sermon preached
at Church of the Good Shepherd, Federal Way, WA
by the
Rev. Josh Hosler, Rector
The
Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 21B, September 30, 2018
I’ve
heard this gospel passage all my life, starting in early childhood—this strange
passage spoken by Jesus with all its blood and gore and its unquenchable fire
of hell. It’s not the Jesus we’re used to, speaking such harsh, threatening
words, promising such dire consequences for those who merely trip somebody up.
 |
Today I think I see more clearly what prompts Jesus’ words. When he advises lopping
off your hand, it’s not because that hand has a tendency to shoplift. When he
advises plucking out your eye, it’s not because that eye tends to notice an
attractive person you’re not married to. The hand and the foot and the eye
cause us to sin when they, or any part of us, prevent truth from being spoken.
Our
Old Testament and Gospel passages are paired intentionally, so let’s back up a
minute. In the Book of Numbers, what does it mean that all these people were “prophesying”?
To prophesy means to speak God’s truth, whether in some sort of religious
ecstasy, as we probably have here, or through any other means. Why were Eldad
and Medad prophesying in the camp instead of in the tent? This seems to have
mattered a great deal to Joshua. Maybe he thought such a show of devotion was
only appropriate in the tent, in the place where worship is the main point of
gathering. I don’t know. But I notice that Joshua has more control over what
goes on inside the tent than over what goes on in the camp or in the whole rest
of the world. So he tries to stop these rogue prophets—but Moses won’t let him.
Turning
back to the gospel, who are these randos who are casting out demons in Jesus’
name? John doesn’t know them, and that means he can’t control them, and he is
alarmed. But Jesus isn’t interested in controlling them. In a reversal of a
much more popular phrase, Jesus says, “Whoever is not against us is for us.” Sometimes,
casting out demons just means speaking the truth in love, so that falsehood
cannot take root. When you act freely on the side of truth and love, then you’re
standing on Jesus’ side. Even offering someone a drink of water is to speak the
truth in love.
So
in essence, Jesus says, “When someone is trying to speak God’s truth, don’t you
dare stick out your foot and trip them.”
Now,
I don’t know about you, but I don’t go out of my way to trip people. It’s mean.
But let’s try an experiment …
[get a young, able-bodied person to volunteer]
OK,
so you’re walking along, and I stick out my foot, clearly on purpose, and I
trip you. What do I owe you in this situation?
OK,
so let’s try another scenario. You’re walking along, and I’m not watching what
I’m doing, and I accidentally get in your way, and I trip you. What do I owe
you in this situation?
[back to the lectern]
What
if I said, “Well, I didn’t mean to trip you. Therefore I owe you no apology.
Begone!”?
What
if you came to me 36 years later and said, “Hey! You tripped me, and nobody
would have believed me then, and you have no idea how much it has continued to
hurt me ever since. But now I finally have the courage to tell you.” What do I
owe you then?
This
is an illustration of the difference between intent and impact. If I didn’t
intend to trip you, is the effect on your body any different than if I had? If
I didn’t intend to trip you, does that mean I’m off the hook for the pain I’ve
caused? The impact is just as real.
The
psalmist wonders about such things:
Who can tell how often he
offends?
cleanse me from my secret faults.
cleanse me from my secret faults.
Above all, keep your
servant from presumptuous sins;
let them not get dominion over me;
then shall I be whole and sound,
and innocent of a great offense.
let them not get dominion over me;
then shall I be whole and sound,
and innocent of a great offense.
I
get the part about wanting to be cleansed from “my secret faults.” I don’t like
to think about the sins of my life that nobody else knows about. I want to be
forgiven for these times. I also want to be forgiven for all my accidental
offenses, the ones that are secret even from me.
But
then, what does it mean to let presumptuous sins get dominion over us? I think
the psalmist is saying, “It’s one thing to sin accidentally. When that’s called
to my attention, I can do something about it. But what about the times when I
insist on doing the wrong thing and won’t be dissuaded?”
And
here, we’re into the territory of virtues and vices. A virtue is a good habit
that we practice and practice to the point where it becomes our default
setting. A vice is the opposite of a virtue. It’s a bad habit that we practice and practice until it has become our
default setting. Everything we do in life—all our virtues and vices—train other
people on how to react to us. We even train ourselves on how to react to
ourselves. It’s so difficult to change once that training has taken root. Re-training
ourselves and others can take a lifetime.
The
psalmist says in another place, “Remember not the sins of my youth and my
rebellious ways.” So let’s say you were at a party when you were 17 years old,
and you did something that hurt somebody. (Yes, I realize that’s putting it way
too mildly, but I’m trying to keep it light without making light of it. Please
bear with me.) So you did something at the age of 17 that hurt somebody.
Now,
it may be that the memory of that day has never left you, and you’ve always
felt terrible about it. Or maybe you didn’t think it was that big a deal. Or
maybe you don’t remember it at all. It may be that over the years you have trained
yourself into all sorts of defense mechanisms to keep yourself from ever having
to deal with it. Or it may be that you’ve just recently been blindsided with
the realization of the effect you had.
My
point is this: Once the truth comes out for all to see, what do you owe the
person you hurt?
What if we all imagined that the
worst thing we’ve ever done might someday be put on public display? How would
we prepare ourselves to explain it? Would we be able to speak honestly about
the agony of guilt, the work we’ve done to come to terms with it, the
reparations we have made or are willing to make? Would we be willing to say, “You’re
right—my vices are presumptuous sins, and they disqualify me”? Could we
sacrifice the possibilities in our own lives for the sake of truth and growth?
In short, would we be able to amputate our hard-won vices and enter into the
Kingdom?
Or would we keep following our years
of training, and deny, deny, deny, and deflect, deflect, deflect, and rage,
rage, rage?
The reason prophets are not usually very popular is that the love that guides them is a higher love than the people feel ready for. God’s love will not abide coverups or half-truths or dubious, self-deluding explanations. God’s truth includes the whole truth and does not exclude the pain or any of the consequences that the truth might cause. But once that truth is told, then God’s love opens and expands for the sake of mercy and redemption and growth. God works toward and through and beyond the truth, so if you’re running away from truth, don’t go looking for God there.
Truth
comes first, and the truth will never destroy us. And after truth come
consequences, which won’t destroy us, either—not in God’s world. We may feel
shamed and disgraced. We may have to give up a job we’ve always wanted. We may
have to endure legal consequences.
In
God’s world, this is not the end, but only the beginning. Before and alongside
and after truth and consequences comes love. God’s love is like salt, and it’s
like fire. What does salt do? It flavors and it preserves, but it also purifies.
What does fire do? It heats and it destroys, but it also purifies. Purification
is the common trait of salt and fire. “Everyone will be salted with fire.”
Everyone will be purified. Throughout our lives, we are undergoing a process of
being made better. And yes, sometimes it hurts.
We
can help each other with this. James advises in his letter, “Confess your sins
to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed.” Healing
is the goal. But on the path to healing, we must go by way of truth.
You
know, we decide every day whether to enter the Kingdom of God. And the Kingdom
isn’t located inside a church building. As the people who are the church, our
job is to be a sign of the Kingdom, and we do that with varying degrees of
credibility. But the actual Kingdom—the reality of God’s world breaking into
and sitting alongside our own—this is something we can’t control. It’s out
beyond our own schedules and our own comfortable liturgical practices. It’s out
beyond our understanding of what it means to be an American, or to be men and
women, or to be insiders and outsiders. None of those categories matter. What
matters in God’s Kingdom is love.
Will
we let others lead us into God’s Kingdom in ways that surprise and unsettle us?
Will we allow the surgeon to cut away that which has infected us and start us
on a path to healing?
No comments:
Post a Comment