Hosea: Love that Will Not Let Us Go - Richard R. Crocker

Love that will not let us go …..

Richard R. Crocker

Church of Christ at Dartmouth College

Hosea 11:1-9

            I have chosen for our text this morning one of the tenderest parts of the book of the prophet Hosea. Those of you who read the entire book, or who plan to read it, will note the difference in tone between this passage and many of the others, which are not nearly as tender.

                        This is the problem with prophets. Their words are so often disturbing, provocative, extreme, and unsettling that we don’t want to hear them. Only later, in hindsight, can we say they were right and appreciate the severity of their language. In the present, prophets do not make pleasant dinner guests.

            A contemporary example: Bill McKibben is a very kind man. But when you talk with him about climate change, his language is not measured. His warnings are severe, unsettling, disturbing, and downright unpleasant. It is much nicer to have dinner with those people who assure us that nothing is wrong.

            But back to Hosea.  You remember that after King Solomon, the united kingdom of Israel broke up into the Northern kingdom of Israel and the southern kingdom of Judah. Last time we spoke about Amos, a southerner who went to the more prosperous north to proclaim the priority of justice over greed. Hosea was Amos’ contemporary. He also prophesied in the northern kingdom – just a little later than Amos.  Amos, as you remember, spoke during the time of the great king Jeroboam II, under whose rule Israel had prospered. Hosea began prophesying under Jeroboam, but saw four kings assassinated in the next fourteen years. Things were falling apart, and the kingdom of Israel was struggling to come to terms with its great   neighbor, Assyria.

            Assyria. 2700 years ago, the nations of Judah and Israel were constantly worried about their more powerful neighbors – Assyria to the northeast and Babylonia to the southeast. Fast forward 2700 hundred years to today, and the nation of Israel is still constantly worried about its more powerful neighbors – Iraq (formerly Babylonia) to the south, and Iran and Syria (formerly Assyria) to the north. We are talking here about enduring geo-political realities, and about an enduring faith. What we consider ancient history is also quite contemporary.  Neither Assyria nor Babylonia exists today as an empire, but the geo-politics remain. The fragile coalition of tribes who struggled to remain faithful to the revelation of the God of their ancestors, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God who brought the children of Israel out of captivity in Egypt and established them on the strip of land along the eastern Mediterranean, still struggle to understand and embody faithfulness, and prophets have continued to encourage them, to condemn their faithlessness, and, alas, to proclaim the calamities that will result when they forsake the commandments of their God.

            As a side note, let me remind you of a singular resource that some of you may not know about. Only two blocks from here, in the Hood museum, in the first room you enter, is a permanent exhibit that will bring you into immediate contact with the Assyrian empire. There you will find a marvelous display of stone plates, spread across an entire wall, that were taken from the palace of Ashurnasipal II at Nimrud near Ninevah – stone reliefs that decorated the palace of this ruler of Assyria in the years around 850 BC. The story of how these stone reliefs came to Dartmouth is quite interesting and is outlined at the exhibit. Suffice it to say that it had to do with the influence of American missionaries and British archaeologists in the 19^th century, along with the rivalry between Dartmouth and Williams colleges.  It is a fascinating story – and you should go and look at the exhibit, which is permanently on display. But my point now is that the exhibit reminds us of the reality of the situations that Amos and Hosea addressed; a struggling small kingdom constantly at the mercy of a larger empire. Both Amos and Hosea were right in asserting that the northern kingdom of Israel would be destroyed. In the year 721 BC, after several more minor invasions, the northern kingdom of Israel was devastated by the Assyrians, who populated the area and produced, by intermarriage and conquest, the people known in New Testament times as the (despised) Samaritans.

            Are prophets always speaking doom? No, not always, but frequently.  Both Amos and Hosea called Israel to account, calling them to return to the true worship of God, but the two prophets are very different. Hosea’s message was, like Amos’, a call to repentance, but it was also, and perhaps primarily, a message of God’s faithfulness, even amid and despite the faithlessness of the people of Israel.

            As you will know from reading the book, Hosea’s message begins with a very dramatic event. He feels called to go and marry a prostitute – one whom he knows will be unfaithful to him, even while he is faithful to her. This marriage symbolizes God’s faithfulness to Israel, even when his bride, Israel, is unfaithful to him. Hosea’s marriage to Gomer, the prostitute, is the central metaphor of Hosea’s prophecy – but it is not simply a metaphor, it is a reality. Scholars have debated – did Hosea really do this, or was he just speaking metaphorically. The strong opinion  is, yes, he really did it.  Prophets often really did (and really do) strange things that other people only talk about. But Hosea’s action makes more sense when one looks more closely at the situation he was addressing.

            You see, when the tribes of Israel established themselves in the land called Canaan, contrary to the impression given in some parts of the Bible, they did not really obliterate the people living there. Rather, they inserted themselves into a culture that already had its own religion – and this religion was quite typical of the fertility cults that were prevalent throughout the middle east, and, indeed, elsewhere. Fertility cults were based on the need to seek good conditions for crops and flocks. Today, many of us have forgotten what our ancestors knew – that we human creatures are dependent upon the earth for our very survival, and that we cannot control all the conditions that make for good crops. Therefore actions and imprecations to the powers beyond us have been prevalent throughout history. In ancient times, often these actions and imprecations involved ritualized sexual activity, designed, it seems from a removed perspective, to encourage fertility in the earth and powers beyond us. So sites of sacred or ritualized prostitution were part of Canaanite religion – practices that occurred on the “high places” where cultic prostitutes were part of the sacred rituals to the God called Baal. Israelite religion, of course, was incompatible with such practice. We know that Israelite religion involved the sacrifice and sacred consumption of animals and fruits and grains: Israelite worship was something like the annual homecoming service at my church in Alabama: an hour of prayer and sermon and singing, followed by a gigantic feast.  The sacrifices offered to Yahweh were consumed by the priests but also by the people. Food is still a part of our worship experience. But fertility cults, the worship of the god often called Baal by having sex with sacred prostitutes – this was not part of Hebrew worship. Still, one can perhaps understand its continuing appeal. By contrast, Hebrew worship was somewhat austere, and the emphasis on the holiness of the one God whose name could not even be uttered was hard to maintain. It faced continual competition.

It was in this context that Hosea was called to dramatize the nature of the God of Israel – by marrying one of these cultic prostitutes, having children who may or may not have been his own, and proclaiming thereby, dramatizing, that though the people of Israel were forsaking Yahweh, Yahweh, the true God, the holy one, would never forsake them. Yes, they were doing things that would lead to destruction; Hosea saw the coming Assyrian invasion as a direct result of God’s rebuke of his people. All Hosea could say was that, even so, God would be faithful, and his people would not be totally destroyed, and that Judah would continue faithful to Yahweh. Hosea continues to use the word Ephraim, as he does in the passage we read, to refer to the love that God has for the people who have forsaken him. Ephraim was, you may know, the favorite son of Joseph, who was the favorite son of Jacob. So Ephraim represents the beloved son of the beloved son (Joseph) – perhaps the most beloved. The genealogy in Chronicles indicates that King Jeroboam was in fact a descendant of Ephraim. So when Hosea decried the faithlessness of Ephraim, he was speaking of the pain of a lost son, and at the same time of the faithfulness of a loving God, a loving parent, who will never forsake the beloved wife, or the beloved child.

            And so, though Hosea’s words are word of discipline and destruction, they are also words of comfort and pleading, words of constancy and faithfulness.

            At Dartmouth, it has been a pleasure and honor for me to work with so many outstanding students, who are generally motivated by a great desire to succeed and, usually, to please their parents. These high achievers are often so motivated, but not always. I have also, over the years, seen the child who chooses a different path, sometimes a self-destructive path, usually marked by abuse of drugs and alcohol, whose parents mourn the loss of the promise that they had cherished in their child. Sometimes there is nothing a parent can do except stand by and watch and pray – like the father in the story of the prodigal son, when messages even of love and support are spurned and rejected. There is no pain like it, I know.

            And such is what we feel when we read these tender words from Hosea;:

When Israel was a child, I loved him,

and out of Egypt I called my son.

The more I called them,

the more they went away from me;

They kept sacrificing to the Baals,

and offering incense to idols.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,

I took them up in my arms;

but they did not know that I healed them.

I led them with cords of human kindness,

with hands of love.

I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks.

 I bent down to them and fed them.

…

How can I give you up,  O Ephraim?

The essence of Hosea’s prophecy can be summarized in one sentence: we are loved by a love that will not let us go.

Let us return for a moment to Bill McKibben, our contemporary prophet. Bill has spoken to us continual words of warning. He has pointed to our extreme climate events – floods and hurricanes and tornadoes. He has pointed to the melting icepacks, to the rising sea-level, and to the rising level of carbon dioxide in our atmosphere. There have been warnings and crises, but little change. I asked a student, a thoughtful, good student – the other day how he thought about the inevitable climate change that would create a crisis for his generation. He replied, honestly, “well, I guess I’ll just have to move to higher ground.” If Bill McKibben is right, it won’t be that simple. We continue, as a people, to live carelessly, extravagantly, and heedlessly. Unfortunately, humans, as a group, do not usually -change unless they are forced to do so by a crisis of gigantic proportions. And sometimes, it is too late. The warnings come; God’s love for us remains, but we sit like paralyzed frogs in a pan of warmer and warmer water until inevitable destruction comes.

Hosea wanted Israel to remember its history and its God. He counseled the nation to be aware that self-indulgence – whether it be financial or sensual - is not what the God of Israel expects from us; indeed, Hosea predicted that by such behavior we will destroy ourselves and grieve the God whose love for us is unfailing.  As another prophet – Jesus – said: “Those who have ears to hear, let them hear.”

"God of the Prophets: Amos" Richard R. Crocker

God of the Prophets

Richard R. Crocker

Church of Christ at Dartmouth College

June16, 2013

Amos 2:4-16, 7:10-17

               

I am honored to be asked to preach several times (six to be precise) during this summer when Carla is focusing her attention on preparing for the bar exam. I have decided to use this opportunity to preach a series of sermons on a topic that I have never addressed before. I will be speaking about six of the so-called minor Hebrew prophets  - so-called minor, not because their message was unimportant, but because their writings are concise. I have planned the series so that you can either go back and read the book of the prophet after you have heard my sermon on it, or, even better, prepare for worship by reading the book ahead of time. There is a schedule of the sermons in the bulletin.

          Today we begin with Amos. But before we dig in, there are a few things you should know.

          First, I have selected these minor prophets in chronological order, based upon the time of their ministries, rather than on the canonical order, which is the order of the books in the Old Testament. This arrangement will allow you to place these prophets in a chronological, historical context.

          Second, because these prophets must be understood in their historical context, you will be remembering, or perhaps learning, some of the basic, key events of Old Testament history. I will try to provide just enough context to make the messages more understandable.

          Third, I will often refer to these prophets, and their writings, as Old Testament. I notice that your lectors prefer to use the term “Hebrew Scriptures”. Such a preference is fine. However, I assure you that I have it on good authority that many biblical scholars, both Jewish and Christian, agree that, for Christians, the term Old Testament is not derogatory. It is simply descriptive. These scriptures are not only  Hebrew scriptures. They are also Christian scriptures. But for Christians, they are the Old Testament. I certainly mean no offense by using this term, and I hope that none is taken.

          Fourth, although often we have an Old Testament lesson in our worship service, it is unusual to have sermons and readings dealing exclusively with Old Testament texts. This series is therefore unusual. I will not be preaching from the lectionary, so there will be few or no New Testament readings during this series. I hope that the power of these prophetic readings will show why they deserve our focused attention. Often when Christians use texts from the Old Testament or Hebrew Scriptures, they use them almost as proof texts, without paying adequate attention to their original context. I hope that this series will not make that error.

          Fifth, this series will certainly introduce us into the study of the nature of prophecy. While many of us think of prophets as simply predictors of the future, we will come to understand that they are more accurately understood as interpreters of the present.

Finally – do not worry – I will not repeat this explanation every Sunday. You’ll just have to remember it.

Now, to Amos. Chances are that Amos is better known to you than any of the other minor prophets, but he is still a mystery. To appreciate his message, you will need to remember the history; The twelve tribes of Israel, after the exodus, spread across the territory that we now call Israel/Palestine and lived under tribal rule until they demanded a king. You remember how Saul was anointed as King over all Israel – over all the 12 tribes - by the prophet Samuel. But the Israelites remained scattered and not united until King David and King Solomon conquered and centralized their authority in the Jebusite city of Jerusalem. The united kingdom of Israel reached its greatest height under Solomon in the year around 1000 BC. After his reign, things began to fragment once again, until by about 920 BC the kingdom had been divided into two parts – north and south. The southern part was Judah, with its capital at Jerusalem. The northern part was comprised of the other tribes and was called Israel, with its capital at Samaria. Each part had its own kings. There was tension and bitterness between Israel and Judah, and of course, both kingdoms were constantly worried about their more powerful neighbors.

          Amos, a man who called himself a shepherd and a pruner of sycamore trees, lived in the south, in Judah, in Tekoa, near Jerusalem. The south was the more religious part of the region. The northern part had become more secular and much more prosperous. Amos felt called, however, to go from the south to the north, during the time when the north was experiencing its greatest prosperity under King Jeroboam II. The Israelites attributed their power and prosperity in part to their formal piety and to the sacrifices they made at the official temple in Bethel. Amos made his way to Samaria and to the shrine at Bethel to deliver bad news – to tell the Israelites that their piety was not pleasing to the Lord. At the royal temple, he gained a hearing first by working up his audience  - by proclaiming God’s judgment on all their unrighteous neighbors. But then he turned the tables and saved his harshest words for Israel. When he started doing that, he had, as the saying goes, stopped preaching and gone to meddling. We read part of his word to the Israelites in our first scripture reading today. It is not surprising that Amos’  scathing indictment of Israel was unwelcome. In our second reading, we heard how the official priest of the national shrine, Amaziah, after speaking to the King, told Amos to go back home and never return. The words of a prophet can be very troubling. Israel was, in its own eyes, just fine. It was more prosperous and powerful than it had ever been. What right did that shepherd – not even an official prophet – what right did he have to challenge their wealth and comfort?

          Now it is important to understand that, in the time of Amos as well as in our time, there were many prophets – some officially commissioned by the king and priests, who only spoke good news, and some unofficial ones like Amos who told it like it was. This is the problem we have with prophets. There are always too many of them, and they speak contradictory messages. The prophetic writings that we have in our scriptures are, of course, highly selected. These writings are remembered because, in hindsight, the words proved so valuable and true. But at the moment, Amos’ words were disturbing. The king and the official priests found him a trouble-maker, not a prophet. Only in hindsight do we understand that his words were the true ones.

          And what were his words, precisely? Well, you can read them for yourself. Some of them, like the passages we read, are familiar to us. Here are others that Amos spoke to these very religious, very pious, very prosperous people who thought that the anticipated “day of the Lord” would bring them even greater triumphs:

                   Alas for you who desire the day of the Lord!

Why do you want the day of the Lord?

It is darkness, not light,

As if someone  fled from a lion and was met by a bear;

Or went into the house and rested his hand against the wall and was bitten by a snake.

Is not the day of the Lord darkness, not light,

And gloom with no brightness in it?

I hate, I despise your festivals,

And I take no delight in your solemn assemblies,

Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings,

I will not accept them;

And the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon.

Take away from me the noise of your songs;

I will not listen to the melody of your harps.

But let justice roll down like waters,

And righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. (Amos 515-24)

No wonder he was declared unwelcome. He was indeed a skunk at this garden party.

It was unthinkable to these people that their way of life was weakening them, so much so that, in about a hundred years, their land would be captured by the dreaded Assyrians. Many of them would be exiles; foreigners would come in and mix with them, so that the kingdom of Israel would be utterly destroyed, leaving in its place only the despised people known in Jesus’ time as the Samaritans.

When we read the words of the prophets, we are always tempted to overlook their original meaning and to apply them to our own situation.  And it is true, to a point,  that prophetic words are always pointing toward a future. But they are anchored in a concrete and immediate situation. Amos indicted Israel, not because it was impious, but because it was unjust; not because of its wealth but because of its greed; not because it was not religious, but because it was unrighteous. And these words of warning to Israel are, quite properly, a warning another nation which is, by all accounts very religious, but  which is arrogant, and greedy, and unconcerned about the gap between the rich and the poor. No thoughtful American can read the words of Amos without seeing their implications for our nation – or for any nation where the gap between rich and poor continues to grow, where some have far too much and others have far too little; where words of criticism, when offered, are called disloyal; where many so-called prophets proclaim our goodness, and true prophets are exiled. It is a message as unwelcome now as it was then.

When I was a pastor in New Jersey, I had a friend who was also a pastor, in one of the wealthiest suburban towns of New Jersey, whose church was generally recognized as the best (most prestigious) in town. Indeed, it was so prestigious that, in one of the state elections, both the democractic and the republican candidates for governor were members of that same congregation. The church, of course, had expanded, and it built a beautiful new stone addition to its original building, with an ornate entrance. Above the entrance was a space for an inscription. My friend, the pastor, was showing a few of us around the new edifice. He pointed to the entrance and asked for suggestions about what should be inscribed over the door. Such passages as “I was glad when they said unto me, let us go unto the house of the Lord” were suggested. I, being a contrarian, and also something of a skunk, immediately countered with another suggestion. I said, “Inscribe the passage from Amos: I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.” I do not think my suggestion was taken seriously, even though I meant it so.

For indeed, if we are to be Christians, if we are to follow the one, Jesus, who certainly stands in the line of the Hebrew prophets, then all of our worship should take place under that inscription. What is required of us is not piety but justice, not empty praise but honest concern for those who have become lost in the greedy rush for gain.

Last week at this hour I sat on the stage at Dartmouth’s graduation and watched the young graduates receive their diplomas, after they had heard a stirring address by Geoffrey Canada, challenging them to remember the children in Harlem, and in places like Harlem, whose opportunities are stunted by the culture of poverty. It was an address that I hope was heard by some, but I know how many of those graduates are headed off directly to lucrative jobs in finance, where they will soon absorb the pernicious message that they deserve to be rich. Mr. Canada left them an out: he said that he hoped some of them would make a lot of money, because he had tried raising money from poor people, but it didn’t go so well. And of course, he is right. It is up to those who have been privileged to carry the greater burdens in any society, and it is true that some rich people understand that. But many do not. Wealth has a way of expanding our sense of entitlement and diminishing our sense of responsibility.

The words of Amos are for me echoed in the familiar words of Lincoln, spoken at the dedication of the cemetery in Gettysburg, 150 years ago this summer: “Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure.”

Our nation has endured and has increased in prosperity.  But the question posed by Lincoln, and by Amos, haunts us still with its truth: can a nation deeply divided between rich and poor long endure? Can a nation so obsessed with security that it undermines the liberty for which it was founded long endure? These are questions posed by prophets and answered by us all. The prophets who posed them, and the words they spoke, were judged so important by their descendants that they were enshrined in sacred scripture, where we read them today, and ponder them, and ask ourselves anew: what is the true religion which we should practice – the religion to which Amos and Jesus call us? And how have we answered?  Amen

 

Commencement Prayer - Richard R. Crocker

Richard R. Crocker, College  Chaplain
Commencement Invocation

June 9, 2013

On such a day, at such a moment,

our hearts are full of gratitude, sadness, and hope –

Gratitude for all the goodness that we have received from this place – for the love and support of friends, teachers, family, and colleagues;

Sadness for opportunities missed, the prospect of parting, and the painful absence of loved ones who are here only in spirit;

Hope – that our legacy will make Dartmouth a better place and that our work in the world will increase justice and compassion;

And so, Great God, source of all, in whom we live and move and have our being – we offer today our full hearts – our gratitude, sadness, and hope – in sighs too deep for words. Amen.

"First and Last' - Richard R. Crocker

First and Last

Richard R. Crocker

Rollins Chapel

Dartmouth College

May 19, 2013

Mark 10:17-31

            Today is Pentecost – the Jewish celebration of the gift of law, and the Christian celebration of the gift of the Holy Spirit. Today also marks my last “sermon” in Rollins Chapel as College Chaplain at Dartmouth. Some of you here today have never been to chapel before. Thank you for coming. Others are among the few who have been regular chapel attenders. Your presence today is especially valued. We have been thinking this term about “the good life” – a subject that I will address today more implicitly than explicitly.

            When I came to Dartmouth as College Chaplain ten and a half years ago, there were no regular college-sponsored worship services in Rollins Chapel, and there had not been for many years. There were occasional services, but no weekly ones. I did not immediately start such a service, since all previous chaplains and Tucker deans had failed in this task, but after a few months, I decided that I would try again. I would like to share with you a few words that I spoke at that first service, in October 2003:

No matter how much we might like to reinterpret the past, it is an undeniable fact that Dartmouth College began as an effort to train Christian ministers to preach the gospel in the wilderness. For some people, this fact is wonderful. For others, it is embarrassing. But it is nonetheless a fact. Just a fact. For 156 years – until 1925 - gathering for worship was an essential part of Dartmouth College life. That is why we have this building - built in 1885 to hold the entire college. It is why we have our college motto (Vox clamantis in deserto). It is why we have a history of ministerial college presidents, the last of whom was William Jewett Tucker. 

There are some people who will welcome this new chapel service. It is something they have hoped and longed for. Others will oppose it because it seems to them a retrogressive way of thinking, an anachronistic throwback to Dartmouth's sometimes embarrassing history. Most will take neither view. They will not even notice it, or if they do notice it, they will view it with the same indifference with which they might view the daily tea parties in Sanborn House.

My perspective, obviously, is different. I think this gathering is very important. I am a preacher, employed by Dartmouth College to stand in a line of continuity with its founders. The gospel I proclaim is a chastened one, to be sure. I, like you, am aware of the errors and arrogance of Christian proclamation here in this wilderness and elsewhere. None of us, in ignorance, is entitled to condemn anyone's sincere convictions, nor to exclude any perspective from the college discussion. But I also know that to have any conviction at all in our time makes one vulnerable to the charge of "bias" or "close-mindedness". Yet to live without any convictions is, I believe, impossible. I live with that tension, and so do some of you. It is a tension that I do not choose to abandon, or to resolve by sinking into relativism.

We live in a culture that sometimes seduces us with false and shallow promises based finally upon the assertion that nothing really matters. In such a wilderness, we are called to remember who we are. That is what I want us to do in these weekly services. We will meet to think together about who we really are. We will meet in this place that reminds us - whoever we are, we are belong to God. And that is both the oldest and newest, the truest and most controversial, word I can say. Amen”

Perhaps I should stop there. Perhaps that is all there is to say. But I will not. The chapel light that we lit ten years ago has not been extinguished. Though congregations have fluctuated between small and smaller, there has never been a service when no one showed up. I was right in saying that the service would be greeted by most people with absolute indifference, but I was also right in saying that it would be meaningful for some. Certainly it has been for me.

Throughout these years, there has been one text to which I have repeatedly returned: it is the text that we read today. I have returned to it because I have come to see it as the quintessential Dartmouth story – the story that everyone at Dartmouth can relate to, whether they know it or not. And so I return to it today.

             

We speak a great deal at Dartmouth about diversity. And that is an important thing to talk about. We need to realize, respect and celebrate the different experiences, backgrounds, cultures, talents, and convictions that people bring to Dartmouth. Yet, amid this diversity, I have come to realize that there is one trait that is shared by almost every student and faculty member, as well as some of the staff, at Dartmouth.

That trait, of course, is ambition. Every student who comes to Dartmouth is ambitious - achievement oriented, wanting to excel. It is the sine qua non for admission. Can you imagine an admissions essay that discusses one's desire not to achieve? Or that documents one's lack of success? And of course the same is true for faculty. And some staff. We all are ambitious, high achieving people.

So what's wrong with that? In many ways, of course, nothing is wrong with it. It is exciting to be surrounded by people who are highly motivated to achieve. This is the very fuel of our community. It is one of the things that makes Dartmouth a good place to be. It is why this passage, recorded in all three synoptic gospels, speaks so powerfully to us who live here. Nothing could be more ambitious than to want eternal life. And the questioner - sometimes described as a rich young ruler - is a very appealing person. He is a serious questioner. He wants to do the right thing. He has been good all his life - got good grades, high scores on his SATs, was involved in lots of extracurriculars, was an officer in youth group and added a lot of community service to his resume as well. I read the account from Mark’s gospel. Matthew's is almost identical - except for one detail. In Matthew, Jesus  simply says to the questioner "You lack one thing." In Mark, we are told "Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, "You lack one thing."

Jesus loved him. Ambitious people - especially people who are ambitious to be exceptionally good - are often very appealing and lovable. I have certainly found that to be the case at Dartmouth. But at the same time, their ambition can be an obstacle to achieving the very thing they really want.

The very thing they really want. Now I am speaking to you as one of you. I do not stand before you as a representative of perfect humility. I am very much part of the culture of ambition that I am describing. And therefore I realize what a radical challenge is posed by Jesus' words - especially the final words ' "But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first." It's a reversal of our way of thinking, isn't it? Think of what would happen at Dartmouth is we tried to fill our campus with students who had been last in their class. It's a stupid idea, isn't it? Much of what Jesus says strikes us as counter to our normal way of thinking. But it also just stays with us - like this passage has stayed with me - challenging us to think a different way – to ask: “What am I ambitious for? What do I really want? And wil my ambition really take me there?”

How then do we get beyond ambition? (That of course is itself another kind of ambition, the ambition to get beyond ambition - so we see the nature of the difficulty). This is not a question that I can answer easily. But I will make a suggestion. Transforming experiences. Students talk to me, sometimes, about transforming experiences. Sometimes they happen in a classroom, when we encounter a profoundly unsettling idea. Or they happen when we place ourselves in a position where we are powerless and afraid like taking a leave term to work in an orphanage in Morocco, or a prison, or an urban school. Or they happen when we confront utter failure. These experiences can truly reverse our priorities and  preconceived notions. And when they do, we get a glimpse about what it means for the first to be last, and the last to be first. I think of that man in today’s text, so talented, so ambitious, who encountered Jesus, but who chose financial consulting.

            What we are talking about, on Pentecost, is receiving a new spirit. It changes our ambitions. We seek to become teachers rather than tycoons, protestors rather than protectors of the status quo, contributors rather than consumers. Sometimes such changes happen right here, in these chapel services– which is why I hope that they will never end.

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