Who Knows What to Make of it?

I preached this sermon in Alice Millar Chapel March 6, 2005


Friday night I enjoyed an evening with the Chicago Symphony. Now, I say I enjoyed my evening, and I did. But it was not an effortless enjoyment. It was not an evening of basking in unquestionably beautiful music. I found it asked a bit more of me. The program was honoring the 80th birthday of Pierre Boulez, Principal Guest Conductor for the CSO. The first thing we noticed upon finding our seats – a rather unconventional configuration of chairs and music stands upon the stage. There were several groupings of percussion instruments, scattered about along with seemingly random numbers of chairs. I looked up into the balcony and discovered a violin quartet, and oddly enough a percussionist.

In time, the rest of the musicians took to the stage, as did the conductor. He declared that this was indeed the most unusual performance of which he had ever been a part. He went on to speak of the first piece, Boulez’s Rituel. He explained that the symphony was seated in seven groupings of wind and string instruments, all with a percussionist. There was an additional brass ensemble, as well. Several of these groupings were scattered throughout the various balconies. Most interesting. He prepped us, sharing that there would be a number of repeating themes and variations, which would sort of chase from one group to the next.

As I listened, admittedly intrigued, I couldn’t help but think of this morning’s scripture readings. We hear many different voices, coming from many different directions, speaking many different ideas, somehow coalescing, one with another. Fascinating and compelling, to be sure, but also somewhat frenetic, not to mention exhausting. Shall we do our best to follow the rhythm?

I Samuel. Things are not always as they seem. The Lord sends Samuel on a mission to Bethlehem to anoint his new king. Samuel is understandably a little anxious about this. He is fearful that Saul, shall we say an also-ran who has fallen out of the Lord’s favor, might be less than supportive of his task. God brushes aside the concern, believe it or not, basically encouraging Samuel to, well, lie. “Take a calf with you, tell him it’s a sacrifice – make sure Jesse and his lineage are all there. Don’t worry – I’ll walk you thorough it!” I don’t know – it sounds like a slippery slope, if you ask me. As a general rule, aren’t we usually told that deception of any kind us pretty much frowned upon? Who knows what to make of it!

In any event, Samuel follows instructions well, and soon he finds himself in Bethlehem, surrounded by Jesse’s progeny. He takes one look at Eliab, and he’s sure he’s the one, impressive strapping young man that he is. Strangely enough, however, it’s not him. God offers gentle words of reproach: “Do not look upon his appearance, or on the height of his stature, for I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” I just love that – as I think does anyone who is or ever was a gangly or chubby thirteen year old, awkward and sorely lacking in poise and self-confidence. “It’s what’s on the inside that counts!” perhaps our parents assured us, as we likely thought, “Yeah, right. Whatever!” With apologies to mothers and fathers everywhere, I somehow have a sense that such a sentiment carries a little more weight when it comes from the Almighty!

Don’t we all long for someone who will look past the façade and really get at who we are, what we are all about? I don’t know, though. Things are not always as they seem. We don’t always know who we are, what we are all about. Perhaps we might worry about what might be found out, what might come to light.

But back to Samuel. Eliab – no. Abinadab – no. Shammah – no. And so it went with seven of Jesse’s sons. Samuel looks at Jesse, perhaps a bit suspiciously: “Are you sure all of your sons are here? And Jesse comes clean: “Well, there’s my youngest – but he’s busy with his chores! Somebody’s got to keep an eye on things!” Strikes me a bit like a Cinderella story. Do the mending, scrub the floors, and maybe, just maybe, you can go to the ball! Having no other choice, Jesse sends for David, as Samuel instructs. Well, what do you know! If the glass slipper fits… We have a winner!

But again, nothing is as it seems. Even though we have been cautioned against looking to outward appearances, the writer takes care to describe David – “…he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome.” Sounds like a bit of a looker! But, clearly, his beauty is more than skin deep – for he is the one the Lord has chosen. Who knows what to make of it?
The 23rd Psalm. Things are not always as they seem. What could I possibly say about this well-known psalm that you’ve not already heard, that you’ve not already thought yourself? Certainly, the words are meant to be a comfort in times of distress, conflict, grief… They are invoked in hospital rooms, on death beds, around open graves. But I have a feeling the comfort this psalm offers is derived not from its content, but from its familiarity. It settles us because we know what to expect, we know what is coming. The text itself, if you stop to think about it, can be quite terrifying. Darkest valleys, tables set in the presence of our enemies… who knows what to make of it?

Ephesians. Things are not always as they seem. Or, at least I hope that is the case. I found myself really wresting with this brief passage. It is quite clear, quite concise, I’ll give it that. The light is good. The dark is bad. Pretty straight forward. I get that. I’m thinking about one of my favorite Indigo Girls songs, Closer to Fine. One phrase resounds, “Now darkness has a hunger that’s insatiable. And lightness has a call that’s hard to hear.” At times an accurate truth. Darkness has a tendency to be seductive, sometimes hard to resist. Lightness, on the other hand, can be a bit more elusive, as it speaks more softly.

But, it’s not the distinction between light and dark that trips me up. It is disconcerting to me, even jarring, that our early church leaders would encourage such an “us and them” dichotomy: “Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them. For it is shameful even to mention what such people do secretly…” Such people? Who exactly are such people? I bristle a bit – perhaps you do, too. How can this be helpful? But, come to think of it, how are we any different? Don’t we all too often distill those around us into distinct groups? Those like us, and those not like us? Who knows what to make of it?

And, last but not least, the Gospel According to John. Sometimes, things are exactly as they seem. Jesus and company come upon a man, blind from birth. The disciples wonder whose sin caused the affliction – the man’s or his parents. “Silly disciples!” Jesus counters. “Neither! This man was born blind so that I might heal him, so that God’s glory and goodness might be made known!” Oh, now that’s much more reasonable! Hmm… Are you maybe scratching your heads, too? This strikes me as a familiar, if disturbing theme. I have a really hard time reconciling the idea of a God who would afflict someone for the sole purpose of proving a point. Perhaps I am over simplifying – but then again, perhaps not. Who knows what to make of it?

So, Jesus spits into the dirt and makes mud. Now, that’s attractive, I’m sure. Then he takes the mud and smears it all over the blind man’s eyes, and sends him off to the Pool of Siloam to wash his face, clean himself up, already. The blind man washes his face – and he is no longer the blind man! His eyes are opened, and he can see! Apparently, our friend was a regular beggar in this part of town, and the townsfolk were a bit divided as to whether or not he was in fact the same person. One the one hand, it could be; on the other, it might not be.

Again and again, they ask him – how did this happen? Again and again, he tells them. Finally, they take the matter to the Pharisees. Well, they are all out of sorts. After all, it is the Sabbath. And we can’t have anybody doing any healings on the Sabbath, now, can we? They ask him what happened – he sticks to his story. They go to his parents – perhaps they will clear things up. His parents want nothing to do with it, as frightened as they are of the Pharisees. “He’s a big boy – he can take care of himself – ask him!”

Finally, it seems the newly sighted man has had enough. “You keep asking me. I keep telling you. This Jesus has to be of God. Who else could use a mud pie to restore sight? Could you? I didn’t think so!” Well, of course, this doesn’t exactly sit well with the Pharisees: “Who exactly do you think you are?!? You need to go, and you need to go now.” So, he goes.

Jesus, we know, has a special place in his heart for the outcast, the exiled. He goes to the man and asks if he believes in the Son of Man. The newly sighted man is open enough – why wouldn’t he be? He’s game: “Who is the Son of Man? Sure, I believe.” And what do you know, you’re looking right at him! Then Jesus says, “ I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” I think this is perhaps meant as a “you know who you are” kind of a thing. Some of those tricky Pharisees overhear, and nervously inquire, “Not us, right? We’re not blind, are we?” And Jesus says, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.” Figure that out. It seems the Pharisees’ need to know ultimately does them in. Who knows what to make of it?

I think you might agree that we have certainly done our fair share of bouncing all around the sanctuary and back again. I am reminded once more of that Indigo Girls song. Part of the chorus – “There’s more than one answer to these questions, pointing me in a crooked line. And the less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine.” The truths we’ve stumbled upon this morning, the ideas with which we’ve grappled are as diverse as the oboe and marimba and viola and xylophone I encountered Friday evening. Sometimes the chords are dissonant, and difficult to sit with. Sometimes it is hard to determine their precise source. But somehow, they coalesce. We may clamor for the answer, only to be met with even more questions. We may search out certainty, only to be caught in the midst of options, some wonderful, some frightening. Sometimes all is not as it seems. Sometimes all is exactly as it seems. And who knows what to make of it?