What If God Still Bears A Grudge?

Last week, if you were paying attention to the reading assigned from the Old Testament, you would have noticed a question; it’s a question that has a very high value on the MIBS: the Mullen Interrogative Biblical Scale.  The question comes from the Book of Genesis, the story of Joseph and his brothers, the sons of Jacob (well, most of them are half-brothers, really).  Recall that Joseph’s brothers had been jealous of him, since he was sort of obviously their father’s favorite child, and he also made the unfortunate choice of sharing with his brothers his own dreams in which they (his brothers) are represented by sheaves of wheat that bow down to him, and in another, as stars that bow to him, acknowledging his superiority.  Oh Joseph, thy name is sibling rivalry!  Unsurprisingly, his brothers think Joseph is a brat, and they considered killing him, as nearly every sibling does when they realize their brother is a brat - ask my sister.  But instead, they throw him into a cistern, then sell him into slavery, bringing back the report to their father that he was killed by a wild animal.

Joseph spent the next thirteen years or so (from his late teens till he was thirty) either in slavery or in prison, where he continued to interpret dreams.  Eventually, it was this gift of interpreting dreams that brought him to the attention of Pharaoh, who asked Joseph to interpret his dreams, which Joseph did, resulting in the prediction of seven years of abundance in Egypt and the surrounding region, followed by seven years of famine.  Pharaoh was so impressed with Jospeh that he elevated him to be the Vizier of Egypt, the most senior position in his household and government.  During the seven years of abundance, Joseph stockpiled grain.  And when the famine came, as he had predicted, everyone had to come to Joseph to buy grain.  And who should show up looking for grain in Egypt, because there is none to be found elsewhere, other than Jospeh’s brothers, whom he recognizes.  But they do not recognize him.  And Joseph does not reveal his identity to his brothers.

Much back-ing and forth-ing ensues, as Joseph manipulates the situation so that his brothers return home and bring their youngest sibling back with them.  For, this brother, Benjamin, was the only other son of Jacob’s who was Joseph’s full-brother.  In due course, Benjamin is brought to Egypt, Joseph reveals himself to his brothers, there is a group hug, and their father Jacob is sent for.  All these years, Jacob had believed that his favorite son was dead, devoured by a wild beast.  But now, this son of his who once he thought was dead, is alive to him again!

So, there is joyful celebration when the entire family is reunited, and everyone lives happily ever after.  Until Jacob dies.  And when he dies, Jacob’s sons, Joseph’s half-brothers, ask the question that scores so highly on the MIBS.  Cognizant that their brother’s deep concern had always been for the well-being of their father and their youngest brother Benjamin, and aware of the years in slavery and prison that Joseph had endured - what should have been the best years of his life - Joseph’s brothers asked one another, somewhat poignantly, “What if Joseph still bears a grudge against us and pays us back in full for all the wrong that we did to him?”  This is a great question!  What if Joseph still bears a grudge?

And this great question occasions a spectacular answer from Joseph, as he considers all that he suffered as a result of the wickedness of his brothers, but also, the remarkable path that had made him Vizier of Egypt, and resulted in the wide distribution of grain during a time of famine and dearth.  He looks at his brothers and he says to them (as the KJV puts it) “…as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good.”  This is a stunning moment, and a stunning reply to that worrisome question, “What if Jospeh still bears a grudge against us?”  You intended it for evil, but God intended it for good.

I bring all this up from last week, when we were reminded, from different quarters of the scriptures, of the importance of forgiveness in God’s economy and in God’s heart, because today the Hebrew Scriptures offer us not just another question, but another perspective on these matters, in the story of Jonah.

The text today does not supply us with a question that ranks quite so highly on the MIBS, but it will have to do, and it’s not so bad a question to consider.  This question comes after Jonah, who has tried hard to escape God, as you might recall, is sulking or pouting, or both after the people of Nineveh have actually heeded his call to repent, which he never really expected them to do.  Recall that Jonah had been called by God to preach repentance to the people of Nineveh because of their wickedness.  But Jonah wants nothing to do with this mission, so he high-tails it in the other direction, and sets sail on a ship for Tarshish.  A dreadful storm arises that imperils all on board, and the sailors look for someone to blame.  All signs point to Jonah.  And so, the sailors eventually throw him overboard, whence he is swelled by a large fish, often thought to be a whale, and Jonah lives in the belly of the whale for three days and three nights before the whale eventually belches Jonah up onto the shore.

Beaten, Jonah gives in and goes to Nineveh to preach repentance.  And before he can even get across town, the people of Nineveh, great and small, all put on sackcloth and repent of their wickedness, even the king.  The text we heard today tells us that “when God saw what the people of Nineveh did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it.”

You would think that Jonah would be pleased that he had been so successful, so fruitful in his ministry; that the people had heeded his warning and that God had spared them.  But the story goes on to tell us how Jonah whines to God, when the people repent: “…this was very displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry.  He prayed to the Lord and said, ‘O Lord! Is not this what I said while I was still in my own country?  That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing.’”

Yes, Jonah is displeased and angry.  And God asks Jonah the question for the MIBS, “Is it right for you to be angry?”

I suppose there are a number of ways to interpret what Jonah is angry about, but let me tell you what I think.  I think Jonah is angry precisely because God refuses to bear a grudge against the people of Nineveh, and God refuses to pay them back in full for the wrong they did to him.  Yes, I think that Jonah is angry because God refuses to hold a grudge.

Loopy as this sounds, there is, of course, a well-developed strand of Christian thought built on the premise that God holds grudges.  It’s not a strand of thought that I have spent too much time with, and I don’t want to rehearse it for you here, but this possibility that some Christians have been taught to believe that God bears a mean grudge against us humans, his creation, and intends to pay us back in full for the wrongs that we have done, might sound familiar to you.

But it probably doesn’t sound much like love, does it?

All along, Jonah, who has a deep cynical streak in him, has known that he would end up being angry with God.  And we heard him tell us exactly why: “I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing.”  God refuses to bear a grudge.

There was another question that occurred in the parable of the laborers in the UAW… I mean, the parable of the laborers in the vineyard.  We haven’t got time for me to go through the story of Joseph and his brothers, the story of Jonah, and the parable of the laborers in the vineyard in detail.  And I’m not sure that it much matters if I go through that entire parable; the question should be enough.  It’s a question that I think gets a pretty high score on the MIBS, and this is it: “are you envious because I am generous?”

Now, it may be that the parable doesn’t quite line up labor and management the way we would like it, but it is clear that the owner of the vineyard wants everyone to be at work in the vineyard, and wants everyone to get paid generously.  Let me say that again, I think the owner of the vineyard wants everyone to get paid generously.  Everyone.  Paid.  Generously.

And the question in the face of generosity to those to whom generosity might not otherwise be given is this: are you envious because I am generous?

How is God generous?  Ask Jonah, for he knows: I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing.

Or ask God himself, who provides yet another question (this one rhetorical) that scores high on the MIBS: “should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left?”

What if God still holds a grudge against us for all the wickedness we have done…in our great cities, where there is such confusion… in our nations, where there is such discord… in so many places where we do not even know our right hand from our left?

Is it right for you to be angry that God does not hold a grudge?

Is it right to resent God because he is a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing?

Or are you envious because he is generous to those to whom no one else is inclined to be generous, even those who came late to the vineyard?

Is it right for you to be angry because God refuses to bear a grudge?

Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
24 September 2023
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia

Jonah leaving the whale, by Claude Joseph Vernet

From the Heart

Parables convey complicated ideas in story form.  And then preachers ruin them by trying to say something rational in response.  But you’ve just heard what will happen to you if you don’t forgive a preacher for trying.  Forgive from the heart. 

After all, this parable could do with a dose of rationality.  It’s not that hard to understand that Jesus is telling his disciples, especially poor Peter, whom he has recently called “Satan.” He’s telling them to forgive freely and repeatedly, without counting how many times.  And we know that this is what Jesus himself does.  We know that Jesus dies on the cross to forgive us, to embody God’s limitless forgiveness.  

But it’s hard to understand this parable.  Let’s start with the level of debt.  Ten thousand talents is apparently several billion dollars in today’s money.  Maybe this biblical hyperbole—maybe this is like when we say “a ton of money”--but clearly we are talking about more money than most people can even imagine.

How could the first slave possibly have acquired a debt of that size?  How could he even have asked his master to be patient, as if he would be able to pay the debt back at some point if he just had a bit more time?  This is the kind of debt acquired only by those who are dangerously out of touch with reality.  You can only get into that kind of debt by living a life of relentless, callous, neglect and denial.  His wife and children are on the verge of being sold.  He is a self-afflicting Job, throwing away the people and the possessions in his life rather than letting the devil take them. 

In fact, I think we have to stop thinking about this debt as a number and start thinking about it as soul-killing evil.  You will have done harm to innumerable people by the time your debts start to get that large.  “Please be patient with me and I’ll pay you back” can only be a sign that this debtor has not learned anything about his behavior.  The only imaginable answer to a debt like this is to admit that you can never pay.  Patience is a ludicrous request, a sign of chronic bad faith.

Called upon to forgive at that level, many of us would only be able to respond with something like shock and resignation.  Most people who manipulate others on the level of this servant are surrounded by people who have become numb to the outrage.  Understandably most of us faced by this kind of treachery are simply unable to take it in.  We may be angry but we are mostly numb.  If you look around the world, whatever the treachery, and you can take your pick, a lot of people are angry but many more are resigned and numb.

Numb forgiveness, then, is what most of us would offer under these circumstances if we decided to forgive the debt.  The kind of thing we do when we grind our teeth in silence at one more misstep from someone we never trusted in the first place.  “There you go again,” we think.  Most of the time this isn’t forgiveness at all.  It’s simply an absence of hope.  It’s actually a form of collusion.  We may be keeping score but we know on some level that we will never demand an accounting.  Perhaps because to tell the whole story would be to expose our own passivity.  Yes there are circumstances in which our human agency has been damaged and taken from us.  I’m not speaking of that or dismissing that terrible form of suffering.  I’m talking about the more ordinary times when we have the power to speak up and we just don’t. 

And that is why, even though the picture of God in this parable is frightening to me, I’ve begun to regard this master as a figure for true redemption and true moral maturity.

Because what we see from the master in this parable turns out not to be that collusion kind of forgiveness.  This isn’t a shrug of the shoulders or a roll of the eyes.  It turns out that when this master forgives his slave an enormous debt, he expects that forgiveness to matter.  Despite the clear evidence of moral catastrophe and lethal levels of self-delusion on the part of the slave, this master actually has hope that the slave will change.  This master is holding out for actual resurrection.  He doesn’t seem to care about the money that much but he does demand a reckoning for the forgiveness.  Because forgiveness matters.

No, the debt can’t be repaid, but the heart of this servant could begin to be touched if it is functioning at all.  He may never fully recognize what he has done, but he might come back to life a little bit, spiritually and morally, when he realizes that he has been living a fantasy life built on lies at the expense of other people.  He could start to thaw out.

Even if he were only going through the motions at first, he could show signs of life by giving other people a break.  He could start to see himself in other people, even if it’s only in the abstract.  He could begin to see the restoration of connection between himself and other people, forgiving them for his own sake if not out of kindness or generosity.  He could identify as a debtor.  “Hi,” he could say at a first-century twelve-step meeting, “My name is Doulos and I am a debtor.”  It doesn’t change everything, but it’s a start.  It’s a nudge toward life.  And in the context of what this slave must have done, it’s an absolute miracle, even if there are many more missteps to come in the future.  No the debtor can’t repay the debt but he can begin to live like a human being with a soul.  That’s everything God wants for us.

The master, by requiring actual change, holds on to the debtor’s lost humanity.  He holds on to the debtor’s soul, even when the debtor won’t.   

I’d note, too, that the debtor is surrounded by a community that holds on to his soul.  These people expect justice.  They report him when he does evil again.  When his hand is around that poor fellow’s throat who owes him money, there are people watching, and they care about what happens.  They aren’t numb.  They take action.  They aren’t resigned to letting evil run rampant in their midst.  They don’t surrender themselves or anyone else, not even the perpetrator, to endless ruthlessness.  And neither should we, if that’s what we see happening around us. 

Will God torture people who haven’t forgiven from the heart?  I don’t exactly think that’s what this story is about.  I think that’s a humanization of God that works for the truth Jesus is sharing in this story.  I think God is a character here who shares a limited range of attributes with our creator.  I think Jesus knows how to tell a story that conveys some of the truth about the one he calls Father, but not all of it in this one parable.  I think when he tells us this story, Jesus is counting on us to understand that the only reason he is even trying to teach us is because God forgives us, endlessly.

But let’s not be lulled by who Jesus is—the embodiment of endless forgiveness—to the point that we squander the wisdom he gives us.  Let’s not squander forgiveness.  Don’t waste resurrection.  Don’t be cynical about your own soul.  Don’t be cynical about the soul you are searching for in the eyes of other people.  Demand an accounting.  Hold on to your soul and the souls of the people you meet.  

We are numb to so many things these days.  Resigned to so much outrage.  

And on a private level many of us are, quietly, out of control on a scale much smaller than this slave.  We haven’t done as much absolute harm but I for one do recognize myself in that man’s relentless pursuit of his own will.  When we stop to notice what we have done to others and to ourselves, we mollify our consciences by imagining that with a little patience it will all get better.  But it mostly doesn’t.  And if we tell ourselves it’s not that big a deal, why can’t we give it up?

Still God forgives us, freely, joyfully, and actively.  God holds on to our souls for us, and we can have them back if we want them.  God forgives us so joyfully, so actively, that to continue as we do, overlooking that limitless source of love and life, can only be called a form of self-torture.  

We don’t need God to torture us for the things we have done and the things we are doing.  All we need, to be tortured, is to capitulate with the resignation all around us.  The torture comes from losing our souls, again and again, and knowing that we don’t care enough to demand change.  

All we need, for a lifetime of torture, is to know that we are squandering the new life God has given us freely.  We don’t have to do anything big.  We just shrug our shoulders.

Preached by Mother Nora Johnson
September 17, 2023
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia

Nothing To See Here

Here is a disquieting piece of information: in the past twenty-five years, about 40 million people in America have stopped going to church.  A lot could be said about that statistic.  And I have wondered about the wisdom of sharing it with you in this way, at this time.  After all, it’s my job to proclaim good news from this pulpit; and the statistic I’ve shared would not seem to provide a premise for good news.  That twenty-five years pretty closely tracks the duration of my ordained ministry.  But I’m not going to take responsibility for all 40 million people who have stopped going to church in that time.  Researchers who know a lot more than I do can say a great deal about what’s behind that number.  They have spent a lot of time poring over surveys and data.  In books and articles that data and analysis is available for review: you can see it for yourself.

The realization that comes with this information would seem to prompt two questions:  “What happened?”  And, “What are we going to do?”  I’m sure there is merit in asking those questions.  But these are not the questions I want to address this morning.  I want to simply stop and ask, “What are we doing here?”

I suppose that many people may have gone to church looking for something.  But when they got there, they did not find what they were looking for.  This is not their fault.  They thought, perhaps, that there was something to be seen, certainly something to be found, when they went looking.  And when they got to church, even if they spent a long time looking, they may have discovered something that we are not often forthcoming about in the church.  They may have discovered that there is nothing to see here.  Of course, there is plenty to look at here.  And it is perfectly alright to come to church and look at the windows, and the carvings, and the vestments, etc.  There’s all of that.  But if that’s what you come to church for, eventually you will realize that all of these things you have been looking at are only glass, and stone, and wood, and fabric.  If you came to church looking for something… really looking for something meaningful… then these objects might leave you feeling unrewarded, and might lead you to believe that when all is said and done here, there’s nothing much to see here.

And you’d be right.  Because, much as it would seem that this church was built to be a place with a lot to look at, actually this church was built to be a place where there is nothing to see, because the most important things that ever happen here are entirely invisible.  God calls his people to come together precisely because so much of God’s most important work is invisible.  But these days, people have lost a tolerance for the invisible.  And too often the church has not helped them, even though churches like this were built precisely to be lenses through which people could stare at the invisible; not only because of all the imagery here, but because this is the place where we come to bear witness to the invisible work of God.

I try to explain this situation to couples when I am preparing them for marriage.  I tell them that we come to church for a wedding so that we can bear witness together to the work that God has been doing in their lives that no one can see, not even them.  So we fuss over their hands.  I tell them to take each other by the right hand as they exchange their vows.  And at the climax of the ceremony, when I declare that they are married, I bind the two right hands of the couple together with my stole - not because doing so accomplishes anything, but because it intensifies the attention being paid to the sacramental symbol of the marriage.  It draws attention to the sign of marriage that we can see (the joining of hands) which is only a sign of the real work that God is doing invisibly in the secret and silent space between their two hands, between their two lives: joining them together and making them one.  This is sacramental life.

But marriage is a minor sacrament.  And this church was put here for the principal sacraments, the dominical sacraments: the sacraments that were given to us by Our Lord.  Those two sacraments are gifts that help us bear witness to the invisible work that God is doing in our lives all the time.  Which is to say that there is nothing to see here… except those signs which help us to perceive what we cannot see, and will never be able to see: the awesome power of God.

Water is, of course, the sign and symbol of the sacrament of Holy Baptism.  In this sacrament, we witness ceremonially as someone is splashed, or sprinkled, or dunked, or bathed in water, which we can see, showing us that God is incorporating that person into the Body of Christ, welcoming that person into the holiness of his own death so that he can share with them the glory of his resurrection life, washing away whatever needs washing, and leaving the baptisan refreshed and new!

Likewise, bread and wine are the signs and symbols, (the accidents) of the sacrament of the Holy Eucharist, the Lord’s Supper, the Mass, Holy Communion.  In this sacrament, we eat and drink ritually, to participate in the life and death and love of Jesus, who gave his Body and his Blood for the salvation of the world, in an act of divine grace the calculus of which is quite beyond us.

It’s true that at Saint Mark’s we maximize the ritual of the Mass, so that there is a lot going on: vestments, and sounds, and smoke, and gesture, and music.  You would almost think there is something to see here.  But the truth is that there is nothing to see here.  The truth is that the church has been given something to look at precisely because there is nothing to see.  God’s work in giving us the blessings of Jesus, the life of Jesus, then hope of Jesus is entirely invisible to us.

And the possibility that God’s work is invisible to us, that there is nothing to see here, has made religion intolerable for a lot of people.  Because as I look at the world, I suspect that part of what has been happening over the past twenty-five years and more is that we have been trying to reduce and maybe even eliminate the category of things that are invisible to us.  We want to discover.  We want to solve.  We want to prove.  We want to know.  We want to see.   We do not like invisibility these days.  Transparency is good (and for many of the right reasons); but we are not sure that very much should remain in the realm of the invisible.  For one thing, we have little-to-no control over the invisible.  So, that’s enough to put us off.  Mostly we regard it as a triumph of our excellence, our skill, and ingenuity that there is so little that is left that’s invisible to us.  We have looked into the vast expanse of interstellar space.  We have peered at the bottom of the oceans.  We can see through things and around things and into things.  We can magnify the tiniest specks of anything.  Seeing all of this is good!

But, my friends, you wonderful, faithful people who still come to church, it is my job to remind you that there is nothing to see here.  If you come to a church like Saint Mark’s, you are coming to a place and to a community that is called here in order to spend time with things we cannot see.  We are here precisely because God’s work, like God’s being, is mostly invisible, and I think that God intends to keep it that way.

Here is another piece of information.  During the period of time from 1870 to 1895, in the first fifty years of this parish’s existence, covering most of the time when my hero, Dr. Eugene Augustus Hoffman, was the fourth rector here, church attendance in America more than doubled.  It was “the largest religious shift in church attendance in the US” up till now.*  The shift taking place right now is bigger - and in the opposite direction.  Hoffman, who was also the richest clergyman in America**, had it kind of easy.

We will have to take it on faith that it is good news that I am not the richest clergyman in America.  But there is more good news to be found if we can accept the proposition that there is nothing to see here.  Whatever you come to see, eventually it will disappoint you; either because you will finally realize that it is only made of glass, or stone, or wood, or fabric, or because it is made of nothing but the frailty of human flesh, which is something that Hoffman and I do have in common.  Even the church may disappoint you, wherever and whenever there is something to see.  Because whatever or whomever you might see in the church is prone to sin and failure, just like everyone else.

But you have been called here precisely because there is nothing to see here.  There is only the awesome and immediate, and wonderful Presence of the Lord of Life, who promised to his own followers that “where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”  Or as the King James Version puts it, “there I am in the midst of them.”

This place is a gloriously multicolored, smoky, jingling, singing, organ-playing lens through which to gaze at the invisible, the constant, the eternal Presence of the living God, which, of course, we cannot see, and never will see.  This church occupies a place on a spectrum of something between 40 million people, on the one hand, and two or three people on the other hand.  Isn’t it good that Jesus didn’t leave his church with the instructions that wherever 40 million people are gathered in my name, I will be among them?  All it takes is two or three to be assured of the marvelous goodness of the Presence of the Lord.  All it takes is two or three of us to gather here and remember that there is nothing here to see.

When we stop looking for whatever it is we were looking for, then maybe we will become aware of the Presence of the Son of God in this place; when we simply open ourselves to whatever it is that God wants us to be open to, in the company of a few others.  And when word gets out that there is nothing to see here, then it may be that many others will come to join us so that they can not see it too!  And the more people who are freed from the need to see something, the more of us may be open to the real work of God which is nearly always invisible; and which requires a company of saints who have trained themselves in the ways to look through the lens of glass, and carvings and fabric, and song, and everything else, and to be attentive to the simple signs of water, and bread, and wine, that make it clear to us that One we cannot see is here with us, in our very midst.  And there is nothing better in the world worth not seeing!

Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
10 September 2023
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia

*”The Great Dechurching” Jim Davis and Michael Graham, Zondervan Reflective, 2023

**according to his obituary in the NY Times