Sermons by Bishop Paul V. Marshall
Bishop Paul' Confirmation Sermon
St. Stephen's, Whitehall
March 30, 2003
Back in my college days my girlfriend did something to me that hurt me to the core of my being, and humiliated me to boot. Then she did something far, far worse: she was truly sorry, said so, and apologized. There are times when to respond "no problem" to an apology is an obscenity, denying both the depth of the hurt and the sincerity of apology. This was one of them.
My love for her, together with my Christian belief and my desire for peace all prompted me to forgive her, and I did. Then the frustration started. I soon realized that by forgiving her I gave up the right to look hurt, appear the victim, to sulk, to make her suffer by seeing my pain. I had not planned on losing that when I forgave her for something that wounded me so profoundly. In my generous act, I had accidentally given up my repertoire of subtle revenge. So this is what it is like to be an adult, I thought.
After realizing that I had no weapons left, or at least none that I could use without feeling silly, I also realized that something had changed inside me. Although there remained a few neural pathways of habit jerking with the desire to exact little punishments here and there, to rub her nose in this or that, I now realized that in having forgiven out of love for her, I had lost my fury. It just wouldn't feel real to act wounded or to withdraw. Old habits die hard, and so I tried to sulk a few times, but could not. The encounter was life-giving and slightly frustrating. The best I could manage is to look sort of, well, convalescing, which is not very satisfying--and slightly comic.
Something died in me that day, and its death was a release. Habitual recourse to outrage or victimhood simply perpetuates suffering. On the other hand, having the upper hand morally and using it to reconcile rather than to punish gives life to all around. It was turning out to be a good Lent after all.
I have written several times that our souls are in the most danger -- and we are potentially the most dangerous to others -- when we believe that we are in the right: no other statement in my little newspaper column has gotten quite the same degree of angry correspondence. Many heard that idea as suggesting that there is something wrong with being right, or that there is no such thing as absolute truth or that there is no right and wrong. None of that was my point: it's just that Crusaders kill.
"While we were yet sinners, God loved us," wrote St. Paul long ago. To forgive comes not from being satisfied that an offense is paid for, but from the desire to overcome separation and hostility. Jesus was at his most infuriating when his first word from the cross was, "Father forgive them," even offering an excuse for his enemies, that they did not know what they were doing.
To forgive someone while they are still hurting you is to inhabit a level of compassion that most of us seldom visit, except perhaps with our children. The wound my girlfriend gave me has hurt for a long time, perhaps it will for ever, just as my arm would remain chopped off if that is what she had done to me. Forgiveness does not fix, but it can heal or perhaps overcome. As I am still learning, it does not come cheap.
It's getting close to Good Friday. When we see human nature -- our nature -- at work in that act, we can recognize God's love overcoming sin as Christ continues to love us at our very worst. St. John's telling of this story has the crucified Christ "drawing" people to him. It is not the sense of a bill being paid, but the portrayal of God's love being faithful to my unloving self, that continually draws me to Jesus and the way of life he offers.
Jesus said that when he was lifted on the cross it would save just like the serpent Moses made saved people in the wilderness. When they looked at that snake they saw two things: their sin and God's desire to overcome it. In just the same way, said Jesus, when we see him on the cross, we see both the depth of human sin and the utter faithfulness of God's love.
In the long run, you cannot have it both ways. You cannot be a follower of Jesus and look for revenge, even the subtle kinds we wreak on our loved ones by looking very, very hurt. Many people punish others by crying; did you know that?
If you are signing up to be a follower of Jesus, you stand up bravely for him and for truth, but you remember that he would not let Peter chop up the enemy. That's a sad story about Peter, isn't it? One minute Peter pulls out his sword and tries to carve up the high priest's servant to save Jesus; the next minute he is busy denying that he even knows Jesus. It doesn't pay to be too cocky spiritually, any more than any other way.One of the most challenging passages in the New Testament is the simple command to "be angry and sin not." One of the things I value about this diocese is that with very few exceptions, when people disagree passionately, they usually do so without acting like the other guy is evil or contemptible. Many of you being confirmed today are still wonderfully young. Use your youth to work as hard as you can to know what you believe, and to be able to defend it without attacking the worth of other human people. People who have to get nasty usually do so to mask the shallowness of their learning or their faith, or both. I know few deeply pious or learned people who have to call names, and yet they can make themselves perfectly well understood.
When you do a number on somebody, whether you are right or wrong, you work against yourself, you defeat your purpose. Think about it. Did you ever want to change your mind because somebody insulted you? Of course not. When the insults start flying, people dig the trenches. Why cannot human being figure this out?
If you vow today at Confirmation to be so thoroughly on Christ's side that you can be like a soldier under his complete command, obeying his orders without question, you must bring the mystery of the cross deeper and deeper inside you. It's what we all do every day, and certainly at every liturgy.
I've had some enjoyment in writing a book about the man who gave us the consecration prayer we have in the 1928 prayer book and in Rite One of the 1979 prayer book. He knew exactly what he was doing. That prayer is about the cross of Christ -- and every priest hopes not to trip over the words "innumerable benefits procured unto us by the same" -- but those words about innumerable benefits are about the cross of Christ that brings us forgiveness and life. That would be fine, if that was all that the consecration prayer said. But the consecration prayer insists that you cannot leave it there. We are to live the cross we adore, and so we say "and here we offer and present unto thee, O Lord, our selves, our souls, and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and living sacrifice unto thee." You can't come to Jesus for peace without offering to be Jesus' person to bring peace to others. The prayer book is taking a lot of its language there from the twelfth chapter of Romans, where Saint Paul asks precisely the same thing of us.
From the Cross Jesus asked forgiveness for those who were not sorry. On Easter his first words to those scaredy-cat disciples who had deserted him was "peace be to you." If you want to know yourself, listen up: it is how we treat those who do not deserve kindness that will teach us what kind of people we really are.
Archbishop Cranmer was very simple about this: if you are holding a grudge against another Christian, don't come to communion or it will be your damnation. Just stay away until you get over it. Holy Communion is not about being the winner, it is about being totally dependent on the forgiving love of Christ. To try to have it any other way is not to have it at all. But to have it Christ's way is to have absolutely everything and heaven, too.
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