The Power of the Order

“The Power of the Order”

The Rev. Dr. Fred Garry

November 12, 2023

 Luke 1:1-4

Since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, I too decided, after investigating everything carefully from the very first, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed. 

John Prine wrote many songs capturing the depth of faith and life and heartbreak; his images of how hard and yet how funny it is to be human are like a soundtrack I live each day.  His two lines I quote the most are: “to believe in this living is just a hard way to go,” and the other, “Honey we are the big door prize.”  There are a lot more, but those are the ones always at hand.

John Prine is not a pastor or a theologian, but he does talk about Jesus from time to time.  His references to Jesus are more poignant than sermonic, meant to shake the tree of your indifference.  Like “I guess Jesus died for nothing I suppose.”  On one occasion, though, he pushed the envelope with Jesus.  At a cocktail party Prine was informed that for most of Jesus’ life, nobody knew where he was.  Nobody he asked his new acquaintance, “nobody”. 

For 18 years nobody knew where Jesus was; this is true.  From the age of 12 to the age of 30, there are no stories, no accounts, no information.  There is a big gap in the account of Jesus’ life.  With the gospel of Mark, the gap is even greater.  Suddenly out of nowhere at the age of 30 Jesus got baptized and got busy.  Well, this didn’t sit well with John Prine, so he decided to fill in the gap in the gospel account. He wrote a song so to help.

Here is the opening stanza to “Jesus, The Missing Years.”

It was raining, it was cold
West Bethlehem was no place for a twelve-year-old
So he packed his bags and he headed out
To find out what the world's about

He went to France, he went to Spain
He found love, he found pain
He found stores so he started to shop
He had no money so he got in trouble with a cop

Kids in trouble with the cops from Israel didn't have no home
So he cut his hair and moved to Rome
It was there he met his Irish bride
And they rented a flat on the lower east side of Rome
Italy that is

This is just the opening lines.  Prine goes on for some time with many more adventures of the young Jesus, good times and bad, trying to account for his life, account for the missing years.  I think he does a pretty good job. 

If we were honest with Luke the Evangelist, if we assessed his work with what an orderly account of someone’s life is supposed to be, I dare say, we might suggest there are a few holes needed to be filled.  Might want to rethink the narrative flow of the story if there is an 18-year-gap.  A year or two in a resume where there is nothing will require an explanation.  Imagine if there was an 18-year-gap in the story of your own life.  Folks might wonder what you were trying to hide.

But here is the thing.  Luke fills in the most of the four.  John and Mark begin the story of Jesus simply at the age of 30.  Matthew has a few stories of his birth but drops it when Jesus is still a child.  Luke does the best of the four, yet the best is really not all that helpful if we were trying to form an orderly account of someone’s life, how we would form the order that is.

It could be that a chronological order is not what Luke is attempting. Fair to say. He does stick to a similar sequence of events as Mark and Matthew.  He accounts for Galilee and Judea.  There are teachings and parables, miracles and dust ups with the Pharisees.  Like all the other gospel writers Jesus doesn’t fare well in Jerusalem.  Again, there is a similar sequence and series of events in his Gospel, his orderly account.  But then, it really doesn't work as account of Jesus' life.  Just doesn't cut it. 

In some ways, what Luke is doing is providing an order of a call.  Ministers and religious types must provide such accounts to be ordained or called to a church.

Many years ago, I was in East Wichita Falls, Texas that is, to preach an ordination service. This was my first time in Texas off the intestate and I was quick to see I was a pilgrim in an unholy land.  Everything there is too big, made me think Jesus must be a giant in the Lone Star State.

After the ordination service we gathered into one of the three extremely large multipurpose buildings, gymnasiums really.  Texas is so big.  This particular gymnasium of this massive church was being utilized for the “cake and shake” time, well-wishing of the newly ordained, a former neighbor and all-round-great-guy, Jim.  Doing what I do in such places I got a cup of coffee and drifted slowly toward a wall where I might blend, be unseen. This pilgrim was just trying to get home as fast as he could.

A young, husky boy with a piece of cake nearly as large as his head was not fooled by my camouflage, my “I’m-not-from-around-here-nothing-to-see” façade.  Between enormous bites of cake, he made eye contact and said, “so when did you hear the call?”  My first thought was to say, "the only call I hear is your mama telling you to go home, son,” but I stifled this voice and began to offer moments from my young adult life that seemed germane to his query and perhaps relatable to his age.

Halfway through my account I saw his eyes glaze over.  It may have been the sugar, but boredom is a much more likely suspect.  And then it dawned on me.  He was not curious about the events and circumstances of my call to ministry, my orderly account, the people, the mentors, the role of tragedy and crisis that revealed my faith to me, he was just being polite.  Here was a Yankee far from home, some luckless soul had to talk to him lest word reach the Northeast: southerners no longer have charm or hospitality. I cut my story short and suggested it was time for me to go.

It was not hard for me to conjure the order of events that directed me to ministry.  The ordered account of my call.  Nor is it hard to stop once begun.  In search committees, preparation committees, retreats, counseling, and even over dinner with new acquaintances, I have told this tale.  It’s not so much rehearsed or told automatically; it’s just part of the gig.  If you find yourself bedecked with a Geneva gown ten feet off the ground standing in a pulpit offering ominous declarations such as You are forgiven and this is the word of God, if you find yourself in such a locale, it was neither a logical nor an obvious path.  No one becomes a pastor because they saw an ad in a paper or got offered the job because someone knew your dad.  You must explain this direction with an ordered account.

And I have, explained it that is, many times.  There were teenage events in a charismatic church; there was college and marriage and children all the while becoming Presbyterian; and then seminary or Shangri la; finally, comes churches in four different parts of the country more children and now grandchildren.  Each of these has a piece of the “call” as my young acquaintance rightly named it.  Each of these has events, turning points, epiphanies where the call was seen, inspired words of the Holy Spirit spoke the call by important people in surprising ways.

It's not really a chronology or an exhaustive account where the order of all my life is clear.  But it is more than a few childhood stories and three years of ministry after.  I am not missing 18 years.  But I am not Jesus.  Even if it is not all the parts and every account, I can make clear what God called me to do.

Today we start the Gospel of Luke.  We are going to follow his orderly account.  It may be that after we do, then we will see how and where Jesus was called to act and love, how he was called unto the garden and the cross.  Yet, having followed him once before, I want to make a bold claim.  Luke's account is about Jesus, contains his teachings, but the order of the account is not for Jesus.

What Luke is going to do, the power of his orderly account, is to call us as a church.  The gospel is for us to hear and follow and live.  In some ways it's an example.  Jesus did this, so should you.  He was forgiving and compassionate, patient and kind, he was courageous and bold, we should too.  Yet, even more than to a call to emulate, there is a call for the church to do something, to become something.  The something is this: we are called to be the one who loves the least, who honors women, and, perhaps the greatest call, welcomes the outcast.

He is ordering events and people and teachings all with a purpose and the purpose was this: the church needs to love some folks, folks not always loved as much as others.  He orders his account to say, Jesus finds the people cast out, cast away.  That's were you will find him.  And that is where he should find you.

There are a lot of things that happen in our lives.  Events, people, good things, bad days.  For the most part they live in our memory as a wild sea of disconnected lines, fragments, puzzle pieces not yet put together.  If I said to you, give me the order of your life, make an account, you would most likely pause, find the possibility a bit dizzy.  Where does one begin to account for an entire life yet alone a purposeful or good life?  And then what if I upped the ante and said, order the account of your life to show when and how God was at work in you, bringing your life to a particular path.

Understanding life in terms of a call to ministry may be a strange thought.  This is a very selective idea.  What were the events and pieces of your life where you heard God's voice, where you were drawn to love the outcast?  Most folks might find this idea quite odd. 

I believe this is what Luke intended.  He wanted to tell the stories of Jesus as a call to ministry.  This was his motive to tell Theophilus, "I am going to try."  He didn't try to account for everything; we know that.  And in terms of chronology, well, there were some gaps in his order.  But we have John Prine to help with that. 

A few people are called into ministry, and they must figure out what this means and order an account to make as much sense of this as possible.  This is the unique experience of a few.  The chances are good for most people pudgy boys with big pieces of cake will not harass you at ordination services.  And count yourself lucky for this as well as lucky if you can steer clear of Texas.  This is the perilous lot of a few.

The church, though, is not the few, but the many.  Every church, and thus all those folks who are members and friends of them, every church is called by Luke to love, to honor, to lift up women, the poor, and the outcast.  This is the call to ministry we are to hear if we follow his orderly account.

The power of his order is to call us to love the least.  Let's follow him and see what this is all about.  Amen.