Pastor Mark

Dolly, Joseph, and Jesus

Dolly, Joseph, and Jesus
Pastor Mark Havel

Matthew 18:21-35

Then Peter came to Jesus and said to him, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often must I forgive – as many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but I tell you seventy-seven times.”

“For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought before him. When he couldn’t pay, the king ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all of his possessions, and payment to be made. But the slave fell down before him and pleaded, ‘Have patience with me and I’ll pay you everything.’ Out of pity for him, the king released him and forgave him his entire debt.

“But that same slave, when he went out, came across a fellow slave who owed him one hundred denarii. Seizing him by the throat, he said, ‘Pay what you owe!’ When he could not pay, he knelt down before him and said, ‘Have patience with me and I will pay you.’ But the first slave refused and he went and had him thrown into prison until he could pay the debt. When his fellow slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed and they went and told the king everything that had taken place.

“The king summoned the first slave and said to him, ‘You wicked slave!’ I forgave you all of that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave the way I had mercy on you?’ Then, in anger, he handed him over to be tortured until he could pay his entire debt. So, my heavenly father will also do to every one of you unless you forgive your brother and your sister from your heart.”


It’s been a few weeks since we lost Saint Dolly. I knew there would be an occasion where her death – and her life – and her Christian witness – would make its way into something around here. She was such an example of what faithful, generous, Christ-likeness looks like in the world, after all. But I’m not going to talk about her generosity – the million dollars she donated to jumpstart the development of the COVID vaccine during the pandemic; the gazillion books her “Imagination Library” has shared with kids around the world; the millions of dollars she gave to hurricane, flood, and wildfire victims in her home state and beyond. That is all very impressive, for sure. But for someone with Dolly Parton kind of money none of that is as impressive as what caught my attention about her capacity to forgive, just as generously.

If you know anything about her story – or if you happened upon any of the many tributes and reflections about the trajectory of her career, in the last few weeks, since her death – you likely know something about her early days with Porter Wagoner. Porter Wagoner – that goofy looking dude of a country singer-songwriter. He was 20 years older than Dolly and had his own TV show. He gets credit for discovering Dolly Parton and for giving her her big television debut as a regular on “The Porter Wagoner Show.” She was just 21 years old, at the time, and not so far removed from the hills and hollers of Sevierville, TN.

Dolly lived in Porter’s shadow – and under his thumb – for seven years on his show. As her boss and producer and mentor he apparently controlled and dismissed her creativity so that, in 1974, Dolly told him she wanted to leave the show, break out on her own, and have more creative freedom to do her own thing. When Wagoner resisted the idea, Dolly went home, wrote the masterpiece that is “I Will Always Love You,” sang it to him the next day, and let him know she would be leaving, whether he wanted her to go, or not.

Wagoner knew what he’d lost, of course, and held a grudge that had him speaking ill of Dolly thereafter until, when his own career fell apart and his finances took a dump, he sued Dolly – five years after the fact – for $3,000,000, in 1979, for breach of contract. (That’s about $14,000,000 in today’s money.) Dolly kept a lot of that quiet and on the down-low and they ultimately settled out of court.

Several more years later – in spite of all of that – when Dolly Parton learned that Porter Wagoner was in such dire financial straits that he had to sell the publishing rights to his own music, she secretly, quietly, on the down-low again, bought his entire catalogue of music and gave the rights to it all back to him as a gift.

In other words, Dolly pulled a Joseph.

If you don’t know or remember the details of that story, which we just heard a little piece of this morning, Joseph was one of 12 brothers. When their dad, Jacob, made it clear that Joseph was his favorite, showering him with praise and special treatment and dressing him like Dolly Parton in that coat of many colors, the other brothers didn’t like it. They conspired to kill Joseph, but ended up selling him to some human traffickers, instead, and then faked his death, letting their dad believe their little brother was killed by some kind of wild animal.

Like Dolly, though, Joseph made it big. He landed in the house and in the favor of Pharaoh – interpreting dreams like Dolly wrote songs – until he became one of the most influential men in all of Egypt. So that, years later, when famine and dire financial straits fell upon his family back home and his lying, traitorous brothers showed up looking for rescue and relief from Pharoah’s reserves in Egypt, Joseph had a choice to make: hold a grudge and send them packing? Or give them what they wanted and needed, whether they deserved it or not? Like Dolly, Joseph chose the latter and, in some quiet, sly, down-low ways of his own, Joseph helped his brothers – welcoming them with open arms and setting them up with some new land on which their family – his family – could survive, live, and thrive as a people.

I can’t be sure, because I’ve never had Dolly Parton dollars or access to the unlimited funds of the Pharaoh, but I have a hunch that the harder, more generous, sacrificial, faithful part of the reconciliation offered up by these two well-dressed, well-heeled, giants of faith we have in Dolly and Joseph, comes NOT in the grand total of the financial help they offered … but in the selfless, sacrificial, humble, ego-free, no-strings-attached, utter grace of their forgiveness.

They did it, not because they had to … or because they didn’t have plenty of reason to do the opposite … (in this era of Taylor Swift style – paybacks are Hell sort of break-up songs – it’s worth noting that even Dolly’s “break up” song to Porter Wagoner was full of humility, gratitude, and love). And Dolly did it – forgave him and helped him and reconciled with him – she apparently said, because she didn’t want to live her life bearing the burden of that broken relationship.

Joseph did it – forgave and helped and reconciled with his brothers – because he could see the bigger picture of what God was up to in his life and for the sake of the world. Only God could have turned Joseph’s great loss and suffering into good for his family … and only if Joseph had played along by forgiving them like he did.

All of which is the way of Jesus, just the same. And it’s what he’s talking about this morning with this parable – remember, this is a parable – nothing more and nothing less – about the “unforgiving servant.”

Jesus tells that story about this poor guy who couldn’t share, with his friend, the same kind of forgiveness he’d received – and then ends up being tortured because of it. Now, I don’t think we need to see that as some kind of cosmic threat or warning about the likelihood of our own suffering when we die for all the ways we didn’t forgive on this side of heaven. The “kingdom of heaven” Jesus is describing here has already broken into our midst in Jesus, remember. The kingdom of heaven about which Jesus teaches is alive and well and among us, just as much as it is up there and out there and beyond the grave.

So, when Jesus says, “the kingdom of heaven is like…” what if Jesus is teaching us about and calling us to something Dolly and Joseph knew and practiced: that living – on this side of heaven – in a state of unforgiveness … carrying – in this life – the weight of a grudge … shouldering – daily – the burden of resentment for someone else’s sins against you, is its own kind of torture; it’s own kind of hell; it’s own kind of suffering – on this side of heaven; in this life; right where we live; right here and now? And what if Jesus’ point – what if his promise – is that God doesn’t want that for any of us.

In other words, forgiveness isn’t an entirely benevolent act – and that’s okay. Yes, to forgive another is a wonderful gift to give someone else, but it’s something we do for ourselves, too. It may mean mending a relationship or it may mean moving on from one with grace. It may mean accepting someone’s apology and it may mean accepting that someone will never apologize and mean it. It may mean healing a hurt from the past or it may mean letting the past be the past and moving on. It may mean setting the record straight or it may mean setting the score card aside – or on fire – and starting from zero.

Whatever the case, we are invited to forgive because God doesn’t want us to live in bondage. We forgive because grudges and memories of sin are heavy burdens to carry around. We forgive because we know it’s been done for us in more ways than we can count. And we forgive because to refuse it is to refuse God’s place and power in our lives.

Because it all starts with God’s grace – made known in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus – promising, as God does, that “I will always love you.”

Because of that truth – because of that promise kept, in Jesus – because of that mercy made real – because of that burden lifted – because of our Sin, forgiven – we can do the same for others and for the sake of the world. And when we do, we set ourselves free along the way, just the same.

Amen

A Jerk Like Jesus

A Jerk Like Jesus
Pastor Mark Havel

Matthew 15:21-28

Jesus left that place and went to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then, a Canaanite woman from that region came to him and cried out, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David! My daughter is tormented by a demon.” Jesus didn’t answer her at all. His disciples said to him, “Send her away from here. She keeps shouting after us.” Jesus replied, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But the woman came, and kneeling before him, said, “Lord, help me.” And Jesus replied, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” The woman replied, “Yes, Lord. But even dogs get the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.” Jesus said, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed, instantly.


I make it a point not to compare myself to Jesus – for so many reasons. But I found myself doing just that this week when I sat down to wrestle with this difficult Gospel reading. This one hit differently, for a change, and not in a good way.

What I mean is, like we just heard from Jesus, I was sort of a jerk to a couple of people who needed my help this week. I wasn’t as mean as Jesus, honestly – I didn’t call anyone a “dog” – but I was kind of a jerk, nonetheless. But first, I’d rather talk about talk about Jesus.

He and the disciples are spreading the Word, their working miracles, their feeding, healing, and teaching. I’m sure they’re still talking about how Peter walked on water, which we heard about last week. And then along comes this woman – a Canaanite woman; a Gentile woman in the land of Gentiles; and she wants to talk to Jesus. She wants his mercy and his blessing and his healing for her sick daughter and she has the nerve to ask him for it.

I say “nerve” because she was a Gentile, a Canaanite. She was not a Jew, like Jesus and his disciples. She was NOT one of the “lost sheep of the house of Israel,” as Jesus puts it. And because of that, she wasn’t on his agenda or in his plans or on his list of priorities. Even though they were in her neck of the woods – the region of Tyre and Sidon – neither Jesus nor his disciples wanted anything to do with her.

“Send her away,” the disciples say, “she keeps shouting after us.” “Lose her before she makes a scene.” And Jesus tries to brush her off, himself: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” “I really am only here for the Jews. Not for Gentiles. Not for Canaanites. Not for the likes of her.”

But she doesn’t give up. She keeps after him. She persists, like any good mother would, who really wanted help for her sick child. And, even after hearing all of this, she kneels before Jesus, utterly humbling herself, and she begs him … simply … “Lord, help me.”

And it gets worse before it gets better. If there’s any doubt that Jesus didn’t want anything to do with this lady, listen when he says, “It’s not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” That is as bad as it sounds. He compares her to a dog – unworthy of receiving the same blessings he came to share with his fellow Jews; with “the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

*** Now, a little sidebar here. I have preached and taught about this text several times over the years and usually take the same tack … to make it about race, for instance; or ministry to the “other,” for example; or about doing away with the social and cultural divisions that separate people from each other – like how Jesus and his disciples saw themselves as separate from – maybe better than – that Canaanite woman. I like to talk about how even Jesus was influenced by his culture and community and about how even he had to learn and be persuaded to see God’s grace as deeper and wider and more all-encompassing than he was first inclined. And I think that is quite a compelling lesson to be learned here. But I’ve been there and done that – as far as sermons go – so this time around it hit differently, as I said. ***

Whatever it was that made Jesus rebuff, dismiss, and ignore the needs of this woman, this is hard to hear because either he meant it, which can’t be good. Or because he was messing with her to test the fortitude of her faithfulness, which isn’t great, either. Or maybe, like me this week, Jesus was just tired and feeling rushed and put upon and taken for granted by people who needed their emergency to become his emergency at a time when he just didn’t feel like he had it in him.

(For me it was phone calls and requests from some folks outside of the congregation – none of you, in other words. One was from a guy who needed help at the food pantry – NOW; another was someone looking for marriage counseling; and another was a woman who had a sick child, was out of work following surgery, and who needed help with her rent … IMMEDIATELY.)

For what it’s worth, like Jesus, I ultimately helped two of them and I plan to call the third. I just wasn’t my best self along the way or in my heart of hearts … I was a little slow on the uptake, a little frustrated in the meantime, I was cynical, suspicious, and skeptical about the “need” of their “need.” I dragged my feet and I thought some thoughts, if you know what I mean.

So, while I don’t like experiencing or seeing or admitting to this side of myself – or to this side of Jesus – bear with me for a minute. To not see this side of the story is to miss something significant; something practical; something holy.

Because what we see – for my money – is one of the greatest examples of Jesus’ humanity. Even Jesus could put up barriers. Even Jesus had blinders on every now and again. Even Jesus, it seems, had trouble feeling the pain, understanding the need, recognizing the desperation of those who weren’t like him. And even Jesus struggled to acknowledge the difference his kind of GRACE could mean for some people.

It’s not the picture I’ve painted of Jesus in our heart of hearts, for the most part. It’s not the gracious response we’ve come to expect from our Lord. It’s not the open arms and the open heart and the open mind I’d rather tell you about. And if this was true for Jesus from time to time – shouldn’t each of us imagine … wonder about … consider deeply ... acknowledge – that it might also be true of us in more ways than we are always able to recognize or willing to admit?

And, as hard as it may be to see in Jesus or to acknowledge about ourselves, we should, because I believe what happens next for Jesus, and by God’s grace, is the point in all of this.

What happens when Jesus encounters this nameless Canaanite woman – seemingly so different from him and his kind – is that he learns something about her, about himself, and about the power and potential of his ministry. This annoying, persistent, desperate woman – searching for her daughter’s cure – pushed Jesus and his ministry to a new level. What she showed Jesus and what she shows us is that we can open ourselves up in surprising ways. We learn from Jesus that his ministry – and ours – is for those we don’t always understand or “see” and who experience the world differently than we do.

The guy who got help from the pantry was humbly grateful for it this week, as he always is. The woman whose rent I paid could barely contain her great joy and sincere gratitude when I called to tell her I was on the way to deliver it – she wept with gratitude and raised a few “hallelujah’s.” Her landlord told me I didn’t even know the kind of blessing I was able to be for her this week. (Which wasn’t me, by the way. I just got to deliver that blessing, thanks to the funds you all contribute to our Pastors’ Discretionary Account for such occasions.)

So for me, the Good News in this morning’s Gospel is found in the humanity we’re allowed to see in Jesus – and allowed to acknowledge in ourselves, because of it.

The even better Good News in this morning’s Gospel is that Jesus, in spite of that humanity, makes a change.

And the best news of all in this morning’s Gospel is that it’s a call to invite that kind of change in ourselves – to slow down and to see people more clearly, more fully, more patiently; for the sake of grace … for the sake of mercy … for the sake of the world our God so loves.

Amen