October 15, 2006 Proper 23, Year B
The Very Rev. Mark B. Pendleton
Dean, Christ Church Cathedral

A Look of Love

This morning we hear a story about a man who wanted his good fortune in this life to be extended into the next life. He wanted to do right and be good, but he ran up against a wall. The wall was an answer Jesus gave him to his own question. This morning I would like to talk to you about how difficult conversations and painful decisions are part of the journey of the Christian life.

Jesus was on his way from Galilee to Jerusalem, about an eighty-mile journey. He left the familiar and walked towards the unknown. Jesus met a rich man along the way. In one gospel version he is called a ruler (Luke) and in another he is young (Matthew). Mark implies he is just rich. He could have been a lawyer, a Pharisee, a member of the elite. In his world, he had it all. Today he could be an Eagle Scout, a Rhode’s Scholar, a member of the Senate, a tech-boom millionaire. This wealthy man was keeping the commandments and following the rules.

What does he do first as he approaches Jesus? He runs up to Jesus and kneels before him. Right away, it seems a bit odd. After all, you might expect a leper, or a beggar, or someone in need of healing to behave like this – and they do it all the time in other gospel stories – but we expect something different of people with money, power, education or status. They behave, most times, more in control of their emotions and less prone to throwing themselves at the feet of a known miracle worker. Then the man says: “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” It's the only time in the gospels that good and teacher are joined. Apparently, the man tries to flatter his way into the graces of Jesus, and it appears that Jesus isn’t buying what the rich man is selling. “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone.”

There is an expression that “flattery gets you nowhere.” Flattery is something you and I experience in our daily lives. Who doesn’t like hearing nice things about themselves? You are so smart, so kind, so gifted, so dedicated, so caring, so funny and so steady. Your preaching is inspiring, your counseling compassionate, and your leadership solid. How good you look! Have you lost weight? Or I love those shoes or who did your hair? Flattery is part of the normal, everyday give-and-take of human interaction. Most times flattery is innocent and harmless. It gives us something to say as we begin conversations: it can be an icebreaker of sorts. Some people also say nice things about others hoping that a compliment may be returned in their direction.

Then there are ulterior motives for some who dole out flattery with abandon. It may be a way of appearing genuine and interested, when in fact, one is neither. I love seeing politicians on C-Span stand at the podium in Congress and thank their good friend from the state of Kansas or Ohio who just spoke, and then rip into them with gloves off and call them every name in the book. Their so-called good friend, it would appear, is not really their friend.

Jesus dismisses the rich man’s flattery. No one is good but God alone. Don’t spend your energy flattering me or buttering me up, Jesus is saying; keep your eyes on the big picture. Don’t worship me, worship God. Jesus is saying: I didn’t come here to be served and bowed down to, I came here to serve. What we see again and again in the gospels is that even though multitudes of people would come to follow Jesus, sit at his feet and perhaps hang on every word, he would always direct them to the larger picture, and that was God. It is this larger picture, this greater context, this expanded view that we as people of faith must never lose sight of.

Our journey as God’s people is not primarily about standing before God alone. It is about all of us together, living, working, praying, serving, caring, risking, creating. True Christian community comes about through the power and spirit of individuals working together to be and do something we could not do and be on our own. And what we do together is measured by how our work impacts our lives, the lives of the entire community and the larger world.

We as a church community do something quite remarkable when we gather to worship, sing, pray, and share in Christ’s presence in the Eucharist. We become like no other group or organization. Our “I” and our “me” becomes “us” and “we.” Our worries, our burdens, our pain, our gifts, our hopes, our egos, for the briefest moments, are lifted up to God and, in so doing, lift us all up to a new place. A good and right place. A place where healing is possible, forgiveness doled out even when it is not deserved or earned, and a place where we can face our futures -- not with fear -- but in hope.

I am reminded of a simple truth every morning when I walk through the entry hall of the Cathedral House on the way to my office. On the wall opposite the pictures of the bishops of the diocese, are all the pictures of the rectors and deans of this church. Going all the way back to the Rev. Menzies Rayner in 1801 and ending with the photo of Dean Mansfield, my predecessor. One day, as is our custom, my picture will be added to the wall. Granted, it is not the most diverse collection of pictures: the vast majority are white men. One day I am sure, a woman’s picture will be up on the wall. Having your picture on the wall is a nice honor and tradition, but it’s exactly the point of where I am going. Alongside my picture one day will one of the person who follows me. They are visible reminders that the work and mission begun by one person has a way of living on in the work of another. Programs that Allison and I both began at our parish in Maryland are now being adapted and reshaped and expanded or adjusted to fit the changing ministry needs of the people and the community. And that, I believe, is the way it should be. The work of the gospel continues because it must continue to bring healing to our broken world, and as we are reminded in today’s gospel, it is done because for God all things are possible.

Back to our story. After the rich man told Jesus how he had followed all the commandments from when he was very young, Jesus turns, and the gospel says: looking at him, loved him, and said, “You lack one thing, go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor.”

There is an expression: “if looks could kill.” It is a powerful testimony to how we can use our eyes, bodies, our mouth, our brow, to convey what we think and feel without using words. Being sinful people -- people who fall short of what God desires for us -- I feel safe in saying that we have all given and received such looks. Looks that convey our momentary anger, pain, anguish, disappointment, distress, confusion, fear and disapproval. Grown adults often speak of “the look” that their parents would give them when they were children long ago sitting in church on Sunday mornings, or at the dinner table. No words were needed to convey what the parent was thinking or feeling. With a simple targeted look, a mother or a father could convey: stop futzing, sit up straight, or knock it off.

Well, the young man in our story was also on the receiving end of “a look” from Jesus. But this was not a killer look, a look that dressed you down, or a look of outrage or disgust that pushed him away, but it was a gathering, embracing kind of look. “Jesus, looking at him, loved him” and then told him the one thing he needed to do. It was a look that said: I love you enough to show you what you really need to do to live more freely and with fuller joy. I love you enough to tell you that you are focusing on the wrong thing. It was a look that said sometimes we get attached to things that we should not be attached to. In the mystery that is faith, Jesus looks at us in love and says: I will carry you through difficult times – whatever they may be. I will show you a way forward.

The end of the story of the rich man ends very abruptly and differently than it began. No longer is the rich man kneeling and flattering Jesus. He is less than pleased. He doesn’t hear what he wants to hear and now faces a difficult decision. He could get what he asked for, a ticket to heaven, if he only gives away all his money to the poor. He wanted both, but he had to choose.

Difficult decisions and painful conversations come up all the time in our lives. My sisters and I have begun the gentle but honest conversation with our mother, who lives in Florida, about her future long term care, for as some of you know, she has been quite ill over these last few years. It is never easy talking to aging parents about perhaps downsizing and having to part with items that bring back so many memories, but that may be the best option for some to receive the best round the clock care they may need some day. Next month, we will have a number of Dean’s Forums after church to introduce the sensitive but important issue of the need for people to have wills written or updated, to name legal guardians for minor children, and to learn about living wills and medical directives. With God’s help we can face tough issues and sensitive conversations with grace.

The story of the rich man ends with his shock and his going away in grief, for he had many possessions he would have to give away to get into heaven. The man was more attached to his money and his possessions than anything else. If he let go of them, his life in this world and next, could be transformed and remade. The same person who first came to Jesus kneeling and with flattering comments, went away sad and wondering about his future.

In the times when we too wonder what the future will hold, this gospel story offers some simple lessons. The big picture is important. We should think about those things we are most attached to and ask ourselves if they are, in fact, the most important things above all else. And lastly, in those difficult moments we face and hard decisions we all have to make, can we too believe that Jesus looks at us, not with disappointment, or anger, or shame – but with love? His look of love, his peace, his blessed assurance -- should we want to receive it -- is more than enough to see us through.