Transcript
CRAWFORD: The Pharisees. They're not just sort of a block to be scorned. There's some joy and humor in the Pharisees, and not just by caricature. They have heard Robert Burns' great hope, "Oh would some power the gift to gi'e us / to see ourselves as others see us / It would for many a fancy free us / and foolish notion."
By the way, you know that circumstance that prompted those lines, don't you? The title of Robert Burns' poem is "To a Louse," and the situation was that he was in church one Sunday, which was not his Seven-Day custom, but he was in church one Sunday and noticed a lady swishing down the aisle, proud of her presence, doing God a favor by coming beautifully attired, and very conscious of her presence
and her attire. She was coiffured to perfection. She was bejeweled, and be-laced, and be-whatever-else, and Burns, peering over to see her, noticed something happening. It was a little bug coming up from under her collar, and scurrying up the exposed portion of her neck to find a new home in her hairdo.
And that's where he wrote, "To see ourselves as others see us, it would for many a fancy free us and foolish notion." The Pharisees evidently had some mirrors to see themselves. They are not just a block to be scorned, called Pharisees. In the Talmud itself, there are different forms,
types, caricatures, to be sure, of Pharisees. There was the humpbacked Pharisee, the one who felt that the weight of the world was always on his shoulders, that he and God were carrying everything, and not sure God was doing his end of the log well -- one whose posture suggested an overwhelming
burden, and whose posture also telegraphed to others, he hoped, the fact that he was indeed a burden bearer. Then there was the mortar-and-pestle Pharisee. Now, in days when drugstores sell everything but compounds, we may not know what mortar and pestle is, but it's the grinding of the compounds out, the refining, and with all the footnotes on the
law, and all the avoidance of the spirit by the letter, we know why some Pharisees were regarded by their own colleagues as mortar-and-pestle Pharisees. Then there were the bleeding Pharisees -- these were the Pharisees that felt that there was something wrong with appreciating the countenance of a fair lady, and thus would keep their head high when fair ladies were in the area, and bump into a wall,
lacerate their forehead -- blood would come down, they wouldn't bother to wash it, because this was somehow the red badge of honor -- they had avoided seeing the fair lady. I don't know how they knew she was in the area, but maybe they had a perception. Well, these are just three of the types of Pharisees that are caricatured, chased up into the clearing, and
laughed at -- could we say with? -- by their own contemporaries, so there's some hope for the Pharisees. When you can laugh at yourself, there's always hope. Humor and faith are very much together, because they are heightened perceptions. I commend you a marvelous essay by Reinhold Niebuhr, in his book of essays, I think Beyond Tragedy, called "Humor and Faith." It may not be in that book,
but find it. It's worth owning. Is it, Professor West?
WEST: Discerning the Signs --
CRAWFORD: Discerning the Signs of the Times. Thank you. In Deserting the Signs of the Times, "Humor and Faith." An awareness, sensitivity, perception. I recall some years ago going to Newark Airport with the late professor Norman Hope -- not Newark, it was then called Idlewild, now Kennedy. And they were building, and there was a big shed, and there were a group of people being dismissed
or rather dismissing a rather lordly figure -- an emissary, I think, from the Vatican -- bestowing upon him in his purple hood all sorts of presents. These were Puerto Rican men and women who had recently moved into New York who could not really afford the gifts, I think, that they were giving, and he was not receiving them with any type of appreciation, just bringing in the sheaves, and it was a very noisy time --
all the echoes of conversation were hurled around that shed, waiting for the plane. And Dr. Hope was talking to me very, very loudly in his Scottish brogue. And we, neither of us, saw the sign that this nuncio made to suggest that all the brothers and sisters should be silent while he deigned to give his final benediction, and saw the only voice that echoed around that waiting room was that of Dr. Hope speaking to me,
"Dave! Have you ever heard of God? That's his brother!" Walter Kerr, the great drama critic of the New York Times, wrote a marvelous book on tragedy and comedy. He started out to write it solely on tragedy, and he said he could not. Because comedy is not relief, it's
the rest of the story. Comedy is tragedy's private diary. It is indeed a sense of proportion. I want to conclude with one more Pharisee from the Talmud, and that was the "wait a little" Pharisee. We call him the mañana Pharisee, the "not yet but soon maybe" Pharisee. I think
this is the Pharisee that perhaps Scripture was referring to when the follower of Jesus said, "Yes, but, first, let me bury my father." "Oh, is your father ill? He passed away?" "No." "Is he in danger of imminent death?" "No. But, you know, someday he will die."
See, always putting off... our parents and grandparents use the term procrastination -- polysyllabic, don't hear it too much -- I always wanted to procrastinate, but I never got around to it. You know, the putting off -- sometimes we do that even with our ministry while we're here. We assume we're going to take up loving, thoughtful, wise, discerning,
helpful postures...later. I have seldom seen it happen -- those who are now cluttered with selfishness and egotism and pomposity and heedlessness of their friends seldom break free, sad to say. They can. God wills it.
But it's somewhat rare. The "wait a little" Pharisee. As we laugh with these folks, not at them, perhaps a mirror comes to ourselves. If so, we thank God, because humor is not slapstick. It is
discernment. And now, lest you procrastinate unduly, may I tell you that you have only one more day to buy a Valentine, or several. Every other card section in the rack has cards saying, "Sorry to have missed your birthday." Or, "Sorry to have missed your anniversary."
Or, "A belated greeting on your promotion," or whatever. There are no belated greetings -- I checked this morning in the rack -- for Valentine's Day. It's either now, or never. There will be husbands poring over the rack until 5:59 tomorrow -- almost procrastinators. There is one marvelous Valentine that I thought, and there are several copies of it down there at Hinkson's, and
it's only a dollar, and perhaps, if several of you rush there, you will be able to receive it. It's beautifully engraved, and the top, in red: "To my sweetheart on Valentine's Day." It competes with Browning and others. "An elephant loves peanuts, a hippo loves the mud / a lamb loves going gambling, a cow loves chewing
cud / A monkey loves the trees, a beaver loves them too / but nothin' loves nothin', the way I love you." Thank goodness that the poet Swinburne was wrong when he said of our Lord, "Thou Hast conquered, oh pale Galilean, the Earth has grown grey with Thy
breath." Not so, not so. But it's pretty. "Drop Thy still dews of quietness." Bring us to Thy self in bringing us to each other / and may the power of the Most High, the lowliness of
Jesus Christ, the overshadowing of the Holy Spirit, be yours today, and tomorrow, and forever. Amen.