Isaiah 28:14-22
Hebrews 12:18-19,22-29
Luke 13:22-30
Psalm 46
And Jesus isn't nice either. Oh, we want him to be sweet and loving. We want to think all the judgment and fire and rage belongs to the Old Testament God And that the New Testament God is different. But the Bible is not like that. Jesus IS the Father's Son – both loving and judging. You know "like Father, like Son"? That's part of what it means when Jesus says things like, "The Father is in me and I am in the Father." God is not nice.
And you know what else? Jesus didn't grow up in Minnesota. There's no "Minnesota nice" here. Jesus didn't show heifers with the FFA or attend proper church pot lucks. He grew up in a part of the world where blood still runs in the streets. A world where passion runs high, where some people hang on crosses and others tie explosives packed with nails to their own bodies. A world where curses and blessings are life and death matters.
Jesus cursed innocent fruit trees. He wrecked other people's property at the temple. He disregarded the rules. And today he tells us that the Lord will say to us, to those who ate and drank with him, "I do not know where you come from: go away from me, all you evildoers!"
This is not nice at all. I'd like to go out and find a different God, thank you very much.
I didn't come to church today to be called an "evildoer." I came hoping to be reminded that God loves me. That's what the Episcopal Church is so good at: setting aside the judgment and sin stuff and reminding us that we are God's beloved children. We know God loves us. We know God wants us to be part of the kingdom. Some of us even try pretty hard to get through that narrow door. And then the not-so-nice Lord of the Kingdom says, "Get lost. I don't know where you're coming from."
I consider reminding this forgetful Lord that I come from right here: I am a cradle Episcopalian. I show up for church almost every Sunday. I've served on vestries and taught Sunday school. I even tithe. How can you not know where I'm coming from?
If that's not a narrow enough door for you.... well, then I've been chaplain at church camps and on lock-up mental wards. I've even I've led youth groups. I think I'm striving and squeezing pretty hard here, whaddaya mean the door's gonna be slammed in my face?
And then I hear that other folks from all around are gonna get in easy. It seems the Lord of the Kingdom knows where they come from: from east and west, from north and south – from anywhere but here at the door.
If that's the way to get in, I should just forget all this striving to get in. Seems like if I go off in almost any direction, the Lord will call me in before all those who are working so hard to get in.
Oh, Jeez! Could that be what you meant? A sneaky trick .... the kind of thing a not-so-nice God might think of. It's like the trick the not-so-nice counselors played on us at church camp: We'd all rush to be first in line at the mess hall. The lines were long and we were hungry. And the counselors came along and said, "The first shall be last and the last shall be first." And made us all turn around backwards, loop around, and follow that last camper through the door. They turned our world around. It was just the kind of thing that Jesus seems to delight in doing. Not nice at all.
So I look again at the story in today's gospel.. You know the word we hear in English as "strive" is a translation for the Greek "agonizomai" – it's a strong word; we get our word "agonize" from it; it suggests a struggle, the agony of an athlete. And the Greek word also means continuous and continuing struggle: "Keep on striving ..." over and over again.
I read the words aloud again, trying to imagine how they sounded to those first listeners. We, of course, don't know how Jesus said those words. We are only guessing how Luke, who wrote them, meant for them to be read. And, of course, we have many centuries of interpretation suggesting that Jesus meant "Agonizomai - Strive" as a command, something we should do: "You there, STRIVE, work hard to enter that door!"
But what if Jesus' response to that unnamed seeker of salvation is read like this: "(Oh, you go right ahead.) You just keep right on struggling to get through that narrow door; (It's not gonna do you any good because) lots of you are gonna try, but you won't be able to."
If we put all our energy into seeking salvation, if we just keep focused on the church and its rules about getting into the kingdom, then we're not going anywhere. If we keep striving and agonizing just to keep our church going, or just to save ourselves, that kind of survival attitude is deadly; it's like the ‘covenant with death' that Isaiah writes about. If we focus only on saving ourselves, then we're not going anywhere.... So, how will the Lord know where we've come from if we haven't been anywhere?
After all, Jesus, we're told here, is to be found outside in the streets teaching. Jesus, we're told elsewhere, says that we serve him in the sick and the naked and those in prison. Maybe if we want Jesus to know where we're coming from, we ought get out of the church, stop worrying about ourselves, and strive to get out into the world – east and west, north and south – because that's were we'll find Jesus.
In going out to those who are farthest from the narrow door of the church, we might indeed find ourselves suddenly first in line for the kingdom.
God is not nice. Jesus comes along and upsets all our neat little patterns. But did you notice? After God's raging fire burns away our prideful striving to save ourselves, it sounds like sooner or later everyone gets into the kingdom.
So let us come now, from east and west, from north and south, and eat. The kingdom of God is at hand.