Outward

Luke 18:9-14

July 15, 2018 • Mount Pleasant UMC

This afternoon, I will be joining the team from Mount Pleasant that is headed to St. Louis for a week-long mission experience. Our plans have changed a bit from the original agenda, so we’re going to be working with an organization called Gateway180, whose mission statement is “to empower adults and families to become independent and permanently housed.” In other words, they are combatting the homelessness that exists in the greater St. Louis area, not just by providing shelter, but by working on the symptoms and the causes of homelessness. We will be doing some community gardening, helping with some children and many other things as we learn about homelessness and about St. Louis. We would appreciate your prayers, especially for Jess and for Ginger who will be leading us through this week, and we are appreciative of all those who have found various ways to support this trip, financially and otherwise.

For twenty-five years, I’ve been going on various kinds of mission trips, ending up in places like Oklahoma, Virginia, Arizona, Kentucky and the inner-city of Chicago. And every time I go, someone inevitably asks, “Why are you going all that way? There is so much need around here!” That’s a good question, and there is a lot of need around here, wherever your “here” is. Every community has need. But here’s my question back, and forgive me if it sounds a little blunt, but here it is anyway: why haven’t we done something about it? And why haven’t you or I done something about it? You see, the problem is that we all know there is need in our community, but we get so busy that it becomes easy to ignore. Life goes on. When you’re in the middle of it every week, and I’m talking to myself as much as or more than anyone else, I stop seeing it. But when I go away, I find myself re-awakened, re-sensitized, and renewed to make a difference in my own community. We go somewhere else to be inspired to make a difference here, and we go because Jesus came to give us an “outward” faith.

This morning, we’re wrapping up our series of sermons on “The Wesley Challenge,” but there is one more week of questions for you and me to ask ourselves. The first week, you remember, we asked questions that focused on the “upward” relationship—me and God. Then we focused this past week on questions that worked on our own personalities and character—“inward” questions. This week, then, our questions are focused “outward,” focused on our relationship with the world around us and the people around us, because Jesus did not come to give us a faith that is simply private. I say it often: Christianity is personal (we each need to have a relationship with Jesus) but it is not private. It is not something we just keep for ourselves and our own betterment. The Christian faith is meant to transform and change the world—the whole world. And that starts in the way we view and treat each other.

So we begin this week standing on the corner outside the Temple as we watch two men praying. The parable Jesus tells in Luke 18 is a scene many people listening to him would have been familiar with. Two men, he says, were near the Temple praying, and Jesus’ story tells us that these two, physically standing near each other, could not have been further apart. In the first century, there were three times for prayer: 9:00 a.m., noon, and 3:00 p.m. Many believed (as many believe today) that prayer offered at the Temple (or church) had a better chance of being heard by God and answered, so many people would go to the Temple itself to offer their prayers at those times of day. That seems to be what’s happening here, as these two men stand near the Temple and pray the way most prayed in those days: out loud (cf. Barclay, The Gospel of Luke, pg. 223). The first man is a Pharisee. Now, as I talked about last week, the Pharisees tend to get a bad reputation, especially in Luke’s Gospel. Theologically, Jesus and the Pharisees were very similar, but Jesus took exception to the ways the leaders of the Pharisees did or didn’t live out what they believed. So, again especially in Luke, the Pharisees are often the “bad guys” in Jesus’ stories, and that’s the case here. He stands tall and erect, and he prays, Luke says, “by himself,” or other translations say, “to himself” or “with himself.” It’s like the Pharisee is busy congratulating himself; he hasn’t really come to talk to God. He comes to tell God how good he is (Barclay 224), and he assumes God will be as impressed with him as he is with himself (cf. Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 204).

Listen to his list of accomplishments: he is not like all those horrible people he’s heard about (robbers, evil-doers, adulterers and tax collectors), he fasts twice a week and he is meticulous with the tithe—not just the tithe he was required to give, but with everything he gets. He goes above and beyond with his giving. More than that, he highlights his religious practice by proclaiming he fasts twice a week. In Jewish practice, there was only one required fast a year, on the Day of Atonement in our month of September. But those who wanted to go “above and beyond” would also fast on Mondays and Thursdays. Now, why those days? Well, it’s interesting to speculate because those days were also market days in Jerusalem. Those were the days each week when there would be lots of extra people in town, and accounts from the day say that those who were fasting would whiten their faces, wear disheveled clothes and draw attention to themselves (Barclay 223). Jesus, of course, told his followers not to do that. “When you fast,” Jesus says, “put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen” (Matthew 6:17-18). He calls those who draw attention to their fasting “hypocrites” (Matthew 6:16). So in this parable, we have a Pharisee declaring himself to be holier than everyone else, even fasting on those market days. In his mind, he is better than everyone else around him, especially the man praying next to him.

The other man is a tax collector. He is one of those folks that were usually lumped into the general category of “sinner” because they were Jews who cooperated with the Romans. More than that, they were legally robbing their fellow Jews on behalf of the Romans. Tax collecting in the first century, or more properly called “tax farming,” was sort of a pyramid scheme. The Roman government would decide how much they expected in taxes from a certain area. Let’s say they wanted $100 from Nazareth, so they would hire tax collectors, local people who would work with them, to collect the money. Those men had to make a living, too, so they would collect, let’s say, $150 from Nazareth, pass the $100 on to Rome and keep the $50 for themselves. As the business grew, those tax collectors might hire associate tax collectors under them, who also had to make a living, and you can see how the taxes would get out of control. Rome didn’t care as long as they got what they expected; the tax farmers could charge however much extra they wanted. And many of them got wealthy doing that; Matthew, the disciple of Jesus, was one of these tax farmers. But the tax collector in the parable seems to have realized that what he was doing was not right. It was not honoring to God. The parable doesn’t say he gave up his job, but it does say he prayed by beating his breast and repeating one line over and over and over again: “God, have mercy on me, a sinner” (18:13). The word translated “mercy” really means “atonement.” This man wants to be forgiven, but he knows it’s going to take a sacrifice to make him right with God again (cf. Card 204). This is a prayer from the heart, and Jesus says it is this man, rather than the Pharisee, who went home “justified before God” (18:14). The crowd would have been shocked. That was not the way the world they lived in went. Nor is it the way the one we live in goes. The good and “holy” people win; the tax collectors and sinners lose. At least that’s the way we think the story should go, especially because we would tend to identify with the Pharisee far more than the tax collector. He is us in this story. Or we are him.

So to understand the story, we’ve got to back up and notice who Jesus told this parable to. Luke puts it this way: “To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else” (18:9). That’s the part of the passage I don’t like, to be honest, but it is at the heart of where we start to look outward this week. Today’s question in the Wesley Challenge is this: “Do I thank God that I am not like others?” Tomorrow’s question is like it: “Am I consciously or unconsciously creating the impression that I am better than I am? In other words, am I a hypocrite?” Those questions hit me where it hurts, especially when I realize I am far more often the Pharisee in the story than the tax collector. This came home to me about a week ago when I once again found myself impatiently waiting in line. I was at Dunkin’ Donuts, trying to get my iced tea for the day and the car ahead of me was taking forever. Okay, not really forever, but I could tell they were ordering many, many things. Didn’t they know I was in a hurry? I had places to be, things to do, people to see! So, in my mind, I started grumbling about them, making assumptions about them even though I didn’t know them. We pulled on up, and again, at the window, it took a long time. My impatience was at a fever pitch, and I was thinking all sorts of negative things about them. I wasn’t saying the words, but like the Pharisee in the story, my attitude was, “Thank God I’m not like them!” Finally, it was my turn at the window, and when I went to pay, the cashier said, “The person ahead of you paid for you and asked me to give you this.” The card he handed me said, “Random Acts of Kindness.” Everything I assumed about that other person turned out to be untrue, and I had to repent of my attitude. My prayer became, “Maybe I should be more like them after all.”

It has become standard operating procedure in our culture to judge the other person, even if we don’t call it that. Have you noticed how no one on the road drives as well as you do? The “great theologian” George Carlin once said that everybody else on the road is either an idiot or a maniac. Anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac. We label people who are in line ahead of us the same way. We can learn to look down on almost anyone as being “not as good as” us. Today, that’s especially true when we think of the people who are on the opposite side of the political fence from you. The words we exchange today between Republicans and Democrats, Liberals and Conservatives, Right and Left—whatever the labels—can get ugly. Watch online as the conversation so quickly today moves from issues and politics to personal attacks. We have developed into a culture where there is no room for disagreement, no allowance for civil discussion. And that same mindset has come into the church. Many of you know I grew up in a little town, and at that time there were only three churches in Rossville: Methodist, Brethren and Presbyterian. No one in that town talked about the vast theological differences that exist between those three traditions; well, maybe the pastors did when they got together. But most of us just worked together and we even did Vacation Bible School together. I was shocked to learn, later in life, that there are traditions in the Christian church that won’t even speak to each other, let alone worship together. I once asked a pastor why he wouldn’t take part in a community worship event we were having, and he told me that, in their tradition’s understanding, to come into our building would be the same as affirming everything we believed, and since he couldn’t do that, he wouldn’t worship alongside us. There are places in the church where we get so inwardly focused that we forget the greater goal we should be about: winning people for Jesus, not for our churches. We stand on the corner, look at the other denominations down the way and say, “Thank God I am not like those people!” Meanwhile, the world shakes its head and says, “If the followers of Jesus can’t get along with each other, why would I want to join them?” 

If we’re going to be able to move outward, we have to learn to love others the way Jesus does, see them the way Jesus does, be willing to associate with anyone and everyone for the sake of God’s kingdom. Who is it you’re tempted to judge? Who is it hard for you to be around? This week’s questions are a call to turn outward, to see beyond ourselves, to see the other as made in God’s image and valuable, worthwhile, welcomed in his sight. This week’s questions are a challenge to resist the call of the Pharisee, the voice that tells us we are better than others, the urge that causes us to look down on those around us. That “other” person is a child of God, every bit as much as you and me.

Let’s think quickly through the other questions for the week, the questions about how we interact with our world. If “the other” is made in the image of God (cf. Bock, IVP New Testament Commentary: Luke, pg. 296), if they are loved by God, then how do we approach them? Tuesday’s question has to do with trust: Do I confidentially pass on to others what was told to me in confidence? There is something within us that likes to be “in the know” with confidential information, and what’s more, we like others to know we are in the know. Undoubtedly, many if not most of us have had the experience of having someone betray a confidence we shared, or perhaps we have done that to someone else. The reason this question is a part of the challenge is because it’s a common occurrence. I’ve been on both ends of it. I remember being a young pastor, fairly new in ministry, and I was part of a men’s covenant group. We had established early on that confidentiality would be a hallmark of our group, so that we could be free to share what was on our hearts. One morning I shared a struggle I was having, nothing too terribly deep and nothing immoral or anything like that, but one member of the group took it upon himself to report that struggle to the chair of our Staff-Parish Committee, who was in my office the next week to talk to me about it. I felt terribly betrayed, and I never went back to the men’s group. In fact, to tell you the truth, I haven’t been a part of a small group since until we came here to Mount Pleasant because of that instance. Betrayal is a painful experience. We expect people to keep their word and to keep our confidence. This question has to do with integrity and how we care for one another.

Wednesday has a loaded question for us: Am I jealous, impure, critical, irritable, touchy, or distrustful? Now, my temptation is to say, “I am NOT irritable,” but my family would rise up and disagree with me. Again, these characteristics strike at the heart of who we are and how we treat others. Jealousy has to do with our love of things, especially the things that belong to someone else. Impurity has to do with our thought life; Jesus said that if we look at a woman lustfully we have committed adultery. I think the same goes for women who look at men lustfully (cf. Matthew 5:28). Critical, irritable, touchy—are we in such a mood that we cannot treat others with kindness? “Distrustful” speaks for itself. You know, we all want to be treated with kindness, but we don’t always do the same for other people. When Jesus wanted to sum up the whole Old Testament, he said, “In everything, do to others what you would have them do to you” (Matthew 7:12). Treat others the way you want to be treated—even if they don’t treat you that way back! There’s a reason Chick-fil-a always comes out on top of surveys of fast food chains. Not only is their food good, but they intentionally treat people with kindness, like human beings, even when they don’t feel like it and even when they aren’t treated with kindness back. I know, because I’ve had two kids work there and there are a whole lot of people here who have worked or do work there currently. Not everyone who comes in is as nice as they should be, but people will stand in line longer there because we want to be treated with kindness. Now, here’s the kicker question: are the people who come through these doors on Sunday mornings treated as well as they are at Chick-fil-a?

The examination of character continues when we ask about the way we interact with others: Am I honest in all my actions and words, or do I exaggerate? I’m going to let you in on a little secret: pastors exaggerate. It’s true. When we get together, the only questions we seem to know how to ask each other is, “How’s it going at your church?” Or some variation thereof. And it’s amazing, because everyone’s church is going gangbusters. We tend to round up our numbers—because, you know, numbers are the only indication of spiritual health—and every program we try works. Now, I’m being hard on pastors because I am one, and I know how we work. But the same thing is true in other areas of life. Just scroll through Facebook; everyone’s life is perfect, if you believe everything you read there. Well, it’s either perfect, or it’s the worst life ever. In a few months, we’ll all exchange Christmas letters that highlight the best things of the year, because no one wants to read about the ways this year has been hard. And how many times have you been in a conversation and stopped listening to someone’s story because you were forming a story in your head that was bigger and would outdo theirs? So let me ask again: are you honest, or do you exaggerate?

Friday holds another whopper of a question, which sort of gets back to the story of the Pharisee and the tax collector: Is there anyone whom I fear, dislike, disown, criticize, hold resentment toward, or disregard? Fear is at the root of all of those, just as it is at the root of our current immigration crisis. I don’t pretend to have the answers or even know any path toward a solution, but I do believe that when we fear “the other,” the person we don’t know and don’t want to understand, we tend to lash out in ways that are neither healthy nor Christian. I’m not saying I’m perfect, but by God’s grace, I’m trying to be more like the Savior who took children on his knee, who spoke to the people most folks considered to be “dogs” and who never shut anyone out. I also know that the only cure to the fear and hate that surrounds us today is love, that chief fruit of the Spirit. Martin Luther King said it well many years ago: “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” King was simply displaying what he knew to be the truth, a truth ultimately demonstrated on the cross when Jesus loved us enough to give his life for us. Is there anyone I fear? How can I learn to love them?

And when we learn to love them, that will lead us to the final question in this 21-day challenge: When did I last speak to someone about my faith? When you love someone, really love them, you want them to share the best gift you have ever been given. Many of you know that I came to know Jesus personally in elementary school during Vacation Bible School because a volunteer took the time to share her own faith story with our class of boys. But I spent a lot of years after that thinking that my faith was my faith, it was all I needed. I thought it was the pastor’s job to share the faith; I was just supposed to thank Jesus that I was saved. (Someone I missed the idea that without someone sharing her faith, I might not have had a chance to respond!) It was in college when I got involved in InterVarsity at Ball State that I first began to understand the importance of sharing my faith with others—living it out and not being afraid to talk about it. That didn’t come easy to this introverted young man from a small town. Conferences and workshops that were part of the InterVarsity culture helped me a great deal, but what really sealed things for me, and put me on a path that I am still on today, is when I attended a missions conference at the University of Illinois called Urbana ’87. And while Urbana was very focused on world missions, God used that time during Christmas break to call me to ministry—though I didn’t really know what that looked like at the time. In my heart and mind, I go back often to that experience at Urbana and know that because of those days, I grew in my desire and ability to share my faith. From there, I went on a spring break mission project and after that I spent the summer in inner-city Chicago working, serving and sharing. And out of that experience, I found my calling to not only share my faith but to spend my life equipping the church to share its faith, to share your faith. The road that led me to Mount Pleasant began, in many ways, at Urbana, so I wanted to take a couple of minutes and give you some of the flavor of that movement throughout the years. Take a listen.

VIDEO: A Legacy of Calling

Urbana happens again this year, in St. Louis this December, and McKenzie Barber came to me a couple of weeks ago asking what the possibility might be of some folks from Mount Pleasant helping get college students from Indiana State to Urbana this Christmas. I told her I knew you would do that, so don’t let me down! Urbana will, this December, once again change college students’ lives and set them on a path that might make them the next pastor, the next youth leader, the next evangelist or missionary, and we can have a hand in that—sharing the faith not only in our community but around the world. So I’ve asked McKenzie to share a bit about her vision for Urbana ’18. Let’s welcome her.

INTERVIEW: McKenzie Barber

What is your vision for Urbana ’18? What do you hope it will accomplish in the lives of your students?

How many students do you hope to take? What will it cost to get there and how can we help as a congregation?

Thanks, McKenzie.

So, we come to the end of the challenge. You’ll have the next six days to finish the questions…and then what? My hope and prayer is that you have been caused to think more deeply about the way your faith intersects with your life in these days. My prayer is that these questions won’t be an end, but a new beginning. What if we kept these questions and every 21 days, we started over again? What if these questions became a guiding force in our lives, causing us to move upward, inward and outward? Next week, we’ll put up on our Facebook page a printable list of these questions for you to download and keep in your Bible. And, as I’ve said in my blog all throughout this series, by God’s grace, this time next year, we will be further along in our journey than we are right now. Because it’s only with his grace that we have any hope at all. Let’s pray.