A Change of Posture--September 28, 2022

A Change of Posture--September 28, 2022

"So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall." [1 Corinthians 10:12]

It's when we're sure we've got all the answers that we are most likely to get something wrong.  And it's when we're proud of how holy, righteous, and religious we are that we're actually most at risk of serious sin.

By contrast, the Scriptures keep telling us, when we're honest about just how uncertain, doubtful, and fragile our faith it, we're on more solid ground with God.  And it's when we can be truthful with ourselves about our failures and mess-ups that we are most able to let God's forgiveness get through the cracks in our armor [like Leonard Cohen sings, "There's a crack in everything--that's how the light gets in."].

You see it all over the stories, the encounters, and the words of Jesus.  There's the proud Respectable Religious Person, praying proudly to God and patting himself on the back for his piety, his rule-following, and his superiority to everyone else around... while next to him is this sell-out tax collector who's been vilified by everyone around him who can only bring himself to mutter, "God, be merciful to me, a sinner."  And Jesus insists that it's the second one who goes home right with God.  There's the returned prodigal son, who's blown his whole fortune in a far-off country after dishonoring and disrespecting his dad, being welcomed and embraced by his father who throws a party of the return of his lost child, and there outside the party is the older brother who insists he never did anything wrong, bitter and resentful with his own self-righteousness that he can't bring himself to join the celebration.  There are the proud, mocking religious leaders, confident they have won out over Jesus as he bleeds out on a cross... and there to the right of him on another cross is a desperate and dying criminal who pleads for mercy and is promised by Jesus, "Today you will be with me in Paradise"--an assurance of both grace for the criminal and of victory over death for Jesus.  

Over and over again, like the old proverb puts it, "pride goes before a fall," while a little humility has a way of helping us keep our footing.  That's particular true for the people of God.  We are often at our worst when we assume we have only answers to give, but we can be a presence of grace when we are willing to listen to others and to be honest about our questions, doubts, and fears, too.  Here in First Corinthians, Paul has been reminding his readers about how many in the story of ancient Israel were overconfident that they had God in their back pocket, only to discover that they were never the ones in control of God.  And the ones who were sure they had God all figured out discovered that the divine was not their mascot, their genie, or their magic totem to do with as they wished, but rather that God did not take kindly to people thinking they could boss God around or take God for granted.  That wasn't just true of the wilderness generation--it continued to be [and still continues even now] to be the perennial temptation of Respectable Religious People. Over and over again, the guardians of Official Religion--the priests, in particular the ones wedded to the official king-approved worship centers--chase away the prophets who were sent to them, confident that they already knew what God wanted and unwilling to hear a minority report.  And just as surely, over and over again, it's the "nobodies" who are lifted up in the story of God's people--the ones who come with empty hands and questions, rather than shaking fists and overconfidently certain answers.

It's sad how often, though, the followers of Jesus want to take the role of being "gatekeepers of the answers" rather than "fellow seekers and beggars and misfits." Not long ago, I read someone comment how their strongest impression of the most vocal Christians around them was how "they are the people who never ask any questions," but rather always seem ready to elbow their way into a conversation to tell everyone else The Way It Is.  And it occurred to me that there have to be an awful lot of folks around whose first impression of the church is that we so often set ourselves up as "the righteous and upstanding ones who are experts at being good and godly" rather than as fellow strugglers who are constantly limping from wrestling with God and yet who are forever beloved at the same time.  And I'm reminded of the wisdom of those last written words of our older brother in the faith, Martin Luther, who wrote just before died, "We are beggars. This is true."  

There's such a vital difference between those two postures--the arrogant self-righteousness of "I've got it all figured out, and you may come to me for answers," and the honest humility of saying, "I'm stumbling my way through this life of faith, too, but I will walk with you as we try to go where the wounded feet of Jesus have left a path."  And it occurs to me that we don't just land in that place of humble truth-telling by accident or random chance--it is an approach to living in the world that we can practice.  It is, to borrow an older word, a spiritual discipline--something we can develop and deepen in our character.  

And I wonder if that's not a bad place to spend some time in this day.  What would it look like for us to cultivate some honest humility that allows us to be curious and name our questions rather than insist we have only answers... that allows us to be compassionate rather than condemning anybody who is not on the same footing as we are... and that allows us to be truthful about our struggles, our sins, and our insecurities, so that we can welcome other fellow strugglers rather than pushing them away?  What if, when we looked out at the troubles of others or the problems of our neighbors, our first response was not to get up on our soapboxes to tell the world, "Well what you need to do is..." but rather first to ask, "How did we get here?  What is it like to be in the situation of my neighbors?  How can I walk with them in this time?"  That might just make a world of difference to them--just the difference they need.

Changing our posture in the world that way takes time, self-restraint, and a willingness to listen before we speak.  We are going to mess up at it--sometimes we'll still blurt out the unsolicited "answers" and advice that nobody asked for, or we'll reveal ourselves to be hypocrites who mess up on the very things we've been scolding others for.  But it doesn't mean it isn't worth it to work on that change of posture.  It just means that like all things worth doing, we need to let it take the time it takes.  I won't pretend to be an expert on that [that would sort of defeat the point, right?], but I will say that part of what makes it easier to work on ourselves this way is to do it together--with voices like Paul's as a sounding board from the past, and with other fellow strugglers who are sinners-and-saints-at-the-same-time, ready to listen, to share their stories, and to draw out my questions.

Today, rather than tripping over ourselves in overblown self-righteousness, what if we were honest about how much of this life of faith is one step forward, and a step or two back, and then another step forward again?  What if we gave that same grace to others around us, too?

Lord God, walk with us today, even at our slow paces, and let us encourage the ones walking behind us, rather than condemning them for not keeping up with us.