St. Patrick's Prayer: Preparing Ourselves for Christ


Acts 16:16-34
February 23,2014

 One day, as we were going to the place of prayer, we met a slave-girl who had a spirit of divination and brought her owners a great deal of money by fortune-telling. While she followed Paul and us, she would cry out, ‘These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation.’ She kept doing this for many days. But Paul, very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, ‘I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.’ And it came out that very hour.
 But when her owners saw that their hope of making money was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the market-place before the authorities. When they had brought them before the magistrates, they said, ‘These men are disturbing our city; they are Jews and are advocating customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to adopt or observe.’ The crowd joined in attacking them, and the magistrates had them stripped of their clothing and ordered them to be beaten with rods. After they had given them a severe flogging, they threw them into prison and ordered the jailer to keep them securely. Following these instructions, he put them in the innermost cell and fastened their feet in the stocks.
 About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them. Suddenly there was an earthquake, so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken; and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened. When the jailer woke up and saw the prison doors wide open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, since he supposed that the prisoners had escaped. But Paul shouted in a loud voice, ‘Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.’ The jailer called for lights, and rushing in, he fell down trembling before Paul and Silas. Then he brought them outside and said, ‘Sirs, what must I do to be saved?’ They answered, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.’ They spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all who were in his house. At the same hour of the night he took them and washed their wounds; then he and his entire family were baptized without delay. He brought them up into the house and set food before them; and he and his entire household rejoiced that he had become a believer in God.

            When things aren’t going your way, how do you react? When you get into a situation where everything you’ve planned for, everything you worked for, starts to come undone, what do you do? It’s bound to happen at some point. You make plans, and they all go awry. How do you respond when they do?

            One of my favorite movies has to do with these questions. It’s a British movie called “Clockwise.” I think I was one of the few Americans to have seen it, but I loved it. It starred ex-Monty Python, John Cleese as John Stimpson, the headmaster  of an English private school (which is what the British call the equivalent of our public school). He has been named the chairman of the British Headmaster’s Association, which is made up mostly of headmasters from British public schools (which is what the British call private schools—it’s very confusing). He is proud of his achievement because he is the first private school headmaster in history to be named to that post. His installation is to take place at 3 p.m. that afternoon in Norwich—a three-hour drive from his home, or two hours by train. He spends much of the early morning working on his speech, while making sure things were in order in his school.

            Mr. Stimpson rules his school with an iron fist. He watches the students gather in the courtyard from his office window, often using binoculars to see who is smoking, bullying, cheating, or any other illicit activity. He is quick to use his microphone and carefully placed loudspeakers to call out students: “Lydia Portsmouth, put out that cigarette and get to class! Mr. Johnson, tuck in your shirt!” He is a man who demands order, and who lives by the clock. But things start to go awry as he tries to get on the train to Norwich.

            He asks the stationmaster which train it is to Norwich. The man says, “Left.” Stimpson replies, “Left,… right!” (that’s the English way of saying “okay”). Suddenly he sees two of his students skipping school. He yells at them to get back to school, turns to the station master and says, “Right!” The station master, not sure if he’s saying “okay” or asking “is the train is on the right?” says back, “Right?” Stimpson heads to the train on the right. He sits down and goes over his speech. Then he hears the station master in front of the other train yell, “Train to Norwich! Last call!” He asks another passenger, “This is going to Norwich, right?” The mans says, “Plymouth.” Stimpson runs out, forgetting his speech. He misses the train to Norwich. He runs back to get his speech, but the train to Plymouth pulls out. Stimpson stands up straight, and says to himself, “Right! Must find Gwenda.” That’s his wife who had dropped him off. She had actually stayed long enough to see the train to Norwich leave, making certain he was on his way.

            Stimpson runs out of the station just in time to see his wife drive away, despite his yells. So he takes a taxi home, hoping to find her there and to drive to Norwich. But she had gone to her volunteer position of driving older dementia patients around the countryside to look at scenery. Stimpson runs after the taxi that has left him off, but it drives away. He looks to his left, and there at the stop sign is one of his students, Laura Wisely, who is skipping school and has snuck off with her father’s car. She tries to duck out of his sight, but he sees her. “Laura Wisely! You have study hall!  Study hall is not a free period. You need to be in school!” Suddenly he realizes that she can drive him to the hospital to find his wife. “Right!” he says, “You can drive me to hospital to find my wife, then it’s back to school for you.” She agrees.

            He gets to the hospital, but doesn’t find his wife. He then says to Laura, “Right! Can you take me to Norwich? It’s only three hours. And if you do, I’ll forget that you skipped school. “ She has no choice. Off they go. As they stop for “petrol,” Stimpson’s wife sees him with Laura, but she can’t pull in to confront him. So she’s now convinced that he is having an affair with his student, and sneaking around. Also, Laura’s parents have found the car missing, and have called the police to report a stolen car. Eventually, the police find that Laura is missing, and now have reports that she may have been kidnapped by an older man. So Stimpson, just trying to get to Norwich, is now in a car reported stolen and he’s suspected of kidnapping.

            Everything continues to fall apart from there. He tries to call the Headmaster’s Association from a phone booth to tell them he’ll be late, but the phones have been vandalized. In frustration, he begins kicking the phone, and a neighbor calls the police to report that vandals are attacking the phones again. The police show up to arrest him, but they’ve driven away. The police find them, but when Stimpson and Laura make a wrong turn, they coincidentally evade the police by taking a shortcut. Unfortunately, this shortcut cuts across a farm field. They get stuck in mud.

            All along, with every setback, Stimpson calls out, “Right!” He then tries to get things under control, but they continue to fall apart. In an attempt to get the car unstuck, he falls in the mud and is covered in filth. They find a nearby monastery, where the monks take his clothes to clean them, leaving him in a bath and only monk’s robes to change into. He realizes he can’t stay because he’ll be late, so he and Laura run out to hitchhike to Norwich, with him dressed as a monk. She uses her feminine wiles to lure a man in a Porsche to stop for them. Stimpson manages to get the man’s clothes, which are much too short for him, and to drive the Porsche to Norwich, which the man reports as stolen. So now Stimpson is suspected by his wife of having an affair with a student, of kidnapping her and stealing their car by her parents, and of having stolen a man’s clothes and car, all while impersonating a monk.

            You see where all this is going. The fun is in how Stimpson reacts to everything falling apart. That’s where the humor is. But when our world is falling apart, do we find humor in it?

            The reality is that when things go wrong with most of us, we have one of several reactions. Some of us react in frustration and anger. We lose our temper and start to bang around, hitting things, knocking things over, and yelling. Some of us react in anxiety and clamping down. We become immersed in worry, and try harder and harder to gain control, although those attempts can often cause us to lose control. Some of us react with helplessness and tears. We freeze and break down in crying, thinking, “what can I do? It’s all falling apart.” But some respond in the way Paul and Silas did in our passage. We become calm and immersed in prayer.

            There is a big contrast in the way the slave girl’s masters reacted to things going wrong for them, and how Paul and Silas reacted to things going wrong for them. The masters became angry, and in their anger they began spreading lies. They incited an already existing anti-Semiticism among the Greeks. They managed to have Paul and Silas flogged severely and then placed in prison. This was no modern prison. Their badly beaten heads, hands, and feet were placed in stocks. How did Paul and Silas respond? They prayed. They centered, focused on God, and sang songs of praise. They were in dire circumstances, and they responded with calm and prayer.

            Then an earthquake suddenly hits, which wasn’t too uncommon in that earthquake-prone region. The quake breaks their shackles and the walls. They are free. All is dark, and suspecting that his prisoners have escaped, the guard readies to kill himself. Things didn’t go right for him, and so he becomes suicidal. That’s not an overreaction. Among the Romans, if a prisoner escapes, the guard is typically executed as punishment. So his plans to kill himself make sense—why wait to be killed? Paul and Silas, knowing what he will do, yell out, “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” He takes them to his house to guard them (they are still his prisoners), and he washes their wounds and binds them up. He then becomes a Christian, learning the ways of centering and faith in response to calamity.

            Everyone around Paul and Silas responded to their situation with anger, frustration, manipulation, or despair. Paul and Silas responded with calm and prayer.

            One of the keys to life, and learning how to deal with life when it doesn’t go our way, is to learn the lesson of Isaiah. Isaiah said, “Yet, O Lord, you are our Father;
 we are the clay, and you are our potter;
 we are all the work of your hand.” This is a common Old Testament imagery, used also by Jeremiah, comparing us to clay (we are made from dirt) and God to the potter.

            The metaphor is rooted in ancient communities, where the potter was a central figure in ancient life. Much of home life revolved around pots. Pots stored water for purification, drinking, and cleaning. It stored food to be eaten. The bowls and cups and serving platters were pottery. And pottery was used to cook with. It was quite common to gather at a potter’s shop and watch the potter form his pot on the wheel. It is fascinating to watch and was their entertainment. Find a video of a potter molding a cup or bowl and you’ll see what I mean. The potter plops a lump of clay on spinning wheel. Then he or she slowly uses the spinning motion to form a cup, bowl, or pot.

            Isaiah understood that in the molding of a pot lies a powerful metaphor for the spiritual life. For the potter to be able to do his or her work, the clay had to be centered on the wheel. If the clay were off just a bit, the pot would be misshapen. It all had to do with being centered. Nothing was possible without being centered. But once centered, the clay could be molded into anything.

            That’s the metaphor for Christian life. We have to live from the center. We need to place ourselves in a calm, centered place so that God can mold us in any situation. We have to make ourselves available to God. That’s what Paul and Silas did. Mr. Stimpson tried to be centered, but ultimately failed to do because he was centered on the clock, not on God. The slave masters and the guard were off-center, and so their lives reflected it. The slave masters were manipulators. The guard was fearful.

            The lesson of the potter is that we are called in life to live life from a calm center, where ultimately God can molds us to serve God. One of the reasons so many people in life have a hard time is that they aren’t centered. They let the concerns of life push them all over the wheel, and it warps them. Christian wisdom teaches that we can’t control what happens in life, but we can control how we’ll respond. Yet for Paul and Silas, the more life got out of control, the calmer they got. They learned the lesson of the portion of St. Patrick’s prayer that we are focusing on this morning: “Christ in quiet, Christ in danger.”

            The Christian and biblical example is always one of centering. It is of Abraham in the desert, Moses in the desert, David in the cave, Elijah in the cave, and Jesus in desert, on the mountain, and in the garden, centering and praying. One of the problems of so much of the contemporary Christian movement is that it is focused on constant stimulation, not centering. In contemporary worship services, there is no time for centering. It’s meant to be stimulating, but is stimulation the biblical model? That doesn’t make them wrong, but this need for centering is one reason we build so much time in our worship service for quiet and centering. We start off that way with our chant and quiet prayer. We have time for quiet during our prayer of humility. We have time of centering and prayer during communion and during our pastoral prayer. We recognize the need for centering.

            I want to end by asking you to do an exercise for at least two minutes, which leads you into centering:
1.    Make sure you are in a place of quiet.
2.     Place your feet on the floor, your back straight and comfortably against the back of your chair, and place your hands in your lap so that your shoulders are relaxed.
3.    Close your eyes.
4.    Gently focus on your breathing, letting go of thoughts in your head. You’ll have thoughts, and it won’t be easy to let them go, but just gently let them go.
5.     Breathe back and forth till you find yourself calming down.
6.    If you get distracted, just focus on these words, “God, place me in your center.”
7.    When you’re done, thank God and slowly go back to your day.

            Something like this is a practice Paul and Silas did and understood, and it’s what allowed them to remain calm when all was falling apart.

            Amen.

St. Patrick's Prayer: Christ Working in Our Lives



Luke 24:13-34
February 16, 2014

Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, ‘What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?’ They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, ‘Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?’ He asked them, ‘What things?’ They replied, ‘The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.’ Then he said to them, ‘Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?’ Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.
 As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, ‘Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.’ So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, ‘Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?’ That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, ‘The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!’

            Okay,…seriously,… how could they not have known that it was Jesus who with them? I realize that these two weren’t really disciples of Jesus. I’m not sure who Cleopas was, nor the other man, but what is clear is that they were followers of Jesus who had known him well. As followers, they would have been taught by Jesus, trained by Jesus, eaten with Jesus, and served Jesus. He had been their leader, mentor, friend, teacher, and lord. They had committed their lives to him. How could they not have known it was him who was with them? 

            I’ve read what a lot of scholars have said about this passage, and how they’ve tried to explain their ignorance. Some scholars have simply said that Jesus clouded their eyes, their recognition, so that they wouldn’t recognize him till the right time. Others have said that he must have worn his hood down low, and turned away when they looked directly at him. Still others have suggested that they simply didn’t have enough faith. I think that there’s a simpler answer: Jesus was dead, so there was no reason to expect that the man they were talking to was Jesus.

            Think about this for a moment. Have you had anyone close to you die? Were you there when she or he died? Did you go to the funeral and see the person in the casket? Did you see the body lowered into the grave? If you have, would you conclude that a person you saw a few days later was this dead loved one? Would you have automatically concluded that this familiar person was your dead father, your dead sister, your dead friend, or your dead teacher?

            If this is the case, then the two with Jesus on the road to Emmaus are much like us spiritually. We tend to only see what we expect to see, which means that God could be right in front of us, but if we don’t expect to see or experience God, we’re likely to miss it. Let me give you an example of what I mean.

            Have you ever seen a Bev Doolittle painting? She’s an artist from the southwest U.S. who loves to paint nature scenes of spring and fall in the Rockies. Here favorite it so paint ground where the snow has begun to thaw so there is an interplay of snow, rocks, earth, and aspens. Here’s an example of one of her paintings below:

File written by Adobe Photoshop® 4.0

            This is one of my favorite Doolittle paintings. What makes her paintings interesting is not just what you see, but what you don’t expect to see. Did you see the bear in the brush on the left? She often hides nature within nature. In many ways the spiritual is very much like this painting. We often see and experience only what we expect to see and experience.

            We’ve developed such a scientific perspective in our culture ; a perspective that says that the only things that exist are things for which there’s tangible evidence. But what happens when there’s no tangible evidence for something, and it’s still there? We live in a culture that strives for evidential certainty—for believing only in what can be provable—but even scientists who demand empirical evidence often believe in things for which there isn’t empirical evidence.

            For example, do you know what “dark matter” is? Physicists and astronomists believe that most of the matter that makes up the universe is not visible. It neither emits nor absorbs light. They can’t measure, see, or prove it. But they believe in it because there is an obvious gravitational pull on light and radiation that can’t be accounted for other than by some form of dark matter. A similar example of belief in things that have no direct proof comes from scientist’s belief in other planets. They now say that there are many, many planets like ours in the galaxy. They say that most stars have many planets orbiting them. But they can’t see them. What they see is gravitational pulls and wobbles in stars. So they believe in them, even though they can’t prove they exist.

            In some ways, the way God works in our lives is like dark matter. We experience the effects of God, but don’t usually have direct evidence of God. As someone once said, we discover God in the rearview mirror, not the front windshield. We don’t get evidence of God in the immediate moment, but often it comes in reflection on the past. That’s where we discover God has been in our lives. We look back and realize that we had an experience of God.

            Our passage for today is a great, great example of how often with God what we see isn’t always what is there, and what we don’t see often is. Over the course of my ministry I’ve been with so many people who have been despondent and felt hopeless because they didn’t FEEL Christ with them when they were going through a difficult time. They’ve struggled with an illness, a broken relationship, the loss of a job, the loss of someone close, the loss of a sense of purpose, or something else. In the midst of their struggles, they called out for God to do something, but nothing seems to happen. They don’t feel as though God is doing anything, so they lose hope. The problem isn’t that God isn’t doing anything. It is that they feel like God isn’t doing anything, regardless of what God is doing.

            When they talk to me about it, I often share an insight I gained when I was despondent and felt hopeless back in 1983 during my 16-month period of unemployment. During that time I got frustrated because I kept praying for God to get me a job and help me get out of my funk. I kept complaining that God wasn’t doing anything. Then an image came into my mind of railroad tracks. I imagined that I was traveling along through life like a train along a set of tracks. I realized that whatever it is that God is doing in our lives is much like what is going on upon another set of railroad tracks that will eventually meet up with ours. Until they meet, we can’t see the train on the other tracks carrying our cargo. It may be coming from the south or north, east or west. There may be mountain ranges, lakes, or forests between them and us. We both may be speeding to our rendezvous, but we can see it. But just because we don’t see what’s happening on another track doesn’t mean nothing is happening. It only means that what God is doing is moving toward us, and we have to be patient and wait for it to get to us. Just because we don’t feel Christ, see Christ, sense Christ doesn’t mean that Christ isn’t doing anything. It only means we’re not feeling, seeing, or sensing what Christ is doing.

            I later came to realize that this insight is one that many, many Christian mystics have written about throughout the centuries. One of the best known of these is a man named John of the Cross. Most modern Christians haven’t heard of him, but he did a lot to help Christians understand those times when it feels like God is absent, and to discover how God is present.

            John of the Cross lived in the mid-1500s, and was a member of the Roman Catholic Carmelite order in central Spain. He, along with a woman named Teresa of Avila, tried to reform the Carmelite order to root it back in prayer and devotion to God. They believed that the order had become too focused on ritual, and not enough on prayer, scripture reading, and trying to imitate Christ. He and Teresa began to transform their movement, their order.

            Like many reformers in any endeavor, John was opposed strongly, and even violently by those who wanted to maintain the status quo. Some brothers at monasteries in Toledo decided to travel to John’s monastery and convince him by force to give up his reforming efforts. On December 2nd, 1577, they broke in, abducted him, and imprisoned him bound and blindfolded in their monastery. For weeks they beat him, demanding that he renounce the reforms as well as Sister Teresa. He refused. From that point he was confined to a 6 by 10 foot cell, with only a slit for light and air. He was fed a diet of bread, water, and occasional sardines. He wasn’t allowed to bathe or change his clothes for 9 months. And at least once a week he was subjected to “circular discipline,” which was a flogging where monks stood in a circle, and each one took turns flogging him so that the beatings circled around John, leaving him defenseless. It is amazing how cruel these people could be over reforms that were intended to open people back up to God. But sometimes that’s how people are. They become more focused on their rituals, rites, and routines than on God.

            It was during that period that John began writing about his experiences in poetry. John is best known for coining a term that many people misuse today, which is the term “dark night of the soul.” There are a lot of people who use the term to describe depression or difficult times, but when they do they fail to capture what he really meant. For John, the dark night of the soul is a period of time in which we fail to sense, feel, or experience God, and we have no choice but to go on faith. In his famous poem about the dark night, he basically says that these are times that are meant to teach us how to have faith without evidence. And John discovered the dark night through his own experiences. He may have been deprived, neglected, and beaten, but he never gave up his faith. He never sat around and wondered, “If God is so good, how could God let this happen?” He understood that his experiences were from humans, not God. But still he struggled in his faith. He realized that he had to trust in God based on past experiences and future hopes, rather than on a present sense of God. This became his dark night, his period of trusting in God despite the lack of evidence.

            He originally wrote about his experiences from memory, composing and memorizing the words in his mind. Later, a caring guard gave him paper and pen, and he wrote his poems down. In them he wrote about the period of the dark night, where it seems as though God is absent, and we have no choice but to go on pure faith. His conclusion is that if we can get through the dark night, we eventually come out the other side with a deeply mature faith that senses God no matter what befalls us.

            John eventually escaped from his cell, and returned to Avila to continue his reforms. His poems, which were published afterwards, inspired not only Roman Catholics, but also Protestants, and are still read today, 450 years later. I think Teresa of Avila captured perfectly the idea of the dark night in a poem she wrote about her own dark night. She wrote:
      Let nothing upset you,
  
            let nothing startle you.

      All things pass;
   
            God does not change.

      Patience wins
      
            all it seeks.
      
Whoever has God

            lacks nothing:

      God alone is enough

            Basically, the point of this is that we need to understand that just because we don’t feel, see, or sense Christ with us, doesn’t mean that he isn’t with us. It just means we have to have the maturity to trust God in faith, especially if we don’t feel God. True faith means putting aside the question, “Where is God?” and instead trusting in God no matter what. This is what St. Patrick discovered. As Rev. Frierson said last week, St. Patrick, back when he was just Patrick, the slave of the Celts, had his own dark night watching sheep, living in deprivation, and being beaten by his master. But it was in that time that Patrick deeply and truly discovered God. He discovered God through pure faith.

            The whole challenge of dark night experience is the dividing line between whether we will go into the depths of life, or just stay in the shallow end. The truth is that nobody gets out of life alive. This is part of the whole gist of St. Patrick’s prayer when it says, “Christ beside me, Christ to win me, Christ to comfort and restore me,…” It is a prayer of faith, not evidence.

            Whether you sense it, see it, or feel it, Christ is always with you, within you, behind you, before you, beside you, winning you, comforting and restoring you. It’s not a matter of whether you feel it; it’s a matter of whether you live it.

            Amen.

Christian Teachings We Rarely Ponder: Law vs. Heart

-->
Mark 2:1-12, 23-28
February 2, 2014

When he returned to Capernaum after some days, it was reported that he was at home. So many gathered around that there was no longer room for them, not even in front of the door; and he was speaking the word to them. Then some people came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralytic lay. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven.’ Now some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, ‘Why does this fellow speak in this way? It is blasphemy! Who can forgive sins but God alone?’ At once Jesus perceived in his spirit that they were discussing these questions among themselves; and he said to them, ‘Why do you raise such questions in your hearts? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, “Your sins are forgiven”, or to say, “Stand up and take your mat and walk”? But so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins’—he said to the paralytic— ‘I say to you, stand up, take your mat and go to your home.’ And he stood up, and immediately took the mat and went out before all of them; so that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying, ‘We have never seen anything like this!’
 One Sabbath he was going through the fields; and as they made their way his disciples began to pluck heads of grain. The Pharisees said to him, ‘Look, why are they doing what is not lawful on the Sabbath?’ And he said to them, ‘Have you never read what David did when he and his companions were hungry and in need of food? He entered the house of God, when Abiathar was high priest, and ate the bread of the Presence, which it is not lawful for any but the priests to eat, and he gave some to his companions.’ Then he said to them, ‘The Sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the Sabbath; so the Son of Man is lord even of the Sabbath.’

            Back when I went to seminary, I had a big shock. Actually, I had a lot of big shocks, but one of the biggest was an ongoing shock as I discovered that there’s a big difference between what Christianity teaches, and what people teach that Christianity teaches. What I mean is that we are so used to hearing certain ideas we’ve been taught are what Christianity believes, that it’s a shock to go to seminary and find that many of these teachings are folk teachings that aren’t really Christian.

            For example, why do we do good deeds as Christians? It’s to get into heaven after we die, right? Wrong! Actually, what Christianity teaches is that your invitation to get into heaven is already before you. God delivered it when you were conceived because God loved you. We do good deeds because we’ve already got heaven in us, and our good deeds are letting it out and sharing it with others. Our good deeds are a response to God’s love, not a procurement of God’s love.

            Another question: what do we have to do to get into heaven? See what I said above. The invitation is already there. According to Paul, we are justified (saved) by God’s grace that we accept through faith. So the question isn’t so much what do we have to do to get into heaven, because God’s already taken care of that. The question is, “what do we need to do to get heaven to grow more in us?”

            Why do we go to church? Is it so that we can get into heaven? No. Church is a response to God’s love. Sunday worship, regardless of what we may think about it, is there to help us devote one or more hours a week to opening to God’s Spirit and grace, to praying, learning, praising, and becoming prepared to live as the expression of Christ throughout the week. Going to church doesn’t get us into heaven when we die. Church helps us to share heaven as we live.

            You can see that a lot of the misguided lessons we’ve learned center around how to get into heaven when we die. Another question that revolves around what gets us in to heaven and how we live centers around the question, what is the role of the law and the Ten Commandments? Does following the law, and making sure that we are faithful to the Ten Commandments get us into heaven?

            Growing up I always thought that the point of Christianity was to teach us to follow the Ten Commandments, to learn follow the rules, so we can get a pass into heaven when we die. It wasn’t really until I got into seminary that I realized that what Jesus taught actually was quite different. It’s not that Jesus was against the Ten Commandments and the Law. It was that Jesus knew that the Ten Commandments and the Law had become God-substitutes. In other words, people had become so focused on following the law to the nth degree that they were more interested in serving the law than in serving God. It is possible to do that. It is possible to be so focused on doing right that we actually do wrong. It is possible to become so focused on being obedient to the law that we quit being obedient to God.

            Back in Jesus day, people of faith were constantly focusing on doing the right thing instead of focusing on loving God and loving others. Jesus understood that when we love God with mind, heart, soul, and strength, and others as ourselves, we fulfill what the Ten Commandments were intended to lead us to do. He also understood that it was very possible to follow the law and the Ten Commandments and have no love. Why? Because the law is external, while love is both internal and eternal—it resides in our hearts and in God’s kingdom at the same time.

            Basically, Jesus recognized that it was very easy to follow the law to a T, and in the process to violate the law by violating the love of God for humans, and vice versa. In fact, a large part of what Jesus taught was that we are called to live the intent of the law more than by the law itself.

            Jesus recognized that both the Pharisees and the Sadducees were obsessed with the law, and in the process were missing God. The Sadducees cared mostly about Temple sacrifices to God, which they thought would appease God. But that didn’t mean that they were leading people to love God or each other. All that mattered to them were the sacrifices. Meanwhile, the Pharisees cared a lot about Holy Scripture and living out the law in daily life. They published book after book after book on how to understand the law and apply it to every area of life. But many were missing love.

            Our passage for this morning is a great example of this very problem. There’s a lot embedded in our passage that most people don’t get. Let’s start with where Jesus is. He is in a house doing healings. How does everyone know he’s there? In ancient Middle Eastern houses, people opened their doors in the morning and left them open all day long. Hospitality matters greatly. From sunup to sundown, it was common to welcome anyone who stopped by into your home. To have a door shut during the day when you were home was considered rude and inhospitable. Jesus had been welcomed into a home, and someone with an infirmity saw him and asked for healing prayer. Others walked by and saw the healing. Soon the whole village knew, and people brought their sick and infirmed to be healed.

            The paralytic and his friends knew that they’d never be able to get through the crowd, so they hauled their friend and his mat onto the roof. Middle Eastern roofs were flat. The roofs were constructed of wood and clay. The house would have been built with beams that cross the ceiling at a space of about 3 feet apart. They would stuff the space between with brush and branches. Then clay would be pushed in so that eventually it formed a solid roof. Often families would plant grass or plants on top of that. The roof then became a place that people would sit on in the evening or morning for a cool breeze.

            Dragging him onto the roof, the paralytic’s friends would have dug through the clay and brush to lower him down. While irritating to the house’s owner, this was easily repaired, so it was not a great hardship for the host. In fact, it was seen as clever, and it became a sign of great faith on the part of the man and his friends. So Jesus forgave the man of his sin.

            Now that’s odd. Why would he forgive the man? Shouldn’t he have just healed him? In those days the Jews saw physical illness and infirmity as an outward sign of sin. They believed that God punished sinners by afflicting them with physical harm. To the Pharisees outside, this man would clearly have been a sinner, or at least his parents were, which meant that his paralysis was justified. But Jesus was saying to him that his sin was washed away. Of course, the law-abiding and obsessed scribes (Pharisaic lawyers who spent their days interpreting the law) were outraged. According to scripture and the law, only God could forgive. Jesus’ forgiving his sins was punishable by stoning because he was acting as God. Jesus was now a blasphemer.

            Jesus knew what they were thinking, so he asked a simple question: is it any easier to heal a man than to forgive his sins? He knew that they wouldn’t be able to answer because they could do neither. So he then healed the man. That set the scribes over the top. He had blasphemed, and then swayed the crowd against them by healing the man, therefore showing everyone there that Jesus could forgive sins. They considered him to be of the devil. They were now looking for any infraction of the law. Jesus had acted toward the paralytic in love, but all the scribes cared about was law.

            They soon found another infraction on the Sabbath. Jesus and his disciples were going through a wheat field, plucking and eating the grains. According to the law this counted as work, which was against the law on the Sabbath. The Sabbath was to be kept holy. People rested on the Sabbath by law. You could not cook a meal between sunup and sundown. You could not feed a horse. You couldn’t clean your house. You couldn’t do anything that could be interpreted as work. Plucking grain and eating it was considered to be work. Jesus was breaking the law.

            Jesus’ response? The Sabbath was made to refresh humans. Humans weren’t created to obey the Sabbath. In a way, he was saying that the law was created to guide humans, but humans weren’t created to serve the law. They were created to love and serve God.

            Ultimately, these stories teach us that Christian faith is more about love, not law. And you can see this teaching in the one magi who failed to visit Jesus. You know about the fourth wise man, don’t you? You may know about the other three: Melchior, Caspar, and Balthasar. Did you know about the fourth, Artaban? No? Not many have.

            There is an old story about the fourth magi. He was supposed to meet up with the other three to make their way across the desert. He was to bring with him a sapphire, a ruby, and a pearl of great price. He managed to procure them, but he was late getting to the meeting point. He had found a man dying on the side of the road, and knew that he must care for the man. Much like the story of the Good Samaritan, he ended up paying for the care of the man. He did so by selling the sapphire. By the time he reached the rendezvous point, the other three had left without him. With the extra money he had to purchase a caravan for himself to travel across the waterless void of the desert.

            By the time he got to Bethlehem, Mary, Joseph, and Jesus had fled to Egypt to escape the edict by Herod (who had been told that a new king had been born) that all first-born children were to be killed. Knowing that Jesus was now in Egypt, Artaban made plans to go there. Suddenly there was a knock on the door of the house where he was staying. It was the Herodian guards come to kill the first-born son of the host. Artaban felt he had no choice. He gave the ruby to the guard as a bribe to save the young child.

            Artaban travelled to Egypt, but could find no trace of Jesus. From there he wandered for another 32 years, seeking out this new king, but always finding himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Finally, while visiting Jerusalem, he heard that Jesus, the man who would be king of the Jews, was being crucified. He knew that this was the king he had been seeking all along. He quickly moved to Golgatha, thinking that he could use the pearl as a bribe to procure Jesus’s release

            On the way he heard a scream. It was a young girl running toward him: “Please help me! My father is in debt, and they are going to sell me as a slave to pay his debts.” Artaban tok his pearl and gave it to the authorities to pay off the father’s debts and to save the girl. He was ashamed. He spent his life bearing gifts for the king, and he had squandered them.

            Suddenly there was an earthquake as Jesus died on the cross. Tile from the building he was in fell on Artaban’s head. It was a mortal blow. As the young girl cradled his head in her lap, he started speaking: “When, Lord? When did I see you hungry and give you food? When did I see you thirsty and give you drink? When did I see you naked and clothe you? When did I see you in prison and visit you?” Suddenly, the girl heard a loud voice responding, “Whenever you did these to anyone, you did them to me. You did it to me when you sold the sapphire to help a dying man. You did it when you sold the ruby to save an imperiled child. And you did it now when you sold the pearl to save this girl. Each time you did this, you shared your gift with me.” 

            Artaban smiled, exhaled, and died. He had been seeing Jesus his whole life.

            Ultimately what this teaches us is that the law is there to give us guidance, and to show us what loving God would lead us to do. But following the Ten Commandments, following the law, and even doing the Golden Rule, is not the same as loving others.

            Basically, we are called to live by our hearts—to live by where God lives in us—not just by following the law. Life isn’t so much a matter of how well we followed the rules, but by how well we let God’s love rule in our hearts, minds, and souls.

                        Amen.