September 7, 2014 – The 13th
Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 18A
Ezekiel 33:7-11; Romans 13:8-14; Matthew 18:15-20
© 2014 Evan D. Garner
One of the things we tell
our acolytes is that, if they’re doing a good job, they will more or less
disappear. And the same is true for the clergy—especially the one who is
standing at the altar saying the words of the Eucharistic Prayer. Our job is to
get out of the way. All of us—priests, acolytes, choir, ushers, and every one
sitting in a pew—we are all here to experience God’s presence, and, if any one
of us is drawing attention to himself, the rest of us have a harder time
staying focused on the one who meets us here—the Word made flesh.
That’s one of my favorite
things about the way we do church. Although there is plenty of time for the
preacher to shine (or not), most of our service has less to do with us and more
to do with Jesus. When we come to the altar rail to receive the bread and wine,
we come to meet our Lord—to commune with God, not with our priest. Yes, some of
you like to look the clergy in the eye and feel a gentle squeeze as the bread
is placed into your palm, but, when we’re at our best, what transpires up there
is an unmediated encounter between worshipper and God. The ministers disappear,
and all that’s left is you and Jesus.
But sometimes that isn’t
possible.
A few times in my
ministry, I have noticed when one of you has crossed over the aisle to take
Communion on the other side. Sometimes clergy disappoint their parishioners. And,
once or twice, I have hurt one of you enough that you didn’t want me to be the
one who handed you the Communion bread. What you may not know is that sometimes
those roles are reversed. Sometimes parishioners disappoint their clergy. And,
once or twice, one of you has hurt me enough that I didn’t want to be the one
to hand you the “body of Christ, the bread of heaven.” I’ve never swapped sides
or skipped over anyone, but I’ve thought about it once or twice because the
truth is, whether parishioner or priest, it’s hard sharing this holy encounter
with someone who has wounded you deeply.
There’s a page in the
prayer book that outlines the procedure for withholding Communion from “a
person who is living a notoriously evil life” or “those who have done wrong to
their neighbors and are a scandal to the other members of the congregation”
(BCP 409). Excommunication is the harshest punishment the church can bestow on
its members, but it seems that there are times when it really does come to
that. It’s not very well known, and I’ve never heard of anyone using it, but I
think it’s important to put that procedure in there—not because I ever expect
to need it but because all of us are supposed to remember that we cannot be the
body of Christ if there is an unreconciled brokenness among us.
Today’s gospel lesson is
recorded in a chapter that deals almost exclusively with forgiveness. After
telling his disciples the parable of the lost sheep—the story of the shepherd
who leaves the ninety-nine in search of the one who has gone astray—Jesus tells
them what to do when a fellow disciple sins against them. First, go and point
out the wrong when the two of you are alone. If that doesn’t work, bring one or
two witnesses with you and see if you can regain that one. If that still
doesn’t work, tell the whole church. And, if the hardhearted one refuses to
listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax
collector. In other words, cut him off completely—from your worshipping
community, from your social circle, from your business, and from every aspect
of your life. That seems pretty harsh coming from the one who spent most of his
time with tax collectors and prostitutes, but, given the enormity of God’s
forgiveness, it makes sense.
God is the one who leaves
everything behind in search of the one who is lost. God is the one who sees the
magnitude of our sin and loves us anyway. God is the one who knows that we will
always turn our back on him, yet he sent his son to show us that he will always
be willing to welcome us back. If we allow our sin against one another to
linger and fester in our community, the power of God’s forgiveness will never
be real to us. We cannot be the body of Christ and sit across the aisle from
someone who has hurt us. We cannot exist as the forgiven people of God if we
refuse to seek forgiveness among ourselves. We cannot know heaven’s forgiveness
if we cannot find forgiveness here on earth.
Then what should we do? Jesus
said, “If another member of the church has sinned against you, go and point out
the fault when the two of you are alone.” Notice where he places the burden of
reconciliation—not on the one who has done the wrong but on the one who has
been hurt. The truth is that it’s easier simply to avoid the one who has hurt
us. It’s easier to sit on our side of the aisle and look with hatred at the one
who has caused us such pain. But we cannot know what it means to be forgiven by
God until we are willing to bear the cost of going to that person in search of reconciliation.
God’s forgiveness might be free, but living as the body of Christ sometimes
costs us everything.
Who is that person whom you
cannot seem to forgive? Who is the one who makes you cross the aisle in order to
avoid encountering that person at the altar rail? Who is it that has hurt you
so badly that you cannot encounter the fullness of God’s forgiveness until you
seek reconciliation with that person? We are the body of Christ. We are the
forgiven people of God. But that cannot be true unless we are willing to
forgive just as we have been forgiven. God’s forgiveness must fill us so
completely that we become willing to sacrifice our own woundedness on the altar
of reconciliation. Let go of your hurt. Seek out the one who has wronged you.
Pursue that person in the name of forgiveness. Only then can God’s grace reign
among us. Amen.
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