St. Martin's Episcopal Church

When Withdrawing Really Means Engaging

By the Reverend Shirley Smith Graham

January 27, 2008, St. Martin’s Episcopal Church

Matthew 4:12-23

 

            Today’s gospel addresses a situation that we all face sometime or other: the situation in which we find ourselves in the midst of a conflict and have to make a decision about how we will choose to act in that conflict. 

            In a moment I’ll get to the biblical text, but I first want to put before you a real-life situation.  This week, I was in conversation with a parishioner of St. Martin’s who was telling me about a particularly difficult situation at work.  A high-level official in the workplace was implementing policies that were disagreeable to a good many folks.  And the pressure was building on this official.  In the meantime, a controversial issue hit.  Then the group that had been opposing the official interpreted this controversy as yet another reason for disliking the official’s performance instead of having a substantive conversation about the issue itself.

In a light-hearted example, it would be as if, while shopping for apples at the grocery store, a person refused to try a “pink lady” apple because every red apple the person had ever eaten had been a disappointment.  Why even try another red apple, if all other experiences with red apples had been bad.

In the case of this official, the atmosphere of controversy aborted a discussion of the facts.  Many a book has been written about how we, as a culture, are losing the muscles of civil discourse and the ability to have polite but descriptive conversation about issues.  I’m particularly remembering David Abshire’s book, published in 2004, called, The Grace and Power of Civility.  But instead of having the discipline to engage, we are a people who allow ourselves to be driven to positions on the extreme poles of a debate.  As a result, public life – whether your workplace is the 7/11 convenience store or the Chrysler Museum – is a rough and tumble place, a place of controversy where any prudent person would wonder, wouldn’t it simply be saner to withdraw?

            But the model of our faith-life, Jesus the Messiah, did not withdraw.

            In fact, even though, at first glance we may think that Jesus did withdraw from the hot-seat, he did not.  Our gospel passage for today comes on the heels of Jesus’ temptation by Satan, in which Jesus persevered through three tantalizing temptations.  In this posture of victory, Jesus emerges from the desert wilderness to find his cousin, John, imprisoned by the ruler Herod for preaching a message that Jesus himself is about to start preaching.  So, in an atmosphere of threat and danger, where the conflict is tense between Herod and anyone who publicly defies him and what he stands for, the question is, will Jesus back down, will he retreat, will he withdraw to safe environs?

            And, at first look, we might think he does exactly that.  For, doesn’t our very own text say: “Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee”?  He withdrew to Galilee, right?  He retreated, went underground, right?  Well, no, in fact, that’s not what the Greek text says.  Rather, the word used in Matthew 4:12 is avnecw,rhsen, which means most accurately departing, going away, or returning to one’s own country, with nothing of the connotation of “retreat” that our English word “withdraw” has.  In our culture, if a candidate withdraws from a race, it has a very different meaning than if the candidate returns to his/her own state!  Such is the case here, where Jesus goes, departs or returns to Galilee, instead of withdrawing.  Jesus is returning to stake out his position, to establish his ground, to build his platform upon which to preach his message, “Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand.”  And in case the morphological evidence from the Matthew text is not enough we can look at the parallels of this story in Mark and Luke and find that each of the other authors used a different Greek word entirely, and that neither of these words carried the connotation of retreat or withdrawal.  (And for those folks still using your trusty King James Version, you’ll find the KJV doesn’t use withdraw, nor do other English translations.  It just goes to show, it’s helpful to own more than one Bible translation!)

            So, far from withdrawing, Jesus is boldly going to a place where he can establish his ministry and recruit disciples.  Jesus places himself in the most public place of public places, takes his stand, and consistently stays on message, in a place that gives him access to all the nations, that gives him access to changing the world.

            And what is this message?  Simple the same message that got his cousin John in trouble.  Jesus picks up the public ministry that John leaves behind.  As John is pulled away to prison and the last echoes of his voice are heard, saying, “repent,” Jesus publicly takes up the same message, saying, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”  Now the voice has changed, from John to Jesus.

            Herod didn’t like John’s invitation to turn around, to change his behavior.  Herod didn’t like being told that he shouldn’t be married to his brother’s wife, who was, by the way still his brother’s wife.  Herod had no wish to change that behavior.  So Herod took out of commission the only person who was publicly challenging him – John, the Baptizer.  It seems a truism about people at the apex of their power.  The temptation is great to removed people who challenge that power.  Some people overcome the temptation to remove their challengers; others give in to the temptation, as Herod did.  Later in the Gospel of Matthew, we learn that ultimately Herod takes John’s life for challenging him to repent and change.  This is the drama that Jesus steps into.

            We have a tendency, from our 21st Century perspective to retroject onto past cultures a purity of motive and behavior that simply isn’t there.  In this age of Brittany and brutal crimes, we may look back on biblical days and overlay onto them images of a purer, simpler, less dangerous time.  But we must remind ourselves that this is not so.  This Herod’s father slaughtered two years’ worth of babies.  This Herod got rid of a political enemy because he wanted to sleep with his brother’s wife.  And their crimes were not exceptional, but standard behavior for those in power who wishes to eliminate a threat.

            In fact, by the time Jesus reaches thirties, about the age we encounter him in chapter four of Matthew’s gospel, he has moved four times because of the political powers of his time: first, while still in his mother’s womb, he is taken to Bethlehem to be counted in the census; second, while a young child, just after the visit of the magi, Jesus and his parents flee to the safety of Egypt, a maneuver that saves his life; third, Jesus as an older child and his parents travel to Nazareth, when they learn that Bethlehem and Jerusalem are not safe for them; and now, we see Jesus moving to Capernaum … but this time, not because his life is threatened, but because John has been taken to prison.  John has been taken to prison and there is no one to preach the good news invitation to repent … no one except Jesus.  John has set the stage, and Jesus now walks on stage to do what he has been preserved until this moment to do.

            Knowing that, in his childhood, Jesus had twice escaped death threatened by political powers, it is momentous that now he moves straight into the spotlight, the most visible spotlight he could have found.

            Jesus moves to Capernaum … Capernaum by the Sea.

            That resort of the Roman military rulers; that super-spa paradise of the military.  Like any decent place with a Roman military garrison, Capernaum was outfitted with a Roman bath, made not for cleanliness but for social pleasure.  The typical Roman bath included a promenade and fields for sports and games, in addition to the bath room’s features of a hot room, a cold room, and a warm room.  But Capernaum was not just popular for military occupiers.  Everyman traveled the road through Capernaum, as it was the interstate that connected the two terminals of rich goods – Damascus in Syria and the Mediterranean sea, the interstate upon which silk, spices, dried fish and fruits traveled to feed and dress people of means.  Capernaum by the Sea was not just a beautiful place but the place one went to get exposure, to make an impact on the market, to get one’s product out there – and so goes Jesus to that busy place, Capernaum by the Sea.

            And, friends, that’s what we’re called to – not safely and prudently guarding ourselves and retreating to our enclaves but departing and going out into the world – the world of our neighborhoods, our civic associations, our county, our professional lives – out into the world to believe we can make a difference.  We are children of the One who came to be a great light, to be “the dawning light for those who sat in the region and shadow of death”.  How could we be anywhere but in the middle of the fray, on the busiest street we could find, to be witnesses to the light that changes lives?  Why else would God call us to be on Jamestown Road?

By the Reverend Shirley Smith Graham

January 27, 2008, St. Martin’s Episcopal Church

Matthew 4:12-23

 

            Today’s gospel addresses a situation that we all face sometime or other: the situation in which we find ourselves in the midst of a conflict and have to make a decision about how we will choose to act in that conflict. 

            In a moment I’ll get to the biblical text, but I first want to put before you a real-life situation.  This week, I was in conversation with a parishioner of St. Martin’s who was telling me about a particularly difficult situation at work.  A high-level official in the workplace was implementing policies that were disagreeable to a good many folks.  And the pressure was building on this official.  In the meantime, a controversial issue hit.  Then the group that had been opposing the official interpreted this controversy as yet another reason for disliking the official’s performance instead of having a substantive conversation about the issue itself.

In a light-hearted example, it would be as if, while shopping for apples at the grocery store, a person refused to try a “pink lady” apple because every red apple the person had ever eaten had been a disappointment.  Why even try another red apple, if all other experiences with red apples had been bad.

In the case of this official, the atmosphere of controversy aborted a discussion of the facts.  Many a book has been written about how we, as a culture, are losing the muscles of civil discourse and the ability to have polite but descriptive conversation about issues.  I’m particularly remembering David Abshire’s book, published in 2004, called, The Grace and Power of Civility.  But instead of having the discipline to engage, we are a people who allow ourselves to be driven to positions on the extreme poles of a debate.  As a result, public life – whether your workplace is the 7/11 convenience store or the Chrysler Museum – is a rough and tumble place, a place of controversy where any prudent person would wonder, wouldn’t it simply be saner to withdraw?

            But the model of our faith-life, Jesus the Messiah, did not withdraw.

            In fact, even though, at first glance we may think that Jesus did withdraw from the hot-seat, he did not.  Our gospel passage for today comes on the heels of Jesus’ temptation by Satan, in which Jesus persevered through three tantalizing temptations.  In this posture of victory, Jesus emerges from the desert wilderness to find his cousin, John, imprisoned by the ruler Herod for preaching a message that Jesus himself is about to start preaching.  So, in an atmosphere of threat and danger, where the conflict is tense between Herod and anyone who publicly defies him and what he stands for, the question is, will Jesus back down, will he retreat, will he withdraw to safe environs?

            And, at first look, we might think he does exactly that.  For, doesn’t our very own text say: “Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee”?  He withdrew to Galilee, right?  He retreated, went underground, right?  Well, no, in fact, that’s not what the Greek text says.  Rather, the word used in Matthew 4:12 is avnecw,rhsen, which means most accurately departing, going away, or returning to one’s own country, with nothing of the connotation of “retreat” that our English word “withdraw” has.  In our culture, if a candidate withdraws from a race, it has a very different meaning than if the candidate returns to his/her own state!  Such is the case here, where Jesus goes, departs or returns to Galilee, instead of withdrawing.  Jesus is returning to stake out his position, to establish his ground, to build his platform upon which to preach his message, “Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand.”  And in case the morphological evidence from the Matthew text is not enough we can look at the parallels of this story in Mark and Luke and find that each of the other authors used a different Greek word entirely, and that neither of these words carried the connotation of retreat or withdrawal.  (And for those folks still using your trusty King James Version, you’ll find the KJV doesn’t use withdraw, nor do other English translations.  It just goes to show, it’s helpful to own more than one Bible translation!)

            So, far from withdrawing, Jesus is boldly going to a place where he can establish his ministry and recruit disciples.  Jesus places himself in the most public place of public places, takes his stand, and consistently stays on message, in a place that gives him access to all the nations, that gives him access to changing the world.

            And what is this message?  Simple the same message that got his cousin John in trouble.  Jesus picks up the public ministry that John leaves behind.  As John is pulled away to prison and the last echoes of his voice are heard, saying, “repent,” Jesus publicly takes up the same message, saying, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”  Now the voice has changed, from John to Jesus.

            Herod didn’t like John’s invitation to turn around, to change his behavior.  Herod didn’t like being told that he shouldn’t be married to his brother’s wife, who was, by the way still his brother’s wife.  Herod had no wish to change that behavior.  So Herod took out of commission the only person who was publicly challenging him – John, the Baptizer.  It seems a truism about people at the apex of their power.  The temptation is great to removed people who challenge that power.  Some people overcome the temptation to remove their challengers; others give in to the temptation, as Herod did.  Later in the Gospel of Matthew, we learn that ultimately Herod takes John’s life for challenging him to repent and change.  This is the drama that Jesus steps into.

            We have a tendency, from our 21st Century perspective to retroject onto past cultures a purity of motive and behavior that simply isn’t there.  In this age of Brittany and brutal crimes, we may look back on biblical days and overlay onto them images of a purer, simpler, less dangerous time.  But we must remind ourselves that this is not so.  This Herod’s father slaughtered two years’ worth of babies.  This Herod got rid of a political enemy because he wanted to sleep with his brother’s wife.  And their crimes were not exceptional, but standard behavior for those in power who wishes to eliminate a threat.

            In fact, by the time Jesus reaches thirties, about the age we encounter him in chapter four of Matthew’s gospel, he has moved four times because of the political powers of his time: first, while still in his mother’s womb, he is taken to Bethlehem to be counted in the census; second, while a young child, just after the visit of the magi, Jesus and his parents flee to the safety of Egypt, a maneuver that saves his life; third, Jesus as an older child and his parents travel to Nazareth, when they learn that Bethlehem and Jerusalem are not safe for them; and now, we see Jesus moving to Capernaum … but this time, not because his life is threatened, but because John has been taken to prison.  John has been taken to prison and there is no one to preach the good news invitation to repent … no one except Jesus.  John has set the stage, and Jesus now walks on stage to do what he has been preserved until this moment to do.

            Knowing that, in his childhood, Jesus had twice escaped death threatened by political powers, it is momentous that now he moves straight into the spotlight, the most visible spotlight he could have found.

            Jesus moves to Capernaum … Capernaum by the Sea.

            That resort of the Roman military rulers; that super-spa paradise of the military.  Like any decent place with a Roman military garrison, Capernaum was outfitted with a Roman bath, made not for cleanliness but for social pleasure.  The typical Roman bath included a promenade and fields for sports and games, in addition to the bath room’s features of a hot room, a cold room, and a warm room.  But Capernaum was not just popular for military occupiers.  Everyman traveled the road through Capernaum, as it was the interstate that connected the two terminals of rich goods – Damascus in Syria and the Mediterranean sea, the interstate upon which silk, spices, dried fish and fruits traveled to feed and dress people of means.  Capernaum by the Sea was not just a beautiful place but the place one went to get exposure, to make an impact on the market, to get one’s product out there – and so goes Jesus to that busy place, Capernaum by the Sea.

            And, friends, that’s what we’re called to – not safely and prudently guarding ourselves and retreating to our enclaves but departing and going out into the world – the world of our neighborhoods, our civic associations, our county, our professional lives – out into the world to believe we can make a difference.  We are children of the One who came to be a great light, to be “the dawning light for those who sat in the region and shadow of death”.  How could we be anywhere but in the middle of the fray, on the busiest street we could find, to be witnesses to the light that changes lives?  Why else would God call us to be on Jamestown Road?


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