David Grousnick
Someone has figured that if we put all the materials in the Gospels that tell us about the life of Jesus together that it would equal about 80 pages. Yet, most of that would represent duplication, for we know that some of the Gospel writers copied from others.
If therefore you eliminate the duplication, you would have only 20 pages that tell us about Jesus’ life and teachings. Of those 20 pages, 13 of them deal specifically with the last week of his life.
And if you separate it still further, you will discover that one-third of those 13 pages took place on Tuesday of Holy Week.
Thus, in terms of sheer volume, we know far more on this day in his life than any other day. The events of that day represent a significant percentage of what we know about the man Jesus.
We know that Jesus spent Monday evening in Bethany, probably in the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus, since that is where he spent Sunday evening.
He arose early on Tuesday morning and he and his disciples returned to Jerusalem. If you will then let your mind drift back through the pages of history, let us assume for a moment that you are living in First Century Palestine.
It is the Season of the Passover and you and your family are among the thousands of religious pilgrims who have migrated to the ancient walled city of Jerusalem to participate in the religious celebration. You were there on Monday when Jesus took whip in hand and radically ran the money changers from the temple. It had been an eventful day.
But now it is Monday, and it has come time to retire with your family. As you walk down the Villa de la Rosa you pass by the palace of the high priest, the residence of Caiaphas. You notice that a light is burning on the upper floor of this exquisite mansion. You comment to your family that Caiaphas must be working long hours to see that all the religious festivities go on as scheduled.
Yet, if you only knew what was really going on in that palace that evening. If you only knew what was taking place in that smoke filled room.
If you could ask Jesus a question, any question, and be promised a plain answer, what would you ask? There are a lot of big ones that have never been answered.
Wouldn’t it be great if you could just go up to Jesus and ask him one of life’s big, profound eternal mysteries? “Why is there evil?” “What happens when we die?” “Why are we here?”
Jesus was asked a lot of questions during the time he was walking around the Near East some 2,000 years ago. Some of them were pretty good questions: “What must I do to be saved?” or “Whose fault is it that this man was born blind?”
Others were not nearly so profound. “Can my two sons get the goods seats in heaven?” “Can you make my brother split the family inheritance evenly?” Selfishness got in the way there. Selfishness and ambition.
But however, those misguided questions were, at least they actually were questions.
Members of a scholarly sect called the Sadducees had the opportunity of a lifetime with Jesus. They studied scripture most rigorously. They thought about and pondered God, day and night. They dealt with life’s big questions. It’s pretty much all they did.
So here is the opportunity of a lifetime. Here is God in the flesh walking around among them. Here is Jesus, perfectly willing to talk about the meaning of scripture. Here is Jesus, eager to shed light on the will of God.
The opportunity of a lifetime and they blew it.
Some Sadducees came up to Jesus and told him this big, long hypothetical story as recorded in Luke 20:27-38: an elaborate and drawn-out set-up. And then for the punch line, they asked a question.
Only it really wasn’t a question. You ask a question if you want to learn something; a fact perhaps, or someone’s opinion, maybe some bit of wisdom.
The Sadducees don’t want to learn from Jesus. Their question wasn’t really a question at all. It was a quiz, a logical trap.
A few years back, Joel D. Kline was asked to write a meditation for the back of a Sunday bulletin cover, and he was excited about the prospect until he took a closer look at the assigned text.
It was today’s text from Luke 20, whose message he continued to find difficult to distill into a few short paragraphs. But in the weeks prior he had come across one of Yogi Berra’s picturesque sayings.
Berra, you may remember, was the New York Yankees catcher back in the 1950’s and ‘60’s who in his own garbled way said some profound things, once asserting that “the main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing.”
In effect, is this not what Jesus is saying to his critics? In the life of faith, keep focused on the main thing.
And what is the main thing, but to maintain and nurture our rootedness in God, to embrace life in God’s kingdom, a life of compassion and grace, of peace and self-giving love, of servanthood and hope.
When Jesus speaks of the God of the living, he is prodding his critics to expand their vision.
In effect, says William Willimon, Jesus is saying to that group of critical Sadducees, “Your questions betray your limited point of view, your narrow frame of reference. The resurrection is not just some extension of your world. It is a whole new world, the world as God intended the world to be.”
It is a world in which the woman of your story is “a child of God, not a piece of property.” It is a world in which each of us lives as children of the resurrection.
Enjoy a beautiful weekend in God’s love!
