October 29, 2017 – The 21st Sunday after
Pentecost, Proper 25A
© 2017 Evan D. Garner
Audio of this sermon can be heard here.
Do you remember the WWJD
bracelets that were popular in the late ‘90s and early 2000s? What would Jesus
do? Did your mom or dad ever give you one of those as a reminder to behave
yourself when they weren’t around? Did you ever give one to your child? They were
a silent but not so subtle way of saying, “What would our Lord and Savior, the
sinless incarnate Son of God, do if he were in this situation?” In other words,
it was a way of strapping a good, hefty dose of guilt right on your wrist to
remind you over and over that you aren’t perfect. Happy birthday, son. We love you.
Actually, the funny thing
is that the kind of moms and dads who like to use religious guilt to motivate
their children’s behavior would probably rather not have their children act
like Jesus, who, although sinless, was quite the trouble-maker. When it came to
observing the sabbath and keeping it holy, Jesus enjoyed breaking the rules in
order to prove a bigger point. When it came to hanging out with good,
upstanding people, Jesus never liked that crowd and always preferred the
company of real sinners. When it came to following the examples of others,
Jesus would rather be remembered as a firebrand who thumbed his nose at the
elders than as a dutiful student who respected them. If parents are willing to
give their children a guilt complex in order to keep them in line, they’d be
better off giving them a WWPD bracelet, so that those kids can ask, “What would
the Pharisees do?”
In today’s gospel lesson,
those law-abiding, rule-following Pharisees asked Jesus to pick which commandment
in the law is the greatest. Matthew tells us that they were trying to test him,
which is his way of letting us know that they weren’t interested in what he had
to say except that it might get him in trouble. Since Jesus had earned a
reputation as a rabbi who didn’t always follow the Law of Moses, this was their
chance to expose his lawlessness and faithlessness. If they could get him to
say something like, “Thou shalt have no other gods but me,” they could seize on
it as an implicit acknowledgment that he didn’t think sabbath observance or
prohibitions on adultery were important. Surely this loosey-goosey liberal
would give them something they could use against him.
They expected Jesus to confirm
their assumptions that he didn’t care about being faithful to the law, but,
instead, he gave them a reinterpretation that left them stunned. The greatest
commandment? You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all
you soul and with all your mind. And the second is just like it: you shall love
your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the
prophets. The Pharisees tested Jesus to see if he would leave anything out,
and, in reply, Jesus gave them a test of his own. His two-fold summary revealed
that being faithful to the law isn’t about picking one or two or ten or even
all 613 commandments but living a life that is utterly and totally devoted to
God and neighbor. All those commandments about the sabbath and idols and
honoring father and mother and keeping kosher and fasting on holy days and
caring for the widow and orphan? They were given by God to help God’s people know
what their lives would look like if they truly loved God and their neighbor,
but those 613 mitzvot were never supposed to be a substitute for a real
relationship.
If you asked a couple who
had been married for sixty years what a healthy marriage looks like, what sort
of answer would you get? Stories of good times and bad times and a love that persisted
through them all. Celebrations and anniversaries and birthdays and holidays and
spending them with someone you love. Births and baptisms and illnesses and
deaths and travelling through all of the joys and pains of life with the
never-failing support of your spouse. I’m sure that they could write a list of
613 rules for how to be a good husband or wife—like don’t buy your wife a
toaster oven for your anniversary and always remember to pick up your dirty
socks—but the love that exists between two people who have been married for six
decades is far greater than the successful adherence to a list of dos and
don’ts. There’s nothing wrong with a set of guidelines as long as we don’t
confuse the rules for the relationship that they’re supposed to point us toward.
We belong to God. We are
God’s children. God has chosen us. God has called us by name and made us his
own. What does it mean for us to belong to God? It means loving God with
everything we’ve got. And it also means loving other people as if they were
ourselves. That’s how we live when we honor the relationship that God has made with
us. But how can we do that? How can a species that is programmed for
self-interest learn to love and care for others as passionately as we love and
care for ourselves?
The strange, hard truth
is that a right relationship with God doesn’t happen when we are mindful of all
the rules on our checklist but only when we give God all the love we have.
Going to church, saying your prayers, and placing money in the offering plate
don’t mean you have a real relationship with God any more than cleaning the
dishes, buying some flowers, and saying “I love you” makes you a good spouse.
What matters is where your heart is. If your heart belongs to your spouse,
you’ll do all of those things and more. If your heart belongs to God, you’ll
give him more than an hour and a half of your time and $20 from your wallet each
week.
Love the Lord your God
with all of your heart and all of your soul and all of your mind, and love you
neighbor as yourself. You belong completely to God, so give to God your whole
self. When you make a pledge this year, don’t ask yourself how much you’re
supposed to give. Ask yourself what it takes for you to belong completely to
God. Give to God all that you have—your whole heart and soul and mind. What
portion, what percentage, of your income do you have to set apart for God’s
work in the world before you know what it means to say to God, “Here I am. I
give you my whole self, my entire life. Use me?”
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