Sermons from the Pulpit

Preached to the Congregational Church in Exeter, U. C. C., on the eighth Sunday after Epiphany, February 25, 2001, by Michael L. C. Henderson, pastor.

Isaiah 55:10-13; I Corinthians 15:51-58; Luke 6:41-49

Why do you call me "Lord, Lord," and not do what I tell you?
-Luke 6:46

     Why do we not do what you tell us? Well, that's obvious. We didn't know we were supposed to. It never crossed our minds that we were supposed to.

     I mean, look at it this way. Here's what we do do. We call him not only "Lord, Lord," but Christ, Messiah, Redeemer, Savior, and Teacher. We listen dutifully to his words and all the faithful words that others said and wrote about him, we remember regularly everything he said and did and everything that was done to him, and we pray in his name. At least twice every Sunday we confess how we have failed him and we beg forgiveness for it. Oh, and we also contribute to the church. Isn't that enough?

     Like it says on the bumper sticker, "Christians aren't perfect, they're just forgiven."

     But now he complains that we don't do what he tells us. And this is what he tells us: "Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you. Give to everyone who begs from you. Lend, expecting nothing in return. Do not judge. Do not condemn. Forgive. Do to others as you would have them do to you."

     The man has no sense of proportion.

     Think about it. I think we are truly incredulous at the notion that our faith literally, actually, seriously requires us to live according to the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew or the Sermon on the Plain in Luke. Those are ideals, we think. They inspire us and they guide us in the right direction, certainly, and we're grateful. But to do all those things all the days of our lives - impossible. Unrealistic. Dangerous.

     It would take a fundamental change in human nature for people to do what Jesus tells them to do. That's what it really comes down to, isn't it? People are not built that way! That's been clear since Adam and Eve were thrown out of Paradise. Last week we heard how Joseph's brothers saw him coming and said to each other, "Here comes this dreamer." Well, that's what most Christians over the centuries have said about Jesus, and his dreams are these Gospel sermons.

     But of course, if we were to confront Jesus about his dreaming, if we were to tell him that he is demanding nothing less than a transformation of human nature, I assume he would cheerfully agree. He would plead guilty! Yes, he would say, a transformation - I'm so glad you finally understand what I mean! Yes, a fundamental change in what it means to be a human being sharing the earth with other human beings and all those other critters. Yes, at long last. That is precisely what he is requiring of us, or perhaps I should say that's what he is offering us. It's not so much a rule that we fail to follow, it's more of a gift that we keep returning to sender.

     But we don't care whether it's a demand or an opportunity. Our problem with it is that it's change, and we don't believe in change. Least of all do we believe that we can change.

     I am what I am, we say. I know I'm not a saint, but I do the best I can. That has to be good enough. Forgive me for what I don't do and can't be. Accept my failings. Encourage me to do what I can with what I have. Isn't that what the Judaeo-Christian God does?

     And it's a shock to hear our beloved, loving, kind, merciful, forgiveness-preaching Jesus say, "No! The way you are isn't good enough. I want you to be different, and if I have anything to say about it you will be different, and I'm not going to leave you alone till you are."

     Christians from the very beginning have done all that they could do to avoid hearing Jesus say this, because we don't recognize it as love and we don't see any hope in it.

     And that is the way we decent, respectable, well-intentioned, guilt-ridden people go about being sinners, mostly. We're not the least bit dramatic or titanic in our evilness. We're not vicious or hateful. We're don't commit monstrosities or atrocities. We don't rise up in prideful rebellion against God like John Milton's Lucifer in Paradise Lost, and tumble all the way from glory to the depths of hell. We just quietly stop listening to what God tells us, and we stop believing, or never start believing, in real change in the world or in ourselves.

     Well, actually, let's face it - there is one kind of change that we do believe in, and Paul has named it for us in this reading from his first letter to the church at Corinth: Death. Annihilation. Deterioration. Degradation. Disintegration. Dissolution. Paul is right: Death stings. We have no doubts about its reality, and we fear it. I think we believe in death a lot more than we believe in God. Which means that we live a lot more by fear than by hope.

     And it's fear that makes us so loyal to the deadly reality of the way things are and such traitors to the living vision of the way things might be. So we are caught in the old familiar ways, being our old familiar selves. Doing unto others before they do unto us, and patting ourselves on the back if we the best we can do is to declare a truce and leave each other alone. Always expecting something in return for whatever we give. Ready to judge and to condemn, and ready to defend ourselves against all judgments and condemnations.

     There's no mystery about why we take the attitude that this thing in my eye is a speck and that thing in your eye is a log. It's simple self-preservation and -protection. I have to build myself up or somebody will tear me down. I have to tear others down or they will lord it over me and take advantage of me. In a universe like that, actual respect and trust are to be bestowed only rarely, very carefully, very selectively. We dare to affirm and support only those who seem likely to affirm and support us.

     And so we stumble and fumble on, doing the best we can with this hand of cards we've been dealt, and we're stunned to hear that it's not good enough. We try to put the best face on it. We say, for instance, that we're not imposing our judgment on others, we're only acknowledging God's judgment on them - as if we knew the mind of God! Or we appeal to what it says in the Bible, as if the words of the Bible alone could bridge the gap between our minds and the mind of God!

     But the reason why Joseph was a dreamer and Isaiah was a dreamer and Jesus was a dreamer is that God was, is, and ever shall be a dreamer. My Word goes out from my mouth and does not return to me empty but accomplishes my purpose and does the thing for which I sent it! How's that for a dream? God can see you and me so changed that when we go out the hills will sing to us and the trees will clap their hands in applause at us. Jane's favorite benediction, in case you've been listening to her for eleven years and you still haven't noticed. How's that for a dream? Take a look sometime at this quilt that we've been using for an antependium. The words on it are the words of that benediction. It was made by a couple of women up in Plymouth who clearly had been paying too much attention to Jane.

     Don't discount or underestimate dreams and visions, especially not God's dreams and visions. God dreamt us up, after all, and made us real with a word.

     Listen, I tell you a mystery! We will not all die, but we will all be changed. God's dream. God's dream for the world. God's dream for us to dream and to trust and to live by.

     Amen