The Last Word

 

The Last Word

 

Children’s Message, Sermon, Pastoral Prayer, and

Benediction

 

Suttons Bay Congregational Church

 

December 6, 2020

 

Children’s Message

 

            Parents are different in lots of ways, but there are some things that many of them have in common. One of those things is that most parents like to say something to their children just before their children leave to go someplace else.

            For example, when their children go to bed, parents say things like “sweet dreams” or “go to bed you sleepy head.” My father always said “goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” That may not have been the best message to help a child relax and doze off. How could I sleep and fight off bedbugs at the same time?

            Or when children go to visit a friend or relative, parents say things like “be good” or “mind your manners” or “don’t let your grandparents spoil you.” That last one usually doesn’t work.

            And parents don’t stop saying these sorts of things even when their children grow up. When their grownup children leave to go back to their own houses, parents say things like “stay in touch” or “let us know if you need anything” or “don’t forget to call.” Or “don’t forget to call.” Or “don’t forget to call.”

            Now, parents do all these things because there’s something they want their children to know. You see, all these words basically say the same thing. They say:  no matter where you go next, no matter where you are, I’m thinking about you.

And that’s true whether you’re going to bed, or going to school, or going to visit, or going to raise a family of your own.

            Now, what I want you to notice is that your church family does this, too.

At the end of every service, we say something called a benediction—a fancy word for a blessing—over everyone, including you. It is the church’s way of saying that no matter where you go next, no matter where you are, we are thinking about you. And so is God, who is your parent, too.

            I have a favorite Bible verse about this, and it comes from the first chapter of the book of Joshua. Will you say it along with me as a kind of prayer? I’ll say each sentence and then you can repeat it.

So say this with me: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid. Do not be discouraged. For the Lord God will be with you wherever you go.”

            Amen.

Sermon

Scripture: James 5

 

Let me tell you a story.

As most of you know, I have been practicing law and teaching at a law school for a very, very long time. My first argument in the Michigan Court of Appeals, which took place about 250 years ago, played out in a strange and memorable way. The lawyer for the opposing party had not filed his brief within the deadline set by the court rules. As a result, he lost his right to oral argument and I would be the only lawyer participating.

            When you check in at the Court of Appeals on the day of your argument, the clerk gives you a form that asks how long you plan to speak. The rules give each side up to half an  hour. Because I was inexperienced, and didn’t know what else to do, I wrote down “30 minutes.”

            When my case was called, the presiding judge on the three-judge panel looked at the form and raised an eyebrow. He said: “Uh, Mr. Niehoff, you’ve indicated that you’ll need the full half hour to argue your case today. Is that right?” I said that yes, I would. He continued: “And you’re aware that the opposing counsel did not file his brief on time, so we won’t be hearing any argument from him?” I said that yes, I was. He went on: “And you know that you won in the trial court, so all we have to do is affirm the ruling below?” I said that yes, I did. He concluded: “But you’re still sure that you’ll need the whole thirty minutes to argue?” I said that yes, I was.

            At this point, the presiding judge put his hand over the microphone on the bench, turned to the judge to his right, and said in the loudest stage whisper I’ve ever heard: “I think we should affirm, what do you think?” That judge responded: “Affirm.” Then he turned to the judge to his left and repeated the question. That judge, too, responded, “Affirm.” By virtue of this little exercise, I knew that, without saying a single word, I was going to win the appeal by a vote of 3-0.

            The presiding judge took his hand off the microphone, smiled at me, and said: “Well, Mr. Niehoff, you can go ahead and argue if you like, but in all candor it may not improve your chances.” I didn’t have much experience but I did have a modestly operational brain. So I smiled back at him and said: “In conclusion, I thank the court for its time this morning.” To this day, it was the most effective closing argument I’ve ever made.

*

            We all understand the importance of the words that we say last. For example, we traditionally say something kind, encouraging, or affectionate when we part company with someone—such as “see you soon” or “take care” or (these days especially) “stay safe and well.” Indeed, if someone parts from us by simply walking away or hanging up or disconnecting it feels abrupt and jarring—and communicates its own kind of message.

The words we say last can make a significant difference in what happens next. A minister friend of mine always gave his adolescent children the same parting instruction when they left the house. He simply said: “Remember who you are.” He wanted that phrase ringing in their memory when they met with the pressures and temptations they would inevitably confront and would have to navigate.

Over the years, I’ve gone back to that idea many times. Indeed, if you wanted a single phrase to return to again and again for strength and direction, it might be hard to come up with a simpler and more powerful one than “remember who you are.” Unless, perhaps, it is “remember whose you are.”

            Countless stories have come down to us of the last words spoken by famous people shortly before they passed from this world to the next. If that person had a keen wit, the anecdote may even be funny. For example, just before he died Bob Hope’s wife asked him where he wanted to be buried. He replied: “Surprise me.” And Oscar Wilde, physically failing in a shabby room in a Paris hotel, reportedly declared: “That wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. Either it goes or I do.”

            But the last things that someone says can be profound and rich in meaning. Every Good Friday, we pause to consider what we by tradition call “the seven last words of Christ” on the cross. Of course, there were actually more than seven of them. And they were not his last words at all, because Jesus spoke also as the risen Christ.

The gospels give us slightly different versions of both sets of those last words—the ones spoken on the cross and the ones spoken as our risen Lord. But I am particularly fond of the words of Jesus that make up the last verse of the Gospel of Matthew: “And remember, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Those words must have given great comfort to his disciples and they should give great comfort to us. After all, if He is with us still, then He speaks to us still.

            The fifth and final chapter of James, to which we turn today as we complete our study of this important book, has been described by scholars as a collection of “closing exhortations.” James here offers a set of parting shots—phrases that he wants ringing in the memories of those early Christians to whom he was writing as they confronted and tried to navigate the pressures and temptations of their world. They are his own version of my friend’s direction to his children: “Remember who you are.”

            This morning, I invite you to notice two things about this final chapter of James that seem to me particularly important. The first concerns its structure. The second concerns the last words that James speaks to us.

Let’s begin with an observation about structure. On a close reading, it seems clear that James does not just direct his comments to one audience. Rather, he has three different audiences in his sights.

            He begins by addressing those who have placed their faith not in God but in material things. He calls them out for living in luxury and pleasure while others suffer. He charges that they have become rich through fraud and through the abuse of laborers.

And he does not mince his words. Recall how the fifth chapter begins: “Come now, you rich people, weep and wail for the miseries that are coming to you.” Well, that’s an attention grabber, isn’t it?

            But his tone changes dramatically when he then shifts to address a second audience: those who are struggling and suffering. He tells them to be patient, to be kind to one another, to show endurance, and to strengthen their hearts. He assures them that the Lord is compassionate, merciful, and, most importantly, present in their lives.

            James then turns to his third audience. He addresses everyone together. And he underscores that the way toward redemption lies in love expressed not just individually but in community. He says:

            “Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise. Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven. Therefore, confess your sins to one another, so that you may be healed.”

            Now, all this talk of “sin” may fail to resonate with our twenty-first century sensibilities. It may sound old-fashioned, harsh, and “judgy.” For our tastes, it may have too much of the sulfuric scent of fire and brimstone about it.

            And figuring out exactly what counts as a sin may confound us. Years ago, the New Yorker ran a Charles Barsotti cartoon on this theme. It depicts a  smiling St. Peter saying to a man being interviewed at the gates of heaven: “No, no, that’s not a sin, either. My goodness, you must have worried yourself to death!” As you might imagine, the man looks very relieved; I myself find it a very consoling idea.  

Talk of sin may make us think of those specific lists of prohibitions that we find in many of the letters of Paul: “Don’t do this, or this, or this. And certainly don’t do that.” In this sense, the concept of sin takes on a kind of regulatory quality, a detailed code of conduct that requires our obedient compliance.

This view of sin reminds me of another New Yorker cartoon where a man with less good fortune is standing in front of the devil at the gates to the infernal pit and saying: “Why wasn’t a list of these sins made available to me and why wasn’t I allowed to have it examined by my own expert.” Alas, I doubt that it works that way.

            Now, I do not want to argue against the concept of sin as a set of particularized prohibitions. That sort of specificity may prove useful to those who seek very direct guidance with respect to discrete issues and behaviors. And, as another minister friend of mine was fond of observing, the Bible is a holy book of sacred commands, not a self-help guide of friendly suggestions.

            But it also holds true that scouring the Bible for detailed instructions can lead us astray. The theologian Robert McAfee Brown liked to tell the story of the man who believed that the Bible would tell you precisely what to do if you simply opened it and randomly pointed toward a verse. One day the man flipped open the scriptures, stuck his finger on a page, and read to his disappointment the phrase: “Judas went out and hanged himself.” Appalled, the man gave it another try. This time, he hit on: “Go and do likewise.”

            Also, this concept of sin as a list of specific prohibitions has its limitations. It can distract us from the big picture and lead us into disputes over details. I have often been struck by how many times in his letters Paul has to include the kind of instruction we find in the second chapter of second Timothy: “Have nothing to do with stupid and senseless controversies; you know that they breed quarrels.”

            And I don’t think that in this passage James has those sorts of specific prohibitions in mind when he refers to sin. Remember that he is talking here about what heals a community. I don’t believe that he envisions that happening by people getting together and saying “I was an idolator” or “I was licentious” or “I was a drunken carouser”—you know, the sorts of things people merrily disclose on social media these days. 

            In my view, to connect the concept of confession with the idea of healing, as James does, we need to think about sin in a different, broader, and more complex way. I suspect that James may be using the idea of sin in that other sense. And I believe that this other understanding of sin aligns particularly well with our current circumstances and the challenges before us as a society and as individuals.

            This other way of thinking about sin views it as consisting of those actions and states of mind that run against the central and new commandment that Jesus gave to all of us: to love one another. When we love one another, when we build a community of mutual support and respect, we serve the Kingdom of God. When we judge and antagonize one another, when we destroy community for the sake of our personal agendas or tribal loyalties, we sin.

            Now, I want to emphasize that this is not necessarily a “kinder and gentler” understanding of what it means to sin. I am not advocating for a weakened, mushy, comfortable conception of sin that cuts us all sorts of endless breaks. To the contrary, I suspect that this idea of sin actually holds us to a higher moral standard.

After all, under this definition a person could avoid many of the things that Paul lists in texts like the fifth chapter of Galatians—licentiousness, drunkenness, carousing, and so on—and still qualify as an world-class Olympic-level sinner. This definition recognizes that someone who hates their neighbor is mired in sin, regardless of whether they are also a stone-cold-sober non-carousing maritally-loyal churchgoer. Without love, Paul tells us in that famous passage in first Corinthians, we are just resounding gongs and clanging cymbals—and we remain awash in our sinfulness.

            With all that said, it is important also to stress that James plainly does not want or expect us to shy away from telling the truth in our efforts to foster compassion and community. Remember that he begins his closing exhortations with words like these: “Listen! The wages of the laborers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, cry out!” This is not the voice of someone who wants us to address the evils of our world by sitting down, shutting up, and looking the other way.

            Now, let’s return to the directive that James gives to us: confess our sins to one another, so that we may be healed. Think about what this requires, particularly if we embrace that second definition of sin that I just described. It means that we must candidly acknowledge the ways in which we have worked against love and community. And it means that healing cannot occur unless and until we have the faith, strength, and resolve to do so.

            Let me also return to my point about structure. Note that James offers this instruction in the last part of his closing exhortations, when he is speaking to all of us. Not just the rich. Not just the corrupt. Not just the oppressive. He knows that—in the sense I have just described—we all sin and therefore all have wrongs to confess to each other and for which to seek forgiveness.

            But James has not quite finished with us. The argument he develops reaches its crescendo in the last line. He says:

            “My brothers and sisters,  if anyone among you wanders from the truth and is brought back by another, you should know that whoever brings back a sinner from wandering will save the sinner’s soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins.”

            This is the final thought that James wants to leave ringing in our memories. Yes, we need to confess our own failures of love and compassion. But we also have to work energetically to help others move beyond their failures.

            We hear the same sentiment in a wonderful passage in the tenth chapter of Hebrews: “Let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds.” We are in this sense called to be Holy provocateurs, or, as the late John Lewis put it, relentless makers of good trouble.  

James calls us to get everyone on a path with a heart. To cultivate everyone’s capacity for grace and forgiveness. To invite everyone to get with a program that comes not from us but from God and from the deep interior veins of our shared humanity.

Whenever we do this, James assures us, it “will cover a multitude of sins.” I find it deeply interesting that James does not specify whose multitudinous sins will be forgiven. He might be talking about ours. He might be talking about those we seek to help. Or he might be talking about both.

I think it’s the last. I think he’s telling us that when we strive toward the Kingdom of God then vast showers of redemption rain down over all of us. Grace works that way. It has its own mysterious methods of going viral. It has its own amplification system. It has its own multiplication tables. What an inspiring message to hear during Advent, in this our season of hope and expectation for the things to come.

            It seems to me that, in the end, James asks us to subscribe to a simple but infinitely powerful creed. And I think Advent offers an excellent time to hear it, to embrace it, and to live it. We might sum it up this way:

I will serve the offices of love.

I will work to build community.

I will confess my failures to fulfill The Great Commandment.

I will do better.

I will speak the truth.

I will provoke goodness.

I will strive to bring others along on this journey.

I will remember who, and whose, I am.

“Now may the words of our mouths, and the meditations of our hearts, be acceptable to you, Oh Lord, our rock and our redeemer.”

And the people said: Amen.

Pastoral Prayer

            Our pastoral prayer this morning draws on the words of the great theologian Howard Thurman. I hope they will ring in your memory this week:

            Dear Lord.

            Keep our hearts open this day to all things that commend themselves to us as truth.

            Keep us humble, so that we might remember that we are never free from the possibility of error.

            Keep us at peace, so that deep within ourselves we can be still and be guided and made wise by your spirit.

            Keep us alert, so that we can recognize when our anxieties, our fears, our ambitions, even our hopes and dreams may deceive us into calling truth error, and error truth.

            Keep us diligent, so that we can seek the honesty and integrity that God yields to those who lay bare their lives constantly before him.

Keep our hearts open to the light, so that we might learn to wait for the light, confident that the light will come to cast itself across our paths at the point of our greatest needs.

            Oh Lord, here in the quietness we seek the renewal of the spirit of our hearts and minds that we may be living, vital instruments in your hands, this day and every day.

            Oh Lord, may it be so.

Benediction

            Sisters and brothers in Christ, go forth into this good day with these parting words of commitment ringing in your memory:

I will serve the offices of love.

I will work to build community.

I will confess my failures to fulfill The Great Commandment.

I will do better.

I will speak the truth.

I will provoke goodness.

I will strive to bring others along on this journey.

I will remember who, and whose, I am.

Open your hearts, minds, and eyes that you might seek and find the renewal that is yours for the taking, held out for you in the hands of the most powerful, and most loving, and most powerfully loving force in the universe—who knows your name.

Amen. And amen. And amen.