Sermons from St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Pentecost 5, June 15, 2008
The Rev. Melissa Skelton
Romans 5:1-8
Since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. Indeed, rarely will anyone die for a righteous person-- though perhaps for a good person someone might actually dare to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.
Most of my life I’ve tried not to think too hard about what theologians call “substitutionary atonement.” Growing up in the South, I got regular doses of it while riding on car trips through the country with my family. We would be motoring along from Atlanta to Columbus, Georgia, to see my grandmother, when there by the roadside was a series of signs bearing telegraphic statements about me and God. I was a sinner bound for a very hot place. Jesus had died for my sins, potentially making things right between God and me. I must acknowledge this Jesus as my Lord and Savior to seal the deal.
I instinctively did not like this way of coming at God. It seemed to depict God as a father who wants to punish one his misbehaving children but in the end is content to punish a perfectly obedient one. And so the good child takes the hit for those who have misbehaved, an act which astonishingly is supposed to strengthen the relationship between father and misbehaving children—or at least wipe the slate clean for them.
It was all so preposterous, and as someone who much of her life was a misbehaving child, it was not liberating; it was fear-producing and annoying.
And so, at an elegant lunch in my former parish, the parish that during the summer attracted many of what you might call East Coast “beautiful people,” I was astonished when an immaculately dressed woman from Stonington, Connecticut, who was summering in Maine, leaned toward me in the middle of our entrée and asked me, “Melissa, what can you tell me about this Jesus-died-for-us thing?
I swallowed the bite of food in my mouth, took a long drink of water, and from somewhere within me came these words:
“Jane, think of it this way, imagine this—that when you were a toddler, you wandered out into the street and all of a sudden there was a car coming at you. And somebody walking by whom you didn’t even know threw himself in front of that car and pushed you out of the way to safety. And imagine that all your life people told you this story—that this was your story—that another person had given his life for you. And imagine that this story is the story that you lived your life out of, that you lived your life in response to. That’s one way of thinking about the Jesus-died-for-us thing.”
She looked at my quizzically and said nothing. Two weeks later at Coffee Hour after church, she came up to me and said, “Tell me again about the-Jesus-died-for-us thing.”
This Sunday I’m thinking that it’s time for us to explore once again the Jesus-died-for-us” thing.
I say this for two reasons. Our Epistle from Paul’s Letter to the Romans in which Paul is explaining the basics of Christian salvation to the church in Rome is all about this. But, equally important, someone central to this church—Gary James—is in a weakened state, is in the middle of a critical struggle for his health. And though he seems to be doing well right now, his being in this weakened state asks us not only to remember him in our prayers but pushes us to reflect on where God is with us when we’re in a weakened state, when it would be a help to know that someone was willing to come after us, was willing even to die for us. To come after us when we wander out into the middle of a busy street like a defenseless toddler, to come after us when we literally or figuratively lie in a hospital bed, to come after us when we live in isolation or guilt on account of our many other weaknesses..
What does Paul say about any of this?
The starting place, it seems to me, is in what Paul says last in the passage from Romans that we heard for today.
“For while we were still weak” Paul says, “at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. Indeed, rarely will anyone die for a righteous person-- though perhaps for a good person someone might actually dare to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.”
The important word in these few sentences is a small, rather insignificant word. It’s the Greek word “eti” meaning “still or “yet.” It actually occurs three times in this passage though in the English translation we only hear it twice. Let me see if I can paraphrase the force of it for us today.
What Paul says is that Christ comes to us not after we have finally gotten our act together, not after our health issues are all worked out, not after we have learned to play safely in our own yards, not after we are at our perfect weight or have mastered our new exercise regimen. Christ comes to us not after we have worked through all our psychological issues, worked out all our beliefs or our liturgical practices, not after we have secured a stable job or have wisely invested our money for our retirement. Christ does not come to us after all these things have been accomplished.
Christ comes to us while we still are weak, while we are still trying to get well, while we are still off the rails, while we are still too heavy, too thin, too scattered, while we are still underemployed, homeless, while we are still alienated from our true selves, addicted, and downright bad. Christ comes to us when we are still far off, distracted, discombobulated. Those and in other difficult conditions are the places into which Christ and, therefore, God, extends himself or herself towards us, comes after us, for which you might say God in Christ was and is willing to die on our behalf.
This and not all the mind-numbing business about God as angry father letting the obedient child take the hit for us ne’er do wells is, for me, the point of the declaration that “Christ died for us.” God in Christ dies for us wherever we are now and invites us to live lives that belong to Christ, lives of dignity and hope, lives that are willing to pour out themselves for others wherever they may be now.
And so this is where our hope is lodged. Because it means that no matter where we have been or where we are, no matter how short we fall of our own standards, no matter where we think we should be, the cross of Christ reaches us, dignifies us and promises us that our future will also hold God’s presence, will also belong to God. It is a hope, Paul declares, that “does not disappoint.”
And so this morning, with whatever weaknesses we may have, imagine anew that this is our story: that when we were still weak, that when we are still weak, at that time, Christ dies for us. And so even as adults, it is as if we find ourselves stumbling into ongoing traffic—maybe innocently, maybe accidentally, maybe intentionally—and all of the sudden there is a car coming at us. And some mysterious someone throws himself or herself in front of that car and pushes us out of the way to safety.
This is the one our lives belong to—now and for the future. This is the one we rightfully remember and adore.
