Luke 18.9-14

the circle of mercy

Some of you may have noticed that on the Church calendar, this Sunday and the next are designated for stewardship sermons by the pastor, culminating in the consecration of our financial pledges next Sunday to support the church’s ministry. The irony of that designation is that we have been learning all along that Christian stewardship is not narrowly focused on money; it is about a whole way of life that grows from gratitude to God and leads to generosity and shared community. In this way, every sermon is about stewardship to the extent it helps us to live before God with gratitude, sharing our lives and our resources generously and supporting each other in our common life.

When you and I root our lives in God’s gracious mercy toward us in Jesus Christ and begin to live practically out of that deep conviction, everything else, including money management, finds its proper orientation.

Since I have just returned from Israel let me share just one anecdote I heard from our tour guide as soon as we moved to Galilee. I learned yesterday that the same story is posted on the stewardship section of our website.

In the land of Israel are two ancient bodies of water. Both are fed by the Jordon River. In one, fish play and roots find sustenance. In the other, there is no splash of fish, no sound of bird, no leaf around. The difference is not in the Jordan, for it empties into both, but in the Sea of Galilee: for every drop taken in goes out. It gives and it lives. The other gives nothing. And it is the Dead Sea. [From Credo by William Sloan Coffin, pg. 15]

Generosity of spirit, like all other forms of generosity, is a fruit of God’s grace received and at work in our lives. In other words, faithful stewardship is simply living the Christian life. It includes everything – from the head to the heart, from the self to the neighbor, which is why a parable about humility is worth closer reading on a day designated for stewardship.

[Read Luke 18.9-14]

Why do we have this relentless tendency to compare ourselves with others, usually favorably but nearly as often in a way that leaves us feeling hopelessly inadequate? When I was young this was derisively called keeping up with the Jones’. I never knew precisely who were the Jones’ but I knew that they were always one step ahead of the rest of us. On the surface this tendency is about cars and homes and clothes and academic degrees and children’s accomplishments: a massive game of who’s who that leaves you feeling outwardly smug and secretly sour. Even churches and their leaders unwittingly get in on the act measuring themselves against one another by number of members, size of budget, programs and so forth, sounding eerily close to the Pharisee’s sincere prayer. Even after centuries of interpretation we are quick to align ourselves against the Pharisee. But actually I think we miss the whole the parable if we assume that the Pharisee is all that different from us. It’s a common mistake that only perpetuates stereotypes and a sense of false humility.

It’s like the story of the two pastors who fall to their knees at the front of the church, crying out to God, saying “I have sinned. I am unworthy. I am unworthy.” Just then the janitor walks in, and observing their display of piety he joins their refrain, “I have sinned. I am not worthy. I am not worthy.” The first pastor turns to the second and sneers, “Now look who thinks he’s unworthy!” (The Christian Century - 10.16.2007)

Robert Capon has said we learn early on that the Pharisees are the bad guys, the heavies. If the New Testament were like some hiss-and-boo melodrama from the Old West, the Pharisees would be the fellows in the black hats, twirling their moustaches and fingering the six-shooters on their hips. It doesn't much matter what a character like that says, we expect it to be ugly even before the man opens his mouth. But, Capon suggests, suppose this prayer is offered in a different setting. Suppose it is your sweet little old grandmother praying over the turkey dinner on Thanksgiving.

"Dear God, we are grateful that we are not like other families we know: people who don't know you enough to offer thanks to you, families that have fallen apart and so they never gather around the table anymore. We rejoice that we went to church this morning to do what all people should do: render thanks to you as the Giver of all good gifts." So this is Grandma now, not the Pharisee in the black ten-gallon hat. What, if anything, keeps her prayer from falling into the error of the Pharisee? Or does nothing keep it from that error? Isn’t it the same mistake all over again? Like Mrs. Turpin in the Flannery O’Connor’s novel who prays, “I thank you God that I am not like my poor white trash neighbors.”

When and how does gratitude go bad, and what can we do to make sure it doesn't happen to us?

Notice that Jesus addresses this parable to those trusting in their own righteousness and consequently regarding others with contempt. So what is the real issue that Jesus want us to consider? The problem surely can’t be a holy life characterized by prayer, fasting, regular worship, tithing – all practices of the Pharisee worth emulating. So what’s the problem?

C.S. Lewis once said the roof of a greenhouse shines brightly because the sun shines on it. The roof doesn't attract the sun by virtue of being bright to begin with, however! While we were yet sinners God shined a light on us. Whatever virtue is ours today is because of that grace at work in our lives and no other reason. This is the truth that is easily forgotten in a culture of self-reliance whose natural fruit is arrogance and self-righteousness, constantly comparing ourselves with others deem morally inferior. The denial of one’s own sin is the root of self-righteousness. The fruit of self-righteousness is separation from God and others; it leads to arrogance and ultimately, violence.

The one who goes home justified in God’s sight is the one who lives honestly and authentically before God – comparing himself with no one and pleading only for the mercy of God. He is the one willing to be expose his own brokenness and utter reliance upon God’s gracious mercy.

This way of humility – the utter honesty about one’s own failures before God – actually opens the heart to be merciful toward others. Humility is the source of mercy, compassion and love others. Why? Until I am broken by my own failures – sin – acknowledging my dependence upon God’s generous mercy, I am unable to be merciful toward others.

I have spoken about stewardship as the circle of gratitude that leads to generosity and forms community. I want to suggest that stewardship is also the circle of humility that leads to a community of merciful people, sharing life together from the bottom up, utterly dependent upon God’s gracious mercy in Jesus Christ. Humility is about abandoning our own agendas at the front end and radically opening ourselves to God’s way with our lives.

When I live my life from the bottom up, rather than the top down, I discover the abundance of God’s grace is sufficient to live mercifully toward others, depending not on my own strength alone but the power of God to do the impossible.

This community of the merciful is what Jesus was forming with his disciples. I believe it is the community that God is forming now among all who desire to be his disciples. I rejoice at every sign that this community is coming into being by God’s grace at Saint Mark. I hope that you too will find this an occasion for rejoicing and respond by supporting generously our life together.

Amen.