So, I grind my teeth. A lot, it seems. In fact, I grind them so much that the other day I had to go to the dentist because I ground my teeth so much, half of one broke off, and I had yet another hole in my head that needed filling.
There are a lot of reasons people do this. Stress is the most common. I like to think that my job isn't all that stressful. I really like being here in rural New York. And I love all y'all. And during this pandemic, y'all have been really no trouble. You've pitched in and supported each other when we've had to change things up, leaving some things behind for a while. So, like I said, I like to think that things in my life are pretty stress-free.
But I still grind my teeth. When I mentioned it to my dentist, he just hummed behind his goggles and welder's mask. Then he said, “People don't grind their teeth because of outside stress. It's inside stress. It's not them...it's you. It's insecurity. It's a respect thing. And it's not unique...we all grind our teeth to some extent.”
I didn't know what he meant, really, until I sat down with our readings for today.
In Genesis, Joseph's brothers are terrified, now that their father has died, that their brother, the second-most powerful man in Egypt is going to seek revenge for all the years that they mistreated him. I bet they had some teeth-grinding nights!
In Romans, Paul's is trying to get it into the church's head that how people exhibit their relationship with Christ is beside the point. People need to stop grinding their teeth over eating the proper food, or using the right altar hanging, or singing the proper hymns. The point with a relationship with Christ is just that...the relationship.
And in our Gospel reading, Jesus is telling a parable that gets all our teeth on edge. In today's money, a slave has just been forgiven a debt that would take about 150 years to pay off. And he cannot forgive someone else's debt that is only a minuscule fraction of that.
In each of these stories things can be set right if only there is some element of forgiveness. And forgiveness has certainly been front and center for the last couple of weeks. But forgiveness only goes part way. That clears the slate to some extent. But you see, it's a respect thing, too.
Joseph and his brothers learn that they all have sincerely changed, that there has been true amendment of life, and the respect they give each other because of that allows God to enter into their lives in a new way.
Paul urges his church not just to forgive others for not doing things the “right way,” but to respect those ways as true expressions of love of God.
And Jesus is urging us to respect those others who are like us, children of God, also filled with God's grace and forgiveness.
It's as simple as that. Forgiveness, coupled with respect. Sometimes we luck out, and the readings are all that hard. Right? Right? Let's just call it quits right here. Buuuuuttt......
There is rabbinical story I once heard.
It is about monastery that had fallen upon hard times. Once it was a great order, but over the decades and centuries there were only five monks left in the decaying house: the abbot and four others, all over seventy in age. Clearly it was a dying order.
In the woods surrounding the monastery there was a little cabin that a rabbi from a nearby town would sometimes use as a retreat. One day, when the rabbi was in his cabin, the abbot decided to visit the rabbi and ask for advice for saving the monastery.
But the rabbi could only commiserate with him. "Yes." he exclaimed. "The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore." So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together. Then they read parts of the Torah and quietly spoke of deep things. When the time came for the abbot to leave, they embraced one another.
But as the abbot was leaving, the rabbi paused and said quietly, "There is one thing I have to tell you. One of you is the Messiah."
When the abbot returned to the monastery he gathered his fellow monks.
"He couldn't help," the abbot said. "We just wept and read the Torah together. The only thing he did say, just as I was leaving—he said that one of us was the Messiah!
In the days and weeks and months that followed, the old monks began to think about this and wondered whether the rabbi's words could actually be true? The Messiah is one of us? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone he probably meant Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than a generation.
But, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Certainly he couldn't have meant Brother Jonathan! Jonathan gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people's sides, when you look back on it, Jonathan is so often very right about things. Surely not Brother Philip. Philip is passive, just a follower. But then almost mysteriously he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Could Philip be the Messiah? Of course, the rabbi didn't mean me. I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? Oh God, why me?
As time went on, the old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one of them might actually be the Messiah. And on the off, off chance that each monk, himself, might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.
Now, because the monastery was situated in a beautiful place, people occasionally came to visit to picnic on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its paths, even now and then to go into the run-down chapel to meditate. And , without even being conscious of it, they sensed this aura of extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five old monks and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely compelling, about it. And without even knowing why, people began to come back to the monastery more and more often to picnic, to play, to pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends.
Then it just so happened that some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a while one asked if he could join them. Then another. And another. And it happened that within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order.
All thanks to a rabbi's gift of forgiveness, of light, and of self-respect.
Now I don't know if this story will help you stop grinding your teeth. I suspect I still will occasionally. But it seems to me that this is a journey worth taking. Are you willing to accept the gift? And more that that, are you willing to share the gift? Amen.