Scandal is a biblical word. It means stumbling block. And in general it’s a very bad thing. Jesus himself condemned those who cause little ones to stumble. He said they’d be better off if millstones were tied ‘round their necks, and they were drowned in the sea. Given this stern warning, we should beware of the ways we cause scandal to others.
But today, we hear about a different kind of scandal. In the Bible, scandal can be a GOOD thing. Paul uses the word to talk about the scandal of the cross. As Nietzsche once remarked, we have become so accustomed to Jesus hanging on the cross that we no longer understand how horrifying that spectacle was to an ancient audience, whether Roman, Greek, or Jewish. Paul himself persecuted the Church, because he was sure the Messiah couldn’t be a crucified man.
But after his conversion Paul revels in the scandalous and shameful death of Christ, because it points us to a complete reversal of the world’s values. The crucified slave is the risen Lord, who lives and reigns at God’s right hand. Paul rejoices in the cross, upon which Scripture pronounces a curse, because by it God has brought life and salvation to the world.
On the cross, God is doing what God has always done: exalting the lowly and putting the proud to shame. Far be it from me, says Paul, to boast in anything except the cross of Christ. The cross causes us to stumble, because, through it, God puts into question our deadly self-righteousness. On the cross, God embraces our vicitms, breaks down the walls we set up, and creates the New Community of the Gospel. By the cross, God calls us into new forms of group solidarity, which do not depend on victimizing others. At the foot of the cross, we are united only by God’s abundant grace and overflowing love. At the end of the day, that’s what the Good News is all about.
This good kind of scandal, which Paul sees so clearly in the death of Jesus, is rooted in his life as well. Jesus lives this scandal out in the flesh. Throughout his ministry, Jesus breaks bread with sinners. He invites those whom others exclude to partake at his table. And, in today’s Gospel, this is why the scribes and Pharisees grumble. Listen to what they say: “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” When the scribes and Pharisees see Jesus break bread with all sorts and conditions of people, they are scandalized.
Jesus responds with three parables, two of which we hear today. He tells three stories: about a shepherd and a sheep. About a woman and a coin. And about a father and a son. In each case, God has lost something, or someone, who is precious to God, and God longs to have that person back. The last story, of course, is the parable of the prodigal son, which we heard in Lent. The point of all three stories, brought home by the feast which the father prepares for the prodigal, is that God rejoices to find us whenever we are lost. God runs out to meet us and welcomes us with open arms. “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God,” says Jesus, “over one sinner who repents.” His ministry is all about seeking and saving the lost.
We do Jesus a disservice, if we think about the lost, as some Christians do, as unsaved millions condemned to eternal fire. This isn’t what he meant. Besides, if hell has any meaning at all, it’s not an eternal torture chamber. What a blasphemous thought, so unworthy of God, who is love without remainder! If hell means anything at all, it means that God respects human freedom and loves us too much to force us to respond to grace. Instead, all the while, God relentlessly seeks us out and invites us to turn our lives around—like a shepherd looking for a lost sheep, like a woman looking for a lost coin, like a parent looking for a lost child.
When Jesus comes to seek and save the lost, he is concerned not so much with the afterlife as with those who suffer hell on earth. He is especially concerned, as all God’s prophets are, with widows and orphans, with the landless poor, with those who have none but God to help. Jesus has come to bring all people a message of joy. God has come near, and God has forgiven us. Nothing but our own choice separates us from God and our neighbor. We have been set free to love. This is the message Jesus brings. And he is willing to put his money where his mouth is. He is willing to eat with ALL people, as a sign that God’s Kingdom has in fact come near, even if this causes a scandal.
Helder Camara, the great Brazilian bishop, once spoke of the ministry of a bishop, in words that were taken up by our former Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold as a theme for his time in office. Here’s what he said:
The bishop belongs to all. Let no one be scandalized if I frequent those who are considered unworthy or sinful. Who is not a sinner? Let no one be alarmed if I am seen with compromised and dangerous people on the left or the right. Let no one bind me to a group. My door, my heart, must be open to everyone—absolutely everyone.These words should hold not just for bishops but for any Christian. Would that they were more true in our lives! Because we have been baptized into the death and resurrection of Jesus. Because we partake in his body and blood, we no longer belong to ourselves, but instead belong to Jesus, who died and rose for us.
Like the Lord before us, we must open our hearts and our table to everyone—absolutely everyone. This is the meaning of the baptismal vow, which we have been using as an abbreviated mission statement for the parish. In our worship, in our fellowship, in our service. Wherever we are and whatever we do, we have promised to seek and serve Christ in all persons. Because in these persons, we are serving Jesus himself.
In the end, neither our hearts nor our table belongs to us—but to the living Christ. We are dreadfully mistaken if we think that we are in a position to grumble at the guest list. The house and the table belong to God. And we are sinners, who’ve been welcomed only by God’s scandalous mercy, goodness, and love.
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