TIE THE CAT TO THE BEDPOST

Mark 7:1-9, 14-15, 21-23

And he said, "You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God,
in order to keep your tradition!" --Mark 7:9

Here's a story. There was a man who experienced a religious conversion in his life. And after that point, a spiritual discipline became of central importance in his life. Every morning he would get up early, take time before work to read the scriptures and to be in prayer. The only problem was that his cat used to like to climb up into his lap and purr loudly. So, every morning before he began his prayer discipline, he would tie his cat to the bedpost, to prevent it from distracting him.

Well, time went on, and this man had a daughter, who realized how important her father's spiritual discipline was to him, and she too wanted to integrate such a practice into her life. Her family also had a cat, and so every morning, she would tie it to the bedpost and proceed with a few minutes of prayer before she got ready for work.

When her own son grew up, he realized what an important tradition it was in his family to practice religious devotion--knew how important such things were to his grandfather and his mother. But by that time, life had gotten so busy, and there was no time for him to pray and read scripture at the beginning of the day. But, in order to carry on the family tradition, he would dutifully tie up the cat to the bedpost as he was getting ready for work.

Another story. This one from Patti Daley, the former Interim Pastor of this congregation, my immediate predecessor. She told me a story--I'm not sure if it's apocryphal or not--about a colleague of hers who was serving a small church in the Boston area. And the church had a peculiar tradition. Every time the Elders would approach the communion table, to return the offering or bring the elements for communion, they would bow down low to the ground as they walked toward it. And after a while, this pastor asked some of the people why that was their practice. No one knew. So they asked one of the elder statesmen in the church, who'd been around forever. He explained that several decades earlier, they had a building project for a time, and there was a large beam situated in front of the communion table. And, every time they wanted to approach the table they had to bend way down to get under it. Somehow, the practice, now considered a holy and profound moment of worship, had stuck.

***

This morning, I'd like to invite you to reflect with me on the question: why do I do what I do? Or, perhaps more appropriate for the scripture we're going to look at today in some detail: why do we do what we do, as a social beings, in our socially constructed reality? Today, I invite us to reflect on a phenomenon that we all experience in our lives, in which what we do--our actions--can get disconnected from the purpose that gave rise to them. Why do I do what I do? Why do WE do what we do? I don't know--I know there was a reason somewhere back there, but I'm not really sure....

Is it important for us to live, to paraphrase Socrates, "'an examined life,"' and for what I do, for my actions, to be connected with their ultimate purpose?

I think that's a good question for us to be asking ourselves during this Labor Day weekend, as we contemplate getting back to "'doing,"' to working...as we get back to school, back to our usual full work routines.

Why do I do what I do? Why do we do what we do?

***

OK, so let's look at the scripture for a few moments. We're going to look at it in some detail this morning--going to do a bit more Bible study than we usually do, so I'd invite you to crack open your Bibles if you're so inclined, and look at this passage. It's Mark 7, starting at the beginning and it's on page 36 of your Bible--the New Testament section.... OK, so first of all, what's the context of this, what's at stake here? Jesus is out in the countryside, out in some of the rural areas preaching and teaching and healing. And we read in the text today that people were going out to see Jesus from Jerusalem, some of the muckety mucks from the religious power structure there were coming out to the countryside to check him out. And we presume they're doing that because he's kicking up some dust. He's creating a bit of a stir, and so they want to check him out.

And one of the things in particular they were checking out was this: what was he doing at the table? What was he and his people doing at the dinner table? Today, they would probably be checking out what he and his disciples were doing in their bedrooms. But, back then, I don't think it'd be too much of an exaggeration to say that this business of table fellowship was something of a burning issue, much like the issue of the participation of gay and lesbian people in the church today. How were people practicing table fellowship? It was a huge deal back then. It determined who you could associate with, who you were identifying yourself with, just like the gay/lesbian issue today. Am I with them? Are they doing it like I do it? That determined which crowd you were in.

I suppose a somewhat trivial parallel would be prayer before a meal. Do you pray before meals? And if you do, what does that say about who you are, and whom you are associating yourselves with? Do you have to pray before a meal--is it not a meal unless you pray? That gives a little flavor for what this was about.

But the real controversy here was the fact that Jesus and his disciples didn't practice the kind of ritual around the dinner table that you would practice if you were going to associate yourself with the good, church going crowd, so to speak--I mean, people like the Pharisees or Scribes, people who were good Torah-observant Jews, Jews who dutifully observed the whole of the Jewish law. They were people who observed the ritual called "'the tradition of the elders,"' a ritual of purification. You can see that there in your text--why wasn't Jesus doing this? And this ritual, the tradition of the elders, it wasn't just about washing your hands, as our mothers taught us all; that has a practical rationale, you do that to wash away the germs and so forth. But this was an elaborate ritual--a ritual that had not only to do with washing your hands in a certain way, but all the utensils all of the meal equipment.

And, just a small aside here--we need to say, lest we paint the Pharisees with one brush and make them one-dimensional or give off any whiff of anti Semitism or anti Jewishness--it really was in some ways an attempt to do what we Presbyterians seek to do: to signify that all of life is holy, to recognize it with our words, our deeds our lives. To signify with a ritual, with actions, that every act, even so humble as eating, is infused with the holiness and presence of God. It was an attempt to practice that consciousness in every act.

But, here's the thing: this is not a ritual prescribed by the Torah, the Jewish law given directly by God. This "'tradition of the elders,"' was just that--a human tradition that had grown out of the Torah, the original commandment of God, the law given directly by God. And the real problem is that it had become a human convention that determined, as I mentioned earlier, whom you could associate with, who could be around that table. It defined "'a club."' Who's in the club, who's not. And if you're an observant Jew from the city, an urban elite, it wasn't hard for you to take the time and have the means to perform this ritual. But if you were a peasant, fishing or farming--it was impossible to do this elaborate ritual; you could not make yourself "'pure"' enough to associate with those folks. It excluded you from the table.

See, the irony was, then, that the very thing that was meant to connect people with the holiness of life, of everyday life, and to create intimate human community had become a human convention that excluded people; that destroyed the sense of holiness and community it was meant to evoke. The original purpose had been lost.

The ritual had become more important than the purpose behind it, than the experience it was meant to elicit. That's what's at stake. How human beings create elaborate rituals to exclude others, to create a "'club"' that defines insiders and outsiders, that drifts far from its original purpose. That's what Jesus is blasting here. "'You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God to keep your tradition,"' as he says in verse 9; sums it up.

***

In some of the reading I did this week, in one of my preaching journals, I read a story written by a Roman Catholic woman who was recalling a time when she came forward to take communion. And when she was approaching the priest, she witnessed a woman in front of her slapping her son for taking the host with his left hand. "'That's your defiled hand,"' she said. "'You can't take communion with your left hand!"' And the boy turned red; he was crestfallen and skulked back into his pew. And this woman who was recalling the story spoke about how all sense of real communion, of the real presence of Jesus in that ritual, in the Eucharist had been lost. But nevertheless, she said that she then sort of unconsciously began to pay attention to which hand she was using.

***

You know, I'm also struck, as I get on in my ministry, by stories I hear about colleagues serving congregations, and their experience of worship. I hear stories about congregations that often fight about worship, as opposed to substantive theological issues...they fight about the ritual of worship. I hear stories about congregations that get into "'worship wars,"' especially when a new pastor comes and confronts the tradition of the congregation. Some in the congregation say, "'we've always done it that way, it's our tradition."' And on the other hand, pastors who want to change worship, because by God, I know the right way to do it, and I'm going to teach you the right way to worship in the Presbyterian tradition, and so on. Then it becomes a power struggle. And soon, that thing that worship is about is lost, that being that is the referent of worship is soon forgotten. In the ensuing battle, the spirit, the sacred experience to which all worship aims to lead us toward, is lost.

***

I'm so glad we're not like that here.... [Laughter] Seriously, I really don't think that is happening here. But, to be very specific (and I realize I'm wading out onto thin ice right now; I think I can hear a faint cracking sound...can you hear it...?) We've done a few experiments with worship of late, what I've thought have been fairly minor, and many have welcomed, but some of you have found jarring because it violates some of the traditions that have held sway for a long time--traditions that I very much respect. But more than that, I want to say that I'm determined that arguing about worship not become a distraction for us. We're not going to waste energy about that. I joked during one of the communion services when we tried a different method for doing communion, you know, we can go out into the parking lot and use Dixie cups and bread sticks for communion, as long as we're taking those elements in faith; as long as those elements, that ritual brings us closer to the one who's gathered us...brings us into closer communion with Jesus Christ, and brings us a fuller awareness of his sacrifice for us, his love for us.

That's what it's about. You see, that's what matters. The ritual matters--it does matter a great deal--but it only matters insofar as it takes us somewhere. That's the Protestant Reformation in a nutshell, at least as far as its understanding of worship. Only so long as it takes us closer to the thing that gave rise to the ritual itself: the experience and presence of God. Insofar as our worship leads us to the transforming experience of God's love and forgiveness. That's why we're here. That's what worship is for: to penetrate our hearts with a sword of love. To be transformed by that experience.

And so, as we go into this Labor Day this year, we ought to be asking ourselves the question: why do I do what I do? Why do we do what we do? Are my actions connected with the ultimate purpose to which those actions aim? Am I living the kind of examined life in which what I'm doing--in my job, in going to church, in my family life--is connected with what I know is my ultimate purpose in life, is connected with what is my deepest calling?

Is it the kind of life in which I'm not doing things just because I do them; just because I've been told; or because everyone else like me is doing them. I'm doing what I'm doing because I know the ultimate purpose of my actions are aimed at a great cause, the impulse for them a worthy one.

For me, that great cause is Jesus Christ, who calls me, calls us, to justice, forgiveness and love. In some ways, it would be an easier life if that call didn't exist. It would be more comfortable, more convenient. But it would certainly not be as worthy of living.

Amen.

 

September 3, 2006