|
Sermon at The Church of
the Holy Apostles, New York City,
August 28, 2005,
The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A
by The Reverend
Barry
M. Signorelli
Jeremiah 15:15-21
Psalm 26:1-8
Romans 12:1-8
Matthew 16:21-27
May the words of my mouth, and the
meditations of our hearts, be always acceptable in your sight, O
Lord, our Strength, and our Redeemer. Amen.
Before I
get down to the business at hand this morning, I want to say a
word about the remarks made by the Rev. Pat Robertson last week on
his TV show, “The 700 Club.” As you no doubt have heard, the Rev.
Mr. Robertson was discussing Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez’
stormy relationship with the United States government. His
remarks included the following: “[Chavez] has destroyed the
Venezuelan economy, and he's going to make that a launching pad
for communist infiltration and Muslim extremism all over the
continent. You know, I don't know about this doctrine of
assassination, but if he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I
think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. It's a whole lot
cheaper than starting a war.” Mr. Robertson concluded, “We have
the ability to take him out, and I think the time has come that we
exercise that ability. We don't need another $200 billion war to
get rid of one, you know, strong-arm dictator. It's a whole lot
easier to have some of the covert operatives do the job and then
get it over with.”
These
outrageous words would be startling coming from any American
citizen, but from the mouth of a clergyman, especially one with
such widespread influence and access, they can only call forth
shock and repudiation. Mr. Robertson claims to be a Christian,
yet his comments belie the tenets of Judeo-Christian morality
which he and his like say are the bedrock of our society
(remember, “Thou shalt do no murder?”). At best, they were
irresponsible and ill-advised (and that’s being charitable); at
worst, they are an apostasy to the loving Gospel of the Savior he
claims to follow. As a priest in Christ’s Holy Catholic Church, I
condemn these hurtful, hateful words and pray that they will not
lead astray the weak and misguided. I understand that Mr.
Robertson has apologized for this, and if he is truly repentant,
then I must accept that and forgive him; but the horror of the sin
itself must not be glossed over and excused.
Yes, words
can get you into trouble, as Peter found out in this morning’s
Gospel. Poor Peter – always trying so hard, desperate to get it
right, and only managing it about half the time. His rebuke by
Jesus today is especially poignant, given that only moments before
(in last week’s Gospel, actually), he had gotten it so right by
correctly identifying Jesus as “the Messiah, the Christ of God.”
Jesus praised him, called him the Rock upon which he would build
his Church, and metaphorically gave to him the keys to the kingdom
of heaven. Peter must have been riding high just then…until Jesus
started describing to the disciples how the story would end, with
Jesus’ own arrest and torture and crucifixion. Peter, perhaps
flushed with his recent success, jumped up and said, “No! we
can’t let that happen to you!” Upon which Jesus rebuked him,
saying, “Get thee behind me, Satan! …for you are setting your mind
not on divine things but on human things.” What a fury that was
to burst upon the Rock.
Now, we
can surely understand Peter’s dilemma: he hears that the person he
loves best is going to be in trouble, and he wants to head it off,
keep it from occurring. It’s what most of us, I hope, would be
moved to do. The problem is, having just recognized that Jesus
participates fully in that which is beyond this world, Peter
cannot move his own mind past the seeming-reality of his daily
life; he senses that Jesus is the Son of God, but his reflexes
still treat him as the wandering rabbi, the carpenter’s son. It’s
a problem common to us all: we treat God as if he were just
another human person, (albeit with a lot more power); we assume
that God takes sides and wreaks vengeance according to our
personal grudges and hurts. We hear and may believe words about
selfless love and the immorality of war, yet we too often let
temporal considerations color our judgement about what is
acceptable, or at least unavoidable, behavior in the world. We
ply God with requests like children’s letters to Santa, asking for
this or that, but too seldom asking God what God
wants instead. Even Paul, in the earliest days of the Christian
community, has to remind the Church in
Rome not to “be conformed to this
world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that
you may discern what is the will of God….” After all, we live in
this world of time and space 24 hours a day, it’s the only reality
we know, or can remember – no wonder we expect that God and the
infinity of heaven must be just like this, for it’s too hard to
imagine anything else.
But that
is precisely what God calls us to do, to imagine something else.
After rebuking Peter, Jesus went on to explain to the disciples
the perplexing paradox of living in God’s reality rather than our
own: that by striving to save our lives, we actually lose them in
the process, and that by losing our lives, we will find them.
Now, this just sounds like utter nonsense, doesn’t it? Might we
not also jump up and shout, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never
happen to us!” But if we do, we should not be surprised when
Jesus replies to us, “Get thee behind me, Satan.”
There’s a
reason it’s called a “leap of faith.” God often requires that we
jump off into the unknown with no clear sense of where we might
land, or of the surety of success. Living with our minds set on
divine things is one long series of risk-taking, of going against
what common sense is shouting at us. It’s a learning curve, too;
sometimes it takes a lot of risk-taking, a lot of faith-leaping
with some very hard landings to get it right. And it often means
jumping off alone, being the odd one out, the one who doesn’t see
things the same as everyone else. Jeremiah knew this as well as
anyone; in his lament that we heard today, he is yelling at God
for revealing to him the joy of divine truth, God’s words which
had become to him “a joy and the delight of [his] heart” – yet
which had put him totally at odds with his people, to whom he
sought to share such treasures. His rejection by his sisters and
brothers was like an incurable wound, unceasing pain, and God has
become to him like waters that fail. Again, the paradox: by
following God’s word, we invite rejection; by recognizing the
Christ, we condemn him to death.
And even
for all the risks we take that pan out favorably, there can be
many that are just plain wrong. Remember that Paul’s risk in
reaching out to Gentiles like the Romans was preceded by his
persecution of Jesus’ followers. Sometimes we fail utterly, and
take risks not out of faith and hope, but out of fear and
self-protection, as when Peter denied his Master three times after
Jesus’ arrest (the very event to which he so strongly – and
wrongly – had objected). Every time we take a risk, however
well-intentioned, there is the inherent possibility of failure, of
censure, of being misguided or morally blind. But that hardly
means that we should avoid taking any risks, for to do so would be
to reject the infinite possibilities that God lays out for us; to
avoid taking risks means never knowing what might have been;
without taking risks, we become blind to God’s Kingdom, living
solely in this fallen, imperfect world. Satan prevails by
instilling in us the fear of taking risks.
For
ultimately, we take each leap of faith by ourselves. We may jump
out from a community that supports us, or ignores us, or laughs at
us; we may land in a community that is surprised, or angry, or
welcoming, or complacent. We can hope that, if we’ve read things
correctly and have leapt at God’s beckoning, that we will end up
among others who understand and love us, regardless of our
“success,” but that won’t always be the case – and in any event,
we fly through the unknown alone, and that can be very scary.
Well, actually, it turns out we don’t leap alone, after all – for
God is constantly there with us, whether our risks are well- or
ill-advised. God promised Jeremiah that if he were faithful, he
would prevail against his detractors, and the people would come to
him. Jesus appeared to Saul on the road to Damascus and invited
him to take the risk that redeemed his life. And for the three
denials Peter uttered during the Passion, Jesus later offered him
the chance to give three affirmations of love after the
Resurrection. When we take a leap of faith, God flies through the
air with us.
But how,
then, do we judge the quality of our motivation in taking risks?
It could be argued that Pat Robertson was taking a risk with his
unorthodox comments – why should his risk-taking be condemned?
Because it violated the one standard that is inviolate: the Gospel
of unconditional and selfless love which Jesus came to teach us.
If we cling to that one Truth in all our actions, if we measure
all our thoughts and deeds against that model of life, then we can
safely leap into the unknown, assured that God goes with us, even
when we’re wrong; for such is how God’s will is worked on earth.
The greatest risk, it seems, is not taking one.
Amen.
Back to Sermon Selections
|
