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10But after his brothers had gone to the festival, then he also went, not publicly but as it were in secret. 11The Jews were looking for him at the festival and saying, “Where is he?” 12And there was considerable complaining about him among the crowds. While some were saying, “He is a good man,” others were saying, “No, he is deceiving the crowd.” 13Yet no one would speak openly about him for fear of the Jews. –– John 7:10-13
While making a visit out of town some thirty years ago, my host received an unexpected friend who happened to be in the neighborhood. Their long-term friendship had been forged in the church, and so the conversation flowed naturally into the current news of their shared community of faith. Changes were happening at the church, and apparently, not all of the changes were welcome. There was a new pastor, who having replaced the beloved former pastor, was striving to establish his own identity and ministry in the congregation.
“Well, I’m trying to be patient.” “I know you have to give him time to get his feet wet, but I don’t know why the worship committee allowed him to make that change in the order of worship.” “Did he even ask the committee before doing it? The committee chair told me that she was unaware of it until it showed up in the bulletin!”
I was not a party to the conversation. Having no connection to the church, I was just an observer of the clerical dissection. Yet, nevertheless, this was getting uncomfortable, my anxiety was mounting, and with each additional voiced concern, I was quietly taking a step back toward the door. For one thing, I felt like an interloper, overhearing a conversation better suited for whispers in the shadows of a poorly lit church parking lot after a contentious meeting. I started to feel like my presence in that room was sort of a betrayal to my people. I could hear myself thinking, “An attack on one preacher is an attack on us all!”
“Well, did you see the 8% increase in the proposed personnel budget? I heard that Rev. Higgenbotham has cozying up to the finance chair.”
By that time, I had silently slipped out the back door in search of a dog to pet, realizing those same conversations were going on in living rooms and restaurants from Saint Paul to San Bernardino, and yes, certainly in the homes of my own parishioners.
Perhaps, you too, are enticed by the idea of anonymously overhearing what others say about you, that is, right up until you realize those comments may not be all that flattering.
And there was considerable complaining about him among the crowds. While some were saying, “He is a good man,” others were saying, “No, he is deceiving the crowd.”
Do you think the human Jesus knew the risk he was taking when anonymously listening in on conversations about him? Were his feelings hurt by the complaints? When the Word became flesh, a part of the journey was the vulnerability to the wounds of harsh opinions about him. Though in the end, Jesus would respond to all the slings and arrows, insults and crosses with mercy, that doesn’t mean the mean-spirited aspersions didn’t sting.
I’ve always been skeptical of those who claim not to care what is said about them. Have you ever noticed that those who make such a claim are seldom smiling? If they truly didn’t care why would they be so emphatic about convincing you of their indifference?
We tend to worry about what others say about us outside of our presence. Yet, we feel so relaxed in holding court on the character of others. Maybe the next time we hear ourselves say, “I know I shouldn’t say this, but…” … we won’t.
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