Forgiveness; Proper 18, September 7, 2014, The Rev. Dr. John H. Eastwood

Teach me, O LORD, the way of your statutes, *
Give me understanding, and I shall keep your law; *

In my preparation this week for today’s service, I looked at the calendar and remembered

that this Thursday is the thirteenth year anniversary of that terrible day that has come to be

referred to as 9/11. As I studied the scriptures for today the themes of forgiveness, repentance, and

the commandment to love one’s neighbor as oneself arose. Those themes we find summed up in

the psalm for today which I chose as text for this sermon. Then I laid all that aside and thought

back to the discussions many of us remember in the days following that terrible time. There was

one conversation that sticks with me far more than anything else. It relates squarely on our texts

The conversation was an onstage TV panel discussion with audience about who made the

attacks and why they did what they did. It was about how we as a nation should respond and what

were our choices in responding. The panel was made up of prominent people from all walks of

life. What makes this conversation memorable is the statement of one panel member and the

response of the audience. He said, “In all the things we have said as a panel, I find there is

something missing. There is another response I think we should consider.” He paused, as if to

summon up some courage, then said, “I think we need to think about forgiveness.” The response

of the crowd was loud and predictable. A very angry and bordering on disgust “No way!” was

heard around the room. And it became a moment I have never forgotten.

I have never forgotten it for two reasons. The first reason comes from our understanding

that our responses to things that happen which hurt us often produce anger in one way or another.

It is our first line of defense as human beings and we will hold onto it as longs as we need to until

something happens to help us resolve and let go of it. The other reason is that there are just some

things we never get over. It may be a loss of relationship or a work suddenly disrupted. It could

be that we may know that we need to forgive someone, or allow ourselves to be forgiven, but the

resentments are so strong ­ whether they are about personal loss, or fear based prejudices ­ that

Unfortunately, we like to dwell on the negative. We tell ourselves over and over that we

should not have been treated in a certain way, or we plot imaginary approaches to revenge.

Shakespeare caught this trait in Brutus’ speech at Caesar’s death. “The evil that men do lives after

them; the good is oft interred with their bones.” In other words, because we are human, we find it

difficult to free ourselves from the negative in past events, and in people, including ourselves. Yet

healthy lives depend on our ability to let go. This is what we need.

The psalmist echoes our need and the path we need to take as he sings:

Teach me, O LORD, the way of your statutes, *

Give me understanding, and I shall keep your law; *

With wholeness of heart, body and mind, the psalmist sings the prayer to God, seeking to

be free of controlling darkness. He seeks to let go of the past that imprisons and move forward to a

future where resentment and revenge and have no place. In response, the lessons today remind us

of the great gift of love we are given and reminds us that forgiveness is the key that unlocks grace-
filled living. In the life of the Church, we see how this is played out. If we look back to the second

century of its existence, “See how these Christians love one another.” was the pagan observation of

the new quality of life among the members of the new sect, alive and growing in Paul’s Rome.

Since those days, the practice of Christian love through forgiveness has always been the Church’s

calling. It is a gift that Jesus gives his church, one not always easy to do. Yet we pray frequently,

sometimes daily, “And forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.” It has not

been an easy path and the stumbling blocks are many.

Sometimes the church is blind to human need, absorbed in power struggles, and

preoccupied with itself. But they do not defeat us, they only make the task of forgiveness more

real. Sometimes newcomers to the church are turned away by church conflict. Another church or a

good place for brunch with friends might be a better alternative. But spiritual growth undertaken

seriously means learning to deal with the dark side of our nature and giving attention to how we as

a community can more faithfully use the gifts we are given. That is why our program here at St

John’s of listening in small groups has great potential for the growth of our own congregation. It is

one way to pursue concerns or issues that would divide us, and to find resolution. And there is

another opportunity for healing. At our healing station here at the Chapel steps, we can ask for

prayer to help our ability to forgive; healing takes many forms, spiritual as well as physical.

If we search the scriptures for our understanding about this love, we can find no better

place and no fewer words than those uttered at the cross. “Father, forgive them for they know not

what they do.” Martin Luther King called this “love at its best.” When Jesus was being plunged

into deep agony, and when human beings had stooped to their worst, God’s Son uttered words, not

of revenge, or thoughts of righteous wrath, but despised and rejected as he was, he cried, “forgive

them!” In him there was no darkness but only light, the light of forgiveness. And that is his great

gift to us. He says here, “forgive”, take it and use it.

In the reconciliation work after apartheid in South Africa led by Archbishop, there is a

wonderfully moving story told by him. His Committee held hearings for the nation in which

people were enabled to come forth to give voice through personal story, to their need to be

reconciled as a community. One time a police sergeant was confronted with some atrocities he had

committed. In one circumstance, he had taken a black man into captivity and shot him, point

blank, in the presence of his wife. Later, the same officer captured this wife’s only son, killed him

and brutalized his body. He admitted that he had done these things in court.

Then the wife and mother who was present was asked what she wanted in this situation.

She said, “I want three things. First, I want the sergeant to know that God forgives him, and so do

I. Second, I want him to come to my house one day each week and sit with me because I no longer

have anyone for a family. And third, I want to come forward now and hug the sergeant to prove

that my love is real.” The sergeant fainted ­ and the courtroom began quietly to sing, “Amazing

They, like the psalmist, had understanding. They understood how important it was to be

free of such evil. They understood, too, how free this woman felt by throwing aside her need for

revenge and accepting God’s forgiveness as a gift to be passed on. Is it possible that we know this

It is amazing what can happen to us when we allow ourselves to be embraced by love. It is

amazing how the grace of forgiveness can free us to walk with a lighter step, help us to walk

across the bridge over the river of pain that too often divides us from each other. Forgiveness is

God’s amazing grace. AMEN

Going into the vineyard; Proper 20, September 21, 2014; The Rev'd Richard Smith, Ph.D.

This past week I visited Ferguson, Missouri. I went to the place where Michael Brown was killed. I talked with one of his cousins, to several young people and mothers, to community organizers, and clergy.

Much of what I saw was not surprising. Since I’m a little cynical in my old age, since I’ve seen before how justice has worked--or not--in similar situations, I was not surprised that their consensus is that the officer who shot Michael will go free, that justice will not be served here.

Nor was I surprised at the many tears, the rage and the huge fear in the various young people I spoke with. Michael Brown’s death has opened up old wounds they have suffered for years from the police, and after the most recent trauma they had just been through with Michael's killing, the tears and rage and fear seemed like healthy and legitimate reactions. So these things did not surprise me.

But here’s what did surprise me. Today in Ferguson, so many people have been lifted out of their own little worlds into something very big.
As soon as he heard the news, a thirty-something white man they call Woo, who had moved away from Ferguson years ago, quit his construction job in Arkansas to come back home and work as a community organizer. “We’re all brothers and sisters,” he said.
A young African-American man named Mel who has had a bumpy ride on the planet--he’s a former gang-banger, a drug addict with a prison record and one failed relationship after another--is now part of a 24/7 encampment witnessing to what happened to Michael Brown and demanding justice. “In my whole life,” he told me, “this is the best thing I’ve ever done.”
A woman named Francesca whom I passed in a church hall was on her way to a meeting to learn what mothers like her could do to change the Ferguson City Council and get a new police chief. “This political stuff is all new to me,” she said, “But I gotta learn these things for my daughter’s sake.”
Then there was twenty-two year old Marcellus Buckley, a cousin of Michael Brown who was killed. To deal with his own sadness and anger and that of his community, he began writing poetry. He’s now known as “the poet of Ferguson” and has learned to say very powerfully what people in this small town are feeling.
Over and over again I saw people moving out of their own smaller worlds--their day-to-day concerns of earning a paycheck, buying groceries, doing the laundry--into something much larger, a deeper connection with each other and the larger world, an impulse to make things better for the many young African-American and Latino men who are far too often traumatized by the police. They have stepped into a much larger story, one in which they each have an important role to play.

It’s what happens in today’s gospel, which is a controversial one in a capitalist society like ours.

Laborers are hired, some early in the morning, some at noon, others at the end of the day. What sticks in our craw, and what is no doubt the focus of most sermons on this passage, is that they all get paid a full day’s wage, they all get paid the same. It doesn’t seem fair. If this gospel were trying to lay out best business practices for dealing with employees rather than a spiritual truth, there would be lawsuits.

But hold that thought, that controversy, for another time--and another sermon.

Today I’d like to focus on what’s on the landowner’s mind. For him, what matters is not what you get paid—he knows he’s going to give you everything you need, so that’s not a problem. Nor does he care about where you happen to be in the food chain, how high you’ve made it in the corporate ladder or the hierarchy. His concern is simply that you work in the vineyard, that you not waste your life on things that don’t really matter.

When he sees workers standing idle on the corner, he is pained. “Why are you standing here idle all day? You! Go into the vineyard.”This is a parable about the bigger picture, the larger story in which each of us is invited to play a part. Jesus calls it “the kingdom of heaven”. It is the dream of a new world, a new human reality. It is magnificent and wonderful. And like those day laborers eager to find work, like so many of the people of Ferguson in this critical moment, we, in our deepest hearts, are eager to be part of it. In our better moments, none of us wants to fritter away our precious time on this planet on things that don’t matter. It’s in our DNA. We want to live and live fully. And we want to be part of this great dream that God is bringing about all around us.

Ask people what they want in a job, and meaningfulness looms large. For decades, Americans have ranked purpose as their top priority -- above promotions, income, job security, and hours. Studs Turkel once interviewed hundreds of people in a striking array of jobs. He concluded that for us as for all people, work is a search "for daily meaning as well as daily bread." Yet all too often, we feel that our work doesn't matter. "Most of us,” he writes, “have jobs that are too small for our spirit. Jobs are not big enough for people."

This gospel is meant to bring us to a moment of clarity. It’s the kind of clarity people sometimes get when a tragedy like Michael Brown’s death happens.

In such a moment, we have a chance of getting our priorities straight. Suddenly all business-as-usual chatter in our heads doesn’t seem quite so important anymore. How much money do I make, how much weight I need to lose to fit into my jeans, how I compare with someone else. What does matter is that you are part of something vast and wonderful. You are not standing by idle, wasting your life. No, you, in your own way--in the way you do your job, or care for your friends and loved ones, or take part in the many ministries here at St. Johns’--are helping to build the kingdom of God. This, just knowing this, is all the reward you need. It’s what you were born for.
Because you’ve discovered something: That the Lord of the vineyard has said to you as to the laborers in today’s gospel, as to the people of Ferguson in this critical moment, “You, Go and work in my vineyard.”

Forgiveness; Proper 19, September 14, 2014; The Rev'd. Richard Smith, Ph.D.

OK, did you notice how inappropriately this morning’s gospel reading ends? “And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt. So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart."

OK, lighten up! For God’s sake, we’re celebrating a wedding here today. What’s with the harsh and threatening words? What’s with this talk about torture? (I mean, I know these guys met 35 years ago in a leather bar, and they might know a few things about a certain kind of torture…. But still!) Can’t we just lighten up?

This is the gospel reading assigned in our lectionary to this Sunday of the year, and, to be honest, I thought about swapping it out for something a little less harsh, something a little more joyful in keeping with the occasion. But on reflection, and even later after discussing this reading with Richard and Daniel, I decided to keep it, because I think it has a lot to say about marriage and, in fact, about any life lived in communion with others. Let me tell you why...

First, a word about the context in which this passage appears. It follows last Sunday’s reading about what to do when another member of the church hurts or offends you. In that reading we were given a procedure, a set of steps, aimed at reconciliation. Many centuries later these steps were echoed in the Truth and Reconciliation process that Archbishop Tutu presided over in South Africa.

First you have a one-to-one conversation to get the issue out on the table.

If this doesn’t arrive at an understanding and a true reconciliation, then witnesses are brought in to mediate the dispute, to sort out what happened and recommend what can be done to bring things back together.

If this doesn’t work, the larger church is brought in to bring the two people together, probably using more formal and authoritative structures.

If even this does not work, the offending person is seen as someone in need of outreach to bring them back into the fold. In Jesus’ words, they should be seen as tax collectors or Gentiles, people who were special objects of the community’s relentless care.

This is the context for today’s gospel, and it presents one side of the equation of reconciliation. You don’t simply sweep an injustice under the rug. You confront it and work it through in the hope of achieving reconciliation.

Here is how Desmond Tutu described the thinking behind South Africa’s later version of this gospel strategy:

Forgiving and being reconciled to our enemies or our loved ones are not about pretending that things are other than they are. It is not about patting one another on the back and turning a blind eye to the wrong. True reconciliation exposes the awfulness, the abuse, the pain, the hurt, the truth. It could even sometimes make things worse. It is a risky undertaking, but in the end it is worthwhile, because in the end only an honest confrontation with reality can bring real healing. Superficial reconciliation can bring only superficial healing.

So that’s what we heard in last week’s gospel, this strategy for reconciliation.

And in today’s gospel, Peter responds to all this with a practical question: What happens if a brother or sister offends me over and over, how many times must I forgive? He suggests seven times--more generous than what the religious leaders of his day suggested. For them, the max was three.

Peter here is asking about the limits of forgiveness. The same question many Americans still ask all these years after 9/11. At what point is it OK to strike back, to even the score?

Peter is ready to retaliate; he just wants to know when.

Jesus replies that we must forgive not seven times, but seventy-seven times--meaning you never stop forgiving. It’s an ongoing part of your practice, something you do everyday, perhaps every hour.

When someone has hurt us, it often leaves a wound and a painful memory. Over time, the pain from that wound can return, that painful memory can bubble to the surface again and again.

And each time we feel the pain of that wound once again, each time we become aware of that recurring memory, we have a choice to make. We can choose to dwell on it, picking at that wound, turning that painful memory over and over in a downward spiral of sadness and anger and depression. When we go this way, it is not God who is torturing us. It is we who are torturing ourselves by feeding this heavy darkness in our hearts.

We can choose to go this way. Or we can choose to let go, to move on, to forgive.

Sister Helen Prejean, in her book Dead Man Walking, writes about a man whose son was murdered. When he arrived in the field with the sheriff's deputies to identify his son, he immediately knelt by his boy's body and prayed the Lord's Prayer. When he came to the words: "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us," he realized what a profound commitment he was making. He later told Sister Helen, "Whoever did this, I must forgive them." Though it has been difficult not to be overcome by bitterness and feelings of revenge that well up from time to time, this man said that each day, for the rest of his life, he knows he has to pray and struggle for forgiveness. Not seven times, but seventy-seven times.

Jesus extends his teaching about forgiveness with a story about how to become a forgiving person. We become forgiving this by allowing ourselves to receive forgiveness.  This is something the unforgiving servant in today’s gospel never got…

The master had forgiven his overwhelming debt, but this servant never really let that forgiveness in, never let it transform his heart. How do we know this? By watching how he treats a fellow servant who was indebted to him. He seizes him by the throat, demands that he pay up. Even after the other servant falls down and pleads for mercy, he has him thrown into prison.

If this first servant had fully grasped how profoundly he himself had been forgiven by his master, if he had allowed himself to experience the full force of that forgiveness, it would have transformed him, making him forgiving toward his fellow servant.

Because forgiveness is something that flows. It flows first into us from God and from others, and then it flows through us to others. The person who really knows how to forgive is the one who really knows what it means to be forgiven. The one who forgives little has not really allowed herself to be forgiven.

Once a reporter asked Pope Francis “Who are you? Who are you really, at your deepest core?”  Francis sat back in his chair and thought very hard for a few moments, then he said, “I am a sinner who is deeply loved and forgiven by God.”

That’s how he understands himself and his deepest identity. A sinner loved and forgiven by God.

If it’s true that forgiveness is something that flows, then maybe it’s no surprise that the word most frequently spoken by this man in his sermons and talks is “mercy”. Francis knows very deeply what it means to be forgiven, and that forgiveness flows through him, and makes him in turn merciful to others. Forgiveness flows.

A word about marriage. This sacrament is custom-designed not for gods or angels but for human beings. Without at least some degree of forgiveness, marriage becomes a long-term endurance contest. But with forgiveness at it’s very core, a marriage can conquer any obstacles life may throw at us.

“Forgiveness, “ Henri Nouwen writes, “is the name of love practiced among people who love poorly.” He goes on to say, “The hard truth is that all [of us] love poorly. We need to forgive and be forgiven every day, every hour increasingly. That is the great work of love among the fellowship of the weak that is the human family.”

The fellowship of the weak. I like that. It’s a great term for the church that Jesus is describing in today’s gospel. It’s also a great term for marriage. A fellowship of the weak in which we all love poorly, in which we must all be forgiven and forgive.

A friend once told me a metaphor for marriage. It is like a particular kind of rock polisher. It’s a cylinder that spins around and around at very high speeds. Into the cylinder you drop the rocks, and they collide and crash into each other. It’s a violent way to polish stones. But at the end of the process, the stones are truly and exquisitely beautiful, precious gems, a sight to behold.

That’s kind of how marriage is, this very human fellowship of the weak in which we crash into each other, saying things we never thought we’d hear ourselves say--sometimes words beautiful and loving and romantic, but also at times words of deep pain and hurt and anger. Sometimes it involves confrontation, hard conversations, maybe a little counseling. But the miracle is that in this sometimes turbulent way, we and our spouses and our marriages become beautiful and exquisite.

Don’t take my word for it. Just look at a few of the elder couples in this room: Liz and Ed, Leah and Cecil, Stoner and Darryl, Jack and Judy.

You see what I’m saying: In and through this sometimes turbulent fellowship of the weak we call marriage, we become beautiful and exquisite.

Forgiveness. It’s an essential part of this rapidly spinning and profoundly joyful, sometimes giddy and sometimes turbulent way that we humans love.

After 35 years, Daniel and Richard know a lot about these things. And today in this liturgy of commitment we lift them up and say thank you for speaking to us about God through your life together through the ups and downs of all these years. And we say congratulations, and may all your love and joy and forgiveness continue to flow for you--and for us--for many, many more years.

Going to Jerusalem; Proper 17, August 31, 2014; The Rev'd. Dr. Richard Smith

I’ll talk about today’s gospel in a moment, but first a pop quiz about the world we live in.
Question 1: Which country in the world has the largest percentage of its population behind bars?
The US. With 2.3 million prisoners, the US has more people in prison than China, which has a population four times the size of the US.Our incarceration rate is six to ten times greater than that of the other industrialized nations--and this is despite the fact that the crime rate in the US has dipped below the international norm.Clearly, since crime has been going down over the last few decades, this rising mass incarceration is not about stopping crime or reducing the crime rate. Something else must be going on here.
Question 2: Among racial groups in the US, which group is most likely to commit drug crimes?
Whites, especially white youth.Yet in some states, black men have been incarcerated for drug charges at rates twenty to fifty times greater than those of white men. When they come out of prison, they are often unable to find work, either because of discriminatory laws or because of the stigma of having been in prison.
Here’s how a Latino high school kid in our neighborhood explained it to me. If a white kid is found carrying a small amount of marijuana, the police drive him home, talk to his parents, the parents ground the kid for a few weeks, and that is the end of it. But if a Latino kid in the Mission is found with the same amount of marijuana, he has his head slammed against a wall. Next thing, he’s kneeling on the sidewalk, his hands cuffed behind his back, waiting to be taken to the police station.
As the recent events in Ferguson have brought into bold relief, the practices of law enforcement are often racially charged.
Bonus question: In the City of Oakland, what is the most frequently shoplifted item?
One study lists it as baby diapers. Many poor women of color have had no other way to get the things they need for their children. Many of these women, after being charged with shoplifting, have then been been torn from their children and sent to prison. For stealing diapers for their kids.
This is our context. We are living in an era that some have called the new Jim Crow, the days of racial segregation.
And our context resembles in many ways the context of Jesus where the victims of imprisonment and crucifixion by the Romans were nearly always the social outcasts and members of the lowest classes. These were often the same ones rejected by the religious authorities as unclean, as sinners.
It was with these outcasts that Jesus threw in his lot, hanging out with them, even eating and drinking with them. This triggered opposition, it outraged the religious and political authorities. Because Jesus so freely hung out with the outcasts of his day, many wanted to see him put to death.
In today’s gospel, Jesus ups the game. “I must go up to Jerusalem,” he tells the disciples. This is an imperative for him, and it is not trivial. 
Jerusalem is where the temple is; it is the very center of both religious and political authority for the Jews. It is the abuse of that very authority that Jesus has challenged in word and deed throughout his ministry. “Hypocrites,” he calls the religious leaders. “Whited sepulchres, you lay heavy burdens on peoples shoulders but will not move a finger to lift them.”
Jesus knows his words and actions have provoked opposition.
Jesus can do the math here. And in today’s gospel he knows that if he goes to Jerusalem, he will be tortured and killed. Heavy stuff. Nevertheless: “I must go to Jerusalem,” Jesus tells his disciples. This is, for him, an imperative.
A story. You may have heard the story about the beautiful village alongside a river. It was lovely and peaceful, with lovely homes and beautiful little parks and plazas. Great place to raise a family. And one day, something horrible began to happen. When they looked out over the river they saw human bodies floating down. Some of them were half alive. 
They brought them ashore and began nurturing them back to life. Others were already dead. They gave them a respectful burial. The next day, the same thing happened, more bodies. They began caring for those still alive, and buried those already dead. Next day and the day after, same thing.
This kept happening until one day, one of the townspeople said, “Maybe it’s not enough for us to care for these people as they are carried down the river. Maybe we also need to go to the top of the river to find out what’s killing all these people in the first place.”
I wonder if this is what Jesus is about in today’s gospel as he turns his face toward Jerusalem, the center of the very religious and political oppression that had been crushing the spirits of so many of the people of his day. “I must go up to Jerusalem,” he tells his disciples, I must go to the top of the river.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t stop there. When Peter takes him aside to argue with him--“Lord! This must never happen to you!”--Jesus tells him, “Get behind me, Satan!”
If some scholars are correct, what Jesus is saying to Peter in that moment is, “Peter, come and follow me, get behind me. Right now you’re following the way of the world, looking at this in the ordinary human way. But this is not the way of humans who are in touch with God.” 
What Peter needs is an alternate way of thinking and seeing. “Come,” Jesus says to Peter, “get behind me, follow me.” 
To make matters worse, Jesus adds that there will be consequences if he does this. He, like Jesus, will provoke opposition. He, like Jesus, might end up carrying a cross. 
What would it mean for Jesus to give that same invitation to us in our own day, in our own context, an invitation to follow him to Jerusalem, and possibly carrying a cross?
What would it mean for us to follow him to Jerusalem in these days of mourning the deaths of young black men, of the mass incarceration of people of color? What would it mean for us, in our own context, to go with him to Jerusalem? 
What would it mean for you as an individual in the context of your own life--your job, your relationships, and skills and pleasures and responsibilities. What would it mean for you to follow Jesus to Jerusalem?
What would it mean for us as a faith community to follow Jesus to Jerusalem?
I have an idea about the latter, for us as a community. It is of a piece with the Nightwalks many of us have done to reduce the gun violence here in the Mission. 
On the November ballot, the Safe Neighborhoods and Schools Act will appear. It’s called Prop 47. This initiative will make a big difference to many families here in the Mission, the Bayview, and other poor neighborhoods in the City. It was developed by our own District Attorney George Gascon. It has the support of many others in law enforcement and all the major faith leaders including our bishop are behind it. We at St. John’s could help it pass.
Prop 47 changes the lowest-level, nonviolent crimes, such as simple drug possession and petty theft, from felonies to misdemeanors. Since we won’t have to spend millions keeping all these people in prison, we’ll be able to redirect the savings to schools and crime prevention. I mentioned the moms in Oakland imprisoned for shoplifting diapers for their kids. This measure would return them to their kids and provide them with needed services to start over.
St. John’s can play a key role in passing this initiative, even though it might mean pushing the envelope a bit and moving slightly outside our comfort zones to do phone banking, voter registration, canvassing neighborhoods, meeting with various public officials to gain their support, talking about the initiative with our friends, financially supporting the effort. Even just a few volunteer hours can make a big difference. 
More details as they become available. For now, I just wanted to alert you to this possibility. I’ll be including information about Prop 47 in the weekly parish email, and I hope we can have a forum or two to kick it around among ourselves. For now, faith leaders throughout California are inviting us to be part of this important work, and I throw it out as one possible way for us, in our own context, to accompany Jesus on the way to Jerusalem.
However we choose to respond, the invitation of Jesus remains--to follow him to Jerusalem, even though it might mean carrying a cross as it did for him. 
This morning, Jesus the teacher beckons us as he did Peter to get back into following him. He wants to remind us of the paradox at the very heart of our faith as his disciples: that through this journey that sometimes involves carrying a cross, we find the deeper life that sustains us; we find resurrection.

THE THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST, PR 18, September 7, 2014, The Rev. John H. Eastwood

Teach me, O LORD, the way of your statutes,
Give me understanding, and I shall keep your law; 

In my preparation this week for today’s service, I looked at the calendar and remembered that this Thursday is the thirteenth year anniversary of that terrible day that has come to be referred to as 9/11. As I studied the scriptures for today the themes of forgiveness, repentance, and the commandment to love one’s neighbor as oneself arose. Those themes we find summed up in the psalm for today which I chose as text for this sermon. Then I laid all that aside and thought back to the discussions many of us remember in the days following that terrible time. There was one conversation that sticks with me far more than anything else. It relates squarely on our texts. The conversation was an onstage TV panel discussion with audience about who made the attacks and why they did what they did. It was about how we as a nation should respond and what were our choices in responding. The panel was made up of prominent people from all walks of life. What makes this conversation memorable is the statement of one panel member and the response of the audience. He said, “In all the things we have said as a panel, I find there is something missing. There is another response I think we should consider.” He paused, as if to summon up some courage, then said, “I think we need to think about forgiveness.” The response of the crowd was loud and predictable. A very angry and bordering on disgust “No way!” was heard around the room. And it became a moment I have never forgotten.

I have never forgotten it for two reasons. The first reason comes from our understanding that our responses to things that happen which hurt us often produce anger in one way or another.  It is our first line of defense as human beings and we will hold onto it as longs as we need to until something happens to help us resolve and let go of it. The other reason is that there are just some things we never get over. It may be a loss of relationship or a work suddenly disrupted. It could be that we may know that we need to forgive someone, or allow ourselves to be forgiven, but the resentments are so strong ­ whether they are about personal loss, or fear based prejudices ­ that Unfortunately, we like to dwell on the negative. We tell ourselves over and over that we should not have been treated in a certain way, or we plot imaginary approaches to revenge.

Shakespeare caught this trait in Brutus’ speech at Caesar’s death. “The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.” In other words, because we are human, we find it difficult to free ourselves from the negative in past events, and in people, including ourselves. Yet healthy lives depend on our ability to let go. This is what we need.

The psalmist echoes our need and the path we need to take as he sings:

Teach me, O LORD, the way of your statutes,
Give me understanding, and I shall keep your law; 

With wholeness of heart, body and mind, the psalmist sings the prayer to God, seeking to be free of controlling darkness. He seeks to let go of the past that imprisons and move forward to a future where resentment and revenge and have no place. In response, the lessons today remind us of the great gift of love we are given and reminds us that forgiveness is the key that unlocks grace-filled living. In the life of the Church, we see how this is played out. If we look back to the second century of its existence, “See how these Christians love one another.” was the pagan observation of the new quality of life among the members of the new sect, alive and growing in Paul’s Rome.

Since those days, the practice of Christian love through forgiveness has always been the Church’s calling. It is a gift that Jesus gives his church, one not always easy to do. Yet we pray frequently, sometimes daily, “And forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.” It has not been an easy path and the stumbling blocks are many.

Sometimes the church is blind to human need, absorbed in power struggles, and preoccupied with itself. But they do not defeat us, they only make the task of forgiveness more real. Sometimes newcomers to the church are turned away by church conflict. Another church or a good place for brunch with friends might be a better alternative. But spiritual growth undertaken seriously means learning to deal with the dark side of our nature and giving attention to how we as a community can more faithfully use the gifts we are given. That is why our program here at St John’s of listening in small groups has great potential for the growth of our own congregation. It is one way to pursue concerns or issues that would divide us, and to find resolution. And there is another opportunity for healing. At our healing station here at the Chapel steps, we can ask for prayer to help our ability to forgive; healing takes many forms, spiritual as well as physical.

If we search the scriptures for our understanding about this love, we can find no better place and no fewer words than those uttered at the cross. “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” Martin Luther King called this “love at its best.” When Jesus was being plunged into deep agony, and when human beings had stooped to their worst, God’s Son uttered words, not of revenge, or thoughts of righteous wrath, but despised and rejected as he was, he cried, “forgive them!” In him there was no darkness but only light, the light of forgiveness. And that is his great gift to us. He says here, “forgive”, take it and use it.

In the reconciliation work after apartheid in South Africa led by Archbishop, there is a wonderfully moving story told by him. His Committee held hearings for the nation in which people were enabled to come forth to give voice through personal story, to their need to be reconciled as a community. One time a police sergeant was confronted with some atrocities he had committed. In one circumstance, he had taken a black man into captivity and shot him, point blank, in the presence of his wife. Later, the same officer captured this wife’s only son, killed him and brutalized his body. He admitted that he had done these things in court.

Then the wife and mother who was present was asked what she wanted in this situation. She said, “I want three things. First, I want the sergeant to know that God forgives him, and so do I. Second, I want him to come to my house one day each week and sit with me because I no longer have anyone for a family. And third, I want to come forward now and hug the sergeant to prove that my love is real.” The sergeant fainted ­ and the courtroom began quietly to sing, “Amazing They, like the psalmist, had understanding. They understood how important it was to be free of such evil. They understood, too, how free this woman felt by throwing aside her need for revenge and accepting God’s forgiveness as a gift to be passed on. Is it possible that we know this It is amazing what can happen to us when we allow ourselves to be embraced by love. It is amazing how the grace of forgiveness can free us to walk with a lighter step, help us to walk across the bridge over the river of pain that too often divides us from each other. Forgiveness is God’s amazing grace. AMEN