Reformation Sunday (Year A) – Sunday,
October 30, 2011
Christ Evangelical Lutheran Church,
Lancaster, PA
Texts: Jeremiah 31:31-34, Romans
3:19-28, John 8:31-36
NEVER
FORGET. Have you seen these words somewhere recently? I imagine you
have, likely in reference wars or other national tragedies. Never
forget, we're told. Certainly, we must never forget the people who
are lost in such tragedies – who they were, what they meant to
their families and to others. But we are often to encouraged to
remember in a different way. We urged to remember that we were
wronged. That someone else did this to us, and that it is now up to
us to do something back to them. We're told to cling to the memory
of the injustice done to us, so that we may even the score with them.
We
like to remember things. I'm not talking about remembering what you
need to buy at the grocery store, or remembering your wedding
anniversary. Those are important things to remember! I'm not
talking about being able to recall information in our minds. No, I'm
talking about the kind of memory that won't let go of what others
have done or said that has injured us. We want to hold them
accountable. We want justice. I'm also talking about the memories
of things that we have done, or not done, to which we hold ourselves
accountable.
Think
of the memories of your own shortcomings or mistakes that play over
and over in your mind. Think of your choices that led to failure or
loss or tragedy, or your choices that have hurt others.
How
do they impact how you view yourself?
How
do these mistakes or failures in your past impact your choices today?
I
believe these memories hold us captive. They control us, ironically
because we like to think we're in control. We want to dish out
justice ourselves by holding others accountable to memories of wrongs
committed. At the same time, we believe we can fix our own
shortcomings and mistakes that we hold against ourselves. We think
we can always control our own behavior, our own future, and we want
the credit for doing so. “Never forget” is a motto for us when
our fingers are clenched around painful memories of human sin, never
letting go.
Sin.
It's a hard and ugly word, but it's the truth about us. In our
readings today we are confronted face-to-face with our own sin.
Jeremiah speaks of the covenant that God's people broke, the covenant
which we can never keep. In his letter to the Romans, St. Paul does
not mince words. “For there is NO distinction, since ALL have
sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” ALL have sinned. ALL,
try as they might, fall short of the glory of God. ALL - even the
ones who go to church every Sunday. Even Mother Teresa. Even little
babies. In our gospel reading from John, Jesus tells a group of his
fellow Jews, “very truly I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a
slave to sin.” A SLAVE. As in, someone who has NO freedom and NO
control over their lives.
Jesus
hits the nail on the head. We can't help but sin. It's who we are
as fallen and broken human beings. We're all in that same boat
together, which means we cannot judge each other for it. We cannot
hold anything against each other, or against ourselves. Memories of
our own sin or that of others trap
us in a prison of our own making. Memories of brokenness in
relationships continue to define those relationships in the future.
We're not in control of memories, they're in control of us. We are
captive to sin and cannot free ourselves. This was the first truth
Martin Luther wanted to make clear – no good deed, no prayer, no
papal indulgence could get us out of the sinful muck we're in.
One of
my favorite movies is called The Shawshank Redemption,
and it's about a man named Andy who is sent to state prison for
murdering his wife, a crime that he did not actually commit. Towards
the end of that movie, Andy has just emerged from months in solitary
confinement in a room the size of this pulpit, in pitch blackness.
He is leaning against the cold stone of the prison wall, the shadows
from the high walls blocking the sun. Twenty years have been taken
from his life. He is bound, chained up inside a fortress of shadows
and darkness, as far from freedom as he could imagine. He is like a
slave. He looks at his best friend, Red, and asks where he would go
if he could ever get out of there. Red doesn't really answer, so
Andy replies, “I tell you where I'd go. Zihuatanejo. It's in
Mexico. Little place on the Pacific Ocean. You know what the
Mexicans say about the Pacific? They say it has no memory. That's
where I want to live the rest of my life. A warm place with no
memory.”
Although
Andy didn't commit the crime that sent him to prison, it was a memory
that controlled his life. The memory of the murder is what drove
society to convict him and send him to prison, even though they got
it wrong. The memory of this injustice, his memories of the horrors
of prison, of the years taken from him, these memories chained him to
loss and sorrow, to anger and despair. Andy wanted to be in a place
where none of this would be remembered. He wanted to be in a place
where people would see him as just himself, with no idea that he had
spent decades behind bars. That's true freedom. Waking up every day
without any stories, patterns or judgments chained to you. With each
new dawn, waking up beginning relationships anew, without the burden
of an ugly past.
My
friends, this is the freedom we have in Christ. Now, we know that
it's not like God forgets things. God always remembers what he needs
at the grocery store. But on the cross, in the person of Jesus
Christ, God the Son, crucified and risen, God chose to actively no
longer remember our sin. Jeremiah prophesied, “I will forgive
their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.” Never forget?
Well, God forgets. God chooses to no longer allow memories of our
selfishness and bad decisions, that is, our sin, to define his
relationship with us. God chooses to act as if we are not sinners,
and instead to treat us as if we were Christ. “We are now
justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in
Christ Jesus.” This is the second, and more wonderful, truth that
Luther preached everywhere he could.
When
Andy makes it to the waters of the Pacific Ocean, he begins a new
life free from the bars and chains of memories. In the waters of
baptism, God puts to death our old self that tries to control, that
strives to reach God's glory, and brings to life a new creation with
no memories of sin attached. Every day, as we sin again, we come
back to the waters, we return to that baptismal grace in which God
remembers our sin no more.
This
is the freedom we have, and the freedom we can share.
Because
of Christ, because of his death and resurrection into which you are
baptized, you can wake up each morning free.
You
are free to love God and love your neighbor.
You
are free to accept that you are a sinner, and that there is nothing
you can do that will make God love you more than he already does.
You
are free to see not your neighbor's shortcomings, but the beloved
child of God that she or he is.
You
are free to create a new future with your enemies.
You
are free to see yourself as a one-of-a-kind masterpiece of God's
creative, redemptive and sustaining love.
You
are free to follow Christ to clothe the naked, feed the hungry, heal
the sick and shelter the homeless.
You
are free to live without fear of failure nor death, for Christ has
redeemed you, Christ has made you righteous, and Christ has joined
himself to you and you will live with him eternally.
The
Son made you free, and you are free indeed. Amen.
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