When I was a child I went to sleepover parties with my friends. The goal of sleepovers was to stay up all night, and the best way of doing that was to play at scaring ourselves silly. We played with a Ouija board and convinced ourselves that some spirit was moving the piece around the board, and we screamed.
We played some kind of levitation game where one girl would lie on the floor and the others would kneel around her and place two fingers underneath the girl’s body. The girl would start to rise from the ground and we screamed.
We played a game we called Mary Worth, where we had to look at ourselves in the mirror in a dark room, and repeat, I believe in Mary Worth, until the face of Mary Worth would appear in the mirror. No one had any idea who Mary Worth was, but we were sure we saw something and then we screamed.
I think we just loved to scream.
And when it got really late, we played truth or dare. Which was a different kind of scary. There were no ghosts involved, just daring one another to either speak some hard truth or perform some frightening act. We were forced to choose: truth or dare. But it didn’t matter which one you chose, they were both risky.
So many of the games children play are ways of practicing the stuff of life. We play house, we play war. We play at taking risks, and this is what much of life consists of. Do you take the safe way, or do you take the risk? And if you choose the safe route, what are you actually at risk of losing?
Life involves taking risks all the time. The risk of learning something new, trying for a new and better job, buying a house, asking someone to be your friend, asking someone to marry you. Saying yes, when someone asks.
There is always risk. We are always measuring the risk.
When Jesus came to Jerusalem and drew the attention of all the religious authorities, that’s what they were interested in: calculating the risk. How risky was this man? The political position of Israel, under the Roman Empire, was tenuous. What kind of risks did Jesus pose with the things he said? Would it be more of a risk to challenge him or to let him be, hoping that the frenzy around him would just die down? Maybe people would lose interest. Or he would show himself to be a fool or a fraud.
Well, at this point, in this chapter, they have decided to take the first route, challenge him. They begin to ask Jesus questions meant to entrap him. A crowd has surrounded him, everyone is listening. If they pose just the right question, then they might get lucky. He will either say something that could get him arrested, or something that will disillusion his followers. One way or another they think they can manage to get rid of him. If they play their cards right.
It’s a risky thing, though. They need to be careful they don’t end up making themselves look like fools.
They start with their best shot, hoping they can get this done quickly. Jesus, they say, is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor? Sounds like a simple question, but it is not. It’s full of landmines. It is a question about how God’s law might clash with the civil laws. It is a question that will arouse the interest of the revolutionaries among them, as well as the religious purists. Whether Jesus says yes or no, he is bound to make some faction angry or disappointed.
No such luck, though. He replies so skillfully he evades the trap. So the next team of adversaries approaches him with a different question, a sort of word problem. Jesus, they say, a man marries a woman but then dies, leaving her childless. Then each of his seven brothers, in turn marries the woman, each one dying and leaving her still childless. (All this in accordance with the law of Moses, which says the younger brothers have a duty to give this woman children in their brother’s name.) But here’s the question: In the resurrection, whose wife will she be?
It is the Sadducees who pose this challenge. And, as a matter of fact, they are the ones who do not believe in the resurrection, the life after life, so it’s a funny one coming from them. Will Jesus get into an argument with them about the resurrection? Or will he make up something illogical just to answer the question?
Neither. Once again, he sidesteps the trap and offers a richer, more meaningful answer than they could have anticipated. The Pharisees and the Sadducees, the elders and the chief priests are getting frustrated. They are all arguing at once. Then one lone scribe steps forward. One last question is posed. Jesus, which of the commandments is first? Which one is greatest?
Behind this question, is the reality that it was not uncommon for religious authorities to argue this kind of question among themselves. In Judaism, argument is sacred. In fact, there is a story about two rabbis, Rabbi Eviatar and Rabbi Yonatan, who were arguing some point of law, and not getting anywhere close to a resolution. It happened that Rabbi Eviatar bumped into the prophet Elijah on one of his regular earthly tours (you know that Elijah didn’t actually die, and he might show up anywhere at any time). So Rabbi Eviatar said, So tell me, Elijah, Tell me, what is the Holy One into right now? And Elijah answered that, as a matter of fact, God was engrossed in the very same topic that Rabbi Eviatar and Rabbi Yonatan were arguing. Rabbi Eviatar got all excited, thinking he would get a resolution to the matter. And what does God have to say on the topic, he asked? Elijah answered, God says, My child Eviatar says this, and my child Yonatan says that. Evidently, God enjoys a good argument, too.
There were, after all, 613 laws in the scriptures. There were more extrabiblical rules, all meant to help people better understand the law, so there was plenty to argue about. Still is.
Jews still argue about God’s law. And Christians argue about the whole of the scriptures; like it or not, we don’t all agree. In Reformed Christianity, we believe that arguing about it is a good thing, because when we dig in and ask questions and explore the meaning, there is truth to be found. If we dare.
Yet, it is helpful to have some rules to guide us in our argument, some common ground from which we can begin. And in our Reformed tradition, there are a few rules, set out by Augustine, and developed further by Jean Calvin. And one of these, the one I have no trouble remembering, is the rule of love.
Any interpretation of scripture must comport with the knowledge that God is love. And so, my friends, our efforts to understand the word of God must always lead us toward greater love.
And, actually, that is where this whole discussion amongst the Pharisees and the Sadducees and the Scribes, the Chief Priests and the Elders and Jesus is going. Our understanding of who God is, who we are in relation to God, it begins with love. And wherever our exploration takes us beyond that first step, it will come back to love. And this is why no one dared to ask him any more questions.
When Jesus was asked what is the greatest law, what is really the foundation of the law, he answers, You shall love the Lord your God with your heart and soul and strength and mind, and you shall love your neighbor as yourself. What is the first, the last, and everything in between? It is love. Not in a schmaltzy or sentimental way. This is no Hallmark valentine card. It’s about loving God and others with everything we have – body and soul, mind and heart. If. We. Dare.
It is not the easy way. So often, hate tastes better in our mouths. So often, anger fires up our energy, our interest, gives us something to talk about. Apparently, Facebook knows the truth of this; angry-face emojis get a whole lot more traction on the social media site than happy faces do. Anger. Hate. We think they make us stronger, but they just eat us up.
True now, true back then. True for all time.
Every question the religious authorities brought to Jesus, they were armed for combat. They saw him as their enemy in a righteous battle. It may be too strong to say they hated him, but they didn’t seem to love him. Every question they brought to him was an attempt to bring him down, to defeat him. To crush him under their heels. And every time, he confronted them with a deeper truth than what they were asking for.
Finally, he gives them the greatest, the most important truth of all. Love.
And somehow, when they were face to face with this truth, the Pharisees and Sadducees, the Scribes and Elders and Chief Priests understood. The scribe who brought the question to him said, You are right. There is nothing more important than that.
No one dared to ask him another question.
Life is full of risks. Uncertainties. You can try to choose the easy way, the safe way, but we all know that what looks easy often ends up being wrong – even, in the end, harder.
We might never be certain where our choices will lead us. But if we choose love, in the end, we won’t go wrong.
________________________________________
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash
