Sermons from St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Epiphany 7: February 19, 2006
The Rev. Melissa Skelton
Some years ago before going to seminary I had what’s called a “spiritual friendship” with an Episcopal woman in her mid 30’s. Our practice was to meet once a month over tea and to share whatever was on our hearts or minds related to our relationship with God
We met one particular morning in early February. It was cold, and snow lay on the ground. Both of us knew that Lent was only a few weeks away.
We got our tea and sat down. Then after a brief silence, she turned to me, cocked her head slightly the way she often did when she thought she was going to say something provocative, and said.
“I’ve been thinking about Lent. And I just have to tell you that I’m not into sin.”
“Not into sin,” I thought. “Not into sin.”
“Yeah,” I thought. “I get that.” After all, it sometimes seems that sin is all we or the Biblical writer ever talks about. Sin, sin, sin: as if we are all miserable worms incapable of doing anything that has merit.
“I’m not into sin.” She said.
“Heck fire!” I thought. “I’m not either. I’m not into sin either!”
Days later, after I settled down a bit, had some time to reflect on my experience and do more reading on the topic, I realized that whether or not I was into sin, sin was definitely into me; sin was definitely around me.
And, of course, this in part is what our readings for today are about. Or better put, our readings for today, especially our gospel story, are about the power of God to overcome the paralyzing effect on our lives of what the Bible calls sin.
In our gospel, Jesus is again surrounded by people who want to get near him, so many, in fact, that no one can get in or out of the house where he’s staying. But four men, we are told, are so determined to get a paralytic to Jesus for healing, that they remove part of the roof so that they can lower the man down to Jesus. Then something odd happens.
Jesus doesn’t heal him right away. Instead, Mark says, seeing the faith of the men who bring the paralytic to him, Jesus pronounces that the paralytic’s sins are forgiven.
What, you may ask, does sin have to do with this? True, people of in Biblical times believed that those with physical disabilities had those disabilities on account of something sinful they had done, but this doesn’t explain Jesus’ approach. Instead, Mark seems to be using the image of the paralytic to say something about the bondage of sin and about Jesus’ power to release us from that bondage and send us on our way.
So what is this notion of sin all about? How can it paralyze us? And what in the coming of Jesus changes this?
The root of the word “sin” used in Mark is a word that means “missing the mark”—like trying to shoot an arrow at a bulls eye on a target and instead, sending the arrow off into the woods. Missing the mark, our own tendencies, ways of being or patterns of behavior that we get into with others that result in our getting stuck, our becoming paralyzed in a kind of diminished life. Within that life, we experience alienation from God and others, a diminished capacity to respond, to participate, to be in relationship with others.
Another way to think about sin is as a chronic tendency for life to be fractured, to fall short of the fullness of life in God’s realm of love and justice.
Sin, then, results in life lived on a “small mat,” so to speak, versus living by moving forward on our own two feet.
And so to my friend long ago who told me “I’m not into sin’” I’d like to say all these years later that I’d very much love not to be “into” these kind of tendencies: the tendency to be paralyzed by fear, the tendency to get stuck in a situation on account of my own limited way of seeing and dealing with things, the tendency to react in an alienated way to my world, the tendency, for whatever reason, to live confined to a little mat on the ground, not realizing I can get up and walk.
I would love not to be “into” any of these. But, gosh darn it, I find that these tendencies are in me and around me.
“And seeing their faith, Jesus said, ‘Son, Your sins are forgiven…Stand up, take your mat, and go to your home.’”
What does our faith offer us in the times when we find ourselves paralyzed, when we’re unable to move forward on account of fear or anything else that leads us to live a diminished life that is cut off from ourselves and others?
Parker Palmer tells a story about an experience he had while on in the Outward Bound Hurricane Island School that is, I believe, relevant. Palmer was in his 40’s and was living life on a “small mat.” And so he decided to go to Outward Bound to stretch and renew himself, and he paid good money to do this. In the middle of the course, Palmer, like all the participants was taken to the edge of a cliff over 100 feet above solid ground. Once there, they tied a rope around his waist and told him that his task was to back down the cliff.
Palmer asked his instructor: “Well, what do I do?” The instructor in typical Outward Bound style said, “Just go!” So down he went, slamming onto a small ledge with considerable force. The instructor, looking down at him commented: “I don’t think you quite have it yet….The only way to do this is to lean back as far as you can. You have to get your body at right angles to the rock face so you’ll have the full weight on your feet.”
Palmer was skeptical of the advice and instead decided to hug the rock face as much as he could. So he tried again and BOOM—he hit the next ledge.
“You still don’t have it!” came the instructor’s voice. “Lean way back and take the next step.” Which is what Palmer did and for a moment it worked. He was actually making progress taking very small steps and moving down the rock face. When he got about half way down, another instructor called up: “Parker,” she said, I think you better stop and look at what’s happening beneath your feet.” Very slowly he lowered his eyes, and he saw a large hole opening up under his feet. To get around the hole, he was going to have to change directions. It was at this point that he became overcome with terror and completely froze.
After a little while, this same second instructor called up: “Parker is there anything wrong?” And in a high squeaky voice, came Palmer’s words: “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then I think it’s time you learned the motto of the Outward Bound School” the instructor said. “Oh great,” he thought. “I’m going to die and she’s going to share a motto with me.” But then she yelled up, “The motto of the Outward Bound Hurricane Island School is “If you can’t get out of it, get into it.”
As Palmer recounts it, he had for a long time believed in the idea of “The word becoming flesh,” but this was the first time he had ever had an actual experience of it. “My instructor’s words,” he said, “seemed so profoundly true to me in this existential moment” that they “bypassed my argumentative mind, bypassed my frozen emotions, bypassed my shattered ego, bypassed my stuck willpower, and went directly into my body where they moved my feet which proceeded to take me safely to the ground.”
“It was just so clear that there was no way out of the situation except to get into it…and my feet started to move.”
The coming of Jesus is about the possibility, with the help of God and others, to live no longer paralyzed and at a distance from the real challenges and issues of our lives and of the world we live in, no matter how much we or the world chronically tends to miss the mark.
“For your sins are forgiven; stand up, take up your mat and go home.”
Works Consulted or Cited
Brian P. Stoffregen, “Exegetical Notes on the Revised Common Lectionary” at Crossmarks, an on-line resource.
Parker Palmer has a number of accounts of his Outward Bound experience, one of which is in an essay entitled “Leading from Within: Reflections on Spirituality and Leadership” no published by the Greenleaf Center for Servant Leadership. Another is in his May 7, 2005 Commencement Address at Augsburg College.
