They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.

I have been thinking a lot, recently, about Tevya, the Fiddler on the Roof of the play and movie about tradition, and about change, written against the backdrop of anti-Semitism, but more than that about life wherever any of us who call upon God might find live it. If you are not familiar with the story it takes place in the rural Ukraine, just before the Russian Revolution of the early 20th Century. It explores the themes of faith and doubt, happiness and suffering, enthusiastic youthfulness and weary old age, wealth and poverty, and above all the balance of compromise and conviction in the changes and constants of life.

Tevya is a milkman and a fiddler and a husband and a father and a faithful Jew. He struggles with the decisions that he must make and the traditions that both strengthen and bind him. His recurring line to himself, to the people he speaks with, and to God is “on the other hand . . .” as he attempts to explore the options and make sense out of the changes in his world.

I have been listening and reading, as most of us have in recent weeks and months, about the state of our economy and what needs to be done to fix it.

On the one hand, the housing market cannot recover because people can’t get mortgages to buy homes.

On the other hand, the mortgage rates and prices of houses are remarkably low.

On the one hand, car companies are going broke.

On the other hand, banks won’t provide the financing for people to buy new cars.

On the one hand the government is spending incredibly large amounts of money to jump start us back toward prosperity.

On the other hand the government wants to cut taxes to help us go out and spend, so where is the money coming from?

On the one hand . . . on the other hand . . . the experts battle back and forth each having a logical and contradictory version of what needs to happen, and soon we have more hands than an octopus and no clear idea of what to do or even if we should do anything at all.

All of this comes to mind as I read the story of Jesus entering the synagogue in Capernaum.

They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.

This is, of course, a dig at the scribes.

And perhaps at all of us who seek to explain God away.

And perhaps at all of those who seek to explain life away.

It has been said of the scribes – and of the economists and the politicians and the preachers, among others – that if you gathered 10 of them in a room and asked them a question you would get at least 12 answers.

The scribes gave the old answers, the traditional answers that had been tried and tested over the centuries.

There was nothing wrong with that, the ancient examples they gave of God’s women and men in times of danger and security, sorrow and joy provided templates and guideposts for life.

But the scribes had long since surrendered their own authority to the authority of tradition.

Even Tevye, as he struggled with tradition, knew: our old ways were once new, weren't they?

The scribes of Jesus time had lost sight of that and so they had no authority. They thought that just telling each other Bible stories was enough. It’s not. There needs to be a bridge, connecting the stories to our lives, there needs to be a link between Bethlehem and Clover Hill, between Jerusalem of old and Washington of today.

Jesus is sometimes wrongly portrayed as being contemptuous of authority, but nothing could be less true. He was authority and he respected true authority.

He was in the Synagogue, wasn’t he?

He referred often and fondly to the scriptures, didn’t he?

No, the difference was that he took the scriptures, he took the history, he took the tradition and he drew his authority from them.

The people weren’t used to that and so they marveled.

They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.

Authority comes from accomplishment and from history.

I have had a personal example of that over the last year as I have learned how to go to a new doctor.

For more than 30 years I went to Ken Stern and he knew my history better than I did, he knew the genetic flaws that might bring disease to me, he knew my environment and my vocation and so he watched, and often caught, some of the signs of problems before there were problems. Ken would tell me to do something or not do something and he spoke with a quiet authority.

Now I go to a new doctor. And he’s fine. He’s got all of Ken’s files on me, but when he speaks to me his authority is not yet established. I listen and I respect him on the basis of his training and experience, but I know that I need to pay attention to myself because I will not have a doctor of 30 some years again. He is telling me true and good things, as the scribes were, but he is unable to connect them to me and my life, yet.

The OT lesson tells us of Moses promise to the people that God would provide them with a voice of authority much like his own.

Now the common and correct read of that is that we find, in Jesus, that voice, that authority.

But I want to stretch it a little bit and suggest that in every age, and each of our lives, God has provided women and men who speak with authority.

In every age, and each of our lives, there have been women and men who have grounded themselves in the truth of scripture, yet spoke with such intensity and passion that they have conveyed an authority that dazzles us: Isaiah, Paul, Augustine, Calvin, Frelinghuysen, Brunner, King, Hageman, the list is long.

And in every age there have been silver-tongued twisters of the truth and the list is equally long, and I won’t list all of them because I know I would offend somebody.

But Moses knew, and we need to remember, that there was a greater danger in the false prophet than in the dull scribes. The scribes would tell the truth and leave it to the people to apply it, the false prophets would twist the truth and have the people apply it in the wrong places.

And God gave Moses gave an interesting test to use, to determine whether or not someone was a true or false prophet. Chris is preparing for his next-to-the-last round of examination, not by the seminary, but by our Classes to determine his suitability for ministry.

And so this is probably of great interest to him.

God said “Any prophet who presumes to speak in my name a word that I have not commanded the prophet to speak – that prophet shall die!”

There’s a scary test, right?

But I’m not sure it is valid.

Personal observation: not only do I regret some, or many, of the words that I have said wrongly on God’s behalf, yet I live, and I also know how many others have survived the crime.

Unless.

Consider that Moses knew that being a false prophet was an easy temptation. He had seen it happen with his brother Aaron and that unfortunate Golden Calf incident. Yet Aaron hadn’t died.

But Aaron’s authority had.

And it’s still dead.

I don’t think I have ever heard a Theological discussion include these words: “Well, don’t forget what Aaron said.”

Because there is almost nothing that Aaron said that has survived to be helpful and quotable. The authority of the deceptors always dies, while the authority of God’s prophet lives on.

That’s the test and it is one that we can only grade in hindsight.

What I’m trying to say that it is only when we give things and relationships the chance to play out, that we discover whether they were God’s words and plans or the word’s and plans of one of us.

In the crucible of living, in the meeting and talking and listening to a variety of dreams, God’s word will inevitably bubble to the surface, to be seen and honored and lived out.

“On the other hand”?

There are many other hands to weigh the choices of life, many more options then most of us can handle, even more other hands than an octopus.

Traditions help us.

Stories of faith help us.

But ultimately we need to find the voices that speak with authority and we need to be the voices that speak with authority. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.

Oh, and there is one more thing.

And I don’t know that I ever noticed it before this week, no matter how many times I had read that passage through the years. Did you notice what Mark told us about what, exactly, Jesus taught that day that impressed and astounded everyone?

No, neither did I.

For you see, Mark doesn’t tell us.

Mark is not concerned with giving us a set of instructions for every situation in life. Mark is concerned with giving us the source to which we can turn in every situation in life and find the authoritative answers that we need.

Even within this congregation the needs are many and diverse, but if we come to this table seeking Christ’s presence with us, if we listen to what is said and measure what endures, if we place ourselves continually in the presence of God, we will join the residents of Capernaum in our awe and appreciation for the word that God has for us, the word that will never die, the word of authority, the word of life.

For that was what Jesus spoke that day, the word of life that comes in so many forms and fashions.

Which brings us back to Tevya, the Milkman, who sang of sunrise and sunset and the speed of the passing years and the great toast, given at every turn and change of life, l’chaim.

L’chaim, it means To Life.

It is a toast, it is a creed, it is our faith.

That was what Jesus proclaimed in Capernaum l’chaim. We don’t know what words he chose, but whenever he spoke he spoke of life.

It is what he proclaims today in Clover Hill, l’chaim. We don’t know the specific needs of each other, we barely understand our own specific needs, but we do know that in living together we have found, and can continue to find, the life that follows the authoritative voice of God.

L’Chaim!

They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.