Mishma, Dumah, Massa




Sunday, 25 October 2015

Exaggeration

I love exaggerating, I really do. 
    I reckon exaggerating is the best thing in the world ever. 



When you use hyperbole (just a posh word for exaggeration) you get your point across so much more effectively than if you were to speak normally. 

Think about arguments, you don’t want to be accurate in an argument, you want to be way over the top: 
    “You never do any housework, and you’re always late.” 
    They probably do some housework, and they’re almost certain to be on time occasionally, but that’s not how you get your message heard. 

Or think about advertising. How effective would an advert be if it was accurate? 
    “The Big Store is having a fairly substantial sale! Some products have had their prices slightly reduced! Most things must go! 
    That would be rubbish: sales have to be massive; prices have to be slashed and absolutely everything must go. 

When I’m hot, I’m not just hot, I’m roasting, or boiling, or sweating cobs. 
My bag isn’t just heavy, it weighs a tonne. 
And when I’m hungry I could eat a scabby horse. 



But here we find a problem with exaggeration: 
    What if, one day, someone takes me literally? What if, in the midst of my hunger I say “I could a scabby horse”, and someone walking past with a scabby horse offers it to me in sympathy? 
    I’d look pretty ungrateful if I refused, and I’d be pretty unwell if I chose to eat it to avoid offence. 
   No, I’m not supposed to be taken at my word. People are supposed to hear what I say and understand that I mean a less severe version. 

Does that mean that people should ignore what I say?  
    By no means. I may be a bit over the top, but what I’m saying still has a basis in truth. 

The Israelites were forever saying things that they didn’t literally mean, and their complaints were littered with exaggeration. 
    In the book of Exodus, shortly after escaping Egypt via God miraculously parting the Red Sea, they begin to complain. 
    “If only the Lord had killed us back in Egypt. There we sat around pots filled with meat and ate all the bread we wanted. But now you have brought us into this wilderness to starve us all to death” (Exodus 16.3). 

And again, when they discover the Promised Land is home to very large warriors: 
    “If only we’d died in Egypt, or even here in the wilderness” (Numbers 14.2). 

Then just before today’s reading, they’re complaining again because they are tired of being fed manna every day (guess they’ve forgotten that manna from heaven is itself a miracle). 
    “Who will give us meat to eat? We remember the fish which we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers and the melons and the leeks and the onions and the garlic, but now our appetite is gone. There is nothing at all to look at except this manna.” (Numbers 11.4-6) 

Their bitter complaints cause God to get angry, and his response is pretty unpleasant.  
    “You shall eat, not one day, nor two days, nor five days, nor ten days, nor twenty days, but a whole month, until it comes out of your nostrils and becomes loathsome to you.” (Numbers 11.19-20). 
    The Israelites were sick of having their complaints ignored, but when they were no longer ignored, they were even sicker. 

So there we have the two great dangers of exaggeration — to be ignored or to be taken literally. 

Which brings us to the gospel reading.   
    Jesus says: “If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off… if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off… if your eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out” (Mark 9.43-47). 
    Does he literally mean that we should maim ourselves to get into heaven? No, that’s the kind of thing that leads to all those strange sects where people whip themselves or starve themselves. 
    Does he then mean ‘I’ve been saying some pretty weird stuff there so just ignore it and you’ll be fine’?  No, if he said it, it’s important. 

Notice when he said to cut these things off — when they cause you to stumble.   
    If cutting your offending hand off is the exaggeration, the deeper meaning is to look at what else causes us to stumble, and be ready to cut that off. 
    What about the internet?  Used properly it can be brilliant: connecting us to information and one another in an instant.  But if it’s used improperly it can lead to gambling problems, buying things we can’t afford and even adultery (just consider the Ashley Madison website). 
    If the internet causes you to stumble, cut it off. 

But wait, you say, I can’t live without the internet.  
    Jesus would argue that you can. You can live without a hand, so you can live without the internet. 

What about credit cards? They can help to spread payments, to meet a big, unexpected bill. But if they’re used inappropriately they can lead to spiralling debt and anxiety. 
    But I need those credit cards. 
    Jesus would say not. If you can live without a foot, you can live without credit cards. 

What about alcohol? Used responsibly alcohol can get any party started, help people unwind at the end of the day, and refresh a thirst on a hot summer afternoon.  Used irresponsibly alcohol can lead to addiction, relationship breakdown and loss of employment etc. 
    But it’s only one glass, I just need one glass. One is too many and a thousand is never enough (it’s the recovering alcoholic’s credo). 
    And Jesus would point out, you can live without an eye, so you can live without alcohol. 

He may have been exaggerating, but his message is absolutely true. 

Sunday, 4 October 2015

Hard sayings — afterthoughts

My last talk, on the hard sayings of Jesus, had a couple of unexpected consequences. 

 The first happened almost immediately after that morning’s service, as one of the congregation (let’s call them ‘S’) took me to one side to express how upset they were at what I had said. The mention of Jeremy Corbyn had caused that person to feel very upset — the thought of him being in charge was the source of much fear and anxiety — and that they had found it difficult to listen to the rest of the talk, and to engage with the whole service. 

 The second consequence came later that week when another member of the congregation (‘F’) had a very confrontational conversation with the vicar about the inappropriateness of allowing party political statements to be made from the pulpit. They then left the church vowing never to return. 

 There are a few of things to unpick in this tangled knot of stuff. 

 Firstly, to acknowledge that it takes a great deal of courage to be honest and open about our feelings, and though ‘S’ and ‘F’ dealt with it very differently, both were under the influence of their emotions. ‘S’ was able to muster up the courage to have a quiet conversation with me and to clear the air, while ‘F’ wasn’t, and they ended up venting their frustration publicly, and with the wrong person (‘F’ has never spoken to me since, and I suspect they won’t in the future). 

 The second thing is to look at what actually took place to cause such upset. It’s very likely that at the mention of a political figure, those people with strong political views are going to connect my words with those views and possibly (as ‘S’ pointed out) tune out of the rest of the message. 

 For me to look at the parallels between Jesus and a present day figure is not to suggest that that figure is in any way like Jesus, nor even for me to endorse them. It’s just a way of helping people see things in a way that’s more accessible. 

 When Jesus said that the kingdom of God was like a mustard seed (Mark 4.30-32), he wasn’t saying that the mustard seed was God, and he wasn’t saying that mustard seeds are the best type of seeds, he was making a comparison based on one trait of mustard seeds (their phenomenal growth). 

 Oh, and to be clear, in comparing Jesus’s parable with my talk, I’m not saying that I’m Jesus, nor is my teaching as good as Jesus’s. 

 The third thing is about worship and my role. I believe that I am called to preach and to teach, but I’m not called to prevent people from worshipping God. If I say something that causes someone to stumble in their walk with God, I will have to be answerable for that come the final judgement. So there is a big responsibility on me to get it right. 

 At the same time, getting it right doesn’t mean that I have to avoid challenging people. Like St. Paul, I’m not trying to win the approval of human beings (Galatians 1.10), and if I have a message on my heart that I believe I’m supposed to share, then share it I must, despite the consequences. 

 Ultimately the irony is not lost on me that this happened when the gospel reading was on Jesus’s teaching causing people great offence, and my teaching on that reading caused great offence. 

 And again, this is not me saying that I’m Jesus.