One Preacher’s Response to the Moral Crisis
Romans 7: 13-20; Matthew 18: 15-20
September 20, 1998
Last Friday I had a message on my answering machine. A reporter was trying to reach me for a quote on the situation in Washington. As some of you know, I’m not big on thinking up clever quotes for newspapers. I never called the reporter back.
As long as I’m confessing, I have to admit that I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn’t scheduled to preach last Sunday. I like to spend some time thinking about a subject and its implications for our faith. This national moral morass that we’re going through certainly calls for more than a knee-jerk reaction.
Yet how can we avoid using the President’s situation as a backdrop for our thoughts on a Sunday? My dilemma is this: Is there anything that hasn’t already been said by the media, politicians, or comedians? But still, we have to admit that the President’s situation introduces a teachable moment for the Church.
Let’s face it. The events of the last few weeks have closed in on the country like a cloud of poison gas. We can’t seem to stop talking about it. We’ve become aware, like never before, of the declining moral morass of the country.
Several years ago, Alan Jones, Dean of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, made the following statement: “We live in a time in which everything is permitted and nothing is forgiven.” By this, he meant that as a nation, we’ve lost any common vision of good and bad, right and wrong. We can do just about anything we want and convince ourselves that if it makes us feel better about ourselves, then surely it is all right. (At least if it doesn’t appear in print.)
You may have seen a cartoon in The New York Times some years ago. It showed a new person being introduced to Hell. A friendly devil said to him, “You’ll find that down here there is no right and wrong. It’s just what works for you.”
This nation, I believe, because of the Clinton situation, is waking up to the fact that we can’t simply stew in our own private wishes and desires. What each of us does affects the moral climate of those around us. And, if everything is permitted and nothing is forgiven, we’re in for a rough number of years.
But having said that, we must as church people be very cautious, cautious about pointing the finger. The Gospel tells us to “judge not, lest we be judged.” And the great challenge of the last ten days is to see it as a teachable moment, rather than get drowned in a sea of disgust and anger at a flawed President. So the question I would pose this morning is: How can we, as a Christian community, become better, instead of simply becoming bitter? Today, I would ask you to go beyond those feelings of bitterness and disgust; beyond feelings of moral superiority, and begin to see your own participation in the moral climate of the nation. See your own responsibility in the moral chaos that is America today.
For who of us hasn’t misused power? And who of us hasn’t lusted in our hearts? Who hasn’t twisted the truth or given a spin to some story, so that we might appear more right or less in the wrong? is there any adult or adolescent who is a total stranger to such actions? CarrIe Marney, the great Baptist preacher, used to say, “It is too late to worry about innocence.” For most of us, that condition disappeared a long time ago.
How do we respond to the revelations of the past few weeks? One way is to cast stones. Another way is to look within ourselves and possibly discover that there is within us the capacity for sin. As St. Paul put it, in our Epistle: “I find within myself the tendency to sin, even though I know the right from the wrong.” So it’s more than guilt or innocence that we have to contend with. It’s something deeper and more pervasive: “The sense of evil, the darkness, that lies inside each of us.” Therefore, I would suggest that the place to begin is not with the President, or with any of the other characters in this modern-day tragedy/comedy (depending upon your outlook). Instead, begin with yourselves. Begin by saying, “It’s me. It’s me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer.”
Secondly, we need in this country, and especially in this parish, to develop “a spirituality of imperfection” – a way of living that takes moral questions seriously, that honestly confronts what has happened, and yet goes beyond mere score keeping. The key to “a spirituality of imperfection” is forgiveness. Real forgiveness is the only way we Christians have for dealing with imperfection. Real forgiveness means acknowledging the hurt, not glossing over it, but also being able to see ourselves as fellow sinners. Someone once asserted that more relationships have been wrecked by an unwillingness to forgive than by wrongdoing. In an imperfect world without forgiveness, we are all lost . . . What Christ cares about is reconciliation and healing, not perfection. And anyway, it is too late to worry about perfection. Christ cares about our going to work on the imperfections that afflict all of us. The secret of doing this is to be honest and truthful about how we have fallen short of God’s standards – and then dealing openly with what seems to be wrong.
Now, some of you are thinking, “Sounds good, but how can dealing with my imperfections make a dent in the moral chaos of our country?” I would borrow a saying from our Buddhist friends: “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one small step.” And so the healing of a country begins with people like you acting out in small ways, a “spirituality of imperfection.” Remember the decision about reconciliation – the decision to be better, and not bitter, is up to you.
Let me end our thoughts with an account I read recently of a Palestinian minister named Elias Chacour. Chacour was sent to a small village to take over a congregation marked by divisions and hatred. Actually, the small parish accurately mirrored the whole village, which was rent with suspicion, anger, and generations of distrust.
In his early months, Elias Chacour labored in vain to bring some healing to the village. The problem was that everyone pointed out that the troubles stemmed from one neighbor’s faults. And anyway, the troubles had gone on for so long that it was impossible to change. Finally, on Palm Sunday, after the congregation had received Communion, Chacour could stand this bitterness no longer. At the end of the service, he walked to the back of the church and locked the door. Then he said, “This morning, while I celebrated the liturgy, I found someone who is able to help you. In fact, He is the only one who can work the miracle of reconciliation in our village. This person is Jesus Christ, and He is here with us. So on Christ’s behalf, I say this to you: ‘The doors of the church are locked. Either you kill each other right here, and I will do the funeral gratis; or you see this as an opportunity to be reconciled, and begin the healing of the village. The decision is now yours.”‘
Nothing happened for ten minutes. Complete silence.
Finally, an Israeli policeman stood up and said, “I ask forgiveness of everybody here. I forgive everybody. And, I ask God to forgive my sins.” With that, he and the priest embraced. Then the entire congregation, filled with people who hadn’t spoken to each other in years, stood up and exchanged Christ’s peace. This was the beginning of the transformation of that village – truth-telling, honesty, openness, willingness to look within, and then, forgiveness. These are the steps that lead to a “spirituality of imperfection.” Can we begin – right here – right now? The decision is yours.
Amen