Difficult or Impossible?

The scriptures referred to are Hosea 5:15-6:6, Psalm 50: 7-15 and Matthew 9:9-13.

Memes on the internet have killed all those comical faxed and photocopied cartoons and signs you used to see tacked up on office bulletin boards and taped above desks. You know, the ones that said, “Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.” Or “I can only be nice to one person a day and today is not your day. Tomorrow doesn't look good for you either.” My favorite is a quote from Mark Twain: “Eat a live toad first thing in the morning and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day.” And then there is the ironic: “The difficult we do immediately; the impossible takes a little longer.”

One thing I like about that last one is that it differentiates between 2 things we often confuse: the difficult and the impossible. As I used to tell my kids when they balked at doing something, the two are not the same. But we frequently shrink from doing the difficult and act as if it's well nigh impossible. It's not merely the physically difficult things that intimidate us. Sometimes what we find the most daunting is what's psychologically difficult for us to do. Like facing a problem we would rather ignore. Or having to deal with someone, maybe even a family member, with whom we have a troubled history. Or acknowledging and trying to reform our most deeply embarrassing flaw. These things aren't impossible; they just feel that way. And yet inevitably we have to confront them.

Many turn to religion to shield them from the unpleasant facts in their lives. They seek a God who is all comfort and forgiveness. But by concentrating on only on these aspects of God, they ignore a great deal of God's nature and end up constructing a false idol, which we might call the cosmic teddy bear. This non-threatening god is just a bit of fluff to hug and bury their face in when reality rears its ugly head. He is something to curl up with at bedtime with hopes of Disney-like dreams. The signs these people put in their houses and over their desks and on their Facebook pages say things like “God will never give you more than you can handle.” Which is not biblical. For one thing, if you can handle all your problems yourself, why do you need God? And what happens to your faith when you get cancer or lose a loved one or have to deal with something else you really can't handle? Some things are too much for us alone. Which is why we need God's help.

And this soft and cuddly god is not the God who tells Abram to leave his home and family and journey hundreds of miles to an unknown land in hopes of getting property and progeny. This is not the God who appears to Moses as an unquenchable fire and commands him to confront a hard-hearted Pharaoh and lead his people out of slavery. This is not the God who does not let the cup of crucifixion pass from Jesus so that humanity might be saved from itself. Some things have to be done.

I haven't seen the sentimental old comic strip Rose is Rose in years but it did have an interesting depiction of a guardian angel. The angel usually looked like Rose's cute little son Pasquale only with a robe, a halo and wings. But when something threatens the little boy his guardian angel become a fierce flint-faced giant, with an enormous sword and shield. God is a little like that. He is loving and can be gentle when that's what we need but he is also formidable and may seem hard. Any parent who really takes her role as both nurturer and protector seriously can appreciate the paradox. There are times when you shouldn't be your child's pal; for his sake, you must be the one with authority. You must tell him or her what to do and what not to do. You may even have to discipline them to protect them from the more dire consequences of their behavior, especially actions that lead to injuring themselves or others. And you will have to endure them telling you they hate you for it.

God sounds very much like the exasperated parent in our passage from Hosea. “What shall I do with you?” he asks. “Your love is like a morning cloud, like the dew that goes away early.” Our affection for God does tend to evaporate when he gets tough with us.

We really hate it when God asks us to do the difficult. But that is part of his role as God. He is not our omnipotent butler; he is not here to make us comfy. He is here to save us from ourselves and that that means commanding us to do what feels like the spiritual equivalent of cleaning our rooms or scrubbing the toilet. It's not fun but it's necessary.

In ancient Israel when someone sinned, they were expected to go to the temple and offer an animal sacrifice. In an agrarian culture a bull or a goat is valuable. Giving one up to God is a sacrifice. For the Masai tribe in Kenya, cows are literally sacred. They give milk. They act as pack animals. They are food. They even act as money. A person's wealth is measured in cattle. To be without animals is to truly be close to starvation.

Columnist Leonard Pitt wrote of how the tribe raised $5000 to send one of their own to America to become a doctor. Of course, that amount didn't even begin to pay for a medical education. But then a medical school offered the young Masai a complete scholarship. When the African pre-med student returned home on school vacation he told them of how 3000 people were killed on 9/11. The tribe was horrified that anyone would do so much evil to a nation that was doing them so much good. So they gave America the biggest gift they could think of: 14 of their precious cattle. It was a great sacrifice for them.

In Biblical times, people thought of domesticated animals in the same way. But apparently some folks thought God needed the meat or liked the smell of barbecue. But, as God says in Psalm 50, he doesn't need the sacrifices. So why did he command them? To reinforce the idea that sin has consequences, negative consequences, and that somebody usually has to pay for them, even with his life. The point wasn't the animals sacrificed. As God says in Hosea, “For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.” (Hosea 6:6) The sacrifices were not magical but a teaching tool, to make us realize a deeper truth about the cost of sin.

The blood of bulls cannot really erase our sins. Ultimately the animal sacrifices were a preparation for the real thing, an enacted prophesy of the day when someone would have to pay for all people's sins. And that person was Jesus.

But Jesus is the Messiah, God's anointed prophet, priest and king. What good is he dead? Perhaps that is one of the things Jesus was thinking about in the garden of Gethsemane. He has accepted his role as Messiah. He has taught the people; he has gathered the disciples, the nucleus of the new people of God. Now God is asking him to take on the consequences of the whole world's sins. Jesus, fully human as well as fully God, naturally doesn't want to. Yet he puts his will in harmony with his Father's and goes to the cross.

God may ask us to do the difficult at times but he asked Jesus to do the impossible: to pay for all the wrongs and injustices of all the people in the world. To defeat death. To die and yet rule the living. But for God nothing is impossible. Jesus' resurrection is God's sign that nothing can stop, nothing can hinder, nothing can thwart his love for us.

Faced with this, how can we refuse when God asks us to merely do what is difficult? Look at what Matthew does.

Matthew was a tax collector. Which means he was probably rich. He was most certainly hated. Because the Romans taxed everything. They taxed the land one owned. Plus one tenth of a farmer's grain or one fifth of his fruit went to the emperor. In addition the Romans collected a 1% income tax. There was also a poll tax on every male aged 14 to 65 and on every female 12 to 65. These were statutory taxes. They were checked against the census and every cent had to go to maintaining the military empire.

So why would any Jew become a tax collector and receive all the hatred for helping those oppressing their people? Greed. There were other, less easy-to-monitor taxes. There was a duty of 2.5 to 12.5% on all imports and exports. There were taxes for traveling on main roads, taxes on crossing bridges, taxes on entering markets, towns and harbors. There were taxes on pack animals, taxes on the axles and wheels of carts, taxes on goods bought and sold. And on these things, the tax collector could add a surcharge for himself. Or he could take bribes from the rich in order to reduce their official taxes. Which made tax collectors rich.

No wonder tax collectors were hated. Here were people fleecing their neighbors and countrymen. They were considered traitors. They were barred from the synagogues, and treated as if they were as unclean as pigs. They were classified  with robbers and murderers by the rabbis. So of course they associated with the other outcasts of society. Who else would be friends with them?

Jesus would. And maybe that's why Matthew reacted as he did. He had money but no real friends. He had a nice house but he could not enter God's house. He had plenty of food but his soul was hungry for God's love. He was materially wealthy but spiritually destitute. Then this rabbi, Jesus, comes to him. Matthew has heard talk of him. He's heard of his words and his works of wonder throughout the district that Matthew administers. Perhaps he has talked with Jesus before as he collected taxes from him and his disciples. But now Jesus says to him, “Follow me.”

Matthew stares at Jesus. Does he mean me? he wonders to himself. Jesus stares back, waiting for an answer. And now everybody is looking at Matthew. What is the rabbi doing? Why is he talking to that—that tax collector?! Surely he is not inviting him to join us, his disciples think.

Matthew knows what this means. This means an end to his cushy job and comfy life. This means leaving his nice chair and instead walking miles around the country with Jesus daily as he spreads the word. This means no longer sleeping on his soft bed in his fine house but on the hard ground outdoors. It means a difficult life.

But it also means the end of his being shunned by God and man. It means the end of his exile and the beginning of a new life with real friends and a master he can respect. Matthew knows an opportunity when he sees it. He may not get another chance. He jumps up from his table and invites Jesus to one last feast, a big farewell party to his old life. Matthew is making a big sacrifice but he is gaining so much more.

What Matthew did, giving up his wealthy life, was difficult but so was what Jesus did every day: eating and drinking and sometimes arguing with sinners. How could he tolerate their coarse jokes and immoral lifestyles? How could he stand self-righteous critics who found fault with how and when he chose to heal the sick and suffering? How could he bear to be around such people? The same way a doctor can bear to probe a dirty wound or drain a pus-filled abscess or try to get through to a patient who is resisting his efforts to make them better. Because that is his calling: to help and heal all who come to him.

Our calling is also to do what is difficult: to approach the unapproachable. To forgive the unforgivable. To love the unlovable. Because Jesus did that and more. Jesus did the impossible: though holy and immortal, he died for us sinners. The least we can do is live for him.