Traveling
with Jesus: No One is Innocent
Sermon
2/17/13
First Sunday of Lent
Ash
Wednesday can be seen as a marker...
Another year has passed. It's a
time to begin examining our faith journey once again. In the past year, birthdays and anniversaries
have been celebrated. Jobs and careers
have shifted or ended. We've seen
tragedies and joy. Throughout all of our
life experiences, we have been changed.
We are not the same people we were at this time last year. And so we come to another season of Lent as
changed people with new eyes and a new heart.
As
I was reading one of my favorite blogs last Wednesday, I loved how she spoke of
this as a day to consecrate the moments and not just the grand gestures... A wonderful vision to have as we move into
our scripture reading today. Here is what
Sally Howell Johnson (a pastor at Hennepin Ave UMC) wrote:
These seasons and
rhythms of the church year are a way of reminding us to do just this. To pay attention to the moments and not just
the grand gestures. Easter will be the
grand gesture and certainly an important one.
It is the day most churches pull out all the stops to tell the story of
who they are. But the truth is we live
our lives in the moments. And it is the
moments that beg to, long to, deserve to be consecrated.
Consecrate: to set
aside or declare sacred... It is not a
word we use very often in every day speech.
We can tend to imagine that consecrating is something people, usually
ministers or priests, do and others cannot.
And yet, at least for me, what I believe is that when those ordained in
their faith consecrate... bread, water, wine, people... what is really happening is the recognition
and honoring of the sacred nature that already exists in these
thought-to-be-common elements. It is a
deep recognition of the presence of God in all.
{On Ash Wednesday} we
take the ashes, black and sooty, a substance that resembles soil and consecrate
it. We say words and make music and hold
this black substance at the center of the worship we make. Finger touches ash and then the forehead of
each person who comes to be reminded of the fragile, precious life they are
living. The invitation is to pay
attention to how Jesus' life... going
into the wilderness, temptations, healing, laughter, storytelling, time spent
with friends, encounters with enemies, betrayal, commitment to God, suffering,
death... informs our own living of these
same experiences. Most of these are not
grand gesture times but moments in which, if we are aware, hold seeds of the
sacred...
And so the journey
begins...
Beautiful
words to lead us into this season of Lent.
For the next several weeks, in our Sunday worship, we will be traveling
with Jesus in those last weeks of his life.
We'll be noticing moments that held sacred seeds of teaching... See people who were consecrated in love, by
Jesus. Be witnesses to small details of
the story that happened so long ago - but that affect how we live in this
moment, today, right now.
We
begin with the story of Jesus meeting the adulteress - a reminder that we all
live with a little bit of shame... Maybe
it's the private kind - something that eats at you behind closed doors. No one knows.
But you know. And that's
enough. Or maybe your shame is public
- a label put on you by society, a
failure, a disease - it could be an imagined shame that you put on yourself or
something very real - but whether it is private or public, imagined or real,
shame is always painful. And it doesn't
get better until you face it. Today,
this adulteress that we meet represents the shame in our lives. Many characters in the Bible can. But we're going to let her embody them all
today - a story of failure. A story of
abuse. A story of shame... But also, a story of grace.
Reading
from John 8:1-11.
Jesus returned to the
Mount of Olives, but early the next morning he was back again at the
Temple. A crowd soon gathered, and he
sat down and taught them. As he was
speaking, the teachers of religious law and Pharisees brought a woman they had
caught in the act of adultery. They put
her in front of the crowd.
"Teacher,"
they said to Jesus, "this woman was caught in the very act of
adultery. The law of Moses says to stone
her. What do you say?"
They were trying to
trap him into saying something they could use against him, but Jesus stooped
down and wrote in the dust with his finger.
They kept demanding an answer, so he stood up again and said, "All
right, stone her. But let those who have
never sinned throw the first stones!"
Then he stooped down again and wrote in the dust.
When the accusers heard
this, they slipped away one by one, beginning with the oldest, until only Jesus
was left in the middle of the crowd with the woman. Then Jesus stood up again and said to her,
"Where are your accusers? Didn't
even one of them condemn you?"
"No, Lord,"
she said.
And Jesus said,
"Neither do I. Go and sin no
more."
We
like this story, don't we? But why? Some of us relate to the Pharisees... We like to recognize the wrong doing - and do
the finger pointing. For some, we see
ourselves as the woman because we realize who is forgiven in this story. But many of us would prefer to be the
crowd... Neutral. We want to appear to be followers of Jesus
gathered around him to listen to his teaching... But how do we live out the teaching, once the
excitement starts?
Let
the story sink in, as I read it in the words of Max Lucado...
That's her, the woman
standing in the center of the circle.
Those men around her are religious leaders. Pharisees, they are called. Self-appointed custodians of conduct. And the other man, the one in the simple
clothes, the one sitting on the ground, the one looking at the face of the
woman, that's Jesus.
Jesus has been
teaching.
The woman has been
cheating.
And the Pharisees are
out to stop them both.
"Teacher, this
woman was caught in the act of adultery."
The accusation rings off the courtyard walls.
"Caught in the act
of adultery." The words alone are
enough to make you blush. Doors slammed
open. Covers jerked back.
"In the
act." In the arms. In the moment. In the embrace.
"Caught." Aha!
What have we here? This man is
not your husband. Put on some
clothes! We know what to do with women
like you!
In an instant she is
yanked from private passion to public spectacle. Heads poke out of windows as the posse pushes
her through the streets. Dogs bark. Neighbors turn. The city sees. Clutching a thin robe around her shoulders,
she hides her nakedness.
But nothing can hide
her shame.
From this second on,
she'll be known as an adulteress. When
she goes to the market, woman will whisper.
When she passes, heads will turn.
When her name is mentioned, the people will remember.
Moral failure finds
easy recall.
The greater travesty,
however goes unnoticed. What the woman
did is shameful, but what the Pharisees did is despicable. According to the law, adultery was punishable
by death, but only if two people witnessed the act. There had to be two eyewitnesses.
Question: How likely are two people to be eyewitnesses
to adultery? What are the chances of two
people stumbling upon an early morning flurry of forbidden embraces? Unlikely.
But if you do, odds are it's not a coincidence.
So we wonder. How long did the men peer through the window
before they barged in? How long did they
lurk behind the curtain before they stepped out?
And what of the
man? Adultery requires two
participants. What happened to him? Could it be that he slipped out?
The evidence leaves
little doubt. It was a trap. She's been caught. But she'll soon see that she is not the catch
- she's only the bait.
"The law of Moses
commands that we stone to death every woman who does this. What do you say we should do?"
Pretty cocky, this
committee of high ethics. Pretty proud
of themselves, these agents of righteousness.
This will be a moment they long remember, the morning they foil and snag
the mighty Nazarene.
As for the woman? Why, she's immaterial. Merely a pawn in their game. Her future?
It's unimportant. Her
reputation? Who cares if it's
ruined? She is a necessary, yet
dispensable, part of their plan.
The woman stares at the
ground. Her sweaty hair dangles. Her tears drip hot with hurt. Her lips are tight, her jaw is clenched. She knows she's been framed. No need to look up. She'll find no kindness. She looks at the stones in their hands. Squeezed so tightly that fingertips turn
white.
She thinks of running. But where?
She could claim mistreatment. But
to whom? She could deny the act, but she
was seen. She could beg for mercy, but
these men offer none.
The woman has nowhere
to turn.
You'd expect Jesus to
stand and proclaim judgment on the hypocrites.
He doesn't. You'd hope that he
would snatch the woman and the two would be beamed to Galilee. That's not what happens either. You'd imagine that an angel would descend or
heaven would speak or the earth would shake.
No, none of that.
Once again, his move is
subtle.
But, once again, his
message is unmistakable.
What does Jesus
do? (If you already know, pretend you
don't and feel the surprise.)
Jesus writes in the
sand.
He stoops down and
draws in the dirt... And as he writes,
he speaks: "Anyone here who has never sinned can throw the first stone at
her."
The young look to the
old. The old look in their hearts. They are the first to drop their stones. And as they turn to leave, the young who were
cocky with borrowed convictions do the same.
The only sound is the thud of rocks and the shuffle of feet.
Jesus and the woman are
left alone. With the jury gone, the
courtroom becomes the judge's chambers, and the woman awaits his verdict. Surely, a sermon is brewing. No doubt, he's going to demand that I
apologize. But the judge doesn't
speak. His head is down, perhaps he's
still writing in the sand. He seems
surprised when he realizes that she is still there.
"Woman, where are
they? Has no one judged you
guilty?"
She answers, "No
one, Sir."
Then Jesus says,
"I also don't judge you guilty. You
may go now, but don't sin anymore."
Lucado
continues, saying:
If you ever wondered
how God reacts when you fail, frame these words and hang them on the wall. Read them.
Ponder them. Drink from them. Stand below them and let them wash over your
soul...
...{Let God} retell the
events of the darkest nights of your soul.
And then listen. Listen carefully. He's speaking.
"I don't judge you
guilty."
A
seemingly small moment... Jesus even
seems to purposefully avoid the grand gesture.
He speaks quietly, calmly, looking at the ground. Consecrating this woman with his love and
forgiveness.
But
this small moment is a lesson in life - both then, and today. Jesus challenged the accusers - before you
condemn her, take a look at your own life.
Before you punish her, list your own faults. Was she guilty? Probably.
But were her accusers innocent?
None of us really are...
Let's
be honest. It's easy to condemn
others. To see faults, errors,
misjudgments. Our society thrives on
this! Look at our media - almost every
news story is about pointing the finger and calling out blame and sin. But, as Christians... As the ones who follow this man, Jesus, who
writes in the sand and says, "I don't judge you. Go and sin no more." Are we more like him - do we follow his
example - when we condemn? Or when we
show grace?
He
didn't let her off the hook. She called
him "Lord." She knew who he
was... Can you imagine? Caught in your worst moment - the moment you
hoped would never reach daylight... To
be brought face to face with the one who is called the Son of God?! Even when everyone else left the
scene... She stood there. Waiting for the harsh words he would have for
her, I'm sure. But instead, he shows her
grace. "I don't condemn
you." Yet... His next words hint
that he knows she was guilty... and expects her to change. "Go, and sin no more."
You
see, the order of Jesus' words is very important. He didn't say, "Sin no more and then I
won't condemn you." That's what we
often say, isn't it? "Clean up your
act and then we will accept you."
Nope. Jesus says, "I will
forgive you and give you the power to clean up your act." Judgment says, "change or you will be
condemned." Grace says, "You
are forgiven. Now let me also change
your life." We don't change in
order to be accepted; we change because we have already been accepted. Nothing motivates a new life like grace
received into the heart. Grace does what
rules can never do...
See? That's what Lent is all about! We all have things in our hearts we wish
weren't there... Things we thought,
said, did. The ways we hurt people we
loved. Bad choices. Mistakes in judgment. We're human.
We're imperfect. And that's ok...
This
beautiful season of Lent asks us to take the time, to remember Jesus' life and
his teachings, to notice the small moments of grace and love, to get quiet in
our life and examine where we are today.
Where
have I gone wrong? What choices have I
made that have steered me away from my relationships with God and those who are
close to me? Where do I feel that
soul-robbing feeling of shame?
When
we recognize these deepest, darkest secrets of our souls - we can do something
about it. In our faith life, there is
never an absence of hope. We can confess
our troubles, we can ask for forgiveness, we can ask for strength and guidance
in turning away from that which haunts us.
And we can count on God to be there...
Writing in the sand... Such a
small moment... "I do not judge
you. Go, and sin no more."
But
what a grand gesture!
Will
you pray with me?
Gracious
and loving God, you give us these glimpses into the life of Jesus - in those
final weeks leading up to his death...
You give us the glimpses in order to see how we were meant to live. We learn what it is to give grace to others -
to allow room for mistakes and bad choices - and still love the other
person. We learn what it is to truly
follow you in how we live our lives. And
yes, we are amazed at the stories of such overwhelming grace and
forgiveness. We think that this is
someone else's story - that I could never receive that same gift. But somewhere, deep in our hearts, we also
know that you do offer each and every one of us this amazing gift! A re-start.
A chance to turn away from whatever holds us in its grasp. A release from shame, from doubt, from
self-hatred. A release into your waiting
arms - open, loving, and forgiven. For
you have said, "I do not condemn you.
Go and sin no more." Help
us, Lord. Each and every one of us - to
believe these words, to feel them deep into our souls, to know that we are
yours - forgiven, loved, and free. Amen.
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