1 Kings 8:22-23, 41-43
Psalm 96:1-9
Galatians 1:1-12
Luke
7:1-10
The writer of Luke
seems particularly interested in the theme of the outsider; the ones who do not
quite fit into the system of their time and place; those on the margin, for
whom the structures of society were not created, and who hence live on its
edges. This motif of the outsider is
there from the very beginning of the Gospel of Luke. At a time and place when a woman unable to conceive
was not only pitied but slightly suspect, the writer begins the story with a
barren woman, Elizabeth, the cousin of our Lady. The angels carry the message of the Messiah’s
birth first to shepherds, the lowest of the low in the ancient near-east. They
lived as wanderers; both literally and metaphorically at the edges of
society. Only in Luke do we have the story
of the Prodigal Son, who goes beyond the pale of what is considered proper
parental love and respect, and who is nevertheless ultimately welcomed in from
the cold. Also, only in Luke, is there
the story of Good Samaritan. The
Samaritans were a people hated, mis-trusted and vilified for their religious
beliefs by Jesus’ contemporaries, yet it is only a Samaritan in the parable who
exemplifies Jesus’ definition of neighbor.
Even at Jesus’ death, Luke depicts him as embracing the outcast, as he
reassures the thief crucified with him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be
with me in Paradise.” (Luke 23:44) And at
the resurrection, it is the women to whom is entrusted its message and who bear
witness to it in the midst of the other disciples. All this in a world in which women’s testimony
was not generally admissible as evidence in court. In each instance, a deeper knowledge of God,
or of God’s Good News, is made clear due to an encounter with, or the action of,
an outsider. The message is clear: it is
the outsider – the maginalized, the stranger, the foreigner – who may very well
have a better grasp on that to which God actually calls us.
The story of the
centurion is perhaps the story in Luke which most powerfully exemplifies this
theme. The centurion represents the
hated Romans. He is not only a
foreigner, but instrumental in the foreign occupation of Judea. Indeed his sole purpose there is to maintain
the occupation peacefully, and to punish by any means available whoever would
seek to disrupt it. Moreover, if recent
biblical research reads the story correctly, the servant for whom he pleads and
who was very dear to him, is actually his lover. And while certainly – as Luke tells the story
– this man had gained the respect of some of the Jewish elders, his personal
life represents a practice and way of life abhorrent to mainstream, contemporary
Jewish sensibilities. Still, Jesus commends
his faith over that of those at the religious center of his world: “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found
such faith.” (Luke 7:11) Jesus doesn’t judge him for being a foreigner or a
fornicator, but rather praises him and raises him up as a model for those
around him.
But why this concern –
even obsession – in Luke (and I would argue in the Scriptures over-all) with
the outsider? The theologian Jane Kopas
describes it like this, “[outsiders] see the world differently…[t]hey learn to
think from two perspectives and to speak
two languages….Insiders, on the other hand, do not need any language other than
their own because it gets them all they need.”
This is basic sociology, even anthropology, but it is also profoundly
theological, because when live at the center of our society by virtue of our
color, gender, sexual orientation, status or wealth we are all too often blinded
when it comes to seeing the larger picture. At the center, we are inclined to define God
and God’s will in terms only of our world view, and because theology is wriiten
by the dominant culture, we usally get away with it. The voices and experiences of the outsider
may at best be forgotten, at worst persecuted and condemned; and even a cursory
review of history, including church history, is a dismal witness to both. Yet, what the Gospel of Jesus – who was himself
an outsider – tells us is that the voice of the outsider, may actually be the
voice of God calling us to a more faithful living of the Good News. Moreover, that when we live at the center of
things – socially, economically, or in any other way – we miss something of
God’s voice, we miss something of God’s vision, because – if we can trust Scripture
in this regard – God seems to be almost consistently working out his purposes
in and through the outsider. Let’s face
it, if one lives at the center of things, if one is, say, affluent, white,
male, straight, life is made for you. This
doesn’t mean that it won’t have its difficulties, but at the center one has the
financial, social and even political wherewhithal to meet those difficulties
more-or-less effectively; for the most part, one has the power to effect the
change deemed necesarry in order to return conditions to the status quo. On the other hand, for those on the margins
of society, for those who are outsiders by virtue of any number of
circumstances, for those without resources or power to effect a change – well,
they must abandon themselves to providence more immediately, and depend on
God’s goodness more directly. Remember
the story of the widow’s mite (which not coincidentally appears only in Luke as
well)? She offers to God all that she
has trusting solely in his providence, while the rich – those as the center –
make their offering simply out of their abundance. (cf. luke 21:1-4)
Still, the ironic
aspect of at-the-center living, is that the center for all its seeming safety
is a rather precarious place. We can go
from being at the center in any number of ways to finding ourselves very easily
and quickly in a situation from which our cenralized position cannot save
us. We can go from being at the center
in terms of our health, for example, to finding ourselves at the margins of
life in hospital. We can go all too
quickly from the center of family life surrounded by friends and loved ones, to
mourning a death at the emotional boundaries of existence. The last few years have showed us this
situation over and again. How many went
from sitting safely at the center of financial security, to grappling at edge
with unemployment and economic chaos?
More recently, we have seen this dynamic poignantly and graphically
displayed in the natural disasters in our country. How many were just weeks ago living at the
center of things socially and geographically but have since then been violently
transported to the edges among the debris of what was once their security? In these cases, the cry almost instinctively
rises to God, because a situation has arisen which the safety and
self-satisfaction of the center cannot fix.
Now, they must learn to live on the edge and abandon themselves to
providence, because the systems of center-life are non-existent. Yet, at the edge we find God’s goodness
revealed in a myriad of ways – in the people who offer help, in the survival of
our loved ones even when the rest our world seems to have perished, in the knowledge
of being loved by friend when we feel most unlovable and a failure. At the edges we can learn how nonsensical and
ridiculous were the things we valued at the center, and we can readjust our
priorities. The edge opens our eyes to
see things from a wider perspective, with keener insght, to discern who we are
and who others are, stripped of social markers; that is, who we are, who they
are, in God.
Perhaps, in the end
it’s not that God lives on the edges, but that those on the edges are simply
more attentive to his presence, more keen for the saving knowledge of his Good
News. They are more aware of their
absolute need for him. It is important
that those of us at the center, pay close attention to this, because no matter
where we are now at some point we will find ourselves at the edges; and even if
we never do, looking at the world from an edge-perspective – as best we can –
will grant to us a wider of field of vision as well as a more compassionate
heart. The fact is that we can stay at
the center, but that position may very well shield us from the very thing as
Christians we say we want – to grow closer to God and closer to our
neighbor. And let this be a gentle
warning to us all, it was those at the center in Jesus’ day who were least
likely to be transformed by his message of love, forgiveness and
compassion. After all they had –
socially, politically, economically – the most to lose.
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