Sermon on Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

I want to start this sermon with a disclaimer: this story is not saying you shouldn’t wash your hands.

Washing your hands is a good thing and promotes not only your own health, but the health of your neighbor. Jesus is not saying here that you shouldn’t wash your hands. Drawing the conclusion from this story that you shouldn’t wash your hands would be a misjudgment.

But misjudgment is a good deal of what this story is about.

Some religious leaders had come from Jerusalem to check out this rabbi, Jesus, who had been getting a lot of attention.

And so far, they didn’t like what they were seeing.

Jesus’ ragtag bunch of disciples weren’t participating in the handwashing ritual they were accustomed to.

The reading says “all the Jews” participated in this ritual, but that’s probably a bit of an exaggeration. Think about how few rituals all Christians from every denomination do, and even then, the rituals look pretty different.

But for the religious leaders confronting Jesus, this was a big deal.And they were making judgments based on that.

Jesus was a rabbi and was failing to instruct his disciples in the way things “should” be done.

___________

But Jesus wasn’t having it.

He told the religious leaders that they were worried about the wrong thing. There are worse things than dirty hands (though, again, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t wash your hands).

Jesus is more concerned with what’s in people’s hearts.

Our reading today skips some verses that explain more about what Jesus was pushing back at the religious leaders for.

Here are verses 9-13:

9 Then [Jesus] said to them, “You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to keep your tradition! 10 For Moses said, ‘Honor your father and your mother’; and, ‘Whoever speaks evil of father or mother must surely die.’ 11 But you say that if anyone tells father or mother, ‘Whatever support you might have had from me is Corban’ (that is, an offering to God[e])— 12 then you no longer permit doing anything for a father or mother, 13 thus making void the word of God through your tradition that you have handed on. And you do many things like this.”

So basically, Jesus was scolding them for focusing so much on handwashing when they were doing things like not taking care of their obligations to their families. Instead of honoring their parents, they were giving their money as an offering to God that, in their culture, they should have been using to care for their parents.

And just as handwashing and being concerned with the state of one’s inner life are both good things, providing for family members who need care and making offerings to God are both good things.

Jesus was scolding them for offloading their responsibilities (taking care of their family members) in the name of God (by donating money that could be used to care for their family members). Jesus was also scolding them for being more concerned with his disciples’ handwashing habits than the fact that the religious leaders were offloading their responsibilities. They were judging others instead of examining their own faith practices.

The religious leaders had come in judgment—observing outward actions that didn’t directly relate to the disciples’ character or love for God or the world.

Their reaction to the disciples was not loving or empathetic.

So, Jesus teaches that what most hinders us is not when we fail to uphold rituals, but when we allow the nastiness in our hearts to harm others.

_____________

And we all do that.

We fall short. We miss the mark. We hurt each other and ourselves.

Jesus gavethe religious leaders some harsh truth: the selfishness, pride, envy, greed, etc. within us make us much sicker than the germs on our hands.

Our reading from James also lays out some tough standards:

1.    be rid of that selfishness, pride, envy, greed, etc.

2.    Be truthful with yourself and don’t pretend you’re holier-than-thou.

3.    Act out your faith in the world; don’t just listen and go about your business unchanged.

4.    Take care of widows and orphans—the most marginalized in society.

These are good things. And they’re hard.

Even our first reading from Deuteronomy is about upholding God’s commandments.

All our readings today focus on doing. And that’s important. The saying, “actions speak louder than words,” is true. And when our love for God motivates us to share that love with others, it’s often our actions that demonstrate that love most sincerely. Our faith should cause us to live differently than if we didn’t love God.

However, it’s also important to remember that our actions don’t save us. Only Jesus does that, and it’s already finished. There is nothing we can do to make God love us any more or any less.

God loves you because you are, not because of what you do. So, as we meditate on these doing-oriented readings, be gentle with yourself. We are human beings who fall short, who miss the mark, who hurt each other. We are very far from perfect and are still perfectly loved.

I know that you are loving people who care deeply about your neighbor and have beautiful hopes for this community. As we continue our journey of learning how to love God and love our neighbors, and especially in this Sabbath year, let’s take a deep breath and give ourselves some of the grace we offer others. And don’t forget to wash your hands.

I’d like to share with you a poem that spoke to me this week about slowing down, being gentle with ourselves, and mostly about not being perfect.

“Walk a Little Slower”[1]

By Tanner Olson

I think today I'll walk a little slower and breathe a little deeper. 

I’ll leave my phone face down, inside, and

give my eyes a rest to see beauty beyond a screen.

I’ll grab a light jacket so I can still feel the cold wind, hold your hand until it gets sweaty, and I'll let go, but I'll never let go.

I’ll walk below and between shadows, cut through the field, cross the street when the cars clear. 

Today I want to find myself beneath the limbs of the trees and later on below a few million stars. 

Maybe we’ll see a dog or bump into old friends or both. 

I’m not counting steps or miles, but I'm just walking because for now …

I can. 

And I don't know what the future holds, if my days left are long or short or, well, you get it. Maybe grief is around the corner or a missed call on my face-down phone back inside.

Maybe there is good news in my inbox or a miracle waiting in the welcome of next month. 

In the morning, I’ll sit a little longer and drink a little deeper. 

I’ll watch the light make its way through the dark morning.

The light always finds a way.

And I’ll remind myself life won’t always look the way it does. 

Change is coming, and it might even be here. 

I’ll remember the steps forward and the steps back that led me to where I am and before I begin to move these feet once again, I’ll slowly breathe in grace and exhale peace, knowing that every piece of me is here to be. 

And whatever may become, well, for now, 

for now, I’ll walk a little slower and breathe a little deeper.

Because right now, I'm alive. 

And everything is okay. 

It’s not perfect, and that’s okay. 

And that’s what I'm learning to tell myself these days. 

Everything is okay. 

It’s not perfect, and that’s okay.

Peace to you this week as you act out your faith in love and offer grace to yourself as well as others.

[1]https://tannerolson.substack.com/p/walk-a-little-slower

Sermon onJohn 6:51-69

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

We’ve been reading from John chapter 6 for over a month now. Jesus fed the 5,000, walked on water, the crowd chased him down looking for more food, and he explained to them that he had bread from heaven to give them instead and that his own flesh and blood was what would give them eternal life.

This was more than the crowds could handle:

·       from the religious authorities (problematically called simply “the Jews” in the Gospel of John) who questioned Jesus’ credentials

·       to many of Jesus’ own loyal disciples who started to have cold feet.

Jesus’ reputation was not doing well that day. The crowds who had wanted to make him king turned on him.

Perhaps Jesus expected this: our reading says, “For Jesus knew from the beginning who were the ones who did not believe and who was the one who would betray him.”

But it still couldn’t have been easy to have so many people abandon him all at once.

Jesus turned to his closest twelve disciples and asked, “Do you also want to go away?” I wonder if the words caught in his throat, if he was afraid to ask.

But Peter, whose foot was often in his mouth and who would indeed abandon Jesus later on before repenting, spoke for the group:

“Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”

The ones who had traveled with him and knew him best didn’t turn away at the first teaching that was hard to accept.

They grasped that following Jesus wasn’t about free food and that he had a community and a way of life to offer that was far more powerful than being made an earthly king by the crowds.

Jesus was far more than simply a teacher or a provider of free food.

Still, his teachings can be hard—for them and for us.

Even Jesus’ most basic teachings, rooted in the Hebrew Bible:

Love God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself

are so hard to follow.

Love God and love your neighbor should be pretty intuitive. It’s not terribly controversial or off-putting, compared to Jesus’ teachings in our reading today, talking about eating flesh and drinking blood.Even if it were purely metaphorical, it’s a pretty gross image. I don’t blame folks for being troubled by it and maybe not wanting to follow this guy around anymore. A free lunch is a lot more appetizing than cannibalism.

And still, it’s hard to follow even Jesus’ most basic teachings like love God and love your neighbor.

Instead of loving God with everything we have, it’s so much easier to go about our daily lives, ignoring God until something bad happens and only then asking for help. It’s easier to keep God on the periphery of our lives instead of letting love for God inhabit every aspect of our being.

And instead of loving our neighbors, it’s easier to gravitate toward people who are like us and not risk being vulnerable with people who have different perspectives, backgrounds, or ways of life.

If we do encounter people who are different from us, we can protect ourselves by making it clear that we are helping them and are not in the same category. Or that they are from a different political party and we are obviously nothing like them.

It’s way harder to look another human in the eyes and admit that we are at the same time infinitely the same and infinitely different from each other.

We are created in the image of the same God, we live on the same planet, and yet we have unique experiences, ways of living, and things to teach one another.

It’s easier to keep people who are different from us on the periphery of our lives and not let love for every person we encounter move us.

It’s safer and more comfortable to keep people at an arm’s distance. But that’s not what we’re called to.

C.S. Lewis said this in his book The Four Loves:

"There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket—safe, dark, motionless, air-less—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell."

This teaching is difficult. Who can accept it?

But Lewis has a point. When we insulate ourselves from vulnerability, from the risks of love, it becomes harder for us to feel anything at all.We lose our relationships, because relationships deepen from vulnerability, and we ultimately lose ourselves. We confine ourselves to Hell on Earth.

God is calling us to the opposite of that. Jesus gave even his body for love of us.

When Christ’s flesh and blood is flowing through our veins, animating our bodies, pumping our hearts, love is both the cause and the result.

It is God’s love that allows us to love God and love our neighbors.

That can hurt—sometimes hurt more than we think we can bear.

This teaching is difficult. Who can accept it?

But that is the price of love—a price Jesus knows very well. And out of that life-giving love, Jesus calls us to love, too.

So, this week, talk to someone who is different from you. If you’re going to Crittenton today, you’ll have the opportunity in the next couple hours. If not, learn something about someone you don’t talk to much. Let your love for them grow. Feel your heart soften and expand.That is the life Jesus offers us.

To whom else can we go?

Sermon on John 6:35-51

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

For a couple weeks now, we’ve been talking about people not really getting what was going on or what Jesus was telling them.

The disciples were stressed out by Jesus’ command to feed the crowd of thousands of people and then scared by Jesus’ ability to walk on water.

Then the crowds, who seemed to understand that something amazing was happening, because they wanted to make Jesus king, still were mostly interested in Jesus for the free food. They chased him across the sea to try to get him to feed them again.

Today’s reading zooms in on a specific subset of the crowds that were following Jesus. Remember that whenever the Gospel of John says “the Jews” it doesn’t mean all the Jewish people in that area. That would include Jesus and his disciples and would be confusing. 

“The Jews” is the term the Gospel of John uses to refer to the group of religious leaders who were threatened by Jesus’ popularity and wanted to maintain the status quo. This terminology has, unfortunately, contributed to centuries of antisemitism. This is one of the many reasons why we read the Bible carefully, look at the context to give us clues about what it means, and consider how our interpretation affects our neighbors.

In our readings so far over the past few weeks, Jesus has either been talking to his closest disciples or addressing the crowds as a whole. But once Jesus finishes his explanation of what it means that he is the bread of life, it says that “the Jews” (or the religious leaders) “began to complain about him.”

It seems they were happy enough to hang around, hear Jesus talk, and eat some free food, but when he started talking about being the bread of life and coming down from heaven, they got suspicious.

They questioned him about how he could be from heaven if they knew his parents. He didn’t miraculously appear—they knew his family!

They didn’t see what Jesus was offering them, so they complained among themselves.

Granted, much like Jesus’ conversations with Nicodemus and with the woman at the well before this in the Gospel of John, Jesus’ explanations are confusing: what do you mean “born from above”? What do you mean “living water”? Or in this case, what do you mean “bread of life”?

Jesus spoke in metaphor, parable, imagery—rhetorical devices that lose their power when categorized, labeled, poked, and prodded.

Still, what might it mean to be the “bread of life”?

Bread was a staple—it wasn’t the fluffy French bread you can get in the grocery store. It was dense, heavy, and filling. It sustained people’s life.

I had a Taiwanese classmate in seminary who talked about Jesus as “the rice of life,” because that was the staple she was used to. I’ve also heard Jesus described as “the tortilla of life.”

Jesus isn’t a nice side dish or a dessert, much to the disappointment of my sweet tooth. Jesus is a staple, an everyday life source, nourishing and filling.

Jesus described himself as the “bread that comes down from heaven,” the manna that God sent to the starving Israelites in the wilderness. Jesus is God’s way of saving us from death and assuring us of God’s provision and faithfulness. Whatever wilderness we are in, God does not abandon us there. God feeds us and cares for us.

And as we talked about last week, the feeding of the 5,000 functions like communion in the Gospel of John. Since this Gospel focuses on Jesus washing his disciples’ feet on the night in which he was betrayed, this is the moment when Jesus took bread, broke it, and gave it to his disciples and the larger community of Jesus followers.

Eating the bread that Jesus gave them united them. They sat on the grass, eating together. They bonded and formed community, united in Jesus.

Jesus will go on in next week’s Gospel reading to describe his flesh and blood as bringing eternal life to those who eat and drink it.

Communion is a promise of eternal life in the Reign of God, a sneak peek of the never-ending banquet of the Beloved Community. Through it, we are united with Christ and each other and all the Jesus followers throughout time and space. It is miraculous and mysterious.

And yet, it can also become routine and lose its meaning. When we come to this table every week, eating the same wafers and drinking the same grape juice, we can forget the mystery.

We can, perhaps, forget the gravity of our first communion, whether when we were children, teens, or adults.

We can forget the longing for communion we had during COVID, when we had to navigate new ways of being the Body of Christ without being together in one room.

We can also forget that Christ meets us in every meal and not just here on Sunday mornings. Just like every drop of water can help us recall our baptism, every meal can remind us of our unity in Christ, whether at this table, your kitchen table, or in our parking lot on Tuesday nights.

Some of the most meaningful experiences of communion I have had would not be officially recognized as communion.

The nonprofit I worked for before seminary was the Orange County Conservation Corps. They serve at-risk young adults who get work experience doing environmental projects around the county while finishing their high school diplomas.

On the last day of work before Thanksgiving, when the corpsmembers would come back from their work sites, there would be a Thanksgiving meal waiting for them. We staff members would pile their plates high with turkey, stuffing, and the works. Then, we would serve each other and join them at long tables with plastic tablecloths in the warehouse that still smelled of disinfectant.

It was a humble meal, but a glorious celebration. We were equals at those tables, united in gratitude, laughter, and bellies full of Costco pie.

It certainly was not what most people picture when they think of communion, but among the staples of turkey and potatoes, hierarchies were erased, aching muscles forgotten, laughter and community abundant. If that’s not a foretaste of what heaven will be like, I don’t know what is.

Communion can be found in surprising places.

The bread of life, rice of life, tortilla of life meets us where we are. Jesus sustains our life and connects us with each other.

Proverbs 15:17 says:

“Better is a dinner of vegetables where love is
    than a fatted ox and hatred with it.”

Now, there’s nothing wrong with a dinner of vegetables. But we can take this proverb’s meaning to be: it’s better to have a simple meal with people who love each other than a lavish feast with people who are acting hatefully toward each other.

Hopefully, that’s what communion is each week: a wafer and tiny cup of grape juice among people who love each other.

That is our manna in the wilderness. That is our feeding of the 5,000. That is our Thanksgiving meal in a warehouse. That is our bread and rice and tortilla of life.

It strengthens and unites us for today and points toward the lavish feast with Love that will never end.

You’re all invited—come and eat.