When Forgiveness Comes First

 

Texts: Exodus 17:1-7; Romans 5:1-11; John 4:5-42

 

Do you remember the good old days when parents brought up their children according to traditional values?  I do.  I had one of those upbringings myself.  And one part of that was about the importance of owning up when I did something wrong.  You probably had that lesson drummed into you, too.  If you've done something wrong, the thing to do is to own up, tell the truth, say sorry, and move on.  That's the message that my parents gave me, and it was reinforced at school.

 

Or was it?  Were we praised for our honesty when we confessed our wrongdoing – held up as a good example to others?  No, we were not.  We were punished for the wrongdoing.  And what did that teach us?  That honesty doesn't pay.  Say nothing – and if that doesn't work, try lying your way out of it.  That was the lesson that we soon learned from those who believed that the proper response to a confession was punishment for the crime confessed.

 

The turning-point for me came in Mr Chapman's class, form 4 in the Crantock Street Primary School.  Mr Chapman was a huge man – at least, he looked huge to a small 10-year-old.  And Duggie Dishman was certainly one of those.  One day Mr Chapman came back into the classroom and was about to sit down behind hid desk when he noticed something unpleasant on the seat – something brown, smelly and produced by a dog.  Having a naturally suspicious mind, Mr Chapman did not jump to the obvious conclusion that a dog had somehow managed to get into the classroom, climbed up on the chair, and let nature take its course.  Mr Chapman strongly suspected that one of us was responsible for putting the stuff there.

 

He demanded to know who was responsible for this outrage.  And to the astonishment of us all Duggie Dishman put up his hand and confessed.  Judging from his expression, for a split second  Mr Chapman was as surprised as the rest of us that anyone would own up and tell the truth, but he recovered quickly.  My guess is that Duggie Dishman took a week or two longer to recover.  But the lesson was very clear.  If you follow the teaching of your parents and teachers, don't expect to be praised for your honesty: rather, expect to be very uncomfortable for the next few days.

 

Something rather similar turned up in our news media this week.  Look at the response to the report on mishaps in our hospitals.  The medical professionals owned up collectively to a number of serious mistakes made in our hospitals, some of which resulted in death, some in serious injury.  Why did they do that?  So that they can learn from these instances, and make our hospitals even safer than they are now.  And they are very safe.  As horrible as the cases were, they represented 2 in every 10,000 hospital admissions.  I like those odds; I'll gladly take them if I need surgery at some stage.  And I applaud the decision to make this information available.

 

But what thanks did they get?  Headlines in our media about "killer hospitals".  Demands for further inquiry, disciplinary action, and naming and shaming.  Would it be too surprising if the Duggie Dishman principle came into play here?  Isn't the lesson for our health professionals, don't own up to anything, don't acknowledge your mistakes; if you do you will be slammed in the media, and quite possibly sued in the courts?  We say we want the truth – we say we want to learn from our mistakes – but all too often, what we really want is to punish those who have done wrong, or to sue them for every penny we can get out of them – or their employer, or their insurer or anyone else.  We might call it justice.  What we can't call it is godly.  What we can't call it is merciful.  What we can't call it is truth-promoting.  What we can't call it is forgiveness.

 

And so to the reading from the Book of Exodus this morning (not Genesis, as it says in the notes!).  Here we have a very vivid demonstration of the difference between the human and the divine approach to wrongdoing.  As human beings we can sympathise with Moses' feelings here.  It's not easy leading these people.  They are born grumblers – with, it must be said, something to grumble about.  They, too, are all too human.  When they were slaves in Egypt, they had a terrible life.  Then God, working through Moses, rescued them, led them out of Egypt and called upon them to follow his and he would give them a land of their own.

 

But they had to get there first, and that involved the difficult matter of getting through the wilderness.  And so the grumbling started.  And very soon they were convincing themselves that they were better off in Egypt.  Far from being rescued they had been dragged away against their better judgment by this madcap Moses, and brought out to die in the desert.  What are we going to eat?  What are we going to drink?  At the very least, they have lost their trust in God.  When they were escaping, when they saw the waters part for them, and then close back and drown their Egyptian enemies, it had been easy to believe in God.  It always is when things are going well for us.  But now the difficulties have come, and their faith is gone.

 

Now they turn on Moses.  This wasn't God's idea, this was his.  He has conned them.  They were quarrelling among themselves and asking, "Is the Lord among us or not?"  And notice that the author describes this as 'testing the Lord'.  That expression ought to ring loud bells for us, because not so long ago we had the Temptation of Christ; and one of the Scriptures Jesus quoted to Satan was, "You shall not put the Lord your God to the test."

 

So the case against the Israelites at this point is pretty strong.  What they should do is own up, confess their wrongdoing, be honest, and apologise.  That's probably what Moses – the Mr Chapman figure in all this – wants them to do; and when there's no sign of that happening, he turns in despair to God.  What am I to do with these people?  They are almost ready to stone me?

 

And the God in whom they have lost faith, the God against whom they have offended, does what?  Demands confession, demands an apology?  No – he doesn't.  He meets their need, as he has been doing all along the way.  He demonstrates yet again that he is their, God, that he is among them, and that Moses is his instrument.  In other words, he reminds them that they are his people, that he loves and accepts them, despite their failures and their sins.

 

St Paul famously puts the same thought this way in his Letter to the Romans: You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly.  Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die.  But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

 

God forgiveness, embodied in Jesus Christ, came to us while were still offending against God.  We didn't have to clean up our act, confess our sins, or anything else first – God's forgives precedes our confession.

 

St John illustrates this same principle in his lovely story of the encounter between Jesus and the woman at the well.  Culturally, humanly, this woman is a nobody, the lowest of the low.  She is a woman, not a man; she is a Samaritan, not a Jew.  Worst of all, she is a Samaritan woman of low reputation.  She has, shall we say, an interesting marital and domestic history.  She doesn't even begin to admit any of that stuff until after Jesus has demonstrated his complete acceptance of her.  And, anyway, Jesus already knew all that stuff.  It makes no difference to him: he accepts her as and who she is.

 

All of this doesn't, of course, mean that we should not confess our sins.  What it does mean is that confession is for us, not for God.  To confess our sins is to off-load those things that make us feel separated from God: it is not a way of seeking to win back God's love, which we have lost through sinning.

 

And all this means that we can confess our sins – we can be honest and tell the truth – in the certain assurance that we are not going to be beaten up as Duggie Dishman was, or vilified in the press as out hospital staff have been, or sued or whatever.  We are going to be assured that God is and always has been among us.  That we have already been forgiven, cleansed, and reconciled to God through the cross of Christ.  That God already knows of our sins before we confess them, and that nothing we can do will ever make any difference to his love for us.

 

That's not justice.  That's forgiveness.  That's mercy.  That's God's way, whatever we put on his seat, and however many mistakes we make.

Repentance is for Radicals

 

Texts: Genesis 12:1-4a; Romans 4:1-5, 13-17; Romans 3:1-17

 

If ever we wanted an illustration of the power of repentance we surely saw it in the remarkable events in Canberra this week, and, in fact, throughout Australia.  No doubt, there are a few cynics around who will dismiss that "saying-sorry" ceremony as pure political theatre, but that's not how those huge crowds we saw on the TV News felt about it.  Something historic, something of fundamental importance to all the people of that country, was taking place, and hardly a man, woman or child was unaffected by it.

 

It was as if the whole dominant class in Australia was collectively repenting – not just acknowledging the specific wrongs of the past, - but changing their mindset.  They were turning away from their past attitude to adopt a new one.  They were rejecting the idea of one type of humanity – their own – being superior to another, the Aborigine peoples.  Perhaps they are not yet ready to go a step further to acknowledge that there is, in fact, only one type of human being, but it was certainly a huge step that they took this week.  No doubt difficult times lie ahead as they work through the implications of this dramatic act of national repentance, but at least now they are facing in the right direction.

 

And that's really what repentance is – a turning to face in the right direction.  It's not only Dick Whittington – and the Australian people! – who need to turn again and again – it is all of us.  All of us can become distracted – all of us can find new things to look at in place of God – all of us are capable of building our own golden calves and worshipping them instead of God.  Where do we look to for our fundamental sense of security, and for our hope for a better future?  To our families, to our careers, to our own hard work, to our country?  All of those are good in themselves, but all of them can become alternatives to God.  When they do it is time for repentance – for turning back to God.

 

We saw another example of turning back a little closer to home this week, when one of our local M.P.'s announced she was quitting Parliament at the next election.  It was time for her, she had decided, to turn back to her family and leave behind, at least for now, her all-consuming political career.  That sort of radical re-prioritising is a form of non-religious repentance; it is not a confession of past wrongdoing but a radical break from the past and present to open up a new future.  Perhaps one day we will hear of an M.P. who is quitting Parliament to spend more time with God.  Wouldn't that be something!  Wouldn't that cause a sensation!

 

I imagine that Abram's radical decision caused something similar among his people.  He was well on in years – perhaps even a bit older than me.  He had a large extended family.  His father had died and he was now the patriarch of the clan.  They were well off, with many livestock, living a comfortable existence, not in Ur as we're often told, but in a place called Haran, to which Abram's father had brought the family some years earlier.  [Genesis 11:31]

 

That probable doesn't matter too much either way.  The point is that there is nothing in the text so far to tell us whether or not Abram or the family were religious – or were even aware of God before his call.    There is no suggestion in the text, for example, that God had called Abram's father, Terah, to leave Ur – the decision seems to have been his own.

 

But nor is there any suggestion that Abram had previously been a wicked man, leading an irreligious life.  Rather, we may assume that he was a fine, upright, middle-class family man, well-off and comfortable – inwardly sad that he had no son of his own – but otherwise untroubled.

 

Then God spoke to him.  God told him to give up all sense of security based on familiarity – leave his own country, his home, the land of his fathers – and journey to a new land.  If he will do that, God promises to make him into a great nation.  I wander if we can grasp how crazy it must have seemed to everyone else besides Abram – or perhaps even to Abram himself when he first heard it.  Who is this God he claims to have heard?  It's not uncommon for older people to hear voices.  Perhaps he's beginning to lose the plot?  Why risk it?  What if it is all a silly delusion?  Where is this new land – what's it like?  Does it even exist?

 

And yet, says, our text, "Abram left, as the Lord had told him".  At one level, of course, this is all about obedience.  But when we look at St Paul's reflections on this episode in his Letter to the Romans, we can see that it is something much more than that.  St Paul makes much of the fact that all this took place before the Law was given.  He says that where there is no law there is no transgression.  In other words, there is no issue of disobedience.

 

And this is surely right.  Look again at this short passage from Genesis and we see that there is no threat of consequence if Abram declines to go.  God does not threaten to strike him down, or take away his livestock, or hurl a few plagues in his direction.  If he declines to leave, then he stays and his life goes on as before.  There is no stick, but there is a great carrot!  Go, and you will be made into a great nation.  Go, and you will be richly blessed.  Go, and your name will be great.  Go, and all peoples on the earth will be blessed through you.

 

That's some remuneration package he's been offered there!   But you know what they say, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.  What trust could be put in such huge promises?  What trust could be put in the One who was making them?  That was the question for Abram to consider.  He was not being told what to do and threatened with harm if he disobeyed.  He was being told what to do and assured of great blessing if he did.  His response, his decision to leave as the Lord had told him, was one of trust in God, much more than it was a simple act of obedience. 

 

He turned from his past to face a brand new future.  He turned from all worldly considerations and opened himself to God.  That's repentance – real, radical, life-changing repentance.

 

Something similar is put before Nicodemus in his encounter with Jesus in our gospel passage.  Again, we are dealing here with a fundamentally good man.  A faithful Jewish leader, a teacher of the faith.  He must have heard of Jesus, or even heard Jesus himself, somewhere and formed a respectful opinion of him.  He seeks him out, and he addresses him with the courtesy title of Rabbi, even though he must have known that under Jewish law and custom Jesus was not qualified as a rabbi.  Probably he is genuinely interested in finding out more about Jesus.  He knows of Jesus' reputation for extraordinary miracles, and perhaps he is intrigued by this.  How does Jesus do them?  Or, perhaps, he really does accept them as evidence that Jesus must have a special relationship with God.

 

But before he can ask his first question, Jesus takes over the conversation.  He turns the focus away from him and back to Nicodemus.  No one can understand the ways of God unless they are first born again.  He catches Nicodemus completely off-guard, causes him to make a bit of a fool of himself.  Of course, Jesus is not talking about a second biological birth.

 

Then what is he talking about?   He is talking about that radical re-orientation of life that we have been calling repentance.  That turning to God in openness, that turning away from false certainty, even false certainty based on the painstaking study of the Scriptures that Nicodemus would have been doing for years, and simply trusting God to lead us in his ways. That is not something we can achieve by our own efforts.  That requires the gift of grace, that requires the gift of the Spirit.  Flesh gives birth to flesh, Jesus says, but the Spirit gives birth to Spirit.

 

That whole encounter must have shaken Nicodemus to the roots of his being.  In his own way he was being challenged as Abram was: could he leave all that he was familiar with in his learning, could he risk his position in the community, and walk a new path, following this mysterious man who seems in some new way to have come from God?  In the end, he seems to have made that leap of faith, for it was he who helped Joseph of Arimethea to bury Jesus.  (John 19:39)

 

Radical repentance – a radical change of direction – for Australia, for Katherine Rich, for Abram, for Nicodemus.  May it be for us also as we continue our journey through Lent.  Amen.