Sermons

Joey, John, and I were in trouble. A new student was abrasive and rude, and we offered the same in kind. We were nine so we didn't think much of the playground dust up. We didn't until we were called into the principal's office. There we were met with the stern words of Emerald Randolph. I knew principal Randolph as she came to our house each week and my mother did her hair. Hence it was awkward for me when she said those fateful words, "I am going to call your parents." Such would make the beauty parlor in our garage less than palatable.

When I looked at Joey though what I saw was not awkwardness. The blood had drained from his face. A call home for Joey was not awkward, it was shameful. He was the son of a Japanese American pastor and the idea that Joey would mar the honor of his home would be a dark day for him. I distinctly remember the distance between us. My suffering was not the same. 

              When I looked at John he was already crying.  Like Joey, I had been to John's house.  We both knew instinctively why he was crying.  It wasn't awkward or shameful at John's house, it was violent.  A call home from school meant John would be beaten.  We knew this and here again was a distance.  His suffering wasn't emotions, it was physical.  This was going to hurt.

              We all know this distance.  Justice, whatever form it takes, is never equal or even close to common.  Steal a million and you get a few months in a spartan country club or an ankle bracelet; steal a thousand and you will be locked away in a violent place for years and years.  Have money or power or influence and your day in court is likely to go smoothly; have no money, no power, no influence and the justice system will likely seek to make an example of you.

              The day in the principal's office where Emerald Randolph gave a common sentence, the same punishment for all of us, was in truth anything but equal.  The three of us would each pay a different price for our crime.  We were all going to "get it", but what we got was not the same.  Wrath is rather particular.

              The wrath of God is an interesting idea.  Nearly half of Americans believe in and pray to an angry God, someone who loves the good people and hates the bad people, a God whose vengeance is not far off.  Most Presbyterians believe God is a loving parent god full of grace and mercy or we believe in a god who is in nature, in the wind, or simply woven into the fabric of beauty.  So the image of God as vengeful or bringing "fire next time" might not be your theology or even the image you consider when God is invoked. But the God who curses and condemns, judges and destroys is quite common.

              To this end, even if this is not our defining image of God, we all have some notion of judgement, the measure of life when it is over.  There is a balance sheet where all our deeds and misdeeds are tabulated, and we are hoping to end on the plus side.  Whatever it takes to open the pearly gate.

              In the meantime there is also a fear, a sense, a concern that maybe judgement might not be only in the end, wrath or the payment for sins might not be way off yonder but closer to our lives.  There is a sense that the loving parent can be provoked unto wrath here and now.  Who hasn't spoken or heard the threats of a loving parent made crazy.  We say things like, "if I have to say it again" or "don't make me come down there" or my favorite, "you're gonna get it" which is often the proxy threat of a sibling.  These practical moments of insanity when projected unto God are at least theoretically possible.  The God who is slow to anger doesn't mean God is never angry.  Wrath is possible.

              Recently I quoted a line from Popeye to one of the staff.  I said, "I would gladly pay you on Tuesday for a hamburger today."  The blank look and then the question, "why would I have hamburgers?" all suggested to me that Popeye might not have made it to the younger generations.  But he did shape mine and maybe yours. 

              Although not a bulwark of theological insight or liturgical meaning, Popeye does have one of the clearest images of the reluctant, but wrathful God.  Popeye was a peaceful, easygoing, sailor guy with friends and a girlfriend Olive Oil.  In each episode though Popeye would be bullied, harassed or injured by Brutus, his nemesis.  At some point in the abuse two things happened.  First, Popeye would say, "I can stands so much, but I can't stands no more."  And then the second moment.  He would eat spinach, become ripped with huge muscles and bring pain and suffering on Brutus. He went from mild to wildly violent.

              It sounds strange to say this, but Popeye is a common image of God.  God is slow to anger, but once pushed too far, the mild God is filled with wrath, complete fury, a godlike destruction.  Again, your image of God may not be the wrathful, vengeful one, but there is also within our experience the loving parent who is just pushed too far, too tired, too weary to correct.  It's punishment now.  You're gonna get it; God is pulling the car over. 

              I believe this image of punishment has levels, layers like John and Joey and I found in the principal's office.  There are layers or levels of wrath.  Not everyone gets the same; not everyone is punished equally. And there is a sense that God gets tired of misdeeds, injustice, wrongdoers, greedy folk.  God can only stands so much.  It's fire this time.  Some are singed, some burnt, some scorched. 

              When we read our passage today from Luke, first and foremost, we need to consider how much and in what way we understand judgement, punishment, the wrath of God.  Jesus says, judgement won't be good for two towns and then ominously says, "you Capernaum will be brought down to Hades."  Chorazin and Bethsaida have it bad, but Capernaum, really bad.

              When we read this, it is important to consider what we understand of the bad, the judgement, the wrath.  What God are we talking about and what sort of suffering is being implied?  This is important because, for the most part, inflicted suffering is all we will hear.  Jesus doesn't detail the judgement or justify the downfall.  We are not sure what happened or even where Chorazin is, but it's not good.  No one says, God brought you down to Hades, well, it's not that bad.  No this is bad.  But how is it bad and why? 

              Before we look for answers it is good to remember, these woes are very unique in the gospels.  This is not Jesus' primary message; it is an outlier.  Wrath, prophetic wrath, that was John the Baptist, Ezekiel and Isaiah, Jeremiah for sure.  But Jesus? No.  He talks about evil and darkness.  From time to time, he will speak of forgiving sins, but the gospel of Jesus tends to be good news, not threats or warnings or anything of doom and gloom. 

              So why here?  Why were Chorazin and Bethsaida and Capernaum all that bad?  This question is the dilemma.  And it is what we must navigate, pass through. Ultimately, "why are they so bad?" is the question we must put aside.

              I believe our instinct when we hear of punishment is to consider such as justice meted out for wrongdoing.  You had it coming.  This is what you deserve.  We often speak of justice in degrees of punishment: the measure of suffering brought upon the wrong doer is how we value justice.  Yet Jesus doesn't say this.  He doesn't say you were sinful, or you were wicked, filled with awful people, bad people.  So terrible you deserved violence. That wasn't the woe.

              Jesus suggested the opposite of wrongdoing.  He said, there were "deeds of power" done and you were not inspired, you didn't rise to the occasion.  Considering these deeds of power, you had a chance to make something, be something inspiring and you turned away.  The judgement wasn't about wrongdoing, it was how they didn't do something good.

              A few weeks ago, after the worship service I received a comment about the sermon that meant a lot to me.  During the sermon I said the kingdom of God is about putting aside fear for trust, overcoming greed with generosity, and then, lastly, to reject ambition for compassion.  The comment was: I don't know, I don't get this putting aside ambition; that is a tough one to take.  I love such comments.

              I bring this up because the path of discipleship, the life lived unto God as offered in Jesus is not about woe and judgement. Jesus is not warning with threats about mistakes.  Jesus isn’t pushing a severe, strict moral code.  You can't read the gospels carefully and consider an abrasive piety judgement like modern Evangelicalism and think that's what Jesus said to do.  No.  The Christian life, the one we hope to live, is not about what you don't do in terms of moral piety.  The life we hope to live is about what good we do, what we make, what we risk to find remarkable freedom.  It is a life rising above fear and greed and the desire to win at all costs, to be better than others. 

              These three are like the progressive levels of suffering I saw that day in the principal's office.  Only they are progressively better, not worse. If you want to follow Jesus, you need to lay aside fear in all its forms and learn how to trust.  Unfortunately, what we so often trust is anger. We trust fear.  Scare them, threaten them, demean them so they stay in line.  Jesus teaches the opposite: learn the freedom of forgiveness, mercy. Turn the other cheek, go the extra mile. 

              In mastering this we have a chance to find the freedom of generosity. We cast aside the weight of greed and control and possessiveness and find life where we give away what we hope to keep. 

              Lastly, and this is not an easy step, we lose ambition. Once freed from fear and greed, we can lay aside ambition for compassion.  Compassion is not a life without drive, determination, grit, even tenacity.  To follow Jesus you need drive, determination, and grit.  Compassion is simply a life where we live in kindness.

              Ambition is a desire to succeed without any sense of what success will be.  So many people climb the ladder only to find emptiness.  Gaining the world but losing your soul.  In compassion we climb Jacob's ladder, the one that leads to heaven.   

              When Jesus calls out Chorazin and Bethsaida and Capernaum, he doesn't offer derision.  He doesn't say they are evil doers or that "for these sins you will suffer."  He says I did great things, and you did nothing.  You were not inspired to live unto the Kingdom of God where you overcome fear with faith, lay aside greed for generosity, and even overcome ambition with compassion.  In essence you didn't lose your life to save it. And for this you fall, you fall apart.

              Consider your own life.  You are faithful, you are generous, and I see so much compassion in all of you.  What if this is the kingdom of God? What if you are doing deeds of power?  What if we have laid aside determination, the need to dominate or deride?  What if the kingdom of God is at hand, here and now?  That's good news.  Amen. 

Speaker: Rev. Dr. Fred G. Garry

March 23, 2025

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