Sunday, September 30, 2018

The Uncontrollable Truth


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
Numbers 11:4-6,10-16,24-29; Psalm 19:7-14; James 5:13-20; Mark 9:38-50

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.

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.

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?

The uncontrollable truth is what kills us, and the uncontrollable truth is what raises us up again. Amen.

No comments:

Post a Comment