…the moment is here: a reflection on Romans 13

“The moment is here for you to stop sleeping and wake up… the night is nearly over, daylight is on the way; so let us throw off everything that belongs to the darkness and equip ourselves for the light… Let your armor be the Lord Jesus Christ, and stop worrying about how your disordered natural inclinations may be fulfilled.”  --Romans 13: 11-14

In these verses Paul seems to speak to my life directly; middle aged, worried about my appetites and inclinations, sleep-walking through my own dark woods (i.e. mid-life crisis). But Paul assures us that that night nearly over, and daylight is on the way. Consider what that might mean to you personally.  For me, the night seems to describe the darkness that comes during a particularly difficult time: a time when I feel alone, lost, afraid.  And the daylight brings hope, the ability to see clearly what now I can only see in shadows and vague shapes –as if through a glass darkly.  

On one level the darkness, the night imagery, speaks to me of a time when our faith is challenged and we struggle to see signs of God’s presence, God’s guidance, God’s love; perhaps Paul is referring to this existence –this world. A place of spiritual darkness? A place and time wherein we cannot see God clearly, but he reassures us that daylight is coming. And it seems to me that he isn’t referring just to a sunrise tomorrow morning, but the Son rise of God’s fullness and grace.  The light of Christ.

And so, Paul exhorts us to throw off everything that belongs to the darkness, and singles out drunkenness, orgies, licentiousness and jealousy for special mention (cf.13:13). And yet, I think there is much more to this “deeds of darkness” than the easily singled out: sexual immorality (and drunkenness).  In the darkness we find ourselves afraid, anxious, insecure, confused, feeling hopeless, defensive (suspicious of every sound, every shadow that passes); in the darkness we grow tired; exhausted, we huddle together in an enclosed space seeking security –and desperate to escape from life’s troubles, how often do we long to simply fall into sleep?

All this belongs to the night, along with our revels and orgies and drunkenness –we hide them from the light to avoid witness to our shame, our fear, our vulnerability –our weakness.  In the dark, though, it is too easy to get lost. To think you are hidden, because you cannot see. Like a small child who covers his eyes and imagines the world cannot see him, we can begin to imagine our weakness and our sin is hidden –because it is kept in the darkness.  However, Paul says to us: throw off those deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light.  On the pious surface it would be easy to see this as simply: stop doing bad things and be a good Christian!

But, I think there is much more to it, and much less.  I think Paul is also saying: stop hiding yourselves! Put on the armor of light; on the one hand, (the spiritual hand, one might say) act like Christ! Yes! Of course! But on the other hand (on the more basic, more pedestrian day to day hand) put on the armor of light could also mean, don’t hide yourself! Don’t pretend to be something you aren’t.  And let the world accept or reject you because of who you really are! In a sense, there is no real armor except the armor of light.  As long as you have something to hide (something you are ashamed to have revealed) you will be afraid. Afraid it will come to light.  And yet Paul seems to be saying that “the light” is exactly what our darkness needs.

I don’t know that we need to wander the streets wearing scarlet letters, but perhaps the Puritans weren’t completely wrong.  For me, I am more interested in the concept of openness and vulnerability as strengths (as a kind of spiritual or psychological armor) and I am also interested in the sacrament of confession. We definitely need to admit to each other, privately and publicly, our brokenness and our need for Grace.  Wake up, Paul says. If you are a follower of Christ, then you need to start living like one.  But it is also clear that he knows we aren’t just going to just wake up one morning and suddenly be perfect. It seems to me that the message here isn’t about being perfect, but about being awake. Living intentionally and vulnerably.  Putting on the armor of light doesn’t mean we will be free from temptation (or that we won’t stumble into sin) but that we will be truly visible, we will be fully vulnerable, and perhaps that is how we will become light for the world.

Don’t ask yourself if you are ready. The hour is nigh. The moment is here. Stop sleep walking.  Wake up. Put on the light.

Some thoughts on Romans 1-2

“It is yourself you condemn when you judge others…” –Romans 2:1b

“…persevering in doing good…” –Romans 2:7b

During his March 5 Angelus address, Pope Francis recommended that Christians turn to the Bible when we are engaged in spiritual battle.  Even asking what if we turned to a little pocket Bible as often as we turned to our mobile phones.

Okay! I take the bait.  I’ve begun reading Paul’s letter to the Romans for my Lenten reading. The choice was very happenstance, as far as that goes. I had begun to read Jeremiah on my own, but the Bible group I study with voted to read Romans, therefore that is what I will read –partly in preparation for the study group, but most definitely for my own contemplation and spiritual growth.

And so, here is my first meditation on Paul’s longest letter.

In the opening chapters there is a striking element. Paul develops an image in chapter one of God’s wrath not as a judgment imposed upon sinners, but as a natural consequence of their rejection of God.  Because they reject Him, God abandons them “to degrading passions” and “unacceptable thoughts and indecent behavior” (cf. 1: 26-32). Chapter 1 builds to a crescendo in intensity as Paul proclaims that though these sinners are “well aware of God’s ordinance[s]” they not only choose to behave in degrading ways, but “applaud others who do the same” (1:32).   So, on some level we are being primed to anticipate a statement of how these figures should be treated by the Christian community.  And perhaps that is exactly what we get at the beginning of chapter 2, when Paul warns us: “It is yourself you condemn when you judge others…”

It fascinates me that a somewhat detailed description of sin and depravity is followed by a warning against judging. It fascinates me because it seems to me Paul is making a powerful statement not about sin and judgment, but about God’s generosity and mercy.  Where we might expect Paul to recommend casting out the sinner, or avoiding the sin, etc, he instead admonishes us to avoid judging others, lest we condemn ourselves.  And he reminds us that God’s generosity is “meant to bring you to repentance” (cf.2:4b).  This reminder and admonition, call us to humble ourselves not just before the saints, but also before the sinners. Perhaps, especially before the sinners. We must treat them generously and with compassion –if we would be children of the generous and merciful God.  If we would be the body of Christ.  Because by our compassion and generosity perhaps we will become –even for a moment-- a sign –an icon-- for someone, of God’s great love.

The last thing that struck me in this beautifully rich very early passage from Paul’s letter is his note about those who aim for “glory and honor and immortality by persevering in doing good…” in verse 7.  Coming right after his admonition about judging and his comment about God’s generosity, I was struck by the thought: How do I know who is “persevering in doing good?”  I may have no idea what the good is that you are doing? And I certainly can’t know how much it costs you to persevere in that effort.  Perhaps the good you are doing is to be gentle with a difficult boss, perhaps it is to walk away when others begin to gossip, or to quiet yourself at the end of the day and bow down on your knees before God and simply put your trust in His generous love and mercy. I do not know. I cannot know your heart. And perhaps the good you persevere in will look to the world like nothing but wasted effort and failure. But, again –who am I to judge? I’m sure that a death on the cross looked like failure to a lot of 1^st century Romans and Jews.