Signs Tell the Tale
The Rev. Amy Morgan
December 12, 2010
Matthew 11:2-11
2 When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples
3 and said to him, "Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?"
4 Jesus answered them, "Go and tell John what you hear and see:
5 the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.
6 And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me."
7 As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: "What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind?
8 What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces.
9 What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet.
10 This is the one about whom it is written, 'See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.'
11 Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.
(Mat 11:2-11 NRS)
A Tale of Two Lutherans
I was talking with a friend this week who knows two Lutherans. One is the son of a Lutheran pastor. He grew up in the church, and happens to still love the church for its sense of community and care for those in need. But, at present, he happens to be an atheist.
The other Lutheran did not grow up in the church. In college, he was a professed atheist. At present, he is a Lutheran pastor.
How do such radical transformations of faith come about? How can a person go from being so sure and certain of their faith in God to being just as adamantly certain that God does not exist? How can a person whose heart seemed dead-set against belief come to believe so strongly that they find their life’s calling in spreading the Gospel?
In our text today, we find a similar reversal. The disciples of John the Baptist come to Jesus, asking if he is really the Messiah, God’s chosen one, the one John the Baptist was pointing to.
John has been imprisoned because he criticized Herod for his choices in women. So it would be natural for his abandoned disciples to seek after the one John prepared the way for. It would even be natural for them to question whether or not Jesus was really the one John was talking about. As we heard last week, John talked about a guy who was coming to separate the wheat from the chaff and burn it with unquenchable fire. He was preparing the way of the Lord, the king, the greatest person ever born. And Jesus has pretty much just been acting like a healer and a teacher…maybe even a prophet. But a Messiah? Not so much.
But the real kicker here is that John’s disciples aren’t coming to Jesus to satisfy their own curiosity. They’re coming to Jesus to ask who Jesus really is on behalf of John the Baptist. John, Jesus’ cousin, who according to Luke’s gospel, knew him in the womb. John, who insisted that Jesus should baptize him, and not the other way around. John, who witnessed the Spirit descending upon Jesus like a dove and the voice of God saying, "This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased." This same John is now asking, "Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?"
It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t seem plausible. John not only had faith that Jesus was the Messiah, he had as much proof as anyone. How could he now doubt?
When John’s disciples ask Jesus if he is the one John was expecting, the one John was preparing the way for, Jesus doesn’t give them a straightforward answer. He doesn’t tell them, “Yes, of course, I’m the Messiah, the Chosen One of God.” He doesn’t turn the question back on them as he does with the disciples, asking them, “Who do you say that I am?” Instead, he instructs them to tell John what they hear and see. This is slightly different from versions of this story found in other gospels. Elsewhere, it says they should report what they see and hear, placing the emphasis on what can be sensed and giving lesser weight to what is understood. Matthew reverses this. One must first hear, which, for Matthew, implies understanding, then one can see what is really happening. Jesus then goes on to describe what he’s been doing: healing, raising the dead, and bringing good news to the poor. This echoes parts of the Isaiah prophesies, but interestingly, they are not prophesies referring directly to the Messiah of God.
To us it might sound like Jesus is saying to John’s disciples, “Look, I’m doing everything the Messiah is supposed to be doing. Go let John know this so he’ll be comforted and certain that he was right about me.”
But, in fact, he’s not. He’s saying, “here’s what I’m doing. Let John decide based on these facts whether or not I am who he thinks I am.”
And then Jesus says something that sounds really strange to us. “And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”
It may help to translate the phrase “takes no offense” in a way that is closer to the original meaning. The Greek word is the one from which we get the word “scandalize,” and its most often translated elsewhere as “stumbling block.” So we might instead read it as, “Blessed is anyone who isn’t scandalized by me,” or “blessed is anyone for whom I am not a stumbling block.” In other words, Jesus is admitting that he’s not acting like the Messiah. He’s admitting that his actions are so far from Messianic expectations that he might actually be a stumbling block for some people. He’s admitting that his behavior is scandalous for one who is believed to be the Messiah of God. He’s admitting that John has some pretty good reasons to doubt.
Many of us have lost that sense of the scandal of Jesus’ life. We’ve lost that permission to doubt. After 2,000 years of hearing the same story, we know how it goes, how it begins and ends. We know what to expect of our Jesus. But to John, Jesus was a scandal. Later Jewish writings tell us that the Messiah was supposed to go out “to wage war on those who hate him, killing kings and rulers.” (Targum, pseudo-Jonathan on Gen 49:10-12). He was expected to “gather armies and build forts and be a mighty king.” (Targum, Jonathan on Ezek 17:22-23) Sure, he was also supposed to be a suffering servant and great teacher. But the one John was banking on was the one who would take down oppressive authorities and restore Israel’s glory. Jesus’ lack of military might was scandalous. It was a stumbling block for John.
But what that tells us about John is something very important. It tells us that John at least had enough faith to doubt. His reversal of faith at least showed that he expected something from Jesus, even if he was ultimately disappointed. His previous experiences of Jesus – the prenatal recognition, the voice from heaven, gave him enough faith to be let down when Jesus didn’t meet his expectations.
But we can also learn something from how John doubted. John didn’t send his disciples to tell Jesus that he wasn’t acting like the Messiah and he’d better shape up or else. He simply asked the question. John’s only problem was that his focus was too narrow. There is lots of literature about Jewish expectations for the Messiah, and frankly, most of them have nothing to do with military and political power. John knew that, too. That’s why Jesus first reminded him to hear. Hear what the scriptures say. Hear how the world is changing. Hear what Jesus is teaching and with what authority.
Then look at what Jesus is doing, and judge if these are not the works of the Messiah. They aren’t the works John had been expecting, but if John had been looking at the whole picture, if he’d really been hearing and understanding, he might not have had to ask the question based on what Jesus was doing.
We are left in pretty much the same position as John. We’re left to hear and understand, and then look at what Jesus is doing in the world. And then it’s up to us to decide who we think Jesus is.
But where we run into a problem in the church is not when we doubt that Jesus was the Messiah. We have a problem when that’s no longer a scandal. We have a problem when we don’t have a crisis of faith when Jesus doesn’t make a difference in our lives. Because that means we don’t believe he has the power to change anything in the first place. We have a problem when Jesus doesn’t disappoint our expectations because we don’t have any.
When I was in seminary, Jason and I were trying to scrape by – pay our bills on one salary, learn how to budget as a couple. We struggled with our budget, shifting things around, playing the billpay roulette. As we looked at our budget before Christmas, we decided that what it came down to was, we could tithe, or we could pay our bills. It was just that simple. If we gave to the church, we couldn’t make ends meet. If we took that expenditure out of our budget, we would get by. We went away for Christmas break and thought and prayed about it. When we returned in January, the accountant at the firm Jason worked for informed him that she had made an error in calculating his weekly pay. Some change in the tax code she had missed. When she showed him the amount that his pay would increase, his jaw dropped. It was, to the dollar, the exact amount of our tithe.
This was, and still is, a profoundly spiritual experience for both of us. But even so, our faith has not been static. These experiences recede and doubt re-emerges. God didn’t swoop into save us every time we were on the brink of fiscal disaster. Bills have been missed. Our pledging record is far from perfect. But this experience provided us with an invaluable gift. Enough faith to doubt. Even if Jesus doesn’t alter my bank account, I know he can alter my life. I believe enough in Christ’s power to change things that I get disappointed when he doesn’t.
This is a secret the church doesn’t want to get out. We make sure we have a theologically sound answer to the whys of God’s lack of intervention so that people won’t get disappointed and leave the church, give up on faith.
But giving up on faith is sometimes the most faithful thing a person can do. Many of the greatest theologians the world has ever known only came into their faith after falling out of it. Augustine searched philosophy, astrology and everything in between in search of a Savior who found him under a tree in a courtyard. Kierkegaard only found Christ in his critique of the church that fostered his faith. Marcus Borg only found Jesus in trying to disprove him.
Doubters, questioners, are the people we need in the church, not out of it. They are the John the Baptists who keep us honest. They are the ones who prepare the way for Jesus in our hearts by helping us ask the questions we need to ask, helping us have enough faith to doubt. They, perhaps the least in the kingdom of heaven whom Jesus referred to, are greater than John. Because they are everywhere. In our schools. In our workplaces. In our homes. And, if we’re doing things right, in our pews.
Because all of us, hopefully, at some point, ask that question, “Is Jesus the one we’ve been preparing for, or should we be waiting for another?” Is Jesus really enough? Or do we expect something else? Do we expect miraculous healing? Do we expect comfort and joy? Do we expect love? Do we expect light in all the dark shadows of our lives? Is Jesus what we’ve been waiting for, or is there something else? If you haven’t asked this question lately, perhaps it’s time you did. Perhaps it’s time we all thought about what we expect of Jesus. Perhaps it’s time we expect great things from Jesus, even if it means opening ourselves up to disappointment. Maybe asking the hard questions will help us to hear and understand more clearly, so that we can truly see what Christ is doing in the world. Maybe only in losing our faith will we really find it.
