My sermon from All Saints’ Sunday (November 3, 2024) on Mark 12:28-34.
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Today’s reading from the gospel according to Mark is a bit different from what we’ve been listening to over the last few weeks. Jesus’s friends had, since Peter declared Jesus to be the Messiah way back in chapter 8, been trying to figure out what this meant for them and for their community. They assumed the Messiah would, in a very tangible way, rewrite the religious, political, and social reality of their world. And yet Jesus, who had the power to cure the sick, feed thousands with a few loaves of bread, and even control the weather, couldn’t stop mentioning his own death and humiliation. Jesus’ words didn’t match their expectations of the power they felt entitled to as part of Jesus’ inner circle. This ongoing internal argument about their place within the kingdom of God continued for several chapters while Jesus took his final steps towards Jerusalem. They were busy arguing about which one of them was the greatest while Jesus kept inviting them to recognize those who we always push aside. These internal arguments about the nature community continued until they crossed into the city of Jerusalem at the start of chapter 11. Once there, in the heart of the city where God promised to be, the focus of the story shifted to what happens when God’s kingdom comes near. A series of contested and sometimes heated conversations between Jesus and various religious and political leaders took place in various places around the city. And among those he regularly argued with was a group of unnamed people Mark only described as “scribes.”
In Jesus’ day, only a small percentage of the population were literate yet writing was a skill that everyone needed. An entire industry came into being where people were paid to read and write. Scribes were necessary to write and share the proclamations made by those in power and to transcribe all decisions made in the local courts. Scribes were needed to maintain, preserve, and copy all the sacred texts that shaped religious life since the printing press hadn’t been invented yet. Scribes could be found in every marketplace who would, for a fee, write a letter to your family who lived on the other side of the empire. And when your family sent you a letter, that scribe – also for a fee – was available to read what you couldn’t. A scribe was basically a librarian, teacher, postal carrier, court transcriber, notary, and contract drafter all rolled into one. And since scribes were always close to those in power, scribes were the ones it was okay to complain about. They were, through Jesus’ story, identified as a kind of villain or foil to what Jesus was up to. Yet here, in chapter 12, we meet a scribe who is anything but. This scribe reminded me a bit of my kids who, while eavesdropping, can’t help but add to the conversation. After listening to the back and forth Jesus had with the various leaders, the scribe felt compelled to ask a question of their own. And instead of asking about something personal – such as what they needed to do to inherit eternal life – this scribe wondered, in an almost abstract kind of way, about which commandment was the source for everything that comes next.
Now we Christians have often had a rather complicated history with the commandments. There are times when we take them literally and then seriously and then metaphorically all at the same time. We’ll use these commandments as a kind of weapon to beat over the heads of those we disagree with. But we’ll also, in the same breath, pretend they only partially matter whenever someone holds us accountable to them. We often treat and act as if the commandments – the ten big ones and the hundreds of others scattered within the first few books of our Bible – are either a list of rules or a mantra that can inform the life we choose to live. Yet for Jesus and the scribe, the commandments were primarily seen – and identified as a gift from God. They were given by the One who had, centuries before, freed their people from slavery in Egypt. After hundreds of years of not having power over their own lives and their own bodies, the Isrealites found themselves at a loss of what it meant to live together. And so God, in response, sent Moses down a mountainside with a description of what it looks like when God’s kingdom is near. The scribe, I think, wasn’t merely trying to get the opinion from an argumentative rabbi of which commandment they liked better than the rest. The scribe was looking for that one thing – that one word or phrase or idea or belief that serves as the gift that carries us through. It’s the kind of question we might have asked ourselves during moments full of anxiety and fear. We long to hold onto that one thing which can bring us a sense of peace, comfort, security, and hope. When our life is swirling in chaos, what we seek is that tangible assurance that what we’re experiencing today won’t be the limit of what tomorrow might be. What the scribe wanted to hear about the gift they can hold onto when the life they’re living comes undone.
And so Jesus, in response, did something a bit strange. He doesn’t give the scribe one commandment. He instead crafted and shaped them into two. Jesus’ words resemble what other rabbis and religious leaders at the time were saying when they were asked to summarize the commandments from God. Yet what made his words different was how he proclaimed that these two were really one and the same. Rather than reducing these words into that one that might fix, reform, or change whatever we’re going through, Jesus invited us to look to God – and to one another – all at the same time. What we need for the lives we live isn’t a mantra or a phrase or even a word that can guide us through. What we truly need – and what we are given – are people who reflect the fullness of who our God chooses to be. We have a God who chooses to show up; to live our human life; to love and serve and welcome and include and to not let our limits be the limit of our God. The One who is with us knows what it’s like to cry at the tomb of a friend and to be on the other side of all kinds of relationships that come to an end. We have a God who knows what it’s like to be taken care of even by those who don’t always get it right. And this love that we receive from the One who knows us, sees us, and created us isn’t a gift meant to be received from God alone. It’s also embodied through those saints God connects us to. They are always exactly who they are – people with their own imperfections; people who commit mistakes; people who don’t always get everything right. Yet through their care and support and time and hope – reveal to us what happens when God’s kingdom comes near. They’re the ones who made sacrifices for us, who were able to say “I’m sorry,” and who believed in us even when we didn’t believe in ourselves. These saints were the ones who made God’s love tangible and real in our lives when they were filled with all kinds of chaos and fear. They weren’t meant to be perfect people but they did reflect the perfect love of the One who is always for us. Jesus’ summary of the commandments wasn’t HIs attempt to reduce them to that one word or phrase we can cling to when life gets hard. Rather, he was reminding us that when we we have nothing left to hold on to – our God and the saints God sends us – will the one who, through love, grace, kindness, and their willingness to simply be with us through whatever might come – they will be the ones who will carry us through.
Amen.