Lectionary 10 (B) — Genesis 3:8–15, Mark 3:20–35
Joan is one of those people who takes a LOT of patience to be around. If you meet her today, you might think it’s because of the memory loss and dementia that’s set in and become such a big part of her existence now. But the truth is, she’s always been a bit exhausting. It really has more to do with the relationships in her life.
Joan grew up on a farm in Minnesota with her parents, a twin sister, and two brothers. She had two pet pigs, whose names were Wiggy and Waggy. When she was little, she would ride around the farm on them, and when she got a little older, they became her best playmates. I suspect they met their end the way that all farm animals do, but in seven years of knowing her, she never told me. She never told me the names of her family members, either.
As a young woman, she fell in love with an Air Force man. They had two daughters, and a pretty happy young life. Soon the military sent the whole family to Germany, and she found side work as an elementary teacher in an American school. It didn’t pay much, but she was happy. And then she found out her husband was having an affair. He left her to raise the girls on her own. It was years before the divorce paperwork went through, and she had no support from him, financial or otherwise.
She worked as a home health aide back in the United States, until her own health and mind began to decline. She lived on her own in her old age, in desperate poverty, mostly ignored by her daughters whose lives were a few hours’ drive away. Her third car accident finally got them to take action. They put her in a home, a Catholic charity where she was well cared-for, but still mostly ignored.
Our Old Testament reading today is a snippet from what we often call the “Fall.” It’s an unfortunate word, an unfortunate weight of theology from the history of the Christian tradition. Because it’s not about a fall from something—from some sinless nature into evil, from some state of grace. God’s grace doesn’t dry up, ever. We can’t fall away from it. Instead, this is really a story about broken relationships.
God, like a potter, drew dust together and breathed life into it, and the human being was made—that is, dependent both on the earth and on God for its life. The relationship was holy, and whole, and could not be broken. The human was made for the garden, the earth and its fruit. And the animals, and finally the second human, were made for the first. All in relationship with each other.
The consequences—I like to think of them as results of the people’s actions, rather than as punishments, but do what you will—are all about relationship too. The snake and the woman—animal and human life—made for each other, are now opposed. The passage continues beyond our reading today: People lose their equity, and the man takes power over the woman that should never have been his. Children are produced in pain. The ground refuses to give up its produce without incredible labor. All creation refuses to work together anymore. The relationship is lost.
And still we struggle. Our Gospel story reflects real human relationships. Jesus’ mother conceived through the power of the Holy Spirit, after receiving a holy messenger, yet today she comes to try to stop Jesus from being the Messiah she knows he is. To protect her beloved child no doubt, but she knows he is God’s own self, the One who eternally protects her.
And his siblings, too, mostly in their twenties. Yes, Jesus had actual brothers and sisters—or half brothers if you will. James, the first of his brothers, will one day be the bishop of Jerusalem, the first and foremost leader of the Church in the place it was born. He is said to have written one of the most powerful letters in our Bible, one that teaches care and equality, one that insists on the relationship of all humanity with each other, and the imperative to act in love. When he wrote his words, when he spoke out against perpetuating our brokenness, did he think back to this moment, when he was worried what people would say about his brother, so he tried to silence the savior of the world?
Of course, people did talk. They accused Jesus of being in league with Satan. But the Messiah could handle himself. His relationship, after all, was with God, the Father, and the Spirit, since he is the Son. That relationship is firm, and he draws us into it. Someone in league with demons, he says, can’t cast out demons. A house divided cannot stand. And his house—the house of God—cannot be divided.
A brief aside here is, I think, deserved. We as Christians tend to try to divide God’s house. Lutherans around here love to complain about Catholics. Or Missouri Synod folks, those other, “mistaken” Lutherans. Or Evangelicals, or Fundamentalists, or whatever. We are right to distinguish ourselves. Our differences matter, and some of our criticism is important to speak. But there is a difference between trying to criticize constructively, and offering anger and hate. If we divide the house of Christianity—or for that matter, the house of humanity—we will only succeed in removing ourselves from it. God’s house cannot be divided.
And that, in its way, is the point. Jesus hears that his family has come to stop him, and he asks who his real family is. “Who is my mother? Who are my brothers and sisters? Surely those who chase after God’s will.” Jesus, the one who fulfills God’s will in perfect manner, is the true family of God. The Messiah, the Son, the perfect relationship. And through our Baptism into him, we are drawn into that same relationship. Genesis teaches us about our relationships with God, and each other, and the world. Jesus repairs them all.
Breathe the word “Immanuel,” and Joan would immediately proclaim, “Oh! Immanuel Lutheran is my second home!” It was perhaps the only place in her life she felt truly loved in a way that could not be stopped. Yes, dealing with her was exhausting, especially as her memory faltered, but people took turns in her care. There was no legal means to take her car away, but at least people could provide every ride she needed, so she had no need to drive. When she forgot to eat and began to lose weight, a member constantly bought case after case of Ensure, and she began to gain again. People visited her constantly, hard as she was to visit. When they finally decided to move her into a facility, the church made it happen smoothly, and helped her accept it gracefully.
If I say, “The Lord be with you,” you know to respond, “And also with you.” And just as surely, if you went to that church and said, “I grew up on a farm in Minnesota with two pigs,” not a person would fail to respond with, “Named Wiggy and Waggy.” This beautiful, frustrating, beloved of God’s children never had a positive relationship in her life. But she is now a part of every person in that church. And in her room, there is a photo of the congregation, right next to that of her daughters. Her family. Her whole family.
Jesus has made us his mother and brothers and sisters. May we come to learn, and live, the truth that all humanity is our family, too, in Christ. Amen.