Sermon by Susan N. Eaves for the Seventh Sunday of Pentecost, July 11, 2010

Late last Monday afternoon my family and a few friends happened to be in the garden. It was exceedingly hot - no surprise there. The astonishing thing was not the heat. The astonishing thing was a large hawk sitting on a low branch of a tree in our yard. It was a large bird and it wasn't fazed by the presence of human beings running around and shouting. It did not attempt to even move as we stood and stared at this remarkable bird. In fact, if I had had to say who was in charge of the garden I think I would have to say it was the hawk. He surveyed us with an air of calm and authority mixed with a little menace that it is hard to describe.  A superior being indeed - and he knew it. That bird knew exactly who he was and what he was about. And it certainly didn't make us feel comfortable.

Later in the week we caught a documentary about the work of Queen Elizabeth II as head of state. There again was another person who, at the age of 84, has fulfilled a promise made in her youth that she would serve her country all her days. She has been a queen for over fifty-eight years. In that time, in a seemingly rather dull and pedantic process she has become a legend in her own time, a rare breed of person who, through faithful fulfillment of what she has understood to be a divine vocation, has become more than she could possibly imagined. We are as fascinated with her as we are with the hawk. She is every inch a queen and she knows it. And it isn't about being made comfortable.

Two instances of being clear about who we are and living out of that clarity; in both cases observed and the observer is in no doubt about that clarity. The clarity comes from deep within and when we see it, we feel it. And it doesn't necessarily make us feel comfortable.

Amos is a man who knows who he is: "I am a herdsman, and a dresser of sycamore trees." he says.  He's tough, pursuing a harsh outdoor life to wrest a living from fierce conditions. A no-frills man living close to the truth that we live, survive, and prosper by the grace of God alone. He knows who he is. And he isn't the kind of man who makes us comfortable.

But it is that clear-sightedness about his own identity that enables him to hear and respond to the word of God. And when it comes he will speak it - for that is who he is; a faithful servant of the Lord, a man who is clear when his country is betraying its God and its people. He's a mixture of calm and authority mixed with a little menace that's hard to describe. He is every inch a herdsman and a dresser of sycamore trees which is why; when he opens his mouth he speaks with such clarity about the national state of affairs. It makes people uncomfortable and we want him to go away.

Bethel was one of two major shrines in Israel - the Washington DC National Cathedral of the north. But whereas we might argue that our national cathedral is clearly a Christian establishment Jeroboam, the king of Israel, had erected golden calves at Bethel and ordered his people to worship there. Israel was off track to put it mildly. And Amaziah the priest presided over it all. He immediately informs the king that Amos is condemning Jeroboam's leadership and predicting it will lead to disaster and exile. Amaziah knows to be afraid. He feels the authority, the clarity with which Amos speaks and he doesn't like it.

"Go," he tells Amos, "flee away to the land of Judah, earn your bread there, and prophesy there; but never again prophesy at Bethel, for it is the king's sanctuary, and it is a temple of the kingdom."

Amaziah is an institutional man. He's head of the temple. Bethel, he says, is "the king's sanctuary." It is, he says, "a temple of the kingdom."

Interesting. The word Bethel means "House of God." Yet according to Amaziah this house of God is the king's sanctuary, a temple of the kingdom. The distinct impression is that the temple answers to a higher authority than God. That he answers to the real power - the king. And that the kingdom referenced is not God's kingdom but Jeroboam's. Amaziah recognizes Amos for who is - a man who speaks the truth, a man whose authority has come from his clarity about himself and about life and his relationship with God. Amaziah makes a choice. He chooses the king and, in that choice, chooses the destruction of Israel.

Which is all very interesting I am sure but what has it to do with us?

You may recall Amos speaking of a plumb line by which God would assess the fidelity of God's people. A plumb line is what builders used to use to test the uprightness, the soundness of a building. But what is God's plumb line? By what standard are we being assessed?

It would be nice if it was complicated because then we could pretend we didn't understand, but it's not. It is, in fact, stunningly simple. Men and women than could have answered as easily as we can now. "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." It is of course, the answer of the lawyer in the gospel this morning. It is, of course, the divine plumb line by which we are all assessed. It is the plumb line of which Amos spoke, the plumb line that Jeroboam and his priests ignored, and the plumb line that Israel abandoned. And it led to the destruction of what had been a great nation - a destruction from which it never fully recovered to this day.

That's what at stake here - our present and out future. Jesus tells the lawyer, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live." Not just, "you will make the world a better place and be pleasing to God." But "You will live." You will be really ALIVE (which is what we mean by eternal life.)

 The story Jesus so famously tells of the victim of violent crime being ignored by those who considered themselves above the commandment or at the very least not obligated by it is our story, the story of ourselves and our community, and our nation. And while it might seem like a reasonable choice to put aside the urgency of that commandment given the dire circumstances of economic and environmental disaster by which we are surrounded Jesus is telling us, like Amos, "not so fast." And while it might seem like a reasonable choice to put aside the urgency of that commandment while we raise the children or tend the garden or meet those deadlines at work or any of the other million demands on out time, our energy, and our hearts, Jesus says, like Amos, "not so fast."

And he says it like this, "a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, `Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.' "

It's a simple story - the despised Samaritan who becomes the hero of the tale. But Jesus follows it with a question, "Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?" And the lawyer is forced into saying, because everyone can see it is true, "The one who showed him mercy." Amos was clear. Jesus is clear. The Samaritan was clear. The lawyer has become clear.

Jesus said to us, "Go and do likewise." Become clear. Choose. "And you will live." Amen.