Nothing to Earn

Mt 20:1-16[1]

I have confessed on more than one occasion that I’m not very good at handling money. That’s not for lack of exposure to money matters. I was raised in part by a Grandfather who taught me the value of putting your money to work for you before I reached adolescence. So as a young Seminary professor in my 30’s, you will understand that I was putting 10% of my income into retirement. Unfortunately, life has a way of thwarting the best laid plans. In fact, it would seem that our current economic situation is so complicated and confused that it is thwarting everyone’s best laid plans! Even those who study economics and follow the markets closely are scratching their heads and throwing their hands up in resignation.

Economics at that level may be hard to understand, but at a more down-to-earth level, it’s not hard at all. You have to plan your budget based on the principle that income must exceed expenses. If it doesn’t, you have to make other plans, or you have to cut your expenses. That applies to family budgets, church budgets, and businesses as well. And when it comes to running a business, again the principles are fairly straightforward: you reward the employees who perform the best, and to those who don’t perform you give instruction and warning, and finally when all else fails, you let them go.

In our Gospel lesson for today, Jesus tells a story that reflects a completely different way of looking at things. It is a story about a vineyard owner who pays his workers on the principle of generosity, rather than on the principle of merit. And this story is supposed to illustrate “the Kingdom of Heaven.” That phrase might lead us to think of this as some kind of otherworldly realm, but that is not the case. In Matthew’s Gospel, “the Kingdom of Heaven” is just a more reverent way of saying “the Kingdom of God.” They both refer to the same thing: a way of living that puts into practice God’s justice and peace and freedom for all people. It is the goal toward which everything in Scripture is moving. It is the hope that continues to inspire faith and love on the part of those who seek to live as the people of God.[2]

Having said that, I think we would have to admit that it is a strange kingdom. The story from our lesson for today depicts a man who owns a vineyard large enough to employ all the day laborers this particular community could supply. Apparently, the harvest is ready and he’s anxious to get the grapes out of the field as quickly as possible. And so he goes to the market at the break of day to hire workers for his field. But then he keeps going back all day long, sending more workers to help with the harvest. So far so good.

But when it comes time to pay the workers for their labor, things begin to get strange. The vineyard owner instructs that the workers be paid beginning with the last to be hired—and he pays them all the same thing! Those who worked only 1 hour get a full day’s wage, just like those who put in a full 12 hours! This part makes no sense if you’re trying to run a business. Think of it—if you tried to run a business on the basis of paying everybody the same thing regardless of how well they worked, your business wouldn’t last very long.

And when one of those who had worked all day complained, the employer simply insists that he has a right to be generous with what belongs to him. The story of the workers in the vineyard insists that in the kingdom God envisions, the realm in which God’s justice and peace and freedom defines life for all people, there is nothing to earn.[3] In a very real sense, we are all “eleventh-hour workers,” regardless of what we may have done.[4] In this kingdom, everyone receives the generosity of God’s grace, God’s unconditional love, and God’s unfailing mercy.[5]

The “Kingdom of Heaven” that Jesus talks about is a strange kingdom indeed! It operates completely differently from the way things work in our everyday lives. In the strange kingdom Jesus envisions, “the last will be first and the first will be last.” In this strange kingdom, those who are deemed godless gain entry ahead of those who are supposedly godly and righteous. In this strange kingdom, little children are the example by which we all must measure ourselves. In this strange kingdom, those who serve are the ones who are viewed as great. It is a strange kingdom indeed! How can this kind of kingdom survive in a world where the first are first and the last are last? What was Jesus thinking in advocating this kind of kingdom as the ideal for those who seek to be the people of God?

I think the point of it all is that the grace of God, God’s unconditional love, and God’s unfailing mercy, are gifts that we can never earn. They are given to us all freely, generously, with no strings attached. That means there is nothing to earn—we don’t have to do more or be better in order to ensure that God loves us, because God loves us completely already.[6] As Desmond Tutu puts it, “There is nothing we can do to make God love us more” and “there is nothing we can do to make God love us less.”[7] It is a strange kingdom indeed where there is nothing to earn. Thanks be to God!

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[1] © 2011 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 9/18/11 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX and at A Community of the Servant-Savior Presbyterian Church, Houston, TX.

[2] Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, 97-99.

[3] Cf. Desmond and Mpho Tutu, Made for Goodness: And Why This Makes All the Difference, 21.

[4] Douglas A. Hare, Matthew, 231.

[5] Cf. M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” New Interpreter’s Bible 8:394.

[6] Tutu and Tutu, Made for Goodness, 24-25.

[7] Desmond Tutu, God Has a Dream: A Vision of Hope for Our Time, 32

Forgiving as We Have Been Forgiven

Mt 18:21-35[1]

Every Sunday, millions of Christians in this country pray for God to forgive us as we forgive others. I wonder to what extent we really take that seriously. Let’s face it, there’s something very difficult about really forgiving those who have wronged us. On this day, it’s especially difficult for us to forgive those who attacked this country and caused the deaths of thousands of our fellow Americans. And on this day, of all days, the good news of our Lord and Savior Jesus the Christ tells us that we are to forgive those who sin against us not just seven times but seventy-seven times![2] When I was planning my sermons a couple of months ago and I saw that what the gospel reading was for this Sunday, I knew it was going to be challenging for us.

The last ten years have consumed us with a “war on terror.” Apparently, in some measures we have been relatively successful at thwarting Al Qaeda.[3] And yet, at what cost? Besides the many thousands who have died, there is also the cost in what are essentially intangible measures. We’ve had to learn to adjust to a whole different way of life that is marked by greater hostility toward those who are different from us, greater anxiety about our safety, and greater fear about our future. But perhaps the most pervasive cost to us is that in our effort to make ourselves feel safe we have sold our souls to the gods of war and violence. In the process, we have essentially imprisoned ourselves in a house whose boundaries are inscribed by our fear and anger and unwillingness to forgive.

There’s a story in the 2005 Sydney Pollack film, The Interpreter that I think illustrates our predicament: do we go on avenging ourselves on our enemies, or do we find a way to practice the forgiveness we say we believe in, and in so doing set ourselves free from that awful day? The film is about an interpreter at the United Nations named Sylvia. She tells the story of a ritual of forgiveness in Africa that’s based on the principle that “the only way to end grief is to save a life.” The ritual takes place when someone is murdered. After a year of mourning, the family of the victim undergoes the “Drowning Man Trial,” where the killer is tied up and thrown into a river to drown. The family have to choose—if they let the killer drown, they will have justice, but they will spend the rest of their lives in mourning. If they save the killer from drowning, if they accept that they share a common humanity and that life isn’t always just, then their act of saving a life can heal their grief. Whether there is or ever was such a thing as a “drowning man trial,” I think it serves at least like a parable for us: do we forgive as we have been forgiven, and in so doing find healing for ourselves, or do we seek vengeance and punishment, and so find ourselves trapped in grief and bitterness?

There is a real-life story of forgiveness that comes out of South Africa and the injustice of Apartheid. One person who embodies this story is Archbishop Desmond Tutu. He was raised in one of the townships—or better shanty towns—where black South Africans were kept. He lived Apartheid—he and his family experienced it firsthand. Several of his friends were imprisoned and even killed in the violence that defined South Africa under Apartheid. When that whole system of oppression ended, the South African people faced a crossroads: would they simply live out the script of every oppressed people throughout history, whereby the oppressed become the oppressors, or could they find a different path that would lead to healing for both oppressed and oppressors alike?[4]

The leaders of the new South Africa formed a “Truth and Reconciliation Commission” to try to seek that different path. Instead of handing out punishment, the whole purpose of the commission was to give victims the chance to tell their stories, to have their suffering acknowledged, and to confront their oppressors in person. And to give the oppressors a change to tell the truth about their crimes and seek forgiveness and clemency. They had no idea what would happen from this, but as it turns out, time after time, oppressed and oppressor came together and experienced genuine reconciliation based on the experience of crimes acknowledged and forgiven.

One of the foundational principles of this experience is what Tutu calls “Ubuntu.”[5] It is a Xhosa word that stands for the idea that we all share a common humanity. It says that the only way the human family can thrive is together. That means that when we look at another human being, even someone who has wounded us deeply, we cannot see an enemy, but rather a fellow human being, a brother or a sister. It seems to me that, in order to prayer the prayer, “forgive our sins as we forgive those who sin against us” and mean it, we have to practice “Ubuntu”—we have to acknowledge that we share a common humanity even with those who wrong us. When we can look at those who inflict pain on us and see brothers and sisters, then we can begin to forgive as we have been forgiven. Then we can begin to set them and ourselves free from the vicious circle of bitterness, hatred, and violence, and move into the freedom of forgiving as we have been forgiven.[6]

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[1] © 2011 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 9/11/11 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX and at A Community of the Servant-Savior Presbyterian Church, Houston, TX.

[2] Cf. M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” New Interpreters Bible 8: 380, where he observes, “Whoever counts has not forgiven at all, but is only biding his or her time (1 Cor 13:5). The kind of forgiveness called for is beyond all calculation.” Cf. also D. A. Hagner, Matthew 14-28, 537. Cf. also Ulrich Luz, Matthew, 465, where he points out that Peter was asking not about limited forgiveness but whether he was expected to practice perfect forgiveness. Jesus responds by calling for “The most perfect, boundlessly infinite, countlessly repeated forgiveness.”

[3] “Ten Years On,” The Economist 3 Sept 2011, 11-12.

[4] Cf. Desmond Tutu, God has a Dream: A Vision of Hope for our Time, 52-58.

[5] Cf. Desmond Tutu and Mpho Tutu, Made for Goodness: And Why This Makes All the Difference, 47; cf. also Tutu, God Has a Dream, 25-28.

[6] Tutu & Tutu, Made for Goodness, 150-51.

Blinders

John 9:1-41[1]

Our eyes are truly amazing. We can detect minute variations of hues in thousands of colors. We can see in bright sunlight and also in almost complete darkness. We can determine the relative distance and speed of moving objects. And yet, at the same time, we can be incredibly blind to what is obvious. Especially when something is “out of place.” Like the set of keys on the counter right in front of us. Or the cell phone that is still lying exactly in the same spot where we put it.

Our Gospel lesson for today is a story about how we can be blind to what is obvious. We tend to think of the metaphors of light and darkness in terms of those who are “enlightened” by their religious faith versus those who are still “in the darkness.” But our Gospel lesson turns the tables on all that. In this story, it is the religious authorities who are blinded to what is the obvious truth, something they should be able to see plainly, something right under their noses. And it is to some extent one who was viewed as an unlearned vagrant who points out what they are so unable—or unwilling—to see.

The episode begins with Jesus encountering a man who had been born blind and who had spent his whole life seeking the charity of others in order to support himself. Part of what makes this story ironic and even humorous, however, is that while the narrator continually speaks of him as “the man who had formerly been blind,” the religious authorities go to great lengths to try to disprove or discredit or simply avoid this obvious truth. As it turns out, they are the ones who are truly blinded because of their religious assumptions—or should be say prejudices?

Well, the first blinder in the story is that anyone who suffers tragedy must have brought it on themselves by some grievous sin. Jesus’ own disciples voice this belief, asking, “who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” (John 9:2). Their question reflected the common religious view that if you do what is right you will be blessed by God, but if you do what is wrong you will be punished. But Jesus exploded the myth. I like the way Eugene Peterson translates Jesus’ response in The Message: “You’re asking the wrong question. You're looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do” (John 9:3, Message). In essence, the religion of the day taught that anyone suffering from tragedy surely must have done something terrible to deserve such a fate. In a very real sense, the religion of our day still teaches that! But Jesus says that tragedy in our world is an opportunity for us to demonstrate “the works of God” (John 9:4): kindness, compassion, mercy, and generosity!

The next blinder that comes up in the story has to do with the fact that Jesus healed “the man who had formerly been blind” on the Sabbath day. Because Jesus dared exercise God’s mercy by healing this man, the religious authorities believed he had “broken” the Sabbath and therefore assumed that he was a “sinner.” Some of them put it this way: “This man is not from God, for he does not observe the Sabbath” (John 9:16). The assumption was that these particular religious authorities were the experts on what one must do to please God. And since Jesus didn’t follow their meticulous rules about keeping the Sabbath holy, he must have been a sinner.

Ironically, it is “the man who had formerly been blind” who exposes their folly. The religious authorities keep pressing him, trying to find a way to avoid the obvious conclusion that this man had been born blind and Jesus had restored his sight. Finally, in exasperation they say, “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner” (John 9:24). And this unlearned, marginalized, very like unkempt man, who just that morning had been living on the street, shows a depth of insight beyond any they possess. He says, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see” (John 9:25).

Think about it: one of the ways we religious people go around trying to make ourselves look and feel good is to brand other people as “sinners.” At one point the religious authorities fire off what they must have thought was the ultimate insult: “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” (John 9:34). At one point even “the man who had formerly been blind” buys into the idea that “God doesn’t listen to sinners” (John 9:31, CEV). But it seems to me that if God doesn’t listen to sinners, we’re all in trouble! Surely when it comes to labeling who’s a sinner and who’s not, we should heed the wisdom of “I don’t know.”

The end of the story finds Jesus making an ironic pronouncement: “I am here to give sight to the blind and to make blind everyone who can see” (John 9:39, CEV). In a very real sense this is what the story of “the man who had formerly been blind” is about. The Message puts it this way, “I came into the world … , so that those who have never seen will see, and those who have made a great pretense of seeing will be exposed as blind” (John 9:39, Message). This story is about exposing how those who think they are so pious and holy and righteous are the ones who completely ignore the grace and mercy and compassion of God. It’s not the “sinners” who go around making a pretense of being holy and pious and righteous. It is the religious people, the church members, the elders and deacons and ministers and priests of this world who make “a great pretense” out of their religion, going around labeling other people “sinners.”

But, as in the case of the authorities in our gospel lesson, all our religious pretenses and assumptions and prejudices tend to be elaborate means for justifying and validating ourselves at the expense of others. They wind up blinding us to what is obvious, to what should be as plain as the nose on our face. They keep us from seeing the people around us, not as “sinners,” but as beloved children of God. They keep us from seeing other people with God’s eyes, which are eyes of mercy, and compassion, and love.[2]

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[1] © 2011 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 4/3/11 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX and at A Community of the Servant-Savior Presbyterian Church, Houston, TX.

[2] Cf. Desmond Tutu, God Has a Dream: a Vision of Hope for Our Time, 71-98. Cf. especially p. 97: “if we had the eyes to see, we would look at one another and see the beauty of God, and we would treat each other with appropriate reverence and awe”; and “when we begin to look for the light of God in people, an incredible thing happens. We find it more and more in people—all people.”

Life-Giving

John 4:5-42[1]

In 1994, I spent two months during the Summer teaching at a Seminary in the Philippines. I was in Baguio City, in the northern part of Luzon. If you know anything about the Philippines, you know that I was there during what is known as the “rainy season.” Let me tell you, they aren’t kidding about that! It rained most of the time I was there. At one point, we had an eight-day stretch where it rained night and day with no breaks. Eight days straight! As much as all that rain tended to have a “dampening” effect on my mood, I couldn’t help noticing the end result. There was a veritable garden of Eden there! All around me life was flourishing—from hibiscus that served as hedges to beautiful trees to all kinds of flowering plants. It was easy to see the life-giving effects of water all around me.

It might be hard to sell the people of northeastern Japan on the life-giving properties of water just now. Hundreds of thousands have either lost loved ones, or homes, or have been displaced by the damage done by the tsunami—not least on the nuclear reactors at the Fukushima plant! All around them is evidence of the destructive power of water. But at the same time, the very difficulty they have ensuring that they and their family have access to clean water reminds them that it is necessary for life. Even though they have all too painful experience with the destructive power of water, they are constantly reminded that it is life-giving.

I think you could probably find some reference to water as a symbol for the gift of new life, divine life, in just about every religion. The image of water as life-giving certainly fills the Bible. In the book of Genesis, the Garden of Eden is watered by four great rivers, and it’s filled with all kinds of plant and animal life. In the Psalms, the vitality of faith is compared to a tree planted by streams of water bearing fruit. In the prophets, the way home from exile was to be attended by streams in the desert, turning the wasteland into a green and living garden. And in the visions of the end, the ultimate renewal comes when the river of the water of life flows throughout the earth from the throne of God.

Jesus’ interview with the Samaritan woman in our Gospel lesson for today illustrates the life-giving quality of water. She came to the well to get water, and he startled her by asking for a drink. She no doubt recognized that he was crossing several boundaries that people just didn’t cross in that day and time[2] —he was Jewish, she was a Samaritan; he was a man talking with a woman who was not a member of his immediate family; and he was a Rabbi talking with one who had been shunned by religious people. No wonder she was startled.

But Jesus replied that he could give her water that would truly satisfy her thirst. And like Nicodemus, she misunderstood him at first. He was talking about something entirely beyond her comprehension. He said it this way: “no one who drinks the water I give will ever be thirsty again. The water I give is like a flowing fountain that gives eternal life” (Jn. 4:14, CEV). But what precisely was this “life-giving” water Jesus was talking about? The mysterious nature of it reminds me of what Jesus said to Nicodemus about the Spirit as the mysterious bringer of new life. In John’s Gospel it is the Spirit who gives us the new life God has in store for us—a completely new experience of life.[3]

I believe St. Paul’s comment about peace and hope and love “poured” into our hearts through the Spirit may help us understand what Jesus was talking about in our Gospel lesson. The Spirit gives us a whole new quality of living in part by assuring us of God’s love. When you look at the Gospel lesson again from that perspective, it seems that what was so life-giving about Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well was his acceptance of her just as she was.[4] It was his offer of unconditional love that brought a whole new vitality to her life.

Think about it. What makes life really worth living for you? What makes you “come to life”? What gives you enthusiasm and strength for living? I guess we might have different answers, but if you’re like me, it’s the fact that you’re the “apple of someone’s eye.” What gives me life is the knowledge that there is someone who loves me unconditionally, irrevocably, and absolutely. There is someone in the universe whose refrigerator is covered with pictures of me. It’s the realization, down deep in my soul where doubts and fears lurk, that, in the words of Desmond Tutu, “there’s nothing you can do to make God love you more,” and “there’s nothing you can do to make God love you less.”[5] That assurance is liberating, it’s healing, and it’s invigorating. Like the cool, refreshing water that constantly surrounds us and sustains us, that experience of God’s love is life-giving.

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[1] © 2011 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 3/27/11 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX and at A Community of the Servant-Savior Presbyterian Church, Houston, TX.

[2] Judith Gundry-Volf, “Spirit, Mercy, and the Other,” Theology Today 51 (Jan 1995): 508-510.

[3] In John 7:37-39, when Jesus invites all who are thirsty to drink living water that will fill their hearts, John explains that he was talking about the Spirit of God as the one who brings new life. Cf. Gail. R. O’Day, “The Gospel of John,” New Interpreter’s Bible vol 9:566. Cf. also Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, 4.4.126.

[4] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Face to Face with God,” The Christian Century (Feb 28, 1996): 227: “The Messiah is the one who shows you who you are by showing you who he is—who crosses all boundaries, breaks all rules, drops all disguises—speaking to you like someone you have known all your life, bubbling up in your life like a well that needs no dipper.” Cf. Similarly, Gundry-Volf, “Spirit, Mercy and the Other,” 511: “Jesus' spring, …, is a symbol of the sweet water of inclusion. As the Samaritan woman experiences inclusion through Jesus' dismantling of ethnic, religious, and gender barriers, she begins to taste this water and, then, to thirst after it.”

[5] See Desmond Tutu, God Has A Dream, 32