God’s grace

A Higher Grace

The Ninth Sunday After Trinity

Proverbs 8:1-21, Psalm 103, 1 Corinthians 10:1-13, St. Luke 15:11-32

A Higher Grace

I grew up in the Navy.  We changed addresses as often as we changed socks.  I was born on Key West.  We moved to Providence, Newport, Norfolk, back to Key West, San Diego.  I’m good at leaving.

My wife grew up on a farm.  Her father worked that land.  And – you guessed it — his father had worked it before him.  Their idea of change was rotating the crops.  Then they quit doing that.  They were rooted in that land.  My wife is good at staying.

At a previous posting, one day after worship, I thought my wife – who is good at staying — was leaving with me.  We began walking around a corner and toward the front door.

I reached the door.  I looked around and . . . no wife.  She had a lot of friends.  She wouldn’t leave until she had greeted every one of them.  That’s the way they’d done things in the days of her girlhood, back on the farm.

I was standing there at the door like a hobo waiting to hop a freight when our rector, Dr. Crenshaw, happened by.

He said, “What’re you doin’?”  He’s from backwoods Tennessee . . . Possum Holler or Coon Valley or some such place.  He speaks with a nasal twang.

I said, “I’m waiting.  My wife is good at a lot of things, but leaving is not one of them.”

He said, “That’s obvious; she’s still with you.”

Beware the ecclesiastical rapier.  It pierces deep.  And true.

Some folks are good at leaving, some at staying.

Today we consider a story usually called the Parable of the Prodigal Son.  A better title would be “The Parable of the Father and the Two Sons.”  One son can’t wait to leave.  He squanders his inheritance in a far country.

The other can’t wait to stay.  He would slave away forever on his father’s farm, desperate to earn an inheritance that is already his.

One leaves, the other stays . . . and we get an education in grace.

I must confess that the first time I read this tale – and maybe the second and the third – I saw the prodigal son as the villain, the elder son as the hero and the father as a sap.  In this opinion I betrayed a profound misunderstanding of grace.

Of all the parables, this is perhaps the best-known and most-loved.  It will bring into sharper focus for us themes we have watched develop as we have studied the gospel lessons this Trinity season – themes such as freedom and righteousness, our debt to God and His grace.

We begin by looking at the story through a first-century lens.

Then – and this part is no different today — in the Middle Eastern cultures, for a son to request his portion of his living father’s worldly goods is to wish him dead.  He is bellowing from the rooftop: “I can’t wait for you to die.”

A healthy father might allocate his property for distribution after his death but he would do so of his own volition.  No son would suggest such an act.  And if the father did make such an allocation, he would do so with the stipulation that he retain the rights to his property and all income from it until his demise.

The prodigal first asks for the allocation and then goes the further unthinkable step of requesting that he be allowed to dispose of his portion to underwrite his footloose wanderings.

The only conceivable reaction from a father is an explosion and a severe beating for the boy.  But that is not the response of this father.  His response frames for us the question: What is freedom?

For the younger son it is the absence of restraint.  He wants more than the opportunity for “prodigal living.”  He wants to chart his own course rather than following the one his loving father sets out.  He holds worthless his father’s guidance and protection.

This is his understanding of freedom.  But freedom can be a seductress.

Is it liberty or is it license?  Liberty trusts in the truth of God, license bows before an array of idols.  Liberty serves our fellow man, license celebrates the license-holder.  Liberty loves righteousness, license breeds licentiousness – crude, self-serving immorality.

Sinful man has confused liberty and license since Adam’s time: If I could grab any fruit I want whenever I want, I’d be free.  God wouldn’t be bossing me around any more.

But St. Paul tells us in Romans that all will be slaves to sin or slaves to righteousness, to Satan or to God.  Freedom means you get to choose your master.  In slavery to righteousness we discover authentic freedom, which is life according to the purpose for which our Creator shaped us.

The eagle is free when he soars, the turtle when he creeps.  Man is free when he lives within the will of the benevolent Father who protects and guides him.  The prodigal son held a warped idea of freedom – and it is precisely the view of most people 2,000 years later.

The freedom to which the father calls his prodigal son, on the other hand, invites us to trust the one who gave us life, to conform our desires to his desires for us in the certain knowledge that he knows better than we what is best for us.

The Collect for Peace in our Order for Morning Prayer captures this idea beautifully: “O God, who art the author of peace and lover of concord, in knowledge of whom standeth our eternal life, whose service is perfect freedom . . .”

I have had occasion once before to tell you of my only son, Brett, who is serving a life sentence for murder in Texas.  That occasion was the story of Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac and my point was that our God restores – gives back – sons . . . and daughters and mothers and fathers.

I bring up Brett again today because God has a purpose in creating, redeeming, restoring us.  In that purpose is true freedom.  When we realize He has snatched us out of the devil’s grasp, rescued us from eternal death and delivered us into life everlasting, we should recognize that the freedom He gives us has an end – loving and serving Him with all our being.

This is freedom in Christ – in the One who died to deliver us.

Brett calls frequently with news of some sort: He talked Capt. So-and-So into allowing him to lead a 4 a.m. prayer group for the kitchen workers.  The warden approved his plan to take a team onto the transit wing to minister to the men there who are locked down 23 hours a day.

He performed this or that service for the unit chaplain.  He has applied for the four-year seminary program the state has made available to long-term offenders

Or, more often, he had the opportunity to witness to another inmate, to deliver the good news of what God has done for him in Christ.

This is freedom – not of the kind he once knew: drinking and drugging and robbing and, at last, killing, to feed his carnal passions.  This is freedom from the sting of the mocking attitudes and opinions of the sort of God-hating men he once was.  This is freedom from the endless plotting and scheming to find a way out on which he once obsessed.

This is freedom from the bouts of depression that once assaulted him regularly and in which he committed the bad acts that landed him in the bad graces of his jailers, including two stints of several years each in solitary confinement.

But this is not only freedom from but also freedom to.  It is freedom to live as God’s man on the inside, to serve his Master and fulfill his purpose – regardless of his circumstances.  I’m in awe of my son.  I preach freedom in Christ; Brett lives it.  He has more freedom on the inside than anyone I know on the outside.

In our story, we find something else, the father’s superhuman response to his two sons.  We have already seen Jesus addressing the scribes and Pharisees in the first two parables in the 15th chapter of St. Luke’s gospel, the lost sheep and the lost coin.

In those parables, the shepherd and the woman who has lost the coin do exactly what we expect them to do; they search for what is lost.  But now the Lord ratchets up His teaching on divine love with a portrait of a father who transcends by light years the human capacity for love.

Hearing his son wish him dead, any other would have erupted.  This father grants the request: “And he divided to them his livelihood.”

This is self-giving love, so deep that it grants freedom to reject the one who loves. All the while, it never swerves from its purpose of redemption, even as its object wishes the lover dead.  What wondrous love is this that defies human understanding!

According to the cultural norms, the elder son should protest in the strongest terms his loyalty to his father and refuse to accept his share.  He should also assume the role of reconciler between his father and his brother.  He does neither.  Instead, he fractures his relationships with both.

The prodigal liquidates his inheritance as quickly as he can.  He has made himself a pariah in the village by his treatment of his father.  He meets with contempt everywhere he goes.  He must race away.

Having secured his “freedom,” he journeys to a “far country” – and descends into hell.  No sooner has he thrown away his inheritance on loose living than famine seizes the land.  Among gentiles now, he takes the only work he can get, feeding swine – anathema to a Jew — and covets the pigs’ food.

He eats these pods, bitter, black berries called carobs the pigs grub from low shrubs.  They afford so little nutrition that he remains hungry every moment.  Finally, he accepts the inevitable.  He must return to his home and his father and beg for work as a servant.  His father’s servants have more than enough to eat.

This homecoming portends far more peril than his leaving.  He has not only squandered his father’s money, he has lost it to gentiles.  He can expect to face a seething mob on his return.

Yet once again his father reacts as no father has ever done.  Custom demands that the prodigal approach him in abject humiliation, stooping to kiss his hands or even his feet.  But the father takes his son’s shame upon himself.

He comes down from his house and runs to greet his son.  This is outrageous behavior for an Eastern patriarch; none would ever make such a spectacle of himself.  But this father does not stop there.

He pre-empts the prodigal’s humiliation by falling on his neck and kissing him first.  So doing, he makes a public display of forgiveness and reconciliation.

In this way, the father is like the shepherd in the story of the lost sheep.  When he finds what has been lost, joy wells up from deep inside him – no accusation or recrimination, only joy.

The father then cuts short his son’s prepared speech.  Listen closely now.  The prodigal had planned to say:

“Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you, and I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants.”

When a son has said, “I am no longer worthy to be called your son,” he has said everything.  The job of restoration now falls to the father.  This father stops his son there, before he can add, “Make me like one of your hired servants.”

Now, in the son’s reaction, we see true repentance.  Fearful and confused, he finds in his father’s self-humiliation a love beyond comprehension.  Shaken and stripped of all pretense, he must now confront the truth:

The money, regardless of how much he lost or to whom, is nothing.  His shattered relationship with his father is everything.

He cannot heal it.  He has spurned his father and his love. How could he assign a price to a father’s love, or, if he could name its price, how could he work off his debt?

He must accept reconciliation and restoration to his father’s household as a free gift.  When the son finally allows himself to peer into the bottomless love on offer to him, this unmerited grace he cannot fend off even with his most contemptible behavior, he comes to terms with true repentance.

The father orders his servants to drape his best robe, the one he wears on feast days, around his son’s shoulders.  He is commanding reconciliation on the part of his servants and the entire village.  In the messianic age, all will wear a bright new garment of reconciliation.

The ring is probably a signet, a symbol of authority: its wearer can be trusted.  Shoes designate a free man of a good house.  Only slaves and the poor go shoeless.  The servants must accept this son as their master.  A fatted calf will feed 100 or more: The entire village will turn out for the feast.

The father does not want a servant obligated to work off a debt of mercy for a wage.  He desires a son who loves him unconditionally in response to his free grace.  The son accepts the gift, entering into the feast his father has prepared for him.

This is not the father of the “New Yorker” cartoon who says to the prodigal, “This is the fourth time we’ve killed the fatted calf.”

We cannot encase grace in a transaction.  When we try to buy it or sell it, we destroy it.

The younger son left, the elder stayed.  Or did he?  Embittered by the grace his father shows his brother, the elder son refuses to join in the feast.  This is an insult almost on a level with wishing the father dead.  Yet the father’s reaction is the same:

He comes down from the house and pleads with him.  He humiliates himself once more from the same motive of love.  No criticism, rejection, judgment; only love.

The answer, however, is far different.  The elder son does not address him as “Father,” another grave insult.  Complaint, bitterness, arrogance pour out of him as though from a broken sewer.   And then the stunning pronouncement: “I never transgressed your commandment at any time.”

What Pharisee could have said it better?  Here is the self-justification of the legalists distilled: To hell with your fatherly grace.   You, father, owe a debt to me for my goodness to you.

No mercy for one who goes astray, no joy over his return, no celebration of his father’s happiness. This son has no need of forgiveness for he has never sinned.  Needing none, he can summon none for his brother.  Our Lord told the Pharisees that one who is forgiven little loves little.

The prodigal son left, an honorable sinner.  The elder son stayed, a hypocritical saint.

But did he stay?  Or did he go a-wandering in a far country of the heart, a spiritual Babylon?  One son was lawless outside the law, one was lawless within the law.  A would-be servant, overwhelmed by the father’s grace, becomes a son.  A son, appalled by the father’s grace, will not forsake the role of servant.

The father will not apologize for the feast.  What was lost is found, one who was dead is alive.  Repentance is not being found but accepting the love of the one who rushes out to offer it no matter the cost.  The father will not abandon joy to appease his elder son’s anger.  Some have called this parable the gospel within the gospel.  It ends fittingly.

It leaves unresolved the final destination of the elder son.  Does he join the feast in the end?  His absence from the final frame allows us to put ourselves in it.

Step outside the story now.  In the fourth chapter of his epistle to the Galatians, St. Paul addresses sonship in the context of the One who is telling this parable, the eternal Son:

“But when the fullness of the time had come, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, that we might receive the adoption as sons.

“And because you are sons, God has sent forth the Spirit of His Son into your hearts, crying out, “Abba, Father!”  Therefore you are no longer a slave but a son, and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ” (Galatians 4:4-7).

When we abandon pursuit of a righteousness of our own doing, when we accept the inheritance that is ours as fellow heirs of Christ, we are at last able to accept our Father’s love, freely given, and freely to give it back.  This is Jesus’ message to the Jews, to the gentiles and to you.  Amen.



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Grace Is For Grown-Ups

The Sixth Sunday After Trinity

Isaiah 57:13b-19, Psalm 85, Romans 6:3-11, St Matthew 5:20-26

Grace Is for Grown-ups

As John Wayne and other cinematic prophets have shown us, a personal code can be a fine thing, Pilgrim.  But substituting one’s own code for the established law can have its drawbacks.  In Rapid City, South Dakota, in 1992, police apprehended an armed robber named Dennis Lee Curtis.

When they shook him down they found in his wallet a sheet of paper on which appeared his personal law code:

  1. I will not kill anyone unless I have to.
  2. I will take cash and food stamps – no checks.
  3. I will rob only at night.
  4. I will not wear a mask.
  5. I will not rob mini-marts or 7-Eleven stores.
  6. If I get chased by cops on foot, I will get away. If chased by vehicle, I will not put the lives of innocent civilians on the line.
  7. I will rob only seven months out of the year.
  8. I will enjoy robbing from the rich to give to the poor.

We might applaud some of the sentiments on that list, but they appeared to have no effect on the judge.  He went by the law on the books and not the one in Dennis Lee’s hip pocket, and sent the robber up the river.

Some centuries earlier, the scribes and Pharisees were the rock stars of righteousness.  They were the custodians of the law in Israel, and they shaped it to suit their fancy.  By the time the Lord Jesus appeared, they had bred laws like bunny rabbits, amassing 613 of them.  All was kosher . . . or was it?

If a deer entered a house through an open door on the Sabbath, could the householder close the door to capture it for later butchering and eating?  No, said the rabbis, closing the door constituted work, which was forbidden on the Sabbath.

Could a tailor carry his needle home from his shop as dusk approached on Friday, when the Sabbath began?  Yes, said the rabbis, if he stuck it in the sleeve of his coat; no, if he carried it in his hand.  That would be work.

These holy men of Israel set a standard that made them the only righteous ones.  Rumor has it they formed a band and called it the Righteous Brothers.

Their law was not God’s law, which revealed to men their sinfulness, God’s holiness and the need for reconciling the two, which only God can do.  Their law made man responsible for healing his ruptured relationship with God.  When he does – if he could — he reaps glory — the glory that belongs to God alone.

If God’s law seems a burden, it’s really not – when properly understood and applied.  Following a list of rules – or not – is a pretty straightforward matter.   It’s grace that’s scarier than a horror movie double feature.

Grace is for grown-ups.  It demands sound judgment and good decisions, sober reflection and godly wisdom.  Grace makes you think . . . and choose . . . and squirm.

In the Sermon on the Mount, where the prayer book takes us today, our Lord Jesus has set out the Beatitudes and then declared that He has come not to destroy the law but to fulfill it.  Grace can only flower when sinful man despairs of keeping the law for himself and throws himself on the mercy of the One who has done it for him, the only One who is good enough.

Dallas Willard put the matter elegantly: “In the Sermon on the Mount we are not looking at laws, but at a life: a life in which the genuine laws of God eventually become naturally fulfilled.”

Jesus has come, proclaiming His grace.  And He says: “For I say to you, unless your righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:20).

This statement sends a tremor throughout the Holy Land – and not only through the leaders. The great unwashed cannot imagine even approaching the righteousness of these scribes and Pharisees who know their law so thoroughly and keep it so rigorously.

They even tithe of their mint and cumin.  How could the rank and file dare consider surpassing such righteousness?

This Jesus of Nazareth speaks in parables and says things none have ever heard.  Righteousness exceeding that of the scribes and Pharisees?  What can this Prophet mean?

And so once again Jesus has flipped Israel’s collective wisdom on its head to frame the question He wants before them: What is righteousness?  He will take them on a pilgrim’s quest, and a few alone will complete it.  Those who do will arrive in an enchanted place called Grace.

He will show them a faraway country beyond the land flowing with milk and honey.  Their inheritance is the very kingdom of heaven — carnelian and jasper, sapphire and emerald, streets of gold.  But, oh, so much more than that — eternal worship before the throne of God.

Good news?  There can be none better.  As St. Paul will declare, “There is no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus.”  The Father will remember your sins no more.

In Christ Jesus, God’s grace has erupted in His creation and this world will never be as it was.  The law pointed men to our sin; grace turns our eyes to God’s mercy upon us.  The law made men wear that sin like burlap skivvies; grace feels as soft and fine as a satin robe . . . once we get the hang of it.

How, then, to get this grace?  How to become more righteous than the scribes and Pharisees?  How to enter the kingdom of heaven?  The Lord has promised, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.”

We hunger, Lord; we thirst.  We would be filled.  But how?

By faith.  But faith not in your own righteousness before the law; rather, faith in the Lord who came to fulfill the law.  Faith in the righteousness of the One who came to seek and save the lost, faith in His tender mercy on the lost sheep of Israel and the forlorn outsiders called gentiles, faith in His love for all mankind so deep that it will bear Him to the cross . . . faith in God’s grace.

Reach out both hands and take what He offers at great cost to Him as a free gift to you.  And you shall be righteous.

The scribes and Pharisees, trussed up by their law, are devout believers – in a righteousness of their own invention.  The Lord flays their pretense bare with a whip of words.  You have defaced grace.  “But I say unto you . . .”

Over and again in our Trinity season gospel lessons, we see the interplay between human attitudes toward God and our fellow man.  Love God, love your neighbor.  Hate your neighbor, hate God.

Now the Lord says that anyone who bears anger for his brother must not approach the altar of God.  The law said, “You shall not murder,” but Jesus says you shall not harbor malice or hurl insults or call out hurtful names.  The first will be liable to judgment, the second to the council, the third to the hell of fire.

Jesus appears to be holding up a mirror to the progression of capital punishment in Israel.  First, in each important city, judges sat in the gate and tried, condemned and executed murderers. Their judgment meant beheading.

Second, a more notorious killer appeared before the Sanhedrin, or ruling council of the nation. They applied the more horrible sentence of stoning.

Third, in especially egregious cases, the council could call for death by burning in the valley of Gehenna, where a fire burned continuously to consume rubbish.

Jesus here pronounces progressively harsher punishments not on those who commit murder but on those who bear anger for another.

The Greek word for “fool” is moros, from which we get “moron.”  It speaks not just of idiocy but immorality and godlessness as well.  Raca is an Aramaic term that can be translated “blockhead” or “numbskull” or “empty-headed one.”

To be without sense is to be without grace.  To be without grace is to be without God, and thus bound for the hell of fire.  Is Jesus saying the accuser will endure the curse with which he has cursed another?

Offering a gift to God at His altar is proper ritual, prescribed by God’s own law.  But in the age of grace, the Lord says, reconciliation with your brother takes precedence over cultic practice.  The burden here falls not on the angry man but the object of his wrath, implying a just cause: Leave your gift at the altar, make amends, then return and make your offering to God.

Mark well the words “angry with his brother without a cause.”  Some have cause.  St. James charges, “O vain man” and St. Paul “thou fool.”  Jesus Himself says to His adversaries, “O fools, and slow of heart.”

There is a righteous anger, that directed against those who slander God and the corruption they bring into His creation.  But handle it with care.  A man told of meeting Mother Teresa and asking if she did not become angry at all the social injustice she had seen in her work in the slums.

She asked him, “Why should I expend energy in anger that I can expend in love?”  Mercy is usually a better choice than wrath.

Only when the requirement of the law is fulfilled – not destroyed but fulfilled – can grace pour forth in torrents from the throne on high.

In our passage, prison is hell, the destination of all who will not abandon their hostility toward God.  They will not go free until they have paid the last penny, and the last penny will never be paid.  Love God, love your neighbor – in this life.  Then the judgment.

And the Judge is Christ.  The One who fulfills the law is its sovereign interpreter.  Men may reject Him as Savior but none will escape Him as Judge.

Another story about another habitual crook: He rejoiced when he learned the lawyer who had represented him in his earlier misdeeds was now the judge before whom he would appear – until he heard these words from the bench: “It is not now my business to defend but to judge.  I will deal with you according to my oath of office.”

Our Lord Jesus intercedes for us today; He will pass sentence on us in the last day.

Grace means, for us, living in the balance.  God’s greatest gift to us demands of us judgment and discipline.  In the early church, they had a fine hullabaloo over the dietary laws.  Must a gentile live like a Jew to become a Christian?

St. Paul addressed the matter of eating food offered to idols, decreeing that since idols are nothing, food offered to them carries no contamination.  But if eating this food might cause a weaker brother to stumble, abstain.  This is not law but grace, demanding discernment and discipline.


We’ve all witnessed grace incarnate – if we’ve trained ourselves to look for it.  Marjorie and I were on the homeward tack, beating down I-45 well south of Dallas.  I pulled off for a final pit stop before we pitched up in Houston.

She went inside as I pumped gas.  We got back on the road, nothing apparently amiss, and covered three or four miles before we heard the siren.  Ask not for whom the siren shrills; it shrills for thee.  I pulled over.

The sheriff’s deputy was burly, and businesslike: driver’s license, proof of insurance.  Then he said, “Why didn’t you pay for the gas back there?”

Bonnie looked at Clyde and Clyde looked at Bonnie . . . and it hit us.  This was in the early days of that civilizational advance known as pay-at-the-pump.  This station didn’t have it yet.  She assumed I paid at the pump and I assumed she paid inside.

This was rural Texas.  I could hear the judge rumbling, “I’m gonna put you under that jail, son.”

The deputy ordered me to follow him back to the station, where I apologized profusely and ponied up.  The young lady was understanding.  The deputy, after monitoring the entire transaction, told me to be on my way.

I was guilty as sin; he could’ve booked me.  But the law worked and the breach of justice was healed, and I got grace.  And Bonnie beat the rap, too.

Under grace, how do we obtain the righteousness for which we hunger and thirst?  We join ourselves to the Righteous One.  In our epistle lesson for today, St. Paul sets out for us in Romans 6 the effect of our union with Christ, which makes us both receivers and judicious dispensers of His grace.

We have been baptized into His death, buried with Him in baptism so that we might rise from the dead with Him and walk in newness of life.

“What does being baptized into His death mean?” asked the fourth-century patriarch of Constantinople, John Chrysostom.  “It has to do with our dying as He did.  We do this by our baptism, for baptism is the cross.  What the cross is to Christ, baptism is to us.  Christ died in the flesh; we have died to sin.  Both are deaths, and both are real.”

Likewise, he continues, both resurrections are real: “Do you believe that Christ was raised from the dead?  Believe the same of yourself.  Just as His death is yours, so also is His resurrection; if you have shared in the one, you shall share in the other.  As of now, the sin is done away with.”

But we have a role to play, says St. Chrysostom: “Paul sets before us a demand: to bring about a newness of life by a changing of habits.  For when the fornicator becomes chaste, when the covetous person becomes merciful, when the harsh become subdued, a resurrection has taken place, a prelude to the final resurrection.

“How is it a resurrection?  It is a resurrection because sin has been mortified (meaning put to death), and righteousness has risen in its place; the old life has passed away, and new . . . life is now being lived.”

Beloved, the new life does not hang on a neat little list of rules for Boy Scouts but a framework for a life of repentance, thanksgiving, obedience and, in the end, adoration of God — for mature believers.  The New Testament sets out attitudes, not edicts.  Grace demands that we use the minds God gave us.

The law, misused, heaped self-recrimination on men’s heads; grace gurgles like a fount of forgiveness.  The law provoked men into bitter quarrels, grace slathers on the balm of unity in the Lord. The law channeled men into a maze with no way out; grace sweeps us up and away to the Morning Star.

Because the Righteous One died on the cross, our righteousness can exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees.  He is beckoning us to follow Him on a pilgrim’s journey into an enchanted place, that place called Grace, where newness of life flows into life everlasting.  Amen.



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Only By His Grace

The Fourth Sunday in Lent

Psalm 147, Ezekiel 39:21-29, Galatians 4:21-31, St. John 6:1-14

Only by His Grace

Our lessons for today bring to mind the story of the Shabbos elevators.  In New York City, some apartment buildings that house and some hospitals that serve observant Jews make these special elevators available.  These Jews refuse to press an elevator button on their Sabbath – from sundown on Friday until sundown on Saturday.

They say a provision of their law prohibits creating sparks and fires.  As far as I can tell, an electrical engineer would be forced to concede, however grudgingly, that they have a point.  It’s true that pressing the elevator button sets off a spark that delivers a signal through the wiring that tells the elevator’s brain to haul its tail to a certain floor.

Listen, I’m not clever enough to make this stuff up.

An observant Jew could take the stairs, of course, and some do.  But for the very old, the very young, the disabled and those who live in Gotham buildings so tall even Superman could not leap over them in a single bound, the stairs are not an option.  What to do?

In some buildings, the solution – if you want to call it that – has been to program one or more elevators to stop at every floor.  But slowing elevator traffic to a crawl has not proved a popular way to address the problem.  Many other tenants, including secular Jews, find the entire proposition just plain weird.

Cooling their heels in the lobby for an extra 20 or 30 minutes waiting for a lift chafes on them.  Remember, this is New York.  I hate to engage in civic profiling but New Yorkers are not famous for their patience.

Some buildings have gone to express elevators, which stop at pre-selected or pre-requested floors.  But Heshey Jacob, general manager of a building that does not have express service, told a reporter that refitting elevators is not a casual undertaking.

“People like to make recommendations,” he said, “but when you tell them it costs a million dollars, there’s nobody home.”  Oy vay.

Some residents hop an elevator like hopping a freight, riding it to a destination someone else has chosen, hopping off and then hoofing it on the stairs the rest of the way to their floor.  But not everyone can do that.

And one further complication is that some rabbis have ruled that Shabbos elevators are not kosher, so to speak.  They’re completely off-limits.

How’s Granny going to take Oodles the poodle out for his morning constitutional and get back up to her 17th-floor flat?  This is not a trivial matter.

The reporter who wrote the story that educated me on this fascinating subject did an excellent job.  But she failed to ask one question for which I’d like an answer: Do you honestly believe God cares?

That’s essentially the question St. Paul is putting to the non-observant Christians who were considering whether to revert to observant Judaism in Galatia in our epistle lesson.  You were once slaves to the law.  You know the travail of tip-toeing through a thicket of rules each and every day.  And even if you could negotiate it successfully you would not have saved yourself.

But before we confront the new let us consider the old.  Ezekiel, prophet of Yahweh, speaks to us.

God’s people Israel languish in exile in the land of Babylon, forever cut off, it appears, from their homeland, that good land their God had given them.

But now comes Ezekiel with an oracle of hope.  In his oracle, Israel has returned from her foreign captivity and is dwelling in peace in her land of milk and honey.  Unbeknownst to Israel, Gog, the mysterious potentate of Magog, is organizing an invasion from the north.

Yet while Gog schemes in secret, Yahweh, God of Israel, is keeping His own counsel as well.  His people may be unarmed but their Sovereign Lord is not without resources.

Gog’s mighty force attacks, intent on plundering the defenseless nation. But Yahweh had visited plagues on Egypt to rescue His people of an earlier day from one catastrophe and He has more in store for Gog and his minions.

And not plagues alone but earthquakes, hail, fire and brimstone, to name only some of the arrows in the divine quiver.  Mountains tremble and crumble.  Gog’s grand army does not depart with the spoils of war.  These once-mighty men, in fact, do not depart at all.

You know by now, of course, that the prophets are not for the squeamish.  Ezekiel is not one to pull rhetorical punches.  It’s best to read him without much on your stomach.  Following the bloodbath, it takes Israel seven months to bury all of the enemy’s dead, even with the help of the birds of the air and the beasts of the field.

In the usual course of things, men sacrifice animals and feast on their flesh.  Not today.  God has sacrificed the men to the beasts.  And for a final flourish, the prophet reports that Israel will take seven years using up all of its captured weapons for firewood.  God’s people, who seemed so vulnerable, with God’s help have annihilated God’s enemies.

And now, who can deny it?  Yahweh, Lord of Israel, is Lord of all.

That’s the background.  I’m finally through clearing my throat.  We arrive at last at our Old Testament lesson for this morning, these few verses that draw conclusions from the bitter lesson of Gog of Magog.

First, Israel gets lucky – or should I say “blessed”?  She learns a lesson, too, and survives to put her new knowledge to good use – if only she will.  If, in the long years of her foreign captivity, any doubts as to her Lord’s ability to deliver her have grown, fungus-like, within her, Yahweh smashes them and grinds them into the dust along with Gog and his soldiers.

Do not trifle with the God of Israel, or His covenant people.  He will defend those He loves.

At the same time, the surrounding nations learn the truth about this God of Israel when they grasp that He has judged His own people as well as them.  Unlike their pint-sized localized gods who are, inevitably, less than their human creators, Yahweh metes out justice for all.  He does not stint when it comes to His chosen people.

In fact, He holds His own to a higher standard, chastising them with deportation and exile when they defy and deny Him.  The creation confronts a new paradigm of thought, a God of perfect justice precisely apportioned.  And this justice for all proclaims His sovereignty over all.

The redeemed of the Lord of our day, beloved, have something here to ponder.  We must not gloat in His victories over our enemies for we, too, live in constant need of His mercies, without which we, too, would be consumed.

Ezekiel is singing a new song.  For chapter after chapter he has raged, declaring that Yahweh will withhold His mercies from this stiff-necked people Israel.  Don’t ponder for very long how much they’re like us; it will give you the chills.  But now the prophet relays a sweet refrain from on high: “I will . . . have mercy on the whole house of Israel . . .”

In her new peace under God’s protection Israel will be a light that shows the world that His grace proclaims His glory as eloquently as His justice has.  In all ways and in all places and in all times, His name is holy.

No more hiding His face from His people.  Now, “I will not hide My face from them anymore . . .” When He hid His face they could not offer acceptable worship, their only approach to their Lord.  Now the door to the divine presence has been flung open to them.

No more does He say, “I will pour out my wrath on Israel.”  Now He says, “I shall have poured out my Spirit on the house of Israel.”  Like cool, clear water, His Spirit will wash over His bedraggled people, refreshing them.

What an odd, almost jarring, choice of lessons during Lent.  For a Christian, hope springs eternal, of course, but during Lent are not more somber matters supposed to occupy our thoughts?  Perhaps not today.

Dating back to what were days of yore even in Dr. Cranmer’s time, this fourth Sunday in Lent, the midpoint of the season, has been known as “Refreshment Sunday.”  It offers us a brief respite from the days of fasting and abstinence.  We get a little wink from God, encouraging us to persevere as we trail our Lord along the Via Dolorosa.

Our collect drips grace.  “Grant . . . that we, who for our evil deeds do worthily deserve to be punished, by the comfort of thy grace may mercifully be relieved . . .”

Like Israel in her Babylonian captivity, we have done nothing to merit God’s favor.  But like her as well, we may hope and even expect to be mercifully relieved of our punishment through His grace.

I can think of only one thing wrong with grace: Some folks refuse to accept it.  And so while God’s grace drenches our lesson from Galatians as well, we find the Apostle Paul begging members of the church in Galatia not to scurry back to bondage under the law but to receive the gift of grace and the freedom it confers.

He implores them: Choose the free woman Sarah over the slave woman Hagar; the son born through promise Isaac over the child born according to the flesh Ishmael; freedom over slavery; the heavenly Jerusalem over the present Jerusalem which teems with Jews who have not turned to Jesus.

Isn’t grace a better deal than law?  Isn’t it preferable for us who deserve punishment for our sins that we “by the comfort of thy grace may mercifully be relieved”?

Trouble is, some find more comfort in a list of rules.  I’ve known prison inmates who found comfort in incarceration.  Yes, I’m serious. They were hellions on the outside and choir boys on the inside.  When rules hung over their heads like daggers, they obeyed them almost cheerfully.

Secretly, I suspect, they had yearned for a structure they had never known and could not locate or create for themselves on the outside.

The Galatians are hardly alone.  Boys and girls of all ages and places have found law more user-friendly than grace.  Last Sunday we considered the superiority of a thorough knowledge of God’s will as He has given it to us in His word over a private hotline that reaches into the heavens.

God rarely deals in details.  He prefers that His people immerse themselves in the Scriptures and grow mature in discerning the path He would have them tread.

Just as some find it more agreeable to imagine themselves wired into the divine mind, many find grace ill-suited to their needs.  Perhaps its most annoying feature is that it demands abject humility.  Because we cannot earn it we may take no credit for acquiring it.  Grace demands that we surrender ourselves to God’s mercy and accept His verdict.

It’s a tough sell in the “me generation.”  A billboard I saw on a Texas highway offered a bold, if inadvertent, indictment of our culture.  It showed a tipsy fellow blowing into a breathalyzer, the contraption the police use to measure intoxication.  The message read: “You just blew $10,000.”

The advertising mind behind the sign knows his audience well.  He appealed not to civic duty, a responsibility to exercise reasonable caution to avoid harming our fellow citizens.  Rather, live by the law and avoid reprisal.  Do what’s best for you.

In this climate, this grace that decrees that none should boast looks a moldy thing best left stuffed in the attic.

It has other defects as well.  It’s not hard to violate God’s grace but it’s darned near impossible to make a public display of doing so.  How do you hit a moving target, breach a norm when opinions differ on what the norm is?

The “me generation” adores the extravagant, defiant gesture.  So it is that our cult of celebrity parades before them an endless procession of superstar singers, actors and jocks who leverage fame and wealth into a life outside the rules.  I can’t turn on my laptop without learning of the latest arrest, probation revocation hearing or rehab visit.

Their antics testify that they want to be spanked.  Because no one will tan their famous little fannies they carry on and on in this mournful rebellion, serving their fans the vicarious thrills of the life of the rebel without a cause.  With no rules to break, would life be worth living?

In Galatia, Paul’s converts are straddling the fence.  Grace looked good in the store window but buyer’s remorse has set in.  Maybe the price was too high.  Of course, they’re not thinking about who paid it.  The apostle has endured shipwreck, lashings, cold, hunger, thirst and more for the sake of the gospel of grace.  He knows how precious it is.

For he knows something more.  He knows his Lord Jesus paid a far higher price.

Once the law has shown us our need for grace, we can take the summary of it our Lord left us – love God, love your neighbor – and be done with the particulars.  We now have the formula for growth in grace.

Beloved, we must have it and we must live it because we will never make ourselves living sacrifices if we follow a list of rules and withhold those parts of ourselves the rules do not address directly.  This is the way of the Pharisee.  He justifies himself by offering a tithe of mint and anise and cummin and ignores justice and mercy and faith.

He refuses God the heartfelt devotion that will never be reduced to a code.  Man’s heart is a laboratory of legalism.  Legalism allows us to segment ourselves and parcel out the pieces we allot to God and retain the rest.

Trouble is, God lays claim to every cubic inch of our hearts, minds and souls.  He clings to the quaint notion that everything He created and redeemed is His.  An obstinate sort of Chap, this God.  He seems never to budge.  Praise His glorious name because He does not.  Only by His loving, unyielding grace may we be holy as He is holy.

Only a week ago I read a columnist making sport of President Carter for the zillionth time for his infamous “I have known lust in my heart” remark.  Now, I’m not a member of the Jimmy Carter fan club but it grieves me to see him mocked for that statement.

He was saying that he knows he could follow the rules scrupulously, keeping his body undefiled, and still grieve his Lord.  If our heart is a swamp of sin it matters not at all to God that we’re clean on the outside, whitewashed tombs.  That we don’t push an elevator button on the Sabbath.  Oy vay.

It’s our heart God wants.  That was true in Ezekiel’s day.  Yahweh had no use for the myriad animal carcasses offered on the altar in his house if the worshiper did not regard his sacrifice as the payment of his life in just recompense for his sins.  It was true when Paul wrote to the Galatians and it remains true today.

And now as we prepare our hearts for Holy Communion on this Refreshment Sunday, let us take our refreshment from the knowledge that we are not in bondage to the law but have found freedom in Christ, that most magnificent expression of God’s free grace.  Amen.

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