Community Church Sermons

Year C

August 25, 2013

Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Heart Attack

Luke 13:10-17

Rev. Rhonda A. Blevins

Associate Pastor

It’s been a couple of months now. Some family was in town staying with us with their two small children in addition to our six-year-old, Jake. Needless to say, it was quite a madhouse. Well, something hadn’t gone my son’s way—I can’t remember what—and he was pitching what we call here in the South a “hissy fit.” So playing the role of the firm mother, I sent him to his room until he could calm down. So he went upstairs, and guess what he did? He slammed his bedroom door. I ignored it. He slammed it again. I ignored it. Then he began slamming it over and over—maybe 6 or 8 times—until I’d had enough. I went upstairs, looked him square in the eye, and said, “If you slam that door one more time, I’m going to take that door down and you won’t get it back until you’re 33.” I left his room. Guess what he did? He slammed the door.

Great.

Now I had to take the door down. I had to follow through with the rule I just established because I don’t want to be one of those parents who issue empty threats. So I went downstairs and grabbed the toolbox and proceeded to take the pins out of the door. Do you know how hard it is to take pins out of a door that’s been there 25 years? It’s not as simple as it sounds. So I tried pliers. The pins wouldn’t budge. I tried a hammer and screwdriver. The pins wouldn’t budge. My darling husband, who had watched the entire episode as a bystander, just stood there with a smirk on his face, humored by the predicament I had gotten myself into.

I’d made a rule I now had to live by. And I didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

Finally my company came to my rescue—he had removed a door or two in his day—and we were able to take the door down and put it in the garage where it still is today. Now there’s no door to close off the messiest room in the house. Good thinkin’, Rhonda. Real good thinkin’.

And so it goes with rules we make for ourselves. And nobody is better at rule-making than religious folks. Some of you have come out of religious traditions far more concerned with law over love—more caught up on commandments over compassion. You may even still have the whelps on your head from all the Bible-thumping you endured.

And probably no religious group is better at making rules than the ancient Jews that Jesus confronted in the scripture lesson read a moment ago. And you want to have some rules to follow . . . try being a Jew on the Sabbath. They had, and still have, some serious rules for the Sabbath. I’m told there are over 1,500 rules for the Sabbath, 39 broad rules, each with 39 detailed rules underneath. That’s 1,521 rules! I can tell you right now, I’d make a terrible Jew!

But apparently, I’m in pretty good company. Jesus didn’t make a very good Jew either, at least in the eyes of the Jewish elite of the day.

So Jesus went to the synagogue one Sabbath day, he was teaching those who had gathered. And a woman was there who had been crippled for 18 years. She was bent over; she could not straighten up at all. “When Jesus saw her, he called her forward and said to her, ‘Woman, you are set free.’ Then he put his hands on her, and immediately she straightened up and praised God.”

Well, the synagogue leader didn’t like this one little bit. He accused Jesus of breaking one of the 1,500 Sabbath laws. And Jesus? Let’s just say that this is not the mamby-pamby Jesus of children’s stories. No—Jesus lit into this man.

And Jesus said, “You hypocrites!”

Called him a hypocrite in front of all those gathered. He pointed out the inconsistencies of their religious practice. “You take your donkey out for water on the Sabbath, why shouldn’t this woman, one of God’s own children, be set free from her affliction?”

Busted. Humiliated in front of the people he was charged to lead.

You see, this man and other leaders we see Jesus confronting in the Gospels had religion in their heads, but it hadn’t made its way into their hearts. You might say they had a heart defect, and Jesus attacked his heart. He gave that man a heart attack. Right there in the synagogue. And on the Sabbath, no less. Jesus was fed up with a religion more concerned with law over love—more caught up on commandments over compassion. He was sick of religious leaders holding up the letter of the law but ignoring the spirit of the law.

I’ll bet you’ve known people like this. A friend of mine has a sister that she describes as really mean, bitter—kind of has an ugly spirit about her. She says her sister is “a really good Catholic, but a terrible Christian.” I’ve known more than a few people who were really devout Christians, but terrible people. The spirit of love was crushed by the weight of oppressive religion.

That’s what I love about this church. I genuinely believe that this church cares far more about relationships than rules. I hope and pray that’s always true of us. We don’t get hung up over doctrines and decrees that serve to divide rather than unite. We don’t get too hung up over who’s right and who’s wrong and legalistic moral codes that are not only outdated, but maybe even ungodly. No, that’s not who we are.

I have a friend serving as a youth minister at a church in South Georgia. Not too long ago, two of the young ladies in his youth group—maybe 15 or 16 years old—let’s just say they decided to become a couple. When the powers-that-be found out about this development, they insisted that my youth minister friend kick the two young ladies out of the church. He refused to do so, insisting that that wouldn’t be the Christian thing to do. That God’s love—God’s love through the church—extends to the two young ladies whether or not the leaders of the church approved of their choices. My friend has been told his job is as good as over. The letter of the law has won the day.

And Jesus said, “You hypocrites!”

Religion in their heads. Not so much in their hearts.

Now don’t get me wrong. Rules are good; they keep us in line. And the younger we are, the more rules we need. As a parent, I had rules for my son when he was 3 that no longer apply now that he’s 6. Rules like, “Don’t open the cabinet under the sink.” He’s old enough to know not to drink the chemicals there. Rules like, “Don’t go outside by yourself.” Now I BEG him to go outside by himself.

Young people, and young Christians—people immature in their faith, need a lot of rules. If you find a church with a lot of rules, you can bet there’s a pretty immature faith system at work in that congregation.

For those who are mature in their faith, the call is to keep the rules in place that serve the Lord well. Rules like “Love one another.” Rules like “Be ye kind, one to another.” These are the rules that keep the spirit of the law alive. Other rules can be weighed, considered, wrestled with: rules like “Women must not pray with their heads uncovered.” Rules like, “Don’t eat shellfish.” These rules were helpful in another day and time. Not so much today.

Rules are external, imposed on us from the outside, even the rules we impose on ourselves. But the Spirit of God resides within, on our insides, and supersedes any human-made rule. God cares about what’s in our hearts. Remember when Jesus said, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light?” But too often we fashion Jesus as saying, “My yoke is hard and my burden is heavy.” To that kind of religion, I say, “No thank you.”

I prefer a religion that works in my head but lives in my heart.

How’s your heart? I think nothing tests the nature of our hearts more than moments of crisis—moments when there are no rules, just instinct.

This week I was brought to tears when listening to the news about a gunman who made his way into an elementary school in Atlanta. I heard a clip from a 9-1-1 call made by Antoinette Tuff, the school bookkeeper who talked down the gunman carrying an AK-47 into the school packed with 800 children and staff. Her bravery was remarkable—she relayed messages from the gunman to the police through the 9-1-1 operator. This woman was amazing. She kept her composure as she talking to the gunman, calling him “Sir” at one point and “Baby” at other times. When the man went outside to fire rounds at the police, she considered running, but decided against that. Instead, when the presumably mentally ill young man told her that nobody loved him, she told him, “I love you.”

In an interview a day or two later, Antoinette said that when she realized how sad and ill the man was, she remembered a sermon she had just heard about compassion. She prayed for the gunman right there in the middle of the crisis. She showed him compassion. She told him how proud she was of him when he laid down on the ground, giving himself over to the police. She showed the man compassion and respect. It wasn’t her bravery that was so remarkable to me, though she displayed amazing bravery. It wasn’t the way she handled the situation with such poise and composure, though she displayed unbelievable poise and composure. No, it was her compassion that brought me to tears. She displayed remarkable love in the face of incredible fear. And when the police came and took him away, she finally broke down and cried. She had, almost single-handedly, diverted an unthinkable disaster.

Now there’s a person who carries her religion in her heart as well as in her head. The only rule there to guide her was the rule of compassion. It served her and an entire community well.

Synagogue leader on one hand—a bookkeeper from Atlanta on the other. To one, Jesus says, “You hypocrite!” To the other, Jesus says, “Well done, thy good and faithful servant.”

There’s a song we sing sometimes around here. “They will know we are Christians by our . . . love.” Not our dogma. Not our doctrine. No! They will know we are Christians by our LOVE.

May each of us seek to be Christian not by the rules we follow but by the love we share. May God help us be Christian not only in our heads, but our hearts as well.