The Unforgivable Sin

These words, from the third chapter of Mark’s Gospel:

²² And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, “He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.” ²³ And he called them to him and spoke to them in parables, “How can Satan cast out Satan? ²⁴ If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. ²⁵ And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. ²⁶ And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but his end has come. ²⁷ But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered. ²⁸ “Truly I tell you, people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter, ²⁹ but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness but is guilty of an eternal sin”— ³⁰ for they had said, “He has an unclean spirit.”

Whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness but is guilty of an eternal sin. What has caused Jesus to utter these strong words? Earlier in the chapter he healed a man with a withered hand and went on to cure others before calling the Twelve.

He healed people, and the religious leaders said that he was possessed by the devil.

I’ve never preached on this text before, or if I have I don’t remember what I said. I don’t like the idea of an unforgiveable sin; I believe in an abundance of grace and mercy from a God whose ways are not our ways. And if we confess our sins, God forgives.

But this week I’ve found myself returning to this text with new eyes.

Before I continue, I ask you to watch this sermon. It’ll take less than fifteen minutes of your time. If you’ve seen it already, it’s ok. Watch it again. It's an A+ sermon. But especially if you've only heard commentary on this sermon or memes on this sermon, whether slanted to the right or to the left, please watch it and make your own assessment. 

Here is what I heard: Unity is not partisan. Unity is a way of being together by holding multiple perspectives as worthy of respect. We are called to genuinely care for one another even when we disagree with one another. Bishop Budde draws from the Sermon on the Mount, arguably the heart of Jesus' teaching ministry. She asks us to be merciful as God is merciful. She talks about the dignity of every human being. But mercy and compassion, is where she is headed. Refusing to demonize and mock people, and choosing to show compassion and mercy to scared people. 

What did you hear? 

Some Christians think Jesus had a monopoly on mercy, but in truth it's embedded in the Old Testament: God is steadfastly compassionate and merciful and God's people are called to do same. Jesus learned that from the Torah and the Prophets and Sages. But Jesus definitely builds on this and one could argue that's the core of his teaching. What keeps people from God is refusing mercy; what brings people closer to God is showing mercy like that compassionate Samaritan traveler. The last two or three minutes which more have seen is built upon this foundation. Bishop Budde never raises her voice. She remains pastoral and kind. But she speaks the truth, in love.

The commentary I've read and seen from the far right, including so-called Christian pastors, does not disagree with Bishop Budde on content; they just make up lies to support their false god: they call her nasty and rude and not a real bishop. They say that these are left-wing doctrine and that AOC could have written this "sermon." Really? Mercy, compassion, dignity, love? These are left-wing talking points and not the core values of the Gospel?

Does anyone else see that these "pastors" are not engaging in theological debate with Bishop Budde? Rather, they are following in the footsteps of those who blasphemed against Jesus in the first-century. They continue in that same vein of those who claimed Jesus was serving the devil. It's even worse than the Orwellian practice of calling things the opposite of what they are. It's calling what is good and holy and of God, evil and nasty. 

I am personally not sorry that the president and his minions felt uncomfortable when Bishop Budde spoke directly to him. It was the first time I ever believed that he might be capable of experiencing shame. But that shame did not lead to repentance. It lead to what was probably far more predictable: attack mode. This is who the 47th president is. We should not be surprised.

But those who claim the name of Jesus and know how to hold a Bible right side up and who would not be afraid to put their hands on a Bible when taking an oath of office? How they have conducted themselves this past week? 

Deplorable. Maybe even unforgivable.  

Matthew's Christmas Story

The New Testament gives us two and a half birth narratives: Matthew, Luke and the half is John’s Gospel. The Gospel of Mark, of course, tells us nothing at all about Jesus’ birth. Nada. He starts us off at the Jordan River with John the Baptizer.

Luke and Matthew each give us their perspective, with different theological insights. While John doesn’t technically give us any details about the birth of Jesus, he does focus in his prologue on what it all means: “In the beginning was the Word…” Along the way he gives us that powerful metaphor of the light that continues to shine in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (That in itself is worth at least a half, I think!)

The fixed point in all of these narratives is Jesus. He is the one we come to adore over these twelve days of Christmas. Taken together, these two and a half stories get us to something like a script for a pageant play. But clearly Luke dominates: everything else seems to fit in and around his story. In fact most Christmas pageants are basically Luke’s story with Matthew’s wise guys tagged on to the end, as latecomers to the party.

But there is also some benefit that comes to us from listening more attentively to each unique voice here. After all, we get four gospel writers, rather than just one, for a reason. Think of it like this: you are gathered around the family dinner table and everybody is talking at once and telling a story that everybody already knows. Each voice chimes in with part of the story: in the case of the Christmas story we hear once more about shepherds and angels and baby Jesus and stars and wise men and donkeys and light in the darkness. It all kind of fits together.

But now imagine, for a moment, in the aftermath of all the big parties that you have a chance to sit and chat with Matthew over a cup of coffee. And imagine he leans toward you and says something like this: “look, Luke is my friend, and I know that’s how he remembers it and everything. But here’s what I heard…”

When the altar guild set up for Christmas in here, they left the three wise guys back in the chapel. But now they have arrived. Today we are invited to listen more closely to what Matthew has to say and to see if there isn’t a Word of the Lord here for us as we begin this new year of grace together. Like Luke and John, Matthew doesn’t claim to have been there. He is a second-generation witness; telling a story that somebody else told him.

He begins with a genealogy that ties Jesus to King David and Father Abraham. The family tree goes through Joseph, “the husband of Mary.” Along the way, four important and interesting women get named: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba. Matthew, the most Jewish of the four gospel writers, assumes that his readers will know the stories of those four interesting women. Just as in our own family trees, each of those people left a mark on Jesus. We may look like our mother or have a mannerism like a great uncle or musical talent like an aunt. Matthew wants to situate Jesus in a Jewish family that traces its lineage back to David, and still further back to Abraham—each of whom in some way leaves a mark on him. (As do Tamar and Rahab and Ruth and Bathsheba.)

Right on the heels of that genealogy, Matthew tells us about a dream that Joseph had even before Jesus was born. Joseph had resolved to quietly divorce Mary when he learned that she was pregnant. But in a dream an angel tells him not to do that; but to go ahead and marry Mary and to give the child his name: Jesus. Joseph awoke from sleep, does as the angel of the Lord commanded him, takes Mary as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had born a son. And Joseph names him Jesus.

Today we picked up the narrative again: “in the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem…”

See what I mean? No angelic choirs, no shepherds, no manger, no census. Just these rather strange stargazers from the east who come looking for the child, find him, and then go home by another way. For Matthew they are not latecomers who arrived after those poor humble shepherds. As Matthew tells it, these goyim from the east are the first. The theological point is that they are not Jews. Jesus is revealed to the nations—to the Gentiles. Jesus has come into the world to make a new creation where there is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female: just people in it together on this fragile earth, our island home.

The entire season of Epiphany is an ongoing reflection on this theme. These wise guys with their highly symbolic gifts underscore a missional point that Matthew will reiterate at the very end of his gospel: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” (Mt. 28:19-20) The journey of the magi is about spreading the good news. It’s about telling the story.

The second point I want to make about these wise guys is to remind you of a metaphor that we sometimes take for granted because it is so common in the Bible. Faith is a journey. Like Abraham and Sarah, these magi go out, leaving behind the familiar. They follow the star to find the Christ. They are astrologers, so in that sense the star shouldn’t be a surprise. The point here is not of a magic star, but that God showed them the way, just as God shows us the way. The star functions as something like “the yellow brick road.” God is the ultimate GPS system, and this story seems to be suggesting that if we, too, trust God, then our own journeys will lead us to Christ.

T. S. Eliot reflected on this theme in his poem, “Journey of the Magi,” which I commend to you. Today, as it happens, we will celebrate Holy Baptism. Full disclosure: usually that would happen next Sunday when Jesus is baptized by John at the Jordan River. But I’ll be on my own journey next Sunday, on a pilgrimage called The Legacy of Racism in Montgomery, Alabama. Hathy and I signed up for this pilgrimage before I even ever heard of St. Michael’s, Bristol. We are headed there with my friends from The Society of St. John the Evangelist in Cambridge. So we get Baptism today which is not an ending but the beginning of a life-long journey. So today we get to welcome Charlotte Rose into the Body of Christ, reminding her and her parents and godparents and extended family of what they already know in their hearts: that she is a beloved child of God, forever.

One further point that I want to make about Matthew’s Christmas story is that it seems very important to him to make it clear that the magi come “to pay Jesus homage.” That phrase comes up three times: at the beginning, middle, and end of Matthew’s story. In the middle it is Herod, not the magi, who speak these words. He is lying, of course, when he tells the magi that he wants to find the child in order to pay homage to him; in truth he wants to destroy him. (Which is why the magi have to go home by another way.) Even so, there is some irony here. The difference between wise kings and despotic ones seems to be that wise ones know their authority is derivative. They know who is really “king of kings” and “lord of lords.” Our three kings come to prostrate themselves before Jesus. They recognize Him for who he really is. Even before they offer him their gifts, the magi pay him homage.

As we begin this New Year together and as this year unfolds, we also come to pay him homage. Whatever our work, whatever our calling, whether we are liberals or conservatives: we come here to bow down before Christ. We come to pay him homage. That is where we find our unity: in worship that keeps Christ at the center of our life together.

Luke’s story may be the most familiar and beloved, and easily adapted for “the stage.” And it’s true that you can fit Matthew and John into Luke’s story around the edges and it works just fine. But there is some benefit in allowing Matthew to have the floor on this day and to speak in his own voice before we put away all the Christmas decorations until next year. Matthew’s Christmas story reminds us of at least three things as we begin this New Year together:

1.    Christ is born not just for us, but for all the world. Our work is to share that good news at all times, sometimes even with words.

2.    Faith is a journey: we don’t need all the answers; just to trust in God to lead us to the Christ and to take the next step, and then the next...

3.    When we find the place, Matthew reminds us that the correct response is to fall on our knees and worship this newborn king. Come, let us adore him.

As this Christmas Season comes to a close I want to offer a prayer from the late Howard Thurman who was Dean at Marsh Chapel at Boston University from 1953 – 1965. It points us, I think, in the direction we need to head as we call this Christmas a wrap. It points us, as a congregation in the midst of a pastoral transition, to the work God has given us to do and that we intend to model for Catherine Rose as we renew our own baptismal promises. Let us pray:

When the song of the angels is stilled
when the star in the sky is gone
when the kings and princes are home
when the shepherds are back with their flocks
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost
to heal the broken
to feed the hungry
to release the prisoner
to rebuild the nations
to bring peace among the people
to make music in the heart.