What Jesus Never Said

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Ephesians 5:8-20; Matthew 9:18-26

November 3, 2013 • Portage First UMC

We live in a culture obsessed with and addicted to hurry. Hurry is not just a part of life anymore; hurry is life. You see it everywhere. Watch how people drive. Cars zip in and out of lanes on Willowcreek Road, and I’m not a slow driver by any stretch of the imagination, but recently I’ve had people honk at me on Central Avenue because I’m apparently not going the style of hurry they prefer. “Road rage” comes sometimes because the world is not moving fast enough for some people. I experienced that a bit myself this week when I had to go to Indianapolis for a meeting and found myself several times in the passing lane, caught behind two semis who were determined to drive 10 miles an hour below the speed limit and one was trying to pass the other. Have you ever felt that, where the frustration is just growing because the traffic isn’t moving fast enough for you?

Think about the language we use, and how it conveys our addiction to hurry. I’m going as fast as I can. Hope you have a speedy recovery. Hurry up. Get a move on. ASAP. Step on it. I’ve got to run. I don’t have much time; wait a minute. How soon can I expect it? Express delivery. I’m running out of time. I’m going to grab a bite—not a meal, a bite. And the whole idea of “fast food” contributes to our hurry addiction. One study indicates that some fast food restaurants get 65% or more of their income from the drive-through. The average American drive-through takes 3.16 minutes—and a recent article in USA Today calls that “too slow.” We are addicted to hurry. Think about the technology we use. The newest gadgets don’t often change much in terms of form factor or even in what they can do. The biggest changes come in terms of speed. This new computer is 3 times faster than last year’s model; this new smartphone will run 5 hours longer and 6 times faster than the previous one. And on it goes. We buy the newest and latest often because it’s faster. It enables us to hurry better.

Hurry also affects the way we treat each other because one of the first sacrifices we make to the god of hurry is patience. The way we communicate is affected; we’re impatient if someone doesn’t respond right away to our text, our e-mail, our Facebook message, or our Tweet. And it gets even worse when you talk about family communication. We rush past those we claim to love most. As one person has put it, “Proximity breeds familiarity; familiarity breeds assumption; assumption breeds impatience” (Jones, Addicted to Hurry, pg. 8).

Because of our addiction to hurry, a whole industry has developed around the concept of “time management.” No matter how much we might wish we had more time, we only get 24 hours a day. No more, no less. Even “falling backward” really doesn’t give us more time in the day. How do we spend the time we have? Research indicates that, in today’s world, on average, we spend 5,508 minutes a year talking on cell phones. In our lifetimes, we will spend 9 years watching television, we will work 122,400 hours and we will spend 2 weeks of our life kissing another person. A survey from 2012 revealed that women, on average, sleep about 15 minutes more than men each day and they get about half an hour less leisure time, while men work an hour longer than women and both genders spend more time now than they did ten years ago watching television. On top of that, Americans ages 18-64 report spending an average of 3.2 hours a day on social media—and women spend 40% more time than men do in such interactions.

We say there’s never enough time, and yet, you have to wonder. Every day has the same amount. Maybe the issue is how we choose to “spend” our time, because it is a resource, and it is a nonrenewable resource. We only get so much, and ultimately we don’t know how much we actually have. So in the midst of a culture addicted to hurry, to moving along faster, how do we decide the best ways to use the resource of time? This month, we’re asking the question not just from a cultural standpoint, but more importantly from a spiritual standpoint. We’re asking, “What’s in your hand,” and looking at the resources we have—time, talents, and treasure—and how we can best use those for the sake of the kingdom of God. That’s not often a question we ask when it comes to our time, is it? More often, we “fit God in” if we have…time. Or, stated more clearly, if we have leftover time. Are we in such a hurry that we don’t make time to connect with God? Very often, the answer is “yes.”

There’s a marvelous story in the Gospel of Matthew about two healings  Jesus did. First, he gets a request from a synagogue leader. Mark and Luke tell us his name—Jairus—and we know that his daughter was sick. In fact, she’s dying, and like any good father, he’s desperate to do something. He’s heard about this miracle worker who is in the area, and when the girl dies, while the rest of his family prepares for the funeral by hiring professional mourners (as was the custom in those days), Jairus goes to find Jesus. “Please, Jesus, come. If you just touch her, I know she will live” (9:18). Jesus, who has been having dinner at Matthew’s house, gets up without saying a word and goes with Jairus (cf. Card, Matthew: The Gospel of Identity, pg. 92).

As always seems to be the case with Jesus, there is a crowd around, and as he makes his way to Jairus’ house, one woman edges her way up to touch him. She is unclean, which means she shouldn’t even be there. She’s not supposed to be anywhere around other people, because if they touch her, they’ll become unclean, too. And what that means is that she can’t worship, she can’t fellowship, she’s not really part of the community. For twelve years—which is how long she’s had this bleeding disease—she has been an outsider. And yet, she, too, has heard about Jesus, and she's got this idea that if she can just touch the edge of his clothing—the fringe of his prayer shawl—she will be healed. If she can just get close enough. And though Matthew sort of tells the story in a hurry, Luke tells us (8:43-48) that’s just what she did. Immediately as she touched the hem of his robe, she was healed. But it wasn’t because of the shawl Jesus was wearing. In fact, Jesus tells her, “Your faith has healed you” (9:22). Not her faith in the garment, or even her faith in faith. It was her faith in Jesus that healed her. Then Jesus goes on and follows Jairus the rest of the way to his house, where he brings the little girl back to life.

Now, what I want us to notice for our purpose this morning is what Jesus didn’t do and what Jesus didn’t say. Jesus only had three years to accomplish everything he needed to accomplish in order to save the world. He had disciples to teach, people to reach out to, sermons to preach. He had very limited time from when he began his ministry to when he was crucified and resurrected. Even assuming a full three years—which is by no means certain—that’s only 1,095 days Jesus had to do all that he came to do. Why would he bother with a little girl who is already dead? And, beyond that, why would he bother with a woman who touched his garment? The Gospels all tell us he took time out to speak to her, to encourage her. He didn’t need to; the woman was healed. She got what she wanted. Well, we might say, maybe he wasn’t in a hurry all that much. After all, the little girl was already dead. And yet, he lived in a culture that believed there was a certain amount of time you had to bring back the dead. Three days—after that, the spirit had departed this world and the body couldn't be brought back to life. Do you remember how long Jesus waited before he went to raise his friend Lazarus from the dead? Four days (cf. John 11:17), just to make the point that he really was in control of life and death. So even if Jesus isn’t in a hurry here—again, an assumption that isn’t certain—Jairus had to be in a bit of a hurry. Can you see him when Jesus stops to talk to the woman? “Come on, Jesus, we’ve got to go. Let’s keep moving. Forget about her—we have to take care of my daughter!” If I were Jairus, I know that’s how I’d be feeling. “Let’s move it, Jesus!” But Jesus doesn’t do that. Jesus takes the time he needs with the woman. In fact, there is never an occasion in the Gospels where Jesus tells someone, “I’m too busy for you. Come back later. I can’t begin to deal with you today.” Jesus never said, “I’m too busy.” Jesus was always fully present with whomever needed him at that moment.

How often do we tell people we’re too busy? Maybe we don’t use the words (maybe we do). Maybe just through our actions we let our kids or our spouse know that we’re “too busy” to pay attention to them. Now, this is a not a sermon to try to get you or me to do more. That’s not the point at all. Here’s the point: we only have so much time. It is a limited resource, and what we do with what we have demonstrates what our priorities are. All too often, even Christian people not only let our kids or grandkids or spouse know we’re too busy for them, we also let God know that. The message this morning is not about trying to do more. The message this morning is really learning to pray the words of Psalm 90: “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom” (90:12). Or, as Paul put it in this morning’s reading, “Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil” (5:15-16).

When I read that, I begin to feel a little bit guilty for those times when I stop and attempt to do nothing, to rest. I hear Bishop Woodie White reading John Wesley’s words at my ordination: “Do not be triflingly employed.” And those of us who grew up in this hurry, hurry, hurry culture are well-trained to not “waste time.” But that’s not what Paul is saying here. The Greek language has two words for time. There is “chronos,” which refers to seconds, minutes, hours—the time that is measured by a clock. You can hear how it’s the root of our word “chronology.” And then there is “kairos,” which is the word Paul uses here in Ephesians. Kairos has to do with “the right moment,” the prime opportunity to do something. It’s a matter of “the right season,” sort like you don’t plant crops in January. You plant them when they will most likely grow. The Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes puts it this way: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Paul is saying we need to be discerning, knowing what “time” it is, what “season” we are in. Are we paying attention, he wonders, and figuring out what is most important to do right now, in this place. The “days are evil,” Paul says, so we must live as people who stand against that evil, as children of light (5:8). Maybe it’s not a matter of needing more time. Maybe it’s a matter of being better stewards of the time we have, of the days we have been given.

The next few verses in Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, then, aren’t about random commands or advice. It’s all about making the most of this season of life. Find out what pleases God, and to the best of your ability, do God’s will. Don’t get drunk, he says, which for Paul in this setting is simply an example of wasting your life, wasting the gift of time you have been given. So don’t do that, he says. Instead, be filled with the Spirit—which is another way of saying we should be connected to what God is up to. Worship—sing hymns, songs and spiritual songs. And be thankful. These are the sorts of things, according to Paul, that we should be about, living God’s kingdom life in the world (cf. Dunnam, Communicator’s Commentary: Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, Philemon, pg. 224), shining a light to those around us. It’s a different way of living in the midst of a dark culture, a different way of seeing life, of living life: grabbing ahold of the “kairos” moment and making the most of it.

Several years ago, in a dollar book sale, I picked up a copy of a journal, really, by Catholic priest Henri Nouwen. Nouwen was well known for many books, including perhaps his most famous, The Wounded Healer, but even more astounding was when this priest who taught at Harvard gave up that prestigious position to work with mentally and physically handicapped persons at a community called L’Arche in Toronto, Canada. One year, Nouwen was given a sabbatical. A whole year during which his goal was to travel, connect with friends, and do some writing. The journal he kept during that time became this book, A Sabbatical Journey. So I bought it for a dollar, and then put it on my shelf and sort of forgot about it. Last year, I came across it again, realized I hadn’t read it, and so I began to page through it. What struck me hard was how difficult it was for Nouwen to disconnect. Several times in the year, he either wanted to or actually did go back to L’Arche, to his place of work. It was also hard for him to stay focused, even though he relished the unhurried time he had with so many friends. The other thing that struck me hard was the historical fact that Nouwen, shortly after returning to work from his sabbatical, died of a heart attack. Sabbatical Journey became his final work. His story reminded me again of the fragility of life, and of taking advantage of the “kairos” moment, of making the most of every opportunity.

Sometimes, very often perhaps, in our hurry, hurry, hurry culture—we miss the “kairos” moment. I know I do, way too often. We miss what we should be doing while we’re pursuing what we think we ought to do. But, at the same time, we don’t know how to slow down and be better stewards of the time God has given us. Here’s the hard truth, whether we accept it or not: we have the power to un-choose hurry. We really do. I learned that the hard way on a mountain in Georgia. Our family was at Stone Mountain, which is basically what it sounds like, a big, tall outcropping of rock that has a park built up around it. And one of the activities we decided on was walking up the mountain. There is a path along the easiest slope, so we started out, in the morning, water bottles in hand, and we were headed to the top. We passed lots of folks, and were feeling pretty good about ourselves—we were making great time. The kids, especially. They did, in fact, beat me to the top by a whole lot because there was one turn, about 2/3 of the way up, where the incline suddenly took a steeper turn. I know I’m not in the best of shape, but I’m in better shape than some, and so I believed I could keep up the same pace I had been keeping. The mountain, however, had other ideas, and I pretty quickly learned that I couldn’t hurry up the mountain. I had to sit down—or lay down—and rest or I wasn’t going to make it at all. Life is like that sometimes, and when difficult things come into our lives, we just try to charge ahead. I’m going up the mountain, one way or the other! Life has a way of slowing us down, or bringing us at least to the point where we have to un-choose hurry. The biggest enemy we have as we move toward making the most of every opportunity is not our boss, not our calendars, not even the culture. Our biggest enemy is ourselves.

So how do we choose to un-hurry? Very quickly this morning, there are three things we can actively do (or attempt) that will slow us down and help us to un-hurry our lives, to become better stewards of the time we have been given. You can think of it in terms of eyes, ears and mind. The first thing is to see slowly. By that I mean we look at things longer and choose to see fewer things. In our hurried world, we try to see everything and we end up seeing nothing. What if we took some moments to look at something beautiful, something moving, something spectacular? A couple of months ago, Cathy and I were out for a walk at the Lakeshore Park late in the evening, and the sun was just starting to drop behind the horizon as we were ready to leave. We were headed up the hill toward our car when I stopped, for some reason, and turned around. Rather than hurry out (and beat the crowd), we walked down to the end of the sidewalk and, silently, watched the whole time as the sun slipped below the horizon. It was absolutely wonderful, and I can’t begin to describe what that did for my soul as well—taking the time, making the most of the opportunity. Now, that’s a simple example, but seeing slowly is one way we can choose to un-hurry.

Another way is by real listening—a lost art in our hurry culture. We hear music in the background but we don’t listen to what it’s saying. We hear the wind blowing but we don’t take time to appreciate the natural world. And we come to church to hear the word of the Lord, but they say most sermons never get more than about 18 inches past the pulpit because we aren’t really listening. You may not be listening now! Words are perhaps the hardest thing for us to listen to because we hear and read so many and we use them so casually. Real listening requires patience and hard work as we seek to tune out everything else around us. In Congregational Care, we spend a whole session just talking about listening because it’s so important. We have so much noise that our ears need to be retuned to listen for what is most important.

The third piece has to do with our mind: deep thinking. That means we have a searching soul, continually on the lookout for new understanding and insight, never afraid to ask questions. Some people in the Christian tradition actively discourage questions, and I think that’s dangerous. Our faith is not so fragile nor is God so weak that neither can stand up to questions. We may not find clear-cut answers, but I believe God is big enough to handle our questioning. As I get older, I probably have more questions than I’ve ever had about faith and the world and God, and yet at the same time, I’m more certain than I’ve ever been about my faith and God. Deep thinkers refuse to settle for easy answers, but thinking deeply requires time. We have to slow down, un-hurry, so that we can honestly reflect, and that’s hard to do. We live in a world that would rather settle for quick answers than good ones. Look at the popularity of sites like Wikipedia and others. We do a quick Google search on anything and then accept what’s there as truth. If it’s on the internet, it must be true, right? Or maybe not. Deep thinkers will look beyond quick answers and choose to un-hurry so that our faith can adequately respond to the issues of our world.

In reality, when Paul says we should “make the most of every opportunity,” he’s talking about our priorities. What we do with the time we have shows what is most important to us. We can say, “Jesus is the most important thing in my life,” but if we never spend time with him, or if we only worship when we have nothing better to do, or we never get involved with a study group, or we never pray, or we wait to read our Bible until everything else is done (if then), what does that say about our priorities? I’ve had to ask myself that question very recently. I get up every morning to get the kids up for school, and then I sit down on the living room couch, and my routine used to be to check e-mail first, then check Facebook (to see what you all have been up to while I slept), and then I’d get around to reading my Bible and my Disciple assignment if there wasn’t anything else pulling at my attention. And one morning, I happened to get quiet enough that God could whisper to me, “What do your kids see as the most important thing that you turn to it first in the morning?” Uh…well, God, you’re in there somewhere. So now I leave the e-mail and the Facebook until later, and I’m making an attempt to leave those things alone as well in the evenings when we’re home as a family, because I want my family to know that Scripture is important to me, and that they are important to me. Talk about a season—we’re dealing with the reality that Christopher is a senior! Where did those years go? We’re only a family of four for a season, a “kairos” moment. So what does your use of time say about your priorities?

The reality is this: time is a spiritual resource that is too often squandered. I want to challenge you this week to do a time inventory. Don’t make any changes in your schedule this week. Just map out how you spend your time, in general terms. Maybe at the end of the day, jot down something like, “8 hours at work, 2 hours vegging in front of the TV, 1 hour at the dinner table…” and so on. Then, at the end of the week, total it up, and you’ll see what your priorities are. Now, if you have a job outside the home, that’s probably going to be the biggest block of time. So set that aside; that’s a given. In the time that belongs to you, what are your priorities? How are you making the most of every opportunity? In what areas are you saying things that Jesus never said: “I’m too busy”? This will require some hard questions of yourself: if my faith is important, what kind of time am I investing in developing my faith and sharing that faith with others? When is the last time took a moment to invite someone to come to church with me? Do others even know I am a Christian, or that I attend Portage First? If my family is a priority, why don’t they show up on my time usage more often? These are hard questions, but again, time is a resource given to us by God, so how are we being good stewards of what we have?

One more word: God sets before us opportunities, and sometimes we see them and sometimes we miss them. I don’t believe that if we miss them, we’re done. God is bigger than that. God works in and through our lives. I believe there are many times, in my own life, where I’ve missed an opportunity that, looking back, I can see God placed right in front of me. But I can spend my time looking back and regretting that missed opportunity, or I can move ahead and seek to become more aware of what God might put in front of me in the days, months and years to come, by his grace. When we spend all of our time regretting the missed opportunities in the past, we’re unable to the make the most of the opportunities we have yet ahead. So the question for us is this: from this moment on, what will you do with the time God gives you? How will you choose to un-hurry and instead live out your real priorities? Or, as Mike is going to sing, what will you do with the time you have left?