Preacher: Harold Beer, lay preacher
Date: March 17, 2019
Text: John 12:1-5, John 13:21b-30
I’ve been writing a essay on my blog just about every week since I preached about a year ago. These essays take maybe two or three minutes to read, and take at least two or three hours to write. Honestly, Pastor Liz, and to all our other clergy members, I don’t understand how you can write a new sermon every week.
I looked at my essays, my observations and realizations, and thought I could maybe craft a sermon from them. I found that that just wasn’t going to work out, because they were complete in their four or five hundred words, so I wasn’t going to preach this season. But, then a date opened up, and it had a topic attached: Forgiveness. I thought about it for a bit, didn’t think it would be too difficult, and besides, no blank page syndrome.
But as I sat with forgiveness on my mind, and on my page, I saw this: forgive is a compound word: for and give. That ‘give’ part seems important. Forgiveness is a gift. It’s not required to be given, and, as a gift, it’s not required to be accepted. I’ve been thinking about forgiveness for past few months. The sermon title came to me quickly, in the middle of the night. This gave me direction and an uncomfortable feeling, quite troubling actually, so I did what many of us do: Practice distraction. I ‘googled’ forgiveness and I started to look at articles, essays and all the things that the Oracle of Google had found.
I watched a brief video by the former Lutheran pastor, Nadia Bolz-Weber. She describes forgiveness as being bad-ass. That forgiveness is about being a freedom-fighter, and the free people are dangerous people because they aren’t controlled by the past. Forgiveness, in her opinion, cuts the chains to the past and let’s you live in the present. I also came across an article that was written by Melissa Dahl in New York magazine with the title: 17 things we know about forgiveness. I’ve selected a few for you:
#1 – Scientific literature on forgiveness dates back to 1989.
(Prior to that, forgiveness was mainly studied by philosophers and theologians)
#2 – Cats never forgive
#5 – Nothing is unforgivable (I’m struggling to believe that, but I hope it is true.)
#8 – Forgiveness comes easier to younger children
#16 – Generally speaking, religious people are more forgiving. But those who consider themselves spiritual are more likely to practice self-forgiveness than those that consider themselves religious.
This one captured my attention, so I tracked down and read the 2013 study: “Research on Religion/Spirituality and Forgiveness: A Meta-Analytic Review”
Over the past few years, the number of Americans that self-identify as religious has been falling, and those that self-identify as spiritual but not religious has been rising as was asked in a 2017 Pew Research Center study. This difference between being religious, or beingspiritual but not religious is clear, I think, in the story of Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus knew therules but rebelled against many of the rules of his religion. Remember how he was chastised for healing someone on the Sabbath. Jesus knew the rules, but he rejected them, choosing, I believe, to live a more spiritual life.
At the end of Jesus’ life is the story of the Last Supper, a story of denial and betrayal. You remember the story of the Last Supper, the apostles that Jesus loved, and they him. They gathered in Jerusalem for their passover dinner that remembers and celebrates the Israelites freedom from Egypt. During that dinner, Jesus spoke of the future, of his imminent death, and that Peter would deny knowing him, and that Judas would betray him. I’ve been pondering that. Jesus knew his disciples better than anyone else. I think of Jesus as an intuitive and sensitive person. I don’t think that he knew what Peter and Judas were going to do by magic, or because he was the ‘Son of God’. He just knew.
Imagine the scene. I have the paintings of the Last Supper in mind. Close your eyes if you want. Imagine this thought: You know your best friend is going to hurt you, and you tell them about it, before they do that hurtful thing. How would it feel to know that? How would it feel to be told that? I think that in telling them what they were about to do, he, at the same time, also offered them forgiveness. This story is most often told on Maundy Thursday.
I hope I was clear enough when I said Maundy, as I didn’t mean or say Monday, the day we all have faced at the beginning of the work week. Rather, Maundy comes to us through our English roots, and from the Latin, Mandatum. Maundy is the name of the ritual of foot-washing, that we’ll undoubtably hear about during Holy Week, the week between Palm Sunday and Easter. The Latin phrase that begins with ‘mandatum’ and is the commandment that Jesus said, the mandate, ‘That you love one another, as I have loved you.’
If you’ve been at Edgewood on Christmas Eve, you’ll remember the lights being dimmed. All of the lights are dimmed and switched off. On Christmas Eve we end up bathed in candlelight, each candle adding to the collective glow, and each candle reflected in the wonder from on high. The lighting in this sanctuary for the Christmas Eve and Maundy Thursday services are almost identical.
But Maundy Thursday is different. As much as I enjoy the services here, it is Maundy Thursday that means the most, that touches my heart the most. It is by far the most spiritual of all our services. We recount the story of the Last Supper that night. One part is used every time we have communion, about the bread and the cup. The story of denial and betrayal is felt more than heard, as I can imagine being there. At the table, in the garden, in the streets and in hiding, I can imagine being there. At Edgewood, our Maundy Thursday service ends in silence, and the dim illumination of a single solitary candle. If there’s any talking in the hallway afterwards, it’s in the hushed tones of people that have been deeply moved.
I’ve always thought of myself that I was most like Peter in the story, but recently in my study and reflections while sitting with this story has me identifying more as Judas. Now, Peter was told that he would deny knowing Jesus three times before the rooster crows the next morning. Judas: I think he was the apostle of high ideals and judgment, who wanted the nard, the extravagant expensive ointment that Mary of Bethany used on Jesus’ feet, to be sold and the money used to help the poor. Judas, the one who betrayed Jesus. Judas, who couldn’t undo what he had done, couldn’t find a way to ask for forgiveness, wouldn’t accept the forgiveness that was offered, and couldn’t live with himself after hurting a person that he loved.
I like it when the Gospels don’t fill in the details, or have conflicting stories about how things happened. Then, we can imagine what might have been truth. After Jesus’ resurrection, he appears to the women who were followers of Jesus, and by some accounts to Peter. I wonder if that’s when Peter apologized? Did Jesus reiterate his forgiveness of Peter? Something surely happened then, because later on in the story, Jesus declared that Peter would be the foundation stone of the Christian Church.
And alas, poor Judas, who would not live to apologize, and would not live into forgiveness. Some accounts will say that Judas was possessed by Satan or demons. Often this image is used to describe those struggling with mental health issues and so I will make it clear to all of us, especially those of us that work at or struggle to be mentally healthy, we are not possessed. In my identification with Judas, I think he could no longer find a way to accept the pain that he caused without turning it inwards.
Writing a sermon for me is like a good therapy session. Hard truths are faced, preconceived notions are challenged, cast aside or transformed. One of those ‘easy sessions’ that turn towards profound. I used to think that I was pretty good at forgiving others, and terrible at forgiving myself. But over the past few months as I been writing this sermon I’ve found that I’m not very good at forgiveness. I’m more like Forgiveness Fact #2 – Cats never forgive. I really want to be more like #8: Forgiveness comes easier to younger children. I think the judgmental part of my personality can be dominant and overbearing. I know that I have hurt people that I love. I’ve apologized, corrected my ways into the future, and they have forgiven me. But I haven’t seemed to stay forgiven. No, my loved ones have been, and are great, they didn’t retract their forgiveness. But I just can’t seem to stay forgiven. I am working very hard to forgive myself. But, my head gets filled with loads of negative thoughts, the gift of forgiveness becomes distant, making it hard to live myself. Staying forgiven is what I’ve been struggling with for years. Staying forgiven is what I’m working now. Staying forgiven is my growing edge. Self-forgiveness may be just beyond my reach right now, but I hope not forever. I do want to be more like #8: Forgiveness comes easier to younger children.
About two months ago, I was at a memorial mass, and in the part where the protestants have nothing to do, I started thumbing through the hymnal. (I’m kinda’ a church nerd too) Way in the back, there are indices, first line, title, tune title and meter, and a topical index. I knew I was going to preach about forgiveness, so I went searching through the ‘F’s’ for forgiveness. And I couldn’t find it in the index. Couldn’t find it on the first pass, or the second – as I was looking for a longer list. But finally I found the listing: Forgiveness — see Mercy.
Using a synonym like mercy for forgiveness changed something in me. It’s only a different word for the same thing, right? Staying forgiven might still be a problem for me right now, but is staying merciful? Can I be merciful to myself? Perhaps I can do that, as it seems far less judgmental.
Self-forgiveness can also be thought as love for others, as well as love for yourself. Self-forgiveness is cutting through the chains that hold me to the past, and let’s me live here in the present. I have talked about Forgiveness this morning. As freedom, as mercy, as love. There’s a wideness in God’s mercy, says the hymn. This is our Lenten story, from the wilderness into the wideness. I pray that the wideness can see me, and each of us, into
forgiveness.
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