One Father, One Teacher (Proper 26A)

 

One Father, One Teacher

30 October 2011 Proper 26A

Beijing China

Joshua 3:7-17; Psalm 107:1-7, 33-37; 1 Thessalonians 2:9-13; Matthew 23:1-12

Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples, "The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses' seat; therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them. They do all their deeds to be seen by others; for they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long. They love to have the place of honor at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have people call them rabbi. But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students. And call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father-- the one in heaven. Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah. The greatest among you will be your servant. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted." (Matt. 23:1-12)

God, take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen.
 

One of the most perceptive but least helpful suggestions I ever heard was given to me years ago, just before an important job interview: “Just remember Tony, relax.  Be yourself.  Act natural.  Be a regular guy.  This is so important you don’t want to mess it up by appearing to be uptight or wanting this job too much.  But show them that you are really special and why they should want you. ” 

Be authentic.  Be yourself.  Don’t take on airs.  But don’t be too normal,  too routine. 

It felt like I had been told to stop breathing but not show it.  It felt like I was to gracefully, showing no exertion at all, defy gravity. 

Today’s Gospel reading is about being authentic.  Though its current form and setting probably reflects a dispute between Matthew’s community of Jewish Christians and the Pharisees after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70 C.E., its basic thrust—avoid flamboyant show for show’s sake in religion and society, eschew hypocrisy, and flee use of religious rules as a means of oppressing others—almost certainly reflects the teachings of the historical Jesus. 

This weekend is the commemoration of Augustinian Father Martin of Erfurt’s posting his Ninety-five Theses on the Cathedral door in Wittenberg protesting Johann Tetzel’s sale of indulgences to raise money for the Holy See to build St. Peter's Basilica (through a complex Ponzi-scheme-like funding path).   While the Reformation, both Protestant and Catholic, brought the Church back to her roots, for which we must thank God, it also on occasion brought abuses.  An example is the radical reformation’s misunderstanding of what Matthew is teaching in this passage:  “Don’t use honorifics to refer to each other.”  “Don’t call anyone teacher,” that is, “Rabbi,” or “Doctor.”  Don’t call anyone “Father” as an honorific.  “Don’t use outward signs of piety at all,” whether religious vestments, High Church ceremonial, or even organs in Church.

The preface of the 1549 Book of Common Prayer begins with these words, “There was never any thing by the wit of man so well devised, or so surely established, which (in continuance of time) hath not been corrupted.”  Cranmer was referring to the corrupted liturgy of the Church in his day, and the need to reform it.  But the words, I think, have a broader application and also can be seen as speaking to the corruption of good ideals by any group, including the reformation itself.

The fact is, when Jesus originally made the statement about “call no one father,” he was probably referring to our literal fathers, and not honorific titles, saying that even our family relations are secondary to our relationship with God.    In saying “call no one teacher,” he similarly was not calling for an abolition of teaching positions.  He was saying that our relationship to even great teachers is secondary to our relationship with God. 

Those who think that Jesus here just expects us to be plain folk, average guys, with no airs have misread what is at issue in the passage.  For trying to be plain as a way of being close to God, striving to be humble as a spiritual accomplishment, is a fool’s errand, just like trying to relax and be normal. 

Oscar Wilde once famously said, “It’s only shallow people who do not judge by appearances.”   As in so many of his witticisms, he has hit the nail on the head by turning a common moral nostrum on its head.   Shallow people indeed judge by outward appearances, and only by outward appearances.   But to not see outward appearances is also an indication of shallowness.  Deep people see beyond the outward, but do not completely ignore them, precisely because the outward is all that the shallow see. 

I attended a great concert last night—the China Philharmonic playing Mahler’s 90-minute and 5-movement Fifth Symphony (in C Minor).  It was stunning, and during it I realized that part of my joy in hearing it was that during parts I heard snippets and references to other music I knew.  I realized that these musicians (and the audience of which I was a member) were part of a great dialogue or musicians in the tradition of symphony orchestra going back three centuries.  It was glorious. 

Now I understand that often we hear in our current day the need for religious practice to be sincere, to be authentic, and to be unrehearsed.  Many people think that the use of written prayers is a sign of insincerity or “mechanical” or “hypocritical” religion. 

But I have to say that I have personally found great strength, comfort, and encouragement through that most fixed, traditional, and set habit of prayer, saying the Daily Office (Evening and Morning Prayer).  It was only after a few years of consistent effort to say, and then chant, the Office daily that I found myself liberated in my prayers.  I felt like I was part of a great dialogue, like that artistic one of symphony orchestras, of Christian prayer going back for centuries.   And one of the finest spiritual high points of my life so far was the chanted celebration of a Mass of the Resurrection, with all the trappings, in the unlikely setting of a Chinese military morgue autopsy room for a visiting American whose family had asked for a proper Anglican burial service. 

Don’t get me wrong.  I am not arguing here for the very things that Jesus condemns in this passage:  vanity and vainglorious use of titles, stageprops, and flash to create a false sense of closeness to God and superiority over our fellow human beings.  But I am arguing against using simplicity and “just plain folks” affectations to create the same vanity, vainglorious sense of closeness to God, and superiority over our fellows. 

The key is whether we focus on God rather than ourselves, and whether we constantly check our own self-regarding ego by service to our fellow creatures who stand equal to us before God. The key is being honest with ourselves about who we are. 

I want to close this reflection on authenticity by reading an excerpt from that old chestnut of a children’s book, The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams,

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

This coming week, may we so conduct our prayer life and our service to others that we lose sight of ourselves, and that, not deliberately at all. 

In the name of Christ, Amen.