God's love surrounds us in forgiveness: 23rd after pentecost

The holy gospel according to Luke (18:9-14)

⁹Jesus also told this parable

      to some who trusted in themselves

            that they were righteous

            and regarded others with contempt:

         ¹⁰“Two men went up to the temple to pray,

            one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.

            ¹¹The Pharisee, standing by himself,

                  was praying thus,

                        ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people:

                              thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.

                        ¹²I fast twice a week;

                        I give a tenth of all my income.’

            ¹³But the tax collector, standing far off,

                  would not even look up to heaven,

                        but was beating his breast and saying,

                              ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’

            ¹⁴I tell you, this man went down to his home

                  justified alongside the other;

                        for all who exalt themselves will be humbled,

                              and all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

The gospel of the Lord.

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Today’s gospel provides us with an interesting juxtaposition.  The tax collector, considered a traitor to his people as he profits off of them and supports the occupying Roman forces in his work, is set alongside the Pharisee, a leader of the people who does everything right—and then some.

Both the Pharisee and the tax collector are, as is often the case in Jesus’ parables, caricatures of their real-life counterparts.  The Pharisee is an over-the-top faithful one, adhering not only to the Torah, but adding a fuller tithe than was expected of him and fasting twice a week!  The tax collector himself would be a surprise to see in the Temple at all, considering the sentiment toward him as a sell-out to the Roman Empire.

Taken together, they give us insight into confession and forgiveness, an important part of our worship most Sundays.

After taking a moment to prepare our hearts and minds for worship and calling ourselves and each other into this particular worship, we together confess our sins.  We do this each week for a few reasons.

Confessing our sins—our shortfalls, the ways we fail to separate ourselves from oppressive systems in our culture, and the ways we succeed in separating ourselves from others in need—keeps us mindful that we live in an imperfect world.  As part of this, each week I do my best to make sure that we mess up at least once as a reminder that we are not perfect.  Usually I don’t have to work at all to achieve this—we’ll call it a natural talent ;-)

When we confess our sins during worship, it is a way of acknowledging that we are not perfect.  It also creates space for us, both individually in our moment for silent confession, and communally, to name the sins we carry with us.

We confess the prejudice we carry, that we can favor our own comfort or security more than the lives or well-being of others. 

We confess that we try to control others’ freedom.

      that we trust too much in violence to solve problems all over the world.

We confess that we give into the fear we have been taught to carry

      when we see others who are not like us.

We confess the ways we disparage others because of their race, religion, language, age, gender, or sexual orientation. 

We confess our resentments and regrets.

Confessing our sins as a group helps us know that we are not alone in falling short.  We all mess up.  Both our actions and our inactions work to separate us from others and from God.  Sin limits our experience of the Divine in our midst and in our relationships with others.  Like the tax collector, our sin impacts our whole community.  Jewish New Testament Scholar Amy-Jill Levine points out that the “concern for community responsibility [found in first century Palestinian culture] means that the sin of one person can negatively impact everyone else.”[1]  There are ripples from our sins just like there are from the tax collector’s support of an oppressive empire and the extra money he takes from his community, beyond what is required or sustainable.

And so confessing helps us recognize and turn from our sin to new and better ways of being in the world.  When we confess our sins, then we cry out with the tax collector. “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”  Confessing our sin even functions as a corrective so that we do not fall into the trap of the Pharisee and judge others as more sinful than us.  Because that’s not what it’s about.  It’s not a tit-for-tat game of who sinned more or worse.  We are all sinners, we are all caught up in systems of oppression, and we all act in ways that tear down ourselves and others.

And so we cry out for God’s mercy, God’s forgiveness, God’s love.  And God gladly and freely grants us forgiveness.  While confession and forgiveness do not erase what we’ve done or not done—we still have to face the natural consequences of our actions—through confession and forgiveness, God creates the space for us to try again, to do better.  That is part of the forgiveness in confession and forgiveness—the guarantee that God forgives you entirely and the call to do better in the future.

God’s love is so great that it covers us all, from the Pharisee, who, though he is righteous, falls into judging the other and trying to set himself too far apart, to the tax collector, whose job betrays his community and supports oppressive forces at work in the Roman empire. 

God’s love also calls to mind the ways we do God’s will—the ways God is at work through us, the ways we don’t totally mess up, the times when we are not “thieves, rogues, adulterers.”  Our sin ripples out, affecting many, but so does God’s love.  God’s love ripples out from each of us and its ripples are far greater than those of our sin.  As we receive God’s forgiveness, God’s love surrounds us and spreads outward like water breaking through a dam.

God’s love and forgiveness call to mind God’s covenantal relationship with us collectively as a community of faith—that we are in this together.  God’s love is for us altogether.  That is the joy and celebration in our response to forgiveness—that “this [one goes] down to [their] home justified alongside the other.”  We pray and confess together and we are justified together.

Our sins are forgiven, our good deeds lifted up, and in all of that, we rest in God’s love.  We take comfort in trusting that God’s love goes deeper than our worst shortfalls, our worst sins, our worst regrets, and God’s love lifts us up together higher than we could ever imagine or attempt to earn on our own. 

It is God’s love that binds us together in a covenant of forgiveness. 

It is God’s love that spreads from us throughout the world.

And it is God’s love that brings justice and peace into the world.

Thanks be to God.

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[1] Short Stories by Jesus, p. 209

god gathers us in the margins: 21st after pentecost

The first reading was 2 Kings 5:1-15c.

The holy gospel according to Luke (17:11-19)

¹¹On the way to Jerusalem

      Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee.

            ¹²As he entered a village,

                  ten people who had leprosy approached him.

                  Keeping their distance,

                        ¹³they called out, saying,

                              “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”

                  ¹⁴When he saw them, he said to them,

                        “Go and show yourselves to the priests.”

                              And as they went, they were made clean.

                                    ¹⁵Then one of them,

                                          when he saw that he was healed,

                                                turned back,

                                                      praising God with a loud voice.

                                                ¹⁶He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him.

                                                      And he was a Samaritan.

                  ¹⁷Then Jesus asked,

                        “Were not ten made clean?

                              But the other nine, where are they?

                                    ¹⁸Was none of them found to return

                                          and give praise to God except this foreigner?”

                  ¹⁹Then Jesus said to the Samaritan,

                        “Get up and go on your way;

                              your faith has made you well.” [greek: your faith has saved you]

The gospel of the Lord.

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Today we encounter Jesus “going through the region between Samaria and Galilee,” on his way to Jerusalem where the cross awaits. In this space between, on the journey and not yet there, an encounter takes place.  Because where else but in the space between Samaria and Galilee would a Samaritan with leprosy spend time with 9 Jews with leprosy? 

So often we think about Jesus as the one who brings together disparate groups and forms community, but in today’s readings the disparate groups are already there and together.  The 10 people with leprosy gather together in this village. While in their culture, Jews and Samaritans would be enemies of the highest degree,                      because all 10 are outcast for their leprosy, they connect on a level otherwise impossible.

As they find themselves at the margins, in this village between places, the people with leprosy find some community, even as they seek the deeper healing Jesus will provide.

In our first reading as well, it is only when those who are foreign encounter each other that a path to healing is discovered.  Namaan is powerful. He is commander of King Aram’s army, which means not only power and authority, but also considerable wealth.

Unlike the people with leprosy in the gospel, Namaan has enough wealth and power that even his leprosy doesn’t earn him the role of outcast.  The leprosy still plagues Namaan, but it’s not until a young girl speaks up that Namaan finds hope for healing. The young girl, a foreigner to Namaan, since she was taken captive and enslaved during an Aramean raid in the land of Israel, is at the lowest of positions, serving those who captured her.  And yet she is the one to point Namaan to healing.

And so, in these spaces of encounter between estranged groups and even enemies, between foreigners and long-time inhabitants of the land, new experiences of the divine, chances for healing, take place. 

A couple of weeks ago we had our first bilingual dinner church.  We gathered as people who only spoke English, only spoke Spanish, and spoke some amount of both.  We were not enemies coming together, but we were people from different cultures and countries, different stations in life, and different languages gathering together.  We made food, ate, and talked together.  We drew pictures, showed pictures, made hand motions, and used translation apps on our fancy phones.

Y’all reached outside of your comfort zones.  You made intentional decisions to be ok sounding funny, making mistakes, and even being laughed at, because you would be laughing too.  These months that we, both collectively and individually, have gotten to know folks who work locally on the farms, have been exciting, and regular.

Like Namaan we have stretched ourselves and our expectations. We have learned a lot.  Sometimes the simplest things have worked the best.  As we have grown and gotten to know our neighbors, the foreigners in our midst, we have found life together.  Like our dinner church experience, it has been boisterous and full of laughter and good food.

This is the gift that God provides when we let down our guard, put away our “ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten sets of garments,” the markers of our status that can too often define us.  When we do this, we open ourselves up to God’s unexpected presence—discovering the simpler and smaller ways that God shows up.  When we reject our assumptions about the “right way” to do things—from worship to community, to language and even politics, God shows up and surprises us.

The holy moments surprise us in making food and cleaning up together, in wandering school halls during breaks in ESL classes, and in trying our hand at communicating and learning even with language barriers.  It is in these moments that the presence of the Divine becomes more palpable.

And it’s amazing the healing and wholeness that takes place.  In those shared spaces and moments of lowered walls, Jesus shows up and gives us another glimpse of community, of friendship, and of neighbors.  Jesus greets the people with leprosy and affirms the faith of the foreigner, the one despised by his own people.  Namaan’s healing comes from the foreigner in his midst, the young girl captured and enslaved, and yet she is the one who knows where God’s healing can be found.

God shows up      in the margins, the in between spaces. 

God shows up and upsets our expectations. 

God upsets our expectations and opens us to new life, community, and even healing. 

Jesus gathers community in new and powerful ways

and God will always gather us anew—

      today at Chicken and Biscuit dinner,

      Tuesday at sewing and ESL,

      and forever,

            because that’s what God does.