SunJan252009
Scripture: MARK 1:14-20
Here’s the scene: a man sat at a metro station in Washington, D.C. one day and started to play the violin. It was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.
After about three minutes, a middle-aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, then hurried up to meet his schedule.
A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and, without stopping, continued on her way.
A few minutes later, a man leaned against the wall to listen, but then looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.
The one who paid the most attention was a three-year-old boy. His mother hurried him along, but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.
In the 45 minutes the musician played, only six people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.
No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the finest musicians in the world. He played an extraordinarily intricate series of pieces, on a violin worth 3.5 million dollars. Two days earlier, Bell had sold out a theater in Boston and the average ticket price was $100.
The Washington Post had organized this event to see what, and if, people noticed. In an ordinary environment, at an unexpected hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? And if we don’t notice that beauty, what else are we missing?
In that subway station, people walked right by Joshua Bell because they were intent on another agenda. They were focused on work or school, or on getting home in time to watch “Regis and Kelly.” And so they missed something crucial.
So often, this is the way it is for us with what the gospel of Mark calls “the dominion of God.” “The time is fulfilled,” says Jesus, “and the dominion of God has drawn near” (1:15). That world in which God is so richly alive and present has sidled right up to us. And the question is: do we see it? Do we take it in? And do we respond to it?
We all go through periods, and maybe most of our lives, when we don’t see this life-changing dominion drawing near. When we go through prolonged times of grief or extended struggles at work, God can seem a million miles away. When war and violence seem to have their way, the peace of God can seem like a distant mirage. When families battle, it’s easy to wonder whether God will ever make an appearance. Most of us have endured arid periods, when the earth seemed entirely void of any holy animation.
Because of that, we are all called, again and again, to a ministry of noticing—of noticing the candle in the otherwise bleak room, of noticing the grace notes in the otherwise ponderous symphony, of noticing the tenderness in the otherwise resentful home. Both last week and today, the biblical stories have been about God’s call, so today is sort of part II of a sermon begun last week, the relentlessly beckoning theme of which is: listen for the presence of God.
Long ago, when I was in seminary, one of my teachers—I can’t now remember which one—said to us one day, “Your job, as a minister, is to go into a room and to say the word ‘God’ when that word might not have been uttered yet.” Into the hospital room where death is imminent, into the home where recrimination and bitterness seem to have their way, into the church board meeting where expediency may have trumped wisdom—the charge to us was to come into those spaces and to say “God”—to pray, to hold out hope, to point to a new reality. All will not suddenly be made well. But all will now have a new spin. When we remember that God is “in this very room” with us, when we remember that the dominion of God has come near, the cancer, the vitriol, the pedestrian barrenness of life can take a back seat and a holy glow can brighten the moment. Our vocation, we were told, was to notice, and to point to, that glow.
That’s the role not just of ordained clergy, of course. It’s really the role of all baptized Christians: to look with fresh eyes at what may seem empty and cold, and to see instead—or, perhaps we should say, to see ‘in addition’—abundance and warmth. The dominion of God has come near. Pay attention!
When I was a child, my mother went one weekend to a statewide UCC meeting. When she returned home, she reported that, together with some other denominational leaders, she had been walking down the street in the Maine town where the meeting was held, when a beggar approached the group and asked for money. The group was absorbed in a lively discussion, but the pastor of the host church stopped and faced the begging man and talked animatedly and respectfully to him. I have no idea what else went on at that meeting, but I have vivid memories of her description of that scene because I know that in that one simple moment, the dominion of God had come near.
This past Friday afternoon about 3:15, I looked out my study window as the cars pulled up to the intermediate school to pick up their children. It happens every day, and I don’t usually think much of it. That day, right across from me, in the front passenger seat of a minivan, sat an acutely alert dog, a golden lab, who waited eagerly for his child to emerge from the school. I don’t know how the school day was for that child, but I do know that when he got in the car, he got the greeting of his life, the whole dog wagging, not just the tail, a greeting of unrestrained love—at least from the lab, and maybe from the mother, as well—and that in that meeting, the dominion of God had come near.
The first step for us Christians in all of this is to notice—to look at the world around and to see the shimmering of God. The second step, of course, is not just to smile in appreciation, not just to nod knowingly, but also to follow the Christ. In Mark’s story, Jesus says first, “the dominion of God has come near.” Then he says, “Repent, and believe in the good news” (1:15)—repent, meaning “turn toward me.” And finally he says, “Follow me” (1:17). Follow me to be the light of the world. Follow me to be hope and peace and grace incarnate.
What’s often asked of us in our repenting and following is that we change, that we let go of the small and petty and misguided and vindictive and self-centered ways that can so easily overtake us, and to claim instead a new garment, a garment of focus and respect and justice and care.
When the President asks, in his Inaugural address, that we take up the fight and bear the load and do our part, we church people know that he is echoing the ancient call, that we should follow Jesus in working for a kinder, better, fuller world.
I was talking to a church member the other day, a man who owns a small business. He describes himself as a conservative man who appreciates hard work, one who greatly values the role of personal responsibility. He told me that a young man had recently begun to work for him, a man just out of college, and that this younger man had said that he didn’t want to take work home with him, that he wanted time to be with his girlfriend and dog, that he wanted to be able to enjoy life. I have to admit that I expected that the man telling this story to say, “Younger people these days just don’t want to carry their weight. They feel entitled to more than they deserve”—a view that we’ve all heard articulated in many quarters. That’s what I expected.
Instead, what he said was, “That young man is right. Life needs to be more of a balance than I’ve made it. He’s going to be a better worker with that lifestyle than he would be if he just worked monolithically. And he’s going to be a more well-rounded guy.”
I think our fellow church member hits the nail on the head. If that younger man can relax with his girlfriend and go cross country skiing, his life is going to be fuller than if he worked endlessly. What I’m most interested in, though, is not the younger man, but the man who was telling me this. I thought, as I listened to him, ‘he’s changed; (to use the biblical word) he’s repented; he’s taken another step on that remarkable journey toward grace.’ In listening to his young colleague, the dominion of God had come near. In responding with respect and an ear for the fullness of life, he had followed Jesus.
A woman from Texas sent me an e-mail this past Christmas Eve, one that I didn’t read ’til some ten days later. She wanted to tell me about her experience with the parable of the Talents. She had read the story of our engagement with that parable, and a year ago at Christmas, she had decided that she wanted to do something similar with her own family. So she gave each of the adults a copy of the AP article about our experience, along with a sum of money, and invited them all to enter into the spirit of the parable.
This is what her sister did:
Being a very driven person, I immediately began praying about what God would have me do. The first message that I received from the Lord was, “Whatever you do, June, honor your father.” After living a wonderful life that was incredibly difficult at times, my dad passed away nine years ago. Physically, he fought for life long after losing a lung to lung cancer, having colon cancer, congestive heart failure and other health concerns. All of my memories of my daddy are precious, but the one God brought back to my mind on this occasion was one of my dad’s constant comments. From the time I was a little girl until the day he died, if you asked my father what he needed, he would always say, “Just a little time and a few kind words.” Those words are so telling of what he really wanted from anyone—just a little of their time and a few kind words. So, the first part of my challenge was clearly answered [—I would do something to honor my father]. Now, what [exactly] was God wanting me to do? After praying, I determined that God would have me make a special hand-dipped candy in honor of my father (Hand-dipped—time; Candy—sweet kindness). Daddy’s name was Ira Neely Kee—[I-N-K]. So In Need of Kindness candies was created.
God has truly made this an incredible experience. I work part-time in a small dress shop, and the owner has graciously allowed me to have a display of In Need of Kindness candies in the store. Making the candy to honor my father and live out this parable of the talents has been such a blessing. I didn’t realize how receptive and responsive people would be—giving up some of their time to listen to my story and help me honor my father. My dad set the example, and because of that my whole family knows the importance of “just a little time and a few kind words.”
I started In Need of Kindness candies in an effort to honor my earthly father. Combined with the Parable of the Talents, I realize the tribute is also in honor of my heavenly Father. I’m so blessed to have had an earthly father who lived a life that helped me see, honor and love God, the Father of us all.
Enjoy your In Need of Kindness candies. May their sweet taste remind you of my daddy’s words. As people come into your daily life remember to extend to them “just a little time and a few kind words.”
Tender indeed is the gift and grace of God. Her holy dominion has come near. Look! Do you see it! Let us follow Jesus, and go and do likewise.