The Most Important Commandment

By The Rev. Sherry Deets

October 23, 2011

Matthew 22: 34-46

So, we hear in today’s gospel reading that a lawyer asked a question to test Jesus. He asked, “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” And there is nothing new in Jesus’ answer. It is not something original. In Jewish writings long before Jesus’ time, these two commandments summarized the whole of the law. In fact, Luke’s Gospel attributes this summary not to Jesus but to the Jewish lawyer who asked Jesus what he must do to receive eternal life (Luke 10:27). Jesus asked him, "What do the Scriptures say? The lawyer replies, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind’ and ‘love your neighbor as you love yourself."

Every Pharisee, every Jew, knew those words. These words are the essence, the beginning and the ending of the Jewish piety. In Deuteronomy we read, "Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength." These words were to be recalled in the morning and in the evening. They were to be taught to the children. And they were recited just before the moment of death.

"And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself," Jesus continued. Jesus went to the heart of the Pharisees’ tradition -- and his own. He went on, "All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."

A good image here is a door hanging from a pair of hinges. Door hinges restrict the motion of the door to the arc in which it is intended to swing. As long as both hinges remain secure and the frame remains square, the door will function reliably, moving where its creator intended and closing securely. But, if either hinge comes loose, the door becomes an obstruction and will soon tear loose from its frame altogether. The loss of either hinge, therefore, is tantamount to the loss of both hinges -- and therefore of the door itself. So also, obedience to the two commandments -- to love God and to love neighbor -- work together to restrict our activity to the straight and narrow path that God has created us to walk. As long as we observe both commandments, we can be confident that we are on that Godly path. However, if we choose to ignore either love, we will soon find ourselves in a spiritual ditch.

How do we do this, though? How do we stay out of the ditch? How do we love God with all our heart and mind and soul? And, for many of us, it is difficult to understand how we can love all of our neighbors. What about the jerks? Really, how? Perhaps it depends on our understanding of what biblical love is.

To love God with all our heart, mind, and soul seems nearly impossible when we think of love as an emotion. How does one conjure up feelings for something as remote, mysterious, and disembodied as the concept of God can be? We cannot look into God's eyes, wrap our arms around the Spirit, or even see the face of Jesus. If we could, that might evoke in us a profound feeling of love. We might fall in love with Jesus' beauty and grace if we could know him as Mary and Martha did. But, we are commanded to love what seems to be an intangible God.

In the New Testament, the principle word used for love is agape. Like philia, or brotherly love, it is a passionless love. Eros is the word for passion or desire. The latter two are used sparingly in the New Testament. Agape in the gospels has some connection to emotion, where God cares for God's creatures and creation.

But, chiefly, it refers to what can be called loving-kindness. It is not passive emotion, but active mercy. It is marked by patience and generosity, again, both acts generated by the one who loves. In short, loving is a choice, not a feeling.

Likewise, loving our neighbor is difficult. If love is merely our passive response to the person next to us, we are likely to be more often repulsed than moved to love. How can one legitimately look into the face of an enemy and feel unqualified love? It is nearly impossible.

But, biblical love is not passive. It is not something that occurs to us without our control or will. Biblical love is something we do. It is loving-kindness, merciful action that is both generous and continuous. Here lies the good news for Christian people. To love neighbor as oneself is to act toward the other as one would act toward those close to you. We treat the stranger as well as we treat those that we love emotionally.

When the action to each is equal, the love to each is equal. This is counter to what we expect, but it is in keeping with what the commandment requires. This means that, to those with whom we are intimate, to those we do not know, to those who may be dirty or repugnant, and even to those who harm us, we can act according to the law of love. We can be merciful and gracious. To love the neighbor as ourselves is to make a conscious choice and act upon it.

And what about love of God? Again, as God chose Israel and elected to forgive her at every offense, so we can choose God and serve God in every way. We can love with our heart: through generosity to God's people. We can love with our soul: by worshiping God and praying for our neighbors and ourselves. And we can love with our minds: studying God's Word and letting it correct us, enlighten us, and send us out in loving action to the world.

See how these commandments are connected, "the greatest commandment" and the "second, which is like it"? When we love God's people, we are always, and at the same time, loving God. They are inseparable. Surprisingly, sometimes our emotions follow suit and we actually feel a love of other, or a love of God. But the emotion is not commanded. Only the action of love is commanded. In Christ, this we can do, even when we don't feel like it.

So, God uses the law to command our neighbor to care for us. We are all one family, the law reminds us, one family bound by the mutual obligation and delight of love, real love, love that is not just a feeling but is action, not just sweet words but concrete deeds.

The law does not establish our relationship with God -- that's true in both Testaments! -- rather, it is the sign of our relationship, God's good gift to God's beloved people.

Complicated? Then maybe only another story will suffice. "While they were eating," Matthew tells us a few chapters after this one, "Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, 'Take, eat; this is my body.' Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, 'Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins" (26:26-28). This is how much God loves us -- enough to demand that we care for one another; enough to forgive and renew us each time we fail; enough to give us back to each other to try once, again, to live the law of love; and enough to give us the body, blood, and resurrected life, of our Lord Jesus ... all in the name of love. Amen.

Is It Lawful To Pay Taxes To the Emporer?

By The Rev. Sherry Deets

October 16, 2011

Matthew 22: 15-22

What we are witnessing in this confrontation between Jesus and some Pharisees is precisely that: a confrontation. The "Pharisees" represented here do not represent all of the Pharisees. There were some who saw Jesus as a worthy debating partner, perhaps even as a friend.

The Pharisees we see in this passage, though, despite their flattering descriptions of his integrity, are not remotely interested in honest debate. These represent the sect's more rabid faction. They have already decided that they, like Herod, want to kill him. So they set out with some "Herodians" - those who believe in collaborating with the Roman government - to try to trap Jesus with seemingly contradictory aspects of his own teaching. "What do you think?" they ask Jesus. "Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not?"

The question raises a dilemma - big time. Paying taxes to the emperor of Rome, paying the taxes levied and collected by the Roman government, was one of the hot-button issues - perhaps the hot-button issue - of the day. The Roman Empire was, as you know, the reigning world power of the day. Rome had invaded Israel, divided the country up into sectors in accordance with Rome's needs, and set up a puppet government to rule as Rome saw fit. Rome employed proxies who were natives of Israel to levy and collect taxes. These tax collectors were the most hated people in occupied Israel; they were seen as traitors. Many of them were dishonest - collecting much more in "taxes" than Rome required, paying Rome and keeping the overcharge for themselves. In this way, many of them became wealthy at the expense of their struggling compatriots.

So, "should we pay taxes to this - emperor, the representative of a pagan occupying force that sets up its idolatrous statues and standards all over the place, that refuses to respect our religion and traditions, that doesn't even respect the temple itself? Should we pay taxes to this foreign power?" these Pharisees and Herodians ask Jesus.

Some devout Jews said no! Absolutely not! There were revolutionaries among the Jewish people who believed in complete non-cooperation with the Roman government and who advocated, as a civic and religious duty, paying nothing in taxes. Other devout Jews - the "Herodians," so named because they supported the Roman puppet Herod - believed in following the path of least resistance and collaborating with the Roman occupier, even to the point of paying taxes.

So here, representatives of both factions confront Jesus, hoping to cause him to embarrass himself and diminish his stature before this crowd that seems to regard him so highly. "What do you think, Rabbi? You are so passionate for God's truth; tell us: What is God's truth with regard to the emperor's taxes? Should we pay them, or not?"

What does Jesus do? He gives the only realistic answer he could have given under the circumstances. He asks for a coin - a specimen of the Roman currency used to pay the Roman tax. And Jesus asks, “Whose head is this, and whose title? The coin, of course, bears Caesar's image and belongs to Caesar. The Pharisees' answer, "Caesar's," indicating Caesar's ownership -- a point Jesus will press. Their reply half answers their question: they possess in this coin the possession of another. Is it wrong to return property to its owner?" The coin is an instrumentality of Caesar's government -- under Caesar's control -- its value established by Caesar. It is available for their use only because Caesar has ordered the mint to strike it and the treasury to disburse it. It is an integral part of Caesar's realm.

“Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s” -- but "give back" draws attention to the fact that the coin comes from Caesar.

But Jesus adds, “and (give back) to God the things that are God’s”. We are made in the image of God (Gen 1:26-27). We bear God's image, and so it is appropriate to give ourselves back to God -- all that we have and all that we are -- because God created us and we are an integral part of God's realm.

Jesus does not divide the world into two equal realms, clearly defining the boundaries between our obligations to Caesar and our obligations to God. Rather, his answer acknowledges our obligation to the state, but affirms our larger obligation to God. Coins bearing Caesar's image may belong to Caesar, but all things (coins, Caesar, Rome, the planet earth, the universe) come from the mind of God and are under God's dominion. Caesar's realm is but a speck within God's realm. The days of Caesar's realm are numbered, but God's realm is eternal.

It is as vital today to resolve the conflict between loyalty to the "emperor" and loyalty to God as it was during Jesus' time. If we ask Jesus for specifics on how we should manage our loyalties, we find that his answer is similar to the one he gave Pharisees and Herodians.

So, what do you think Jesus means? What things are Caesar's and what are God's? How does our faith shape our economic decisions -- our buying, saving, giving, and the rest?"

Henri Nouwen shares a story based in the tradition of desert spirituality about John and Sandy.... We all have Johns and Sandys among us. One day John said to Sandy, "We've never had an argument. Let's have an argument like other people have." Sandy asked, "But how can we start an argument?" John answered, "It's very simple. I take a brick and say, 'It's mine,' and then you say, 'No, it's mine,' and then we have an argument." So they sat down and John took a brick and said, "This brick is mine." Sandy looked gently at him and said, "Well, if it's yours, take it." And so, they could not have an argument.

As long as we keep bricks in our hands and speak about mine and thine, our little power games gradually will escalate into big power games and our big power games will lead to hatred, violence and war. When we look at life from below, our fears and insecurities lead us to grab bricks wherever we can.

But when we dare to let go of our bricks, empty our hands, and raise them up to the One who is our true refuge and our true stronghold, our poverty opens us to receive power from above, power that heals, power that will be a true blessing for ourselves and for our world. Source: Power, Powerlessness and Power.

All we are and all we have comes from God. May we live our lives understanding and seeing that great gift. Amen.

A Story About Greed

By The Rev. Sherry Deets

October 2, 2011

Matthew 21:33-46

He was, by all accounts, a successful man. This builder of fine homes in an upscale American suburb was known to all as a creative craftsman, a shrewd businessman, a fair-minded employer, and a generous benefactor. But he was aging now, and before he set out for Florida for the winter, he approached his top superintendent and told him that he was retiring. “I want you to build me a home, the finest home this company has ever built. Spare no expense, use the finest materials, employ the most gifted tradesmen, and build me a masterpiece before I come home next spring.”

The next day, the superintendent set out to build that home, but not exactly to orders. If his boss was retiring, that meant he would be losing his job, so he needed to pad his own savings account, lest he be destitute. He ordered inferior concrete blocks for the foundation, but charged the builder for premium blocks, and he pocketed the difference. He hired inexperienced carpenters, plumbers, electricians, roofers and landscapers, but he charged his boss wages that would be paid to master craftsmen, and he put the difference in his own bank account. He installed cheap appliances and lighting, insufficient insulation, inferior carpet, and drafty windows, and he skimmed a tidy sum off the top for himself. In the spring, when the home was finished, it looked spectacular; it was the signature home in the neighborhood, and the only thing that made the superintendent happier than how the project looked was the bottom line in his personal bank account, which had grown by hundreds of thousands of dollars that winter.

When the elderly business owner arrived home from Florida that spring, he toured this home fit for a king, and he was ecstatic. The superintendent handed him the keys and thanked his boss for the privilege of working for him all these years. And then the owner did an unthinkable thing: he said to the superintendent “You have been a trusted friend and a loyal partner in my business for all of these years; you deserve a home like this.” And he handed him the keys.

Greed is what that story is about, and greed is certainly present in our parable of the tenants in the vineyard. The first lesson we learn from the vineyard story related to God’s incredible patience. We find that the landowner had invested a lot in the vineyard. The verbs in verse 33 tell us that he planted, set, dug, built, let and went. These strong verbs point to the active, caring, loving attitude of the landowner toward his vineyard. Then he went away entrusting the responsibility to the tenants to till, cultivate, and harvest. He expected his vineyard to produce fruit.

We must notice that the landowner placed a phenomenal amount of trust in the tenants, just as God does in us. When ready to claim his harvest, the master sends representatives, not once, but twice. His patience seems unending. The first group was beaten, stoned, or killed. The second group met the same fate. But the owner was still patient. Finally thinking it inconceivable that his own son would be rejected, he sent him. "They will honor my son," he says.

However, the wicked tenants failed their final opportunity. In the ultimate test, the son was cast out and killed. An ordinary landlord would have sought revenge on these ungrateful tenants. He might bring a legal action against them or even armed forces to claim what is rightfully his. But this landowner is like God, not like us. God sent his Son! The essential character of God is love, and such love is patient.

And a second lesson is here regarding stewardship. The tenants were provided with everything they needed. They were given the freedom to do the task as they wished. This was an opportunity for growth! But they blew it. Instead of showing faith, they resorted to greed and their murderous instincts. The behavior of these tenants was the perfect example of humanity's rebellious response to God's love. The people of God resisting God's love.

The servants in this parable worked the land, but they treated the land as if it was their own. Somehow that they forgot that it never belonged to them, they forgot, or rejected their covenant with the landowner. They owed something to the landowner that they were unwilling to give. The same is true for us. These tenants forgot that they were merely stewards or managers. We sometimes forget too. We are under the delusion of ownership. We think we own things, when in reality God is the owner of all things. All we have belongs to God. We are stewards.

What does "ownership" really mean to us anyway? My friend’s father owns forty acres of land back in Arkansas. But what does that really mean? His father is 79 years old. He may have possession of that land for 10 or 20 more years, but one day he will be buried on that land. The land will own him. The same is true to a lesser degree of all that we own. There are no U-Haul trailers behind hearses. We leave everything when we die. So we see that the Bible is accurate when it describes us as stewards. We have possession of things for a little while.

Once we get over the delusion of ownership we can really enjoy the good things that God has placed in the garden for our enjoyment. And we may just share it with the other guests as well.

Christian novelist Flannery O’Connor has written, “You cannot understand life and its mysteries as long as you try to grasp it. Indeed, you cannot grasp it, just as you cannot walk off with a river in a bucket .... To have running water you must let go of it and let it run. The same is true of life and of God.”

Robert Newell was driving along an isolated road one night when his car suddenly stopped running. He was stranded. Then the lights of another car approached, pulled alongside, and stopped. After exchanging pleasantries, the other motorist pulled a rope from his trunk and towed Newell's car several miles to the nearest garage. Newell tried to give money to the man, but he refused it. Newell then said, "Well, I must in some way return your kindness." The stranger replied, "If you really want to show your gratitude, buy a rope and always carry it in your car."

God is like that. He has put us in the vineyard, and invites us to enjoy its fruits--but he wants us pass the blessings on--to live righteously, to care about each other, and to bear witness to our faith. God's emphasis on fruit-bearing is not unlike the motorist saying, "If you really want to show your gratitude, buy a rope and always carry it in your car."

Our God is a patient, loving God. Amen.

Trick Questions

By The Rev. Sherry Deets

September 25, 2011

Matthew 21: 23-32

In our gospel today, Jesus and the Pharisees are exchanging trick questions. The Pharisees ask Jesus where he gets his authority to teach and heal, and they’re hoping to trap him to saying something stupid. And Jesus asks a trick question of his own, having to do with John the Baptist, and any answer the Pharisees offer will back them into a corner, so they play dumb. It is then that Jesus tells them, and us, a parable.

A certain man had two sons, and asks each of them to go to work in the vineyard. The first says no, but then he has a change of heart. The second says yes, but he never shows up for work in the vineyard. Then Jesus asks the Pharisees “Which of these two sons did the will of his father?” The Pharisees say that the first son did his father’s will, but it’s a trick question, because neither one did. The first son blatantly disobeyed his father, and right to his face. The second son sucked up to his father – he even called him “sir” – but he failed to follow through. Which one did the father’s will? Neither one.

But Jesus uses this trick question to teach the Pharisees about the Kingdom of God. You see, they were living examples of the second son in the parable. Self-righteous Jews were the ones who always gave the appearance of serving God. They followed all the picky religious rules; rules about what they should eat, and what they should wear, and how they should say their prayers. They looked and sounded very religious. But when it came to issues like loving their neighbor, or showing kindness to the poor, or showing compassion to the lowly, they never showed up in the vineyard! They said they would; their religion was very impressive when they were at the synagogue, but they did not live it out in their daily lives.

But, you know, the first son in the parable wasn’t much better. He stood for the tax collectors and the prostitutes of whom Jesus spoke; people who lived lives that were notoriously sinful. They didn’t have time for religion, and even if they did, some were of the wrong ethnic origin to worship God. But they had the ability to change directions, and when Jesus called them away from their sinful ways, they left those lives behind and followed him.

Now, here’s the word of grace in this parable: both were called “sons.” The father doesn’t disown either one of them, because of the things that they did or didn’t do. In fact, according to Jesus, both sons will still enter the Kingdom of God. One might go in ahead of the other, but neither is being excluded because of their sinfulness.

Jesus' parable is, in the end, a challenge. It asks us how we will respond to the truth of the gospel -- will we change our mind and believe, or not? Will we be the daughter who pretends obedience or the son who turns around and changes his mind?

Author Saul Bellow wrote about a rabbi who lived in a small Jewish town in Russia. The rabbi had a secret. Every Friday morning the rabbi disappeared for several hours. The people of his congregation liked to tell others that during his absence from them their rabbi went up to heaven and talked to God. When a stranger moved into town and heard this explanation for the rabbi’s weekly departure, he was not convinced. So he decided to find out what was really going on. The next Friday morning, he hid by the rabbi’s house, waiting and watching. As usual, the rabbi got up and said his prayers. But unlike other mornings of the week, he then dressed in peasant clothes. He grabbed an ax and wandered off into the woods to cut some firewood. With the man watching from afar, the rabbi then hauled the wood to a shack on the outskirts of the village where an old woman and her sick son lived. He left them the wood, enough for a week, and then went quietly back home.

After seeing what the rabbi did, the stranger decided to stay in the village and join the congregation. From then on, whenever he heard one of the villagers say, “On Friday morning our rabbi ascends all the way to heaven,” the newcomer quietly added, “If not higher.”

So Jesus' question, and the answer he points us to in the parable of the two sons, pushes us to the point of reflection and decision. Which will we be? Which can we be? Will we change our mind, and believe? Amen.

It's Not Fair

By The Rev. Sherry Deets

September 18, 2011

Matthew 20:1-16

Be honest. When you heard the reading of the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard just now, did your heart leap for joy? Were you thrilled when you heard that the workers who’d toiled and slaved all day long in the hot sun were going to get the same day’s wages as those who’d worked only one hour? I doubt it!

Let’s face it, this is not one of Jesus’ more popular parables. The parable runs against the grain of one of our most deeply cherished values, the value of hard work and just reward: The more you work and the more productive you are, the more you ought to get paid. I don’t know many who would disagree with that. And this is the complaint of those who worked all day: “You have made them equal to us.”

The parable provokes one of the most primitive cries of childhood, when one sibling gets a better shake than another, the one who feels cheated screams: “But that’s not fair!” And so it goes: Some seem to get more than they deserve while others get less. It’s just not right, it’s not fair.

But before we dismiss this parable, let’s consider the possibility that there’s a lesson to be learned here, that what’s going on in this parable is nothing less than a battle between human justice and God’s justice – a battle between our will and God’s will – and that, even though we say we just want to get what we deserve, what we most want and need is something far greater: God’s gift of grace.

Listen to the parable once more: A landowner hired workers early in the morning and promised to pay them what amounted to minimum wage – one denarius. This was considered the basic subsistence for a man to feed his family for a day. The landowner then went back at nine o’clock, at noon, at three o’clock and at five o’clock and hired more workers. He told them simply that he’d pay them what was right.

So far, so good. In our minds, we’ve already got it figured out – they’re going to get a pro rata share of one denarius. According to our standards, that would be fair. At the end of the day the landowner had all the workers line up starting with those who came at five o’clock. Lo and behold, he paid them a denarius, a full day’s wage.

Still, no problem. If he paid one denarius for one hour’s work, then he must be going to pay one denarius per hour. That would be generous, but fair. This is where the parable takes an unexpected turn, for as the workers filed by to receive their wages, he paid them all the same – one denarius each, no matter how long they worked.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” they complained. The landowner was not playing by their rules. Never mind that they got precisely what they were promised; the fact that the others got the same was a pill too big to swallow. The landowner replied, “Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Are you envious because I am generous? Take your pay and go home.”

What was it about those workers who’d worked all day that made them so angry when the others got paid the same?

One of the most memorable scenes from Dante’s Divine Comedy occurs in that place where envy is overcome. Those afflicted by this sin are clothed in coarse garments and sit among the rocks like pitiful blind beggars, each leaning on a neighbor's shoulder. They hear sounds around them, but they do not see. Their eyelids have been sewn shut with iron wire.

Dante depicts the envious as blind. They cannot see the light that surrounds them. And their blindness is no accident. It results from the many times they chose not to recognize life as a gift freely given to everyone even as the daylight is a gift. The envious always wanted what others had. They could not celebrate the gifts those others had received. They closed their eyes to the light of a shared life and sewed them shut.

This brings up an interesting aspect of the parable to consider, that, perhaps, those who were hired to work at five o’clock had been left standing idle all day, not because they didn’t want to work or didn’t try to get a job, but because they were the least fit to work. In the parable, God’s justice is that everyone got to work, and everyone was given the essential earnings to feed his family. The inequity of their varying hours of work was offset by the inequity of their varying strengths and abilities. And this is God’s justice, not that we get what we deserve, but that we get what we need.

Finally, the problem with the workers who complained the loudest is that they failed to recognize their relationship to each other. Or, to put it another way, the offense of God’s justice is softened when the “all day” workers and the “eleventh hour” workers stop seeing each other as “us and them” and start seeing each other as “we”.

There’s a play by Timothy Thompson based on this parable in which he depicts two brothers vying for work. John is strong and capable; Philip is just as willing but has lost a hand in an accident. When the landowner comes, John is taken in the first wave of workers, and as he labors in the field he looks up the lane for some sign of Philip. Other workers are brought to the field, but Philip is not among them. John is grateful to have the work, but feels empty knowing that Philip is just as needful as he. Finally, the last group of workers arrive, and Philip is among them. John is relieved to know that Philip will get to work at least one hour. But, as the drama unfolds, and those who came last get paid a full days’ wages, John rejoices, knowing that Philip – his brother – will have the money necessary to feed his family. When it comes his turn to stand before the landowner and receive his pay, instead of complaining as the others, John throws out his hand and says with tears in his eyes, “Thank you, my lord, for what you’ve done for us today!”

God’s justice arises out of a sense of community in which we see the “eleventh hour” workers as our brothers and sisters whose needs are every bit as important as our own. Next time we get bent out of shape when someone else gets more than he/she deserves, ask yourself, “What does this say about my relationship to this person? Would I feel the same if this were my brother or sister or father or mother?”

I suppose when it’s all said and done, we’ll always feel a little squeamish about the inequities of life – the unfairness of it all – and perhaps we’ll continue to harbor a little resentment toward those who seem to get a free ride. Let’s just say it’s because we’re human, not God. Even so, let’s trust God to be just in spite of our humanness, so that when the day comes when we’re caught short, as one day it surely will, there will be grace for us as well.

The story is told of a man who died and went to heaven. St. Peter met him at the pearly gates and asked to examine his qualifications. “We have a point system,” St. Peter said, “and only those with enough points are allowed to enter.” “Points?” the man asked, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” St. Peter explained, “It’s simple. We determine how many points you have by the life you’ve led. We require a hundred points to get in. Tell me about your life, and I’ll add up your points.”

The man thought for a moment and said, “Well, let’s see. I was a faithful member of my church for over forty-seven years. I served as a deacon and an elder, and I taught Sunday School.” St. Peter said, “Very good. You get one point.” The man said to himself, “Oh, my! Well, let’s see, I was a good husband and a good father. I gave a tithe to the church, and I contributed to all sorts of charities. I helped with various civic projects, and I served on several committees. Doesn’t that count for anything?” “St. Peter said, “Indeed it does. You get another point.”

The man’s face sank, and he said, “I can see now, I’ll never make it. The only way I’d ever get into this place is by the grace of God.”

St. Peter smiled and said, “And that, my friend, is worth ninety-eight points. Welcome!” Amen.

(Based on a sermon by Philip W. McLarty)

Shrimp in the Curtain Rods

By The Rev. Sherry Deets

September 11, 2011

You may have heard the story of the woman who spent the first day after her divorce sadly packing her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases.1 On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things.

On the third day, she sat down on the floor in the dining room by candlelight, put on some soft background music, and feasted on a pound of shrimp, a jar of caviar, and a bottle of Chardonnay. When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten shrimp and caviar into the hollow of the curtain rods. She replaced the end caps on the curtain rods, cleaned up the kitchen, and left. When the ex-husband returned with his new girlfriend, all was bliss for the first few days.

Then slowly, the house began to smell. They tried everything: cleaning, mopping, and airing the place out. Vents were checked for dead rodents, and carpets were steam cleaned. Air fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which time they had to move out for a few days; and they even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting. Nothing worked.

People stopped coming over to visit. Repairmen refused to work in the house. The maid quit. Finally, they couldn’t take the stench any longer and decided to move.

A month later, even though they had cut their price in half, they couldn’t find a buyer for their stinky house. Word got out, and eventually, the local Realtors refused to return their calls. Finally, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.

The ex-wife called the man, and asked how things were going. He told her they were selling the house but didn’t tell her the real reason. She listened politely, and said she missed her old home terribly, and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for getting the house back.

Thinking his ex-wife had no idea about the smell, he agreed on a price that was about 1/10th of what the house had been worth, but only if she were to sign the papers that very day. She agreed, and within the hour his lawyers delivered the paperwork for her to sign.

A week later, the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home – including the curtain rods. ☺

Most of us enjoy hearing a story like that – especially if we’ve been wronged by someone. We like to hear about people “getting even.” Our enjoyment, though, points to an underlying reality – the reality that we really are vengeful. We don’t want to admit it, perhaps, but we prefer to see people get even rather than to forgive.

And when Jesus invites us to pray, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” we fully understand the sentiment of the man who always pretended to forget the words of the Lord’s Prayer – because he didn’t want to forgive his former partner for swindling him out of his business.

Rare, in our society, is the story of forgiveness. The news media was astounded at the way the Amish community here in Pennsylvania forgave the man who killed their children several years ago, in part because the story is so rare.

In Matthew’s gospel reading this morning, as we remember the 10th anniversary of the events of 9/11, the question is asked: how many times do we need to forgive?

For many of us forgiveness is very difficult and often leads to questions about who we should forgive and what we should forgive. Should we forgive Osama bin Laden and the bombers he inspired? Jesus seems pretty clear on the subject and that answer would be, Yes, we must forgive.

A pastoral counselor believes that one of the main reasons people don't forgive is because we don't know how, and in particular we confuse forgiveness with reconciliation. Added to the problem is a lack of good working definitions of resentment, forgiveness, and reconciliation. So, telling people to forgive without teaching people how to forgive is very unhelpful and contributes to misery.

Resentment – a working definition. Resentment involves reliving, in the present moment, something from our past. To experience resentment we need to do one other thing than simply relive a past event. To create resentment, we need to add a demand, in the present moment, that the past event would not have occurred. These demands are often in the form "he or she shouldn't have done, or should have done something."

Regardless of how hard we demand, or how despicable the event was, demanding that something shouldn’t have happened doesn't change the fact that the event occurred. Resentment: A demand in the present moment that a past event didn't happen.

Forgiveness: When forgiving, what we let go of is the demand that the past would have been different than it actually was. To release a demand we can convert it into a preference. "I would have preferred that the past event wouldn't have happened." Forgiveness is not about saying "it didn't matter." These past events do matter, we know they matter, especially when our core values have been violated. Converting a demand into a preference means we get to maintain our integrity and our values.

When we convert the demand into a preference we can explore the values contained within the preference. If the values that were violated are important to us and we would like to keep them in the future we can take a moment and imagine personally sharing that value with someone in the future. It doesn't need to be with the person who has hurt us, but we do need to be willing to give to people what we want to receive from them.

To let go of the past and live fully in the present moment we need to go beyond turning the demand into a preference and surrender the other person and ourselves into the Goodness of God that is fully available now.

I like the idea of the Goodness of God, I never define what that goodness is, but I know deeply that it is good, it is good for me and good for others. When I try to define the goodness of God, for myself and others, I find I contaminate it with all my ego wishes and wants. When dealing with people who have hurt me, my ideas of what would be good for the one who has injured me are generally for my benefit and not for the one who has hurt me.

Forgiveness: Letting go of our demands that the past would be different and surrendering ourselves and others into the Goodness of God in this present moment.

Forgiveness is independent of the person who has injured us. It is how we set ourselves free of things that have happened in the past. Forgiveness is a precursor to reconciliation, but it is very different than reconciliation.

Reconciliation is an agreement by two people on how they will live together in the future. Reconciliation requires shared values. It would be stupid to be reconciled with someone who does not share our values.

Jesus forgave those who crucified him, and he was never reconciled to the mission or goals of the Romans or the Pharisees.

Martin Luther King Jr. pursued a non-violent dream of equality and he was never reconciled to injustice or to those who perpetrated injustice. We can forgive Osama Bin Laden and his followers and we do not need to be reconciled to those who create terror.

If we truly want an end to terrorism then you and I must first renounce using fear to motivate anyone, whether they be our spouses, or children, co-workers, parishioners, citizens, politicians, or our enemies. For when we use fear to motivate someone we have become a terrorist in their lives. Only when we give up using fear to motivate people can we lovingly and fiercely challenge those who terrorize us.

When we are in conflict with others we may not be able to achieve reconciliation at the point of the conflict but we may find a deeper place of reconciliation that allows us to peaceably engage with those with whom we disagree.

For example in the church we have great conflict over issues of sexuality. Finding reconciliation at that point of the conflict may be impossible but we can find a deeper place of reconciliation in a profound awareness that despite our differences we are both loved by God, and that God's love is not dependent on the rightness of our beliefs, but is dependent purely on the nature of the God of love who loves both the just and unjust. From that deeper place of reconciliation we can find a place of unity that can allow us to live in love with those with whom we disagree.

Forgiveness isn’t easy. Nor does it require the other person to be repentant. Reconciliation, though, requires both. Reconciliation can only be done in the context of a trusting relationship where repentance and forgiveness are both present.

Seventy-seven times Jesus tells Peter to forgive someone – or in some translations, seventy times seven. A large enough number that we will lose count if we try to keep track, large enough that we may also begin to see how many times we need to be forgiven as well. You see, our debt has been paid in full. Not because we deserved it, but because God decided the possibility of a relationship is more important than allowing sin to prevent it. How we respond is up to us. God’s desire is that we use our forgiveness as a beginning point for a new and healthy relationship – with God and with one another.

At the end of this day, September 11, 2011, may we be able to pray for and envision world peace once again; may God help us do our part to help make it come true. May God be with us now and forevermore--even through the darkest of nights. Amen.

Jesus' Method of Conflict Resolution

By The Rev. Sherry Deets

September 4, 2011

Matthew 18:15-20

So...Matthew wants everything to be perfect, and that includes his church. Conflicts have arisen among some of the members of Matthew’s congregation, and he just can’t stand it. He wants everything to be perfect and in order, and conflict, if nothing else, is a messy business. I can imagine him lying awake at night, thinking about how to deal with the problems he’s encountering among the fellowship. He remembers what Jesus had said and he finally decides to provide this teaching from Jesus as a way of giving a clear-cut message to his fellow believers. When people get into it with one another, there is a way to deal with it. Matthew is convinced of that, and the sooner he addresses the situation, the better.

The instructions are quite simple and straightforward. If one of your brothers or sisters in Christ sins against you, you are to go and in privacy point out what has happened and how it has made you feel. If you get less than a redemptive response, you are to ask a couple of fellow members to serve as witnesses and go back with you to visit with the offending party. And if you still get nowhere with the person who has wronged you, as a last resort, tell the church about it. If the one who has offended you will not listen to the church, send him or her packing. Ok, now I’d like a show of hands – how many of us have ever participated in a conflict resolution of this nature. That’s what I thought. But we love that last verse from Matthew, don’t we? The one where Jesus says that when two or three are gathered in his name, he would be there among them. Why, we quote it all the time. Notice that we kind of take it out of context. Because, in context, it has to do with church fights, with disagreements and conflict, not with prayer or worship.

It could be argued that Jesus is the last person on earth to give advice about how to deal with such difficulties. He wasn’t exactly an effective conflict manager, now was he? After all, he ended up on a cross, and if you look at the biblical record close enough you will find that he is the one who really brought the confrontation to a head with the religious authorities in Jerusalem. He could have stayed out of town, laid low for awhile, let things simmer down. But no, no, no... he had to march full-bore right into the heart of the battle. It was almost as if he was determined to die a martyr’s death.

But Jesus’ method of conflict resolution starts to make a bit more sense when you consider the spirit of what he says and not just the one-two-three of it. In other words, instead of outlining it, we need to jump into it and move around in it... try on this, try on that, to get a feel for what Jesus is talking about. In doing so, we might just find something we can use when it comes to dealing with people with whom we’re having problems.

For one thing, Jesus puts the burden on the victim, on the person who has been sinned against. (Barbara Brown Taylor, The Seeds of Heaven (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), p. 85.

Isn’t that just like Jesus? Well, yes it is. He always seems to have this way of turning things around from the way we think they ought to be. “The first shall be last, the last first”... that sort of thing. That’s what he’s doing here. And it fits the context of this passage. You see, this chapter in Matthew’s gospel begins with the disciples coming to their Master with a question. “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” That should come as no surprise. That’s all the disciples were ever concerned about. They had this highfaluttin idea of what the coming kingdom was going to be like. Jesus would be the king and they would be his main henchmen. All he would have to do is snap his fingers and they would see that his orders would be carried out. Oh, the power they would wield! Everywhere they went, their conversations amongst themselves were about the kingdom. Who is going to be greatest?

Really what they are asking is, who of us is going to be greatest? Jesus says, “Gather round, boys, and I’ll let you in on the secret.” They come in close to hear what he has to say. As they do, he takes a toddler and places the child in the center of their little group, and then he says, “I tell you, unless you change – and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Say what? Did they understand him correctly? Not only will they not have the prime places of power, they won’t even get in... unless they become like children. What does that mean?

Then Jesus talks about attitudes that keep us from serving him on his terms. Finally, he gets around to these instructions about how to deal with someone who has wronged them. And the first thing they are to do is take the initiative. Even though they are the ones who have been offended, have been sinned against, they are to go to the offender and try to work things out. It is, is it not, an act of utter humility.

You’ve already been made vulnerable by the very fact that someone has offended you. Now, Jesus says you are to really stick your neck out and risk becoming even more vulnerable. You are to go, hat in hand, to the person who has wronged you and give that person the opportunity to set things right.

That’s just like Jesus, isn’t it? And something else that’s just like Jesus. He isn’t interested in who’s right or who’s wrong. That carries no weight with him at all. The only thing Jesus cares about is getting the relationship made right again.

Some people have an amazing ability to remember the slightest offense done to them, the less-than-redemptive remark, the tiniest snub. They let it fester in their souls until it just gnaws away at their hearts and little is left but resentment and anger and a really terrible case of heartburn. But in the end, especially as far as the kingdom of heaven is concerned, the only thing that matters is not what’s been said or who got the short end of the stick. The only thing of consequence is relationship.

In his book The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis, draws a stark picture of hell. Hell is like a great, vast city, Lewis says, a city inhabited only at its outer edges, with rows and rows of empty houses in the middle. These houses in the middle are empty because everyone who once lived there has quarreled with the neighbors and moved. Then, they quarreled with the new neighbors and moved again, leaving the streets and the houses of their old neighborhoods empty and barren.

That, Lewis says, is how hell has gotten so large. It is empty at its center and inhabited only at the outer edges, because everyone chose distance instead of honest confrontation when it came to dealing with their relationships. “Look, she’s the one who said that about me. Let her come and apologize!” “We may go to the same church, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got to share a pew with that so-and-so!” “It’ll be a cold day in July before I accept his apology.”

That’s all well and good, I suppose... if you don’t mind living in hell.

Are we really so willing to give up our relationships with others – relationships that have come about and been forged by our desire to follow Jesus? Nowhere, and I do mean nowhere, in the New Testament gospels will you find Jesus saying that the first order of things is always to be right. But he does have a great deal to say about forgiveness, about relationship, about reconciliation, about service and humility and vulnerability.

I read an article this week by Lillian Daniel, a pastor in the UCC tradition. Her story is about sitting next to someone on a plane who discovered she was a minister and he told her that was spiritual, but not religious. I smiled when I read this, because I’ve heard that too. Lillian Daniel has, in part, this to say: Being privately spiritual but not religious just doesn't interest me. There is nothing challenging about having deep thoughts all by oneself. What is interesting is doing this work in community, where other people might call you on stuff, or heaven forbid, disagree with you. Where life with God gets rich and provocative is when you dig deeply into a tradition that you did not invent all for yourself.

Thank you for sharing, spiritual but not religious person. You are now comfortably in the norm for self-centered American culture, right smack in the bland majority of people who find ancient religions dull but find themselves uniquely fascinating. Can I switch seats now and sit next to someone who has been shaped by a mighty cloud of witnesses instead? Can I spend my time talking to someone brave enough to encounter God in a real human community? Because when this flight gets choppy, that's who I want by my side, holding my hand, saying a prayer and simply putting up with me, just like we try to do in church.

“Where two or three are gathered in my name,” he says, “I am there among them.” So when it comes right down to it, where do you prefer to be? Father, you’ve called us to be family. That means, from time-to-time, we’re going to hurt one another. Squabbles are going to break out, and we won’t exactly be getting along. But help us to see the bigger picture, that relationship is more important than anything else. Dear God, thank you for creating us in your image and not the other way around. Amen.

(Idea for sermon based on one by Dr. Randy L. Hyde, 2005)