Joshua 3:7-17; 1 Thessalonians 2:9-13; Matthew 23:1-12
The common thread connecting all of our readings for today is Leadership. In our reading from Joshua, we’re at a crucial moment in the life of the Israelites. Moses has just died, and has appointed Joshua to succeed him. But will the people follow young Joshua? God intends to make sure that they do. The people are marching towards Canaan, their promised homeland, with the ark of the covenant going before them. And just as they come to the river Jordan, what happens? God does the same for Joshua that he did for Moses—he parted the waters, and the people walked across on dry land.
In doing this, God put his seal of approval on Joshua. Before the whole of the people of Israel, God ratifies Moses’ selection, so that there can be so question about his election or his authority.
What we see here is a miracle story, and triumphant story of vindication, of leadership—but it’s kind of an old-paradigm model of leadership. It’s a leadership model with absolute power given into the hands of one man—and just as importantly, one MALE. The subtext of this story is that this man Joshua now speaks for God. Don’t you dare cross him, question him, or gainsay him. This is an archetypal example of external authority—the ultimate authority, God, deputizing an absolute authority amongst human beings whom none dare cross.
This may be a fairly recent cultural change, but I think the old model of leadership is going the way of the dinosaur. People no longer trust hierarchical authority. There may be places for it, such as on the battlefield, maybe even in business, but there certainly is no place for it anymore in spiritual communities. I watch with chagrin the pain of our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters as their leaders cling so desperately to this model, wrecking so much violence and pain in the process—and, quite frankly, coming off more often than not as buffoons in the media. It’s painful to watch.
But this is the way that leadership has been done in the church—until the late Reformation, at least, and the founding of our own Congregational tradition. But even back then, although authority was shared amongst members, you can bet it was only male members.
But “this is the way it’s always been done” is not an effective argument in religious matters, especially when it flies directly in the face of the words of Jesus. Look at what Jesus is doing, here. He’s refuting the so-called religious authorities of his own day, in pretty nasty terms, actually. He’s saying the scribes and the Pharisees claim Moses’ authority—just as Joshua does in our Old Testament reading—but unlike Joshua, Jesus doesn’t think that they deserve it. Because they use their power to keep other people down and make themselves look good.
Jesus isn’t exactly arguing for internal authority, here, but he IS instructing his listeners to question those in authority, to use their own discretion in spiritual matters, to reject those who set themselves up as leaders—which is pretty close to the same thing.
And his critique is harsh—he’s accusing them of using their religion to puff up their own egos at the expense of the spiritual health of ordinary people. He’s saying that they are abusing their authority, and that, in fact, they have no authority. That God himself is the authority. That, in fact, you should call no mere human “teacher” or “rabbi” or “father.”
Our readings challenge me to look at my own life. When I was first ordained, I would get a thrill whenever I would pass a mirror and see myself in a collar. I would feel proud, special, and I enjoyed the “special treatment” I would receive when I wore it about town. It was my own version of “wide phylacteries and broad fringes,” and yes, I loved it when other people saw it. I also loved being called “father.” I loved, in fact, everything that Jesus is railing against in this reading, and I was guilty of it 100%.
I like to think I’ve grown up a little bit. These days, I don’t wear a collar very often. I do it, usually, when I have to. It isn’t so much about being seen anymore, but mostly about what is expected. First of all, I want to be comfortable. And I’m not comfortable when I’m dressed formally. If I can’t wear jeans and a t-shirt someplace, I don’t really want to go. But for another thing, it is quite literally putting on airs, and that’s not something I’m comfortable with any more. But it’s expected of me, here, on Sundays. And it’s helpful in navigating through a hospital or nursing home without being challenged.
On the other hand, just yesterday, as I was driving up to Sacramento to do a baptism, I thought for a moment I was going to be pulled over for speeding—because, actually, I WAS speeding—and I reflexively reached for my collar. Privilege dies hard.
Even without my collar, I’m still not the Invisible Man. None of us are. People still see us while we do the work of the Gospel—they still judge us, for good or ill, they still notice what we do and say. How do we minister in a way that honors Jesus’ warnings and yet is realistic about our somatic visibility? Our reading from Paul is clearly in tension with Jesus’ tirade, and his instructions are sober and wise.
He’s reminding the Thessalonians of when they first met, about how Paul and his companions comported themselves among them. Paul is saying, basically, “remember how we behaved ourselves? We taught you, we comforted you, and we challenged you so that you would walk in a way that is worthy of the God who called you.”
Paul is talking about setting a good example. He knows that people were watching him and his companions. They were evaluating him, judging him, reckoning whether this was a man who could be trusted or not. Paul is reminding them that people are likewise watching THEM and evaluating whether THEY are trustworthy.
Note the tension between the two readings: Jesus is saying, “Don’t do these things so that people will think well of you,” and Paul is saying, “Be careful, because people are watching, and you want them to think well of you.”
Is it possible to reconcile the two? I think it is. There isn’t a question of whether we’re going to do religious stuff—we are, because we’re religious people. There isn’t a question of whether we’re going to be visible—we’re not Claude Rains, or Kevin Bacon, thank the gods. People are going to see us. The key question, I think is, “Who are we doing this for?”
If we’re doing it for ourselves, to puff ourselves up, to make people admire us, or to lord our alleged “authority” over them—then Jesus’ rebuke is well deserved. If, on the other hand, we’re doing it out of love and concern for others, we want to be careful not to undermine our own credibility, because then no one will trust us. The difference here is not between external authority and internal authority, but between something far less frequently discussed. The tension is between authority and responsibility.
As ministers of the Gospel—and if you are a Christian, you ARE a minister of the Gospel, the collar is entirely optional—as ministers of the Gospel, WE HAVE NO AUTHORITY. The old paradigm has passed away, and good riddance, I say. But what we do have—and plenty of it—is responsibility.
We are not the authority on people’s lives, or on what is true or not true, or what is virtuous or sinful, or who is holy or wicked. None. No authority whatsoever. Such judgments are best left to God.
But we do have RESPONSIBILITY. We have a responsibility to ourselves, to live lives of integrity. We have a responsibility to others in our spiritual community, to live in a way that reflects well on our brothers and sisters. We have a responsibility to this broken and hurting world to be the hands and feet of Jesus to them, feeding, healing, consoling, advocating, befriending, bringing the hope and salvation that we ourselves have received. And we have a responsibility to God to be worthy of the Kingdom and the glory to which we have been called.
That’s leadership. But it’s not leadership from the top-down. It’s leadership from the inside out. It’s leadership based not on some farcical authority bestowed on us from above, but on the responsibility that is common to all of us, responsibility for each other and to each other. Let us pray…
Lord, you called us not to set ourselves up
as kings and rulers and teacher and authorities,
but as friends and companions and servants to one another.
Help us to heed your warning, not to act for our own benefit
But for the benefit of those who are hurting.
Hold us accountable, and let us be accountable to one another
As we lovingly encourage and correct and exhort one another
Evolving into the Body of Christ that is truly in thine image.
For we ask this in the name of the one who loved us,
sought us out, called us, and sent us out
for the healing and salvation of the world, even Jesus Christ. Amen.
