Still Sinners, Still Forgiven
Sermon
Sermons On The Second Reading
Series I, Cycle A
I have an announcement to make. Today's sermon is not for everybody. It was not planned for a general audience. It was not written to whom it may concern. No, today's sermon is intended for people who have a hard time feeling forgiven. The rest of you can listen in.
Once in a while, I run across somebody who has difficulty feeling that the good news of the gospel is for them. They don't have any problem believing all the outrageous things that church takes to be true, like God becoming a human or the resurrection of Jesus. They may generally go along with, even enjoy, the church's commitment to mission in the world. They like church people, and choose to spend time around them. But when it comes to accepting God as a positive and joyful presence in daily life, well, it simply doesn't come as good news.
At the heart, this seems to be a matter of forgiveness. The heart of the gospel is the news that God in Christ forgives us. "While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." It's one thing to go to church, sing the hymns, say the prayers, stand and affirm this truth. It's another thing to know in your veins that this is good news for me.
Tom Long tells about his first failure in ministry. All his seminary books were unpacked. All the pencils were sharpened at the desk. A church member knocked on his door and asked if he had a few minutes to talk. She started right in: "I know that I shouldn't feel this way, but I just don't think God can ever forgive me."
The few minutes became an hour. Tom asked, "What is the burden that you're carrying?" She was a devoted mother, a loyal spouse, a committed church member. She had never robbed a bank, did not have a secret addiction, had no shameful secrets to bear.
He tried giving her some spiritual sound bytes - God loves you, God forgives your sins - just trying some quick fix to get her through the moment. Her reply: "I know God loves me. I know Jesus died for my sins. I know all that. I just can't overcome the feeling that God stands in judgment of me."1
Anybody know how that feels? As Tom quips, it is like living in rural France in 1944 and hearing the news of D--Day over the radio. The word of conquest reaches your ears, but the army of liberation has not yet arrived at your village.
The letter of Romans seems to be sent to folks in that village. It's sent to people like us. It's a gift to people who gather every week to confess their sins and hear the assurance of God's pardon, yet they can't help but sense that nothing really has changed. Maybe that's why Paul keeps hammering away about the power of forgiveness. He insists that the atoning death of Jesus is a foundational issue which calls the very church into existence. We are included in the power and purpose of the gospel because Christ died for us.
The difficulty is in believing that it's true, really true, that we are forgiven.
I recently heard a minister who served a little church in a sleepy little town on the Susquehanna River. "Sometimes the high school has a good wrestling team," he says. "Other than that nothing much happens." A college professor retired and moved back to the town, back to the family homestead. He was well--educated, well--traveled, and the minister found him to be a breath of fresh air. He had a strong speaking voice, and when he wasn't assisting in the worship service or singing in the choir, everybody could still hear him when the congregation would say some words together.
Every Sunday, they would say the Lord's Prayer together. When they got to "Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors," the retired professor would say "Forgive us our trespasses." With his strong voice, everybody could hear it. It used to annoy the minister.
"Forgive us our debts ... Forgive us our trespasses."
One day during coffee hour, he moved over to the man and said, "I notice that you say, 'Forgive us our trespasses,' even when the rest of us say, 'Debts.' I know you grew up in this church, and people around here have always said, 'Debts.' I'm curious about that."
The retired professor said, "My father was the town banker. He always taught us that debts must be repaid, not forgiven. Every dime must be repaid. It was irresponsible to let a debtor off the hook. And so, our family has always said, 'Trespasses.' "
I suppose there are a lot of people who believe that, regardless of whatever words they say. Everybody has to repay everything. That old banker and his son might both be shocked to learn that the touchy word in that prayer is not translated "debt" or "trespass." The really touchy word is translated as "forgive." In Greek, the word is translated as "cancel," as in, "cancel our debts, cancel our trespasses, cancel our sins." Everything destructive is cancelled. That's what Jesus accomplished on the cross.
That's why Paul's proclamation is so powerful. We don't have to keep beating ourselves up about the things we have done or the things we ought to have done. All of that is over. God lets go of it. It's done. It is accomplished. In the final words of Jesus, "It is finished."
Perhaps you heard about the woman in a large city who claimed she was having visions of Jesus. She was a Roman Catholic, and the word spread all over the diocese. The reports reached the archbishop, who decided to check her out. "Is it true, ma'am, that you have visions of Jesus?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
The archbishop said, "The next time you have a vision, ask Jesus to tell you the sins that I confessed on my last confession."
The woman was stunned. "Did I hear you right, bishop? You actually want me to ask Jesus to tell me the sins of your past?"
"Exactly. Please call me if anything happens."
Ten days later, she called his office and requested him to come. He arrived within the hour. He said, "You told me on the telephone that you actually had a vision of the Lord. Did you do what I asked?"
"Yes, bishop," she replied. "I asked Jesus to tell me the sins that you confessed in your last confession."
He leaned forward with anticipation. His eyes narrowed. "What did Jesus say?"
She took his hand and looked into his eyes. "Bishop," she said, "these are his exact words: I can't remember."2
The Christian faith happens when people accept with complete trust that their sins have been forgiven and forgotten. Somebody else may carry a grudge against you, but it isn't God. Jesus Christ has already gone to bat for you. His sacrificial death has already released you. What he accomplished on the cross continues to set us free. There is nothing that you or I could ever do to erase the power of Christ's one sacrifice.
The problem, then, is not with God. It's with us. We keep hanging on to things. Our memories of sins are longer than God's memory. Either we keep holding those things over somebody else's head, as if we exert power over them, or we are afraid to believe that God loves us so much that God put away our deficiencies and sins when Jesus died on the cross.
I suppose all of us fall into bad habits now and then. For a while, I got into the habit of apologizing for everything. Everything. Somebody would say, "It's raining today," and I'd say, "I'm sorry." I'd be sitting with some people in a restaurant and one of them would get a lousy dinner. And I'd say, "Gee, I'm sorry," as if it was my fault.
Of course, if I actually did something wrong, like cut somebody off mid--sentence in a conversation, they might bring it to my attention. I would apologize once, and then twice, and three or four more times. A week later, I would still be apologizing.
In fact, a few different times during that stretch of time, I was considering committing a few robberies and a murder or two, maybe even jaywalking, and I couldn't stop apologizing for it. What was all of that about?
I went out for breakfast with some friends. One of my friends got a runny omelet, and I said, "I'm sorry that we came here for breakfast."
He said, "Why do you keep saying that?"
"Saying what?"
"You keep apologizing. Don't you believe in the atonement?"
I said, "What?"
He said, "Jesus died once to take away the sins of the world. You keep hanging on to most of your little sins, and amplifying the rest." His words were a well--needed slap. Not a slap across the face, so much as a slap to start a baby breathing. As Paul Tillich once said somewhere, "The greatest burden and joy of the gospel is accepting God's acceptance of you."
You are forgiven, of sins committed and not committed. You are free from the burdens of your natural inclinations. God is done with giving you a report card for everything. Do you know why? Because on the day that God was grading our papers, his Son spilled gallons and gallons of Wite--Out(r) over everything. It happened once and for all. That's the favorite phrase of a lot of New Testament writers, including the preacher of Hebrews. In Hebrews, for instance, it means two things. First, the cross is the singular, conclusive, and final display of God's forgiveness: once and for all! And second, the cross is the single far--reaching event with universal effect - it happened once ... for all. For everybody and everything. For all.
In one of his theology books, Robert Capon tells about a married woman who made a bargain with God. After her daughter got in a terrible ski accident, the woman promised God that she would end an extramarital affair if her daughter pulled through. Her daughter began to recover, and she began to have second thoughts about the promise. To be blunt about it, the accident sent her back into her boyfriend's arms. So she goes to see Father Capon. She confesses how guilty she feels.
He listens for a while. Then she says, "I feel like I should keep my promise to God, even though I don't want to."
Robert smiled and said, "Do you really think it's going to do any good?" She is shocked, as he goes on to remind her of other people (like the Old Testament character Jephthah) who make rash promises to God.
"The problem," he goes on to explain, "is that the God of the Bible isn't interested in making any more deals with us. He has dealt with us decisively in Jesus. 'While we were still sinners, Christ died for the ungodly.' A broken promise is one more trespass nailed to the cross. We are forgiven and accepted by God. It has nothing to do with how good we are, or how bad we are, or how good we say we're going to be."
She said, "But I'm still stuck in this awful situation with this other guy. What am I going to do?"
He said, "That's your decision. But I need to tell you this: If we believe the gospel, sin can't condemn us - and just as important, not committing sin can't save us. What saves us is the free forgiveness of Jesus, not our works - not even our good works."
She stammered, "Yes, but ... I thought my religion says that ..."
"Helen, excuse my French," he replied, "but Christianity is not a religion. It's a living faith in Jesus, and you've got to trust that he takes away the sins of the world ... Religion can't do the job. The blood of goats and bulls can't take away sins; your performances on your vows have no value when it comes to getting your act together so that you can con God into being on your side. Only Jesus can take away sins; and he's done it all in one shot, for everybody."
"Yes, but ..."3
"Yes, but ..." How long are we going to hang on to our objections?
The way I figure it, somebody took Jesus down from the cross a long time ago. There is no reason for any of us to keep him up there.
____________
1. Thomas G. Long, "Bold in the Presence of God: Atonement in Hebrews," Interpretation, Vol. 52, No. 1 (January 1998), p. 53.
2. This version is retold by Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel (Multnomah, Oregon: Multnomah Publishers, 2000), pp. 115--116.
3. Robert Farrar Capon, The Mystery of Christ ... And Why We Don't Get It (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmanns, 1993).
Once in a while, I run across somebody who has difficulty feeling that the good news of the gospel is for them. They don't have any problem believing all the outrageous things that church takes to be true, like God becoming a human or the resurrection of Jesus. They may generally go along with, even enjoy, the church's commitment to mission in the world. They like church people, and choose to spend time around them. But when it comes to accepting God as a positive and joyful presence in daily life, well, it simply doesn't come as good news.
At the heart, this seems to be a matter of forgiveness. The heart of the gospel is the news that God in Christ forgives us. "While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." It's one thing to go to church, sing the hymns, say the prayers, stand and affirm this truth. It's another thing to know in your veins that this is good news for me.
Tom Long tells about his first failure in ministry. All his seminary books were unpacked. All the pencils were sharpened at the desk. A church member knocked on his door and asked if he had a few minutes to talk. She started right in: "I know that I shouldn't feel this way, but I just don't think God can ever forgive me."
The few minutes became an hour. Tom asked, "What is the burden that you're carrying?" She was a devoted mother, a loyal spouse, a committed church member. She had never robbed a bank, did not have a secret addiction, had no shameful secrets to bear.
He tried giving her some spiritual sound bytes - God loves you, God forgives your sins - just trying some quick fix to get her through the moment. Her reply: "I know God loves me. I know Jesus died for my sins. I know all that. I just can't overcome the feeling that God stands in judgment of me."1
Anybody know how that feels? As Tom quips, it is like living in rural France in 1944 and hearing the news of D--Day over the radio. The word of conquest reaches your ears, but the army of liberation has not yet arrived at your village.
The letter of Romans seems to be sent to folks in that village. It's sent to people like us. It's a gift to people who gather every week to confess their sins and hear the assurance of God's pardon, yet they can't help but sense that nothing really has changed. Maybe that's why Paul keeps hammering away about the power of forgiveness. He insists that the atoning death of Jesus is a foundational issue which calls the very church into existence. We are included in the power and purpose of the gospel because Christ died for us.
The difficulty is in believing that it's true, really true, that we are forgiven.
I recently heard a minister who served a little church in a sleepy little town on the Susquehanna River. "Sometimes the high school has a good wrestling team," he says. "Other than that nothing much happens." A college professor retired and moved back to the town, back to the family homestead. He was well--educated, well--traveled, and the minister found him to be a breath of fresh air. He had a strong speaking voice, and when he wasn't assisting in the worship service or singing in the choir, everybody could still hear him when the congregation would say some words together.
Every Sunday, they would say the Lord's Prayer together. When they got to "Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors," the retired professor would say "Forgive us our trespasses." With his strong voice, everybody could hear it. It used to annoy the minister.
"Forgive us our debts ... Forgive us our trespasses."
One day during coffee hour, he moved over to the man and said, "I notice that you say, 'Forgive us our trespasses,' even when the rest of us say, 'Debts.' I know you grew up in this church, and people around here have always said, 'Debts.' I'm curious about that."
The retired professor said, "My father was the town banker. He always taught us that debts must be repaid, not forgiven. Every dime must be repaid. It was irresponsible to let a debtor off the hook. And so, our family has always said, 'Trespasses.' "
I suppose there are a lot of people who believe that, regardless of whatever words they say. Everybody has to repay everything. That old banker and his son might both be shocked to learn that the touchy word in that prayer is not translated "debt" or "trespass." The really touchy word is translated as "forgive." In Greek, the word is translated as "cancel," as in, "cancel our debts, cancel our trespasses, cancel our sins." Everything destructive is cancelled. That's what Jesus accomplished on the cross.
That's why Paul's proclamation is so powerful. We don't have to keep beating ourselves up about the things we have done or the things we ought to have done. All of that is over. God lets go of it. It's done. It is accomplished. In the final words of Jesus, "It is finished."
Perhaps you heard about the woman in a large city who claimed she was having visions of Jesus. She was a Roman Catholic, and the word spread all over the diocese. The reports reached the archbishop, who decided to check her out. "Is it true, ma'am, that you have visions of Jesus?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
The archbishop said, "The next time you have a vision, ask Jesus to tell you the sins that I confessed on my last confession."
The woman was stunned. "Did I hear you right, bishop? You actually want me to ask Jesus to tell me the sins of your past?"
"Exactly. Please call me if anything happens."
Ten days later, she called his office and requested him to come. He arrived within the hour. He said, "You told me on the telephone that you actually had a vision of the Lord. Did you do what I asked?"
"Yes, bishop," she replied. "I asked Jesus to tell me the sins that you confessed in your last confession."
He leaned forward with anticipation. His eyes narrowed. "What did Jesus say?"
She took his hand and looked into his eyes. "Bishop," she said, "these are his exact words: I can't remember."2
The Christian faith happens when people accept with complete trust that their sins have been forgiven and forgotten. Somebody else may carry a grudge against you, but it isn't God. Jesus Christ has already gone to bat for you. His sacrificial death has already released you. What he accomplished on the cross continues to set us free. There is nothing that you or I could ever do to erase the power of Christ's one sacrifice.
The problem, then, is not with God. It's with us. We keep hanging on to things. Our memories of sins are longer than God's memory. Either we keep holding those things over somebody else's head, as if we exert power over them, or we are afraid to believe that God loves us so much that God put away our deficiencies and sins when Jesus died on the cross.
I suppose all of us fall into bad habits now and then. For a while, I got into the habit of apologizing for everything. Everything. Somebody would say, "It's raining today," and I'd say, "I'm sorry." I'd be sitting with some people in a restaurant and one of them would get a lousy dinner. And I'd say, "Gee, I'm sorry," as if it was my fault.
Of course, if I actually did something wrong, like cut somebody off mid--sentence in a conversation, they might bring it to my attention. I would apologize once, and then twice, and three or four more times. A week later, I would still be apologizing.
In fact, a few different times during that stretch of time, I was considering committing a few robberies and a murder or two, maybe even jaywalking, and I couldn't stop apologizing for it. What was all of that about?
I went out for breakfast with some friends. One of my friends got a runny omelet, and I said, "I'm sorry that we came here for breakfast."
He said, "Why do you keep saying that?"
"Saying what?"
"You keep apologizing. Don't you believe in the atonement?"
I said, "What?"
He said, "Jesus died once to take away the sins of the world. You keep hanging on to most of your little sins, and amplifying the rest." His words were a well--needed slap. Not a slap across the face, so much as a slap to start a baby breathing. As Paul Tillich once said somewhere, "The greatest burden and joy of the gospel is accepting God's acceptance of you."
You are forgiven, of sins committed and not committed. You are free from the burdens of your natural inclinations. God is done with giving you a report card for everything. Do you know why? Because on the day that God was grading our papers, his Son spilled gallons and gallons of Wite--Out(r) over everything. It happened once and for all. That's the favorite phrase of a lot of New Testament writers, including the preacher of Hebrews. In Hebrews, for instance, it means two things. First, the cross is the singular, conclusive, and final display of God's forgiveness: once and for all! And second, the cross is the single far--reaching event with universal effect - it happened once ... for all. For everybody and everything. For all.
In one of his theology books, Robert Capon tells about a married woman who made a bargain with God. After her daughter got in a terrible ski accident, the woman promised God that she would end an extramarital affair if her daughter pulled through. Her daughter began to recover, and she began to have second thoughts about the promise. To be blunt about it, the accident sent her back into her boyfriend's arms. So she goes to see Father Capon. She confesses how guilty she feels.
He listens for a while. Then she says, "I feel like I should keep my promise to God, even though I don't want to."
Robert smiled and said, "Do you really think it's going to do any good?" She is shocked, as he goes on to remind her of other people (like the Old Testament character Jephthah) who make rash promises to God.
"The problem," he goes on to explain, "is that the God of the Bible isn't interested in making any more deals with us. He has dealt with us decisively in Jesus. 'While we were still sinners, Christ died for the ungodly.' A broken promise is one more trespass nailed to the cross. We are forgiven and accepted by God. It has nothing to do with how good we are, or how bad we are, or how good we say we're going to be."
She said, "But I'm still stuck in this awful situation with this other guy. What am I going to do?"
He said, "That's your decision. But I need to tell you this: If we believe the gospel, sin can't condemn us - and just as important, not committing sin can't save us. What saves us is the free forgiveness of Jesus, not our works - not even our good works."
She stammered, "Yes, but ... I thought my religion says that ..."
"Helen, excuse my French," he replied, "but Christianity is not a religion. It's a living faith in Jesus, and you've got to trust that he takes away the sins of the world ... Religion can't do the job. The blood of goats and bulls can't take away sins; your performances on your vows have no value when it comes to getting your act together so that you can con God into being on your side. Only Jesus can take away sins; and he's done it all in one shot, for everybody."
"Yes, but ..."3
"Yes, but ..." How long are we going to hang on to our objections?
The way I figure it, somebody took Jesus down from the cross a long time ago. There is no reason for any of us to keep him up there.
____________
1. Thomas G. Long, "Bold in the Presence of God: Atonement in Hebrews," Interpretation, Vol. 52, No. 1 (January 1998), p. 53.
2. This version is retold by Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel (Multnomah, Oregon: Multnomah Publishers, 2000), pp. 115--116.
3. Robert Farrar Capon, The Mystery of Christ ... And Why We Don't Get It (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmanns, 1993).
