Egypt - Our Presentation, Part 2

     Americans tend to be impatient when it comes to speeches. But from what I understand in some cultures a speech is more than tolerated -- it is expected. I have come up a bit short a time or two over the years as I have found myself unprepared to say anything on such occasions. As often happens after the fact, I wish I had said something.

    When we were asked to travel to Egypt as representatives of our church to join the Centennial Celebration for the Standard Wesleyan Church of Egypt, I anticipated that a speech might well be expected.  This time I wanted to be prepared. To that end, I prepared a number of options. The first of these, naturally, was the short presentation comments I offered in my last post.

    My second set of comments, a speech if you will, would be ready if the circumstances demanded I speak at great length. As a teacher for nearly forty-five years, I learned to talk at length, sometimes even without advance preparation. Think of it as an occupational hazard. For this occasion, as one might imagine, I wanted to do more than just fill the time. I wanted to speak to the relationship that we would like to see develop between the Egyptian church and our own North American church. 

    My plan was to develop the ideas that follow:

    For the past several years I have found myself returning to a very short episode found in three of the gospels. The few recorded details note that Jesus is teaching in a room crowded with those who wanted to be near him. Finding they could not push through those packed into these tight quarters, Jesus' family sent word, passed no doubt from one person to those in front of him, that "your mother and siblings are outside. They want to see you."

    In Mark's telling of this moment, Jesus' family is concerned for Him. They were worried that Jesus was somehow out of control; "out of his mind" is the wording in Mark 3:21. None of the gospel accounts give us a videographic narrative, but it would seem evident that Jesus had attracted the kind of attention and crowds that celebrities always seem to attract. People wanted to see him, hear him, touch him -- they wanted more.

    Jesus had been doing good things. With the advantage of seeing the whole drama, we know why things unfolded the way they did. We can put the pieces together. But in the midst of events, the family did not. Mary had been told by the angel that her expected son would save his people, but that was over 30 years before. Clearly, she had no specific idea what this process would look like, how it would unfold, what form "salvation" would take. 

    So, like any mother, Mary was worried.  Rumors spread quickly and often. The religious leaders were often angry with Him. The sick and the desperate were pulling at his shirt tails, getting in His face. The crowds were stifling.

    It is in this context, then, that Jesus is told his family is outside, wanting to see him. To this request, Jesus surprises everyone with a question of his own: "Who are my mother and my brothers and sisters?"

    There is much to be drawn from this simple rhetorical flourish. Jesus, who was often misunderstood, might easily have been misunderstood here, too. 

    But for us, at this moment, in this place (sanctuary), the point that Jesus makes is found in the next verse. Jesus looks around at those who have followed him into that room, who were crowded around to see more, to hear more, to know more, to be closer to him -- and he says, "here is my family!" 

    When I look around, I proclaim to you that here are my brothers and sisters. That is why I have been sent to represent our church at this, your occasion of celebration: we are family. We are all here precisely and specifically because of Jesus. It is a clear and powerful point: while the exclusive claims of biological or national or political identity have their place, in the Kingdom of God those claims matter less, far less, than the Kingdom bonds of family.