March 14 -- Lost and Found

This week's lectionary texts: Joshua 5:9-12, Psalm 32, 2 Corinthians 5:16-21, and Luke 15:1-3 and 11b-32.

"Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us." So goes the version of the Lord's Prayer found in Luke. During Lent, the notion of sin can weigh heavy on our minds and hearts. As we reflect on the events of the past liturgical year and the ways in which we have conducted our relationships with God and our fellow men and women, our attention is often drawn to those ways in which we have fallen short and lost our way.

And in a sense, that's one way to define sin -- losing our way. We lose our way when we fail to come through for our friends and family in their time of trouble. We lose our way when we let a cruel or thoughtless remark pass our lips. We lose our way when we take more than we need. Sin does not have to involve a huge event like stealing millions of dollars or taking a life -- sin can be those little actions that fray at our spirits and slowly wear away at our efforts to live in community or draw closer to God.

In this week's lectionary texts, we hear about the ways in which sin can serve to divide us from those we love. In Luke's gospel, we read the story of the prodigal son, a parable Jesus shares with the Pharisees who have accused him of associating with sinners.

A man, Jesus explains, has two sons, and one wishes to claim his inheritance early. His father consents, and the young man "travel[s] to a distant country, and there he squander[s] his property in dissolute living" (Luke 15:13). He soon begins to starve, and decides to return to his father to beg to be treated as a servant, exclaiming, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son" (Luke 15:21).

Yet his father is simply overjoyed that his son has returned. The other son, upset about the warm welcome received by his brother, complains to his father. But his father replies, "Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found" (Luke 15:31-32).

Lost and found: indeed, this is what forgiveness is all about. When we sin, we distance ourselves from God and our neighbor; we lose ourselves. But when we acknowledge the pain or hurt we have caused, make amends for what we have done, and begin to follow a life-giving path once again, we are promised God's forgiveness.

As Paul writes to the Corinthians, Christ has made all things new: "In Christ, God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us" (2 Corinthians 5:16-21). God wants to be reconciled with us, and for us to be reconciled with one another. God wants us to find our way back home.

The psalmist writes in Psalm 32 of the joy that is to be found in forgiveness: "Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered" (Psalm 32:1). As he writes, "Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not hide my iniquity; I said, 'I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,' and you forgave the guilt of my sin" (Psalm 32:5). Owning up to our sin is not always easy -- but once we do, the psalmist writes, we will be "surround[ed]" by "glad cries of deliverance" (Psalm 32:7).

Sin can be a painful topic; no one likes to dwell on the ways they have hurt others, or the ways that others have hurt them. But this Lent, let us take the time to reflect on where we may have lost our way -- and how being forgiven or offering forgiveness to others can help us find that way again.

Photo credit here.

September 7—Discipline and the Disciple

"If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector. Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. Again, truly I tell you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” –Matthew 13:15-20

When I was in college, several friends of mine went to a large and very popular church near campus. I remember hearing a story once about how their church had used this passage to handle an incidence of adultery within the congregation. The church leaders attempted to talk with the man in private, and when he refused to give up his affair, they brought him before the entire church one Sunday and publicly cast him out of the congregation. There’s no doubt that they took this passage seriously.

I remember feeling rather ambivalent about the whole thing at the time. Certainly I’ve never been okay with adultery, and kicking people out of the community for sin is found in scripture—in addition to this passage, there is the common refrain found in Deuteronomy, “ So you shall purge the evil from your midst” (Deut. 13:5, 17:7, 19:19, etc.), and Paul’s rhetoric on the contaminating effects of sin in 1 Corinthians 5. At the same time there seemed something rather harsh to me in simply throwing the man out of the church. Granted, I didn’t know this situation from the inside, and perhaps pastorally, such strong consequences were necessary for the person to acknowledge his own behavior. But I wondered how likely it was that this man would ever begin to address the broken relationship and hurt that his actions had caused if he were summarily cut off from his faith community. If the lines of dialogue were closed, how would the offender ever grow? How would the offended ever heal?

When I looked again at today’s lectionary passage in Matthew, a passage upon which many such protocols are based, I realized that Jesus’ rules for church discipline aren’t about punishment or rejection. Nor are they meant to preserve unity in the church at the cost of disagreement or diversity. Rather, they are all about relationships within the community. Notice how, in verse 15, the question is posed as “If another member of the church sins against you…” (italics mine). Now, those two little words set the tone for the entire passage. If they are not there, then the passage can be taken to address generic activities that contradict the church’s moral or ethical code. In some ancient sources, these words are indeed missing from the passage, suggesting such a general interpretation.

But if the two words are part of verse 15, as other ancient sources attest, then the entire passage becomes all about holding my Christian sibling accountable when her actions have broken our relationship. For in this the Apostle Paul is right—“a little yeast leavens the whole batch of dough” (1 Cor. 5:6), and the bitterness and anger that results from an open wound between two people eventually poisons the whole community. So in this interpretation, Jesus’ plan sets up a way for the community to address broken relationships so that justice and reconciliation can take place. For when the community comes alongside one who has been wronged, confronts the breach, and calls for justice, it is not about enforcing uniformity of doctrine or belief. It is about being a disciple of Jesus—for just as Jesus came to heal humanity’s relationship with the Creator, members of his church are called to heal relationships with one another. And that healing cannot take place if we don’t address our brokenness with honesty and authenticity.

Yet what if someone refuses to acknowledge his wrong and try to mend fences? Is that the point at which we cast him out? In the past, when I’ve read the words, “let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector” (v. 17), I assumed that this was meant as a rejection of the offender. But as New Testament professor Mark Allan Powell points out in his commentary on Matthew, Jesus is saying quite the opposite—Gentiles and tax collectors were the outsiders of the Jewish community, to be sure, but they were also some of the people Jesus most persistently reached out to during his ministry. Treating someone as a Gentile and tax collector is not a call to cut off the wrong-doer, but a call to deeper and more persistent engagement with that person. For ultimately, the goal is unity—a reconciling unity, in which Christ himself is present among us (v. 20). And that requires not uniformity of opinion, but uniformity of loving, grace-filled care toward one another.

Our business as a church, then, is not about casting out and cutting off. But at the same time, it isn’t about discreetly overlooking the broken relationships within our community—from the petty fights and painful betrayals buzzing within local congregations to our failure as a Christian faith community to love and serve all humanity. Reconciliation cannot happen without justice, just as justice is empty without healing and reconciliation. And in Jesus’ discipline for the church, he gives us a practical, everyday starting point for practicing both.

Kelsey

PS-- The image above is of the Zaccheus story, one of the most famous stories of Jesus reaching out to a tax collector to bring him to discipleship.