Chris Taylor’s Sermon – 3/16/08
The Voice of the World
Discerning God’s Will, Part IV
1 Samuel 17:19-27
Luke 6:6-11
The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning is one of my favorite books – it would be on my short list of favorites; although at this point it has been around for quite a while. In terms of its impact on me, I’d group it with books like Dallas Willard’s The Divine Conspiracy, Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies, Brian McLaren’s A New Kind of Christian, and more recently, Rob Bell’s Velvet Elvis. These are books that touch some truth of the Christian journey; books that put to words so much of what I’ve felt and struggled to articulate through the years. And with the possible exception of Willard’s book, they are all pretty accessible. At one point in his book, Manning talks about a gathering he once attended.
On a sweltering summer night in New Orleans, sixteen recovering alcoholics and drug addicts gather for their weekly AA meeting. Although several members attend other meetings during the week, this is their home group. They have been meeting on Tuesday nights for several years and know each other well… Nobody fools anybody else. Everyone is there because he or she made a slobbering mess of his or her life and is trying to put the pieces back together. Each meeting is marked by levity and seriousness. Some members are wealthy, others middle class or poor. Some smoke, others don’t. Most drink coffee. Some have graduate degrees, others have no finished high school. For one small hour the high and the mighty descend and the lowly rise. The result is fellowship.
Immediately Phil’s hand shot up. “As you all know. Last week I went up to Pennsylvania to visit family and missed the meeting. You also know I have been sober for seven years. Last Monday I got drunk and stayed drunk for five days.”
The only sound in the room was the drip of Mr. Coffee in the corner… Phil’s voice choked and he lowered his head. I glanced around the table – moist eyes, tears of compassion, soft sobbing the only sound in the room.
“The same thing happened to me, Phil, but I stayed drunk for a year.”
“Thank God you’re back.”
“Boy, that took a lot of guts.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“Heck, I never made even close to seven years.”
As the meeting ended, Phil stood up. He felt a hand on his shoulder, another on his face. Then kisses on his eyes, forehead, neck, and cheek. “You old ragamuffin,” said Denise. “Let’s go. I’m treating you to a banana split at Tastee-Freeze.”
That’s a long story. Maybe too long for this setting. And perhaps it is just a little too much for some of you – the soul-baring; the words of encouragement; the kisses on Phil’s forehead and cheek. But there is something that takes hold of me here; something that speaks to me of Jesus.
It is striking, isn’t it, that the religious leaders in this text are more concerned about whether Jesus is going to break the Sabbath than they are about the need and suffering of this man with the withered hand? For them it is all about being righteous. It is about getting every jot and tittle just right. There is no place in their lives for guys like Phil – guys who have blown it; guys who have fallen yet again.
No Country For Old Men was awarded the Oscar for best picture at this most recent Academy Awards. I wouldn’t recommend it – it is one of the bleakest and most violent movies I’ve seen in years. But as you would expect for a “best picture” it does have its points.
The central character embodies so much of what we value today. He exudes a kind of quiet competence. He is bright, tough, experienced and when things are at their worst, he isn’t the kind of person to go crying for help. He is self-contained. He doesn’t need anyone. He is going to take care of things on his own.
One of the other characters, played by Tommy Lee Jones, knows better. He is watching the story unfold and can see pretty clearly where it is all heading. When the guy’s wife assures him there isn’t anything her husband can’t handle, he shakes his head ruefully. He tells her, “I know he thinks he can handle this, but he doesn’t know what he is up against.”
The protagonist is a kind of everyman (or every-person – his very name, Llewellyn, is both male and female). He is that part of us that wants to believe we can make it on our own; that it is just a matter of will power, of trying harder. But the movie’s message is clear: life, like those vast, barren plains of Texas which are a constant backdrop, is just a whole lot bigger than any one of us.
I think that is what Elliot Spitzer discovered for himself this past year. He was as bright, and tough and as independent as they come. As any number of people on Wall Street would probably tell you, he was ruthless and ambitious as Attorney General. The bigger the fight, the more he liked it. There was just nothing soft about him. It is hard to picture Elliot Spitzer sitting down with anyone, even his wife, and talking about where he is struggling, or where he has some questions. He gives the impression of absolute control.
It was that control that began to get him into trouble with the New York legislature right from the start of his term as governor. It was that control which would have isolated him more and more from those around him. It was, finally, that control, that broke down so explosively in his ongoing involvement with a prostitution ring.
The need to be perfect, the need to be in control, is like a suit of armor. It will protect us from the outside, but it will also contain everything going on within. Without an outlet, the stuff inside will build and build until finally it blows through some point of weakness.
We were never created to live in isolation. God didn’t design us to make it on our own. Scripture tells us that we were created in the image of God. What do we see when we look towards God? We see three persons in One; we see the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit living in relationship; living in this intimate dance of shared communion. It is that same kind of intimacy, that same kind of relationship, that you and I need if we are going to thrive.
Today is Palm Sunday; the beginning of Holy Week – of Jesus’ journey towards the cross. It is a week that begins in triumph with Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, moves through the tragedy of his crucifixion and death, and culminates in the defining event of our Christian faith: Jesus’ resurrection.
Why did those religious leaders want to crucify him? What was it about him that represented such a threat?
We see it right here in our lesson. They were all about righteousness. They were about that sense of control which knowing all the rules can bring – the illusion that we can get it right if we just try hard enough.
But Jesus knew better. He never says the Law is wrong or that righteousness is something we should ignore. He doesn’t go there. What he says, rather, is that there is something far more important: loving God and loving each other. What he makes clear is that it is the relationships that matter most. For Jesus, human need always trumps.
Jesus healed that man with the withered hand, and those leaders were outraged. He was challenging everything they held most dear. Our text tells us they left, v. 11, “filled with fury and discuss[ing] what they might do to [him].” Matthew and Mark put it more bluntly (Mk. 3:6), “The Pharisees went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.”
Why was Jesus crucified? It seems strange to say, but the text is clear: it was because he cared; it was because for him the needs of a guy like Phil (for all his brokenness) always came first.
That’s why I see Jesus there in Manning’s story. Those people in that meeting got it right. They weren’t there to judge. This wasn’t about Phil pulling himself together and trying a little harder. No, they were there to listen, to care, to love. The Law can’t save us. Trying harder isn’t going to get us where we need to go. What saves is God’s healing touch – a touch we know and experience through the love of those around us.
The Jesus revealed in these pages is a Jesus who longs to heal. We all carry our wounds into this place. For some of us, the wounds are very visible. For others, the majority I suspect, the wounds are carried deep within. We are Christ’s body. We are to be the instrument of God’s healing touch. We become that touch as we make the choice to love each other. We experience that touch when we begin to open ourselves to these sisters and brothers around us.