Pentecost VIII, Year B, Proper 10

Sermon at Saint Margaret’s, Budapest (2024.07.14)

Pentecost VIII, Year B, Proper 10

Amos 7:7-15; Psalm 85:8-13; Ephesians 1:3-14; Mark 6:14-29

“See, I am setting a plumb line in the midst of my people...”

In one of the more memorable images in the Bible, the prophet Amos sees a vision of the Lord, standing beside a wall, with a plumb line in his hand, who then goes on to pronounce judgment – on Israel in general, and King Jeroboam in particular.

It is worth noting that a plumb line – a metal weight suspended by a string – uses gravity to determine the verticality of a wall. Traditionally, the weight was made of lead – or plumbus in Latin – which explains the connection to plumbing and plumbers, since water used to flow through lead pipes, as well as the vexation of students attempting to memorise the Periodic Table, since “Pb” designates lead, not the more important and ubiquitous element, peanut butter. 

In any event, today we use lasers and bubble levels instead of plumb lines, but the goal is the same: to prevent otherwise tiny deviations at the beginning, which compound with each subsequent layer of brick and can jeopardise the structural integrity of the entire building.

The metaphor needs little explanation. Decisions and actions that are just barely out of alignment in the beginning, can lead to massive failures later. Integrity, or righteousness – that is, alignment with God’s standard – is an all-or-nothing concept. 

Interestingly, it is the power of this metaphor of God holding a plumb line that creates a dilemma for biblical translators, since most likely “plumb line” is not the best rendering of the Hebrew. Like the Red Sea – which should actually be translated the “Sea of Reeds” – the weight of tradition forces translators to stick with what people are familiar with. 

If you go back and read the passage carefully, the use of a plumb line does not make much sense, since you don’t hold plumb lines in the midst of buildings – or in this case, a people – but rather at the corner. 

Whatever. Biblical translators need to eat too, and I’m guessing those jobs aren’t exactly easy to come by, so at times it’s better to just give the people what they want. 

While alternate renderings abound concerning this object of metal, the curve that seems to best fit the data points is “tin” (for a good discussion of אֲנָךְ, see M. Daniel Carroll Rodas, The Book of Amos, NICOT, 2020). In other words, the wall is made of tin, and while from a distance it might appear as a strong defence against attack, in reality it is soft and weak. 

In which case, the metaphor probably refers to relying on our own strength and abilities – akin to building a wall made of tin – as opposed to trusting in God, a mighty fortress. 

Both metaphors – whether a plumb line or a tin wall – lead to the same conclusion. The string of actions taken by King Jeroboam, and with him all of Israel, led them away from their relationship with God and put them at grave risk. Ultimately, Amos prophesies the downfall of both king and kingdom. 

In our Gospel Reading today, we find another example of someone who failed the plumb line test. King Herod knew that John the Baptist was a righteous and holy man, and though perplexed by John’s teachings, nevertheless liked listening to him. There was something in Herod that desired what was good and noble. But he also had a thing for his brother’s wife. 

Enjoying great sermons is a good thing, but in themselves, don’t suffice in making someone good. Keeping a couple of the Ten Commandments is commendable – say honouring your father and mother and not stealing. But like integrity, keeping the Law is all-or-nothing. If you have an affair with your neighbour and murder someone in the process, that kind of puts a damper on your righteousness. 

Like building a straight wall, integrity is either established or undone by the small decisions we make in life. This is something we’ve all heard before and intuitively grasp, but it is haunting because ultimately, it’s a Sisyphean task. The impossibility of ever getting things perfect, whether building walls or making decisions in our lives, endows this prophecy with an enduring poignancy. 

Sadly, Amaziah, the priest of Bethel, missed the fundamental purpose for which he had been ordained. Unhappy with Amos’ prophecy, he sought to silence Amos instead of attempting to shepherd the Israelites in a different direction. 

As you might know, I was ordained as priest last week, and I was struck by the first sentence of the Liturgy of Ordination: “Priests are called to be servants and shepherds among the people to whom they are sent.”

Of course, there are significant differences between Levitical priests and Anglican priests – thankfully, I will not be sacrificing any bulls or rams, nor sprinkling blood on the altar! 

The Anglican Ordinal continues: 

[Priests] are to be messengers, watchmen and stewards of the Lord; they are to teach and to admonish, to feed and provide for his family, to search for his children in the wilderness of this world’s temptations and to guide them through its confusions, that they may be saved through Christ for ever. Formed by the Word, they are to call their hearers to repentance and to declare in Christ's name the absolution and forgiveness of their sins.

Here, the priesthood is redefined in Christocentric terms, yet the fundamental nature remains unchanged. God calls priests, both then and now, because in the words of one of my favourite hymns, humanity is “prone to wander… to leave the God [we] love…” 

Central to the priestly vocation is to lovingly facilitate the relationship between fallen humans and our Creator. 

Naturally, there are many other roles and responsibilities of a priest. I remember well, as part of the discernment process, being asked to write an essay on my view of the priesthood. (Perhaps next month, we can include part of it in the Marginalia.) I drafted most of it on a long, training run with my daughter Eszti, as we were preparing for a half-marathon. In between gasps and grunts, I articulated some of my thoughts and got her feedback on whether it made any sense. 

In the essay itself, I used all the fancy words I could think of, landing on seven key aspects of the priesthood: incarnational, sacramental, iconic, missional, pastoral, prophetic, and teleological.  

Those last three terms, pastoral, prophetic and teleological, are the ones I am focusing on today, and while in the Old Testament priests and prophets were distinct from one another, following Christ, the priesthood in the Christian tradition took on this prophetic aspect as well. 

As Fr Frank pointed out, “while Amos was arguably among the first of the ancient prophets, poor John was the last.  And that priests today share in both roles, well, minus the martyrdom, we hope...”

Finally, teleological – not to be confused with theological – relates to the ultimate purpose for which everything is created. That end, of course, is worship. In the words of theologians, “Our calling is to be in Christ and to bring others to Christ, so that through his priestly ministry our praise will be perfected and our lives made holy offerings to God” (Rosalind Brown and Christopher Cocksworth, On Being a Priest Today). 

Part of that priestly task, at times, is to offer a plumb line or gently knock on the tin wall. Not in judgment, but as an invitation – an invitation to return to our true home.