October 27, 2019
Everyone would gather in a large room and sit in a circle. At one end of the circle would be the alcoholic entering into treatment and, at the other, the patient who was presiding over the ritual. Everyone else was seated in between and looking downward, neither at the presider or the newcomer. The presider would look the newcomer straight in the eye and ask, “What do you love the most?”
The newcomer, fresh off the street and still shaky from the effects of alcohol, would blurt out something like, “My wife.” All the other patients would then respond with a single word (which I won’t repeat in church, but I will let you imagine) that let the newcomer know they considered this to be an answer that was not completely honest.
The presider would repeat the question – “What do you love the most?” and the newcomer would say something like, “My kids,” and again the residents would declare this to be a less-than-honest response. So it would go, until finally, in response to, “What do you love the most?” the newcomer would say, “Alcohol.” At this, the whole group would break out into applause. Then, one by one, silently but with much feeling, each patient would hug the newcomer, thus welcoming them on the path to sobriety.
This is where sobriety begins. This is where healing begins. This is also where the life of faith starts. It begins with a confession of sin. It begins by admitting that we do not have our love priorities straight. It begins, not by saying, “I love God the most,” or “I love Jesus the most,” much less, “I love my family the most.” It begins with the confession, “I love my sin the most.”
We see this clearly in the gospel lesson from Luke for today. It is the story of two men. They both go up to the temple to pray. One is an up-standing religious person – a Pharisee. He stands off by himself. He prays, “Thank you, God, that I am not like others – I do not rob; I do not cheat; I do not play around; I am nothing like that tax man over there. I fast twice a week and I donate a tenth of all my income.” The second man stands at a distance. He does not dare even to look up. He stands off in the corner and bows his head. He only says, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Jesus concludes, “It is the second man who goes home in good stead with God and not the first.” Why is this so?
The Pharisee is a prime example of a self-absorbed ego. The Pharisee says that he loves God the most, but his actions show that he loves God not nearly so much as he loves himself.
First, the text says that he is standing “by himself.” Literally, the Greek reads, that he is standing “before himself.” He is so alone that he is the only one there. He is having a nice gathering of me, myself and I.
Second, his language reflects that self-centeredness – “God, I thank you that I am not like others…I fast twice a week. I give a tenth of all my income.”
Finally, we hear it in his scorn for others. “I am not like others, especially that man over there!” The Pharisee is completely centered on himself. He is completely in love with himself, for even his spiritual activity is used to bring attention to himself.
The tax collector, on the other hand, is barely there. He stands off in the shadows. He does not bring attention to himself. He does not want attention on himself. He simply says – “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.” He knows how much he needs God. That is abundantly clear to him. He is in deep trouble without God’s mercy. And because he knows he cannot live on his own, because he knows that he cannot live without God, that brings him into right relationship with God.
This story is only found in Luke. Yet it carries a theme that is as old as the scriptures. For in the beginning there were two people in the Garden, who decided that they did not need God, that they could decide between good and evil just as well as God could. So, they took the forbidden fruit and they ate.
This story begins at the Garden, but it is completed at the cross. As Luke tells it, two men hang next to Jesus. They also are convicted criminals. One taunts him and says, “If you’re really the Messiah, save yourself – and us!” But the other reproaches him, “We’re getting what we deserve. This man has done nothing wrong.” Then he turns to Jesus and says, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus says, “Today you will join me in paradise.”
The self-absorbed ego scorns others and believes it can get along just fine without God. But the humble heart opens itself to receive the love only God can give and to share itself in compassion with others.
This is what motivated Martin Luther. As the confirmands will remember, there is a scene near the beginning of the movie, “Luther,” in which he is being tormented with doubt and guilt. His confessor asks him, “Brother Martin, what do you seek?”
He cries, “A merciful God! A God whom I can love!”
Luther wouldn’t have put it this way, but I believe he wanted to love God, but could not. He couldn’t because he did not find God very lovable. He only knew God as angry, demanding and punitive.
Luther wanted to find a merciful God. So, his confessor sent him to the university to study the Bible and then to teach the Bible. Because of his profound struggles with faith, Luther thought this was a bad idea. But his confessor turned out to be right.
It was in studying the Bible that Luther found a God he had not known – a God is who is slow to anger but abounding in steadfast love and mercy, a God whose love is not dependent on our actions, a God from whose love nothing – not even our own sin – can separate us, because God is the one who sent Jesus.
This is the desire that Luther brought to the scriptures and this is the God he found there – a God of never-ending love and mercy – a God whom we can love because, despite our sin, God still loves us so much.
When I was five years old, my grandfather was dying of cancer. We were living on the farm in central Iowa at the time. He and my grandmother had moved to town into the house that my grandfather had built, the last thing he had done before he got sick.
We would visit them on Sunday afternoon after church. Before we would leave, we would go to the back bedroom where my grandfather was. One of the things my grandfather liked best about those visits was the hugs he would get from his grandsons.
On one particular Sunday afternoon, as we got ready to go, my older brother, Tom, went up to my grandfather, threw his arms around him and gave him a big hug. Then I went up, but rather than hug my grandfather, I just leaned over and let myself be hugged. Then I walked out of the room.
My father could see that my grandfather was hurt by what I’d done. So, he followed me out into the hall to find out what was going on. When he caught up with me, he discovered that the reason I had not hugged my grandfather was that I was hiding a chocolate chip cookie under each arm.
And when my father brought back the news of what I had done, my grandfather laughed.
We are so intent on holding on to our own cookies, that we cannot reach out to others. We are so focused on ourselves that it makes it very difficult for us truly to love God.
Confession of this reality is the beginning of faith. But it is not the end of faith. Faith passes through the cross and it ends in the kingdom of Jesus, just as he told the thief. And the kingdom of Jesus is a kingdom of joy because it opens our hearts to ourselves, it opens our hearts to God, and it opens our hearts to others.
In the words of Rob Bell, which the confirmands heard last Wednesday, “There’s nothing you can ever do to make God love you less.” For all this is possible because of the love of God – a love that endures life and death and everything.
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