“Spot the Phony”

Mark 12: 35-44

35 And as Jesus taught in the temple, he said, "How can the scribes say that the Christ is the son of David? 36 David himself, in the Holy Spirit, declared, "'The Lord said to my Lord, Sit at my right hand, until I put your enemies under your feet.' 37 David himself calls him Lord. So how is he his son?" And the great throng heard him gladly.

38 And in his teaching he said, "Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes and like greetings in the marketplaces 39 and have the best seats in the synagogues and the places of honor at feasts, 40 who devour widows' houses and for a pretense make long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation."

41 And he sat down opposite the treasury and watched the people putting money into the offering box. Many rich people put in large sums. 42 And a poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which make a penny. 43 And he called his disciples to him and said to them, "Truly, I say to you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the offering box. 44 For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on." †

Phony spotting

Holden Caulfield, the central character of J.D.  Salinger’s ever-popular Catcher in the Rye, sees phonies wherever he goes. Though he’s a bright, privileged adolescent with everything going for him, Holden can’t manage to connect with anyone because he harbors judgments against almost everyone. He uses the word “phony” over thirty times; it’s his go to mantra as he wants to—yet fears to—connect meaningfully with others.

Holden is like Hamlet, that messiah of despair and prophet of no kingdom, who, between his need for love and his constant judgments of others, creates his own, personal hell-on-Earth. What they have in common is that they are both inveterate phony-spotters—both are consumed with finding and naming all the forms of falseness in their world.

Just five months ago, in the final heat of a dirtier-than-average, presidential election, American media had taken phony-spotting to new heights. Forget all about supporting a candidate; the game was clearly about hate. Hilary-hating, Trump-hating—spot the phony, spot the phony. I seriously wish someone would invent some kind of troll repellent, because it has become impossible to turn the news on the tv or search a website without having to endure a tirade of Holden Caulfields blaring their all-knowing judgments with every headline, comment, and tweet.

Here in the first 100 days of the Trump presidency, the game has not quieted. Trump-hating seems to be the new national pastime, if the New York Times, CNN and MSNBC are any indication.

The media have become today’s Holden Caulfields and today’s Hamlets. Journalists  have always parked themselves in that gap between public opinion and legitimate authority, steno pads in hand, voracious—even bloodthirsty—for any scrap of information that enables them to say, “Phony! Phony!”

This was once known as the Rolling Stone method of journalism: point-and-poke, point-and-poke. Look at that guy—he’s a phony! Look at that—that stinks! Rolling Stone once occupied the pinnacle of the pyramid of countercultural credibility. From their origins as a hippie tabloid featuring music reviews, they grew into the premier, alternative, journalistic voice of the baby boom generation, introducing Hunter S. Thompson and gonzo journalism to the world. The idea behind their gonzo journalism was that objectivity in news was not possible and therefore undesirable. All journalism is advocacy journalism. Everyone is on a side, everyone takes a side, so pull no punches and try your best to bury the opposition.

Today, the Rolling Stone method is no longer countercultural; it is the mainline. Like Hamlet, the prince of despair who could neither rule nor abide rule, the media sit in the middle to point-and-poke, point-and-poke. Like Holden Caulfield, the avatar of morose adolescence, the media lives to spot the phony, spot the phony.

With Bible passages like today’s, we might imagine that journalists could find some professional support in Jesus, who, with his disciples, sits across from the treasury and plays of version this same spot the phony game. In recent history, American radicals have drawn support from these passages, some going so far as to say that Jesus was, like them, a radical.

As we look at the text, we’ll see that any resemblance is superficial at best. The lesson for you and me is that we all embody a degree of phoniness, we all are rich, and we all are poor.

Temple Phonies

Jesus has been approached by every faction of the temple leadership and questioned in that disrespectful gotcha kind of way. He has turned away all challengers and no one is left that dares ask any questions, but Jesus is still teaching, so he asks the questions now. 

“How can the Christ be David’s son?” he asks. Again, in keeping with his reluctance to proclaim himself seen throughout Mark’s gospel, he wants his people to see and acknowledge that, yes, he is the messiah, but it must come from faith and not flat out proof. Jesus reveal himself in humility, and it is as if he is almost begging his listeners to figure him out.

Ever showed a child a trick only to have them beg you to show them how it was done? Do you show them or do you say, “Watch me again, but watch very closely to my left hand.”? They watch with fascination, and you want them to get it, but if you just show them, it seems to cheapen the discovery. It means so much more when they figure it out themselves. That’s what Jesus is doing in talking about the messiah. He is saying, “Come on! Watch a little closer. What do we know about the messiah? Yes, he’s a descendent of David but he is to be so much more. How much more? David himself calls him “Lord” which means he is superior to David, on the level of God!” 

The crowd listened with gladness because Jesus was teaching as one with authority, unlike the scribes, and they knew he was speaking the truth.

“Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes and like greetings in the marketplaces and have the best seats in the synagogues and the places of honor at feasts, who devour widows' houses and for a pretense make long prayers.”

Jerusalem, during Passover, was like Hollywood during the Oscars. People were in town from every corner of the country. Normal folk from the outlying regions rubbed shoulders with the top names in Judaism. People fawning over them. Paparazzi journalists pressing in at the red carpet areas of the temple. [Journalist voice]: “Ooh, there’s the high priest, Caiaphas! Caiaphas! Who are you wearing? That’s got to be the longest tallith we’ve ever seen.” For the temple leaders, Passover was the night of nights, and they were the kings and captains of the industry.

In fact, just as Hollywood’s Oscar night show us an industry in worship of itself, its own glamour and its own power—so had Passover become a glamor gala focusing more on its earthly vanities than higher purposes. For the  brief holiday, the people of Jerusalem felt they were on top of the world. The temple industry stood at the center of the Jewish identity. The prize of the event? Prestige, being recognized and something like respect and honor.

It seems Jesus isn’t yet done clearing the temple. Jesus says beware. Beware the glitz and glamor, beware the temple pageantry, and beware those who use it all to boost themselves up in their own eyes. The very thing the Disciples and the crowds had grown up admiring and perhaps longing for, Jesus now brings back to Earth. When Jesus says, They will receive the greater condemnation, he reveals himself as the true judge not only of the temple, but of human souls as well, for it is God alone who knows the final judgment.

Showy Giving

Jesus and the Disciples take a seat across from the treasury. This is likely in the Court of Women, which was open to all Jews (Gentiles were excluded). This is the real red carpet area. People would drop coins into boxes with horn-shaped receptacles outside the treasury, and we have to imagine that at this time of year it was quite a show.

Remember how big the Jerry Lewis Labor Day telethons used to be? To anyone under 25, it may be hard to imagine, but Jerry Lewis raised millions every year for the Muscular Dystrophy Association. Anyone who was anyone showed up onscreen to hand over huge checks or even answer phones. Across the country, everyone watched—superbowl ratings—as the stars and captains of industry stepped onstage to announce the size of their donations.

I think the temple treasury was probably like this. The Passover crowds watched as local elites  stepped up and poured handfuls of coins into the horns. People cheered and thought wonderful thoughts about the donors. This was a big deal, and for the temple insiders, this was their Christmas business season, the most important week of the year.

But Jesus is unimpressed. He points out not those who give out of their abundance, but calls his disciples to regard a widow who has put in two bucks. Jesus tells them it was all she had and therefore more than the others had given. The others had plenty; they showed up every year to play at being big givers, but for this widow there was likely no fanfare, no applause, no trumpets, no telethon. She, not the others, is the truly committed one.

It has been said that the difference between being truly committed and merely interested is as simple as your bacon and eggs: the chicken is interested, but the pig is committed.

We All are Critics

The Church may also have something of the self-loving industry about it. We have our favorite pews, our happy gathering of wonderful Christians—a gig we may not like to have altered or even reformed. This text of Jesus in the temple is to be for us a mirror to things we need to see about ourselves, even the things we do not want to admit to.

We, like the temple leaders, bring some of our love of comfort, recognition and tradition into the pews with us. We are givers—even big givers—but may secretly be withholding something from the Lord’s total dominion and control.

There is something of the phony and the phony-spotter in each of us. We all do our share of point-and-poke. We live in a critical world and we all share in that criticism. We’d all like to be critical, but we don’t like being criticized. We judge but don’t like being judged. This is the hypocrisy of the temple leaders: they loved playing judge but couldn’t tolerate the judgment of Jesus.

To criticize others and not be criticized is what we call an expert. We’d all like that place at the pinnacle of the pyramid where we can criticize all and be criticized by none.  To do so is the picture of ultimate credibility.

Credibility—it may be disappearing from the media, but above and beyond our desire to hear what we like, there is a deeper part of us that wants to know the truth and to hear it.

Like the widow, we must be willing to surrender—who we are, what we have, and what we hope to become—our entire livelihood, in order to live in that other kingdom, the real kingdom, where God is known and glorified; and his every son and daughter lives and loves in the light of his perfect truth.  †