Psalm 119:129-136
Romans 8:26-39
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Like any good teacher, any good rabbi, at the conclusion of his teaching, Jesus asks his disciples, “Have you understood all this?”. (Matthew 13:51a) And, of course, his disciples like good students answer “Yes”, (Matthew 13:51b) or as one of my favourite translations renders it: “Of course” But do they; do they really? How many of us have claimed to understand “x” or “y” in order to simply save embarrassment? How many times have we nodded or smiled ourselves into intellectual, philosophical and even emotional dead-ends because we were unwilling to expose our ignorance, even our stupidity? Or worse, how many times have we convinced ourselves we understood? Our agreement being a kind of intellectual sloth. After all, it is easier to say “yes”, than to ask “how” or to think “why”. From the gospel narratives as a whole it seems clear that Jesus’ disciples understand little of what he meant, and while they might nod, agree and even, like Peter, declare Jesus to be “the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” (Matthew 16:16) their understanding was ever so limited, and they bumbled along continually missing the point.
But why should they get it, really? What Jesus talks about goes so very much against the grain of the received “wisdom” – and I use the term in inverted commas; it goes so much against what makes conventional sense. They like Jesus, they love Jesus, they follow him, but they must have questioned the practicality and the reasonableness of his teaching. Why should anyone, how could anyone, sell everything he or she has and buy one pearl, for example? How can God’s reign be compared to a mustard weed, a shrub, when the cedars of Lebanon as described in the book of Ezekiel are so much more noble (cf. Ezekiel 17:22-23); or the apocalyptic tree descibed by Daniel is far more consonant with a powerful, towering kingdom: “there was a tree at the center of the earth, and its height was great. The tree grew great and strong, its top reached to heaven, and it was visible to the ends of the earth”? (Daniel 4:10b-11) How can God’s reign be compared to leaven, when every Jew knew that leaven, yeast, represents sin, evil, corruption, while the lack of leaven signifies that which is pure and holy? Yes, one can hardly blame them, because Jesus is not merely teaching the conventional wisdom, he is not even teaching the conventional wisdom in a new way, but he is asking of his followers something much more fundamental. He is challenging them with a new paradigm, a new world view. He is challenging them with what one New Testament scholar called ‘the upside-down kingdom”.
The values of Jesus, the values of the Kingdom he heralded, fly in the face of the received wisdom, they certainly fly in the face of social convention. At their most powerful they can offend and even disgust. The disciples may politely say “Yes, of course, we understand”, but as first century Jews they would more than likely be disgusted by some of the suggestions Jesus makes about the reign of God, by some of the actions he takes in proclaiming it. Jesus tells stories about collaborist tax collectors being justified before God, about heretical Samaritans being good and righteous, about financially and sexually profligate sons being received with joy into the bosom of their fathers. He speaks with women in public, touches the dead and lepers (who are as good as dead), and of course he sits down to eat with foreigners, whores and any number of dirty, unclean people. The disciples might say, “Yes, of course, we understand” but one would hardly be surprised if under their breath they just might utter “but we don’t believe it”. And, so, as I suggested earlier, they find themselves at an intellectual dead end because they cannot make that leap into a bigger vision, into a different paradigm.
Now Solomon does. The conventional wisdom of his age dictated that kings first and foremost be powerful – powerful over their subjects and over their enemies – and that that power resolve itself in conquest and wealth. They needed cunning skill and a healthy dose of mistrust. But when Solomon is asked by God directly what he should desire above all else to facilitate his reign, the new king asks for none of these, but rather “an understanding mind to govern your people, [and the ability] to discern between good and evil.” (1 Kings 3:9) He opts for the counter-intuitive request of wisdom. By this request he made his kingdom an “upside-down” kingdom, and thus inaugurateted a new understanding of monarchy, one which would influence the idea of monarchy well into the 18th and 19th centuries in Christian Europe, certainly. He was, perhaps, history’s first philosopher king. Nevertheless, without question, his request would have been seen as foolhardy, weak, unworthy of a real king, of a real man. His request might bring into question his prowess and willingness to fight; to his contemporaries it might signify an inversion of his maculinity, as digusting a prospect to the ancient world as it is among many less enlightened people today. And let’s face it, all his wisdom nothwithstanding, the kingdom of Israel did not surivive united after his death; and this reality makes us once again face the unconcventional wisdom of the “upside-down” kingdom, for example, that in it there is something more valuable than simply surviving intact: “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (John 12:24)
In the twelfth chapter of the letter to the Romans St Paul writes: “Do not be conformed to this world [or, age], but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God – what is good and acceptable and perfect.” (Romans 12:2) There may be much to commend the wisdom of this age, the kind of wisdom that helps us get on in the world, the common-sense shrewdness that teaches us to hold on to what we have, and allows us to conventionally discern who are our friends, who our enemies, and who are beyond the pale altogether. Indeed an entire life can be lived – and by certain standards, successfully – saying yes when we are not really sure and agreeing when we do not really understand; a whole church life can be lived saying, “Yes, of course, I understand” while my un-renewed mind silently utters “but I don’t really believe it”. Like the disciples, we may like Jesus, we may love Jesus, we may follow Jesus, but there is not a person in this place who has not questioned the practicality and reasonableness of the teachings of Jesus: “If I give myself over to the varieties of life’s little deaths, will I really discover a life more full, authentic and meaningful? If I share even the little I have, will there really be enough for everyone? If I ask for wisdom rather than success, will everyhing really be alright even when they seem to be falling apart? If I embrace what seems disorientating chaos and social confusion, can I trust that a far more beautiful order – a divine order – will emerge that has nothing do with my control or manipulation?” It does not make sense. It is too much to ask. It requires an unqualified and frightening leap; a leap from the conventional and conventionally rational into something not altogether immediately discernable, but at its core trustworthy nevertheless. It is a leap into that place where we can stop pretending to understand, and simply say “I believe, Lord help my unbelief”. (cf. Mark 9:24) It is the leap into the “upside-down” kingdom in which leaven is holy, treasure is discovered in the most unlikely of places, shrubs become trees, and letting go is the only way to have everything.
“Have you understood all this?” Probably not. But then neither have I; and yet at moments I find myself almost coming to believe it. I hope you do to.
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