Worthless Religion
Commentary
James’ word is harsh, but it is not unique. We hear similar things along the way from Isaiah and Amos. Paul also suggests something like it to the Corinthians. The psalmist intimates as much. And I suppose that the principle is implicit as far back as the fateful day when Cain’s offering was rejected. Some religion is worthless.
It’s a hard concept to grasp.
Now we understand, for example, a bit about how value works with money. With factors like inflation and exchange rates, money can be worth “more” or “less.” Still, we reckon that it has to be worth something. It must have at least some positive value, right?
So, too, with religion. One’s devotion and activity could be improved upon, to be sure. There is room for growth. But is it possible for one’s devotion, belief, and activity to be of no value, at all?
That is the sober theme for us to explore together this week.
The old expression, “preaching to the choir,” may capture our people’s immediate reaction to this theme. The idea with “preaching to the choir,” of course, is that you’re talking to the wrong people. The audience you want to reach are the folks who aren’t here. But the choir -- they’re already here, they’re already committed, and so they don’t really need to hear what you’re saying.
Except, perhaps, that “the choir” is exactly the surprising audience for this message. People who have no religion, after all, don’t need to hear that their religion may be worthless any more than a fellow with no money needs to be told that the currency has lost all value. No, it’s religious people who need to consider this surprising message. We preach to the choir this week because it’s a message for the choir.
Of course, we are not in a position to paint with a broad brush and to tell everyone within the sound of our voice that their religion is worthless. We don’t know that, and we ought not to give that impression. But the very fact that it’s a risk is important to proclaim.
From time to time, the news comes out that presumably secure customer information at some store, bank, or credit organization has been breached. When that happens, we’re encouraged to take steps to see whether our individual information is at risk. The fact that the store where I shop was infected does not guarantee that my information has fallen into the wrong hands, but the news should prompt me to ask the question.
And so, too, the fact that some religion is identified in the Bible as worthless does not mean that mine is, too. But it is a news alert that demands the attention of a cautious person. It should at least prompt us this week to ask the question.
Song of Solomon 2:8-13
Our people experience a strange disconnect, and it is symbolized by this week’s Old Testament passage. We turn this week to the Song of Solomon. One wonders when the last time was that most of our folks heard this book read from during a worship service. And, likewise, how often have they heard a sermon preached from it?
I expect that the prevailing tendency for most preachers is to preach stories, teachings, and occasions. We preach stories, like Daniel in the lions’ den or Jesus walking on water. We preach teachings, like the Sermon on the Mount or didactic passages from Paul. And we preach occasions, like Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost. But the Song of Solomon doesn’t naturally fit into any of those common categories.
Here, though, is the irony. The Song of Solomon is a love poem. It is full of romance and passion, sensuality and intimacy. It is full of the themes that dominate the music and drama of our popular culture. And it is also the stuff of people’s daily life. Yet here is the disconnect: it isn’t talked about in church. We may hear about it Monday through Saturday, but never on Sunday.
The Song of Solomon pericope, then, affords us the opportunity to make up for our fault. Let us capitalize on the occasion provided by the lectionary to talk about the thing so central to our lives yet so absent from the church’s message.
And what shall we say about it? What message is there to be preached from the Song of Solomon this week?
First, the very fact that this book is in the Bible ought to be proclaimed as good news. And it may very well be news to some of our people, inasmuch as they may not have heard the book read or preached before. And so the people of God should rejoice that the perceived disconnect between life and faith does not need to be there. For whatever is part of life is part of our faith, and its presence in scripture is testament to that truth.
Second, loving romance and sexual intimacy are unblushingly celebrated here. Too often, I’m afraid, people are led to believe that the only things scripture has to say about this part of life are proscriptive. The preaching and teaching emphases on what not to do for so many generations has left a bad taste in so many mouths, as though God and his word are opposed to sexuality. Instead, folks should feel quite liberated by the discovery that God’s word endorses and celebrates this joyous part of our existence.
Third, a holistic beauty is held up before our eyes in this passage, and that is a beauty that needs to be reclaimed in our often tawdry culture. We think ourselves sexually liberated in our day because we so freely talk about and show things that were once taboo to talk about and to show. Yet what passes for liberation is more often simply fixation. And the prevailing tendency is toward an objectification of both men and women that, while focusing on what we call sexy, loses sight of beauty.
The Song of Solomon speaks of breasts, legs, lips, eyes, arms, and hair. It also enjoys voices and singing. It exults in fragrances and tastes. All the senses are involved. And all of the sensuality enjoyed between the man and the woman is experienced in the midst of a larger scene of birds, flowers, fruit, mountains, and trees. In short, while the language and images set constantly before us in our culture tend to be narrow preoccupations, the language and imagery of scripture invite us to rediscover and reclaim real beauty in our sexual experience.
And so we have a marvelous opportunity this week. The assigned passage from the seemingly awkward and oft-neglected book invites us to a wonderful intersection. It is where the Bible intersects with a significant part of people’s daily lives. Most of them will be surprised to find that the Bible speaks of romance, sex, and love in this way. And all of them can be blessed and edified by it.
James 1:17-27
The first verse of our selection from James is a personal favorite of mine, and so I will indulge myself in a separate treatment of that verse below. The remainder of our selected verses from the epistle, meanwhile, revolves around the themes of God’s word and our works.
James tells us that God’s word “gave us birth.” It is his “implanted word” that “has the power to save your souls.” And, in the end, it is his word to which we do or do not respond. James assumes that everyone in his audience is, at least, a hearer of the word. Where we separate the proverbial men from the boys, however, is where folks cross from hearers only into being doers of that word.
As the writer of Ecclesiastes would say, there is nothing new under the sun. The passing of twenty centuries since James’ time has not been enough for us to outgrow the problem that James observed. We still run that same risk of being exposed to God’s word, while not allowing ourselves fully to be impacted by it. And if that is our pattern, then, James warns, we are “merely hearers who deceive themselves.”
In this regard, James’ logic is reminiscent of the parable with which Jesus concludes The Sermon on the Mount. Jesus paints a quick picture of two housebuilders, one wise and the other foolish. They build on different foundations, and thus the houses experience different fates. And those two housebuilders, we understand, represent two different ways of responding to Jesus’ teachings. “Everyone who hears these words of mine, and acts upon them” (Matthew 7:24 NASB), Jesus says is like the person who builds on a firm foundation. But “everyone who hears these words of mine, and does not act upon them” (verse 26), according to Jesus, is like the person who builds on sand. So both builders hear the word, you see, but only one is a “doer” of that word.
Being doers of the word, then, is where we find the other key theme: our works.
The epistle of James is known for its emphasis on works. Indeed, it has often been pitted against Pauline theology in terms of the relationship between faith and works. It is, in my judgment, a false argument. I don’t know that James and Paul themselves would have disagreed as much as their interpreters do. Paul is clear that we are saved by faith not by works. James, meanwhile, insists that our works are the living proof of that saving faith.
The works highlighted in this particular section of James’ epistle include an emphasis on the tongue. We are encouraged to be quick to listen and slow to speak. James also warns about the necessity of being able to bridle our tongues.
The author offers even more insight about the tongue in an extended treatment of the subject later in his epistle (3:1-12). Lest we think his emphasis is too great, however, we do well to remind ourselves of Jesus’ dramatic teachings about what comes out of our mouths. That is the stuff, Jesus says, that makes a person unclean (Matthew 15:17-20), and that is, in the end, the basis for how we will be judged, whether justified or condemned (Matthew 12:36-37).
Finally, there is a flipside to the works emphasis. Just as there are the works we should do, there are the works we should not. And so James urges his audience to “rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness,” as well as “to keep oneself unstained by the world.”
Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
This week’s Gospel lection is ripe with wisdom and insight. We would be hard-pressed to exhaust its potential in a single sermon, let alone in a few hundred words here. Accordingly, let me suggest a few broad brush observations, leaving it to you to pursue and develop the theme that seems best to you.
The first observation to be made is the tactic of the scribes and Pharisees. They are antagonistic to Jesus -- we know that -- but see the line of attack that they pursue. They find fault with his disciples. This tactic did not die with Jesus’ first-century opponents. Even though their real beef is with Jesus, their complaint is about his followers. And still today those who are antagonistic toward Jesus endeavor to bring him down by harping on what’s wrong with his followers.
Second, we note the Pharisees’ characteristic preoccupation with externals. This is something of a chronic problem for them throughout the Gospels, but it is also a cautionary tale for us. It is rather natural for human beings to fixate on externals while being obtuse to internal and spiritual things. This is not a calculated choice or conscious fault; it is our predisposition. It should be expected that we focus on what we can see, and that’s what the Pharisees did in this episode.
Meanwhile, Jesus also behaves in characteristic fashion in this episode. As he does so many times in his teachings, Jesus redirects our attention from the external to the internal, from the superficial to the spiritual. When we see the Pharisees and Jesus side-by-side, we are reminded of the occasion when Samuel was about to anoint Jesse’s eldest son. The Lord corrected the prophet, saying, “Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7 NASB).
Also on the matter of the heart, the quote from Isaiah that Jesus cites is a stinging indictment of so much religiosity. We go through the motions, we say the right things, we check all the boxes, and we look good on the outside. But none of that is a guarantee of the condition of our hearts. The God for whom the first and greatest commandment is that we should love him (Matthew 22:37-38) cares and notices above all whether our hearts are near to him or far from him.
Meanwhile, Jesus’ critique of the Pharisees also brings into a stark light a common problem. They had manipulated the law of God to serve their own self-interest. It is an unsurprising move, of course, for self-interest runs deep in our sinful nature, and so it is always tempting for religious folks to find some way to baptize their self-interest in the authority of God’s word. Bishop C. FitzSimons Allison insightfully notes, “We are susceptible to heretical teachings because, in one form or another, they nurture and reflect the way we would have it rather than the way God has provided.”1
Finally, this passage also invites us into sober consideration of the importance of words. “Words” are a commodity that are sold cheaply in our present culture, but let us not be deceived: they are highly valued in the kingdom of God. And while words do not even seem to be on the Pharisees’ radar in this episode, Jesus brings them so much to the fore as to make them a central issue in life.
The central issue for the Pharisees, as we have noted, is an external one. They are preoccupied with the ritual washing of hands. And since the disciples had failed to check that box, they were considered unclean or defiled.
Jesus turned the whole matter of clean and unclean upside down. Or, perhaps more accurately, inside out. While the externally-focused legalists worried about what was going into their mouths, Jesus taught that the truly substantive issue is what comes out of their mouths. What goes in is merely a matter for the stomach and digestion. What comes out, however, is a reflection of the heart. And it is the stuff that emanates from your heart and mine that proves whether we are clean or not.
Application
To put together our three selected texts under the theme of “worthless religion” invites an immediate understanding of the stakes involved with the two New Testament passages. The excerpt from the Song of Solomon may seem less salient. But let us bring all of our different parts and points together under a single thesis statement. Let us propose this: Religion that is out of touch with reality is worthless.
We may look at our assigned passages and understand “reality” from several different angles.
First, there is the reality that is represented by the Song of Solomon. This is the reality of our daily lives. This is the reality of our relationships and our loves, of our passions and our appetites. I have recommended to us above the value of preaching from this book precisely so that our people will know that this part of our lives is affirmed and celebrated in scripture. Religion that stays in the temple but never gets into the kitchen or bedroom, you see, is worthless.
Then there is the reality represented by James’ reference to widows and orphans. This is the reality of human need that is ever around us. Religion that is all theory and no practice -- exclusively spiritual, with no concern for the social or the physical -- is worthless religion.
Then there is the reality suggested by Jesus’ reinterpretation of being clean or unclean, as well as his quotation from Isaiah. There is that religiosity that amounts to simply going through the motions. It fulfills obligations in a technical sense, but not in a relational sense. It would be to religion. It is the religion of external ritual, but not of the heart. And if our religion does not both come from and reach to the heart, then it is worthless.
And then, finally, there is the ultimate reality: God. The person that James describes, who looks into God’s law and yet carries away no lasting impact, is the person who is out of touch with reality. The person who, like the Pharisees of Jesus’ day, exalts self-interest or manmade tradition over the heart and will of God is a person who is out of touch with reality. And, likewise, the person who is fixated on external things, while neglecting the matters of the heart -- the thing God sees -- is out of touch with reality. And so, ultimately, the religious person who is managing to navigate life out of touch with God is truly the person whose religion is worthless.
Alternative Application(s)
James 1:17-27 -- Hugging the Driver
As I noted above, the first verse of our selection from James is a personal favorite of mine, for it informs my thanksgiving. I take my cue from James and firmly believe that every goodness we know and every blessing we enjoy originates with God. It comes from above, indeed, and my gratitude should be directed accordingly.
In our age of so much online shopping, it is an easy thing to order a gift for someone and have it shipped to that person directly, perhaps even arriving the very next day. Imagine some confused recipient pouring out his thanks on the delivery truck driver who brings the package to the door. “This is so sweet, so thoughtful of you,” exclaims the recipient, hugging the bewildered driver.
But the gift must be traced back to its origin, you see. Behind the driver is some list of people at various stages of packaging and transporting, sorting and loading. Someone had to fill the order when it was received. And back one step further is the actual giver -- unseen, of course, by the recipient in our imaginary scenario.
We know enough to recognize the absurdity of pouring out our thanks on the delivery truck driver. And yet, at some level, that is what we are always doing. For so many of the blessings that surround us, if we give thanks at all, it is often a misplaced thanks. We express gratitude -- even assign credit -- to some intermediary, some instrument of the blessing. But James reminds us that “every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above.” All our thanks belongs to the invisible Giver and Sender.
One other analogy may help to illustrate the point and our problem. My car’s radio is designed to show on its display some information about the station that is tuned in, as well as the particular program or music that is on at any given moment. And I have observed an interesting dichotomy when switching between popular music and classical music.
When listening to some contemporary music station, the display tells me that name of the song and the name of the artist or group that is performing it. When listening to a classical station, on the other hand, the display tells me the name of the piece of music and the name of the composer who wrote it.
You see the difference. The contemporary music emphasizes the performer, while the person who wrote the song is perhaps largely unknown. The classical music, by contrast, emphasizes the composer of the music, while the performers are much less the point.
In our thanksgiving, then, let us say that the blessing is the piece of music. The question is whether we tend to give primary attention and credit to the performer -- the immediate vessel of the blessing? Or do we trace the blessing back to its Composer -- the One from whom all blessings flow?
1 C. FitzSimons Allison, The Cruelty of Heresy: An Affirmation of Christian Orthodoxy (New York: Morehouse Publishing, 1994), p. 17.
It’s a hard concept to grasp.
Now we understand, for example, a bit about how value works with money. With factors like inflation and exchange rates, money can be worth “more” or “less.” Still, we reckon that it has to be worth something. It must have at least some positive value, right?
So, too, with religion. One’s devotion and activity could be improved upon, to be sure. There is room for growth. But is it possible for one’s devotion, belief, and activity to be of no value, at all?
That is the sober theme for us to explore together this week.
The old expression, “preaching to the choir,” may capture our people’s immediate reaction to this theme. The idea with “preaching to the choir,” of course, is that you’re talking to the wrong people. The audience you want to reach are the folks who aren’t here. But the choir -- they’re already here, they’re already committed, and so they don’t really need to hear what you’re saying.
Except, perhaps, that “the choir” is exactly the surprising audience for this message. People who have no religion, after all, don’t need to hear that their religion may be worthless any more than a fellow with no money needs to be told that the currency has lost all value. No, it’s religious people who need to consider this surprising message. We preach to the choir this week because it’s a message for the choir.
Of course, we are not in a position to paint with a broad brush and to tell everyone within the sound of our voice that their religion is worthless. We don’t know that, and we ought not to give that impression. But the very fact that it’s a risk is important to proclaim.
From time to time, the news comes out that presumably secure customer information at some store, bank, or credit organization has been breached. When that happens, we’re encouraged to take steps to see whether our individual information is at risk. The fact that the store where I shop was infected does not guarantee that my information has fallen into the wrong hands, but the news should prompt me to ask the question.
And so, too, the fact that some religion is identified in the Bible as worthless does not mean that mine is, too. But it is a news alert that demands the attention of a cautious person. It should at least prompt us this week to ask the question.
Song of Solomon 2:8-13
Our people experience a strange disconnect, and it is symbolized by this week’s Old Testament passage. We turn this week to the Song of Solomon. One wonders when the last time was that most of our folks heard this book read from during a worship service. And, likewise, how often have they heard a sermon preached from it?
I expect that the prevailing tendency for most preachers is to preach stories, teachings, and occasions. We preach stories, like Daniel in the lions’ den or Jesus walking on water. We preach teachings, like the Sermon on the Mount or didactic passages from Paul. And we preach occasions, like Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost. But the Song of Solomon doesn’t naturally fit into any of those common categories.
Here, though, is the irony. The Song of Solomon is a love poem. It is full of romance and passion, sensuality and intimacy. It is full of the themes that dominate the music and drama of our popular culture. And it is also the stuff of people’s daily life. Yet here is the disconnect: it isn’t talked about in church. We may hear about it Monday through Saturday, but never on Sunday.
The Song of Solomon pericope, then, affords us the opportunity to make up for our fault. Let us capitalize on the occasion provided by the lectionary to talk about the thing so central to our lives yet so absent from the church’s message.
And what shall we say about it? What message is there to be preached from the Song of Solomon this week?
First, the very fact that this book is in the Bible ought to be proclaimed as good news. And it may very well be news to some of our people, inasmuch as they may not have heard the book read or preached before. And so the people of God should rejoice that the perceived disconnect between life and faith does not need to be there. For whatever is part of life is part of our faith, and its presence in scripture is testament to that truth.
Second, loving romance and sexual intimacy are unblushingly celebrated here. Too often, I’m afraid, people are led to believe that the only things scripture has to say about this part of life are proscriptive. The preaching and teaching emphases on what not to do for so many generations has left a bad taste in so many mouths, as though God and his word are opposed to sexuality. Instead, folks should feel quite liberated by the discovery that God’s word endorses and celebrates this joyous part of our existence.
Third, a holistic beauty is held up before our eyes in this passage, and that is a beauty that needs to be reclaimed in our often tawdry culture. We think ourselves sexually liberated in our day because we so freely talk about and show things that were once taboo to talk about and to show. Yet what passes for liberation is more often simply fixation. And the prevailing tendency is toward an objectification of both men and women that, while focusing on what we call sexy, loses sight of beauty.
The Song of Solomon speaks of breasts, legs, lips, eyes, arms, and hair. It also enjoys voices and singing. It exults in fragrances and tastes. All the senses are involved. And all of the sensuality enjoyed between the man and the woman is experienced in the midst of a larger scene of birds, flowers, fruit, mountains, and trees. In short, while the language and images set constantly before us in our culture tend to be narrow preoccupations, the language and imagery of scripture invite us to rediscover and reclaim real beauty in our sexual experience.
And so we have a marvelous opportunity this week. The assigned passage from the seemingly awkward and oft-neglected book invites us to a wonderful intersection. It is where the Bible intersects with a significant part of people’s daily lives. Most of them will be surprised to find that the Bible speaks of romance, sex, and love in this way. And all of them can be blessed and edified by it.
James 1:17-27
The first verse of our selection from James is a personal favorite of mine, and so I will indulge myself in a separate treatment of that verse below. The remainder of our selected verses from the epistle, meanwhile, revolves around the themes of God’s word and our works.
James tells us that God’s word “gave us birth.” It is his “implanted word” that “has the power to save your souls.” And, in the end, it is his word to which we do or do not respond. James assumes that everyone in his audience is, at least, a hearer of the word. Where we separate the proverbial men from the boys, however, is where folks cross from hearers only into being doers of that word.
As the writer of Ecclesiastes would say, there is nothing new under the sun. The passing of twenty centuries since James’ time has not been enough for us to outgrow the problem that James observed. We still run that same risk of being exposed to God’s word, while not allowing ourselves fully to be impacted by it. And if that is our pattern, then, James warns, we are “merely hearers who deceive themselves.”
In this regard, James’ logic is reminiscent of the parable with which Jesus concludes The Sermon on the Mount. Jesus paints a quick picture of two housebuilders, one wise and the other foolish. They build on different foundations, and thus the houses experience different fates. And those two housebuilders, we understand, represent two different ways of responding to Jesus’ teachings. “Everyone who hears these words of mine, and acts upon them” (Matthew 7:24 NASB), Jesus says is like the person who builds on a firm foundation. But “everyone who hears these words of mine, and does not act upon them” (verse 26), according to Jesus, is like the person who builds on sand. So both builders hear the word, you see, but only one is a “doer” of that word.
Being doers of the word, then, is where we find the other key theme: our works.
The epistle of James is known for its emphasis on works. Indeed, it has often been pitted against Pauline theology in terms of the relationship between faith and works. It is, in my judgment, a false argument. I don’t know that James and Paul themselves would have disagreed as much as their interpreters do. Paul is clear that we are saved by faith not by works. James, meanwhile, insists that our works are the living proof of that saving faith.
The works highlighted in this particular section of James’ epistle include an emphasis on the tongue. We are encouraged to be quick to listen and slow to speak. James also warns about the necessity of being able to bridle our tongues.
The author offers even more insight about the tongue in an extended treatment of the subject later in his epistle (3:1-12). Lest we think his emphasis is too great, however, we do well to remind ourselves of Jesus’ dramatic teachings about what comes out of our mouths. That is the stuff, Jesus says, that makes a person unclean (Matthew 15:17-20), and that is, in the end, the basis for how we will be judged, whether justified or condemned (Matthew 12:36-37).
Finally, there is a flipside to the works emphasis. Just as there are the works we should do, there are the works we should not. And so James urges his audience to “rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness,” as well as “to keep oneself unstained by the world.”
Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
This week’s Gospel lection is ripe with wisdom and insight. We would be hard-pressed to exhaust its potential in a single sermon, let alone in a few hundred words here. Accordingly, let me suggest a few broad brush observations, leaving it to you to pursue and develop the theme that seems best to you.
The first observation to be made is the tactic of the scribes and Pharisees. They are antagonistic to Jesus -- we know that -- but see the line of attack that they pursue. They find fault with his disciples. This tactic did not die with Jesus’ first-century opponents. Even though their real beef is with Jesus, their complaint is about his followers. And still today those who are antagonistic toward Jesus endeavor to bring him down by harping on what’s wrong with his followers.
Second, we note the Pharisees’ characteristic preoccupation with externals. This is something of a chronic problem for them throughout the Gospels, but it is also a cautionary tale for us. It is rather natural for human beings to fixate on externals while being obtuse to internal and spiritual things. This is not a calculated choice or conscious fault; it is our predisposition. It should be expected that we focus on what we can see, and that’s what the Pharisees did in this episode.
Meanwhile, Jesus also behaves in characteristic fashion in this episode. As he does so many times in his teachings, Jesus redirects our attention from the external to the internal, from the superficial to the spiritual. When we see the Pharisees and Jesus side-by-side, we are reminded of the occasion when Samuel was about to anoint Jesse’s eldest son. The Lord corrected the prophet, saying, “Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7 NASB).
Also on the matter of the heart, the quote from Isaiah that Jesus cites is a stinging indictment of so much religiosity. We go through the motions, we say the right things, we check all the boxes, and we look good on the outside. But none of that is a guarantee of the condition of our hearts. The God for whom the first and greatest commandment is that we should love him (Matthew 22:37-38) cares and notices above all whether our hearts are near to him or far from him.
Meanwhile, Jesus’ critique of the Pharisees also brings into a stark light a common problem. They had manipulated the law of God to serve their own self-interest. It is an unsurprising move, of course, for self-interest runs deep in our sinful nature, and so it is always tempting for religious folks to find some way to baptize their self-interest in the authority of God’s word. Bishop C. FitzSimons Allison insightfully notes, “We are susceptible to heretical teachings because, in one form or another, they nurture and reflect the way we would have it rather than the way God has provided.”1
Finally, this passage also invites us into sober consideration of the importance of words. “Words” are a commodity that are sold cheaply in our present culture, but let us not be deceived: they are highly valued in the kingdom of God. And while words do not even seem to be on the Pharisees’ radar in this episode, Jesus brings them so much to the fore as to make them a central issue in life.
The central issue for the Pharisees, as we have noted, is an external one. They are preoccupied with the ritual washing of hands. And since the disciples had failed to check that box, they were considered unclean or defiled.
Jesus turned the whole matter of clean and unclean upside down. Or, perhaps more accurately, inside out. While the externally-focused legalists worried about what was going into their mouths, Jesus taught that the truly substantive issue is what comes out of their mouths. What goes in is merely a matter for the stomach and digestion. What comes out, however, is a reflection of the heart. And it is the stuff that emanates from your heart and mine that proves whether we are clean or not.
Application
To put together our three selected texts under the theme of “worthless religion” invites an immediate understanding of the stakes involved with the two New Testament passages. The excerpt from the Song of Solomon may seem less salient. But let us bring all of our different parts and points together under a single thesis statement. Let us propose this: Religion that is out of touch with reality is worthless.
We may look at our assigned passages and understand “reality” from several different angles.
First, there is the reality that is represented by the Song of Solomon. This is the reality of our daily lives. This is the reality of our relationships and our loves, of our passions and our appetites. I have recommended to us above the value of preaching from this book precisely so that our people will know that this part of our lives is affirmed and celebrated in scripture. Religion that stays in the temple but never gets into the kitchen or bedroom, you see, is worthless.
Then there is the reality represented by James’ reference to widows and orphans. This is the reality of human need that is ever around us. Religion that is all theory and no practice -- exclusively spiritual, with no concern for the social or the physical -- is worthless religion.
Then there is the reality suggested by Jesus’ reinterpretation of being clean or unclean, as well as his quotation from Isaiah. There is that religiosity that amounts to simply going through the motions. It fulfills obligations in a technical sense, but not in a relational sense. It would be to religion. It is the religion of external ritual, but not of the heart. And if our religion does not both come from and reach to the heart, then it is worthless.
And then, finally, there is the ultimate reality: God. The person that James describes, who looks into God’s law and yet carries away no lasting impact, is the person who is out of touch with reality. The person who, like the Pharisees of Jesus’ day, exalts self-interest or manmade tradition over the heart and will of God is a person who is out of touch with reality. And, likewise, the person who is fixated on external things, while neglecting the matters of the heart -- the thing God sees -- is out of touch with reality. And so, ultimately, the religious person who is managing to navigate life out of touch with God is truly the person whose religion is worthless.
Alternative Application(s)
James 1:17-27 -- Hugging the Driver
As I noted above, the first verse of our selection from James is a personal favorite of mine, for it informs my thanksgiving. I take my cue from James and firmly believe that every goodness we know and every blessing we enjoy originates with God. It comes from above, indeed, and my gratitude should be directed accordingly.
In our age of so much online shopping, it is an easy thing to order a gift for someone and have it shipped to that person directly, perhaps even arriving the very next day. Imagine some confused recipient pouring out his thanks on the delivery truck driver who brings the package to the door. “This is so sweet, so thoughtful of you,” exclaims the recipient, hugging the bewildered driver.
But the gift must be traced back to its origin, you see. Behind the driver is some list of people at various stages of packaging and transporting, sorting and loading. Someone had to fill the order when it was received. And back one step further is the actual giver -- unseen, of course, by the recipient in our imaginary scenario.
We know enough to recognize the absurdity of pouring out our thanks on the delivery truck driver. And yet, at some level, that is what we are always doing. For so many of the blessings that surround us, if we give thanks at all, it is often a misplaced thanks. We express gratitude -- even assign credit -- to some intermediary, some instrument of the blessing. But James reminds us that “every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above.” All our thanks belongs to the invisible Giver and Sender.
One other analogy may help to illustrate the point and our problem. My car’s radio is designed to show on its display some information about the station that is tuned in, as well as the particular program or music that is on at any given moment. And I have observed an interesting dichotomy when switching between popular music and classical music.
When listening to some contemporary music station, the display tells me that name of the song and the name of the artist or group that is performing it. When listening to a classical station, on the other hand, the display tells me the name of the piece of music and the name of the composer who wrote it.
You see the difference. The contemporary music emphasizes the performer, while the person who wrote the song is perhaps largely unknown. The classical music, by contrast, emphasizes the composer of the music, while the performers are much less the point.
In our thanksgiving, then, let us say that the blessing is the piece of music. The question is whether we tend to give primary attention and credit to the performer -- the immediate vessel of the blessing? Or do we trace the blessing back to its Composer -- the One from whom all blessings flow?
1 C. FitzSimons Allison, The Cruelty of Heresy: An Affirmation of Christian Orthodoxy (New York: Morehouse Publishing, 1994), p. 17.
