Sunday, September 23, 2012

Fork-Tongued Christians


James 3
First Presbyterian Church, Clarksville and Harmony Presbyterian Church
Ordinary 25
September 23, 2012
The Reverend Dr. Robert Wm Lowry
Standing in the wise man’s home as he translates the writing on the medallion Sallah tells his partner, “you know Indy, some secrets were not meant to be disturbed.”  Predictably, not long after the warning is issued the protagonist ignores the warning and disturbs the secret thereby wreaking the chaos that inevitably ensues.  Thus begins, the climactic adventure of Indiana Jones, Raider of the Lost Ark.

Good advice for archaeologists is good advice for preachers unearthing the text of the book of James.  Some things are better left undisturbed.

In fact, James issues his own warning to those who would seek to glean meaning from the text and share their insights.  “Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness,”  says the writer of the book of James.

By the time this book is being written, the church is moving from its earliest infancy into a more cohesive whole.  It was a long way from the church we know today, but it was far from the meandering diaspora to whom Paul wrote.  And the message of the gospel has begun to take on great influence both within and without the community.  James realizes that the words of the Gospel have great power and in the hands of sinful people, that power can too easily be misused. 

Perhaps, the writer seems to propose, it is better to leave it unsaid than to speak in error

The book of James is as theologically fascinating as it is infuriating.  On the one hand is the instinct, my instinct at least, to throw it out with the bathwater.  To reject it out of hand like Luther because of one or two offending passages.  That is of course what many people do.  Throw out the whole thing because of one or two disagreeable parts. 

That might not be such a bad idea.  This is indeed a dangerous text.  It is easy to misuse this text…to pull particular passages and reduce them to contemporary warnings against behaviours deemed problematic in the church.  Perhaps the wisest course really is Luther’s; just rip the damn thing out and save the church from itself.  After all, there is no shortage of voices in the church today that look for little more than bumper sticker theology and easy answers to faith’s tough questions.

The irony of these temptations is that wisdom literature, which James is to some extent, calls on us to resist simple answers and simplistic solutions and instead calls on us to think carefully and act virtuously in complex situations.

This third chapter of the text is James’ exposition on the final element of faithful living he shared in chapter one.  We heard them a couple of weeks ago.  The three marks of true religion, as James defines them for us, are 1)care for orphans and widows which is shown in giving hospitality and care to those in need, 2) keeping oneself unstained by the world; the call to live the Christian message as well as speak it- to make our doing match our believing, and 3) bridle your tongue before God or the practice of restraint and thoughtfulness in Christian speech.

The act of speech as a Christian practice is, for James, made all the more important by his conviction that “the tongue is a fire” capable of casting light in the darkness or setting the whole cycle of nature ablaze.

Simply, put words matter. 

Words carry greater capacity to care and to curse than any other human action.  Words change the world.  A few well-chosen words spoken at the right time, in the right place to the right audience can change the course of human history.  What would the world be like without:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident”…

or,  “four score and seven years ago;”

or, “free at last, free at last, thank God almighty we are free at last;”

or, “for God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son.”

Words matter.

Words can and have and will change history.

Nonetheless, we are frequently careless and pay little attention to the words we use.  There is a Greek word, adiaphora that means things indifferent.  It is a word to describe things that just don’t matter or that are not worthy of our full attention

When we speak without thinking, when we fail to use compassion and sensitivity in our language, we treat words as though they were adiaphora; things indifferent.  We fail to recognize that the words we choose and the words we use have enormous impact on us and on our world.

Understanding the power of words and language and comprehending that they are anything but indifferent is the wisdom James’ seeks to impart.  In this troublesome book of his, James writes about the Christian life and what it means.  And I think part of the reason it may be so hard for us to read is that its truth is hard for us to bear.

There are two images of language in James both represented by the tongue.  James says that the tongue is both a blessing and a curse; an instrument of praise and sin.

He is certainly right that the tongue, the instrument of our speaking, can be used as a blessing.  The teacher, according to James, uses the gift of language for blessing when giving praise to God.  We praise God when we remember each other in prayer, when we lift our voices in song, when we affirm those who are learning.  We bless God when we read words of scripture. Calling our children by name, welcoming a stranger and speaking the truth in love all are ways that our tongues bless God. 

Certainly the words of Jesus are a blessing.  The great commission of Christ to the church is one of blessed speech.  In fact it is the words of Christ- his spoken command- that brings the mission of the church into being.  Christ calls on us to go therefore and baptize the nations and make disciples.  We make disciples by living and teaching the word of God.  When we use the word of God to welcome and receive into fellowship those who would put their trust in God, we use the gift of language as blessing. 

Words of welcome, love, hope, peace and unity are blessings and, according to James, because the power of the tongue, the power of speech, is what it is, these blessings are all the greater for having been spoken- said- proclaimed.

Of course, the tongue can also be a curse.

Now when we think of cursing we generally think of one of two things, either foul language or casting a curse, a spell on someone- giving them the evil eye etc.

James’ recollection of God’s wisdom is somewhat different.  According to James the curse of the tongue is everything that is not praise of God.

Gossip;

Slander or speaking ill of another;

Disrespect;

Degradation;

Bullying;

All are acts of cursing rather than blessing.

James understands human nature enough to know that it is not so easy as to leave it there.  After all, it is pretty easy to rationalize yourself out of those categories.

Gossip is just another word for news

It isn’t speaking ill if it is true

Disrespect breeds disrespect- you reap what you sow

And perhaps the most insidious contemporary rationale for a cursed tongue; it is not bullying if I do it to show my love for God.

However we may try to rationalize it; whatever justification we attempt to adopt for it, speaking with a cursed tongue is speaking with a cursed tongue.  Like so many things, the words we say inform  much of how we live in the world.  James reminds us that using a cursed tongue is not just about speaking.

·         The tongue curses when we value only our own words and fail to listen to our neighbors.

·         The tongue curses when we will only converse or associate with those who agree with us and speak like we do.

·         The tongue curses when it is used to bow before power rather than speak for those without it.

·         The tongue curses when our words are used to break down rather than to build up any part of the body of Christ

Our words matter a great deal and anything we say that harms the body of Christ is, James says, a curse.

That is tough medicine.

I have to confess that at this point in the sermon, I thought about asking the choir to break into a chorus of “Just a Spoon Full of Sugar Makes the Medicine Go Down! 

As wisdom literature so often does, James’ writing paints a rather grim picture of our capacity to be forked tongued; capable of speaking words of praise and words of awful curse.

How then can we speak…at all?  If sin causes us to speak with a cursed tongue, wouldn’t it be better if we never opened our mouths at all?  After all we are Presbyterians and if there is one thing we Presbyterians have down pat it is a pretty well developed sense of our own human sinfulness.  “We all sin and fall short of the glory of God” is stamped on our foreheads!  How then can we utter a single word if we are so sinful?  Isn’t everything we say going to end up being a curse?

Perhaps the lesson we take away from James is that we should just keep our mouths closed.  Silence, it turns out, truly is golden.  Better safe than sorry!

That would be a possible conclusion if we read vss. 4-5 or 8 in isolation.  If we were to cherry pick the text, there would certainly be an argument to be made about silence.

When we take in the whole of the text, the whole of what James is writing to us, we see that it is not refraining from speech but restraint and care in speech that James wants.

We are called on by God and by Christ to lift our voices and sing and pray and speak the truth of God in the language of God.   

And God’s is a language of love and care.

God’s is a language of grace and hope.

God’s is a language of inclusion and embrace.

What James tells us is not to hold our cursed tongues and shut our cursed mouths, but to learn to speak out of the other side; to silence the sinful voice that resides in each of us and begin to speak in the language of the Gospel; the language of the love of God; the language of the hope of Christ.

If, James tells us, we dedicate our tongues to speaking the language of God, our actions will follow and we will indeed become a blessing.  That is the heart of the wisdom of James; knowing that we have the capacity to speak words that bless and words that curse and learning to speak the former while we silence the latter.

Not too long ago, I finally saw the final Harry Potter movie. 

In it, Dumbledore, the wise headmaster of the wizard school, is speaking with Harry at the emotional climax of the movie and says to his young charge, “you know, Harry, I think words are the greatest magic we have, for with them you can do great good or great evil.”

Dumbledore is right. 

James is right.

Jesus speaking with his disciples was right.

Words are truly the most powerful tool we have for doing both good and evil and ours is a world in need of hearing a good word today.

So, my fellow forked tongued Christians,  lift up your voice and sing the blessing of God; speak the language of the Good News and don’t stop until it gets through.

            In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Lessons from Nineveh

Jonah 3 (with focus on 3:6)

Ozarks@Worship
Munger Memorial Chapel
The University of the Ozarks
Clarksville, AR
September 19, 2012

It is my great pleasure to be in this pulpit today and to share in worship with the Ozarks community.  I bring you greetings from the congregations of First Presbyterian Church and Harmony Presbyterian Church. I hope you know how important each of you are to the Presbyterian ministries in Johnson County and we hope that, whatever your religious affiliation may be, that you will count on us in any way we might be of help to you while you are in Clarksville. 

Thank you Nancy for the gracious invitation and, as always it is good to be with Rick and Sheree and so many U of O friends as we gather to worship God. 

This week marks the celebration of the start of the Jewish New Year; Rosh Hashanah.  The celebration began at sundown on Sunday and is followed next week by Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.  It is tradition to read the entirety of the book of Jonah on the occasion of Yom Kippur because at its heart is an act of repentance and God’s relenting in love.  I take as my text today a portion of the third chapter of Jonah we heard read a moment ago.  Hear again the sixth verse

When word of it reached the king of Nineveh, he got up from his throne, stripped himself of his robe, covered himself with mourning clothes, and sat in ashes.
 
 
 
            A few years ago I had the pleasant opportunity to spend an evening with friends at Duke University.  The dinner guests that night included Duke novelist Reynolds Price.  I love to read.  There are not many things in this world I would rather be doing than reading.  So having the chance to break bread with such a prolific and gifted writer, who happens to be one of my favorites, was quite a night for me.

            Sometime between the poached pear salad and the after dinner scotch, the conversation naturally turned to literature and Reynolds’ thoughts on his colleagues both dead and alive.  Of the many things that were said that night, one stuck out.  Someone asked simply, “what makes a good book?”  He did not have to think long.  He said, “a good book makes you work.”

            Although I imagine he had in mind something more along the lines of Anna Karenina or As I Lay Dying, I really believe that this short book of Jonah meets that criterion.  Jonah makes you work a little.  Now, it is certainly possible to just read Jonah through and skip the difficult bits.  The three year lectionary preaching cycle that most preachers follow only touches on Jonah and then it is the more accessible and less troubling parts.  When all you look for is the children’s book fare of Jonah and the whale, there is not much work expected of you as the reader.

            A close reading, however; one that looks beyond prophet and whales, beyond sinners and shrubs in the desert, reveals a story short on words but very long on theology and imagery and character.  To find those things, though, you have to work a little.

            I like it that Jonah makes me work.  Working and struggling with a biblical text is a good thing.  It is a holy thing.  Like Jacob with the angel of the Lord, we sometimes have to wrestle with the text a little if we hope to get anywhere near the bottom of the myriad layers of meaning. 

            Treating the bible as nothing but a simplistic storybook or a puritanical list of dos and don’ts disrespects the text and its place in the faith.

            Scripture is demanding, and Jonah is no exception.

            As I read this text over and over in preparation for preaching today, I found myself working very hard to answer a question that continued to pester me.  Why did the king do it?  Why did the king of Nineveh stop everything in its tracks, put on sack cloth and ashes and praise God?   In the field of this particular text, that is the row I was given to hoe.

            Why did the king do it?

            We really don’t know much about this king.  He is not named.  He is not described in any detail.  What we know about him is summed up in four verses in the book of Jonah when the king hears the prophet’s words and makes his decree of obedience and praise.

            Our whole expectation of the story is turned upside down.  The prophet, who is supposed to be the faithful one, ran as far and as fast as he could and only came back to deliver his prophecy after being swallowed and regurgitated by a great fish!  The king, who is supposed to be punished with his people for their persistent wickedness, is immediately repentant and faithful to God. 

            Now to be sure, the king new of the Hebrew God about whom Jonah spoke, but he was Assyrian.  They had their own gods.  He was certainly under no cultural or political obligation to heed the prophet’s words and praise God and seek God’s forgiveness.  In fact, his life would have been much easier if he had saved the sackcloth and ashes and dismissed the Hebrew prophet as a hack.

            So, why did the king do it?

            As with so many initial responses to scripture, as I worked and wrestled with this story I began to realize that my question was not quite the right one.  Rather than asking “why” the king does it, perhaps the question we should be asking is “what does it mean” that the king does it.  Beyond the king’s motives, what are the implications of stopping where you are, no questions asked, and taking on a posture of faith and hope in God’s forgiveness?

            One of my real challenges of ministry is balancing my vocational life with my personal relationships with people who live outside the Christian faith.  Most are not members of another religious community, they are just apathetically agnostic.  From time to time one will ask me about some particular point of theology.  I do my best to give an answer that reflects both what I know and what I believe.  The answers are usually more based in theological belief than pure analytical reasoning. 

When those questions come up, especially ones about sin and judgment, almost without exception, the answer I give is greeted with the same response. 

“Why is it so easy for you to believe?”

One part of me wants to grab people by the lapels and say, “easy! You think this is easy!  You think it is easy to believe in the resurrection and ascension and continuing rule in my life of a 33 year old Jewish carpenter who lived 2000 years ago and tries day and night to complicate my life with all that love your neighbor stuff!  You think that’s easy?  Really?”

Thankfully, my calmer side usually wins out in those moments and I answer sagely, “well, like so many things, faith is a gift of the spirit and it does come easier to some people than to others.  I wish it was as easy for me as it seems to be for some people.”

I don’t set out to tell a lie to my friends, but that is the thing I end up saying to them and I am not entirely sure that it is true.  Is it really just a matter of faith coming easier for some people than others?  Does it really boil down to some people just having it easier than others?

Jonah has it as easy as possible!  He hears directly from the mouth of God, yet Jonah never seems to live into the fullness of God.  The Ninevites, the embodiment of sinful ignorance in the beginning of the story, are able to rejoice in their forgiveness after they take on the practices of repentance.   To be sure, Jonah believed in God, but that belief was a dead letter in his life.  It was a dead letter because he refuses to live it.  He fails to engage in spiritual practices that help us narrow the gap between belief and unbelief; those practices that draw us out of ourselves and into common life with our brothers and sisters in Christ.  He talks the talk, but when it comes down to it, he cannot walk the walk. 

Doing those things and being the person who does those things seems to come naturally to the king.

Perhaps some of it is just an innate ability to believe and keep the faith.  If that is you, if you are someone for whom it is easy to keep the faith come what may, I say God bless, because it is not me. 

I struggle.

I struggle mightily sometimes to believe, to keep the faith.  I struggle.  I struggle, but I manage to keep muddling on because in my life I have been surrounded by a lot of kings of Nineveh; imperfect people who, through their witness and lives, have shown me the spiritual exercises necessary to maintain a healthy soul.   They have shown me that the life of faith is more than a life of belief in God, it is a life of trust lived in God.  It is a life of spiritual practice that lasts from the cradle to the grave and encompasses all of who we are in every moment and with every breath.

Christian spiritual practices are those things we do in our lives that strengthen our souls the same way that 30 minutes of cardio strengthens your heart.  Spiritual practices build healthy souls.  They are, in truth, about life.  They are about training ourselves to become the kinds of people who have eyes and actually see and who have ears and actually hear, and so experience not just survival, but life.

Jonah sat in the desert worried about survival.  The Ninevites, celebrated and rejoiced because to them life had been restored.

Why is it, then, that we have trained ourselves to want to have Jonah experiences- hearing the voice of God speak in our ear- when what we should be doing is following the example of the Ninevite king who, with his people, found new life in the word of God’s forgiveness?  The answer, I think is a simple one. 

Ease.

It is easier to sit in the desert and pout than it is to walk through the streets in sackcloth and ashes. 

It is easier to be angry with God than acknowledge our absolute dependence on the grace and love of God. 

It is easier to be Jonah on our own terms than Ninevites on God’s.

Yet we who profess to be followers of Jesus Christ have been called not to a life like the prophets but a life of faithful response like the king’s.   It is not mere acknowledgement of God in our belief but the bearing out of God’s word in our very lives that is the call of the Christian disciple.

One Saturday many years ago that great preacher of a previous generation George Butrick was flying home from a speaking engagement and after the plane had taken off, Butrick had lowered his tray table and gotten out his notepad and his bible and begun working on the next day’s sermon.  The man next to him kept looking at him out of the corner of his eye and after a while the man’s curiosity got the best of him and he said, “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but your are working awfully hard on that.  What is it that you do for a living?” 

Butrick replied, “well, I am a pastor and this is my sermon for tomorrow.”

“Ah,” the man said. “Religion.  I never had much use for religion.  Love your neighbor as yourself, that’s all the religion I ever needed.”

“Oh really,” Butrick replied.  “what is it that?”

“I teach astronomy.”

“Ah, astronomy.  Twinkle, twinkle little star, that’s all the astronomy I’ve ever needed.”

Faith in the God of history cannot be reduced to a bumper sticker any more than the complexity of the universe can be reduced to a nursery song.

Faith in the God of history is not about having some sort of vague, ill-defined, generalized belief in goodness. 

Imagine if all the Ninevites did was look to the sky and say, “we acknowledge the existence of the general sense of a deity.”  We would, I imagine, have a very different story before us.

A life lived in faith is not one defined by amorphous belief but one of embodied believing; of doing, and being.

It is a life that builds Christian character through Christian spiritual practice.  And in that life what we do forms who we are and who we are bears witness to the world to whose we are.  Like the Ninevites who wore their repentance on their backs and on their brows, we are called to wear our faith on our sleeves for all the world to see.

And we know, from the witness of history, that our faith is not misplaced if it is placed in the promises of God.

In the climactic scene of Jean Anouilh’s brilliant play, Thomas Becket who has been appointed Archbishop of Canterbury by his good friend and drinking buddy Henry II on the assumption that he would do Henry’s bidding, meets the king on the beach in northern France.  Becket has defied the king’s wishes and stood up to his policies and in anger Henry bellows to him, “damn you Becket, have you started to love God?”  Thinking for a moment Becket replies, “I have started to love the honor of God.”

The honor of God.

At the fountainhead of faith is the honor of God; it is the promise of the God who is as good as his word.  If the king of Nineveh was able to live so fully into the promise on the word of a wayward prophet, how much more so might we who live in the light of Christ, live into the promise of the honor of God?

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  AMEN

Sunday, September 16, 2012

When Memory Hurts


Matthew 18:21-25
First Presbyterian Church of Clarksville, AR and Harmony Presbyterian Church
September 16,2012

The Rev. Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

            This week, in the wake of the 11th anniversary of the inhuman attacks on the World Trade Center towers, religious intolerance  and violence reared their ugly heads again in the form of a pitiful film on the internet and mobs rioting across North Africa and the Arabian Peninsula.  These events remind us that anger and fear continue to find great purchase in the world while forgiveness and peace are less often encountered on a human scale.

            For that reason, I depart from the lectionary text for today and invite your attention to the 18th chapter of Matthew’s gospel.  Hear the word of the Lord.


            A few summers ago I was in Europe and as all tourists do, I visited several of those innumerable castles that are there. But after a while one castle starts to look like another, no matter what country you’re in or what period the castle was built.
            There was one in particular, however, that I remember very well. It was the one with the maze.
            Whoever built the castle thought that as a protective device as well as an entertainment he would build a very complicated labyrinth of hedges, a puzzle that has been carefully tended and meticulously groomed all through the centuries. Over time the hedges have grown to about eight or nine feet high, tall enough to prevent you from getting your bearings once inside.
            I thought I could probably knock off that maze in about five minutes, and I said as much to the attendant at the entrance as I went in. He was European, stuffy, and not amused. From his look I suspected he had seen my kind go in that maze and never come out again.
            The first part wasn’t too hard, a left here, a right there. It was going rather well, I thought. Except of course, I kept hitting blind allies. Soon I found I was passing people in both directions who looked vaguely familiar to me.
            I began to get a little concerned after about a half an hour or so when I heard voices on the other side of the hedges that seemed to come and then go.
            It became more and more frustrating the longer I searched. I started to imagine that nightfall would come and I would still be there, trying to make my way by moonlight.
            At last the attendant from the entrance came up to me doing what must have been one of his hourly sweeps of the lost. “Having trouble are we?” he asked trying to keep his face straight. “Just follow me,” he said. “It’s by the narrow way.”
            And sure enough there was a kind of gap in the hedges that served as the narrow door to the last row leading to the exit. And standing sideways you could make it through and be on your way. But for those unaccustomed to mazes, or to risking a slightly different way of solving the puzzle it proved too difficult to resolve.
            It was as I was leaving the maze that I discovered the attendant was a Christian as he paraphrased Jesus, “Don’t feel bad,” he said smugly, “many have tried, few are able.”[i]
            I cannot help but think of those words when I read this text from Matthew’s gospel. 
            Then Peter came to him and said, “how often should I forgive?  As many as seven times?”
            Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but I tell you, seven times seventy times.”
            Many have tried, few are able.
            Tough stuff.
            Like so many parts of scripture though, a cursory one dimensional reading of the text lets us off the hook to some degree.    
            The king, obviously representing God, has loaned to the servant, that would be us, more than the servant may ever repay. 
            Sounds about right.
            God has given us life, love, beauty, creation, sustenance, hope, salvation, grace, and even the life and death of God’s own son.  There is no way that we can repay that debt.  It is the spiritual equivalent of an insurmountable sum like the debt of the servant.  All we can do is our feeble best in response to God’s great generosity. 
            A cursory reading makes it easy to file the forgiveness demanded under the category of cheap grace and go on about our business to bigger things.  After all, we are not God and none of us could begin to match the grace of God.  l
            By this shallow reading, our calling is to be gracious to one another all the while being comforted that there is no way we can be gracious the way God is gracious to us.
            Cheap grace, costless grace, the gracious equivalent of giving it the old college try could surely fill that bill.
            Except for one thing.  That little math lesson that Jesus inserts in the exchange with Peter. 
            How often must we forgive?  Not once, not twice, not even a dozen times.  We are called to forgive seven times seventy times. 
            Seven times seventy.
            Now if you are like me, you have already figured out that seven times seventy times is four hundred ninety times.  A lot perhaps, but still manageable.  At least there is still an end point when I can forget trying to forgive what I cannot seem or do not want to forgive.
            No such luck, friends.  When Jesus tells Peter, and us that we are called to forgive seven times seventy times, he is painting a picture of forgiveness that goes on and on and on without end.  We are called to forgive not a finite number of times with an end point in mind, but on and on and on like grace-filled energizer bunnies beating the drum of forgiveness well beyond the visible horizon of time.
            Then Peter came to him and said, “how often should I forgive?  As many as seven times?”
            Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but I tell you, seven times seventy times.”
            Many have tried, few are able.
            It is no wonder that we find it so tough to forgive.  Forgiveness is difficult in our culture.  It flies in the face of almost every one of our contemporary cultural values. 
            The culture values the supremacy of my individual will- forgiveness requires me to reflect God’s.
            The culture values the supremacy of my freedom to live as I please- forgiveness requires me to follow God’s command.
            The culture values power over weakness- it is difficult to extend the hand of forgiveness if you are still holding your sword.
            The culture values being right- forgiveness values being righteous in the eyes of God.
            Forgiveness is difficult in our culture.
            Yet forgiving not once not twice but seven times seventy is what we are called to do.  It is what we are called to be; people who forgive so easily and so often that it is nearly impossible to count how often we forgive.
            Last week we remembered events on a beautiful September morning eleven years ago; events that represented yet another attempt by hate and division to destroy the fabric of the human community. 
            18 men, misguided and mistaken about what truly resides in the heart of God, took the lives of thousands and shook the lives of millions by acts of inexcusable terror.
            Also last week, a misguided bigot made a film with the sole purpose of inciting rage and hurt in the world’s Muslim population.  It worked.  Mobs inflamed by anger and resentment attacked innocent men and women in embassies across North Africa and the Arabian Peninsula destroying property and taking the lives of four in Lybia including the American Ambassador who was, by all accounts, a tireless public servant committed to international respect and peace.
            Inexcusable.
            These events and intentional actions that caused harm and incited violence across the world are inexcusable.  
            But what about unforgiveable?
            How often should I forgive?  As often as seven times?
            Not seven times, but I tell you, seven times seventy times.
            Many have tried, few are able.
            Finding even the smallest corner of our hearts to tuck away a grain of forgiveness for the sort of evil and intolerance that led to the events memorialized and the events that occurred last week feels like a monumental, almost insurmountable, task. 
            For my part, I recall landing in Newark Airport on September 13 the day air traffic resumed after 9/11.  When the airplane banked over northern New Jersey and began to fly down the Hudson toward Newark’s runway, I had a clear view of lower Manhattan out my window.  The skyline looked as though it was missing its two front teeth with the twin towers of the Trade Centers gone and the smoke and ash that still rose from the smoldering rubble looked as if the world was being cooked from the inside out. 
            Forget seven times seventy times, thinking of who and what had led to this madness, one act of forgiveness was going to be a stretch. 
            And to be honest, it still is in some measure.  I still have a difficult time watching or reading a news story without the memory of that morning sneaking in and making the whole thing fresh again; the fear, the shock, the anger.  How could such a thing possibly ever be forgiven?
            As I worked on this sermon, I was reminded of a story recounted by Rabbi Harold Kushner.  He recalls:
A woman in my congregation comes to see me.  She is a single mother, divorced, working to support herself and three young children.  She says to me, “Since my husband walked out on us, every month is a struggle to pay our bills.  I have to tell my kids we have no money to go to the movies, while he’s living it up with his new wife in another state.  How can you tell me to forgive him?”  I answer her, “I’m not asking you to forgive him because what he did was acceptable.  It wasn’t; it was mean and selfish.  I’m asking you to forgive because he doesn’t deserve the power to live in your head and turn you into a bitter angry woman.  I’d like to see him out of your life emotionally as completely as he is physically, but you keep holding on to him.  You’re not hurting him by holding on to that resentment, but you’re hurting yourself.”[ii]
            For we who have, as individuals, as a nation, even as a world walked through the labyrinth of emotions and pain in the years since September 11, 2001 and witnessing the continuing challenge of violence in the world today, clinging to anger and fear has become almost second nature.  Yet in the midst of our remembrance and the rekindling of our anxiety and anger, Christ calls us to leave by the narrow way; by the way of forgiveness. 
            I make no claims that forgiving is easy when memories are so painful.  Nonetheless, like Kushner, I think it is time that we as a community, as a nation deny the culture of hate and evil that prompted those attacks power in our lives. 
            It is time that we as a community, deny the culture of vengeance the opportunity to turn us into unforgiving people. 
            As politicians and pundits, and yes, even pastors take to the national stage and declare that the only reasonable and rational response to hate and anger is more hate and anger, we as a community of Christ must stand against the prevailing cultural winds and say no.  No to hate.  No to violence.  No to intolerance.
            In short, it is time that we who know the whelming joy and grace that comes from being God’s forgiven children begin to experience the joy and grace of being God’s forgiving children.\
            To put it plainly, that is the only true and faithful response according to the word of Jesus Christ; to confront hate and intolerance with love and forgiveness.
            How often should I forgive?  As often as seven times?
            Not seven times, but I tell you, seven times seventy times. 
            Many have tried, few are able, but all are called.
            Sola Deo Gloria!  To God alone be the glory! Amen.


[i] This story, retold in the first person for rhetorical effect, is recalled from a sermon heard many years ago.  I apologize for not giving attribution to the original preacher.  I recall the sermon but not the preacher, often a sign of a good homiletician. 
[ii] As referenced in Feasting on the Word, Year A Volume 4.