THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​ I once read a story about a state trooper who stopped a driver on the highway. When the trooper approached the car, the driver asked why. After checking license and registration, the trooper replied, “I saw all the religious bumper stickers and then the way you were driving and a few hand gestures. I assumed the car must be stolen.” 

This week brings many reminders and definitions of words like “liberty” and “freedom.” But today’s Epistle lesson reminds us that we are slaves in one way or another. We don’t like that word, slaves. We’ve heard a lot about it and might have toured scenic park-like settings or cemeteries where battles were fought over the right to own another human being. 

We continue to hear words of condemnation spoken about and toward those who live here as a result of that way of life. But you really have no right to complain about the presence of those whose ancestors were kidnapped and forced to move an ocean away from home for your own ancestors’ benefit and enrichment. 

Paul says we are all slaves. We all submit to the authority of someone, perhaps some entity. Paul contrasts being slaves to sin and being slaves to righteousness. If anyone wants to help me explain that, now’s your chance to step forward, shackles and all. 

We might declare ourselves to be free. But first we need to understand the meaning of the terms "sin" and "righteousness." Then comes the sometimes uncomfortable task of admitting which one we really choose for ourselves. 

One commentary I read mentioned a friend of the writer who is a slave to fashion. We don’t have to look beyond news headlines to find those who are slaves to wealth and/or power. Many enslave themselves to attention and prestige, and some of those are found in church pews on a regular basis. 

I remember a convention in another diocese where it seemed one or two persons submitted their names for nearly every position available. I didn’t want to hear about time management issues if they had won every election. I’ve seen the same thing happen with parish committees. Then I see the burn-out that follows. It could be what our Prayer of Confession refers to as “things done and left undone” all in the same action. 

My working definition of sin is “actively separating ourselves from the God who gives us life.” From that point we might develop endless lists of “sins,” including, as I mentioned recently, the purchase and eating of pretzels. As a former professor used to say regularly, "There's sin everywhere.” 

Sin is predominantly known by choosing to gratify only ourselves, serving only ourselves, and insisting that only what pleases us as individuals is acceptable. Sin denies the benefit of being in relationship with each other, a reciprocal way of life that seeks the good of and in the other as much as the pleasure of the self. 

The slavery of sin denies goodness in others, while the slavery of righteousness seeks harmony and benefit of living together in right relationship. That means everything from helping each other as we are able to not crowding and swerving around others because we haven’t yet learned that waiting longer at the next red light is not always a good and joyful thing. 

Slavery to righteousness is made known to us in the cross of Jesus of Nazareth. As Paul says in his letter to the Philippians, he became a slave—a slave to and for love to reveal who God is for us. 

Being a slave to righteousness means living in ways that reveal our slavery to and for love through how we live at home, in our communities, at work, and even what we call “at church.” Being a slave to righteousness is how we move from being “at church” to being the church—the Body of Christ continuing the life of obedience to the speaking of the Spirit, words taking on flesh, our flesh, in our own time. 

When we choose to be slaves to righteousness, we don’t need bumper stickers or sweatshirts or other banners and slogans to make it known. Others will know by the way we move through the highways of life in ways that seek the well-being of others as much, but no less, than we do for ourselves.

Nearly fifty years ago, we began hearing a designation known as the “me generation.” It describes a move away from communal relationships into a focus on self-interest. We’re living the results of that now that include everything from identity politics to the decline in religious attendance and participation. The rise in social and economic inequality and the almost instant choice of violence as a response to disagreement give evidence that our communal fabric is being torn to shreds.

Paul’s writing shifts our focus in his discussion of slavery to righteousness. He tells us we are baptized into the death of Jesus, resulting in our rising to the new life of resurrection. But Paul would not confine his words to what happens at our fonts. Our restriction of the effectiveness of that ritual to the actual event betrays our misunderstanding of its true meaning.

Our life as disciples of the risen Christ is an ongoing baptism into his new, never-ending life as we choose between the slavery to sin and slavery to righteousness. In other words, we opt to live in ways that deny the presence of God, or to live in the self-giving example of the One who humbled himself, even to death on a cross.

The very real life-or-death choices we make reveal our true master. The life we live, as individuals and as a faithful community, reveals whether we live in hope or the despair of fear. Choose wisely.

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​ Today we have two related but different job descriptions. One is from Jeremiah, who would probably win the title of “least happy prophet” in Hebrew history. The other is Jesus’ description of what it means to be his disciple. It’s not the pleasant prayer for unity we heard recently from John’s gospel. He tops it off with words about carrying a cross and losing one’s life. Don’t trample one another rushing to be first in line. 

Jeremiah uses words I sometimes wondered out loud during seminary. “You enticed me,” he laments. His job is to tell leaders what they don’t want to hear. As a result, he is imprisoned, beaten, starved, and otherwise treated inhospitably. But he can’t walk away, because the call to proclaim truth is stronger than the urge for self-preservation, and much more relentless. A God who never sleeps finds ways to speak even when we try to catch some shut-eye. 

Jesus knows how unpopular that call can be. By nature, truth is divisive when some try to deny it because it doesn’t speak to, but against, their own purposes. And when those deniers wield power, look out. I’ve been telling congregations for years, when religion and politics share living quarters, the end result is most always a crucifixion of one kind or another. 

Jesus warns his followers that they should be more concerned about the one who can cause everlasting punishment instead of those who might inflict it for a short time. I don’t want to take Matthew’s words literally this morning; those who do seem to be able to create enough hell for all of us. 

You might be wondering about all this. A former parishioner told me he liked it when I preached from the aisle without notes. But when I turned and walked into the pulpit, he thought, “Uh oh. We’re in for it now.” 

Several years ago, writings from Ezekiel found their way into the lectionary cycle. So I decided to read it again to gain some insights and context. A verse jumped out that I cannot forget. It’s the charge given to the prophet. God says, “If you speak the words I tell you to speak and they do not listen, their sin is on them. But if you do not speak my words to them because you fear how they might react, their sin is on you.” The big gulp came along long before 7-11. 

Fear is a big motivator. Fear of punishment causes many to obey rules and regulations. Thinking that the punishment will not come causes many to consider those regulations as mere suggestions, evidence seen on the highways around us. Others consider themselves to be immune because of status or wealth, and may get away with it for awhile. I’ll refer you back to Jesus’ words heard today and remind you that there are those who sometimes make me hope there really is a hell. It’s sort of a last resort, redefining the word “resort.”
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The call to discipleship is a call to relationship with God, a relationship that transcends fear and doubt, because it invites us to join with God in the ongoing work of creating a new life even while reconciling the old life with the new by forgiving and even just letting go of what no longer gives life.

We enter that relationship each time we come within these walls. It may often seem more like a social gathering of friends, but that only touches the surface. As we listen, sing and pray, and move to receive, we somehow find ourselves called into an intimate relationship with our Creator even as we make our own call for God in Christ to enter into our own lives.

The secret to all this is that we have to be willing to let the other in. We have to allow the continuing work of creation to transform, even transfigure us in ways we could never imagine. In the words of W. H. Auden in For the Time Being, the angel Gabriel says to Mary, “You must choose him who chooses you.”

To listen to the prophet, to hear and be guided by Truth, we must first let the prophet in. We must provide hospitality to inconvenient and unpopular words that will help us find our way to new life. It’s not easy, and might even be a bit painful. But the call to new life rings out from empty tombs. We just need to risk walking into them and admit that they’re empty.

To use some prophetic words, let those who have ears to hear, listen.

 The world is in turmoil. Threats from without and within stir up fear and anxiety. Relationships with neighbors seem to change with the wind. No one seems to know which way to turn, except to try and find ways to protect themselves and their position. 

Such is the scene in the kingdom of Israel in the eighth century BCE when the prophet Hosea addressed the concerns of the people. Actually, he addresses the concerns of God about the people God formed from the offspring of Abraham. Israel, the people whose name comes from their ancestor Jacob, have turned away from the God of their ancestors. And, as a result, God has turned away from them. 
To a point. 

It’s a perpetual struggle. Times of prosperity and peace are seen as gifts from God, a sign of God’s presence and favor. Then we begin to worship prosperity and peace as something that will go on forever, seeking more and more of it as a sign of our own righteousness. We fall into that category of self-proclaimed healthy people whom Jesus says don’t need a physician. He’s actually pointing out that those who claim to be correct in every way don’t need God. At least that’s what their actions seem to say. 

We do that today, carrying on a tradition that is alive and well in Hosea’s time. To borrow an old admonition, we “don’t drink or smoke or play cards or associate with those who do” so we can keep ourselves pure enough to make it to heaven. 

I once worked with a minister whose in-laws wouldn’t eat pretzels. They said that those who ate pretzels smoked, played cards and drank beer, which they didn’t do either. He told me that whenever his in-laws were coming to visit, he made sure there was a bag of pretzels on the kitchen counter. He was, shall we say, ecclesiastically ornery. That’s another tradition that continues, in case you hadn’t noticed. Speaking for a friend. 

Recent studies point to another tradition that continues in our culture. In the early 1970s, just over thirty percent of adults in our country claimed membership in what’s known as a Protestant mainline denomination. Now, that percentage is hovering at around nine percent. 

There are about as many reasons for this as there are professionals ready to sell us a book to tell us what they are. But during these past five to six decades, we’ve seen everything from scandal to hyper-politicization of religion in our culture. I occasionally get a phone call from someone interested in attending our parish. I get questions about hot-button political issues, which seem to want me to tell them what to think and to judge whether my words are exactly what they already think. I don’t remember a single question asking me about Jesus.

Yet, many seemingly successful congregations do just that. They cater to extreme positions, drawing in those who chastise others not just like them for what they believe they think or think they believe. All this as they claim to be on the “right” road to heaven. It can be a difficult journey, no matter which position you take, when on-coming traffic and even potholes are seen as evidence that hell is very close and must be avoided.

Jesus wants none of that. It’s just more evidence that, despite Hosea’s admonitions, we still haven’t learned the lesson that God comes to those who find themselves in need of God’s presence. Not to those who have everything they need to prove to themselves that God loves them as much as they love what they have.

The Pharisees, who try to ensure purity through strict obedience to Torah, challenge Jesus while he welcomes some who find themselves standing outside the law. Tax collectors were agents of the oppressive Roman government. The sick, the ritually impure, those who didn’t fit the requirements to enter the Temple for worship are those who join him at dinner. Keep in mind that at this point in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus has not turned his teaching toward Gentiles. That will come later.

So today I invite you to ponder the question we face with diminishing, even dissolving influence and resources in our time. Like in Hosea, the answer comes from words that acknowledge guilt, even while they assure forgiveness. The word of God always steers us toward conversion, which means turning from what draws us away from God to see who God always has been and still is for us.

That word is hesed, which means “steadfast love.” That is the point where God cannot, will not completely turn away from us. While we might want to make sure we make our way into what Matthew calls “the kingdom of heaven,” we lose sight that God’s steadfast love means that God will come to join us here, coming to the table where all sorts of sinners, like us, find a feast awaits.

Maybe we nine percenters have just been hanging out with all the right people too long. We work diligently to make sure that everything looks just right, that anyone looking on from just a short distance away will approve of those who gather with us. In many ways, our souls remain masked from impurity much as our faces were during the pandemic.

Jesus takes that impurity into himself when he sits with outcasts and sinners. The synagogue leader risks ritual impurity by coming into the room to plead for the life of his daughter. Jesus exchanges impurity for healing as a woman with a bleeding disorder touches the hem of his cloak. He does that again when he enters the room where a lifeless child is restored to the relationship of “daughter.”

The words of the Gloria proclaim Christ as the one who takes away the sin of the world. In Christ, we are restored to God’s intended relationship as daughters and sons. 

God’s steadfast love is graciously given to us, and as Paul will remind us, nothing can separate us from that love.

But we often seem to be separated from it, or at least far from it. Perhaps it’s not that God has turned away from us, but that we have turned away from God toward all those shiny things vying for our attention. We spend more time preening in front of our spiritual mirrors than we do reaching out to those still in need of the healing balm of God’s love.

When we look around, even flail about for quick solutions to the problems that vex us, remember the God who shows up when we finally turn toward the place where God has been all along.
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Again, I remind you who Jesus was to those in his own time. You know, outcasts and sinners. And, again, it’s time to stop hanging out with all the “right” people. Because when we do only that, we become by our own hand the outcasts and sinners in need of redemption.