Letter From God
Sermon
Life Injections
Connecting Scripture to the Human Experience
Object:
... Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone...
The Pharisees and the Scribes walked away acknowledging the fact that they were not without sin. I'm not too sure there are many today who would have done the same.
__________
God called Saint Peter into the head office of heaven one day and told him they needed to get a count of everyone who would be coming to heaven in the next 100 years so they could make sure they had enough room. God instructed Saint Peter to go down to earth and take a door-to-door census. After only a few days on the job, it became obvious to Peter that it was too big a job to be handled alone. So he went back to God and suggested that instead of a door-to-door canvas they write a letter to everyone who would be coming to heaven in the next 100 years and do a census that way. God thought it was a good idea so they cranked up the Pearly Gates Printing Press, and they printed and mailed a letter to everyone who would be going to heaven in the next 100 years. And, of course, you all know what was in that letter!! (PAUSE) "YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T GET ONE OF THOSE LETTERS?"
I was with a group of people when someone pulled that joke on us and I've been dying to use it ever since. I'm using it today because the fact of the matter is that if God were to send a letter to everyone alive today who will be going to heaven, a vast majority of us would truly expect to receive that letter. The USA Weekend magazine once conducted a poll and the data from the poll revealed that 75 percent of the respondents rated their chance of going to heaven as good to excellent. As a general rule, most of us believe that we're living in such a way that heaven will be our destiny.
It's nice to think that we're doing well when it comes to the conduct of our lives. Many of us are truly good and decent and loving people. But I'm just afraid that generally speaking we tend to overestimate our saintliness and underestimate our sinfulness. We tend to have many blind spots when it comes to an accounting of our lives.
Sir George Mellish was one of the great jurists of England. As a member of a committee appointed to draw up resolutions of congratulations for the Queen, he discovered that his colleagues had begun one resolution with the words: "Being conscious as we are of our own defects." "No! No!" said Judge Mellish. "That will never do. We cannot lie to her Majesty. Change it to: 'Being conscious as we are of one another's defects.' "
George Mellish was pointing out one of the many practices of ours that has kept us from honestly coming to grips with the reality of sin in our lives. As much as we'd like to think that we're fairly good when it comes to our conduct, as much as we'd like to think we're going to heaven, the fact of the matter is that quite often we're not as pure or as holy or as sinless as we think we are. Not only are we conscious of everyone else's defects and unconscious of our own, we are also good at other ways of blinding ourselves to all that is wrong in our life. We tend, for example, to rationalize our wrongs into rights.
Frederick II, an eighteenth century king of Prussia, went on an inspection tour of a Berlin prison. He was greeted with cries of prisoners who fell on their knees and protested their unjust imprisonment. While listening to these phony pleas of innocence, Frederick's eye was caught by a solitary figure in the corner, a prisoner seemingly unconcerned about all the commotion. "Why are you here?" Frederick asked him. "Armed robbery, your Majesty!" "Were you guilty?" the king asked. "Oh, yes, your Majesty, I entirely deserved my punishment." At that, Frederick summoned the jailer. "Jailer! Release this guilty man immediately. I will not have him kept where he will corrupt all the fine innocent people who occupy this prison."
We can chuckle at that story, but how often has it happened that we're guilty of a sin yet we claim our innocence, and that innocence rests on the fact that there was some sort of justification for our sin?
I was caught speeding once on Union Road at 1:30 a.m. The policeman had me doing 45 in a 30 mile-an-hour zone. I dutifully took the ticket, but I was upset. Here's a four-lane highway where nobody goes the speed limit, and they nail me. I went to the Cheektowaga Town Court to plead my case and my line of argument was that I was probably the slowest moving vehicle on Union Road that night. The DA said that was probably true, but he went on to say that it doesn't take away from the fact that I was speeding. What I was using was a line of logic that so often accompanies an accusation of wrongdoing. The fact that others were doing the same thing somehow made me innocent.
Along that same avenue of rationalization comes another way of claiming innocence -- our ability to put a slant on our behavior that whitewashes what we would see as a sin in someone else. Zig Ziglar's book Over the Top1 has a chapter listing a series of quips designed to indicate that very thing. Let me share a few of those quips:
When the other person blows up, he's nasty. When we do, it's righteous indignation.
When she reads the riot act, she's vicious and insensitive; when we do it, we're just being honest for her own good.
When we succeed we say, "Look what I did!" and when we fail we say, "Look what you made me do!"
When she doesn't like your friends, she's prejudiced; when we don't like her friends, we're simply showing good judgment of human nature.
Many things, which we would claim as sin if someone else did them, somehow become not sin when we do them. Many things which are obviously wrong, somehow become right when we do them.
A hillbilly gained a reputation for marksmanship. He could shoot a rifle with incredible accuracy. A man following him through the woods one day saw the evidence. On the trunk of a tree or on the side of a barn would be a round target drawn in chalk and there, dead center, would be a bullet hole. Finally the man caught up with the hillbilly and complimented him on his marksmanship. Then he asked him how he did it. "Oh, it's easy," said the hillbilly. "I just shoot the rifle and draw a circle around the bullet hole."
Often we do what we want to do. We do what we feel like doing, even though it's wrong. Then we get busy with words to prove how reasonable and understandable our behavior really is. We draw a circle of rationalization around the bullet hole.
As much as we'd like to think that we're pretty good when it comes to the conduct of our lives, as much as we'd like to think we're going to heaven, as much as we'd like to think that we're innocent of sin, maybe we would have second thoughts if we took note of how often we have rationalized our wrongs into rights. We might see how often we cleverly draw circles around our bullet holes, absolving ourselves from sin.
And if that weren't enough to give us second thoughts about receiving one of those letters from God, maybe we would think differently if we took note of how often we've blinded ourselves to our own sins by projecting them onto another.
I read this great story of a man who was perplexed by his wife's refusal to admit a hearing problem. Speaking with his doctor one day, he exclaimed, "How can I get my wife to admit she's hard of hearing?" "I'll tell you what you need to do," the doctor replied. "When you arrive home this evening, peek your head in the door and ask, 'Honey, what's for dinner?' If she doesn't answer, go into the living room and say, 'Honey, what's for dinner?' If she still doesn't hear you, then walk into the kitchen and ask, 'Honey, what's for dinner?' If she still does not answer, then walk up directly behind her and speak into her ear, 'Honey, what's for dinner?' Then you will convince her of her need for a hearing exam."
"Great!" the man responded, "I think it will work." That evening the man arrived from work. Just as he was instructed, he opened the front door and called out, "Honey, what's for dinner?" He listened carefully but there was no response. He walked into the living room and repeated, "Honey, what's for dinner?" He listened and still no answer. He then walked into the kitchen and asked, "Honey, what's for dinner?" Still, no answer. The man walked right up behind his wife and spoke directly in her ear, "Honey, what's for dinner?" At this point the wife turned around and sternly replied, "For the fourth time, I said we're having spaghetti."
So often when it comes to our own sin, we see it clearly in someone else yet we don't see it in ourselves. Psychologists call that projection. A good rule of thumb for checking on its practice is to analyze what it is that we find particularly despicable in the lives of the people we like or dislike. If we're honest and forthright in our analysis, we'll usually find that their sin happens to be our own. They're not hard of hearing; we are.
In today's Gospel, when the Scribes and Pharisees led a woman forward who had been caught in adultery, they quoted for Jesus the law which dictated stoning as the proper punishment. They asked for his comments, whereupon he simply bent down and started tracing on the ground with his finger. The scriptures don't tell us what he was tracing, but my guess is that he was tracing on the ground all the sins that the Scribes and Pharisees had either rationalized or projected away. Thus having exposed their less than perfect lives, thus having demonstrated the folly of their self-righteousness, Jesus uttered that famous line: "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." With that they all dispersed, leaving the woman alone with Jesus.
There's nothing wrong with our believing that we're going to make it to heaven, that we're going to receive that letter from God; but perhaps we should give it a second thought. Maybe we'll discover, as George Mellish observed, that we're conscious of one another's defects but unconscious of our own. Maybe, like the man who followed that hillbilly in the woods, we'll discover that the reason we look so good is that we've drawn a circle of rationalization around the bullets of hate, vindictiveness, and rudeness that our rifles have fired. Maybe, like that man who went to see the doctor about his wife's hearing, we'll find that the sin we see in others is really the sin that's within ourselves.
You can go right on believing that heaven is your destiny, but don't be surprised if when you get to the pearly gates proclaiming a righteous life, Jesus starts tracing on the ground the sins you've cleverly and conveniently rationalized or projected away. It is better to be honest with yourself now and confess your sins than to continue with the illusion that somehow you're leading a life without sin. God longs to offer forgiveness. God longs to have you in heaven. Don't disappoint God. Face up to your sins before it's too late.
____________
1. Zig Ziglar, Over the Top (Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1994), p. 242.
The Pharisees and the Scribes walked away acknowledging the fact that they were not without sin. I'm not too sure there are many today who would have done the same.
__________
God called Saint Peter into the head office of heaven one day and told him they needed to get a count of everyone who would be coming to heaven in the next 100 years so they could make sure they had enough room. God instructed Saint Peter to go down to earth and take a door-to-door census. After only a few days on the job, it became obvious to Peter that it was too big a job to be handled alone. So he went back to God and suggested that instead of a door-to-door canvas they write a letter to everyone who would be coming to heaven in the next 100 years and do a census that way. God thought it was a good idea so they cranked up the Pearly Gates Printing Press, and they printed and mailed a letter to everyone who would be going to heaven in the next 100 years. And, of course, you all know what was in that letter!! (PAUSE) "YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T GET ONE OF THOSE LETTERS?"
I was with a group of people when someone pulled that joke on us and I've been dying to use it ever since. I'm using it today because the fact of the matter is that if God were to send a letter to everyone alive today who will be going to heaven, a vast majority of us would truly expect to receive that letter. The USA Weekend magazine once conducted a poll and the data from the poll revealed that 75 percent of the respondents rated their chance of going to heaven as good to excellent. As a general rule, most of us believe that we're living in such a way that heaven will be our destiny.
It's nice to think that we're doing well when it comes to the conduct of our lives. Many of us are truly good and decent and loving people. But I'm just afraid that generally speaking we tend to overestimate our saintliness and underestimate our sinfulness. We tend to have many blind spots when it comes to an accounting of our lives.
Sir George Mellish was one of the great jurists of England. As a member of a committee appointed to draw up resolutions of congratulations for the Queen, he discovered that his colleagues had begun one resolution with the words: "Being conscious as we are of our own defects." "No! No!" said Judge Mellish. "That will never do. We cannot lie to her Majesty. Change it to: 'Being conscious as we are of one another's defects.' "
George Mellish was pointing out one of the many practices of ours that has kept us from honestly coming to grips with the reality of sin in our lives. As much as we'd like to think that we're fairly good when it comes to our conduct, as much as we'd like to think we're going to heaven, the fact of the matter is that quite often we're not as pure or as holy or as sinless as we think we are. Not only are we conscious of everyone else's defects and unconscious of our own, we are also good at other ways of blinding ourselves to all that is wrong in our life. We tend, for example, to rationalize our wrongs into rights.
Frederick II, an eighteenth century king of Prussia, went on an inspection tour of a Berlin prison. He was greeted with cries of prisoners who fell on their knees and protested their unjust imprisonment. While listening to these phony pleas of innocence, Frederick's eye was caught by a solitary figure in the corner, a prisoner seemingly unconcerned about all the commotion. "Why are you here?" Frederick asked him. "Armed robbery, your Majesty!" "Were you guilty?" the king asked. "Oh, yes, your Majesty, I entirely deserved my punishment." At that, Frederick summoned the jailer. "Jailer! Release this guilty man immediately. I will not have him kept where he will corrupt all the fine innocent people who occupy this prison."
We can chuckle at that story, but how often has it happened that we're guilty of a sin yet we claim our innocence, and that innocence rests on the fact that there was some sort of justification for our sin?
I was caught speeding once on Union Road at 1:30 a.m. The policeman had me doing 45 in a 30 mile-an-hour zone. I dutifully took the ticket, but I was upset. Here's a four-lane highway where nobody goes the speed limit, and they nail me. I went to the Cheektowaga Town Court to plead my case and my line of argument was that I was probably the slowest moving vehicle on Union Road that night. The DA said that was probably true, but he went on to say that it doesn't take away from the fact that I was speeding. What I was using was a line of logic that so often accompanies an accusation of wrongdoing. The fact that others were doing the same thing somehow made me innocent.
Along that same avenue of rationalization comes another way of claiming innocence -- our ability to put a slant on our behavior that whitewashes what we would see as a sin in someone else. Zig Ziglar's book Over the Top1 has a chapter listing a series of quips designed to indicate that very thing. Let me share a few of those quips:
When the other person blows up, he's nasty. When we do, it's righteous indignation.
When she reads the riot act, she's vicious and insensitive; when we do it, we're just being honest for her own good.
When we succeed we say, "Look what I did!" and when we fail we say, "Look what you made me do!"
When she doesn't like your friends, she's prejudiced; when we don't like her friends, we're simply showing good judgment of human nature.
Many things, which we would claim as sin if someone else did them, somehow become not sin when we do them. Many things which are obviously wrong, somehow become right when we do them.
A hillbilly gained a reputation for marksmanship. He could shoot a rifle with incredible accuracy. A man following him through the woods one day saw the evidence. On the trunk of a tree or on the side of a barn would be a round target drawn in chalk and there, dead center, would be a bullet hole. Finally the man caught up with the hillbilly and complimented him on his marksmanship. Then he asked him how he did it. "Oh, it's easy," said the hillbilly. "I just shoot the rifle and draw a circle around the bullet hole."
Often we do what we want to do. We do what we feel like doing, even though it's wrong. Then we get busy with words to prove how reasonable and understandable our behavior really is. We draw a circle of rationalization around the bullet hole.
As much as we'd like to think that we're pretty good when it comes to the conduct of our lives, as much as we'd like to think we're going to heaven, as much as we'd like to think that we're innocent of sin, maybe we would have second thoughts if we took note of how often we have rationalized our wrongs into rights. We might see how often we cleverly draw circles around our bullet holes, absolving ourselves from sin.
And if that weren't enough to give us second thoughts about receiving one of those letters from God, maybe we would think differently if we took note of how often we've blinded ourselves to our own sins by projecting them onto another.
I read this great story of a man who was perplexed by his wife's refusal to admit a hearing problem. Speaking with his doctor one day, he exclaimed, "How can I get my wife to admit she's hard of hearing?" "I'll tell you what you need to do," the doctor replied. "When you arrive home this evening, peek your head in the door and ask, 'Honey, what's for dinner?' If she doesn't answer, go into the living room and say, 'Honey, what's for dinner?' If she still doesn't hear you, then walk into the kitchen and ask, 'Honey, what's for dinner?' If she still does not answer, then walk up directly behind her and speak into her ear, 'Honey, what's for dinner?' Then you will convince her of her need for a hearing exam."
"Great!" the man responded, "I think it will work." That evening the man arrived from work. Just as he was instructed, he opened the front door and called out, "Honey, what's for dinner?" He listened carefully but there was no response. He walked into the living room and repeated, "Honey, what's for dinner?" He listened and still no answer. He then walked into the kitchen and asked, "Honey, what's for dinner?" Still, no answer. The man walked right up behind his wife and spoke directly in her ear, "Honey, what's for dinner?" At this point the wife turned around and sternly replied, "For the fourth time, I said we're having spaghetti."
So often when it comes to our own sin, we see it clearly in someone else yet we don't see it in ourselves. Psychologists call that projection. A good rule of thumb for checking on its practice is to analyze what it is that we find particularly despicable in the lives of the people we like or dislike. If we're honest and forthright in our analysis, we'll usually find that their sin happens to be our own. They're not hard of hearing; we are.
In today's Gospel, when the Scribes and Pharisees led a woman forward who had been caught in adultery, they quoted for Jesus the law which dictated stoning as the proper punishment. They asked for his comments, whereupon he simply bent down and started tracing on the ground with his finger. The scriptures don't tell us what he was tracing, but my guess is that he was tracing on the ground all the sins that the Scribes and Pharisees had either rationalized or projected away. Thus having exposed their less than perfect lives, thus having demonstrated the folly of their self-righteousness, Jesus uttered that famous line: "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." With that they all dispersed, leaving the woman alone with Jesus.
There's nothing wrong with our believing that we're going to make it to heaven, that we're going to receive that letter from God; but perhaps we should give it a second thought. Maybe we'll discover, as George Mellish observed, that we're conscious of one another's defects but unconscious of our own. Maybe, like the man who followed that hillbilly in the woods, we'll discover that the reason we look so good is that we've drawn a circle of rationalization around the bullets of hate, vindictiveness, and rudeness that our rifles have fired. Maybe, like that man who went to see the doctor about his wife's hearing, we'll find that the sin we see in others is really the sin that's within ourselves.
You can go right on believing that heaven is your destiny, but don't be surprised if when you get to the pearly gates proclaiming a righteous life, Jesus starts tracing on the ground the sins you've cleverly and conveniently rationalized or projected away. It is better to be honest with yourself now and confess your sins than to continue with the illusion that somehow you're leading a life without sin. God longs to offer forgiveness. God longs to have you in heaven. Don't disappoint God. Face up to your sins before it's too late.
____________
1. Zig Ziglar, Over the Top (Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1994), p. 242.
