REDOING OUR RELIGIOUS RESUMES

A Sermon for the Fifth Sunday in Lent

Pastor Laura Gentry

Phillipians 3: 4b-14

Help! Our church is in trouble! That's what was written to Saint Paul by the leaders of the new Christian church in Philippi. And in we've heard some of Paul's response in our second lesson this morning. Things had been going well at this church. Their membership has been growing steadily, both men and women are involved in leadership, and even their stewardship is going well. The church has plenty of money. But all is not well. Believe it or not, this congregation has issues. Inside the congregation, there is petty fighting, jealousy, gossip and cliques forming. Outside the congregation, Jewish neighbors are looking down on this church, believing themselves superior because they continue to follow all the Jewish laws and rituals, whereas these Gentile converts do not. So everyone is upset.

Good old Paul to the rescue! He was kind of the "Dear Abby" of the ancient Christian world. If you needed sound advice, you'd write to him. So that's why the church in Philippi has solicited his help. He writes back to them with loads of advice. He looks at their issues and narrows it down to the central problem, which in his estimation is pride. They are getting all puffed up about themselves and therefore missing the point of Christ's message.

Paul uses himself as an object lesson to help them understand why religious pride is worthless. He recites his religious resume, yes all of of his pedigree. He was born a Jew and his family followed all the rules and had him circumcised on the 8th day, just as the law prescribes. Not only that, he is an elite purebred Hebrew. Not only that, his family comes from the Tribe of Benjamin! He’s virtually religious royalty. That ought to impress. But that’s just the start. He’s got the right education and model behavior as well. He recalls how zealous he was, how righteous and blameless under the law. In fact, all these things had Paul pretty puffed up.

But as we know, Paul had a dramatic religious experience in which he encountered Jesus Christ and all of that changed. His confidence in himself, his fabulous religious resume and pedigree now became unimportant. In fact, he says that he counts it all a loss because of Christ. He regards his accomplishments as nothing more than rubbish, compared to the surpassing value of knowing Christ. It is just not important in comparison to what Christ has done for us on the cross. It is trash now. What matters is his new life, his resurrected life, in Jesus.

And this relationship turns Paul completely around. In fact, he even gets a new name (remember, his former name was Saul). This radical encounter with the living Christ turns him from persecutor of Christians into a Christian—and not just a run-of-the-mill Christian, he becomes the first and perhaps boldest Christian missionary. Now, because Christ has taken hold of him, he has all new priorities.

Bulking up your religious resume has no benefit, he tells the Christians at Phillipi. Getting puffed up and thinking you are somehow better than this person or that only leads to conflict.

Now you and I could get pretty puffed up about our religious resumes, couldn’t we? There are all kinds of things we could say. For example: (puffs up a ballon larger after each statement)

• All my ancestors were Christians
• I’ve been a Christian all my life
• I was baptized as a baby
• I was the head of my confirmation class
• I raised my children as Christians
• They were all at the too of their confirmation classes too
• I have the books of the Bible memorized
• I have perfect attendance at church
• I lead Bible study for circle (and make great cookies to go serve the ladies as well)
• I serve on the church council
• I am Christian through and through
• Even my pets are Christian
• And most of all: I am a good person

Ah yes, you can think quite highly of yourselves with your puffed-up-ness. That's for sure. But you know what Paul would say about all those "brownie points" you thought you earned, that you’ve been getting puffed up about? It’s rubbish. (Let’s balloon go so it flies around the church)

These things are not what’s important. These things will never win our salvation. But if we can’t cling to our puffed-up-ness, what can we cling to? (Picks up a small cross) The cross. As the old hymn says, “I will cling to the old rugged cross and exchange it someday for a crown.”

What is most important is knowing Christ. Paul puts it in this way: “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings.”

During Holy Week, which begins next Sunday we will be focusing on Jesus’ passion and death, and that is a necessary part of our journey to Easter. But even in the heart of Lent, we must not lose sight of the fact that we are Easter people. It has been said, truly, that you can’t have Easter without Good Friday. But Good Friday wouldn’t be “good” if it weren’t for Easter. If Jesus had simply suffered and died, and that was the end of the story, why would we want to share in his suffering? In fact, if we were putting our trust in a Christ who was not raised from the dead, we would be, as Paul tells us in another passage, “of all people most to be pitied.”

But just what does Paul mean to “share in his sufferings?” What does this mean for us? Suffering is not something we like to sign up for. Perhaps this Lent we have been practicing some kind of “fasting”: in the kinds or quantities of food we eat, or in our enjoyment of some other pleasures. Or perhaps we have chosen instead to take on some spiritual discipline for this holy season—like more time for prayer. This is a very small way to share in Christ’s suffering, to become like him in his death. Perhaps we need simply to “die” a little more to ourselves—to focus on others and not just on our own concerns and the concerns of those near and dear to us. Jesus said that whatever we do to the least of his brothers and sisters we do to, or for, him. How might we enter into the suffering of those brothers and sisters—the sick, the poor, the homeless or hungry, those who are alone, who are oppressed? It’s not too late to make that a part of our Lenten practice. In fact, we can and should do it anytime, no matter what the season.

Our reading concludes with one more passionate remark from Paul. He writes: “This one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.”

I press on! What lies behind is unimportant. We can’t impress God with our fabulous religious resumes. They are trash. What we need is Christ’s resume. We need the one who paid the price for our sins to earn God’s favor for us. We have a friend in Jesus who has redeemed us, and who is calling us, who is calling us to enter into his suffering, death and resurrection. That is the ultimate prize! And it is ours for the taking. So we must press on!

Eugene Peterson has written a paraphrased bible, called The Message. In it, he paraphrases this verse by saying: “I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back.”

No my friends, we’re not turning back. We know Christ and in our heart of hearts we want to know him more. We want to love him. We want to be entirely his own. We want to cling to the cross, not our own merit. We've got to redo our religious resumes and take off everything but the cross of Christ. That alone will get us to the prize of the heavenly call of God. Let us press on to follow this call wherever it lead us!

Now may the peace of God which passes all understanding keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

TOLERATING GOD'S TOLERANCE

A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent

by Pastor Laura Gentry

Luke 15: 1-3, 11-32

Grace and Peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Jesus was famous for his teaching stories known as parables. In this morning’s passage, he relates the famous parable of the prodigal son. It’s so famous, in fact, that we might forget to take notice of it. Oh, we already know that story, we can just tune out, right? Well, no actually. Jesus told this parable to people not unlike us because he had a very urgent message. Just what was that message and why should we pay attention instead of catching a wee little nap in the pew right now?

Well let’s start at the very beginning. A man had two sons, according to Jesus. And one son asks his father for his inheritance so he can go make his way in the world. Now to our ears, this might sound fairly acceptable. After all, we want our kids to grow up and go lead their own lives. Hopefully, they’ll make a success out of themselves and perhaps bring some money back. What’s wrong with asking Dad for a little seed money for this endeavor?

Jesus’ ancient, rural audience in the Middle East would have heard it completely differently and if we want to get to the heart of Jesus’ teaching, we have to bear this in mind. In that particular context, a son should not get his inheritance unless his father was dead. So when this boy asks for his inheritance in advance, it is a slap in his dad’s face. It’s like saying: You are dead to me. I don’t care anything for you or your honor. And, of course, honor was extremely important. Furthermore, he’s the younger son and so he shouldn’t get his father’s inheritance anyway—that is for the older brother. But this kid doesn’t care about his big brother either, apparently. He’s dead to me too. I never liked him. That’s what his actions are emphatically saying.

Then, why doesn’t the father just say no to his arrogant, self-centered son? This is a terrible request and it doesn’t deserve to be granted. Yet, this good and loving father gives it to him. Perhaps you picture this story in your mind’s eye and you see the father reaching into his desk drawer or grabbing a shoebox out from under the bed and pulling out a sack of coins, which he hands to his son. Wait a minute. That’s not how it would have happened. The dad wouldn’t have had ready cash for his boy. No, the inheritance would have been the family farm, which had probably been in their family for generations. This piece of earth itself is the family treasure and the young man demands that at a major portion of it be put on the market so it will free up the money so he can get the hell out. This would have been heartbreaking for the father. I remember my grandfather talking about how he had to sell his farm and how it was a loss that he grieved as much as he did the death of his parents. In the ancient Middle East, land meant much more. So this is really a double-whammy for the dad. He’s losing his land, which is his life-force and on top of that he’s losing his own son who has declared him dead.

We don’t know if there’s a mom in this story. There certainly could be but because it’s a parable and her role isn’t important, she isn’t mentioned. If Mom is part of this conversation, you can be sure she’s weeping bitter tears. It’s even worse for her. Not only is she losing her land, and her son, she’s losing a piece of security as well. Women could not own land then. So when her husband dies, the land will go right to the sons and now that she’s only got one son left, she’s in a very vulnerable position. If something happens to that son, she’s going to end up homeless and destitute. The younger son is aware of this but he slaps her in the face too—completely unconcerned about her and her needs.

Finally, with his dad’s money in hand, the young son trots off into the wide world to make his fortune. But you know this parable, so you know it doesn’t work out for him. Jesus spares us the details but we do find out that he makes some poor decisions and thereby wastes his father’s precious money. Not only that, he loses it to Gentiles, which to Jews was a no no. He might has well have ripped up his birth certificate and flushed it down the toilet. This was a grave offense. In fact, there was a ceremony that Jewish villages would have for people foolish enough to lose their money to Gentiles. In that ceremony, they would declare the person “cut off” and unable to resume their place in the community. Ever. The person would be declared dead.

So here’s the younger son. He’s wasted the inheritance he never should have asked for in the first place and he winds up feeding pigs on a farm. Now to the Jewish audience to which Jesus told this parable, feeding pigs was the lowest a person could stoop. Pigs, of course, are considered unclean. And not only is the son feeding the pigs, but he’s jealous of them! He wishes he could dine on their slop because it’s better than what he’s eating. Even today, we cringe at such a thought.

Then, it says that he came to himself. Does this mean he recognized his sinfulness and repented in his heart? Oh, it’s possible, but it seems more likely that the kid was just plain hungry. He knows that back at the family farm, the hired hands are treated better than he’s being treated. Even that would be a step up from this! After how bad he’s been, he knows he shouldn’t set foot back in his hometown, but he’s desperate. So he heads back, rehearsing a very self-serving speech.

And here comes the shocking ending. Before the prodigal son even gets to the gate—while he is still far off—his father sees him and is filled with compassion. Now Aristotle once said that “great men never run in public.” Yet, the father is so overwhelmed with joy, that he runs. He runs, perhaps even sprints, to get to his boy. He throws his arms around his son— his rebellious son—who hasn’t so much as apologised. The father kisses him right there on the road in front of everybody. This sort of thing shouldn’t be done, but father throws propriety to the wind. All that matters to him his restoring his relationship with his beloved son. He doesn’t care how bad this boy has been or how very much it has grieved his heart. This is his son and his love for his son has not been diminished. He welcomes him wholeheartedly.

Now the parable could stop right here and we’d say, “Oh, what a happy ending.” But it goes on. The father, it seems to us, goes a little overboard.

“Get him my best robe and put it on!” He shouts. “Get him a ring for his finger, sandals for his feet! My son is home! Go and kill the fatted calf. We’re having a celebration for the whole town!”

Okay, okay, already, we get it. Dad’s excited about his kid coming home. But right about now, you and I start to get a little annoyed with the father. What’s his deal? Why’s he going so nuts for then ne’er-do-well son. Yeah, it’s his son but he’s messed up. He’s sinned about as much as a person can sin. How dare he even show his face in this town—this town that, by rights, should be organizing the cut-him-off ceremony? He’s got some nerve. And gullible ol’ dad has taken the bait and has not only welcomed him, but has gone completely over the top about it. If we think about it, we can get downright disgusted.

Ah, but that’s just what Jesus was trying to teach. Because he, then, launches into the part about the older brother who gets wind of this welcome home party. He grows so angry, he won’t even go in the house. So he’s standing outside in the yard, presumably with his arms folded in front of him and his lip stuck out. He reminds us of Jonah who was so angry at God for forgiving the Ninevites that he sat outside the city and declared he was angry enough to die. The older brother is just about that hot-buttered. And he has a right to be. He’s been there all along, working alongside his father. He never asked for his inheritance ahead of time. For the love of God, he’s the GOOD son. Dad never threw me a party like this, he mutters to himself. Yet my pig-loving sinner brother is getting the royal treatment! It’s outrageous.

And here’s the thing: most of us can relate more to the older brother than we can the younger brother. After all, we’re here in church this morning. We’re so responsible that we remembered to set our clocks ahead last night so we could be here at church like we’re supposed to be. What’s Jesus trying to say with this parable? Is he saying that God—represented by the father in the parable—loves the big-time sinners with the same passion God loves you and me? Oh come on! Even those people who have messed up and ruined lives and returned to their sins again and again? How could that be? It makes us want to fold our arms and go stand out in the yard with the elder brother. We don’t deserve to be treated this way.

The father hears about the elder son’s defiance. By rights, Dad should have ignored him and stayed at the party. He’s the host. He should not leave his guests. But in the same way he reached out to the younger son, he now reaches out to the elder son. He goes to him and he gently assures him that he has just as much love for his elder son as he does for the younger son. That’s where the story ends. There’s no conclusion. We don’t know if the elder son goes in or not! It’s a cliffhanger. We want to tune in next season and find out who shot JR!

But Jesus leaves it unfinished on purpose because that’s where you and I enter into the story. It’s a write your own ending kind of thing. Jesus has confronted us with the news that the grace of God is much bigger than we thought and that there is love enough for us all. Like the elder brother, it’s hard for us to tolerate God’s tolerance. We want God’s love all to ourselves. But that’s not how it works. God wants to spread the love and reconciliation far and wide and that’s just what God’s going to do.

So here we stand—outside in the yard, feeling pretty put out. But there’s a party going on inside. It’s the best party ever. We didn’t deserve an invitation any more than anyone else, and yet we got one. The question is, will stay out here with our self-righteousness or will we decide come in? Let’s write a good ending to this story for ourselves, huh?