I think it was C.S. Lewis who tells of the time he was approached by a woman complaining about a church member who, in her mind, was unpleasant, uncouth, and just plain disagreeable.
Lewis’ shrewd response nails it. “Yes,” he advised, “but you should have seen him before he became a Christian.”
In my last post, https://climbingthewalls.org/sermon-christianity-a-well-known-stranger/, I pointed out that sin, contrary to common thought, actually means “the state of being separated from God,” sin being a relational term.
I also pointed out that the mythological story of the Garden of Eden and the Fall in the first three chapters of Genesis marks the symbolic movement from a once perfect relationship with our Creator to the alienated one we now experience here East of Eden.
But does this fall from grace constitute the final word? Are we destined, in other words, to live in a desacralized world devoid of hope or promise?
Fast-forwarding to the New Testament, we encounter the Good News, the gospel, which, we are assured, defeats hopelessness and confers new life. By means of the Cross, that is, the Christ-event, we are reconciled to our first love. Our once broken relationship is restored. We again have been made “one” with our Creator.
Which begs the question: what happens next? Are we suddenly made perfect by the “blood of Christ,” as if having returned to the Garden of Eden? And if, as claimed, the baptismal waters wash away our sins, how is it that we’re still judged to be sinners, as the New Testament so stubbornly insists?
Perhaps one way to think about it is to consider marriage.
Back when I was engaged to Linda, I happened to be speaking with a couple who’d been married for several decades. During the conversation I made an off-handed remark which betrayed a certain naivete on my part as to what actually is involved in marriage. In response, the husband looked at me, slyly, and said, “Tom, you’ve got a lot to learn!”
He was right, of course. For the fact is, no one is ever fully prepared to be in a marital relationship, just as no one is fully prepared to become a parent. You learn as you go. Both require adaptation and change, often in decidedly unfamiliar ways.
Along the way, we discover there are certain behaviors and attitudes that may have made sense when we were single and unattached. But now that we’re in this new, committed relationship, it’s essential we reconsider such things, assuming, that is, we desire a healthy relationship.
Amidst this ever-evolving process of discovery, we figure out what makes the beloved happy and what doesn’t. We learn what behaviors and attitudes honor and strengthen the relationship as well as those that diminish and compromise it. And we learn, perhaps most importantly, self-sacrifice and self-discipline, which places the self in service to the other.
Christian author, Martin Copenhaver, once offered an updated version of the famous line from the climactic scene in the popular 1970 movie, “Love Story.” In that scene, one of the two central characters, chastened with hard-won wisdom, ruefully declares, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” (The audience here swoons.)
Copenhaver counters with a far more realistic take on the matter. “Actually,” he writes, “love means having to say you’re sorry…a lot!”
It’s no different with our newly reconciled relationship with God. Because we have been conditioned by the ways of the world, by the habits and sensibilities of life lived “east of Eden,” we are necessarily unprepared for God’s holy ways (“holy” meaning “set apart,” i.e., different). When suddenly confronted with perfect love, in other words, divine love, we quickly discover, or ought to, that we indeed have “a lot to learn.”
To repeat a story I’ve told here before, I once preached a sermon in which I argued that unless we love God and neighbor perfectly, and I do mean perfectly, we are by definition sinners. The point being, to state the obvious, that nobody can claim such a thing.
However, during the receiving line after church, I was approached by a woman angrily shaking her finger at me who then proceeded to announce, with no small amount of indignation, “I just want you to know; I am NOT a sinner!”
To which I replied, helpfully, “Well, you’re the first one I’ve ever met!” For some reason, she failed to see the humor in this. Much less its veracity.
For the fact is, when we begin our new life in Christ, perfection remains a distant promise. It isn’t something achieved instantaneously. Rather, in baptism, we are simply granted a fresh start, thus marking the beginning of a lifelong process of learning and relearning what it means to love – as God so loves us.
“Sanctification” is the name given to this process of “growing in the Spirit,” which involves letting go of the imperial dictates of our former fallen selves in increasing deference to God, of aligning our wills with God’s, of learning, in short, how to love, not just well but, as I say, perfectly.
And one of the ways we are aided in this process, believe it or not, is by means of God’s Law. It functions, in a sense, as the “rules of engagement” within our relationships, both with God and others. It names the things that strengthen our relationships and those that compromise them. It’s a bit like a map that guides us through a hidden minefield. It shows us the way and, in so doing, offers protection from life’s very real and ever-present dangers.
Of course, ideally, it’s essential to note, we “obey” the law because we want to do the “right” thing, and not because we fear punishment or hope to gain advantage (the pharisaic model or “works righteousness”). Thus, following the law is more an outward expression of sacrificial love, a gift that seeks the good of the other and, ultimately, benefits ourselves as well.
That we fall short of fulfilling love’s demands is a given, my former parishioner notwithstanding. But as with any parent’s unconditional love for his or her children, in admitting our sin – our imperfect love – we are assured of God’s forgiveness, mercy, and grace. And this makes all the difference.
In short, this way of life not only enables us “sinners” to live more fruitful lives in the here and now, it prepares us for that day when we shall meet our Maker face to face. For one of the great paradoxes of the Christian faith is that it teaches us how to die that we might live, in this life and the next.