The Outrage Of Grace
Sermon
I've recently been reading a most fascinating book, Between Noon and Three: Romance, Law, and the Outrage of Grace
. The author Robert Farrar Capon, is an Anglican priest, and his subject is the outrage of grace. The book is part parable, and part theological reflection, but the parable is very unusual for a clergyman.
The story is about a married university professor who is a master of infidelity and adultery and who has had multiple affairs, but who falls in love with a married graduate student. They meet for lunch, and by mid-afternoon have declared their love for each other, hence the title, "Between Noon and Three". The professor and his married student subsequently have an affair which comes to mean everything to both of them.
You might expect that they would either divorce their spouses and start a new life together, or that they would reluctantly but with great courage renounce their love for each other in order to remain true to their respective spouses and families. But not a bit of it. They both stay married, they both continue with the affair, and the professor doesn't even give up other affairs which he's currently enjoying. They never get their come-uppance.
The story outrages the reader's sense of justice, and outrages the reader's sense of morality. It doesn't seem right that these two people should carry on in such a way, and nothing happens to them. They continue to enjoy love, and there's no punishment whatsoever for their immorality. They have a good life, and they blossom within the love each is able to pour upon the other. And that's the point of the parable, because that's how God is with us.
The parable is designed to demonstrate that even in the thick of their sins, even when they go on sinning, human beings stand uncondemned by a love which will not let them go. As St Paul tells us in Romans 8:1, "There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." And this is the outrage of grace. No matter what anyone has done, no matter what they are, and no matter what they will do in the future, they are still loved and forgiven by God.
It is, of course, hard to take. We humans tend to feel much better if we think we've earned God's grace, and so we go out of our way to try to score Brownie points with him. And we tend to feel much safer and more secure if sins are punished in some suitable way. Punishment evens up the balance, so that we get ourselves back on an equal footing with God. Through punishment, we pay for our sins, and that feels so much more comfortable than having to receive free pardon.
But it doesn't work like that, and Jesus told a number of stories to illustrate that point. They're all stories which are about being lost and found, and in most of the stories, that which was lost had nothing whatever to do with their finding. We have two today, the story of the lost sheep and the story of the lost coin, but neither the sheep nor the coin contributed in any way to their finding. Nor was either the sheep or the coin punished for being lost. And the reason for their being lost was irrelevant. They were simply lost, and were found.
The finder, in one story male and in the other female (Luke tends to balance things up), was only concerned with finding the lost. The finder was devastated by the loss, distressed beyond belief, and made every possible effort to find. And when that which was lost was found, the finder threw a party. And in case you're thinking neither a sheep nor a coin could be held responsible for its actions, and therefore the stories aren't entirely applicable to human beings, there was exactly the same reaction when the Prodigal Son was found. His father threw a party, and there was no blame whatsoever for the son.
There were no inquests in any of these stories. It was obvious that the sheep had wandered because it thought it spotted greener grass on the other side, so nobody needed to point that out, or to waste time condemning the sheep. There were no suggestions that the sheep in future should be kept in a pen to prevent wandering.
It was obvious that the coin had fallen and rolled away. Nobody bothered to condemn the coin for its actions. And there were no suggestions that the coin should be put safely away in the bank.
Nothing at all changed after the finding. The sheep was still free to wander if it wished to do so, and the coin could still roll and fall. And the implication is that the finder would go on and on and on searching, every time any sheep or any coin was lost.
That's the outrage of grace. After forgiveness, nothing happens to prevent further sinning. We're still free to continue in the same old ways if we wish, and God will continue to move heaven and earth to find us.
By now it may be sounding as though it's perfectly all right for people to do exactly as they want. And that the preaching of grace seems to imply it's OK to do all sorts of terrible things as long as you just walk in afterwards and take the free gift of God's acceptance. Permissiveness to the nth degree.
Jesus didn't seem to be too worried about permissiveness and its effects in the story of the Prodigal Son. The father gave the returned son a kiss, not a lecture, a party, not probation. It was the elder brother, the sour elder brother, not the father, who was worried about permissiveness and the effects it might have.
And while the preaching of grace might appear to give people permission to sin, actually, no-one ever needs permission. When I sin, I just do it, regardless of God or other people. If the thought of God's free grace encourages people to sin more, then they're not using the principle of grace, but abusing it.
Throughout the summer, there are lifeguards on Wells beach in North Norfolk, because the tide is so treacherous. There are plenty of large notices warning about the tide, and the lifeguards issue loudspeaker warnings at regular intervals. But there are still thoughtless and silly people who get trapped by the tide, putting themselves and their companions in great danger. When this happens, the lifeguards go out at risk to their own lives, and rescue those in danger of drowning.
Despite being rescued once, some people go on and on ignoring the warnings, and may need to be rescued several times. And astonishingly, some people receive their rescue not with thanks, but with verbal abuse.
You could argue that the presence of lifeguards gives those people permission to be stupid, and in a way, it does. But when those people are caught yet again by the tide, the lifeguards don't go out and read them a list of the safety regulations, and tell them how wicked they are and how they need to be punished. The lifeguards simply rescue them, because that's why the lifeguards are there. The lifeguards may not like what stupid people do, but they certainly rejoice every time they effect a rescue.
God is like a lifeguard. His job is rescue, not condemnation. As like sheep we wander from the path, nibbling a patch of grass here and clump of heather there, so we can only wait to be found by the shepherd, and carried back home on his shoulders. And every time that happens, God doesn't condemn or punish, but rejoices. And that's the outrage of grace.
. The author Robert Farrar Capon, is an Anglican priest, and his subject is the outrage of grace. The book is part parable, and part theological reflection, but the parable is very unusual for a clergyman.The story is about a married university professor who is a master of infidelity and adultery and who has had multiple affairs, but who falls in love with a married graduate student. They meet for lunch, and by mid-afternoon have declared their love for each other, hence the title, "Between Noon and Three". The professor and his married student subsequently have an affair which comes to mean everything to both of them.
You might expect that they would either divorce their spouses and start a new life together, or that they would reluctantly but with great courage renounce their love for each other in order to remain true to their respective spouses and families. But not a bit of it. They both stay married, they both continue with the affair, and the professor doesn't even give up other affairs which he's currently enjoying. They never get their come-uppance.
The story outrages the reader's sense of justice, and outrages the reader's sense of morality. It doesn't seem right that these two people should carry on in such a way, and nothing happens to them. They continue to enjoy love, and there's no punishment whatsoever for their immorality. They have a good life, and they blossom within the love each is able to pour upon the other. And that's the point of the parable, because that's how God is with us.
The parable is designed to demonstrate that even in the thick of their sins, even when they go on sinning, human beings stand uncondemned by a love which will not let them go. As St Paul tells us in Romans 8:1, "There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." And this is the outrage of grace. No matter what anyone has done, no matter what they are, and no matter what they will do in the future, they are still loved and forgiven by God.
It is, of course, hard to take. We humans tend to feel much better if we think we've earned God's grace, and so we go out of our way to try to score Brownie points with him. And we tend to feel much safer and more secure if sins are punished in some suitable way. Punishment evens up the balance, so that we get ourselves back on an equal footing with God. Through punishment, we pay for our sins, and that feels so much more comfortable than having to receive free pardon.
But it doesn't work like that, and Jesus told a number of stories to illustrate that point. They're all stories which are about being lost and found, and in most of the stories, that which was lost had nothing whatever to do with their finding. We have two today, the story of the lost sheep and the story of the lost coin, but neither the sheep nor the coin contributed in any way to their finding. Nor was either the sheep or the coin punished for being lost. And the reason for their being lost was irrelevant. They were simply lost, and were found.
The finder, in one story male and in the other female (Luke tends to balance things up), was only concerned with finding the lost. The finder was devastated by the loss, distressed beyond belief, and made every possible effort to find. And when that which was lost was found, the finder threw a party. And in case you're thinking neither a sheep nor a coin could be held responsible for its actions, and therefore the stories aren't entirely applicable to human beings, there was exactly the same reaction when the Prodigal Son was found. His father threw a party, and there was no blame whatsoever for the son.
There were no inquests in any of these stories. It was obvious that the sheep had wandered because it thought it spotted greener grass on the other side, so nobody needed to point that out, or to waste time condemning the sheep. There were no suggestions that the sheep in future should be kept in a pen to prevent wandering.
It was obvious that the coin had fallen and rolled away. Nobody bothered to condemn the coin for its actions. And there were no suggestions that the coin should be put safely away in the bank.
Nothing at all changed after the finding. The sheep was still free to wander if it wished to do so, and the coin could still roll and fall. And the implication is that the finder would go on and on and on searching, every time any sheep or any coin was lost.
That's the outrage of grace. After forgiveness, nothing happens to prevent further sinning. We're still free to continue in the same old ways if we wish, and God will continue to move heaven and earth to find us.
By now it may be sounding as though it's perfectly all right for people to do exactly as they want. And that the preaching of grace seems to imply it's OK to do all sorts of terrible things as long as you just walk in afterwards and take the free gift of God's acceptance. Permissiveness to the nth degree.
Jesus didn't seem to be too worried about permissiveness and its effects in the story of the Prodigal Son. The father gave the returned son a kiss, not a lecture, a party, not probation. It was the elder brother, the sour elder brother, not the father, who was worried about permissiveness and the effects it might have.
And while the preaching of grace might appear to give people permission to sin, actually, no-one ever needs permission. When I sin, I just do it, regardless of God or other people. If the thought of God's free grace encourages people to sin more, then they're not using the principle of grace, but abusing it.
Throughout the summer, there are lifeguards on Wells beach in North Norfolk, because the tide is so treacherous. There are plenty of large notices warning about the tide, and the lifeguards issue loudspeaker warnings at regular intervals. But there are still thoughtless and silly people who get trapped by the tide, putting themselves and their companions in great danger. When this happens, the lifeguards go out at risk to their own lives, and rescue those in danger of drowning.
Despite being rescued once, some people go on and on ignoring the warnings, and may need to be rescued several times. And astonishingly, some people receive their rescue not with thanks, but with verbal abuse.
You could argue that the presence of lifeguards gives those people permission to be stupid, and in a way, it does. But when those people are caught yet again by the tide, the lifeguards don't go out and read them a list of the safety regulations, and tell them how wicked they are and how they need to be punished. The lifeguards simply rescue them, because that's why the lifeguards are there. The lifeguards may not like what stupid people do, but they certainly rejoice every time they effect a rescue.
God is like a lifeguard. His job is rescue, not condemnation. As like sheep we wander from the path, nibbling a patch of grass here and clump of heather there, so we can only wait to be found by the shepherd, and carried back home on his shoulders. And every time that happens, God doesn't condemn or punish, but rejoices. And that's the outrage of grace.
