Rahab, Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel, the
prophets....Through acts of faith, they toppled kingdoms, made justice
work, took the promises for themselves. They were protected from
lions, fires, and sword thrusts, turned disadvantage to advantage, won
battles, routed alien armies. Women received their loved ones back
from the dead. There were those who, under torture, refused to give in
and go free, preferring something better: resurrection. Others braved
abuse and whips, and, yes, chains and dungeons. We have stories of
those who were stoned, sawed in two, murdered in cold blood; stories
of vagrants wandering the earth in animal skins, homeless, friendless,
powerless—the world didn't deserve them!—making their way as best they
could on the cruel edges of the world. (Hebrews 11:32-38 MSG)
These are some impressive people mentioned in our text today. Since
they are characters mentioned in the Bible we tend to think they must
have been perfect but of course, upon closer examination, they are not
perfect. King David slept with his general's wife and then manipulated
his general into such a position that he was killed in battle. So
chalk up two sins against King David: Adultery and murder. Rahab, the
Jericho harlot is also on this list. I won't go into the details about
Rahab or the others mentioned in this list. The point is that none of
them were perfect. What a relief it is to learn that God does not
require perfection. Even so, we seem to think true spirituality means
being perfect.
People of my generation and younger are these days are increasingly
haunted by the worthy ones who fought in America's wars. The movie
Saving Private Ryan has made many of us think about what we have done
to be worthy of the sacrifices others have made for us. Stephen
Spielberg has taken us on a tour of the cemetery at Normandy, with all
it's little white crosses and Stars of David. We know that we have
never had to prove ourselves in such a way as they.
The old war movies did what this one resisted - they tended to glorify
war heroes as though their worthiness consisted in their being nearly
perfect people. They were merely human though, no more, no less. They
loved life as we do. They most of them did not set out to be heroes or
offer themselves on the altar of national sacrifice. They were called
upon and they answered. They got drafted and shipped out on boats and
planes. They served in ways they would never have chosen themselves.
Some of them were morally upright, some downright immoral. Some of
them were brave, some cowardly. They were, in other words, just like
us.When Ryan is in fact saved and he stands in the presence of the man
who gave his life for him, Captain Miller whispers to him: Earn this.
Earn this.
Those words haunted James Ryan all his life. Standing before the
little cross of that man in Normandy, Ryan tearfully pleaded with his
wife: Tell me I have lived a good life. Tell me I am a good man.
Let me tell you something. You are worthy. You are worthy. Perfection
is not required.
Anthony de Mello says: "Some are born holy, others achieve holiness,
others yet have holiness thrust upon them" and he tells this story.
An oil well caught fire and the company called in the experts to put
out the blaze. But so intense was th heat that the firefighters could
not get within a thousand feet of the rig. The managements, in
desperation, called the local volunteer fire department to help in any
way they could. Half an hour later a decrepit-looking fire truck
rolled down the road and came to an abrupt stop just fifty feet away
from the devouring flames. The men jumped out of the truck, sprayed on
another, then went on to put the fire out.
The management, in gratitude, held a ceremony some days later at which
the courage of the local firemen was commended, their dedication to
duty extolled-and an enormous check was presented to the chief of the
fire department. When asked by reporters what he planned to do with
the check, the chief replied, "Well the first thing I'm going to do is
take the fire truck to a garage and have the dog gone brakes
repaired."
De Mello tells other stories about what it means to live as an
imperfect Christian. Let me share some of them with you. I hope we
will laugh together and learn together that God accepts and loves us
even though we are not perfect.
An old rabbi was lying ill in bed and his disciples were holding a
whispered conversation at his bedside. They were extolling his
unparalleled virtues.
"Not since the time of Solomon has there been one as wise as he," said
one of them. "And his faith! IT equals that of our father Abraham!"
said another. "Surely his patience equals that of Job," said a third.
"Only in Moses can we find someone who conversed as intimately with
God,' said a fourth.
The rabbi seemed restless. When the disciples had gone, his wife said
to him, "Did you hear them sing your praises?"
"I did," said the rabbi.
"Then why are you so fretful?" said his wife.
"My modesty," complained the rabbi. "No one mentioned my modesty!"
He was indeed a saint who said, "I am only four bare walls--with
nothing inside." No one could be fuller.
A man walked into a doctor's office and said, "Doctor, I have this
awful headache that never leaves me. Could you give me something for
it?"
"I will," said the doctor, "but I want to check a few things out
first. Tell me, do you drink a lot of liquor?"
"Liquor?" said the man indignantly, "I never touch the filthy stuff."
"How about smoking?"
"I think smoking is disgusting. I've never in my life touched tobacco."
"I'm a bit embarrassed to ask this, but--you know the way some men
are--do you do any running around at night?"
"Of course not. What do you take me for? I'm in bed every night by ten
o'clock at the latest."
"Tell me," said the doctor, "this pain in the head you speak of, is it
a sharp, shooting kind of pain?"
"Yes," said the man. "That's it--a sharp, shooting kind of pain."
"Simple, my dear fellow! Your trouble is you have your halo on too
tight. All we need to do for you is loosen it a bit."
The trouble with your ideals is that if you live up to all of them,
you become impossible to live with.
The Master was in an expansive mood, so his disciples sought to learn
from him the stages he had passed through in his quest for the divine.
"God first led me by the hand," he said, "into the Land of Action, and
there I dwelt for several years. Then He returned and led me to the
Land of Sorrows; there I lived until my heart was purged of every
inordinate attachment. That is when I found myself in the Land of
Love, whose burning flames consumed whatever was left in me of self.
This brought me to the Land of Silence, where the mysteries of life
and death were bared before my wondering eyes."
"Was that the final stage of your quest?" they asked.
"No," the Master said. "One day God said, "Today I shall take you to
the innermost sanctuary of the Temple, to the heart of God himself.'
And I was led to the Land of Laughter."
"Prisoner at the bar," said the Grand Inquisitor, "you are charged
with encouraging people to break the laws, traditions, and customs of
our holy religion. How do you plead?"
"Guilty, Your Honor."
"And with frequenting the company of heretics, prostitutes, public
sinners, the extortionist tax-collectors, the colonial conquerors of
our nation--in short, the excommunicated. How do you plead?"
"Guilty, Your Honor."
"Also with publicly criticizing and denouncing those who have been
placed in authority within the Church of God. How do you plead?"
"Guilty, Your Honor."
"Finally, you are charged with revising, correcting, calling into the
question the sacred tenets of our faith. How do you plead?"
"Guilty, Your Honor."
"What is your name, prisoner?"
"Jesus Christ, Your Honor."
Some people are just as alarmed to see their religion practiced as
they are to hear it doubted.
We take away from the stories in the Bible and the stories of Anthony
de Mello the same truth: God does not require perfection. What a
relief. That is good news if I ever heard it. ~All stories taken from
"Taking Flight: A Book of Story Meditations" by Anthony de Mello,
107-144).
--
The Rev. Dr. Jon Burnham preached this sermon at St. John's
Presbyterian Church in Houston, Texas on August 15, 2010.
