Better To Be Myself Than To Be Artificially Good
Sermon
King's Lynn, that small port on The Wash in North Norfolk, boasts its very own saint, or at least, a heroine of the faith. Margery Kempe, a visionary, was born in Lynn in the late 14th century, and enjoyed a very colourful life. She frequently clashed with the Church, even going so far as to rebuke the Archbishop. Inevitably regarded by the hierarchy as something of a troublemaker, she was thrown into jail on several occasions. But she was unabashed, and following her visions undertook many pilgrimages. Not easy for a 14th century woman on her own and without money. But Margery Kempe was a strong and fearless woman, who was close to God. (Taken from: A Diocesan Calendar of the Saints and Heroes of the Faith, published by Norwich Diocesan Liturgical Committee in 1997).
She dared to be herself, in an age when women had few rights. I remember, years ago when I was at school, a religious instruction teacher telling our class that it was often those people who were very dynamic either for good or for bad who turned out in the end to be saints. Those of us averagely good people, she said, mostly remained averagely good for the rest of our lives. And I think she was probably right.
St. Augustine of Hippo is another obvious example of a dynamic person. He was extremely wayward in his youth, leading a dissolute and idle life, but he became one of our greatest saints, to whom we owe much of our Western expression of Christianity. And St. Paul himself was diligent in his persecution of Christians, but then used that enormous energy to become perhaps the founding father of Christianity.
Jesus had a lot of time for those who were dynamic, even when they were wayward and bad and dissolute, perhaps because he could see the potential within them. Many of his parables are about anti-heroes, like the Prodigal Son or the unjust steward, or the lad who refused to help his Dad in the vineyard, but in the end turned up (Matthew 21:28-32). And many of those friends whom Jesus singled out for special attention were a bad lot - Mary Magdalene, who was thought for centuries to be a prostitute, Judas Iscariot the traitor, Zacchaeus the thieving tax collector, the woman at the well who, according to our Western code may have had dubious sexual morals.
I wonder whether the moral of all this is that it's better to be myself even if that self is frighteningly bad, than to be artificially good. It seems to me that it's those people who dare to be themselves who begin to approach sainthood, while those of us who try to be good for God's sake, miss the point.
The point is that God loves us as we are, not as how we'd like to be, and certainly not as how we think he'd like us to be. All the time I'm spending energy trying to be good, I'm avoiding my real self in case it's not good. And that means I'm avoiding God, because he's where my real self is. Outer shells of goodness can keep God out just as much as outer shells of sin. Goodness can be like armour, and sometimes it's just as hard. Rather than working so hard at being good, perhaps Christians should relax and be themselves. And trust God to keep them right with him, rather than distrusting themselves so much that they're afraid almost to breathe.
In today's gospel story ten lepers spotted Jesus from the distance they were forced to keep between themselves and other people in case of infection. They called out to him, presumably in desperation and as a last resort, for there was no hope for lepers in those days. Jesus told them to go and show themselves to the priests, in accordance with the old Leviticus law. The priest was the fount of all wisdom, and the priest could declare if "the plague of leprosy be healed in the leper". If it was healed, there was a complicated procedure of sacrifice for offering thanks to God for the healing (Leviticus 14:2-32).
There was no immediate sign of healing in the lepers. After all, Jesus hadn't actually done anything. But even so, they all rushed off probably with huge hope suddenly leaping in their hearts. So they all had enormous faith. Even though this healer hadn't done anything, indeed had hardly spoken to them, somehow they believed in him and in his powers. And as they went, they were made clean.
At that point one of them disobeyed Jesus. Instead of going to the priest and giving thanks in the proper way according to the law, he turned back. He didn't do what he was expected to do. He didn't do what Jesus asked him to do. He didn't follow the pack, with whom he'd probably lived for years. Instead, he stood alone and followed his own instincts.
And Jesus, far from condemning him for his wilfulness, uses his actions to question the actions of the other nine, who had done exactly as they'd been told. "Were not ten made clean?" he asked. "But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" The answer to this rhetorical question was that the other nine were praising God as they'd always been taught and as Jesus had told them to, through the law.
Luke the gentile takes the opportunity to point out that this disobedient man who dared to be himself, who had the courage to follow his own instincts even though he might have been condemned for that, was a gentile, a Samaritan.
The final touch in the story is that Jesus then gently lifts the man to his feet and affirms him. "It's all right," he says. "You can go on your way; your faith has made you well." Go now to the priest, he's saying. I appreciate you coming back to thank me, but you do need your certificate to prove you're now free of this terrible disease. So go on your way, and remember this moment of faith. For it's your faith that's made you well.
Those who stand up for their beliefs, even when those beliefs are opposed to the accepted wisdom of the day and even perhaps opposed to accepted Christian wisdom, are not abandoned by Jesus. Those who dare to be themselves often get it wrong, far more than those who are averagely good. The averagely good are safe, because they don't take too many risks. They always keep the right side of any rules or regulations, and they don't step out of line in case that's a bad thing to do.
Those who work at being themselves often get it wrong, often fall on their faces. But Jesus is always there to pick them up and to gently say, "I appreciate your efforts. Go on your way, your faith is making you whole."
She dared to be herself, in an age when women had few rights. I remember, years ago when I was at school, a religious instruction teacher telling our class that it was often those people who were very dynamic either for good or for bad who turned out in the end to be saints. Those of us averagely good people, she said, mostly remained averagely good for the rest of our lives. And I think she was probably right.
St. Augustine of Hippo is another obvious example of a dynamic person. He was extremely wayward in his youth, leading a dissolute and idle life, but he became one of our greatest saints, to whom we owe much of our Western expression of Christianity. And St. Paul himself was diligent in his persecution of Christians, but then used that enormous energy to become perhaps the founding father of Christianity.
Jesus had a lot of time for those who were dynamic, even when they were wayward and bad and dissolute, perhaps because he could see the potential within them. Many of his parables are about anti-heroes, like the Prodigal Son or the unjust steward, or the lad who refused to help his Dad in the vineyard, but in the end turned up (Matthew 21:28-32). And many of those friends whom Jesus singled out for special attention were a bad lot - Mary Magdalene, who was thought for centuries to be a prostitute, Judas Iscariot the traitor, Zacchaeus the thieving tax collector, the woman at the well who, according to our Western code may have had dubious sexual morals.
I wonder whether the moral of all this is that it's better to be myself even if that self is frighteningly bad, than to be artificially good. It seems to me that it's those people who dare to be themselves who begin to approach sainthood, while those of us who try to be good for God's sake, miss the point.
The point is that God loves us as we are, not as how we'd like to be, and certainly not as how we think he'd like us to be. All the time I'm spending energy trying to be good, I'm avoiding my real self in case it's not good. And that means I'm avoiding God, because he's where my real self is. Outer shells of goodness can keep God out just as much as outer shells of sin. Goodness can be like armour, and sometimes it's just as hard. Rather than working so hard at being good, perhaps Christians should relax and be themselves. And trust God to keep them right with him, rather than distrusting themselves so much that they're afraid almost to breathe.
In today's gospel story ten lepers spotted Jesus from the distance they were forced to keep between themselves and other people in case of infection. They called out to him, presumably in desperation and as a last resort, for there was no hope for lepers in those days. Jesus told them to go and show themselves to the priests, in accordance with the old Leviticus law. The priest was the fount of all wisdom, and the priest could declare if "the plague of leprosy be healed in the leper". If it was healed, there was a complicated procedure of sacrifice for offering thanks to God for the healing (Leviticus 14:2-32).
There was no immediate sign of healing in the lepers. After all, Jesus hadn't actually done anything. But even so, they all rushed off probably with huge hope suddenly leaping in their hearts. So they all had enormous faith. Even though this healer hadn't done anything, indeed had hardly spoken to them, somehow they believed in him and in his powers. And as they went, they were made clean.
At that point one of them disobeyed Jesus. Instead of going to the priest and giving thanks in the proper way according to the law, he turned back. He didn't do what he was expected to do. He didn't do what Jesus asked him to do. He didn't follow the pack, with whom he'd probably lived for years. Instead, he stood alone and followed his own instincts.
And Jesus, far from condemning him for his wilfulness, uses his actions to question the actions of the other nine, who had done exactly as they'd been told. "Were not ten made clean?" he asked. "But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" The answer to this rhetorical question was that the other nine were praising God as they'd always been taught and as Jesus had told them to, through the law.
Luke the gentile takes the opportunity to point out that this disobedient man who dared to be himself, who had the courage to follow his own instincts even though he might have been condemned for that, was a gentile, a Samaritan.
The final touch in the story is that Jesus then gently lifts the man to his feet and affirms him. "It's all right," he says. "You can go on your way; your faith has made you well." Go now to the priest, he's saying. I appreciate you coming back to thank me, but you do need your certificate to prove you're now free of this terrible disease. So go on your way, and remember this moment of faith. For it's your faith that's made you well.
Those who stand up for their beliefs, even when those beliefs are opposed to the accepted wisdom of the day and even perhaps opposed to accepted Christian wisdom, are not abandoned by Jesus. Those who dare to be themselves often get it wrong, far more than those who are averagely good. The averagely good are safe, because they don't take too many risks. They always keep the right side of any rules or regulations, and they don't step out of line in case that's a bad thing to do.
Those who work at being themselves often get it wrong, often fall on their faces. But Jesus is always there to pick them up and to gently say, "I appreciate your efforts. Go on your way, your faith is making you whole."
