As some of my readers know, I have often
whimsically nick-named myself “The Red Baron of Neighborhood Funerals.” (I
guess I could’ve picked another individual known for achieving a high score in
his field like Barry Bonds or Bill Gates, but “Red Baron” is so swaggeringly
romantic, don’t you think..?) I’ve presided at over 500 funeral services,
mostly for people I’ve never met. I often, in preparation for the eulogy, ask their
family member this question: What’s the one thing you want everyone to know
about your departed loved one? Nine times out of ten the answer will be “She
really loved her family.”
Strangely, in all of those hundreds of
conversations, I don’t recall anyone ever answering by saying, “She/he really loved
the Lord.”
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not questioning
the faith of anyone of the dear departed or the piety of their survivors. I’m
just pointing out how much we love our families, and how difficult the gospel
lesson in the Revised Common Lectionary appointed for Pentecost 3 Year A
(Matthew 10:24-39) might be to hear. It talks about divisions in the family and
has verses like this one:
“Whoever loves father or mother more than
me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not
worthy of me.” (Matt. 10:37)
That’s some pretty rough stuff to choke
down! Don’t we make loyalty to our family a priority? Granted, we don’t live in
the time of the New Testament when a commitment to Jesus would mean being
thrown out of our families and out of the larger societal family as well. But I
think most of us know that an allegiance to the teachings of Jesus—faithfulness
to the cause of righteousness—can have some pretty crappy family consequences. Sometimes
it feels like someones’s ripping a part of your body off and beating you with
it.
Some years ago my daughter Sandra, feeling
that her work for a major corporation was not a considerable enough contribution
to society, joined the US Army Reserve. While on deployment in the Middle East,
she reported one of her NCO’s for a serious
violation of regulation. The soldier was reprimanded, but Sandra was shunned as
a snitch by her fellow soldiers, her promotion was blocked, and her life was
made a living hell through constant—and sometimes physical—intimidation in retaliation for her doing what she knew
was the right thing. She was viewed as having been disloyal to the “family.”
Few things can bring us so much pain in this life.
The truth is, we just don’t want our
family secrets to get out. We don’t want anyone to be offended. We don’t want
anyone to be mad at us, and we struggle constantly with juggling kindness and
consideration and shame with
righteousness and wholeness. We keep quiet about the sexual, physical, or
verbal abuse we have endured or known others have endured. We lie for those who
violate the company rules or their marriage vows, we let our junkie child sleep
in our house and never dream of forcing that child into a position where he
must deal with his own demons.
We have this awful horror, you see, of
severing the family relationship. To do that would be a kind of death.
But our soul is dying by inches already.
And it’s not like others haven’t already sniffed out our deception. Or like it
won’t come to light eventually anyway.
Jesus warns us that discipleship has a
cost. He doesn’t say the Christian life is going to be a trip to Disneyland. Proclaiming him and his
loving righteousness is going to piss people off. But there are worse
consequences for our own well-being if we chicken out in our proclamation.
Did you ever see that great musical Les Miserables? There’s a song lyric
that succinctly makes Jesus’ point in verse 10:28. Jean Valjean, the ex-con who
has broken parole and started a new life, learns that a man who looks just like
him has been arrested in his place. He knows he will be sent back to prison if
he corrects the mistaken identity. He also knows the cruelty the innocent man
will face in prison. In a poignant and powerful solo he sings, “If I speak I am
condemned. If I keep silent I am damned.”
Jesus knows how hard our obedience to the
truth can be. After all, wasn’t he hated in his own time for violating the
selfish interests of others? The gospel lesson challenges us with the painful
necessity of loving the world through our obedience to God.
Thanks for reading, Family. BTW, if you want to hear Hugh Jackman sing the song from Les Miserables I referenced above, click here.
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