“The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.”
Such words have greater power for those of us who live in a region where we always anticipate the next storm as we watch our coastline disappear and the wetlands become smaller and smaller each year. In fact, part of the witness of this congregation is that we are a host site for mission groups that come into town and respond to the storms of the past and the poverty of the present through the Presbyterian Disaster Assistance program.
I don’t say that to boast, in fact, we have not hosted as many groups as we had hoped to, but it’s something that we have done in order to feel like we have some solid ground to stand on when the storms rage and all seems lost. It’s important to know, in times like these, that we have some solid ground to stand on, but I don’t think that’s necessarily all that Jesus had in mind with this parable.
To understand what he had in mind, we have to remember the context. This parable and the passages before it aren’t just random thoughts from Rabbi Jesus. They are the closing argument for the sermon on the mount – the sermon that started out with the Beatitudes; the sermon that started with the claim that those who suffer unjustly are blessed and all of us who follow Jesus are called to suffer for the sake of righteousness.
Now, I realize that “suffering for the sake of righteousness” is not a very attractive offer, but it comes with the promise of living as citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven. We’ve talked about that a bit over the past few weeks, and today’s readings help us to see more clearly what it means to live that way. Living as citizens in the Kingdom of heaven requires both truth-telling and living in right relationships with others – two things that seem utterly incompatible in a world where people regularly “unfriend” and “cancel” one another.
Strange as it may seem, that’s kind of what Jesus had in mind with his warning about false Prophets. In this case, Jesus was referring to leaders who claimed to speak for God. The Office of Prophet had historically been a person who was trained – and also trained others – in the tradition of prophecy, and their job was to counterbalance the power of Priests and Kings. They were the ones who called out injustice and acknowledged the obvious uncomfortable truths that benefited those in power at the expense of others (Nathan, for example, with David and Bathsheba).
That tradition had kind of gone by the wayside by this time – mostly because those in power tended to kill them – but people might still be recognized as a Prophet by others. In fact, many referred to Jesus as one. That’s why Jesus wanted them to remember that the purpose of a prophet was to speak truth to power, and he warned them to watch out for those whose actions were self-serving at the expense of others. What better image could there be for that than a ravenous wolf pretending to be a sheep?
From there, he reminded them (and us) that our created purpose is our created purpose. That reminder even extends to wolves and thorns and poisonous fruit, but it doesn’t mean that they are good. The good fruit of prophecy tells the truth and holds the powerful in check.
Jesus didn’t stop there, though. No, he likes to meddle. It’s not enough to hold leaders accountable. We have to be accountable for our own prophetic witness as well. If we are to call upon the name of Jesus, then our lives need to be up to the task. It’s not that we have to be perfect (even though he does tell us to strive for perfection earlier in the sermon). It’s more that he’s just told them a few verses back not to judge others and to look out for the log in our own eye before going after the speck in our neighbor’s eye.
All of that is part of the conversation when he tells people who say they have prophesied in his name that they are evil-doers whom he does not know, but those who listen to his words and put them into practice will be like the one who built a house on solid ground. The rains came and the waters rose, but the house stood strong.
The solid ground is not created by our works. It is the basis for them. What Jesus has done for us in his sermon is not only to give us the baseline for our choices but to make the choice so obvious that it’s really not much of a choice.
Who would let wolves in with lambs? Who would look for grapes on a thorn bush? Who would build a house on a shifting foundation (Ok, so Jesus was talking to people who had never been to Florida and had no concept for modern engineering, but you get the idea)?
What is the “no brainer” question for you? What door is God holding open for you to walk through? What door is being closed for someone else, and how might you open it for them or even sit with them to assure them of God’s presence? I’m not sure what that scenario is for you, but sometimes it’s as simple as a plate of cookies.
Several years ago I was serving a congregation in VA as an Associate Pastor, and a member dropped by and interrupted a meeting with the Sr. Pastor with a plate of cookies. He told us that he had been feeling kind of low from a diagnosis that was pretty scary, so he decided that he should do something for someone else to make him feel better. He made us some cookies.
Obviously, this is not a great time for sharing food with others, but maybe you can do something else. Paint rocks with your kids and hide them at someone’s house. Send a postcard. Take time and have a real conversation with someone on the phone.
We aren’t going to end racism or income disparity with postcards and painted rocks, but I think cultivating the parts of our souls that take delight in the joy of the other is a good start. What better example could we have than Jesus? Immediately after the sermon, he was confronted by a man with leprosy, who said, “Lord, if you choose, you can make me clean.” Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, saying, “I do choose. Be made clean!”
What other choice could he make? What other choice can we make, when we see the suffering of others, and when we know that something is not right in the relationships we share? Every bond we strengthen and every act of compassion that we express creates the materials we use to build our house on the solid rock of Christ Jesus.
More than houses, though, I think we need bridges. I’m not talking about the infrastructure of the interstate system or the looming housing crisis in our town and others. I’m talking about the kind of bridges we build between us when we dare to love as Christ loves us.
Maya Angelou said it this way, "What I really would like said about me is that I dared to love. By love, I mean that condition in the human spirit so profound it encourages us to develop courage and build bridges, and then to trust those bridges and cross the bridges in attempts to reach other human beings."
This is the way in which all other ills may be met by the one who brings healing in his wake. We must be willing to speak truth to power, even when we are the ones in power. We must be willing to work toward good and right relationships with God and one another, and we must remember that the love of God expressed perfectly in Christ Jesus is the foundation for all we say and do. In this way, we will weather any storm – and to God be the glory for that, now and always. Amen!
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