Proper 17, Year B | James 1:17-27
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
September 1, 2024
the Rev. Jonathan Hanneman
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Over the next few weeks we’re going to encounter a series of readings from the Book of James. There are a few different James-es mentioned in the New Testament, giving rise to titles you may have heard like “James the Greater” (referring to the apostle) or “James the Lesser” (sometimes known as “the younger”—mentioned only once in Mark 15[1]). Tradition tells us that the particular James who wrote our letter was “James the Just,” one of the heads of the Early Christian movement in Jerusalem mentioned throughout Acts—and the James named in Mark and Matthew’s references to Jesus’ brothers.[2]
This letter has had a bit of a rocky history, with Church leaders debating its position as Christian canon for some time despite its broad popularity among their Early Church contemporaries. Eventually establishing itself among the books of the Christian Bible, it came under question again during the Reformation when Martin Luther, who couldn’t reconcile the letter’s presentation of “faith” with his own understanding of the term, tried to remove it—and a few other books—from the New Testament. Fortunately for us, his contemporaries and own students strongly disagreed with him, and so it remains.
In Protestant circles, James’ epistle is often set at odds with those of Paul, largely due to our historic interpretations of the texts that set them into the false dichotomy of “faith versus works.” Once we reclaim the understanding of the term behind “faith” as “faithfulness,” the supposed conflict evaporates. Paul wasn’t arguing with James, nor has James been attempting to rebut Paul. Both argue for a life that demonstrates one’s commitment to following Christ by consistently revealing itself through our choices and behaviors. For both authors, true faith—again, reclaimed as “faithfulness”—neither can nor does exist unless and until it manifests itself in the physical world. A so-called “faith” that remains strictly inside someone’s head is no faith at all—that’s just pride deluding itself with its own imaginings and dreams.
The opening chapter of James sets up a few themes that we’ll return to over the course of the rest of the book. The ones we see in today’s reading each involve a contrast: first between children of desire and children of light; then between temper and justice/righteousness; and finally between listening and behaving. There is, however, an overarching motif that seems to tie all those themes together: family resemblance.
We’re all familiar with the saying, “like father like son,” and the metaphor of being “a chip off the old block.” Families tend to develop distinguishing features or tell-tale characteristics that sometimes unwittingly tie people together across generations. I wouldn’t say that I look much like my paternal grandfather, but every time I play with my dogs or rub their bellies, I hear the voice he would use with his animals coming out of my mouth—a gruff yet playful tone steeped in an exaggerated, German-influenced central Wisconsin accent.
Or take three of my nephews. Look at any of them singly or in pairs, and it might be difficult to guess that they’re brothers. Each has their own distinct and defining features, few of which appear to carry across among them. Put all three together, though, and commonalities start to emerge. Add their dad to the mix, and there’s no question: you can see his features distributed seemingly at random. Listen to them talk or watch them doing things together, and the similarities of behavior and humor and speech become unmistakable. Each one, despite having their own interests and skills and distinct appearances—despite being their own unique persons—can’t help but carry their common family history within and among them.
That’s what James appears to be referencing with his example of looking in a mirror. It isn’t necessarily that the person is simply checking themselves out and then forgetting to clean off some dirt or fix their hair. The Greek reads more along the lines of “considering [or contemplating] the face of his family.”[3] It’s less, “Is my tie straight?” and more along the lines of, “In what ways do I look like my parents or grandparents or siblings? What features and characteristics unite me to our common history? Do I resemble the man I think of as my father, or might there be some merit to those comments about me and the grocery guy?” Or going with the Roman concept of adoption, where an adult trains to become the functional presence of his new “father,” “Am I picking up the appropriate habits and characteristics of my patron? Am I representing this family well? Would people on the street recognize with whom I’m meant to belong?”
Throughout this book, I think it’s going to be important to keep calling to mind that idea of resemblance. When I’m experiencing a trial in life, do my responses align with how Jesus might have acted? When someone is trying to provoke me, do I take the bait and fight back, or do I restrain my anger and still seek what’s truly good? Do I simply read what the Bible says and then walk away unchanged, or do I internalize what I hear, consider how my own life aligns with its example, and then take appropriate and creative action to reflect God’s presence and reality by applying Jesus’ teachings throughout my day?
Every single Christian is a child of “the Father of lights.”[4] We don’t all look identical. We might not all act in lockstep. It’s unlikely we’ll all think the same or have the same opinions about the world or approaches to life. Nor do we need to: unity does not demand uniformity, and family can’t be forced. Each of us is free to be our own distinct being while still representing God in the unique expression that is ourself.
However, none of us exists in a vacuum. We have a shared family history. Maybe that’s why we continue to meet together week after week, year after year, and century after century. We need a sense of continuity, a reminder that we’re part of something bigger than our own individual selves, a recognition that the person I am today didn’t simply develop in an isolated vacuum. We need to spend time with our own family—to maintain our connections and remind ourselves of our commonalities. Each of us might carry and reflect certain aspects of our common Ancestor, but we need each other to experience and recognize the whole of who that truly is.
[1] Mark 15:40 | All Bible quotations are from the NRSV unless otherwise noted.
[2] Mark 6:3 | Matthew 13:55
[3] James 1:23 | My translation
[4] James 1:17