Forgiving

I preached this sermon on the second Sunday of Lent. The subject is forgiveness -- not Jesus' forgiveness of us, but our forgiveness of others. We all have a terrible time forgiving people who have hurt us. Maybe my sermon will help you understand why it's so important.

This morning, we continue our consideration of Jesus’ last words from the cross. Specifically, we continue to look at how those words reflect the human Jesus. For some words, that’s easier than for others When we considered his word of abandonment last week (“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”), it wasn’t hard to understand how a human Jesus could say such a thing. After all, we have all asked God that very same question during our own lives. But Jesus’ word of forgiveness from the cross is another story completely.

“Father, forgive them; they don’t know what they’re doing.” (Luke 23:34) Even while Jesus hung dying on the cross, he prayed that God might forgive the people who were killing him. That couldn’t have been an easy thing for him to pray. After all, remember what he had experienced. After Jesus was arrested in Gethsemane, he was taken before an illegal court session on a trumped-up charge. He was convicted on false evidence offered by liars. After being handed over to the Roman authorities, he was beaten and ridiculed. He was crowned with a circle of thorns, and forced to carry his own cross to the place of execution. Nails were driven through his hands and feet, and he was left to die suspended on a wooden crosspiece in the hot sun. What human being could possibly pray for the people who did all those things? It tempts us to believe that this prayer must be from a divine Jesus who loves with God’s infinite love. After all, his forgiveness includes everyone involved in his death – not just the Roman soldiers who nailed him to the cross, but also the Jewish council who handed him over to Pilate, Judas who handed him over to the Jewish council, and the disciples who ran away when the going got tough. It seems to us that only God could offer that kind of forgiveness.

But in fact, Jesus wanted us to do the very same thing. He talked more than once about the importance of forgiveness. If someone wrongs you, Jesus told Peter, forgive that person even more than seven times. Forgive them seventy-seven times. (Matthew 18:22) Forgive that person so many times that you lose count! And do you remember Matthew’s parable of the unforgiving servant (18:23-35)? He refused to forgive a fellow servant a tiny debt even though his master has just forgiven an enormous debt that he owed himself. He was condemned for his callous actions. “Forgive,” says Jesus (Luke 6:37) “and you will be forgiven.” Forgiveness isn’t only something that God does. Jesus expects us to do it, too.

But forgiveness is a very hard thing to offer. It’s a lot easier to dwell on the hurts that we have suffered than to accept what happened and move on. The trouble is that if we don’t offer forgiveness, we become trapped in a spider’s web of anger, resentment, and hate. We might even start to think about revenge in the name of justice. We don’t see the people who hurt us getting their just desserts, so instead of trusting that God will deal with the situation in God’s time and in God’s wisdom, we decide to take matters into our own hands. And in the process, we only hurt ourselves. Revenge is a dish that always comes back to poison the one who serves it. But hate is so easy. Revenge appears to be so sweet, and forgiveness is so difficult. Sometimes it even seems to be impossible. How could we possibly forgive someone who intentionally hurt one of us or one of our loved ones?  Surely no one could do that!

But, in fact, we’ve seen that kind of forgiveness not that long ago. Back in October of 2006, a deranged gunman entered an Amish schoolhouse in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. He shot ten young girls in the back of the head before committing suicide. The response of the bereaved parents was almost unbelievable. Instead of calling for revenge, the Amish community chose to forgive. The grandfather of one of the victims insisted, “We must not think evil of this man,” while one of the fathers reminded us, “He had a mother and a wife and a soul, and now he’s standing before a just God.” When the media asked for an explanation of their reaction, one of their members said, "I don't think there's anybody here that wants to do anything but forgive; and not only reach out to those who have suffered a loss in that way, but to reach out to the family of the man who committed these acts." And that’s exactly what they did. Amish community members comforted the shooter’s wife, parents, and parents-in-law. One Amish man reportedly held the shooter’s father for over an hour while he wept uncontrollably. 30 of the Amish community attended the funeral of the shooter; and they set up a charitable fund to benefit his family. In an open letter to her Amish neighbors, the shooter’s wife thanked them for their forgiveness, grace, and mercy. She wrote, "Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. Gifts you've given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you." “Love your enemies,” said Jesus, “and pray for those who abuse you.” (Luke 6:27-28) That’s what the bereaved Amish community did; and they set an example of forgiveness for all of us.

In his word from the cross, Jesus not only set a model for our own forgiveness; he even gave us a reason that we should forgive others. “Father, forgive them; because they don’t know what they’re doing.” That deranged man who shot Amish children in cold blood probably didn’t know what he was doing. He wasn’t thinking rationally. And although we may not be mentally ill, we don’t know what we’re doing most of the time, either. Usually it’s not a big thing, and we don’t even realize what we’ve done. When a new mother brags about her baby to a young couple, she may not know that they are struggling with infertility issues. She doesn’t see them weeping together in the night because the child that they want so desperately can’t be conceived. They are deeply hurt; and the one who caused them so much pain never even knew it. No, we don’t know what we’re doing. So if we expect people to forgive us for the hurtful things that we do to them, then we have to forgive them for all the hurtful things that they do to us.

In the end, forgiveness is our response to the realization that we are all imperfect human beings who live in an imperfect world. We don’t know everything. And so, with the best of intentions, we do things that are hurtful instead of helpful. We give in to temptations so easily. Because we want power and status, we step on people who are in our way. And because we’re often busy or rushed or just plain lazy, we don’t take the actions that we should. While we strive to get what we want, we neglect people who don’t even have what they need.

“Father, forgive them; because they don’t know what they’re doing.” Jesus has forgiven us so often! Maybe during this season of Lent, we could so some forgiving ourselves.

Forsaken

As Lent begins, my sermons will consider the words that Jesus spoke on the cross. They are part of any Good Friday service; but Good Friday services are no longer three hours long at midday. They may be an hour long on Friday evening. Some churches don't hold them at all any more. That means that these days, Jesus' words from the cross are seldom sermon topics. And they deserve to be! This sermon considers the first word -- the word of desolation and abandonment. If you choose to read this sermon, maybe it will give you a different way to look at that word from the cross.

The season of Lent is here once again. You can tell that with one look at any sanctuary. In our church, the cloths on the altar, pulpit, and lectern are now purple. A crown of thorns is sitting on our altar. And a rough wooden cross draped with purple is hanging on the wall, reminding us that, although Jesus is our King, our sin led to his death on a cross. That is, of course, ultimately where Lent leads – to a cross on a hill. We have to face that cross before we can celebrate the glad news of Easter morning. It shows us the worst of humanity and the best of the divine. Jesus was crucified because of human power and politics, but was raised by God so that we might have eternal life.

But we frequently forget something during Lent. We are so focused on Jesus as God’s divine son that we forget that Jesus was also very human. Fully human and fully divine – that’s what we confess about the person of Jesus. And nothing shows Jesus’ humanity more than the words he spoke from the cross. They reflect suffering… trust… compassion… and victory. So, during this Lenten season, my sermons will focus on these words – words that are very much like words that you and I have spoken at some time or other in our lives. Jesus’ words from the cross offer us reassurance, comfort, and strength as we deal with the circumstances of our own lives.

The very first word is a word of despair. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

It’s a desolate cry, the cry of someone who is utterly abandoned. It’s the cry of someone who is tempted to lose all hope.

The cross wasn’t the first time Jesus had been tempted. He and the Tempter were old acquaintances from way back at the beginning of his ministry. Fresh from his baptism in the Jordan River, after the Holy Spirit had descended on him like a dove, Jesus went into the wilderness. During his stay there, Satan tempted him three different times. (Luke 4:1-13) I’ve often wondered if Jesus felt abandoned by God during those temptations. But back then, God’s words that he heard at his baptism were still ringing in his ears: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” Jesus resisted those wilderness temptations, seemingly with very little effort. And then Luke tells us that Satan left him – but only until “a more opportune time.”

Satan found that opportune time on Good Friday. Jesus had no words from God echoing in his ears that day as he hung on the cross. He heard only denials by his friends, accusations by the Pharisees, and taunts by the Roman soldiers. Abandoned by every earthly support, he cried in despair, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Where was God, anyway, the God who had called him the “beloved son”? Hadn’t Jesus done everything that God had asked him to do? Who could blame him if he lost hope in the God that he called “Father”?

Satan finds many, many opportune times in our own lives, as well, to tempt us to lose hope. We don’t need to be hanging on a cross to be driven to despair. When the phone rings late at night and the voice on the line says, “This is the Highway Patrol. There’s been an accident,” then despair is standing right outside the door. When your beloved turns to you one day and says, “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to be married anymore,” then despair taps you on the shoulder. When the doctor shakes her head and says gravely, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing else that we can do,” then despair stares you right in the face. What else can we do at times like these except cry, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Where can we possibly find any hope when hope seems to have vanished?

Maybe Jesus’ own words give us the answer. His first word from the cross – that word of despair – is a quote from the 22^nd Psalm. The first half of that psalm foreshadows Jesus’ experiences on the cross. It says things like: “O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer. (verse 2a) I am scorned by men and despised by the people. (verse 6b) All who see me mock me. They hurl insults… (verse 7) I am poured out like water. All my bones are out of joint. (verse 14a) My strength is dried up like a potsherd. (verse 15a) A band of evil men has encircled me. They have pierced my hands and feet. (verse 16) They divide my garments among them, and cast lots for my clothing.” (verse 18) No, there is precious little hope to be found in the beginning of Psalm 22.

But then… suddenly… miraculously… the tone of the psalm changes from despair to praise, as suffering is replaced by triumph. “I will declare your name to everyone!” the psalmist proclaims. “In the congregation I will praise you! (verse 22) God has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one. He has not hidden his face from him, but has listened to his cry for help. (verse 24) Dominion belongs to the Lord!” (verse 28a) This psalm that Jesus quoted may have begun in despair, but it certainly didn’t end there. Although it begins with suffering, it concludes with thanksgiving for God’s power over all the nations.

Did Jesus quote this psalm not only because it described his own suffering, but also because it proclaimed the hope that is ours in God’s promises? Is it possible that even from the cross, Jesus saw the sunrise of Easter morning? If that is the case – and I believe that it is – then Jesus’ cry of desolation, coming as it does from this powerful psalm, can remind us of two things. First, it reminds us that, during his life, Jesus went through everything that we go through. Jesus knew what it meant to be abandoned, to suffer, and to lose hope. And because he did, we need never say that God has forgotten us in our despair. God does not forget us any more than he forgot Jesus. But it reminds us of something else just as important. It reminds us of Easter morning. Psalm 22 is a witness that hope stands just beyond the shadow of despair. Despite suffering and fear and loneliness and pain, hope is as eternal as God’s love for us.

The cross is real. If the season of Lent has anything to say to us, it says that. We can’t avoid the cross in our lives. It comes with the territory of being human. But Easter is just as real. Even though we experience the despair of the cross, God promises us the glory of the resurrection. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus said it; and we say it, too. But don’t despair. Don’t lose hope. Psalm 30, another great psalm, affirms that “Weeping may linger for the night; but joy comes with the morning.” Yes, indeed it does. It’s waiting for us with hope -- right outside the door of the empty tomb.

Dreaming

Last Sunday was Transfiguration Sunday, the day that the scripture reading is about Jesus transfigured on the mountain top. Luke gives this story a special "spin" by mentioning that the disciples were snoozing as Jesus was transfigured. Was their vision of him a dream? If you choose to read this sermon, you might be reminded of times in your experience that a dream influenced the rest of your life.

There is a place somewhere between waking and sleeping where our dreams seem to be very real. It’s that time when we are just surfacing from our sleep, but when we are not yet fully awake. During that time, our dreams can be more real than the reality we experience after we have shaken the clouds away from our heads and rubbed the mist out of our eyes.

Those dreams can have a profound effect on our lives. Maybe that’s because they are free from the usual limits of reality. In our dreams, we can envision the world as it might be instead of only seeing the world as it is. Our dreams can fill us with visions of beauty that inspire us for the rest of our lives. Martin Luther King, Jr. talked about a dream like that when he said, “I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.” Dreams like that can change our lives.

The disciples experienced something like that when they accompanied Jesus to the mountain top in this story from Luke (9:28-36). As Jesus was praying, his clothes became as bright as lightning, and his face glowed with the very glory of God. Moses and Elijah, those two Old Testament patriarchs, even appeared to talk with him. Jesus didn’t look like a typical human being; he looked like the Son of God himself. And the disciples saw all of it! They saw Jesus’ glory; and they saw Moses and Elijah with him. But they weren’t sure that it was real. The disciples had dozed off as Jesus had been praying; and they saw him in all his glory just as they were waking up. Was it real or was it a dream? They weren’t really sure.

What they were sure of as they gazed on Jesus in his glory is that they wanted to stay on that mountain. They were tired of walking the long, dusty roads of Galilee. They were tired of being stopped by lepers and paralytics who wanted to be healed. They were tired of being accused of being sinners by the Pharisees. They wanted Jesus to get some glory for being the Messiah; and there on that mountain, he certainly had it! Why did they ever need to leave? Couldn’t they just stay? They were like the character Caliban in Shakespeare’s play The Tempest. Caliban lives on an island where the drama takes place; and at one point in the play, he describes his experiences there. “This island is full of noises,” he says, “strange sounds and sweet melodies that make you feel good and don’t hurt anyone. Sometimes I hear a thousand twanging instruments hum at my ears… I dream of clouds opening up and dropping such riches on me that when I wake up, I cry because I want to dream again.” Dreaming can be a comforting, uplifting experience. So let’s just stay here, Peter suggests. “Master,” he said, “it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters – one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Peter wanted to make the vision of Jesus’ glory permanent. He was ready to build a church up on that mountain so that they never had to leave.

But that wasn’t what Jesus had in mind. Jesus knew that we can’t stay inside a dream forever. Dreams can comfort us… reassure us… even inspire us… but they don’t last forever. Our dreams on the mountain have to give way to life in the valley. The next thing the disciples knew, the voice of God was speaking to them out of a cloud – a cloud that appeared out of nowhere and surrounded the disciples like a fog. “This is my Son, whom I have chosen,” they heard. “Listen to him.” And when the cloud disappeared, their vision was gone. Jesus was alone, looking the way he had always looked. No Moses. No Elijah. No shining face or bright clothing. Jesus again looked as ordinary as he did every other day. The disciples had no doubt that they were fully awake once again.

Luke tells us that they didn’t tell anybody about their vision; at least, not for a long time. They had to process it a little bit first. They had to come to grips with some questions that they had. Was Jesus’ glory real – or had they imagined the whole thing? If Jesus really was the glorious Son of God, why did he keep talking about taking up a cross? And why did they have to leave the mountain? Shouldn’t glory like that be worshipped apart from daily life? Those aren’t easy questions – not for Jesus’ disciples, and not for us. It takes a long time to understand that Jesus’ glory isn’t the glory of privilege, but the glory of sacrificial love. It is hard to accept that God came to us not as a conquering hero, but as a sacrificial lamb. And it takes time to realize that God’s glory mostly shows itself not on a mountaintop, but in the middle of our messy, imperfect, twisted-up world. The dreams that we dream on the mountain aren’t meant to keep us there, but to sustain us when we go back to the valley to serve others in Jesus’ name.

Sometimes we don’t understand those things any better than the disciples did. And the mountain top is a very comfortable place to be. We like it when we’re up there. We can have magnificent dreams of glory and envision a world without any violence or pain or suffering. We can imagine the banquet that God will one day spread out for us; imagine the lion and the lamb playing together; even see the little child taking care of everything. But if we stay on the mountain top, those dreams will stay just what they are – dreams. If our dreams are ever to turn into reality, we have to come back down the mountain into the valley with Jesus. We have to do what God told the disciples to do and listen to Jesus. We have to be ready to take up our cross and follow him. We have to be ready to serve in his name.

But when we do those things – when we live lives of love and service and sacrifice – then Jesus’ glory will truly shine. It will shine in our lives, as we are transformed, too, into people who are truly his disciples. We might even be the dreamers who inspire other dreamers!

And wouldn’t that be a dream come true?

Revival

What do we do about the declining membership in our churches? Is it a sign that God has abandoned us -- or a sign that God is actually working in our midst to free us from the social privilege that we once enjoyed? This sermon might make you think more deeply about the answer.

It’s fair to say that the Christian church has survived many challenges during its 2000 year life on earth. It has survived the challenge of persecution, when Christians were killed in the Roman arena rather than deny Jesus as their Lord. It has survived heresies – distortions of the Gospel that sound good at first glance, but that ultimately lead to a denial of the gospel. And it certainly has survived hate of all kinds – people who hate the Church; and people in the Church who hate others in the name of God. But no challenge has been more pervasive than the challenge that doesn’t seem like a challenge at all. I’m talking about the challenge of privilege.

The church’s privilege started about 1700 years ago when the Roman emperor Constantine made Christianity the official religion of the empire. Constantine had accepted Christianity as his own faith early in his reign; and almost immediately, he made it a legal religion so that the persecutions ended. But he didn’t stop there. He wanted to bind his empire together – and it was a vast empire that stretched from the British Isles almost all the way to India and including a vast number of cultures, languages, and traditions. A common faith seemed to Constantine the way to hold it together. And so, in the year 333, he declared that every person in the Roman Empire would from that day forward be a Christian. The persecuted church had become the privileged church. And in much of the world, it has been that way ever since.

Now, that may not seem to be much of a challenge. In fact, it seems like a pretty good thing. But privilege always brings problems; because with privilege comes power. You know what they say about power: “Power corrupts; and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” That even applies to the Church. Although it was begun by Jesus Christ, the Church is still a human institution. And because that is the case, its power has led to some actions that were definitely not Godly! The Crusades… the Inquisition… the amassing of huge amounts of wealth in the name of God… These were just some of the consequences of the fact that during the years, the Church has enjoyed more power than was good for it.

Now, the Church in the United States hasn’t had quite that much power. Our Founding Fathers saw the consequences of marrying political power to religion; and they divorced the two in our Constitution. But since World War II, Protestant churches have enjoyed quite a lot of social privilege. Many of you will remember the “golden age” of the 1950s and 60s. Church membership skyrocketed as veterans of World War II came home and started families. Sunday schools were overflowing with well-dressed, well-scrubbed children who memorized the Ten Commandments and the Lord’s Prayer. On Easter Sunday, many churches had to set up folding chairs to hold all the worshippers! Anybody who was anybody belonged to a church – the right church, of course. That’s where the businessmen and the society ladies got to know one another. Some churches looked a lot like the Country Club on Sunday morning!

All that, of course, has changed. Church membership is dropping like a rock. Some churches have no children at all in their membership. And on Easter Sunday… well, attendance at an Easter service is about what attendance at a typical Sunday service was 50 years ago! What happened? Doesn’t anybody know how to fix things? Can’t somebody tell us what in the world is going on? The truth is that no one knows exactly what happened. Oh, there are plenty of suggestions. Lots of people are crunching numbers and writing books. Even more are sponsoring pricey workshops on how to lure people back to church. But despite enough new books to fill a small library, and a workshop somewhere on every single weekend of the year, nothing is changing. The Church has lost the privilege that it once had.

And maybe that’s a good thing. An essay in the Christian Century magazine (Vol. 129, No. 26, December 26, 2012, pp. 28-30) recently suggested that maybe – just maybe – this decline in church privilege is actually a sign that God is at work among us. Authors L. Roger Owens and Anthony B. Robinson turned to an ancient Christian mystic, St. John of the Cross, for insight into what God might be doing. John of the Cross is famous for an experience called the Dark Night of the Soul. During the Dark Night, God seems to have gone on an extended vacation. We can’t feel God in our lives in any way at all. But what is really happening is that God is working through the Dark Night to free us from all worldly attachments so that we might draw spiritually closer to him. “This night,” said John, “frees the soul from all its vices by quenching all its earthly and heavenly satisfactions.”

Is that what is happening to the church now? Is God taking away the social privilege that we once enjoyed so that we can embrace something much better? Is God prying us away from the security that comes from power and inviting us to a renewed relationship with him – which, in the end, is the only security that really counts? Is God reminding us that our real identity is not “Grand Offerer of Programs” but the Body of Christ? If that’s the case, then it’s a blessing! Privilege and power, after all, distract us from what we ought to be about. When we enjoy privilege, we’re like a little boy whose mother motivates him to practice the piano by offering him a Snickers candy bar after he has finished. But as long as he practices only for the Snickers, he’ll never learn to play that piano really well. Only when he cares more about making beautiful music than about getting the candy will he begin to play with the love that marks a real musician. American mainline churches have had too much candy for way too long. Our candy hasn’t been Snickers bars, but church members on city councils, and civic leaders on church boards. Our treat bags were filled with big cradle rolls and overflowing Vacation Bible Schools. We got fat on years of successful youth programs.

And now we’re on a diet. But if, indeed, God has put us here, it is a diet that might well lead to some real blessings. It might refocus us on the real purpose of the Church – to worship the God of Jesus Christ in a culture that worships all kinds of other gods. It might lead us to proclaim God’s grace through the way we live our lives. It might force us to the realization that if anybody is going to change the world for Jesus Christ, it’s going to have to be us – not government programs or economic policies. But that’s OK. Jesus only had 12 followers, and look what they accomplished! If this Dark Night of the Church can help us to focus on what’s really important, to reaffirm our commitment to live our faith, and to renew our desire to live for Christ and for Christ alone, then the Church will experience a revival that will be like nothing we’ve ever seen before – a revival not of numbers, but of spiritual power.

Maybe if we let go of who we used to be, we’ll discover who we really are. What a revival that would be!