This Is It

This Is It--December 2, 2016

"Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured." [Hebrews 13:1-3]

I felt like Neil Armstrong for a moment yesterday, walking down Main Street by the church.  It was one of those moments that was a tiny, almost unnoticeable event that somehow felt like it was also the beginning of a sea change, too--one of those "small steps" that also could be a "giant leap," despite its smallness... or perhaps even because of its smallness.

I was walking back from the post office when a car pulled to the curb, the passenger window rolled down, and a voice called out, "Hi there--can you help us?"  I walked to the edge of the tree lawn to bend down to see a man driving and a woman leaning out the window and looking at me.  "Can you tell us how to get to the Magistrates' District Court from here?" They held up an envelope from the court, bearing only a Post Office box number, so they had no idea where they really needed to go.

It's funny how fast a million thoughts can fly through your head in a split second.  In an instant, the part of my brain that speaks in navigational terms started working on a location and a set of simple left and right turns with accompanying landmarks to tell the couple, from my memories of previous times I had been at the same Magistrates' District Court. 

And then in the same instant, another corner of my brain started to consider who these people might be--what was awaiting them at their court appearance?  What sort of appearance would it be?  They were friendly enough and pleasant enough asking for my help on a December afternoon, but then again, most folks put on good behavior before going to a court appearance.  I have been in that place before both with people who were innocent victims and those who were rotten schemers looking to skirt the consequences of their actions.  I have been there with people awaiting hearings after being beaten by their boyfriends, and I have been there with people who got caught with too much cheap booze and drugs in their system.  There are victims and victimizers at the magistrates' court. There are people who abandon their kids to cook meth. There are people who get caught stealing to feed their heroin or oxycodone addictions.  There are people who told their drunk spouses to quit hitting the kids.  There are the spouses who have to face up to what they did when they were drunk.  Some are there to give comfort to people who have to testify against their attackers.  Some are truly, courageously, ready to turn their lives around.  Some are just looking to squirm out of jail time.  I realized, as I looked at this man and this woman and gave them directions, that I had no idea what their business was at the court.  They could have been facing child neglect charges or going to support a friend who was recovering from domestic abuse, or any of a hundred other reasons, and I had no way of knowing. 

I winced inside for a moment as I pictured my son and my daughter and the thought that there was even the slimmest possibility that children might have been harmed by the people I was talking to. And then I held myself back from going down that road in my head, because I really had no way of knowing what their business was at the court. 

And then the question formed in some third corner of my brain: did it matter what these people had done or why they were headed to the court?  At least in terms of whether I gave them directions or not, and in terms of whether I would speak to them graciously and respectfully, did it matter what their business was?  And the answer came back to me rather clearly: no.

Regardless of what this couple had done or not done, my presence in their lives on this day was simply to be good to them.  Others, whose job it is to sort out criminal actions and mete out sentences, would have to handle those other questions.  But in the mean time, I was being asked simply to give directions, and to be as helpful as possible in that process.  I could be gracious to this young man and woman so they would not be late for a court appearance and be assured that nobody would be harmed because I was helpful in rattling off a list of left and right turns.  There is really no question about what I am called upon to do, if I am indeed a follower of Jesus, when a couple in a rusty old car asks for directions to the local court building.  My role is to be a presence of mercy.

In that instant, I thought to myself, This is it.  This is what it looks like to be a part of Jesus' movement in history.  It is often small actions, moments that would barely register in the memory, but moments in which radical grace is practiced in situations that do not look "religious" and do not happen in or around a church.  Here I am, a preacher talking up a storm in church about how mercy moves us, and I need to decide how to act in an ordinary street-level encounter with people I have never met before, with only a split second to decide to be gracious or to be a jerk, to be kind to the stranger or to turn away.  This is what it's all about, Steve--will you recognize it or not?  Will you be moved in this instant, or not?   Mental gymnastics are not necessary--you just move the way Jesus' mercy has trained our spiritual muscles to move.

Because here's the thing: the Reign of God--the Movement of Mercy--doesn't primarily happen in pews, but on Main Street curbs a block away from the local distillery.  The Movement of Mercy isn't contained inside Sunday School classrooms, but happens with people whose stories you and I will not get the chance to know before we are asked to be kind or gracious or just to them.  There was a couple, long ago, who pulled into a small town with an official letter that they had to register with the local government, too, and the question was put to the local people of Bethlehem whether they would make space and extend kindness to them before their baby was born or not.  Mercy doesn't need to ask, "Let me see your papers and determine whether you are worthy of my help or not." Mercy simply makes a place.  That's it.  That's what we are called to be as well.

The followers of Jesus are called to be that kind of presence wherever we go: we will be good to others, do good for others, speak well to others, and listen well to others, because of who God is, regardless of the situation of the people to whom we are speaking.  That's the inner logic of mercy: it is not about whether the other person "deserves" kindness or is in fact a stinker.  We are all stinkers.  It is not about whether or not the other person has "earned" your kindness.  Mercy does not ask "do you deserve it?" but rather asks, "What does the God whose face is Jesus do?"  There were plenty of "undeserving" folks who found Jesus being gracious to them. There were scheming tax collectors, hookers, sick people, and smarmy and smug religious hypocrites, too, who all found Jesus being good them regardless of their stories.  Mercy short circuits the question of who is worthy of our being good to them, just as God's mercy toward us comes regardless of our earning. 

These are days in which it is easy to be distant and suspicious of others, and hesitant to extend basic kindnesses to one another. Are you a danger to me?  Are you going to surprise me with a weapon in a crowded place and start attacking people?--we are all teaching ourselves to be afraid that it could happen anywhere, after all.  Are you a racist? Are you a bigot?  Are you thinking hateful thoughts toward me while I walk past you?  Are you judging my way of life? Are you undermining my values?  We are bombarded with a million questions that suggest a million reasons not to be good to the strangers we encounter on any given day.  These are days in which it is very easy to withdraw from others because we don't know what awful things might be going on in their heads.

And let's not be naïve: yes, there will be people who cross your path who do not wish you kindness back. There will be people around you who have dark corners of bitterness and hatred in their hearts.  There will be people around you who might wish you ill if they had the chance. Yep, there will be people who ask for your help who are not deserving of it--stinkers, schemers, sell-outs, and sinners of all stripes.  But for the followers of Jesus, that is not the pertinent question. The recipients of grace are not the "worthy" ones; they are anybody and everybody who has the need.  The way we respond to hatred is with love that does not give the hateful more ammunition.  The way we respond to jerks is with undeserved goodness so that the old cycle can be broken.  The way we respond to the rotten-hearted is with mercy that doesn't ask "Do they deserve this?"  Because God hasn't asked about our worthiness, either--God has just reached out in grace and swept us up in the movement of divine mercy.

We don't know who we are entertaining when we show kindness to strangers--the writer of Hebrews is correct.  And then he goes on to focus particularly on people who are in prison or being tortured--hardly the honor roll and Boy Scout crowd.  The question is not whether someone else is worthy of your goodness.  The question is how God's mercy moves us, and whether we will let it, or whether we will be collective sticks-in-the-mud when it starts whipping up around us.

Today, it will come.  In some opportunity that looks small, even unnoticeable.  But there the movement will begin.  And we can either become paralyzed by overanalyzing whether someone else deserves our goodness, or we can move when the Spirit moves us.  But if we dare to let God's mercy move us, then even a small step can be like putting your foot down on the moon.

Lord Jesus, let your mercy move us today in whatever ordinary situations present themselves to us.  And let us be ready to act.