Epiphany 4 February 1, 2009

Deuteronomy 18:15-20                                                    

1 Corinthians 8:1-13                                                          

Mark 1:21-28

 

 [H]e taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.

— Mark 1:22b

 

A few days into our vacation these past two weeks, I began to experience withdrawal anxiety. We were having a great time, attending an interesting conference, visiting beautiful places and eating good food—too much good food. But I didn’t have my daily New York Times. What was happening in the world? And, more important, what was I to think of whatever was happening? Ever since I went to college I have read the Times daily, looking to it for the “authority” around which to shape my view of the world.

 

I turned to television: CNN and even Fox News. (You need to know that Anne and I have never owned a television set, except to watch movies. It’s a decision we made when we got married.) The little sound bytes, the talking heads shouting at one another, drove me nuts. A new President was being inaugurated, a huge economic stimulus package was being presented to Congress, executive orders were being issued right and left, the Israelis and Palestinians were waging a horrible war. What was I to think? Where was my authority?

 

We went to church last Sunday, one of the huge, historic Episcopal churches that grace the cities of coastal Georgia and South Carolina, going back to colonial times when Anglicanism was the established religion of most of the southern colonies. There were about 500 people in the congregation, filling every pew even in the balcony, the men in jackets and ties, the women in skirts. Of the 500, there were exactly six black faces. The sermon never mentioned the election five days earlier of America’s first African American President. Nor indeed did it cast any light on anything else going on in the world or, I would guess, in most of the congregants’ lives. It was one of those encapsulated sermons calculated to offend no one, but thereby enlightening no one either. The liturgy was the old “thee/thou” language, similarly detached from current reality. No authority for me at church that morning!

 

This question of authority is an important one, thrust at us with special urgency because of the dire problems we face as a nation and a world today. We have ducked those problems for years, telling ourselves—or being told by those purporting to have authority—that systems would automatically correct themselves or that problems didn’t exist. In the past few months we have thrown together rescue packages, been given reassurances—only to see things grow worse.

 

So this is an important gospel we have today. We are still at the very beginning of Jesus’s ministry, hard upon his baptism. He and his new disciples enter the synagogue in Capernaum, a town on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. It is the Sabbath. As Jewish males would have done, Jesus reads from the Scripture and proceeds to expound upon the meaning of the text. But unlike the “scribes”—the professional interpreters of Scripture, like the preacher at that church Anne and I attended last Sunday—what Jesus has to say is “astounding.” “For he taught them as one having authority.”

 

The Greek word for authority here, exousia, is significant. It means “from substance.” Ousia is the word translated “being” in the Nicene Creed, when we say that Jesus is “one in being with the Father.” So what is meant here is that Jesus does not just speak what others have spoken, what is written in the New York Times or proclaimed by Lou Dobbs or Bill O’Reilly—or indeed by Timothy Geithner or Barak Obama. There is more to this authority. Nor does it consist only of words. Jesus’s teaching is followed up immediately by his first “mighty act”: the casting out of the “unclean spirit” that has possessed a man in the synagogue. Here is an authority that proves itself in action.

 

Now having posed the question of authority, I could simply wrap this sermon up by saying that Jesus is the true authority and calling upon all of you to give yourselves to him. This was what the sermon last week basically did, though the nice folks in jackets and skirts were too reserved for an altar call. But Jesus does not just stand there for us as an object to worship, a proposition to assent to. His authority is not that kind of authority. Too much religion treats him that way, leaving people empty or else requiring them to become religious fanatics, bent on “converting” everyone in their path. So what do we mean by saying that Jesus Christ is the ultimate authority in our lives?

 

Now it happens that one of the speakers at the conference Anne and I attended was Marcus Borg—a man with whom I do not always agree, but who always has challenging and interesting things to say. Borg was riffing off his most recent book, on the Apostle Paul. And one of the things he talked about was atonement, the doctrine of salvation associated with Paul, that Jesus Christ died for our sins and that we are saved by grace through faith in him.

 

Now the usual way atonement is taken, known as substitutionary atonement, goes back to St. Anselm, a twelfth century Archbishop of Canterbury. In substitutionary atonement, Jesus has to be sacrificed for our sins because only he is pure and unblemished. We cannot atone for our sins because we ourselves are sinful. Substitutionary atonement has had a long history in both Catholicism and Protestantism, but it results in a kind of “out there” religion.

 

What St. Paul preached was, as Marcus Borg showed us, something better called participatory atonement. Jesus draws us into his death and resurrection, into his very life, so that we participate with him in the rhythm of dying to old slaveries and rising to new freedom and wholeness. Participatory atonement is embodied sacramentally in Baptism and the Eucharist. It is a lifelong process, a journey into Christ.

 

Reflecting on this understanding of atonement has led me to what I think is a better understanding of what authority means for us Christians. Of course the ultimate authority for us is Jesus Christ, because he embodies in human life the ousia or substance of God. But we discover this authority only as we participate in it, as we yield ourselves to it over a lifetime of faithful struggling with discipleship. The authority of Jesus is not to be captured in a sound byte; it cannot be appropriated in any simple or conclusive way to resolve current issues, whether of public life or private morality. We do not own it; we can only hesitantly exert it.

 

I think this understanding of the authority of Jesus has much to say to us on this annual meeting Sunday, as we look ahead to another year together as the family of Holy Cross. In these difficult times we have no easy answers, no partisan solutions, no quick success. We are called in the Cross of Christ to a participation in a lifelong process of dying and rising, growing in the knowledge and love of God and of one another. We come together week by week to listen, to learn, to pray, to share the Sacraments, to offer support and love to one another. We extend our hospitality to the community, offering what service we can to those in need. These may seem small things, but where would we—where would the world—be without them?

 

As your Vicar, and on your behalf, I want to thank those who give so faithfully and generously of themselves to make this ministry possible. Those who give of their time, their talents and their money; those who give by their presence and participation week by week—we are here always for each other, not for ourselves. The life of Christ is here or it is nowhere. Let us give thanks for it, now and always.