Healing in the Wilderness

We are often uncomfortable talking about sin, but if we don’t acknowledge all the ways we are not the people we want to be, we separate ourselves from God’s mercy and loving care.  So, here’s a sermon about sin …

 Healing in the Wilderness

Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22; Ephesians 2:1-10 

This is a sermon about sin. If I am going to preach honestly about these texts, it has to be a sermon about sin, but that raises several problems.

First of all, many of you were raised in religious communities where there were a lot of sermons about sin. Some of those sermons were compassionate and wise, but many of them were not. Many of them left you with an incomplete picture of God as one who was always vigilant about your errors and shortcomings, rather than as one who is generous about healing and forgiving. Many of them left you with a picture of church as a place where you are accused and shamed, rather than as a place where you are welcomed and included. And many of them left you with a picture of yourself as fundamentally flawed and bad, instead of fundamentally loved and blessed. I do not want to fall into any of those errors or contribute to any of those incomplete and inaccurate pictures.

A second difficulty is finding the right pronouns to use when talking about sin. If I talk about your sin, I am likely to sound harsh and accusing. If I talk about my sin, I am focusing too much on myself. And if I try to talk about our sin, I will face the reality that each one of us fails and falters in our own way, and no single statement will honestly reflect all of our individual experiences.

A third difficulty is finding the right level of specificity to talk about sin. Very general terms are not very powerful or persuasive; a sermon about stealing, lying, and selfishness is not likely to be very original or very helpful. On the other hand, very specific terms are just too narrow; a sermon about obeying copyright laws is not likely to be meaningful for everyone in the room.

Added to that is the dilemma about sin that is part of social and economic systems. Whether we like it or not, those systems include elements of greed, exploitation, and injustice – but it is nearly impossible to separate ourselves from them. For many of us, these systemic sins present a particular burden of conscience.

So why, with all these challenges facing the preacher, is this a sermon about sin? Because the truth of the matter is that we all know, in ways both great and small, that we are not the people we would like to be. We are keenly aware – even if only in the middle of the night when we have been awakened by God knows what – we are keenly aware that we might be kinder, more generous, more loving and just that we are. We know that we have failed – not just occasionally, but pretty regularly – to be honorable people, let alone people who follow Jesus. These failures are our sin.

There are many ways to talk about them, but for me, they fall into two main categories: Forgetting that God is God, and we are not; and forgetting that it is not all about us.

The technical term for forgetting that God is God is idolatry. Every time that we put something at the center of our world that is not God, we are idolaters. That’s easy to see when the something is money or power or prestige; it is easy to see when the something is material or political or social. It is not easy to see when the something is our own safety and financial security, or when it is our loved ones, or when it is our national interest. Sometimes it is hard to recognize idolatry because the things that we have placed in the center of our lives instead of God are good and valuable things.

Still, the rule is simple, and Jesus called it the great commandment: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul and all your mind and all your strength. That doesn’t mean, of course, that you can’t also love other people and other things with great energy and focus; it does mean that we are called to love God first and most and centrally.

Jesus also gave us the rule for remembering that it is not all about us: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. And if you will remember, when he was asked for a definition of “neighbor,” he told the story of the Samaritan who came to the aid of the injured man on the road to Jericho. The point of that story, as his first hearers surely recognized, is that everyone is neighbor – even if they are foreigners, outcasts, or enemies.

That sets a very high standard for us: to treat everyone with respect, dignity, fairness, justice, and mercy. We struggle to do that with people we know and love – how much more we struggle when we deal with people we do not know and do not love. And so we fail – we fail by carelessness or impatience, by self-interest or ignorance, by intention or by accident.

This high standard also requires, by the way, that we treat ourselves with respect, dignity, fairness, justice, and mercy. This can be curiously difficult, because although it is not all about us, it is about us. We are called to honor our selves as diligently and compassionately as we honor others. Mistreating ourselves is as surely sinful as mistreating others.

And what is to be done about all of this sin, about all of these shortcomings and failures, about all of these missteps and mistakes? How do we find our way back to a sense of health and wholeness; how do we mend the broken strands of our lives and reweave the bonds of affection and community?

We ask for help. We cannot, by ourselves, keep from sin; and we cannot, by ourselves, be healed and restored. As persons of faith, the first one we ask for help is God. And as persons of Christian faith, we ask for help with the confidence that God has already promised to free us from the tangles of our sin. The traditional language for this is, of course, that Christ died for our sins. Whether that language comforts you or troubles you, it expresses this: that God’s steadfast love (the Hebrew hesed) is poured out to all who ask for it. God’s compassion is always greater than our errors and shortcomings; God’s mercy is always sufficient to forgive and to heal.

But there is more to be done than just asking for God’s forgiveness and healing. First, there is repentance. The literal meaning is to turn around, but the practical meaning is to stop – to stop whatever we are doing, saying, and believing that is idolatrous or selfish. That may require help from others (including professional help), but it is ultimately our responsibility.

Second, there is making amends. Simply put, where we have caused harm, we are obligated to restore what has been damaged. Material goods can be repaired or replaced; money can be repaid. Where relationships have been damaged by dishonesty, infidelity, or exploitation, trust must be rebuilt and covenants re-established. Our brothers and sisters in twelve-step programs have much to teach us about making amends – including the warning that sometimes it cannot be done without causing more harm and hardship.

And finally there is penance, by which I mean undertaking some healing or restorative action that is not directly related to the sin. We do not talk much about penance in our faith tradition, but it can be a powerful spiritual practice. I think of it this way: each sin diminishes the amount of goodness in the world; performing acts of service to others serves in a small way to restore that goodness.

I have probably not entirely avoided the pitfalls of preaching about sin, but I hope I have avoided the pitfall of not preaching about it. If our religion does not address our spiritual pain and woundedness, it cannot offer us healing and reconciliation. If our religion does not take seriously our sorrows and laments, it cannot offer us hope and comfort. If our religion does not acknowledge our failures and foibles, it cannot acknowledge our gifts and blessings. Let us be courageous enough to face the reality of our sin, and faithful enough to accept the reality of God’s mercy.

Prayer for March 22, 2009

Almighty and everlasting God, creator of all things seen and unseen, hear now our silent prayers, as we open our hearts to you in the sacred quietness.

God of faith and hope, we bring before you our prayers for those we have named this morning – we especially remember … Bring to each of them the gifts of mercy and grace that are most needed, according to your wisdom and love.

Amen

Today we continue our Lenten practice of praying with the art image that we looked at earlier with the children.

Although most of us are accustomed to closing our eyes during prayer, I hope that you will at least begin these meditations with your eyes open As the meditation continues, you may wish to close your eyes to hold and focus the image in your mind.

[Slide 1] The image we shared the first Sunday of Lent was “Velocity,” by Brendon Purdy. This picture of a lone cyclist led us into the wilderness of the Lenten season.

[Slide 2] The image for the second Sunday was “Spirit Alive” by Frère Sylvain (from the Taize community)

[Slide 3] Last week Cathy explored “Carmanah” by Renee Poisson with you.

[Slide 4] Today we turn out attention to “The Song of Hannah,” a work of fabric art (batik) by Sarah Hall.

Let us prayerfully reflect on this image …

God of history, be present with us as we continue our Lenten sojourn in the wilderness. Open our eyes and hearts this morning to hear your word of promise through the work of this artist. Amen.

We begin by looking at the whole image: take a few moments to let your eyes travel around the screen and notice which figures draw your attention.

[Slide 5] The sun is at the center of this image. Let your memory go back to the sunny days of this past week, and feel the warmth on your body.

[Slide 6] This artwork is sometimes called “Dance.” Why do you imagine that these figures are dancing? When might you dance? [Slide 7] [Slide 8]

[Slide 9] Take a breath and look up at the sky; rest in your thoughts about this image.

[Slide 10] Return to the line of dancers and find your place. Look to see who is with you.

Gently, now, take your leave from your companions in the image and come back into our space together.

Holy One, we thank you for this image and for the artist who brought it to us. May its vision and voice travel with us this week, as we continue our journey into the wilderness of Lent. Amen.