Sermon at The Cathedral of St. Philip

“The Love Underneath the Woe ”

The Reverend Canon Elizabeth Knowlton
July 6, 2008
Proper 9– Year A
Matthew 11:16-30

When I was in fourth grade, my teacher was one I have never forgotten. Her name was Mrs. Gramlich, and frankly she scared me a bit. She had long hair tightly worn up and the large plastic glasses popular in the 70s. She ran a tight ship and would suffer no rule breaking or overly exuberant levity, even on the playground.

Also, fourth grade was a big year. There was a different level of expectation of us. Most memorable to me was the mastery of the dreaded multiplication tables. We had timed tests and I can still see the small half sheets of paper we had the drills on. If one couldn’t write down the answers in a certain matter of time, you were stuck on that number until you could. Of course we whizzed through the 1xs and the 2xs. But even now, I still get a little nervous if I have to calculate in my head anything involving 6s or 8s. Spreadsheets and calculators are a wonderful thing.

Somewhere along the way, perhaps because of Mrs. Gramlich’s seriousness, I decided she didn’t like me. I probably just didn’t like multiplication, but this bothered me enough that I must have shared it with my mother. Because the other searing memory I have of that year is seeing them both emerge from the classroom following my parent/teacher conference. I was sitting on the linoleum in the hallway and Mrs. Gramlich came right over to me. I was horrified. What on earth was she going to do? Was I going to have another timed test on the 8s right now? Had I been found out, that it was only dumb luck that I had finally passed that one?

No, instead she approached me with a genuine look of concern on her face. I can’t remember exactly what she said, but she was genuinely disturbed that I didn’t realize that she liked me and thought I was a good student. This was a revelation for me. She had been so serious about teaching us, that I had missed the genuine care and affection that existed underneath.
“But to what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another, ‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn.’” In other words, Jesus is telling the crowd that they are like kids on a playground that have missed the boat. They have missed the seriousness with which John the Baptist was inviting them to prepare through repentance, and have missed the celebration that should have come at the arrival of the Messiah. And they have done it when it should have been so obvious that any child would have seen what response was called for.

Well, it’s a little easy to experience this passage as a bit of a lecture. In fact, Jesus seems genuinely frustrated by people and cities that have witnessed miracles and did not turn or change their behavior. It is like a parent who “loses it” with their children and goes on a tirade around their entitlement or lack of appreciation. Jesus has really had it. The lectionary even leaves out the rest of the tirade. In between calling the crowd clueless children and his prayer there is a whole other section called the “Woes.”

“Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the deeds of power done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes. But I tell you, on the day of judgment it will be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon than for you.” And it goes on. You can look it up if you want to hear the rest. He might as well have said, Woe to you Atlanta! Woe to you Buckhead! If the power I have shown in your presence was shown even in New York City and Los Angeles, they would have changed their ways. Yet you in the bible belt, who I expected would receive me, have not heard my message.

If this was the end of story, we’d all be a little hard pressed to think of Jesus as meek and mild, ever again. In fact, when hearing this text, it is easy to feel judged, ashamed, stressed, and unloved. It is easy for me to imagine that the next step would be to recite the multiplication facts from memory. Why would Jesus be so harsh? Yes, we’ve messed up. Yes, we have not recognized the many Christ’s in our midst. If John the Baptist were to walk in here this morning, we’d probably call the cops. But we thought Jesus was supposed to love us anyway. What are we to make of this tirade?

The real danger if we spend too much time here, if it gives us a chance to re-live all the times we’ve felt judged or unworthy, we are likely to miss what is underneath the tirade. We will hear the tirade, and miss the passion. Jesus loves us so much, he can barely stand to see us fail to recognize him. He loves us so much that he is terrified we will miss our chance---that we will continue to operate in the old ways. That we will be so distracted and burdened that we will not recognize the many deeds of power done in our midst each day.

Now I am not justifying tirades as a means of getting someone’s attention. But it is certainly true that there are those moments for each of us, when we no longer find ourselves in restrained, thoughtful discourse. And it is almost always with people we care for most. We are not likely to have memories of screaming our version of the woes at a complete stranger in the grocery store. No, it was more likely with someone we love. Someone who we so desperately wanted to understand and to get it, that we found ourselves listing off the woes. Woe to you for your ingratitude. Woe to you for hurting me. Woe to you for failing to see all we have to be grateful for. Woe.

So maybe, Jesus is so longing for us to live in a different way, that he becomes desperate to get our attention. Maybe the woe is not a threat, but a genuine lament.

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

We love these words from scripture. And I wonder how many times that we hear them quoted, we remember what came first. That before we could really hear them, we needed to stop looking at the world the way we had been looking at it. And that Jesus so desired us to have the close relationship he already had with his Father, that he would go to extraordinary lengths to have us see that world was not how we thought it was.

The Messiah had come. John the Baptist had the right message. We really did have an invitation to new life. There is another way. A Way that is not burdened by rules or the Law. A Way that contains genuine rest. Not the rest that follows the exhaustion of merely surviving. But the deep rest our soul craves to sustain a different kind of journey. It may still be difficult, but it is supported by love of a God who longs for us not to struggle so mightily.

Several months after the parent-teacher conference with Mrs. Gramlich, I found myself in an embarrassing playground predicament. I managed to get myself lodged, upside-down, on the jungle gym. I tried to get down, but my fear took over and for the life of me, I was stuck. And terrified. Even though I was in fourth grade, I found myself very near to playground tears and I had no idea what to do. The kids around me were no help. They just went out of their way to point out the obvious. That I was stuck, upside down, and looking foolish. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Mrs. Gramlich making her way towards me. She sent the kids away and quietly talked me through. She was gentle and kind. She helped me to calm down long enough to figure my own way out. And I didn’t feel judged, I felt loved and secure as I skipped away from her.

Amen

Comments? Contact Beth Knowlton at: BKnowlton@stphilipscathedral.org

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