Trinity Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)

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Sermons

September 2002 (click here to return to "September 2002 Sermons" page)

26th Sunday in Ordinary Time (September 29, 2002)

“Hey! What Are They Doing Here?” Dr. Julie Adkins

Text: Matthew 21:23-32

SERMON

As Matthew tells us,

Jesus addresses this parable to the chief priests and Pharisees.

They’ve been up to their old tricks,

testing him once again,

trying to trip him up in his words,

so he’ll say something they can accuse him of,

and they can get rid of him once and for all.

As usual, Jesus can match them trick for trick …

He neatly evades the trap they have laid for him,

and then he tells them a parable

which turns out to be about themselves.

Two sons:

one whose words say no,

but his actions say yes;

another whose words say yes,

but his actions say no.

The religious leaders immediately agree, of course,

that it is the first one who did right.

And only when Jesus explains the story

does it become clear that it was a story about them all along.

Here they were trying to condemn Jesus.

Instead they have condemned themselves.

Now, I’m quite sure that all of us know people

whose words and actions don’t match …

In fact, if we’re at all truthful,

we know that even we ourselves sometimes fall into that category!

It’s one of our favorite national spectator sports

to catch politicians at it … !

but all of us, sometimes,

say one thing and then live just the opposite.

The sort of thing that Ralph Waldo Emerson was talking about

when he said to one of his friends,

“What you are doing is making so much noise

that I cannot hear what you are saying.”

Or to put it another way:

sometimes, not only do our actions speak louder than our words;

they may go so far as to drown out the words altogether!

Now. most of us have probably not ever sinned

quite as spectacularly or as publicly

as some of those whose failing we see broadcast on the news …

but we all struggle continually with

making our words and our deeds match up.

Let me be clear:

I’m not talking – today – about those times

when the way is not clear,

and we aren’t sure what we ought to do.

No, I mean the times when we know the right thing to do,

but we don’t do it.

When we have the best of intentions,

but sometimes don’t follow through on them.

When we know the words of our prayers,

our hymns, our affirmations of faith, our scriptures …

but often, we leave those words here in the church building

and we don’t take them home with us.

Much of the time, we in the church –

and those of you who are visiting us today,

you’ll have to decide whether this is true for you or not,

but I know it’s true for those of us

who have been in this church or any church for any length of time

-- we become a little like those chief priests and Pharisees.

We’ve studied the Bible,

we’ve listened to – or at least sat in the same room with –

hundreds of sermons,

and so we are pretty good at knowing the right answers.

If Jesus came in here today and told us a parable,

we’re pretty sure we’d guess right about what he was getting at.

But what’s alarmingly easy to forget is that

we not only have to know the right answers;

we have to live them.

It isn’t enough to know the words;

in fact, that’s the easy part.

If the right words are all that we think we need,

we very quickly become complacent in our knowledge;

we come to believe we are sufficient unto ourselves.

And when that happens,

we’ve turned ourselves into those chief priests and Pharisees

who didn’t think they needed Jesus, either.

They knew the Law;

what did they need with an itinerant teacher,

much less a savior?

I often hear good church folks wonder the same thing:

what does it really mean,

Jesus died for my sins?

I’m not that bad a person.

Surely he didn’t have to do that.

It must have been someone else’s sins that he was worried about.

Woe to those of us who think we are righteous,

for we may be in for a big surprise.

Truth of the matter is,

we need to think about how we can be

a lot less like the chief priests and Pharisees,

and a lot more like

the tax collectors and harlots.

Not in our choice of profession …!

but in our attitude toward the gospel

and toward Jesus himself.

Of course, one might say that at the outset,

the tax collectors and harlots were less righteous

than the Pharisees and the chief priests.

The difference is, they knew something was wrong.

They were all too aware of their own unrighteousness,

their unacceptability.

It’s just that,

until the coming of John the Baptist, and then Jesus,

no one had ever given them a clue

that things could be any different.

That their future did not have to be

weighted down by their past.

That present-day problems in their lives

didn’t have to keep them separated from God.

So that when God’s word came to them,

they heard it willingly;

they were open to it;

in fact, they were starving for it.

They believed,

and they repented.

And so, even though they had spent

most of their lives saying “no” to God’s word,

like that first son in the parable –

or at least, that’s how they appeared to the religious leaders –

in the end, like that first son,

they thought better of it,

and did the will of their “father,” of God.

So they really were just the opposite of those religious folks,

who had said “yes” to God their whole lives long,

but had never actually done anything about it.

Who are going to get a big surprise when

they arrive at the kingdom of heaven,

and find that the welcoming committee

is made up of moneygrabbers and ladies of the evening.

C. S. Lewis wrote a book

that deals in part with this issue …

It’s called The Great Divorce –

and if you haven’t read it, you should; it’s skinny –

It’s about a busload of people

who make a journey from hell to heaven.

Turns out it was a dream, but that’s beside the point for the moment.

Anyway, when the travelers from hell arrive in heaven,

each one of them is invited to stay by someone who is already there,

someone they knew in this, earthly life.

Most of them find an excuse not to stay.

The encounter I want to share with you

happens between one of the visitors from hell,

referred to as “the ghost” or “the big ghost,”

and the Spirit who welcomes him.

That Spirit happens to be a man

who worked for the “ghost” on earth,

and who had once murdered a man they both knew:

“Well, I’m damned,” said the Ghost. “I wouldn’t have believed it. It’s a fair knockout. It isn’t right, Len, you know. What about poor Jack, eh? You look pretty pleased with yourself, but what I say is, What about poor Jack?”

“He is here,” said the other. “You will meet him soon, if you stay.”

“But you murdered him.”

“Of course I did. It is all right now.”

“All right, is it? All right for you, you mean. But what about the poor chap himself, laying cold and dead?”

“But he isn’t. I have told you, you will meet him soon. He sent you his love.”

“What I’d like to understand,” said the Ghost, “is what you’re here for, as pleased as Punch, you, a bloody murderer, while I’ve been walking the streets down there and living in a place like a pigsty all these years.”

“That is a little hard to understand at first. But it is all over now. You will be pleased about it presently. Till then there is no need to bother about it.”

“No need to bother about it? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“No. Not as you mean. I do not look at myself. I have given up myself. I had to, you know, after the murder. That was what did it for me. And that was how everything began.”

“Personally,” said the Big Ghost with an emphasis which contradicted the ordinary meaning of the word, “personally, I’d have thought you and I ought to be the other way round. That’s my personal opinion.”

“Very likely we soon shall be,” said the other. “If you’ll stop thinking about it.”

“Look at me, now,” said the Ghost, slapping its chest (but the slap made no noise). “I gone straight all my life. I don’t say I was a religious man and I don’t say I had no faults, far from it. But I done my best all my life, see? I done my best by everyone, that’s the sort of chap I was. I never asked for anything that wasn’t mine by rights. If I wanted a drink I paid for it and if I took my wages I done my job, see? That’s the sort I was and I don’t care who knows it.”

“It would be much better not to go on about that now.”

“Who’s going on? I’m not arguing. I’m just telling you the sort of chap I was, see? I’m asking for nothing but my rights. You may think you can put me down because you’re dressed up like that (which you weren’t when you worked under me) and I’m only a poor man. But I got to have my rights same as you, see?”

“Oh no. It’s not so bad as that. I haven’t got my rights, or I should not be here. You will not get yours either. You’ll get something far better. Never fear.”

“That’s just what I say. I haven’t got my rights. I always done my best and I never done nothing wrong. And what I don’t see is why I should be put below a bloody murderer like you.”

“Who knows whether you will be? Only be happy and come with me.”

“What do you keep on arguing for? I’m only telling you the sort of chap I am. I only want my rights. I’m not asking for anybody’s bleeding charity.”

“Then do. At once. Ask for the Bleeding Charity. Everything is here for the asking and nothing can be bought.”

“That may be very well for you, I daresay. If they choose to let in a bloody murderer all because he makes a poor mouth at the last moment, that’s their lookout. But I don’t see myself going in the same boat with you, see? Why should I? I don’t want charity. I’m a decent man and if I had my rights I’d have been here long ago and you can tell them I said so.”

The other shook his head. “You can never do it like that,” he said. … “And it isn’t exactly true, you know.” Mirth danced in his eyes as he said it.

“What isn’t true?” asked the Ghost sulkily.

“You weren’t a decent man and you didn’t do your best. We none of us were and we none of us did. Lord bless you, it doesn’t matter. There is no need to go into it all now.”

“You!” gasped the Ghost. “You have the face to tell me I wasn’t a decent chap?”

“Of course. Must I go into all that? I will tell you one thing to begin with. Murdering Jack wasn’t the worst thing I did. That was the work of a moment and I was half mad when I did it. But I murdered you in my heart, deliberately, for years. I used to lie awake at nights thinking what I’d do to you if ever I got the chance. That is why I have been sent to you now: to ask your forgiveness and to be your servant as long as you need one, and longer if it pleases you. I was the worst. But all the men who worked under you felt the same. You made it hard for us, you know. And you made it hard for your wife too and for your children.”

“You mind your own business, young man,” said the Ghost. “Non of your lip, see? Because I’m not taking any impudence from you about my private affairs.”

“There are no private affairs,” said the other.

“And I’ll tell you another thing,” said the Ghost. “You can clear off, see? You’re not wanted. I may be only a poor man, but I’m not making pals with a murderer, let alone taking lessons from him. Made it hard for you and your like, did I? If I had you back there I’d show you what work is.”

“Come and show me now,” said the other with laughter in his voice. “It will be joy going to the mountains, but there will be plenty of work.”

“You don’t suppose I’d go with you?”

“Don’t refuse. You will never get there alone. And I am the one who was sent to you.”

“So that’s the trick, is it?” shouted the Ghost, outwardly bitter, and yet I thought there was a kind of triumph in its voice. It had been entreated: it could make a refusal: and this seemed to it a kind of advantage. “I thought there’d be some damned nonsense. It’s all a clique, all a bloody clique. Tell them I’m not coming, see? I’m rather be damned than go along with you. I came here to get my rights, see? Not to go snivelling along on charity tied onto your apron-strings. If they’re too fine to have me without you, I’ll go home.” It was almost happy now that it could, in a sense, threaten. “That’s what I’ll do,” it repeated, “I’ll go home. I didn’t come here to be treated like a dog. I’ll go home. That’s what I’ll do. Damn and blast the whole pack of you …” In the end, still grumbling but whimpering also a little as it picked its way over the sharp grasses. it made off.