"Faith Through the Eyes of Psalm 130:
Faith as Forgiveness Received"
Restoration and healing through God's forgiveness
Sermon Preached by
The Rev. Dr. Andrew Stirling
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Text: Luke 5:16-21
It was worth sleeping on a lumpy mattress, because that mattress was situated in a famous old house in Concord, Massachusetts. This summer Marial and I visited that ancient, historic town and stayed at the Hawthorne Inn, former home of the great writer, Nathaniel Hawthorne. One afternoon we went into the famous old manse. As we walked around the rooms where so many great writers from that part of the world penned their works, it was as if the beams in the walls were preaching to us - a marvellous experience. I could not visit the home of Nathaniel Hawthorne I thought, unless I had read at least one of his works beforehand. So this summer I read his most famous book: The Scarlet Letter.
For many of you it might be well-known, for others it might not, but the plot is fairly simple. Set in 16th century, Puritan New England, it tells the story of a young woman comes from Britain to the United States. Her husband, who was supposed to come with her, stays behind. After being alone for quite awhile Hester has an affair, and a child, Pearl, from that affair. When people in the community find out about her indiscretions, they shun and publicly mock her. The scarlet letter, an “A” that she wears on her chest, stands for “adulterous.” It is seen by all, and causes Hester to suffer the community's condemnation.
Unbeknownst to her, sitting among the people in the community as they shun her is her husband, Chillingworth, who has arrived from Britain. He is now a doctor, and he sits in the midst of the jeering crowd and says nothing. Over time, Chillingworth establishes a medical practice in the town. It just so happens that the local minister, Dimmesdale, and he become friends, because Dimmesdale is ill. The minister, we find out, is the father of the illegitimate child and Chillingworth makes his life a living hell. As time goes on, Dimmesdale dies; he cannot stand the stress. Hester leaves with her daughter - even though in some ways she is being accepted again - and Chillingworth dies with bitterness in his heart. Eventually Hester returns to the town with her daughter, and the story ends. It is a story of sadness, moral rejection, legalism and shunning.
For all the Puritanism of the age, it appears that no one in the story was saved; no one was forgiven; no one was restored. Hawthorne is not suggesting that there should be no consideration for the sins committed, or that they were right. He is pointing to the log in society's eye (to use Jesus' phrase) in its rejection of the woman.
In our day and age the story would be written very differently, and the response to it would be very different. Rather than living in an age of Puritanism, we live in an age of relativism. We live in an age of myopia, where we are only interested in ourselves. Our way of dealing with sin and the guilt that sometimes accompanies it is to reduce the number of sins - to suggest that this or that isn't really a sin - to diminish its impact, avoid talking about it and criticize anyone who does. As sins are reduced in number, we excuse little sins that do little harm. We use language that suggests that, as long as no one is hurt, everything is permissible. The problem, of course, is that the little sins tend to be repeated often.
Our society still shuns sinners, but we do it differently than the Puritans. We dismiss little sins, but we really exalt in big sins. We point to the big sinners and feel good about that in a silly way. The murderers, people found guilty of the really big sins, are put on a shelf, apart from our little sins. We feel better about our little sins, knowing that we've classified people and placed an “A” on their chests, a scarlet letter that makes us feel better about our little sins.
What the church has done in response to this is talk about the effects of sin, rather than sin itself. It's as if somehow we're going to convince the world of its sin by doing so. We point to injustice, immorality, violence and oppression. Even this last week, I watched what happened in a beloved sport of mine, Formula One, where the great McLaren team was found guilty of cheating and spying on Ferrari. They were fined $100 million for doing this. You should have seen the joy on people's faces as they were being brought down: there are the effects of sin; there are the signs of cheating. We list them all. We do the same thing in football with the New England Patriots. We love to list all the sins of the world and the effects of those sins. It's easy for the church to do that - anyone could. All you have to do is open the paper and you see the effects of sin. There is often nothing prophetic about what we're saying.
But there is still no forgiveness; no one is saved. You can try to diminish all the sins you want and reduce them to almost nothing, but you cannot change what is in the heart. You cannot change the fact that we have consciences. Even if you say there are no sins, you can't deceive what the heart knows. You see, what was lacking in the judgmentalism of the puritans in Nathaniel Hawthorne's day, what is missing in the relativism of our own day, is a real sense of forgiveness.
That's why I love Psalm 130. I think it is a beacon that gives us the language to talk about forgiveness in a meaningful and powerful way. The psalmist says, “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!” Then he says, “If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand? But there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered.”
Here is what I want the church to say; here is what I want the world to hear. This is the power of forgiveness and putting sin in its rightful place. Two small words in this psalm say it so clearly. The first is “if.” “If you should mark iniquities Lord, who could stand?” The psalmist is saying that if God so desired, His wrath and judgment could be brought upon the world in its iniquity. If God wanted to do so, God could judge in a harsh way. And who would survive? None of us.
Paul put it abundantly clearly in the Book of Romans: “For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” All of us would have to walk around with a scarlet “A” on our chests, subject to judgment. There is not one of us, despite all our talk of “little sins,” who could honestly get away with it. No. God would know and judge, and all of us would be condemned because you see, my friends, sin comes from within. Sin comes from the heart.
On September 19, 1985, there was a terrible earthquake in Mexico City. All the big buildings had built-in hydraulic stabilizing bars to withstand an earthquake. They were designed to adjust the building as the earthquake shook it to its foundation. To save some money, one building-owner never turned on the hydraulics. When the earthquake struck, the top third of the building collapsed onto the middle third, which collapsed onto the bottom third. Hundreds of people died in the building, Nuevo Leôn. Why? Because of the greed. Because of one person, so many died. The destruction came from within: within the structure; within the heart. So the psalmist is simply stating an obvious fact. It is all through the scriptures. If God should mark iniquities, no one will stand. The edifice comes down. We are judged.
The second important word is “but.” The psalmist says, “But there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered.” Here is the good news, the height of the psalm. There is forgiveness in God, and in the heart of God is a desire to forgive all those who could not stand apart from his forgiveness. This forgiveness is based on a relationship between the forgiver and the forgiven. It's not as if we can forgive an inanimate object for doing us wrong.
Not long ago I was playing my guitar in a concert and in the middle of it, at a high moment when I wanted everyone to think how great I was, two of my strings broke. You do not know what I said to my guitar at that moment. But no matter how I might get angry with my guitar, it's an inanimate object. I can't forgive the guitar; the guitar can't repent its sin. Forgiveness is relational; it requires a dynamic relationship. That's why I love this passage from Luke. It is a story of God's forgiveness. When the religious people were basically putting scarlet letters on people's chests - either the lepers or the paralyzed, for they saw a connection between sin and illness - Jesus did something radical. Some men lowered a paralytic on a bed through a roof, into a room in which Jesus was teaching. (Palestinian homes aren't built like that and Luke got it wrong, but that's an aside.) He came down into the midst of the crowd. Jesus, knowing there were people watching who had condemned this man, healed him. But he said something really strange: “Your sins are forgiven.” Well, the religious leaders went crazy. “Only God can forgive sins,” they said. “Who is this Jesus that he would do these things?”
But Jesus is the son of God. Jesus has the power to forgive sins. It was the relationship between Jesus and this man, it was the love initiated by Jesus, not the paralytic, to say, “Your sins are forgiven” that showed healing had taken places. That was the power of the moment, the power of a relational, loving, forgiving God. Only God could forgive, and in his Son he showed what the psalmist had been praying for.
My friends, I often think we get this all backwards. We want people to repent of sins and they don't even know what we are talking about. You can go into the streets; you can talk to young people and say, “Repent your sins.” They look at you as if you are crazy. But you tell them the story of forgiveness and the grace of God in Jesus Christ, and something changes profoundly. They are introduced to the very heart, the very nature of God.
There is a delightful story about a nun who was able to talk to God in a direct way. A bishop heard about this and decided to visit the nun. He said to her, “I'm wondering, next time you are talking to God, could you do me a favour?”
The nun said, “Well, you're a bishop so I'd better do what you tell me. Sure, whatever favour you want.”
“I want you to ask God what the sins of the archbishop are.”
The nun said, “I don't know, but I suppose if you really want me to do this, I will.”
A few weeks later, the nun had a conversation with God. When the bishop asked, “Well, well, did you talk to God?” she replied, “Yes, I did.”
“What did he say? The bishop asked. “Did he list all the sins of the archbishop? Did he say anything?”
She said, “Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“God said, ”˜I've forgotten.'”
When God forgives, God forgets. When God restores, God heals. That is why the paralytic picked up his bed and walked; that is why he entered into a new day. He had encountered the forgiveness of God and therefore his sins were no longer held against him. “There is forgiveness in Thee,” the psalmist wrote. And there is something more. “But there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered.” You see, in the end God's desire is to be revered. I don't like the King James Version - it says “feared.” There is no sense of fear and condemnation in the Hebrew. It is reverence; it is love that you may be loved. This is what God desires. That is why, when the paralytic was brought down into the room after Jesus had healed him, Luke tells us, “They all praised God.” They were overwhelmed by the joy of the moment.
Jesus talks about that love in John's Gospel. He says, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” That's how Jesus deals with sin. First comes the grace, love and divine forgiveness, then the obedience. We say we should have the obedience first and then we will learn God's divine grace. No. No. It is God's initiative first; God's love first.
Popular writer Douglas Coupland, the author of Generation X, writes this little confession in one of his books:
Now, here is my secret. I will tell you with an openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again, so I pray that you are in a quiet room when you hear these words: My secret is that I need God; that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give because I no longer seem to be capable of giving, to help me be kind as I am no longer capable of kindness, to help me love as I seem beyond being able to love.
We need the forgiving grace of God to help us.
This summer as I was helping out one day at the Fred Victor Centre (a wonderful place, supported by the United Church) I met a man on the street who was clearly out of control in his life - way, way out of control. As he talked to me, he made an incredible statement: “You know, I am so far gone, for me it is too late.”
All I wanted at that moment was not for the man to give an account of all his sins - for they were probably many; nor to give a statement as to the effects of his sins - for that would have depressed him; not to tell him he hadn't sinned - for I have no right to do that either; but to tell him that Christ forgives, and leave him in God's hands.
All this talk about the war in Iraq came to the fore once again this week with speeches by politicians. In the midst of it all, a clergyman said something so profound to me: “You know, Andrew, there is just one thing that is needed in Iraq. One thing - forgiveness.”
It would solve everything if the Sunnis would forgive the Shiites; if the persecutor would forgive the persecuted; if the persecutor would honour the victims it would all be over. It is the power of forgiveness that really does change the world. It is the power of forgiveness that restores.
At the end of Hawthorne's story, the “A” on Hester's chest changes in its meaning. In the beginning it stands for the sin; at the end it stands for “able.” It represents restoration. It does not comes across loud and clear, but there is hope. There is, to use a phrase from the scriptures, “Forgiveness in thee, that thou mayest be revered.”
If only the world and you and I would take that to heart, how different we all would be. Amen.
This is a verbatim transcription of the original sermon.