Third Sunday after Epiphany
January 26, 2025

Missed It by That Much

Tom Are Jr.
Interim Pastor

Deuteronomy 6:1–9
Mark 12:28–34

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This is a remarkable moment. Usually when scribes came to Jesus, they came to test him. When the scribes came to Jesus, it was like the politician showing up on the wrong news channel: the environment was hostile.

But this scribe is searching for something, and he thinks Jesus might have the answer.

What is the greatest commandment? His question is a mature question. He is asking, What does God want from me? What is my life for? That’s this scribe’s question.

Jesus said, “Love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself. You do that, and God will be pleased.”

The scribe says, yes, that’s right. That’s exactly right.

And Jesus said, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.”

Not far? Is that good? Scholars disagree on how to interpret this moment. Is it not far — as in really close? Or not far — as in you missed it by a mile? Is Jesus affirming this scribe or channeling that old TV character Maxwell Smart — missed it by that much? (If you laughed at that, you just told the room how old you are.)

Some have noticed that Jesus answers the scribe’s question, and then the scribe repeats the answer, but he changes it.

Jesus says you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. But when the scribe repeats this, he leaves a word out. He leaves out soul, a word sometimes translated “life.”

Is that omission poetic or substantive?

Some notice this and wonder if our scribe thinks the important thing is to know the most important commandment but not to live the commandment. Well, that would be a problem. Knowing what your life is for doesn’t matter if you don’t live it.

One Saturday I needed to cut the grass. I was finishing my coffee, and I started flipping through the channels on TV. One of those home repair shows was on. You know the kind. They show you how to remodel a bathroom or hang a window. This time they were putting on a roof. Carol walked through the room, with her work shoes on, heading to the garden. She asked, “You going to cut the grass?” I said, “Sure, in a minute.” She looked at the TV. “What’s that?” “Oh, they are putting on a new roof; I’m learning all about it.”

“You planning on roofing anything anytime soon?” she asked. Of course not. “You know, cutting the grass is something you can actually do today.”

She was pointing out that I was engaged in what I might call “recreational education.” I wasn’t planning on actually using this knowledge I was acquiring; just knowing it was enough.

We are Presbyterian, so we value education. But faith is not to inform us; our faith is to form us. Christian faith is not just about what we know; it’s about how we live.

“You are not far from the kingdom,” Jesus said. Is that good? Or is that an indictment.

Some say we should not be too harsh on this scribe. At least he is on the way.

The scribe asks his question because he is seeking wisdom. He’s made commitments. He made choices. But those choices haven’t born the fruit he expected. He doesn’t need Jesus to tell him that he lacks something. His question reveals that he already knows that. He comes to Jesus for wisdom: What is the greatest commandment?

Rob Kolodjay was on the plane that Captain Chesley Sullenberger landed in the Hudson River. After he was recused, he was asked, “What was it like?” He said, “As the plane went silent and began to descend, I had two thoughts. The first was, I will be dead in ninety seconds.” The second thought he had was “I hope I did what I was supposed to do with my life.”

That’s a religious question. I hope I did what God wanted me to do.

This question assumes that life has purpose — not a purpose we create on our own, but a purpose that is given. He said, “I hope I did what I was supposed to.”

What does God expect of me in my life?

Jesus said, “Love God with all that you are, and love your neighbor in a way you would want your neighbor to love you.”

It sounds so simple, but I think it’s easy to miss.

We get busy with the stuff of our lives, and we can miss what matters most. We can get distracted with schedules, and all of a sudden we look around and wonder if we missed what the day was for.

Am I making any sense to you?

We moved to Jacksonville, Florida, when our kids were young. Our new neighborhood had an ice-cream truck. You know the kind. They are old, run-down, panel trucks. They have stickers plastered on them of ice cream cones and popsicles of every color. On top is a speaker that blares out some monotonous tune like “It’s a Small World.” The music rings out over the neighborhood and causes every child to stop everything and run to a parent pleading for $7.50, like they need it for a religious pilgrimage.

Our old neighborhood didn’t have an ice-cream truck. So when my son first heard the music he asked, “Dad, what is that?” He was four years old. I don’t why I said what I said. Really, I don’t. I didn’t plan it; it just came out. But I heard myself say, “Nathan, that’s a music truck, Son.” “Really?” “It’s true. The truck never comes without the music.” Nathan asked, “Why do they do that?” “I guess they just know how much children like music.” “Jacksonville is a great place to live,” he said.

A few days later the truck stopped right in front of our house. A gaggle of kids made trades for snow cones and double dipper delight. Nathan spotted the activity, investigated, and returned to report. “Dad, I’ve got great news. You won’t believe it, but the music truck has ice cream.” “Really?” “Yeah, Dad, I think it’s been there all along, and we missed it.”

Do you ever worry that you missed something? That you spent your whole day but never lived it. That’s why God came again this Sunday to remind you what you are for.

Sometimes, even though it’s been there all along, we just miss it.

I have a friend named Spencer. I have known him a long time. Spencer has a son named Trey. Spencer spent hours and hours, days and weeks volunteering as a coach of every team Trey played on. Spencer was not an athlete himself, so he had to study baseball and soccer and basketball. It wasn’t so bad when Trey was little. Most anyone could coach the little ones. But the games get complicated quickly. Spencer worked hard, late nights, special camps, and he became a very good coach.

One day, however, Trey told his dad, “I’m not playing baseball this year.” Spencer said, “I don’t understand. You are at the top of your game; this will be your year. All this time we put into the game and you are just walking away?”

“But, Dad, I don’t like baseball anymore.”

Spencer said as he spoke those words and looked at his son, he realized that somewhere along the way he had forgotten why he started all of this. He volunteered at first knowing nothing about coaching; he was just a dad being there for his son. But somewhere along the way he got confused about what mattered. He said, “Tom, I don’t know when it happened, but at some point I traded being a dad for being a coach. It was a bad trade.”

Maybe what prompts our scribe to come to Jesus is that life confused him along the way. He forgot that paying attention to what matters most is a discipline. It doesn’t just happen by accident. It requires intentionality.

Our scribe shows us that when it comes to knowing what people are for, we should look to Jesus. Jesus shows us what it looks like to live the greatest commandment.

I had never heard of Bishop Marianne Budde, but she made the news this week when in the Inaugural Prayer Service she urged our president to be merciful. She noted that some, including some of you, are afraid. On the day that we experienced the peaceful transition of power, our president pardoned many, and I would imagine the largest number in our history, of those who participated in political violence.

She urged mercy.

The President didn’t like it and, belittling her, called her a “so-called” bishop.

Georgia Representative Mike Collins tweeted that she should be added to the deportation list, implying you aren’t truly American unless you agree with the administration.

But don’t miss this: she urged mercy.

If we think she should be condemned, we have missed something. Our understanding of what our life is for has been confused.

Let me be clear: Bishop Budde had a responsibility to preach with the President in the room. I will never have that responsibility, so I am not preaching to him. My conversation is with us.

What I know is the administration is causing fear in the LGBTQIA+ community. But you have consistently been committed to being a safe place, and that will continue, because that is a way we love our neighbor, and that is what we are for.

What I know is every week we open these doors for worship, and we never ask for ID. Every week we serve meals to those who are hungry, and we never ask for papers, and that will continue, because that is a way we love our neighbors, and that is what we are for.

So we may be on a different side of the issues from time to time, but being on the right side of the issue is not enough. We must also choose mercy.

The bishop urged mercy, just mercy. She said so because she remembered what we are for. She was remembering the greatest commandment: everything should be shaped by love.

In how we treat one another.

In how we engage the city.

And how we engage those who view the issues differently than we do.

Love is what we are for.

I don’t know when it will happen this week, but there will be a time when you will have a decision to make: You will be tempted to speak judgment or speak grace. You will be tempted to slide into condemnation or to offer forgiveness. You will want to return evil for evil or to choose kindness. You will have to choose. So remember, choose the good, the gracious, the kind. And when you do, maybe you will hear God whisper, “You are not far now. You are not far.”

But remember this is true about us all: it is so easy to forget what we are for. So after whatever this week brings to you, do what you can, and then come back again next Sunday, that God might remind us once again that we are to love God with all that we are and our neighbor in a way we want to be loved. When we choose that, we are not far.

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Sermon © Fourth Presbyterian Church