Sermon Recording:

Sermon for September 27, 2026  

Any Questions?

“What do you think? A man had two sons…”

My favorite game show is Jeopardy. Because it’s all about the questions. I’ve often said that answers are overrated, because it’s in the process of interrogation, the disciplines of curiosity and listening, that we make our journey of discovery of who we are and how we live in the world. At the end of the liturgy of Holy Baptism we pray that God will grant “an inquiring and discerning heart,” not the ability to always be certain. We are called to be humble in the face of a world of far more gray than black and white. Spiritual writer Henri Nouwen said it best when he wrote that we should “live the questions”; which is to engage with God and with reality as mystery, not as something we can control, because the fact is that we can’t. But we can ask questions. And no one did that better than Jesus.

There were also, of course, the questions asked of Jesus that begin to reveal his claim on us, like, “Who is my neighbor?” or “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” But it is the questions that Jesus himself asked: “Who do you say that I am?”, “Do you wish to be healed?”, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?”, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”; these are questions that dig deep into Jesus’ journey to and through the Cross, and what that means for the unfolding Dream of God and our role in it.

It is appropriate, then, that the action in today’s Gospel passage begins with a question: 

“By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” 

Why are the Pharisees asking this question? 

The context, as it always is, is important. 

Jesus has recently arrived in Jerusalem, entering on a donkey to thunderous palm-waving, hosanna-shouting acclaim from the crowds who hailed him as Messiah. The very next day he cursed a fig tree because it wasn’t bearing fruit. (Why? Was the fig tree really infertile? Was it fig season? Had the figs already been picked?) And after that he brandished a whip of cords in the Temple, overturning moneychangers’ tables, and raging about how the Temple had become a den of thieves.

Jesus had poked the Roman bear by stirring up Messiah fever, had a temper tantrum over a fig tree, disrupted Temple business, and insulted the Temple authorities. 

No wonder they wanted to check his credentials.

And what does Jesus do in response to their question? 

Escalate.

“I will also ask you one question…Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?” 

According to my husband, a former lawyer, lawyers will tell their clients before a trial, “Answer only the question. Don’t add anything, don’t volunteer anything “.

Jesus apparently didn’t study Civil Procedure. The Pharisees didn’t say anything about John the Baptist, the out-of-the-Wilderness rabble rouser who had called them a brood of vipers and demanded repentance; the locust-eating preacher who (literally) lost his head at the hands of King Herod. If Jesus had wanted to smooth things over with the authorities, bringing John into the conversation was not the way to do it. In fact it drew a bright red line from one to the other, so that the Pharisees’ response to Jesus’ question about John would by extension apply to Jesus himself. 

Was his authority from Heaven or Human? They knew they were stuck either way.

And Jesus knew that. His non-answer to the authorities about his authority, was, in fact, an answer.

He was saying, basically, “If you think John was a problem for you, you haven’t seen anything yet.” John’s message stayed in the Wilderness, but Jesus came straight into the Temple.

No wonder the Pharisees responded like deer in the headlights.

The parable that follows seems so benign, so simple: Jesus asks, “What do you think?”, a familiar way for a rabbi to engage an audience. A man had two sons; one said he wouldn’t do what his father asked, and then did it. The other said he would do what he was asked, and then didn’t. 

“Which of the two did the will of his father?” A simple question, with, for once, a simple answer: The first son. 

Okay then. Doing what you’re told, good. Not following through on a promise, bad. 

But Jesus wasn’t finished yet. It all comes down to what he says next, and it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with fathers and sons.

“Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.”

See, here’s John the Baptist again. And tax collectors and prostitutes. The Pharisees are trying to keep up as Jesus circles closer and closer to his point while seeming to go farther and farther from the original question.

What is it about John the Baptist? Two things. Jesus speaks of righteousness and changing of mind.

I won’t go into detail on the Greek, but it’s important to know that the Greek word used here that is translated as “righteousness” doesn’t mean what we think it means today. As Matthew uses it, it refers to a Jewish concept connoting generosity to the poor, or any act of compassion. 

That shifts the lens a bit, doesn’t it. Righteousness is not just a matter of behaving nicely in a societally conforming kind of way. Rather, it is specifically behavior that reflects God’s love for the poor and the suffering. 

“John came in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him…”

Is Jesus accusing the Pharisees of ignoring God’s call to care for the marginalized?

Is he questioning their authority? Hmmm. What do you think?

And then we have Jesus’ pointed observation that while prostitutes and tax collectors believed John, the Pharisees had the opportunity to “change [their] minds” and do likewise. The English translation here again is too general; it’s not just a matter of “oh, on second thought,” it’s about sincere regret and a desire to do better. In other words, repentance and amendment of life.

Those who repent and transform their lives, these are the ones who have said “no” like the first son, and then changed their minds—repented—and turned to acts of generosity and service. It is these—the sinners—who will be entering the Kingdom ahead of those who wish to cruise in on the coattails of tradition and inertia.

No, Jesus tells the Pharisees, you have abdicated your authority. 

To be clear, it would be easy to see this as a Christian vs. Jew binary, but it’s not. Jesus was speaking within the Temple, from within the Jewish tradition, about God’s call to Israel to tikkun olam—the healing of the world. What John and Jesus (and the writer of Matthew’s Gospel) were condemning was the Jewish leadership’s failure to live into this call. As Jesus said during his ministry, he came to fulfill, not abolish the Law. 

So…Jesus asks us, “What do you think?” 

How does this story speak to us now?

The Rev. Mary W. Anderson wrote in Christian Century:

“In this Gospel text, those who are challenged are those who boast that they are faithful followers of the Torah but who are unable to see God at work in John the Baptist and then in Jesus. In our context, the judgment comes when our discipleship in Christ is less defined than our membership in a congregation…In order to live by the Word we must believe the Word is living.” 

In order to live by the Word we must believe the Word is living.

We need to remember our center. Perhaps it lies in the difference between worshiping Jesus and following him.

So. Do we believe that God is still at work and still calling us to live into the call and challenge of our Baptism to pursue true righteousness, justice, and healing for the world?

Or are we still questioning Jesus’ authority to disrupt, disturb, and enliven us?

What do you think?