A
friend of mine told me he was once arrested by the police for impersonating a priest.
This was somewhat ironic because he was, in fact, a priest. It was back in the
1970s and to be fair his long hair and probably rather scruffy jeans were quite
unusual among the clergy at the time. I can understand why the lady he was
trying to visit was a bit dubious and dialled 999. I assume that eventually
someone vouched for him, because he went on to have a long and successful
ministry, but it was a dodgy moment.
Most
us these days at some point have to prove our identity and our right to be in a
particular place or do a particular task. Many workplaces issue ID of some sort
, even if the Church has still not got around to it. I do have a Seal School governors’ badge,
though, which I am supposed to wear in school, like all the other governors. It
not only tells people that we have that particular role, it also reassures them
that we aren’t strangers who have wandered in off the streets and might be up
to no good. In a previous parish I had an unpaid role as a chaplain to our
local Asda store. I would stand with the welcomer at the entrance to the shop
and chat to people who wanted a listening ear. And just like the welcomer, I
was given my own official Asda name badge, emblazoned with the cheery greeting
“happy to help!” It told shoppers that I was a bona fide member of staff,
albeit unpaid and part time, if they should wonder what a vicar was doing
hanging around in the foyer – which they often did.
The
badges we wear say to anyone who might question us “this person has a right to
be here, the authority to be doing what they are doing.”
In
the Gospel reading today Jesus is asked for his “badge” by the chief priests
and elders as he stands in the Temple, teaching the crowds. “By what
authority are you doing these things and who gave you this authority?”
This
incident takes place in the last week of Jesus’ life, and the battle lines have
already been drawn with these religious leaders. They know Jesus is going to be
trouble. He’s ridden into Jerusalem on a donkey, in a deliberate imitation of an
ancient prophesy from the book of Zechariah which looked forward to the time
when God would send a new leader for the people. He’s overturned the tables of the traders in
the Temple precincts. He’s annoyed a lot of powerful people. Who does he think
he is to be creating such a stir? After all he’s just a carpenter from the
province of Galilee. He’s not a priest. He’s not from some recognised
rabbinical school. He isn’t a member of the ruling council. There is nothing
about his external appearance or his background which says “Messiah” as far as
these temple officials can see. He doesn’t have the right badge. And yet he’s
acting as if he has a right to be there, proclaiming what he says is God’s
word, doing what he says is God’s work.
I
can see why his presence made the Temple authorities nervous, not just for
themselves, but for their nation too. The Romans didn’t look kindly on anyone
who seemed to be whipping up a revolution. If the Jewish authorities couldn’t
put a stop to Jesus, there was every chance that the Romans would come down on
them all like a ton of bricks. These Jewish leaders probably wanted God to act
– of course they did - but they wanted him to act in ways that they were
comfortable with, ways that preserved the status quo as far as possible. And
so, probably, do most of us. We have just prayed in our collect that we might
be “fervent in the fellowship of the gospel” . I said the words but you
said the amen, so you agreed to it. My guess is, though, that we would prefer
it if that fervency didn’t disrupt our routines too much. After all, we have
jobs to do, cars to wash, lawns to mow, families to look after. We don’t want
to miss Downton Abbey, or the golf, or a quiet nap with the Sunday papers or
whatever else is on our agenda for today… I don’t think most of us would have
welcomed what looked like a revolution either.
There’s
another way in which these religious leaders are probably more like us than we’d
like to admit. They struggled to know whether Jesus was the genuine article or not, and so, I think would
we. It isn’t always easy to tell whether we should follow this person or that,
take this route or that. We look back at Jesus with the perspective of 2000
years of Christian faith. We think of him with a halo gleaming round his head.
We don’t see the ordinary, poor, provincial preacher that the Temple
authorities saw, someone who’d been on the road for a while and probably hadn’t
had the chance of a decent wash or a change of clothes.
I
can understand why my priestly friend found himself answering awkward questions
from the police. How was that woman supposed to know if he was genuine? Anyone
can make themselves a dog collar – all you need is an old washing up liquid
bottle…
So
why should these religious leaders have been able to tell a real Messiah from a
fake? Jesus’ response gives us a clue. Instead of answering the question he
throws one back. “By what authority did John baptise?” If these leaders say John
the Baptist had God’s authority, why didn’t they follow him themselves? The answer
is that it would have angered Herod, who’d had John killed. If they say,
though, that John was just acting on his own misguided initiative, Herod might
be happy but the crowds who had flocked to John will have their guts for
garters. Jesus’ question exposes how they are trying to distinguish which path
they should take in life. It is all to do with which badge they will find
themselves wearing as a result, how others will see them, what will be
happening on the exterior. It has nothing to do with the reality of the work
John did at all.
That’s
why Jesus goes on to put to them another question, this time in the form of a
parable, which is all about reality.
A
man has two sons. One says he won’t do the work his father’s asked him to, but
then does it anyway. The other says he will do it, but then doesn’t. Which son
would you rather have? The first son, of course, because at least at the end of
the day the work has been done.
The
proof of the pudding is in the eating. Ultimately it’s not the badge you wear, but
the work you do that matters, says Jesus.
That
applies in all walks of life. You can call yourself an architect, but if
everything you build falls down, someone will soon be disputing your right to
the label.
“The
tax-collectors and prostitutes are going into the kingdom of heaven ahead of
you,” says Jesus. It sounds pretty
offensive to these leaders, but that is because they are thinking of the
kingdom like some royal court room into which you might process in order of
precedence. But for Jesus, God’s kingdom was simply the place where he was at
work, wherever that was, changing, forgiving and healing people. The tax
collectors and prostitutes who had come to him were already in that kingdom
because God was already healing them, changing them, forgiving them, doing the
work they needed him to do. That’s why they flocked to Jesus. It wasn’t just
his words but his whole way of life that transformed them. He came and ate with
them when no other respectable person would. He insisted that they were equal
members of his new community, and stood up for them when others questioned
that. Ultimately he died rather than going back on that message. “He emptied
himself, taking the form of a slave… He became obedient to the point of death,
even death on a cross” says Paul in our first reading.
Jesus
didn’t need a badge that said “Messiah” on it, because it was written right
through him. It was his authenticity that convinced those who followed him. You
can’t fake that, and you can’t disguise it either.
But
now comes the really scary part, because that beautiful hymn of faith that Paul
writes is introduced by these words: “Let that same mind be in you that was in
Christ Jesus”. Paul isn’t writing to the Philippians to tell them who Jesus is.
He is writing to them them who they – and we – are meant to be. He is calling
us to live with the same authenticity, the same love and trust and humility,
that Christ himself displayed. “Work out your own salvation with fear and
trembling,” he says. He doesn’t mean “work out” in the sense that we might
“work out” a sum or the answer to a crossword puzzle. It is more like the
“workout” you might have at a gym. It is about putting into practice the
message of God’s love, living what we believe.
Do
this “with fear and trembling” he says “for it is God who is at work in you”.
When we let God do his stuff, heal us, change us, love us, as he wants to and
as we need him to, something awesome can happen – something that really might
make us tremble. That is what those tax-collectors and prostitutes, and all
those others who first followed Jesus discovered. People who felt like nobodies
discovered they were children of God. Lives that seemed to be heading for a
dead-end were transformed.
If
all this sounds challenging, then I think that is because it should. Either our faith matters - this faith we come
together to celebrate and ponder week by week – in which case we should be
doing everything we can to live it, working it out in our lives, or it doesn’t
matter, in which case why do we bother to come at all?
Badges
and labels have their uses, but it is the testimony of our whole lives which
ultimately tells others who we are, and whose we are – people in whom God is at
work, citizens of his kingdom, part of his family, growing in his likeness day
by day. Let us pray that it will be so for us.
Amen
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