One-of-a-kind-God

19th Sunday after Pentecost

Matthew 21:23-32

We’ve watched a couple of powerful hurricanes over these past weeks. We have watched them produce the kind of destruction that only nature seems to have the power to produce. When Mother Nature starts cranking up this way, about all we can do is get out of the way, wait for her to get through with her tirade, and then move back in to clean up the aftermath of her wrath.

In sharp contrast to behavior prior to Katrina, governmental officials this time around got busy in a hurry, and the words “evacuation” and “mandatory” got thrown around faster than Rita could build out there in the Gulf. I was particularly impressed by the mayor of Galveston, Lyda Ann Thomas. I pulled up her resume online the other night, and it reads like a Who’s Who of Galveston community service – she knows that city – she’s a native of the island, I think third generation. I watched some news reporter interview her Thursday evening, and she stood on the sea wall there at Galveston and said, “This wall will be here when the hurricane has come and gone.” She knows what she’s talking about – she served on the Seawall Overlay Committee of that city, and I suspect she knows the structural integrity of that seawall about as good as anyone. And to boot, she has some experience with Galveston and hurricanes – she said that she’s never run from one yet, and that’s certainly something to say.

Lyda Ann Thomas comes across as a no-nonsense lady who is well into her golden years, has the title of mayor under her belt, and has a little history with her island and the forces of Mother Nature – so when she said the words “mandatory evacuation” the other day, her authority and her experience spoke with a booming voice, and Galvestonians got in their cars and left town. Then she looked at the camera, and said, “We’ll hold down the fort for you while you’re gone.” She stayed for this one, too.

I suspect that each one of us has some area of our lives where we ought to have that same kind of pull – that same kind of authority. When Gary Shields says that he’s throwing a certain kind of lure, you’ll probably catch me switching lures. When Mike Pontious says that I need to take my medicine, you’ll find me on the way to the drug store. When John Stambaugh says that I can’t deduct something, I change the way I started to put it on my tax return, and give Uncle Sam a little more money. Most of that authority that we possess in those areas comes from knowledge and experience.

Then there is the authority of personality. Some who walk among us in this life possess an extraordinary persona – a sense of self that translates into leadership and power that most of us only aspire to in our better moments.

I want you to turn your bulletin over for a moment and look on the back. You may have noticed that we printed something different on the back this morning. That is a likeness of the Shroud of Turin. You know some of the history of this ancient artifact – many purport it to be the actual burial cloth that wrapped Jesus in the tomb. Some years ago, carbon dating seemed to validate that claim, and then later testing seems to prove that it is actually only about 700 years old, and even later testing seems to prove that the carbon dating which has been used on this ancient cloth is actually invalid. So, we really don’t know. About the most we can say is “maybe.” My purpose for providing you with this image this morning is not to prove a point, but to give us a point of focus. You might want to glance down at your bulletin occasionally during the sermon, and look at the image that is printed there.

As the one and only Son of God, Jesus Christ possessed an authority unparalleled by any other man who has ever lived. Today, you and I would hardly question that. We have the right to ask questions, you know. In fact, we are expected to ask questions, and to discern truth for ourselves with the aid of the Spirit of God. Everything I say to you this morning should be under scrutiny as to its truthfulness, its validity, and its value for your life. You and I have the right – even the responsibility to ask questions of those who teach us.

We can take that a step further – and many do - with great pleasure. We call it Bible Study, or Sunday School. In our Bible Study classes, we encourage people to ask questions. One of the things that I really like about our church is that people are truly free to ask their questions. Somehow, we have come to agreement that it is not the asking of the questions that is problematic. We believe that the bible can stand up to our scrutiny, really no matter the depth of that scrutiny.

And then there’s another level of questioning. At some point in our individual journeys, we look the man Jesus straight in the face and ask Him the same question that was asked of Him by the religious leaders of His day.

What happened that gave rise to their questions? Chapter 21 of Matthew begins with the Triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. He didn’t just show up – He showed up in a big way. I went to Cottonwood Falls, Kansas this Thursday and Friday to spend time with some preacher friends and do some advanced planning for Advent. We stayed at the Grand Central hotel – right there on Main Street. I suspect that their name is a little over the top – you’d be hard pressed to find any other hotels in town. Anyway, as we were checking out Friday about 1:30, they had their Homecoming parade right down Main Street. We were parked there on the street, and we couldn’t get out – for 10 whole minutes. Not many people in Cottonwood Falls, so the Homecoming parade doesn’t take very long. The way Jesus came into town puts me in mind of that kind of small town event. Not really all that big, but everyone in Jerusalem noticed – everyone. Especially the religious leaders. He rode into town like a king, and that made the Jewish leaders and the Romans a might nervous. Then Jesus went over to the Temple and, shall we say, got a little crazy. He turned over the tables of the money changers, then picked up a whip and drove them out of the place, with His words ringing in their ears – “You have made my Father’s house a den of thieves, rather than a house of prayer.” Then, for good measure, Jesus curses a fig tree for not being productive, showing once again his power over nature.

The leaders had enough. They confronted Him. “By what authority are You doing these things, and who gave You this authority?”

It really is the same question that we ask Jesus. We deserve an answer. All of us do. But as with all of us, when we are asked a question of this magnitude, we should be allowed to frame the response in whatever manner we want. That’s exactly what Jesus did. He said, “I’ll answer your question, if you answer My question first.” Pretty good response. Then He said, “John’s baptism – what was his source – God or men?”

I like what Jesus did in this exchange. He asked a question back to them, but it wasn’t really the question of the day. It was a diversion. They had to struggle with the answer, but I suspect they wouldn’t have been satisfied with any answer He would have given to them. In this case, because they didn’t answer Him, He didn’t answer them back. Instead, He told a parable about two sons. One feigned obedience, and then went to do his own thing. The other balked at obedience, and then relented unto obedience. He asked them which son was obedient, and they could answer that question. They asked about authority, and He told a parable about obedience that made them look like a band of slack-jawed monkeys, which, in the end, just ticked them off all the more. Well, that and His assertion that IRS agents and prostitutes would get into heaven before they would.

They missed His point, and so might we if we have the audacity to ask Jesus about His authority. You see, from Jesus’ vantage point, the issue of authority is coupled with the issue of obedience. In the end, His life becomes the perfect example of the “gold of authority” refined in the “fire of obedience.” We don’t see it because we look at the scenario of authority through constantly disobedient eyes and hearts. But Jesus looked through the eyes and heart of total, complete obedience. He had been doing that for a while. Our first glimpse is when as a 12 year old boy, he let Mom and Dad know that He was about the business of being obedient – to God. We see more of His obedience in the desert when He is tempted of the devil. And we see it again here.

You know, occasionally – just occasionally – I have such a prompting of the Spirit of God that I throw all caution to the wind, and say something to the effect “I don’t care what anyone thinks, feels, or tries to do to me. This is direction from God, and I’m going to do it.” Just occasionally. Not nearly enough that you could describe me as “obedient,” and certainly not enough that you could describe me as “authoritative.”

Jesus was different from us. A One-of-a-kind-man, really. And He was a One-of-a-kind-God, as well. “God became Man, and dwelt among us.” That’s the way John puts it in his gospel. Authority becomes obedience. That’s the way Jesus put it.

I wondered all week about where I wanted this sermon to go. I guess to this place – authority is at issue for all of us in our lives. Certainly in our relationships, and in our day to day, work-a-day worlds. We crave greater authority. The same is true in our lives of faith. We yearn for faith lives that speak with authority. We seek that faith authority in our study, and our theological deliberations. We assume authority on the basis of our tenure of service and belief. But Jesus looks us straight in the eye and reminds us that true authority is a matter of obedience. The faith that we desire, cloaked in authority, is worked out in the world through our obedience.

This week, I suspect each one of us will run up against an issue of spiritual authority. We will come to a point in our walk this week where we want to test the authority of God, resident in our lives as believers. Jesus reminds us that the only way that we will find that we possess authority is if we practice obedience.

Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.

Envious Eyes

18th Sunday after Pentecost

Matthew 20:1-16

I wrote the sermon on Friday – which was Dad’s birthday. It was a rather difficult day all around – one that I had to eventually face. Dad would have been 80 – he so wanted to make it to 80 – none of his forefathers had done that.

Dad was an engineer. Not a railroad engineer – no, he was the kind of engineer that has to be good with numbers. Math came easy to Dad, and he figured that it should come easy to his kiddos. I was always a little slow to understand math, despite a rather good math aptitude - according to standardized tests and all. That made it all the tougher, because Dad knew that I should be better at math than I was.

So, when it came to math, I always kinda thought Dad was against me, and on the side of the teacher. That’s the way kids think, you know. Anyway, it was 9th grade when I finally figured out that Dad was on my side – I had this teacher for Algebra I – Mr. Awaad – I think he was Egyptian. He was a terrible teacher. Even Dad thought so. I did great at Algebra the second time through in Algebra II. Anyway, Mr. Awaad tried to prove to us in class one time that one equals zero, and that whole proposition angered Dad, and he vowed to become my tutor for the remainder of the year, and it actually helped

Matthew was a tax collector. I suspect he had to be pretty good with math as well. Anyway, Will Willimon points out that even though Matthew was a numbers guy, for him, one plus one didn’t always add up to two.[1] For example, in the world of math and sheep, sometimes one was equal to 99. In today’s story, it didn’t really matter what time you showed up for work – you got paid the same wage for that day’s work. Those of us who like to sleep late would have liked to work for this particular landowner.

Truth of the matter is that you and I know that any discussion of today’s parable in light of math is just silliness. This parable is not about fairness – though we’d like to think it is. Rather, this parable is about grace. These days, I have gone to reading my sermons from three years ago and also from 6 years ago. Three years ago on this passage I preached a pretty good sermon. No, I’m not going to preach it again, but I do think I want to repeat an illustration from it. It was the story of the student who had experienced grace. She said, “I left work early so I could have some uninterrupted study time right before the final in my Youth Ministry class at Hannibal-LaGrange College in Missouri. When I got to class, everybody was doing their last minute studying. The teacher came in and said he would review with us for just a little bit before the test. We went through the review, most of it right on the study guide, but there were some things he was reviewing that I had never heard of. When questioned about it, he said that they were in the book, and we were responsible for everything in the book. We couldn’t really argue with that.

Finally it was time to take the test. ‘Leave them face down on the desk until everyone has one and I’ll tell you to start,’ our prof instructed. When we turned them over, every answer on the test was filled in! The bottom of the last page said the following: ‘This is the end of the Final Exam. All the answers on your test are correct. You will receive an ‘A’ on the final exam. The reason you passed the test is because the creator of the test took it for you. All the work you did in preparation for this test did not help you get the ‘A.’ You have just experienced … grace.’”[2]

In my lifetime, I’ve grasped the concept of grace. Unmerited favor. Anything I get from God has absolutely nothing to do with what I have done to deserve it. It has absolutely nothing to do with the works I have performed, the deeds I have committed, even the attitude with which I have served God. What I get from God I receive as an act of God’s grace.

The trouble with this scripture this time around for me is the part of it that I continue to not get. In verse 15, Jesus says that the land owner says to the unhappy servants, “Is it not lawful for me to do what I wish with what is my own? Or is your eye envious because I am generous?” Like most of us, I suspect, I have envious eyes. I look around at the manner in which God has chosen to grace others, and my eyes and my heart are envious. Really in three different ways do I experience envy – although I must admit that I am not so bad at one of the ways as I might be.

The first way we experience envious eyes is when we perceive that the other person is less deserving of God’s grace because of sins of commission. We perceive that those persons have been rotten – in fact, they have been considerably more rotten that have we, and we can’t believe that God would let them off the hook or grant them any measure of grace. We expect that God will recognize them for the worthless, rotten servants that they are, and throw the book at them. It’s not so much that they don’t deserve God’s grace. Rather, it is that they have worked overtime at disserving God’s grace. They have sinned – mightily, frequently, lustily, with gusto – and they have been proud of their sin and their rebellion. We can’t imagine that God could forgive such a person, and mete out grace toward them in the same manner that we hope God will grant grace to us.

As I said, I don’t have such a problem with this one anymore. I used to. I used to think of myself as such a good person that I couldn’t conceive that there were many people better than I was. But God had a way of working in my life and teaching me that I ought to take care to be watching out for myself – that I had plenty to keep myself occupied in that vein. As I have aged, I have become less and less impressed with myself as a servant of God in terms of sins of commission. If I had a mentality of math today in this particular problem area, I would think that I would have to do more good than I had done bad. But I gave up on that a long time ago, and I have reconciled myself to the fact that what I might receive from God will be grace that looks beyond my sins of commission. So, in the long view, I am rather tolerant of others as they struggle with the sins of commission. Mostly because I know, in my heart of hearts, that no one is as rotten as I am. Like Paul, I see myself as the “chief of sinners.”

The second way that we struggle with this envy of the eye is when it comes to those who have committed sins of omission. I’m sad to report that I don’t do as well on this one. Most of us keep a ledger – at least in our minds. We look around at what the others around us are doing to serve God, and we feel pretty good about ourselves. In my particular case, I am a pastor, I’ve been a Christian for 39 years now, I serve other people – basically, even though I’m paid to be good, I do a lot of good anyway. I am attending a conference this week in Missouri, and will spend some time with my friend Steve Graham. Steve used to be Tracy’s pastor, and he’s been up in Missouri for several years now. When he plays golf, if things work out right and it’s a couple of preachers playing with a couple of deacons, Steve is fond of naming the teams “Paid to be Good” and “Good for Nothing.” Now, aren’t you glad we don’t have deacons?? I’m paid to be good, but I’d like to think that even if I weren’t, that I’d try to do a lot of good things for other people. You know, as hard as I try, I’m not making much headway on this kind of “envious eye” syndrome. I know that it isn’t the good things that I do that make me worthy in God’s eyes. But something in my psyche, or in my experience, keeps telling me that I have to work harder to please God. And the competition side of my nature says that I have to work harder than the folks around me that “God will be comparing me to someday.” That’s the lie part. God isn’t going to compare me or you to anyone else – except maybe to Jesus, and in that case we’re all going to come up way short. Still, for a lot of us, there’s something in our minds and hearts that tells us that if we do more than most of the others out there, that we’ll be okay as far as God is concerned.

That’s where this parable really gets my goat this time around. Maybe for a lot of us. We’ve been at this service business a long time, some of us. We’ve been serving God for a lot of years, and we’re starting to see some young bucks come up in the ranks, and, well, we’re not so sure that they’re as deserving of God’s grace as we are. But that’s the point – none of us deserve God’s grace. Grace is grace, and it’s always something that is given to us – not something that we’ve earned.

We have to kind of turn things around in this parable to see the third way we might experience “envious eye” syndrome. We might envy the grace given toward those who have more to work with than we do. You know, there are some people I read, and I’m more than a little jealous of their minds – the way they think. And I think to myself, “If I only had what they had, I could really be quite a servant.” The unspoken part of that kind of thinking is “and if I had what they had, and I were quite a servant, I wouldn’t really need God’s grace so much.” All of that kind of thinking is fruitless, and really rather vain. We could do an exercise in this room this morning. We could have each of us stand, one at a time, until we had gone all the way around the room. And as each one of us stood, the rest of us might list off the things that we are truly envious about in that person – you know, things or attitudes or knowledge or other innate possessions they have that we perceive make them better servants than we are. And each of us, as we stood there and received these “envious complements” from the rest of the crowd would turn around and say, “That’s just silly – I really don’t have that much of _______, and besides, what I do have doesn’t begin to compare with the way that God has gifted you.” I’d bet a week of Parker Stambaugh’s allowance that would be the case. We would discover that this kind of “envy” is really misplaced and inconsequential. But we still do it, don’t we. We still look at our brother or our sister, and we say to God, “If you’d only made me as smart, or as good, or as talented, or as wealthy as he/she is, then I’d really be something.” We think that way, don’t we?

To wrap it up, Jesus threw out a little math axiom for us – the last shall be first. I challenge you to go through the New Testament this week and see how many times Jesus preaches some variation on that axiom. The last shall be first, the poor shall be rich, the weak shall be strong – you know how the formula goes. It was his favorite sermon – in which He tried to tell us "No matter what you think, things in the Kingdom of Heaven aren’t always as they seem. It’s not a math thing – it’s a grace thing."

So, preacher – how should we then live? Good question. Paul had the answer for us this morning.

“For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”

Not a bad way to live.

Richard W. Dunn, PhD.

[1] Will Willimon, Pulpit Resource, “The New Math,” vol. 33. no. 3, p. 51.
[2] I would like to be able to tell you where I got this story, but I have absolutely no idea. Will you please grant me the grace of undocumentation. Update - one of my church members found the following in a Google search - Submitted by Denise Banderman, Hannibal, Missouri. Grace, Salvation, Works. Ain't grace wonderful. Evidently, it helps to post the sermon before you preach it!!

A Parable of Unforgiveness

17th Sunday after Pentecost

Matthew 18:21-35

Peter always asked the wrong question. It seems that we often do the same. “How often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him?” Seven times?” Is that reasonable forbearance?

There were better questions to ask.

Perhaps it is in the providence of God that we encounter this question four years to the date after 9-11. We might ask some questions. Is there ever a sin so heinous – so terrible in ramification – that we are right to not forgive? Is there a statute of limitations on forgiveness? Is four years long enough? Is four years long enough to hang on to our unforgiveness, or does a crime of that magnitude require a lifetime of unforgiveness?

Or then again, perhaps it is in the providence of God that we encounter this question while we are in the middle of a war against terrorism. Does the fact that we are in the midst of a war require that I maintain a spirit of unforgiveness in my heart? Is it possible to seek retaliation, and at the same time to protect our great country – is it possible to do those things without harboring unforgiveness in our hearts?

And still again - perhaps it is in the providence of God that we encounter Peter’s question in the aftermath of a natural disaster that has produced immeasurable human suffering – not to mention the additional human suffering which is a result of the political maneuvering which has taken place - on an unprecedented scale. Undoubtedly, there is enough blame to go around several times – and land on any number of supposedly responsible people – everybody wants to blame someone. Everyone has an opinion on this one – I’m still waiting to encounter the first person who is unwilling to assess blame toward someone. And all of us are still waiting to encounter the first person who is willing to stick his or her hand in the air and say, “It’s my fault. Here – blame me!! Now, let’s go on.” So here might be the better question for us to be asking in the coming week – can I serve my fellow sisters and brothers and harbor unforgiveness in my heart toward the politicos who do not agree with my particular opinions?

There are even a few folks who want to blame God – perhaps for all of it. I was talking with a friend on Friday morning, and he said that to their credit, out of all the people who have been affected by this tragedy, he had yet to see one of them blame God. I’ve seen a few. Not those who were affected. And not many, mind you – but I’ve run across the occasional fundamentalist who says that “God was responsible as He meted out his wrath on that den of iniquity, New Orleans, which certainly was what they deserved.” There’s a side of me that wants to limit my exposure to that kind of thinking to dim-witted fundamentalists, but the truth of the matter is that there’s a part of every one of us that wants to blame God. That “blame game” goes back to Eden’s garden – where God confronts Adam about his sin and his nakedness, and Adam says, “Well, God – the woman You gave me . . .” Yeah, we all want to blame God.

It wasn’t a very good question. But Jesus gave Peter an answer anyway. 490. There - now you have it. 490. That’s all – You and I don’t have to forgive our brothers and sisters any more than 490 times. We can break that down a lot of different ways. Only once a day for just a little over a year. Yessiree, that’s the kind of answer I needed. No dragging this thing out. “Let’s clarify a little more, Jesus. Now, is that all of my brothers and sisters combined? I mean, when they’ve collectively sinned against me 490 times, can I stop forgiving? Or is that 490 for each brother and sister? Hmm – maybe I need to work up an accounting system. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do – I’ll open up a spreadsheet in Excel and start a page for each person. And I’ll list their sins. Jesus, is that for all of each person’s sins as a whole. You know, is Mike allowed only 490, and then I can stop forgiving him? Do I have to break it down by sin? Could it be that I have to forgive each person for each kind of sin 490 times? Wow, that’s gonna take a big spreadsheet. But at least I have a number.”

You know, we learn this unforgiveness in families. Peter asked how often he had to forgive his brother – kinda makes you wonder what old Andrew had done, doesn’t it? This is the same Andrew who had first introduced Peter to Jesus. Oh, well – even evangelist brothers can fall from grace. Besides, Andrew was the younger brother, and big brothers need to keep their position in the hierarchy!! Yeah, we first learn unforgiveness in the family. “Momma, Tony was sitting on my bed listening to my 8-track, and Rusty left his Hot Wheels in the floor and I stepped on one, and Tracy won’t stop singing that stupid Mister Rogers song – it isn’t such a beautiful day in my neighborhood!! Tell them to leave me alone!!!!!” Yeah, we learn unforgiveness in families. We learn to harbor grudges and resentment and bitterness in the bosom of those we first loved and competed with for love. It is in our families that we first learn that unforgiveness is power – and power is hard to come by in families.

Okay – say you aren’t the fundamentalist “bean counting” kind of Christian. Maybe there’s something else here – were not looking for a number, no matter how outrageous it is. Maybe we’re looking for a principle. Yeah, that’s it!! Here’s the axiom – “Unforgiveness is permitted where principle is involved.” If someone violates a principle for which I stand – social, Christian– unforgiveness is understood and even expected. Yeah, that’s it. “Why don’t you tell us a story to explain it, Jesus.”

“For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a certain king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves.” Isn’t it just like Jesus to give us a story about forgiveness by pointing out our unforgiveness? The king wanted to settle accounts. We don’t know why – we just know that he’s calling in the books. Everyone’s gonna get examined. After they’ve been at it a while, they drag in this loser of a slave who owes so much he’ll never be able to repay – not in his lifetime, anyway. We get the sense that maybe this isn’t the first time this king has run into this bum before. Maybe this was 491st time he’d been called on the carpet. Anyway, the king was tired of it all, and so he commands that this mooch and his wife and his kids and his dogs be sold on the open market – liquidated, like so much merchandise.

I’ve read this story a hundred times. Never did I feel anything but sympathy for the king. We understand his situation. He’s got king-stuff to be doing, this bum isn’t paying up, and it’s starting to cut into his schedule. I used to own a couple of rent houses here in town, and it really “got my goat” when my tenants wouldn’t pay their rent. This guy’s exactly the same, only a hundred-thousand-million times worse. So, I’ve always sympathized with this old king. I guess we all do.

What’s the slave to do? He goes to begging. I watched one of Tom Hanks’ latest movies a couple of weeks ago – “The Terminal”. I can actually recommend this one, although parents need to check it out first for language – it’s a cute movie with a really good “feel good” theme – Hanks’ character – a Russian - gets stuck in a New York airport on a snafu, and lives there for several months – really funny movie. At one point in the movie, another Russian is being detained for trying to import drugs for his ailing father, and Hanks is called in to translate. When the mean old airport “head honcho” finally pronounces his decision, this poor Russian drops to his knees and starts begging him. Hanks says, “He’s begging you.” As if everyone doesn’t already get that part. Well, our bum of a slave starts begging the king, and, well, he’s just so pitiful and sorry, that the king relents, waves a royal hand, and pardons the guy. Right there on the spot. I don’t know about you, but at this moment in the story, I really, really like this king. What a guy!! Benevolent, caring, gracious – just the kind of king we hope God will be when He calls in our debts.

So, the slave goes out, and just happens to run into a slave friend of his, and this slave owes him, oh, I don’t know – maybe $20. He doesn’t say a thing – he just starts choking this other slave and is yelling at him to pay up. And the 2nd slave does exactly what the 1st slave did – begs for his life – and the 1st slave, in a display of feckless power – has him thrown in jail.

Wow. Now, we’re really mad at this guy. Imagine the nerve. Imagine not forgiving someone else when we have been forgiven so much. We can’t believe it – what a . . .

“Wait a second, Jesus . . . You’re talking about us, aren’t you? We’re that first slave. You’ve caught us being so very human. You’ve caught us taking it out on each other when God has forgiven us so much more.

Monday I traveled to Granbury to stay at Mom’s, and then on Tuesday, Mom and Rusty and Tracy and I traveled to Waco to bury my sister-in-law Laura’s mom. Monday night, Tracy asked me what I was preaching this week, and I told her “the gospel.” Like she didn’t already know . . . She said, “You know, I think Matthew intended that this story be seen in relation to the gospel from last week – ‘If your brother sins, go confront him.’” She’s probably right – even though I don’t like to admit it. We first learn unforgiveness in our families, and then we practice it in our lives, in the families we create, and even in the church. They call it the “Matthew 18 principle,” but it seems more to me like the prelude to a greater truth. Paul said it for us this morning in the passage Mary read for us a while ago – “But you, why do you judge your brother (or sister)? Or you again, why do you regard your brother (or sister) with contempt? For we shall all stand before the judgment seat of God.” And then a couple of verses later – “So then each one of us shall give account of himself to God.”

That’s the way Jesus ends up the parable. All the slaves standing around when the 1st slave metes out his revenge on the 2nd slave – they all run to the king and tell. Just like we do when we’re fed up with our brothers and sisters – we go to the king and tell on them. We know that the king will do the right thing – and he does – he has that worthless, bum of a slave beat within an inch of his life – Matthew says, “until he should repay all that was owed him.” And then Matthew adds, “So shall My heavenly Father also do to you, if each of you does not forgive his brother from your heart.”

Wow. Way harsh, Jesus. We don’t like this king very much anymore. Would God really revoke a pardon once He had given it? Would He . . .?

When I was planning the worship service this week, I opened up the computer program that accompanies our hymnal, and I did a word search on “forgiveness.” I got the dreaded response - “No records were found that match your criteria.” Spend a little while in our hymnal – or any hymnal for that matter. Not much there on forgiveness. We’re not very good at forgiveness. We get plenty of opportunity to practice, but we’re still not very good at it.

But we’re really good at unforgiveness. We take that which we learned so well – when we were younger – and we practice . . . practice – until we get it right.

Peter asked the wrong question. There was a better question.

“Should I ever judge my brother, my sister, my parent, my child, my spouse, my boss, my friend? Should I ever judge another?”

We could button up the sermon right here, and let us all leave – feeling a little cautious about how our God deals with us, and wondering, “Where was the gospel this morning?” But there is more to the story. There is gospel. There is good news.

Some of the good news we’ve already heard. God, in Christ, has already offered us forgiveness. Our God is not a God of unforgiveness – rather, our God is the God of forgiveness. It was our God who hung on that cross in the person of Jesus Christ, shamed by the world, abandoned by His Father, left to die a criminal’s death – who called out, “Father, forgive them.” I think He meant me and you when He said those words. We have good news this morning. Salvation and forgiveness are ours for the asking.

And there is more good news. We don’t have to live under the oppression of unforgiveness. We were taught as children that with unforgiveness came power. I have good news for us. Power through unforgiveness is an illusion and a lie. We may hold some kind of temporary power over another, but when we submit to unforgiveness, we are actually held captive by its power. We lose any power we hoped for, and we are captive to an illusion. We do not have to live our lives that way – we can live free from the shackles of unforgiveness – by letting go of that which binds us.

Now, that’s good news.

Richard W. Dunn, PhD.

Scripture references are either NASV, or my personal translation.

Staying in Debt

16th Sunday after Pentecost

Romans 13:8-14

I told the group on Wednesday night that I couldn’t get my mind around the scope of the tragedy that Katrina meted out on the Gulf Coast and our nation this last week. More truth be known, like many of us, I’m on tragedy overload. While I was writing this sermon, I received word that my sister-in-law’s mother died. Since my Dad passed away, I have now seven friends who have lost parents. Personal tragedies are one thing, and then these events that happen with such regularity to our world – these events that we are “privileged” to watch unfold on our television sets – they happen with more regularity than any of us would like to admit. We are not calloused to them – but the sheer number of catastrophes dictates that we insulate ourselves from the impact of what has happened, if for no other reason than to protect our increasingly fragile psyches. After all, the day may come in the near future when the tragedy will be “our” tragedy, and we intuitively know that we must maintain a reserve of ability to cope – a capacity to rebuild – when tragedy truly hits home – when it gets personal.

At least that’s something of how I felt earlier in the week.

And then we come up against this scripture for today – “Owe nothing to anyone except to love one another; for he who loves his neighbor has fulfilled the law.” And the ever popular scripture which follows – “Love does no wrong to a neighbor; love therefore is the fulfillment of the law.”

I watched comedian Bill Maher the other night describe how a “real Christian” would respond to the tragedy. I am amazed at the willingness of extremists to castigate Christians – both those on the extreme left and the extreme right – their willingness, and the ease with which they call Christians into account. Maher denounces Christianity at every opportunity – a result, he says, of his Catholic upbringing – and I start to wonder about the “brand” of Christianity that he has experienced. His brand seems to reek of rules and expectations. I’ll admit that I know of that brand of Christianity, and if that was all I knew, I might react in the exact same manner.

But you and I have been exposed to a better expression of Christianity – an expression from which grace permeates at every turn. So, when we hear Paul say something like, “Let love be without hypocrisy,” or when he says what he says in our passage for today – “Owe nothing to anyone except to love one another,” – we resonate with that kind of teaching. There is room for grace in that expression of Christianity. In that kind of Christianity, we can even nod our heads when we hear the preacher say that he’s having trouble getting his mind around the scope of the tragedy, and finds himself on tragedy overload, precisely because we have been in exactly the same place. Grace measures our response in every instance of Christian application.

Now, there are two parts to the equation this morning. The first part is actually the second of the scriptures I mentioned a minute ago – “Love does no wrong to a neighbor.” It is more or less the Hippocratic Oath of the Loving Christian. You know the Hippocratic Oath – medicine claims this as one of the main precepts of practice – when treating the patient, “do no harm.” It actually says a lot more than that, but the main principle of the Hippocratic Oath which physicians claim is to “do no harm.” I have to admit, when I was younger, and my doctor would come at me with that hypodermic, I wondered if he had remembered his oath.

Most of us have broken this second part of the law of love – we have done something, we thought for the sake of love, and we harmed our neighbor. We shared a confidence – we thought, “in confidence” – only to discover that our confidant confided in others, and harmed our neighbor. We have meddled and cajoled and intimidated and otherwise compromised the personhood of another – all in the name of love. And then we were offended that the person toward whom we had “expressed our love” – we were offended that they took offense. Most likely, our reaction included an indignant, personal resolution that we “wouldn’t get involved again.” Strangely, in some situations, that may be the best application of the Hippocratic Oath of love – to stand at a distance and do nothing except pray.

That is where I have ended up this week – standing back and praying. I knew early in the week that I must go and help – but by most accounts, presence is not what is needed right now – especially in New Orleans. Money can be sent – lots of money. I was encouraged to hear how much had been received by the Red Cross. Our Missions Team and our Finance Team are going to meet and come up with a recommendation as to how we might assist in the coming days and weeks and months – and you will give graciously, as you always do. We may have to build a couple of more Habitat houses than usual, and I know that some of you will want to help with that. Some of our teachers will have new students in their classes, and some of us will soon stand shoulder to shoulder in the workplace with an American citizen who has been displaced by this cataclysmic event. Some of the areas in Mississippi can possibly use some physical assistance right now – but be prepared to sleep in your truck when you go. My point is that our help will be needed in future days – perhaps we need to consider taking a mission trip in the late spring to some area that needs rebuilding. Possibilities are myriad – as are the needs.

We will respond more in terms of the first verse of our pericope this morning – “Owe nothing to anyone except to love one another; for he who loves his neighbor has fulfilled the law.” When I was in seminary, and Dr. Bruce Corley was teaching on this passage, he spoke of our obligation in terms of contemporary debt. We are a debt ridden country – more so than at any other time in our history. I heard a friend the other day remind a young person that the best practice – for life – is to remember to give 10% to God, and 10% to yourself – and you’ll always have plenty. I’ve tried to live by that principle, and there are times when it is difficult. It’s the long term discipline of paying God first, and then paying yourself, that actually works out. The young man asked me what to do with the other 80%, and I said, “Spend every nickle of it!!” Most of us are better at that part of the equation.

But then Dr. Corley said, “This is the debt we never finish paying.” Most of us have more debt than we want. Most of us are looking forward to the day when we pay off “something.” That always comes with a good feeling attached – to write the last check for that car that isn’t so new any more, to pay off Discover – we feel a sense of accomplishment and a sense of self determination that is satisfying.

There is a debt that we must never stop making payments on. We continue to owe the debt of love. We owe this debt to our Savior, and Christ asks us to repay this debt by showing love to our neighbors, our families, our world – without hesitation, with extreme gladness – abundantly and in every opportunity. We can’t do enough to love others.

I said to love with extreme gladness. Many is the time where that is difficult. I remember reading a cartoon some years ago in which the main character said, “God loveth a cheerful giver, but will accepteth a grouch!” That same kind of logic might apply to us when it comes to showing love to other people. We can show love without necessarily feeling love. Sometimes we do things for others when we don’t feel like it, or when they don’t deserve it (isn’t that all of us pretty much all of the time), or when it is difficult for some other reason. But we go ahead and “do” love anyway. I remember a counseling axiom which reminds us that we can experience love by receiving love and by giving love. It’s not always possible to receive love from others – we don’t control the actions of others. We can attempt to merit other’s love, and we certainly can manipulate others in an attempt to receive love. But the best way to receive love is to give love. And we can do that without motivation, without cause, without need, without prompting. We can love – indiscriminately and abundantly – and we can do so all of our waking hours, if we so choose. That’s the scope of what we can do. Sadly, it’s not the scope of what we actually do.

Love is given best when it is given with purpose and when the love which is given is personal to both the giver and the receiver. My extended family still exchanges gifts some years at Christmas – well, we really do it at Thanksgiving, which Tracy insists upon calling “Thanksmas,” and which I refuse to do. Anyway, most years, we draw names among the adults. Last year, I drew Laura’s name. That’s my sister-in-law whose mother passed away yesterday. I knew immediately what I would get her – she has a wonderful home, with lovely arrangements, and so I bought a vase while I was in Burnet last fall, had Miss Judy design an arrangement for it, and I thought it was a hit. It fits Laura and it fit me. There was a measure of both persons in the giving of this gift.

Love is the same way – we give our love – out of ourselves – but we give the thing that is needed by the person receiving the love. There is something of both parties in the giving.

Now, I want to make a point with this. There has been a tremendous tragedy – a life altering tragedy for many people – this week down on the Gulf Coast. We will respond best to this tragedy when several things come to bear. We must respond to this catastrophe with an attitude of repayment of our love to Christ, even as we serve our sisters and brothers in need. We will give what is needed – we will do no harm in the process. And we give something of who we are to the other person, acknowledging who they are in the process.

Today, I still don’t know how that will flesh out. Most of us don’t. We don’t know how we will be the presence of Christ to people who need to feel Christ’s presence. We don’t know how we will show the love of Christ, and our personal love, to people who need a loving touch. But we will be ready. We will see them as our neighbors, and we will gladly and abundantly repay our debt of love to Christ by serving them.

We will remain in that debt . . .

Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.