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Weekly Sermon
"But God…" : March 30, 2003
The Reverend Anne Benefield
Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22; Ephesians 2:1-10
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You were dead through the trespasses and sin in which you once lived, following the course of this world, following the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work among those who are disobedient. All of us once lived among them in the passions of our flesh, following the desires of flesh and senses, and we were by nature children of wrath, like everyone else. But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ - by grace you have been saved - and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the ages to come he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God - not the result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life. Prayer: Lord God, through your word, help us to experience your mercy, love, and grace. Then teach us to share your gifts with everyone we meet. Amen. In both the psalm and the epistle lessons, we hear about how God snatches us from certain death and offers us rescue. We are given a chance for new life through our relationship with God. The psalmist speaks about "the gates of death" that yawn open before the stumbling Hebrew people (Psalm 107:18), threatening to swallow them down into the shadowy eternity of hell. In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul also describes a state of impending death - a living state of hell. Captivated by the persuasive powers of the "ruler of the air," we are fallen and become "children of wrath," hopelessly trapped in our own desires and passions. Only in Christ can we find the way out, to and through the gates of heaven. Today, it is hard for us to imagine how such a simple boundary as a gate could be the impenetrable barrier between two worlds as the biblical writers saw it. In the ancient world, gates were important features. Gates made cities secure. To "possess the gates" was to possess the city. Gates were civic centers where people met and had meetings. Gates were communications centers. Gates were commercial centers. Gatekeepers were important people; the safety of the city depended on them. Most interestingly, gates were also the sites of justice, where to sit among the elders of the gates was a high honor, kind of like sitting on the Supreme Court today. We think of gates as giving or denying entrance and exit, but the gates in the Bible were much more than that. Specifically, the gates of heaven weren't opened to let in "good" people. The gates of heaven were opened to let something out. What is to be let out? We pray it every Sunday, "Thy kingdom come…on earth, as it is in heaven." When Christ opened the gates of heaven, the reign of God's power and dominion on earth began. God opens the gates to let heaven reach us on earth. In our reading from Ephesians, the gate of heaven is given an unusual name. The name of the gate is "But God." Did you hear it in the passage? It's a little bit less than half way through it. Paul writes that death and sin and wrath can overcome us, enslave us, "But God, who is rich in mercy, out of great love…made us alive together with Christ - by grace you have been saved…" God shows "the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus." The gate is "But God…" But God who is, first, rich in mercy. What is mercy? It seems a "churchy" sort of word. You don't hear it much outside the sanctuary, but I think mercy is important in everyone's life. I would say that mercy is being kind or compassionate when it would be just as easy to judge and demand justice. The interesting thing is that while most of us know we need mercy rather than judgment, we often demand judgment of others. Mercy can change lives. In the Oxford Book of Military Anecdotes, David Niven tells this true story from World War II about a British officer driving through Germany in the first days after the German surrender. The officer says, "I passed a farm wagon headed for the village. I glanced casually at the two men sitting up behind the horse. Both wore typical farmer headgear, and sacks were thrown over their shoulders, protecting them from a light drizzle. We were just past them when something made me slam on the brakes and back up. I was right! The man who was not driving was wearing field boots. I slipped out from behind the wheel, pulled my revolver from its holster and told the corporal to cover me with his gun. "I gestured to the men to put their hands over their heads and told them in fumbling German to produce their papers. 'I speak English,' said the one with the field boots. 'This man has papers - I have none.' "'Who are you?' I asked. He told me his name and rank - general. 'We are not armed,' he added, as I hesitated. I motioned them to lower their hands. I asked, 'Where are you coming from, sir?' "He looked down at me. I had never seen such utter weariness, such blank despair on a human face before. He passed a hand over the stubble of his chin. 'Berlin,' he said quietly. "'Where are you going, sir?' "He looked ahead down the road toward the village and closed his eyes. 'Home,' he said, almost to himself. 'It's not far now…only…one more kilometer.' I didn't say anything. He opened his eyes again, and we stared at each other. We were quite still for a long time. Then I said, 'Go ahead, sir,' and added ridiculously, 'Please cover up your boots.' Almost as though in pain, he closed his eyes and raised his head. Then, with sobbing intakes of breath, he covered his face with both hands, and they drove on…to home." Showing mercy is seldom easy. There are always questions about whether it is the right thing to do. Still from our perspective, the Lord seems to err on the side of mercy. Our tendency to question God's mercy for others could even be understood as heresy. Second, the gate called "But God" opens to let out the greatest love ever-the love of God. Love is another word that is hard to grasp. God's love is beyond our comprehension. Trying to figure it out reminds me of a story in gospel singer, Kathy Troccoli's book My Life Is in Your Hands. She writes: "When my niece Gina was very little, we would engage in that familiar exchange you have with children you're crazy about. I asked her one day, 'Do you know how much I love you?' "She looked at me with eager and excited expectation. 'All the way to the sky,' I said. "She climbed into my lap. 'Well, I love you all the way to the ocean,' she said. "'Oh yeah?' I squeezed her tight and tickled her gently. 'Well, I love you all the way to heaven.' "'Well, I love you…' she began, then, 'I love … I love you…' She contemplated her answer more intensely. Finally, taking a deep breath, she said, 'I love you all the way to K-Mart in the toy department.'" Jesus loves us all the way to the cross and on the cross he burst open the "But God" gate, which brought forth God's mercy, love and grace. Grace is the thing we haven't spoken about yet. Fred Craddock tells a lovely story about grace. He writes: "I was in a distant city, [staying] in a little motel. I asked at the [front desk] on Sunday morning, 'Is there a church near here to which I could walk?' "After a little huddle behind the counter they said, 'Well, there's one about three or four blocks down this way,' pointing in one direction. "I said, 'Do you know what kind it is?' "They said, 'No, we don't know.' "I said, 'That's okay.' So I walked and I went in. It was a small building, modestly built, one of those that looks like the men of the church helped build it, because they seemed to love it very much. It was warm and friendly, not elaborate at all for worship. I took my seat, a bit early, but it soon began to fill up and soon was totally filled. I would say there were about 120 people. At the appointed hour, the choir came down. Following the choir came the minister. "I was absolutely shocked. He was very tall-I forgave him for that. I suppose he was 6'4". He was also very large, maybe 280 or 300 pounds. But the most noticeable feature was his stumbling, lumbering gait. He was awkward, almost falling, with his long useless arms at his sides, like they were awaiting further instruction. His head was misshapen, his hair was askew. He stumbled up the three or four steps to get to the pulpit. When he turned to face us, I saw the thick glasses, and through them I could see the milky film over his eyes, one of his eyes going out, nothing coming in to the other. When he read, he held the book near his nose. When he spoke, the sinews of his neck worked with such vigor as he pushed out the words, it was as if he had learned to speak as an adult. But I lost all consciousness of that after a while. He read I Corinthians 13 and spoke of the subject in the bulletin, "But the greatest of these is love." It was an unusual thing. If you had a copy of his sermon, you would say, I'd give it a grade of 'C.' It was not poetic, it was not prophetic, it was pastoral. It was so warm and so full of love and affection…The relationship between those people, the love that he extended as he preached, and the love that came back from those people who sat quietly, leaning forward, was captivating, and I was captured. What is this? How could this grotesque creature be so full of love? I started remembering things that I shouldn't have remembered-all those stories about how people who have grotesque features sometimes are granted a special quality of affection…so ugly and yet so beautiful in his love and capacity for affection… "I wanted to get acquainted with this extraordinary preacher, so I lingered at the door…observed the greetings and hellos and little words of pastoral care, comfort, and respect between him and the members. One woman spoke with him and said, 'I wish I could know your mother.' I saw her having the same trouble as I was. She didn't understand the source of this and thought maybe, I wish I knew your mother. He said, 'My mother's name is Grace.' "When everybody had left and I began to visit with him, we sat on the back pew for a few minutes, and I said, 'That was an unusual response you gave to that woman, "My mother's name is Grace.'" "And he said, 'It is? When I was born,' he said, 'I was put up for adoption at the Department of Family Services. But as you can see, nobody wanted to adopt me. So I went from foster home to foster home, and when I was about sixteen or seventeen, I saw some young people going into a church. I wanted to be with young people, so I went in, and there I met grace-the grace of God." [Fred Craddock, Craddock Stories, (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2001), 49-50.] When you look at all the tragedy that surrounds us, it is easy to give in to hopelessness. The same thing happens in the Bible. Again and again throughout the Scriptures, whenever things look the bleakest, whenever the gates of death and powers of the "ruler of the air" seem about to prevail, the promise of eternal life is kept alive through the miracle of two words: "But God." Friday evening, after I had finished this sermon, I began reading a magazine called The Christian Century. Imagine my surprise when I found a commentary on this passage by Fred Craddock himself. I'd like to read just one paragraph from it. He writes: [In this passage written by Paul] the language is vivid. You were dead. This is to say, you were caught in a futile way of life obedient to desires of the flesh, seeking the approval of your culture, heeding every inclination that led away from God, aimless and helpless to extricate yourself. But God, rich in love and mercy, by free unmerited favor quickened your life and set you in a safe place in the constant presence of Christ. You are now alive, but not simply in order to enjoy God's grace. You have been created again as God's masterpiece for two purposes: to show what God can do through Jesus Christ, and to serve human need, engaging in good works which reflect the nature of God as gracious love." Amen. [Fred Craddock, "From God, to God," The Christian Century, March 22, 2003, 18] |