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...And once again he bent down and wrote on the ground...When they heard it, they went away, one by one, beginning with the elders, and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him... Jesus straightened up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? (v. 8-10)
Matthew 23:23
...You have neglected the weightier matters of the law—justice and mercy and faithfulness. It now behooves you to do those and not leave them aside.
Around mid-March, the winds start to change in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of California. Our tiny planet makes a yearly trek around the sun and in March, as the light changes, the winds shift and start blowing across the ocean in a new pattern. As they push the surface water that ripples at the top of the bay to the south, the cool water begins to upwell from the deep. This happens all over the earth, but off the coast of Monterrey there are run these deep craggy canyons cutting across the ocean floor filled with lush, rippling forests of kelp. As the surface water is pushed south, cool plumes of water gently reach up towards the atmosphere flooding the ocean surface with nutrients and minerals. It doesn’t take long for tiny ocean creatures flood the waters and feed. All the ocean animals, fish, birds, mammals rush to eat and replenish in the life-giving waters that rise up from the deep, deep ocean. There at the surface of the ocean, life gathers and is visible. It's bounty fed by the deep, rich plumes of water.
This is true of us too.
Our daily life happens on the surface—in our choices, our conversations, our actions, the way we take care of our relationships. But this surface of our lives is always being fed by something: Sometimes things are going well and we are bursting with—love and kindness for everyone. Sometimes, they are not. And our lives are fed by hurry or resentment or shame or anger, and that shows up too. But there are weightier things that also feed the surface and today, Jesus is calling us to tap into them.
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We have a sharp story from our gospel today. Two of them, in fact.
We have a sharp story from our gospel today. Two of them, in fact.
Before I get into it: we are close to Holy Week and I want to clearly say that stories and texts like the ones we hear today have been used by Christians for generations, millennia to tear down Judaism in order to prop up Christianity. This is sinful. Jesus is a Jewish teacher who has strong disagreements with other Jewish teachers, all within the tradition. In what we hear today, he has a critique of religious hypocrisy and hardness—the kinds that can calcify into any religious tradition—including our own. Heaven knows I can work on my own rigidity and hypocrisy in my own life.
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In today’s story, a woman is brought alone into a circle of men and accused.
The crowds gathers. An energy ripples across the surface and people want a verdict. Rules were broken. The religious leaders (picture someone like me) call out her sin and ask Jesus if she should be stoned. These leaders have already been ruffled and flustered by Jesus’ teaching and actions for some time now. Tension pulses at the surface. They want a punishment, a decision. I think they also want a trap for Jesus.
Jesus doesn’t answer quickly. He pauses quietly first, drawing or writing something in the dirt as the moment waits. Something deeper than the accusation begins to upwell. Jesus is the very presence, essence and life of God and mercy is already rising up in him. He finally answers their question, and the surface water begins to change. essentially, he holds up a mirror: which of you is without sin?, he asks. They look. And pause.
Maybe it’s because they are startled by their own reflection—I can’t say what it is for sure—but, something deeper stirs, plumes of mercy seem to reach up from the depths. Jesus waits, drawing something there in the dirt. And by the time he looks up, life on the surface has shifted. Deep cries out to deep. The circle dissipates and the men walk away. Maybe they felt mercy for the woman. Or, maybe they were simply shamed. I can’t say. Whatever it was that stirred in them, the fire of their accusation and trap seems to be flooded by something deeper. The hot current at the surface loses force. Is it humility? Mercy? Confession? Maybe. Can’t totally say, but that deeper truth stirs the shallower waters.
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What feeds the actions and behaviors on the surface of our lives? What nourishes our life as it shows up on the surface? A million and one things: I rush to get out of my house, cuss in frustration with myself or the car next to me and all of it is fed by hurry, impatience, overwhelm.
Or, we are fired up around a specific situation: we’re cutting, mean, judgmental. Know-it-alls. It’s fed by our impulse to be right, to win, to smack down. Maybe control too.
Or, we are flat, detached, our light is dim. Even anesthetized. It’s fed by disappointment, shame, maybe boredom. Or worry.
In this story, Jesus waits. Somehow, with hardly any words, he calls out the loud, hot currents of judgement, fear and self-protection. In another one of these tense encounters, we heard the gospel of Matthew records Jesus saying, “You have neglected the weightier matters of the law—justice and mercy and faithfulness. It now behooves you to do those and not leave them aside.”
When we live up at the surface, we can reflexively build our lives with our impulses. In the story, Jesus pauses, writes in the dirt, and waits as the deeper the groundswells of mercy, justice and faithfulness begin to rise.
One theologian, Matt Skinner, wrote, “Jesus has expectations for the people he calls to himself. He knows we’re capable of obstructing his promised blessings.” I thought about this in terms of the deeper blessings we’re called to and how we wall them off, obstruct them with all the stuff at the surface.
How do we feed our lives with what is weighty? With what is deep?
I have three suggestions for you:
1.
Last week, we talked about the need to build the things that matter into our lives. The ancient people were commanded to leave the edges of their fields unharvested so people in need could harvest the extra wheat or grapes or olives themselves. Land owners, were commanded to do this. So one way we feed our lives with what is weighty is to build it into the structure of how we live so we’re not derailed by whim or impulsive feeling.
2.
Pause what is going on at the surface. Wait. Pray. This is one of the most vivid moments in the bible story today. I, personally can be fast to cut when I am under pressure. In a world of fast responses, plumes of mercy take a minute to well up from the deep. In the story, Jesus interrupts the scene, even slows it down. He doesn’t give a snap response. He refuses to let the loudest thing in the moment control everyone.
3.
A third way: feed our lives with what is weighty? Get proximate to the things that matter. (as Brian Severson would say) Bring God into the your life. Who are the people and places that connect you to those deeper currents of justice, mercy and faithfulness?
Community matters. Friendship matters. Worship and hearing God’s word matters. Serving other people matters.
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Jesus calls us to live and nourish our lives with the eternal currents that rise up from the deep. Like justice, mercy and faithfulness. So build them into your lives. Pause and slow down when the surface is churning. Get close to people and practices, and prayers and music, to acts of service that enliven and vivify God’s presence in the middle of ordinary days.
Because, of course life happens on the surface—in how we interact with people, in the choices we make when we feel pressure, in the responses that rise in us when we’re provoked or afraid or tired or worried. But what is it that will rise in us in those moments?
May those loud, tinny currents of our lives be flooded by something different, deeper and more holy.
The world doesn’t need any more hot takes from Christians. It needs lives that are fed from the deep and hearts that are flooded with God.
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