I Could Never Be A Saint, God
Sermon
Holy Email
Cycle A Second Lesson Sermons for Advent, Christmas, Epiphany
E-mail
From: KDM
To: God
Subject: Enriched
Message: I could never be a saint, God. Lauds, KDM
The e-mail chats KDM has with God are talks that you or I might likely have with God. Today's e-mail is no exception: I could never be a saint, God. Lauds, KDM. The conversation might continue in the following vein: Just so you know, God, I am very human. Enriched, yes; educated, yes; goal-oriented, yes; high-minded, yes; perfect, no.
You and I hesitate to claim the saintly part of ourselves. Such an acknowledgement would require us to live on a different plane. We see being saintly as an extreme -- as thinking of others before ourselves, a self-denying and sacrificial attitude. Saints, we imagine, possess an essential goodness and humility that result in the quiet realization of equality, justice, and well-being for humankind.
No, we would add, there is little room for sainthood in present-day living. What is essential is my goal to carve out some space for myself. It is I who needs to survive. Only the independently wealthy can afford to be saintly. What is imperative is acquiring enough financial security to meet whatever future comes my way. I cannot be giving away at the same time I am accumulating. It would not come out right.
No, sainthood is not for me. Leave saintly living for the holy elect. I am far too human. But still, I feel something amiss with this competitive rush for the material. All the while, I admit to a cavity growing within my own spirit. Mostly, all I do is hurry, stew, and undermine any sense of well being that chances to slip in. Not only am I no saint, God, I also think my soul might be dying.
An acquaintance with a proclivity toward perfectionism once disclosed that when he was a child, he took to heart Jesus' words to be perfect. He said such an attitude drew him into serious trouble. He constantly had to face the reality that he was a selfish and egocentric person. He was not Jesus. He could not attain perfection. He became aware of a huge gap between how he would like to be and how he was in everyday reality. He found himself slipping into a habit of self-condemnation. He felt little joy in his life. "Why try?" he asked.
A youth, an honor student previously engaged in many school activities, lost interest in her positive and hardy lifestyle after several classmates died by accident. She said, "Why put your soul and heart into doing your best when you may not even have a future? Why try?" she asked and slipped into alcohol.
A brother and sister of divorce who lost their sense of home in the constant shuffle both decided their best interest was to look out for themselves. Forget about everyone else. Why try?
What can we do about such attitudes? What is the antidote here? I love it when the Apostle Paul says, "I give thanks to God always for you." What if someone were to turn to you, lay a hand on your arm, and tell you, "I give thanks to God always for you"? Some among us would offer, "Why, thank you," in return or a hurried, "I give thanks to God for you also." Many more would be apt to say (or think to ourselves), "Really? But do you always say that? You would not give God thanks for me if you knew everything about me."
Okay, enough. Let us pause a minute. Everyone turn to your neighbor in the pew, right now. Think about something you would give thanks to God about for that person. Now, with a voice that means it, address this person directly with Paul's words: "I give thanks to God always for you."
Did you feel a little silly even though you meant what you said? You who heard these words, could you help but smile and maybe feel a sense of relief -- a being in the right? Did you sit taller?
If all we learn from coming to church and to church school is regret for the shortfall, our sense of hope will crumble. Our souls will dry up until they blow away like a puff of house dust.
Each of us needs to hear that someone else believes in us. Then we can stretch beyond ourselves. Each of us needs to hear that someone else recognizes what is good about us and what is unique. Then we can feel that we count in the world around us. We need to know that we are not competing in some impossible race to be the purple-ribboned saint. Then we can recognize within ourselves the aspiration to keep trying.
Sometimes, you and I are severe with ourselves. Our measure is so exacting that we do not even try. However, something important happens to us inside when we allow ourselves to consider that at least from the other side, in someone else's eyes, outside of our skin, from another's perspective, we are not all that bad.
When others see in us the evidence of God's grace, we gain courage to look for what is good about ourselves. "Now what difference does that make?" you might ask. A big difference. This shift in attitude invites us to move from reproach to affirmation. Something happens when we begin to approve of ourselves.
It is as if Paul had read ahead of time a list of all the imperfections of the young Corinthian congregation. Beneath his words, he was communicating, "But, but, however, despite this, in spite of that, I see the possibility that you are. I notice the little things that you do -- your graciousness to another person, a small act of kindness here, a gentle word there, your persistence in meeting your commitments, your faithfulness to your promises."
All of these things still count: just our not giving up completely in the commotion of living through each day, the chaos of everyone in the family going in different directions, the cacophony of relationships, the struggle to make ends meet, the shiver dimension in our load of responsibility.
We are to love God with all our heart, all our mind, and all our soul. What we must also remember is the faithfulness of God who calls us into community. God is for us with all God's heart, all God's mind, and all God's soul. This is why, in Paul's words, God "will also strengthen you to the end" (v. 8).
Consider one definition of a saint as an individual who keeps trying to keep this God connection. Being a saint is two-sided. According to Paul, more than simple aspiration, it is also our awareness of being called by God -- not demanded by God but invited or summoned. Being a saint has something to do with the connection between God's calling to us to live the best lives we can and our hearing this invitation.
When we feel abandoned no longer, we stop giving up on ourselves. Paul did not say we were to be saints in isolation. He said, "[You are] called to be saints, together with all those who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ" (v. 2). Together, therefore, we hear the invitation to move from the loneliness of being human into the community of those who strengthen each other in our effort to be good people.
Part of Epiphany is its surprise. When we keep the God connection, we begin again to care about the people connection. As we keep the people connection, we gain a clearer sense of ourselves and the meaning of our lives. Being a saint then takes care of itself.
From: KDM
To: God
Subject: Enriched
Message: I could never be a saint, God. Lauds, KDM
The e-mail chats KDM has with God are talks that you or I might likely have with God. Today's e-mail is no exception: I could never be a saint, God. Lauds, KDM. The conversation might continue in the following vein: Just so you know, God, I am very human. Enriched, yes; educated, yes; goal-oriented, yes; high-minded, yes; perfect, no.
You and I hesitate to claim the saintly part of ourselves. Such an acknowledgement would require us to live on a different plane. We see being saintly as an extreme -- as thinking of others before ourselves, a self-denying and sacrificial attitude. Saints, we imagine, possess an essential goodness and humility that result in the quiet realization of equality, justice, and well-being for humankind.
No, we would add, there is little room for sainthood in present-day living. What is essential is my goal to carve out some space for myself. It is I who needs to survive. Only the independently wealthy can afford to be saintly. What is imperative is acquiring enough financial security to meet whatever future comes my way. I cannot be giving away at the same time I am accumulating. It would not come out right.
No, sainthood is not for me. Leave saintly living for the holy elect. I am far too human. But still, I feel something amiss with this competitive rush for the material. All the while, I admit to a cavity growing within my own spirit. Mostly, all I do is hurry, stew, and undermine any sense of well being that chances to slip in. Not only am I no saint, God, I also think my soul might be dying.
An acquaintance with a proclivity toward perfectionism once disclosed that when he was a child, he took to heart Jesus' words to be perfect. He said such an attitude drew him into serious trouble. He constantly had to face the reality that he was a selfish and egocentric person. He was not Jesus. He could not attain perfection. He became aware of a huge gap between how he would like to be and how he was in everyday reality. He found himself slipping into a habit of self-condemnation. He felt little joy in his life. "Why try?" he asked.
A youth, an honor student previously engaged in many school activities, lost interest in her positive and hardy lifestyle after several classmates died by accident. She said, "Why put your soul and heart into doing your best when you may not even have a future? Why try?" she asked and slipped into alcohol.
A brother and sister of divorce who lost their sense of home in the constant shuffle both decided their best interest was to look out for themselves. Forget about everyone else. Why try?
What can we do about such attitudes? What is the antidote here? I love it when the Apostle Paul says, "I give thanks to God always for you." What if someone were to turn to you, lay a hand on your arm, and tell you, "I give thanks to God always for you"? Some among us would offer, "Why, thank you," in return or a hurried, "I give thanks to God for you also." Many more would be apt to say (or think to ourselves), "Really? But do you always say that? You would not give God thanks for me if you knew everything about me."
Okay, enough. Let us pause a minute. Everyone turn to your neighbor in the pew, right now. Think about something you would give thanks to God about for that person. Now, with a voice that means it, address this person directly with Paul's words: "I give thanks to God always for you."
Did you feel a little silly even though you meant what you said? You who heard these words, could you help but smile and maybe feel a sense of relief -- a being in the right? Did you sit taller?
If all we learn from coming to church and to church school is regret for the shortfall, our sense of hope will crumble. Our souls will dry up until they blow away like a puff of house dust.
Each of us needs to hear that someone else believes in us. Then we can stretch beyond ourselves. Each of us needs to hear that someone else recognizes what is good about us and what is unique. Then we can feel that we count in the world around us. We need to know that we are not competing in some impossible race to be the purple-ribboned saint. Then we can recognize within ourselves the aspiration to keep trying.
Sometimes, you and I are severe with ourselves. Our measure is so exacting that we do not even try. However, something important happens to us inside when we allow ourselves to consider that at least from the other side, in someone else's eyes, outside of our skin, from another's perspective, we are not all that bad.
When others see in us the evidence of God's grace, we gain courage to look for what is good about ourselves. "Now what difference does that make?" you might ask. A big difference. This shift in attitude invites us to move from reproach to affirmation. Something happens when we begin to approve of ourselves.
It is as if Paul had read ahead of time a list of all the imperfections of the young Corinthian congregation. Beneath his words, he was communicating, "But, but, however, despite this, in spite of that, I see the possibility that you are. I notice the little things that you do -- your graciousness to another person, a small act of kindness here, a gentle word there, your persistence in meeting your commitments, your faithfulness to your promises."
All of these things still count: just our not giving up completely in the commotion of living through each day, the chaos of everyone in the family going in different directions, the cacophony of relationships, the struggle to make ends meet, the shiver dimension in our load of responsibility.
We are to love God with all our heart, all our mind, and all our soul. What we must also remember is the faithfulness of God who calls us into community. God is for us with all God's heart, all God's mind, and all God's soul. This is why, in Paul's words, God "will also strengthen you to the end" (v. 8).
Consider one definition of a saint as an individual who keeps trying to keep this God connection. Being a saint is two-sided. According to Paul, more than simple aspiration, it is also our awareness of being called by God -- not demanded by God but invited or summoned. Being a saint has something to do with the connection between God's calling to us to live the best lives we can and our hearing this invitation.
When we feel abandoned no longer, we stop giving up on ourselves. Paul did not say we were to be saints in isolation. He said, "[You are] called to be saints, together with all those who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ" (v. 2). Together, therefore, we hear the invitation to move from the loneliness of being human into the community of those who strengthen each other in our effort to be good people.
Part of Epiphany is its surprise. When we keep the God connection, we begin again to care about the people connection. As we keep the people connection, we gain a clearer sense of ourselves and the meaning of our lives. Being a saint then takes care of itself.
