February 21, 2010
First Sunday in Lent
Pastor Brad Davick
1 Corinthians 9:19-23; Matthew 9:9-13

Give Away The Silver

Today we begin the journey we're calling "Luther, Les Mis, and Life Lessons." Starting with Les Miserable, the journey opens with the Bishop's tale.

The story starts in 1815, in the city of Digne. The peasant Jean Valjean has just been released from imprisonment after nineteen years: five for stealing bread for his starving sister and his family, and fourteen more for numerous escape attempts. Upon release, he is required to carry a yellow passport that marks him as a convict, despite having already served his time in jail. Rejected by innkeepers, who do not want to take in a convict, Valjean sleeps on the street, where he becomes even more angry and bitter. However, the benevolent Bishop of Digne takes him in and gives him shelter. In the middle of the night, Valjean steals the bishop's silverware and runs. He is caught, but the bishop rescues him by claiming that the silverware was a gift and then gives him his two silver candlesticks as well-chastising him in front of the police for leaving in such a rush that he forgot these most valuable pieces. The bishop then "reminds" Valjean of the promise (which of course Valjean never made) to use the silver to make an honest man of himself.

Some might say that from the point of view of the world, the bishop is weak: he suffers the loss of his property-and, besides, who can tell if a man like Valjean will reform anyway? Perhaps he sacrificed his silver and Valjean will only sell it for alcohol. But does the Bishop seem like a victim to you? After all, the bishop could just as easily turned Jean Valjean over to the police. He had a choice; the bishop chose offering mercy.

This ability to choose mercy, is echoed in Martin Luther's work, "The Freedom of a Christian." In the Freedom of a Christian, Luther says that the Christian is at once both "perfectly free lord of all, subject to none" (cf. Rom 13:8) and "perfectly dutiful servant to all, subject to all" (cf. 1 Cor 9:19). Here, Luther mirrors St. Paul, who in his writing to the people of Corinth, a portion of which was this morning's first reading, said,"For though I am free with respect to all, I have made myself a slave to all." This paradox... free but slave... is Luther's view of Christian life. We are at once sinners and saints; we are at once lords and servants. We can do nothing good; we can do nothing but good. We are utterly free; we are everywhere bound. The more a person thinks himself a saint, the more sinful in fact he becomes. The more a person thinks herself a sinner, the more saintly she in fact becomes. The more a person acts like a lord, the more he is called to be a servant. The more a person acts as a servant, the more in fact she has become a lord.

In other words, "Christ has made it possible for us to be not only his brethren, co-heirs, and fellow kings, but also his fellow priests," wrote Luther. Thus, in imitation of Christ, we freely serve our neighbors, offering instruction, charity, prayer, admonition, and sacrifice. We abide by the law of God so far as we are able so that others may see our good work and be similarly impelled to seek God's grace. We freely discipline and drive ourselves to do as much as good as we are able, not so that we may be saved but so that others may be served. "A man does not live for himself alone," Luther wrote, "he lives only for others." The precise nature of our priestly service to others depends upon our gifts and upon the vocation in which God calls us to use them. But we are all to serve freely and fully as God's priests of charity.

What then, does serving freely and fully as God's priests of charity look like? How do we, in imitation of Christ serve our neighbor; how do we let the indwelling of Christ in us shape what mercy looks like for you and me? How do we show mercy?

Honestly, it is as confusing as it sounds. Here's how I see it.

We have an inordinate number of people who come to the church looking for mercy. In fact, I've gotten played and burned so many times that I've gotten cynical about it. When Judi buzzes me because someone needs to see the pastor, by the time I get to the front office I've already made up my mind that the answer is no. It's hard to offer mercy when prior history tells me that 98% of the time I am being played. Pastor Caroline and I ask ourselves all the time, "Where is the line between helping and enabling? Who really needs the help? Who will use the help (like Valjean) to make of himself or herself a better person?"

Sometimes the line between helping and enabling is quite clear:

The 60ish man to who, after I'd listened to story after story, each more outlandish than the last, heard me say to him, "I'm a pragmatist. If you tell me that you've cannibalized human flesh, I'm going to believe you." To which he replied "you're not going to give me any money are you, Pastor?" As I shook my head no... he got up, mumbled a little something under his breath and left.

Had I given away the silver, I would have been enabling manipulative behavior.

There can be times when the line between helping and enabling is blurred; giving away the silver could go either way; it could be a help or it could be enabling. This is especially the case when "giving away the silver" is other than money, food, shelter and the like, but rather things like a listening ear or an encouraging word or an abiding presence; like

The twenty something young man who, three months after the Columbine shooting, walked in to worship and sat down in the first pew 20 minutes after the service had begun, looking very much like a member of the "trench coat mafia." After more than 2 1/2 hours listening to his story, I walked with him to church entrance. As we walked, he reached into the left pocket of his black trench coat. Turning to me, he said, "Thank you, Pastor, I guess I won't be needing these," and handed me a box of bullets. I thought it best not to ask for the gun in his right side pocket.

Then there are the times when giving away the silver feels so right, so comfortable, so loving that the risk of being played seems impossible. Like...

The 50ish woman having called the emergency phone number acutely distressed that her sick and frail mother had been released to her care because the insurance would no longer pay for nursing home care. She'd found another place that would take her mother, but it wouldn't become available for 4 months. Mom was in a hospital bed and they needed funds to pay for accommodations at the Gurnee Extended Stay America. She promised to pay the church back once some lawsuit in her favor was funded. After giving away the silver for the four months asked for, I haven't heard from the woman after saying no to a request for two more months at the Extended Stay.

Occasionally, giving away the silver results in an unexpected outcome. Henry showed up at St. Paul's in June of 2009. He'd come from Nigeria to further his education. He was going to school and working almost full time. He told me his story; some type of Visa he had was soon to expire. If he couldn't get it renewed or extended, he would have to leave school, his job and return to Nigeria. I made a few phone calls, and was able to hook him up with an attorney in town who did pro-bono immigration work. He was between pay checks and needed gas money to get to and from work, as well as get to his appointment with the immigration attorney. So I pulled a 20 dollar bill out of my wallet and give it to him, walked him to the door, offered a prayer and said, "Good luck with the Visa thing."

One day in mid-November, maybe a week from the Thanksgiving holiday, Judi buzzed saying that there was someone who needed to see a pastor and preferred that it was me. Grudgingly I made my way to the front office.

Standing next to the living memorial plaques, stood Henry. My sinfulness went immediately to, "Great... what does he want NOW." What he wanted in that moment was this; Henry opened wide his arms, wrapped them around me giving a bear -like hug. As our embrace faded, Henry spoke. This is what he said, "Pastor, I just had to come and say thank you. Everything has worked out. I can stay and finish my schooling. I needed you to know this and thank you so very much for helping me the way you did. I'd be back in Nigeria if it hadn't been for you. Thank you and God bless you." With that, Henry turned and walked out the door.

Giving away the silver made a difference to a Nigerian named Henry.

Some might say (and rightly so) "giving away the silver" is weak. Not very smart. It is a terribly difficult judgment call to make. But I can put up with getting played more often than not to experience a few moments of mercy with someone like Henry.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

St. Paul's Lutheran Church § 824 N. Lewis § Waukegan IL