This morning’s episode from Luke’s gospel finds us well along in the story. Jesus and his disciples have finally reached Jerusalem. Borrowed donkey? Check. Palm parade? Check. Nervous tension in the capital ahead of the biggest festival of the year? Check.

In Luke’s telling, Jesus has already thrown a bunch of tables around in the temple, and then been challenged by the chief priests and scribes. Lots of powerful religious people want to know why Jesus is behaving like this. “Where does your authority come from?” (he deflects their question with one of his own, then tells a parable that ought to embarrass those in charge)

“What about taxes and civil authorities?” they say (through spies sent to trap him) “Give to the emperor things that are his, and give to God what is God’s” he famously says.

Then the Sadducees rock up – ready for a fight on their terms.

Luke reminds us that the Sadducees ‘say there is no resurrection.’ So of course, they ask a question about…the resurrection. This is the first century equivalent of that infamous ‘prove me wrong’ dude whose name I shall not mention. The questioners arrive,  brimming with confidence, and offer a puzzle designed to confuse: One wife – seven husbands – whose wife will she be in this ‘resurrection?’

They are asking Jesus – whom they acknowledge as ‘rabbi’ – to choose sides in an old religious battle. Jesus’ answer suggests that he’s not falling for their trap either.

Jesus declares that marriage is for this age. The ‘age to come’ is something completely different. He offers proof that convinces ‘some of the scribes.’

This is not a question about marriage. It may be a question about the interpretation of Scripture, but it is also (ultimately) a question about control. Who will take precedence in this promised ‘age to come?’ Will the same rules apply then as now? Who get’s to say what’s what?

Jesus is mocking their understanding of power –  in light of Scripture, which declares (over and over again) that God is the ultimate authority, in this world and (certainly) the next. Rest assured, there are those who don’t consider the question settled when the curtain comes down on this encounter.

So, fast forward two thousand years or so – across time and space, the questions about interpretation and control and ultimate power are essentially the same. We don’t pick on hypothetical widows in our conversations (or at least, I hope not) but we are full of those essential questions about our perilous present (and our promised future.)

Practically, we have these conversations in the realm of economics and politics. Each ‘expert’ or party hack sure that the other has given us bad advice – or that ‘they’ (who don’t have our best interests at heart) have failed to lead us to some mythical promised land of political and economic stability. No one wins these arguments because each side brings their particular vision to the table. And these visions must be opposed to one another – otherwise, how would we be convinced to make a choice? Whom would we elevate to leadership status? Who would take control (and therefore credit) for our sudden emergence into prosperity, safety, etc. etc…?

But even now – especially now – there is a place for Jesus’ argument. His is an argument for the sovereignty of God – an argument that reminds us our selfish priorities have nothing to do with God’s promised kingdom.

Jesus knows that our systems, while necessary, are not the only way to manage our shared concerns and our systems have little to do with our mutual welfare.

The encounter with the Sadducees concerns marriage. The ‘rules’ around marriage were clear. Tradition firmly established. We have had those arguments ourselves.

Imagining a different pattern or daring to suggest that ‘the old way isn’t the only way’ has raised questions (and voices) in the church for quite a while now. And for all that I am a staunch supporter of same-sex marriage, it was not unusual for me to say (in the midst of a heated discussion with someone opposed to the idea) that it is still possible that both sides have it wrong. The energy we spend arguing about definitions of marriage, or debating the boundaries of life could be directed in more productive directions. These arguments.- while they can be driven by our ideas of justice and notions of fairness – are the current equivalent of the ‘seven husbands paradox.’ These battles, even when we claim to be fighting for God’s ‘rules’ – are nothing more than human efforts to gain (or maintain) control. What we forget when we make our arguments and line up our biblical proof texts, is that the Lord of the living stands , astonished at our ignorance and selfish pride.

Jesus would remind us that there is always something more important than our feeble attempt to control the narrative. Our ancient quest for power (in any form) has always been overshadowed by the majesty and mystery of the Living God, whose kingdom knows no boundaries – whose justice knows no prejudice – whose desire for us is so much more than religious rule keeping or national pride.