Are you saved? Dwelling with God on the 4th Sunday of Lent

“For we are His handiwork, created in

Christ Jesus for the good works that

God has prepared in advance, that we

should live in them.” –Ephesians 4:10

Recently I have been doing a bit of driving –trips to the grocery store, the therapist, the pharmacy, down to Montrose to hear a lecture about Flannery O’Connor, even a drive to and from Dallas for a college visit.  And during these drives –especially if I am alone at night—I tend to turn on one of the Christian radio stations to hear someone preach about God. I started this habit back in my twenties. It just seemed more interesting than most pop music.  Regardless, the habit has stuck.  And I can be inspired by and learn something new from even the simplest sermon (or lesson). I’m not too picky. I like R.C. Sproul (Reformed), Chuck Swindall (Evangelical), Ed Young (Baptist), Charles Stanley (Southern Baptist), and a couple weeks ago I heard a woman from Africa teaching lessons from Genesis 12 and the call of “Papa Abraham.” I had never considered thinking of Abraham as “Papa Abraham,” but I liked it.  What first appealed to me was simply the “exotic” sound of her voice. It was something different from the usually Southern twang of many of these ministers.  But, I also liked the simple lessons about faith and following God that she was deriving from just a very few verses about “Papa Abraham.” So, I kept listening.

But, as I listen to these shows more than occasionally I will hear someone bring up the arguments of the Reformation as if they were still a sore subject. The other night, driving home from Sugarland I heard a preacher (not sure of the name) preaching on Revelations. As I listened he quickly came to the question of the whore of Babylon and how it was –what he called—the church of Rome.  On one level he was making a pretty good case starting with Constantine and the conversion of Rome; dwelling with particular emphasis on the mass baptism of Constantine’s army as a sign of the early Church getting way off on an extremely wrong foot.  

            I’m not certain if it was the same guy, but on another evening I heard the Church of Rome condemned for keeping the Bible out of the hands of the common people for so many centuries: 1. keeping it in Latin, and 2. keeping the right (or authority) to interpret scripture unto itself. Whether it was the same guy, it was definitely the same channel. I’ve head other ministers on that station (ministers I respect –like Sproul) deride the Roman Catholic church for its corruption and especially for still teaching that works are required for salvation.  And as I listen, I am often struck by the thought: you’re over-simplifying! It seems to me that these ministers were probably taught something during seminary and are simply repeating it without checking to see if its true (or ever was), and what the other side has to say for itself.  Heck, they don’t even acknowledge that the Lutherans and the Roman Catholics signed a Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification back in 1999 (when John Paull II was still Pope).

            To be fair, I’ve also heard Catholic radio personalities (on EWTN) do the same thing from the other side.  They ridicule or deride their Protestant brethren for the teaching of justification by faith, and speak disdainfully of the very idea of sola scriptura –oversimplifying everything Luther or Calvin or even Barth might have taught. 

It feels like (on both sides) there is a refusal to listen, to engage the actual ideas of the other side, and a dangerous tendency to oversimplify. Who needs to actually read and contemplate the ideas of Luther or Calvin or a papal encyclical, when all you’re looking for is a straw man to knock over with a blast of your own hot air?    

            For instance, the other night on EWTN a Catholic apologist was citing several scripture passages as proof that Luther was all wrong about faith alone, and that clearly Jesus, Himself, was going to be looking at our works when it came time for the last judgment.

            For a Roman Catholic to think that Luther (or Lutherans) have failed to notice (or consider) Matthew 25: 31-46 is just absurd. A quick Google search will bring up articles and sermons by contemporary Protestant ministers preaching and teaching on the importance of works of mercy and love.  But look a little further and we find that Luther addressed this also; as did Calvin; with grace and inspiring insight. Whether we agree with an interpretation or not, what you will find in these writings is a brother or sister sincerely seeking God’s will and not just a cartoon enemy to be taped to a theological dart board.

The same could be said of those who have never read an encyclical or Papal letter, or the Catechism of the Catholic Church, yet wants to criticize her teachings. But who has time to consider what the other side of an issue when we are all in such a rush to jump to conclusions?

Which –by way of a lengthy introduction—brings me back to Paul’s letter to the Ephesians and the very question of “good works.”

Paul states here that we are “saved through faith” (points for Luther & JPII) and adds that our faith comes not through any effort on our part, but as a “gift of God.”  How much clearer does the teacher have to be here? Suddenly I am wondering why the whole Reformation couldn’t have been handled over in an afternoon at the pub; a couple of pitchers of ale, a block of Limburger and a loaf of pumpernickel and it’s done! Thomas Moore still has his head and Servetus still… well, never mind. As we know, the pub was probably closed for a religious holiday.

(As a side-note, it is interesting what the church has paired this reading with, a passage from Second Chronicles (cf.36:14-16; 19-23) about the “works” of God’s people when they are left to their own devices: abominations and the polluting of the temple. Even when God sends prophets with warnings the people react only with mockery and scoffing. Sound familiar? So, God sends them the Babylonians and a little bit of captivity, as a gift –one might say; a very hard kind of grace.)

But then, what does all this say to us about our works? Aren’t they worth something? Or why bother?

Well, what does Paul say?  Paul says this: our works were prepared for us by God, “that we should live in them.” Our works are where we are to dwell –prepared for us before we were born.  What does that mean: “…Prepared in advance that we should live in them?”

I propose that the answer is found not in theological debates or creeds or encyclicals and catechisms. It is found in Jesus. In the person of Christ.  In the time of fulfillment personified; in the Kingdom of God made flesh.

When the “sheep” in the parable of the last judgment ask the King: When did we see you hungry and feed you? Naked and give you clothes? A stranger and make you welcome? A prisoner and visit you? Basically, they are asking Jesus: When, Lord, were we in your presence? When were we dwelling in the Kingdom of God? Living in the time of fulfillment? And what does Jesus say? He responds:

“In truth I tell you, when you did this for the least

Of these my brothers, you did it for me…” (Mt. 25:40)

Basically, He is answering: when you did this and this and… 

True, those works may not earn the Kingdom of God, but that may not be the point. The point just might be that they are the Kingdom of God. (How very Dante-esque, I must say!)

So, if we’ve signed a declaration of agreement, why do Catholics and Protestants keep arguing about these things? And why do they always seem to be scoffing and deriding each other’s ideas?  Why won’t they just sit down with a pitcher of Shiner and a plate of nachos and listen to each other? That’s probably a discussion for another time, but it reminds me of something Jesus says in Sunday’s Gospel:

“…the people preferred darkness.” (Jn 3:19)

The Crown of Christ the King

“Come you who are blessed by my Father…

For I was hungry and you gave me food…”

--Matthew 25:31-46

“I was hungry…” This reading from Matthew has always spoken to me –as (I am certain) it does to so many.  It leaves me pondering the many times I have met and turned away from Christ.  He was standing right before me and I turned away or I drove right past him standing at a corner or I rolled up my window as he approached to ask for change.

How often have I turned from Christ and hardly given it a thought?

When we look at that man standing on the corner holding his sign or holding out his hand many times we don’t see Christ; we see a wreck of a person or we see a possible threat, or we see someone we suspect is trying to take advantage of us (a scam?), but rarely –I imagine-- do any of us look at that person and immediately see Jesus.  And yet, that seems to be what He is saying here.  Jesus doesn’t say to us: When you do this, it’s like you were doing it for Me. Consider it a form of spiritual simile, if you will. The poor are symbolically my presence and therefore if you do something for them, then metaphorically you are doing something for Me –at least on a spiritual plain.  Jesus seems to be saying that when we care for the poor, the hungry, the prisoner, the sick, the stranger we are in fact caring for, visiting, feeding, helping him.  It seems to me, that He is being pretty clear about this. That when we care for those in need, we are caring for Jesus. And yet, knowing that –in my heart of hearts—how many times has God come to me, literally walked up to my car window and presented Himself to me, prepared to touch my life with His presence –His grace—and I turned away because I was too busy or too scared. Because he looked too grimy or too tattered or too smelly or too desperate.  And, of course, there were times when I thought the guy standing there with his hand out wasn’t tattered looking enough; he was probably just some guy pretending to be poor.  Some cheat who will just take my money and waste it on beer or drugs!

               

But, what if I rethought that; what if I just retyped it:  what if I simply changed “he” to “He?”  Would that capital H make any difference in how I treated him/Him: the poor woman or man, the sick, the half-naked hungry stranger?  I think it would.  If I started looking at that destitute person at the stoplight not as some “thing” to be avoided, but as “someone” to be welcomed (a King, perhaps), I think it would make all the difference in the world.

What if I really heard these words and believed them?  What if –instead of letting this oh so familiar reading wash over me and fill me with a sentimental feeling, what if really listened and let it change my life.  Hearing these words, really hearing them, what if I went forth filled with a desire and a commitment to meet Christ in the poor and the sick and the prisoners?  What if I went out filled with a desire to reflect God’s generosity back to Him by giving freely to the poor, the sick, the naked, the stranger. What if I opened my heart to the blessing of God’s special presence in His poor? What if every time I went out, I was prepared to meet Him face to face in His people?

Instead, too often, on hearing it I am momentarily filled with a sentimental love of the poor that fades almost as I get up from the pew (or close my Bible), and dissipates too quickly into worries about myself, my family and my “poverty.”  And then, instead of looking for Christ, I avert my eyes, roll up my windows and keep my wallet safely in my pocket when He approaches.  Too often, instead of looking for God in the poor and the hungry, I find I am looking only at myself, and seeing there (in my reflection) my real god. 

All of this reminds me of Dostoevsky’s Fr. Zosima (from The Brothers Karamazov). Zosima is an elder in a monastery who presents Dostoevsky’s simple and faith-filled response to Ivan Karamazov’s Grand Inquisitor allegory.  In a relatively early scene in the novel a “woman of little faith” comes before Zosima asking for help. She claims she just wants to know for certain that there is a God, and that the soul is immortal.  Zosima tells her that there is no proof for the existence of God, but one can be “…convinced of it… by the experience of active love.  Strive [he says] to love your neighbor actively and indefatigably. Insofar as you advance in love you will grow surer of the reality of God and of the immortality of your soul.  If you attain to perfect self-forgetfulness in the love of your neighbor, then you will believe without doubt.  This has been tried.  This is certain.”

That doubtless certainty is perhaps what Christ means when He calls speaks of those "blessed by My Father..." They are blessed with a faith that sees Jesus in the poor and doesn't look away.  

If I want to know for certain that God exists, if I want to know without doubt, if I want that blessing, then I must love my neighbor (and that includes my wife and kids and mother-in-law) actively and indefatigably.  I must treat them,the hungry, the homeless, the stranger, the sick, the prisoner (and the mother-in-law) with love and compassion. Then, and only then, I will know without doubt that there is a God. Because then (and there) I will meet Him face to face.  

“When did we see you hungry or a stranger or sick and feed
you or welcome you or visit and care for you?”

This Sunday is the Feast of Christ the King.  How is it we recognize a king? Most of the time, we recognize a king by his crown.  Ask yourself, where do you find your king? Where do you see His crown?

The Parable of the Talents & the recycle bins

“Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping

where you did not sow, and gathering where

you scattered no seed…” –Matthew 25:24

This morning was beautiful in Houston: crisp, cold, --the air was clear –the sky was brilliant and a peaceful blue.   I got out for my morning walk a little late –I tend to get out a little later these days—but when I woke and found the house was cold I knew I couldn’t stay in bed; I had to get outside. I had gone to bed still thinking about those virgins and their oil jars and their lamps, but I woke up to the thrill of a cold house; I had to be up. And I was eager to get outside.

The cold weather (for Houston) came with a bit of a breeze (I guess) because a few of my neighbors’ recycle bins were blown open. (Several of us had put our bins out Friday, hoping that the recycling pick-up would start again, but apparently not yet. There hasn’t been a pick up since before Harvey; so, many bins in our neighborhood are almost overflowing with broken down boxes and beer cans and plastic bottles.)  When I got halfway down the street to Helen’s house –she’s the friendly neighbor lady with the three floor mop dogs who talks to me about the weather and her grandchildren and our friend Molly.

Anyway, when I got to Helen’s house (p.s. her husband’s name is Anthony) (I mean, just so you know)… Anyway, and … Anyway, when I got to Helen’s house I noticed that their recycle bin had blown open and  there was a couple of flattened boxes near their driveway and a couple of plastic water bottles, and another sheet of cardboard up against the curb across the street.  My immediate reaction was to pick them up, but I didn’t. I started to walk past them. Looking at their open bin which was still pretty full, I figured trash had blown out of it sometime in the night, and thought of closing it for them so more trash wouldn’t blow out. But, I started to talk myself out of it. I began to convince myself that this wasn’t my mess to clean up, and that –in fact—it would be good for the person responsible to find it and clean it up.

I rationalized that they needed to learn to put their recycle bin away and not to overstuff it –and to make sure they secured the lid.  If –I reasoned—I cleaned up their mess –which, now I was noticing was also scattered across their driveway and decorating their front lawn (Boy! They must be good at this whole recycling thing!) –anyway, if I cleaned up their mess for them they wouldn’t find it and learn to take proper care next time.  Heck, it would be a disservice to them and the community at large if I… It was at that point that I found myself stooping down to pick up a flattened box and a couple of plastic bottles….

Anyway (again), this is how I came to stop thinking about the poor foolish virgins and their lack of oil and began to understand more clearly the parable of the talents. Coming upon the mess at Helen’s house (and Anthony) my initial reaction was to help. There was a mess, and I didn’t want to just leave it for someone else. That would be wrong. Yet, when I hesitated, and began to rationalize, I pushed that initial urge down; in a way, I buried it, and as I did, I noticed a growing tension and anxiety rising inside of me –taking its place.  And with this growing tension came resentment. Why can’t people take care of their own trash? Why can’t THEY be responsible for their own recycling? Who do THEY think they are? Why should I be taking care of their messes?  They won’t learn or change unless I let them suffer the natural consequences of not securing their trash. In fact, for their own good, I should probably grab some more recycling and throw it around the yard as well and those beer cans in the neighbor's recycle bin –maybe I should throw some of those around, too!

In that moment I was becoming a “hard man,” a man “who reaps where has not sewn,” a man who “gathers where he has not scattered,” and a man who scatters where he has not recycled! (when no one is looking…)

But the reason I was becoming that man was because I was burying my talent.  I was (to use a psychological term) sublimating my gifts.  Yet, after picking up Helen’s yard and pushing what I could back down into her bin and then putting the excess into the bin of those nursing students who live next door, I continued on my walk and –with another stop or two to pick up stray cardboard and plastic-- I realized:

This is the parable. I was living it. Right here. Right now.  God has given me certain gifts (my talents), one of which is the urge to help.  And when I bury that talent not only do I hide my gift, but I also begin to grow resentful, just like that “one talent” servant in the parable.  And like that servant I begin to project my resentment onto others –including the Master (i.e. God).  Burying my talent, I begin to grow hard and bitter and I project that bitterness and growing hardness, onto the world. I see others as fools and irresponsible and selfish and…

But, in fact, at 6:08 am, Helen and Anthony were probably still snuggled warmly in their bed under extra blankets and completely unaware of what the beautiful cold morning had wrought on their recycling. (And, in fact, they are actually very kind, very generous and very loving neighbors, who always invite us to their post-Thanksgiving Crab-fast!)

Back to the parable. When Mr. 1-talent Servant accuses the master of being a “hard man who reaps where he does not sow,” I wonder if that servant isn’t actually projecting his own hardening heart onto a master who, it seems at the beginning of the parable, is actually very generous and trusting.  According to scholars, a “talent” was actually a huge sum of money –worth about 15+ years labor. So, this master handed that first servant the equivalent of about 75 years salary and asked the servant to take care of it for him.  (My first thought wouldn’t have been to invest it, it would possibly have been to get on the next camel caravan headed to Switzerland!)  So, the master wasn’t acting hard or selfish when he handed out the talents to his servants.  He entrusts huge sums of money to his servants, and then he shares with them the profits.  So, why does the 1-talent servant call him hard?  Because the servant himself has become hard.

If we share the gifts God gives us, we find that they are returned to us doubled, and our vision of God will (I imagine) expand as well; but if we bury our gifts we lose them and as we do we will find our spirit shrinking, our hardening hearts blaming God and our vision of God embittered and growing resentful and scrupulous.

Be your gift! Become the gift God made you to be, and no amount of oil or lamps will matter because you will set the world on fire (St. Catherine of Siena); you will light the world!  But bury your gift and the world seems to grow dark and cold and hard –and in that darkness, you can too easily lose your way, and then where will you be? Somewhere sad, bitter and lonely, haunted by the sound of much “weeping and the gnashing of teeth.”

Postscript: As I was coming back to the house, I saw a largish opened box in the middle of my next door neighbor’s lawn. My first thought wasn’t about recycling or bins, but of Christmas.  I looked at that simple, empty, open brown box and thought –What an interesting Christmas lawn-decoration. Way to go, Anna! I like it. Simple. Subtle. And much easier to maintain than her wobbly giant  inflatable Santa on a train.  Sometimes what you see depends less on what it is, than the way you look at it.