrete writer, however: the metaphors used in James are taken from the world around us rather than from revelation — think of the image of the person looking into a mirror we heard a few weeks ago who, does or does not remember what the reflection is.
The segment in front of us invites us to look at the following sequence of opposites:
Wisdom that is earthly brings forth bad fruits of conflicts, discrimination, disorder, and wickedness. In one’s inner life, this earthly wisdom causes selfishness, envy and greed.
Wisdom that comes from above brings forth good fruits of gentleness, mercy, impartiality, and peace. One’s inner life is pure and close to God. This purity and closeness produce peacefulness in the world and in one’s heart. This shalom imbues one’s life and integrity.
Clearly, the writer of the letter expects that we will opt for the second set of values. But I think the writer also realises that in our creatureliness, we often fall for the former set of values. And so our life journey consists of letting go of earthly wisdom for that which comes from above.
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The gospel of Mark shows us by example a group of people who have not yet obtained that wisdom from above. We have entered into the second teaching cycle of Mark’s gospel, the longest of the three. In it, Jesus will talk about the greatest and the least, the outsiders and insiders, the aggressors and victims, men and women, children and adults, and the rich and the poor. In short, he will cover all segments of his population — opposites which parts of the letter of James also addresses. The teaching, ‘The first will be last,’ frames this entire section.
At the same time that Jesus teaches about the strong and weak of his society, he also predicts his passion — here, for the second time. For the second time, the disciples respond with a very earthly, concrete wisdom (if we can dare call it that) — one that really is blind and deaf to what Jesus has just said. For the second time, they don’t get it. This time, they are arguing about who will be the greatest amongst them. They miss understanding that the cross calls them to a life of servanthood. They don’t understand that they are not being called to be part of a powerbase but to be part of a community that redistributes power to the excluded and marginalised. They do not understand that taking up the cross means they will be the last and servant of all. Lastly, they do not understand Jesus’ wisdom which is based in conscience.
Jesus’ teachings speak to a wisdom that runs counter to that of the world: the greatest are the least. Outsiders are welcome. Women and children in his society have value and integrity. The rich are poor and the poor are rich. In Jesus’ words, wisdom consists of reversals.
Of course, the disciples cannot understand these words — they miss so much in the gospel according to Mark. It is those on the margins, such as demons and unclean spirits who can see Jesus for who he really is and the disciples don’t. They are so outcast that they have no pretensions — they can see and call things are they are because they have nothing to lose; they have already lost everything.
We, though, have the gift of time and tradition to understand better what the biblical sense of wisdom meant and how we should embrace it. It’s only a question of our pretensions and ‘sophistication’ of getting in the way. Sometimes we need to let go of all that to see truly.
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The reclusive and prolific early 20th-century French author, Marcel Proust wrote, ‘We do not receive wisdom, we must discover it for ourselves, after a journey through the wilderness which no-one else can make for us, which no-one can spare us. For our wisdom is the point of view from which we come at last to regard the world.’
Discipleship to Christ invites us, demands us to make that journey through the wilderness. Whether as an individual or as a community, Christians have long known the value of spiritual, internal pilgrimage. Christians have also respected the work of a community.
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It is hard gaining wisdom, so perhaps it helps to start small.
One of my favourite French authors, André Gide, another early 20th-century writer, said, ‘The wise are those who marvel at everything.’ A major piece of our life of faith is to see the miraculous in the common, the wonders of the ordinary. Perhaps that is why Jesus points our attention to a child. André Breton said that ‘childhood is the nearest thing to life.’ Robert Ellwood added, ‘A childlike sense of wonder is the key to understanding the mysteries of the esoteric universe.’
My brother and I had more fun playing outside in the small brook that bisected our backyard from the lawn and the woods. In the rather swampy woods, we would spend hours, running on top what we called ‘heffalumps’ (those mushy grass mounds at tree trunks), trying not to fall in the water. We’d play hide-and-seek in the grape arbor near the brook. The outdoors contained endless possibilities for discovery and delight. Those hours spent outside cultivated a life-long enjoyment of God’s creation, which has led me as an adult to learn how better to care for it as we increasingly burden it with our excesses.
I think that no matter how difficult and awful a child’s external life might be, a child still has incredibly resiliency. I remember pictures of children playing among the ruins of Sarajevo, or even today in Lebanon or Palestine. Children have the amazing capacity to find things in which to delight despite it all.
What things delighted you as a child? Where did you tap into the wonder that so characterises a child’s awe at something new? What made you giggle? Where, as a child, did you find God in the world around you?
I think one of Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s greatest strengths is, despite his having seen the worst that humanity can do to itself, he still can giggle like an imp. He hasn’t lost the childlike wonder in God’s creation and world. Maybe it is because he was so sickly as an infant (with polio among other things) that his grandfather gave him the name, ‘Mpilo,’ or ‘life.’ Tutu has lived out that hopeful name and has translated his wonder of God’s creation into an amazing life-journey of being a ‘rabble-rouser for peace.’
By finding the ability to marvel at what the world might consider small might help us gain wisdom. For gaining wisdom is actually coming closer to God. If we remember that Wisdom in early Christian thought was the Holy Spirit, then by seeking God in the daily and small things of life will enable us to find God in the harder parts of life.
Ultimately we quest for Shalom, an integrated life of integrity. Wisdom becomes one of the paths on which we walk in that search for wholeness and completeness. As we receive Wisdom, then we are also better able to take on the hard work of being one of Jesus’ disciples, which involves participating in the great reversals that Jesus so often preached, wherein the poor become rich, the weak strong and where we are able to take up our cross and follow Jesus.
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