Jesus the Plumb Line: A Sermon for 11 July 2010

When I was a kid, family vacations consisted of the occasional drive to Ohio to visit my father’s family. That was before Interstate 80 had been built, and so the journey included passing through Chicago.

My father was always looking for educational opportunities for his children, and so we typically spent a day on the way to Ohio at one or more of Chicago’s amazing museums. It was at the Museum of Science & Industry that we encountered the giant Foucault pendulum, swinging ever so softly and silently, from a domed ceiling high over our heads.

Foucault pendulum, Pantheon, Paris.

A Foucault pendulum is, of course, a plumb line. It is a weight on a string that obeys the law of gravity by hanging straight down— regardless of what you hang it from. Or, in the case of the one in Chicago, it is—as I recall—a huge brass plumb bob shaped like a child’s top, suspended from the center of the dome on a cable.

And it moves because the earth moves! In other words, the plumb line must obey the laws of gravity and always hang straight down. But because the earth is not a perfect sphere, and because it moves—rotating on its axis as it traces its trajectory around the sun—the ceiling of that building is also moving, and the plumb bob must constantly adjust it’s position in order to obey the law of gravity and hang straight down.

And so it gently swings, translating the earth’s movement into a highly regular, beautifully precise pattern of movement—on a scale that the human eye can actually see. (Click on the link below the picture to see an animated drawing of the pendulum's movement.)

In other words, we know this planet we call home is, in fact, spinning and hurtling through space at an alarming speed. Yet we detect none of that. It is beyond the capacity of our human senses, our human perspective, our human experience.

But the giant plumb line brings it down to earth. A Foucault pendulum scales it down, transforms it, so that we mere mortals can in fact experience, perceive, see… the very rotation of the earth itself.

How much of that did I understand as a child, standing in that museum looking at a Foucault pendulum? I don’t know. Probably not much. But I do remember awe and wonderment.

And, in striking contrast to today’s Old Testament story, I remember it as a reassuring experience rather than a threatening one. Of course, plumb lines have more than one use. They are a builder’s tool for keeping things straight and upright, and a similar kind of discipline appears to be on God’s mind in this conversation with Amos.

“Look, I am not going to continue to look the other way,” God says. “In fact, I’m going to put myself right there in the midst of my people Israel. I’m going to be a plumb line showing how crooked they really are. And, by the way, their crookedness is going to get them into all kinds of trouble. Those who live by the sword will die by the sword.”

So.., how do we reconcile these contrasting images of a plumb line? Is it an eloquent translation of God’s creation into terms humans can comprehend, or a harsh discipline that ensures mortal failure? Is it a reminder of the order of the universe, or a measure of the chaos humans inevitably create?

I would say it is “both and”—both eloquent and harsh, both about order and about chaos, both reassuring—for it is evidence that God is among us, and frightening—for it shows how utterly unworthy of God’s presence we are.

And if that sounds a bit like Jesus.., well, you’re with me all the way! And today’s lesson from Luke is a perfect example of Jesus being a plumb line.

It begins with the interaction between Jesus and the lawyer, and the lawyer is up to nothing less than entrapment. He knows perfectly well that some of Jesus’ teachings and practices have been rather unorthodox, and so he asks a question to which everyone present knows the “right” answer, the Scriptural answer.

It is a question designed to make the asker look pious, even as he is hoping that Jesus will go out on a limb that he can then chop off. “What must I do to be certain I’ll go to heaven,” he asks.

But Jesus doesn’t rise to the bait, nor does he strike back. Rather, he invites the lawyer to share the Scriptural answer everyone knows, and the lawyer obliges: “Love the Lord your God.., and your neighbor as yourself.”

Ask a simple question, and get a simple answer! Standing there with egg on his face, the lawyer tries again. Surely he can engage Jesus in a face-saving debate if he asks him a truly legal question! “Who is my neighbor?” he says.

And so Jesus tells the story that is probably the most familiar one of the whole Bible, the story that we can’t hear anymore because we’ve heard it so often. So let me try to make it a bit strange so that you can hear it again for the first time.

I’m guessing you are already thinking about the guy in the ditch, the victim of the beating. And maybe you’re wondering if you would “measure up” in the sense of being the one to help the victim as the Samaritan did.

And that’s fine. That’s part of the point. But now shift your attention from the guy in the ditch… to the Samaritan. Notice that Luke does not say he’s a “good” Samaritan. Luke just says he’s a Samaritan. WE added the “good,” and I suspect it has the same meaning as when someone tells a demeaning joke and then follows it quickly with, “I’m really not a bigot. One of my best friends is…” black or Asian or gay or whatever the particular category of people was slurred by the joke.

In other words, we’re quite willing to recognize “good” examples, exceptions to the rule, of categories of people we look down on. So get rid of the Samaritan because Samaritans don’t mean anything to us today, and put in his place a representative of the group of people you fear the most, like the least, resent the most, whatever: An illegal immigrant, perhaps? A smelly street person? Someone who deviates from sex or gender norms? A Muslim?

Put in the story the last person in the world you would expect mercy from, the last person in the world you would think capable of the act of mercy at the center of the story.., and now ask yourself, Am I willing to see that person as my neighbor and my equal in the eyes of God?

That’s the kind of plumb line Jesus is: God among us, saying over and over again, in every possible way: We are all God’s children. We are all in this together. Not one of you is any better than anyone else. Not one of you is loved by me any more or any less than anyone else. Stand by me. Walk with me. Dine with me. And all will be well. And you will never again have to ask, “Who is my neighbor?”

AMEN.

God's Politics: A Sermon for Pentecost*

The cover of our service leaflet this morning tells us beautifully what we celebrate today. “Filled with the Holy Spirit,” it says, and the image is a dove on an orange, flame-like background.

If you were to go home and do a Google image search for the word “Pentecost,” you would find that human creativity has had a field day with this event.

My search produced more than 700,000 hits! I did not look at all of them, and I’m sure there were duplicates. But I can tell you that just the first page of results contained 21 images, each of which was unique but all of which were recognizable by most any Christian as images of the event we call Pentecost.

What would be the common elements of those images that make them so readily recognizable? Tongues of fire, of course, and almost always a dove. 

From the blog Walking in Light with Christ

But we just read the story from Acts, and doves are not mentioned. Only tongues of fire. So… why do most of our Pentecost images include doves?

The doves are, of course, a reference to the baptism of Jesus by John the Baptizer in the Jordan River. On that occasion, the Gospel stories tell us, the Holy Spirit descends upon Jesus in the form of a dove.

It is not surprising, therefore, that many, many Christians down through the centuries have been baptized on Pentecost. And that brings us to another name for this particular Sunday. It is a name that comes from our tradition as part of the Anglican Communion, which began as the Church of England. The name is “Whitsunday,” which comes from Old English and means, nor surprisingly, “white Sunday.”

Why “white Sunday”? Because many people were baptized on this particular Sunday. And the color people wore to be baptized? White, of course.

The Christian church has always understood and affirmed a powerful and direct connection between the baptism of our Lord by water and the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove, and the baptism of the disciples by the Holy Spirit in the form of tongues of fire on Pentecost.

Now, I want to go back to those Pentecost images I found with my Google search for a few minutes. In addition to the dove and the tongues of fire, what would they have in common? Who do you suppose they depict receiving the Holy Spirit?

If you are thinking the 12 apostles, you are correct. Almost every image contains exactly 12 male figures… plus one woman. And who would that woman be? Mary, the mother of our Lord, of course. 

                                      

So, how does that fit with our story? Actually, not very well! Luke the historian, who wrote the book of Acts, begins his book with the Ascension of Jesus into heaven. Then in chapter 1 verse 12 he tells us that Jesus’ disciples return to Jerusalem and all were together in one place to await the coming of the Holy Spirit—just as Jesus had instructed them.

In Acts chapter 1 verses 13 and 14, Luke names some of the people who were there: The 11 apostles are named in verse 13. And then verse 14 says, “All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers.”
                                       

From The Sacrament of Pentecost

At the end of chapter 1, Mathias is chosen to replace Judas. The story makes it clear that he and another man were nominated from a larger group then chosen by lot. In other words, many scholars think about 100 disciples of Jesus were probably present at the first Pentecost, and a number of them were women!

Our artists over the centuries have tended to simplify the picture a great deal. Again, many depict just 12 men and Mary receiving the Holy Spirit. A few of the images I found depict 12 men, Mary, and two or three other women. Only a couple of images actually show the larger crowd that was there, a larger crowd that includes a number of women, and children!

From The Bridge Online

So, why is that important? It is important because Pentecost has another meaning that tends to get lost in all the imagery of doves and fire and apostles and Mary.

The other meaning is that with Pentecost, God let it be known that the Gospel message and the Holy Spirit of God are for everyone. Not just a handful of Jews, but everyone. Not just men and one or two women, but everyone. Not just people who looked and thought alike, but everyone.

To fully appreciate how this happened, we need to go back to a story that is told in Genesis (11:1-9)—the story of the Tower of Babel. You will recall that the people of the earth at that time all spoke the same language: “one language and the same words,” says Genesis.

To us, that actually sounds rather good. Wouldn’t it be easier for us all to get along, to communicate better, if we all had one language and the same words!

What happened, of course, is that things went so smoothly that people got rather cocky and over confident. They decided they didn’t need God. And so, in Genesis 11, they say to one another, "Come, let us build ourselves a city, and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves; otherwise we shall be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth."

Now the Lord God comes to check out what they’re up to, and does not like what he sees. The Lord sees that the people are arrogant, and that they think they can build their way to heaven, without turning to the Lord their God.

And so the Lord puts a stop to the nonsense. The Lord goes down and confuses the people’s language, makes them speak all different languages so that they no longer understand each other, and the Lord scatters the people over the face of the earth.

This is often referred to as “the curse of Babel”—that humankind around the world developed different cultures and different languages. And it certainly made it harder for people to communicate and to understand each other and to get along.

But Pentecost changed all that. Pentecost reversed the curse of Babel, and today’s reading from Acts describes how it happened. The Holy Spirit comes, first, with the sound of a violent wind, and then tongues of fire. And, Luke says, “All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.”

But that’s only half of the miracle! The other half is that the listeners “from every nation under heaven…each one heard them speaking in the native languages of each.” And what a diverse array they were: Parthians, Medes, Elamites… etc., etc.

At Pentecost, God demonstrated that it was okay for people to speak different languages, and that through the power of the Holy Spirit, people could in fact understand each other and worship together anyway.

In fact, there’s a special kind of unity, a unity of the Spirit, that comes precisely from diverse humans of different languages all worshiping the same God together. The coming of the Holy Spirit transformed human diversity from a curse that divides… into a miracle that unites.

AMEN.

*This sermon was preached at St. Luke's Episcopal Chapel in Grambling, La. as a dialogue with children. The adult congregation listened in and enjoyed it too.