why the Abbot left with the brother

At a certain monastery, a certain brother was found out by the other brothers to have sinned.

They deliberated: “What should we do with this brother who has sinned?”

They determined: “Throw him out. He can no longer dwell with us.”

And, as the offending brother was leaving, the Abbot went with him.

Surprised, the brothers asked the Abbot: “Where are you going?”

The Abbot replied: “I am leaving with my brother—for I, too, am a sinner.”

…………………………………………

We long for justice and, thus, we are quick to condemn. “What they have done is wrong. They must be punished. They must be called out and cast out.”

But we forget that to act justly is to love mercy and to walk humbly. That is what the prophet Micah of antiquity said. That is what the Abbot understood.

…………………………………………………

When Jesus called Levi the tax collector to be one of his disciples, he echoed Micah’s words. “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” The Pharisees condemned Jesus for keeping company with Levi, whom they regarded as the worst traitor—a thief, a despicable criminal and a cruel oppressor.

They questioned Jesus’ response to Levi’s treason. “Why does Jesus eat with such a person? How can he even stand to sit with him? We will have nothing to do with such a person. It’s not right!”

But Jesus chose to befriend sinners like Levi. He knew that, in doing so, he would be counted as one of them. After all, to abide sin was to be a sinner. “Mercy is for the oppressed, not for sinners. Sinners need punishment; that is the only way they will learn to stop oppressing.”

……………………………………………….

The Pharisees were not entirely wrong. Wrong does need to be put right. What Jesus showed them was that wrong can be put right by mercy. Punishment can only do so much to change the situation.

But mercy seems risky and foolish. Why show mercy to a sinner?

Perhaps Jesus showed mercy to sinners because he knew like no other how sin itself oppresses both the sinned against and the sinner. Sin enslaves the sinner’s heart before it enslaves others. If the sinner is to be free of sin, they need someone strong enough to free them—and Jesus’ strength was his mercy, the risk of mercy.

And the substance of mercy was presence. Jesus showed mercy by coming close to sinners like Levi, sinners like me. Jesus came so close and spent so much time with sinners he was labeled “the friend of sinners.”

Jesus was humble enough to accept this label, for he was NOT a sinner, to be sure. He gave up his heavenly title to take on an earthly one. Remember: to be a friend of sinners was to be a sinner, to be counted as one of them. If you side with a sinner, you are no better than them, you are just part of the problem. To refuse to do what is right (to withhold punishment from sinners) is just as bad as doing what is wrong (sinning).

But if Jesus shows us anything, he shows us that those who practice humility show mercy, and that mercy makes a way for things to be put right (justice). Jesus, in his humility, came close to someone as despicable as Levi, befriended him. And Jesus, in befriending Levi, showed mercy, saw Levi with enough love to see that Levi the oppressor was himself oppressed by his own sinful heart. And it was by such mercy that Levi’s life was changed, wrong put right. And countless others since then have known first-hand that same life-changing mercy, mine included.

Thus was fulfilled the words of the prophet—that to act justly is to love mercy is to walk humbly.

………………………………….

For Jesus, the practice of humility involved coming close to those he was not like. For me, it means coming to grips with what I am like. And, humbly, this is what I must confess:

I am a sinner.

That is what the Abbot knew about himself. He knew he was a sinner. And this knowledge was the source of his humility. And this humility was the source of his mercy. Knowing he was a sinner, the Abbot went with the brother as he was being expelled by the others. And, in leaving with the brother, the Abbot showed mercy.

With his example in mind, I must confess: I too often side with the Pharisees and the brothers who are quick to see sin in another but slow to see it in themselves.

Just who do I think I am?

……………………………………….

The spirit of Pharisaism runs rampant today. The Oxford dictionary defines it as “the quality of being self-righteous.”

Our self-righteousness is often manifested in our propensity to call out sin when we see it another but not to call it out when we see it in ourselves. Worse: we do not even see it in ourselves. We are so oriented to spotting it in others that we fail to look in the mirror.

I am mindful just now of how we exhibit such self-righteousness today when it comes to race relations. Too often, we are quick to condemn another as racist while neglecting to confess how we ourselves harbor racism in our own hearts.

But I must confess: I am a racist.

To clarify: this confession rises not out of a desire to be politically correct, to say something as a white man in such a way that others will now think I am virtuous for confessing such a thing.

No: this confession is to really, truly tell you that I am a racist. I gravitate towards circles of comfort with those who are “my own kind”—other white people. I am sometimes suspicious of Black people and other people of color. I have neglected to listen intently and to learn from people of color. I have rolled my eyes when I’ve heard something that many Black people would want to be done to help this world become a more peaceful, equitable place. But: why should I so quickly disparage the wisdom of such a desire? Why am I so reluctant to listen and really try to understand? What twisted sense of security am I protecting and preserving over against the wellbeing of other human beings?

No doubt, some might say that there is nothing in what I have just said that warrants the label of “sin.” But I recognize these dynamics as sin because they reflect an inner disposition that fails to fully honor the image of God in another human being, to love others as I love myself. And, even worse: I recognize these dynamics as sin because they spring from a perverted view of others, a view that distorts the reality of everyone’s beauty and beloved-ness in the sight of God.

This is sin at its root. And, as long as I harbor such dispositions, I am a racist and a sinner.

To that, some might grant me my confession and respond within: “Thank God I’m not like that. There’s no racism in me.”

And, I must confess: I have thought the same thing about myself. “I’m glad I’m not like that person. How can anyone be so hateful and racist?”

And then I take this thought as something which grants me permission to call out others about their racism, without realizing that when I do so I am siding with the Pharisees in my own self-righteous hypocrisy.

This is not to say we should not stand for truth and justice. It is just to say that when we do so we do well to also acknowledge that we are no better than those we are prone to accuse. This is simply an invitation to stand on the ground of humility as we call for justice. And to make our appeals for change out of mercy, knowing that sin enslaves the sinner even as it oppresses the sinned against. We appeal to sinners like ourselves on the basis of mercy through and through—mercy for those we have hurt by our sin, and the chance of a new start for the sinner, the hope of change.

On such a foundation Jesus sought to break the stronghold of self-righteous hypocrisy. Jesus’ strongest words were for those who failed to recognize their own sin while pointing out the sin in others. “Judge not lest you be judged. With the same measure you use, it will be measured to you.” This is why he said that one’s righteousness needed “to surpass the righteousness of the Pharisees.”

Theirs was a self-righteous righteousness. Theirs was, truly, no righteousness at all. Do we recognize in ourselves the same self-righteousness that simply adds sin to sin as insult to injury? I wonder…

The irony is that Jesus took the side of the sinner, though he himself had never sinned—whereas we like to claim we are sinless, though we ourselves have gravely sinned.

It is for sinners like you and me that Jesus, in his humility, extended mercy. It is by such mercy we are changed and set free to work for truth and justice. In this way, and in this way only, may truth and justice endure. May it be so.

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why the Abbot left with the brother

reflections by troy cady

sorry seems to be the hardest word

Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word:

reflections on the grace of confession

by Troy Cady

In my calling as a pastor, I think there is little that troubles me more than this: Christians suck at saying “I’m sorry” to others. After 35 years of trying to follow Jesus, I can honestly say I have witnessed very few times when I heard a Christian apologize to another person and ask their forgiveness. 

Typically, we do one of three things, instead:

1. We defend.

2. We avoid addressing our offenses with others at all.

3. We offer a pseudo-apology, with qualifications.

The last type sounds something like: “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings but I didn’t mean it.”

In other words: “You’re the one who should be sorry because your feelings wouldn’t have been hurt if you weren’t so sensitive or if you had just understood me better. For my part, I didn’t mean to hurt you, so I did nothing wrong.”

The problem with this type of apology is that there is no recognition that intent does not diminish impact—and it was the impact that hurt. When we make a qualified apology, there is no recognition of responsibility. It is a pseudo-apology, to be precise.

The irony of this is that a Christian is one who should be the first to acknowledge their own imperfections. After all: no one is perfect, but by grace we are set free through the wonder of forgiveness. That’s the Gospel. Receiving that forgiveness, however, is predicated on the knowledge that we need to receive it in the first place.

To be sure, every Christian will tell you they know this. In fact, they will tell you quite freely “I’m a sinner and God has forgiven me.” But this “forgiveness exchange” between God and an individual has taken on a rather Gnostic character in modern day Christianity; it is a disembodied exchange, involving no seeking of forgiveness from one’s fellow human. By contrast, when we live out a genuine forgiveness exchange—when we confess our wrongdoing from person to person—we can experience a deep, deep liberation through the gentle work of humility.

In light of that, I find it astounding that Christians today can find it so easy to say “I’m a sinner” to God but so difficult to say “I’m sorry” to others. And I wonder whether one can even call oneself a Christian without going to their brothers and sisters to seek their forgiveness. I wonder whether the phenomenon we are witnessing today in western Christendom isn’t rather a pseudo-Christianity because of this.

It seems to me that Christians today have forgotten they really are sinners in a concrete sense. We like to make an abstraction of sin but are loathe to admit that, when we sin, we sin against people whose names and faces we see an awful lot. Though it is possible to sin against people we don’t know, most of the time we sin against people we see day-by-day, week-by-week, quite regularly. And our refusal to seek forgiveness from them is a betrayal of the very Gospel we proclaim.

The situation should be reversed. Instead of hearing “I’m sorry; I was wrong” only once in a while, we should be saying it and hearing it quite regularly, if we want to claim we are Christian.

Church, it is time to wake up and learn to be quick to confess in precise detail how you have wronged or hurt others.  The healing words are easy to pronounce, but hard to admit. The healing words carry a powerful simplicity: “I’m sorry; I was wrong. Will you forgive me?”

No excuses. No qualifications. No defending. Just an acknowledgement of our need for grace.

How freeing! How difficult!

I invite you to consider whether there is someone whose forgiveness you need to seek. And I pray that God will grant us all such courageous humility to actually ask forgiveness, from one person to another.

Amen.

…………………….

Photo: untitled by Felix Koutchinski via Unsplash. Creative Commons.

a prayer for strength

A Prayer for Strength

by Richard Langford

                Help us to know Your love and the love of each other. Set us free to become our true selves because we are loved, and to free others because we love.

                Give us enough tests to make us strong,

enough vision and endurance to follow Your way,

enough patience to persist when the going is difficult,

enough of reality to know our weaknesses,

and enough humility to know these gifts come from You.

Go before us to prepare the way;

walk behind us to be our protection;

and walk beside us to be our companion,

                                                through Christ our Lord, Amen.

From Hymns for the Family of God. Published by Paragon Associates, Inc. (Nashville, 1976)

less of me

I imagine John the Baptist had curried quite a following by the time his disciples came to him with a report that a man named Jesus was recruiting his own significant following.

They were concerned that Jesus’ ministry would render John’s obsolete.

John’s response? “He must become greater; I must become less.” (John 3:30)

……………..

Most every morning I pause and ask the Spirit to form a prayer in me that will serve as a focus throughout the day.  I call it a “simple prayer.”

I’ve discovered that simple prayers are not always easy prayers.

Today’s prayer is no exception. It is an adaptation of John’s words above: “Lord Jesus, let there be less of me so others can know more of you.”

……………….

I’m writing now to confess something: I didn’t want that to be my prayer today. When it popped into my head, I resisted it.

I began to rationalize the prayer. The power of twisted logic is that it usually contains a grain of truth. So, here was my thought-process:

Premise 1: We meet Jesus today through seeing his presence and work in flesh-and-blood people.

Premise 2: Faith in Jesus helps one become more one’s true self, not less.

Conclusion 1: If others are to know more of Jesus, they will see more of me, not less.

Conclusion 2: I should not pray ‘let there be less of me.’

I suppose it shouldn’t shock me, but I must say: I am stunned how quickly I form arguments to justify such brazen self-centeredness.

Thankfully, almost as quickly as I had formed the argument, I became aware of the game I was playing. And I knew that God, in his gracious gentleness, would not browbeat me into relinquishing pride. God is love and love never demands love in return. That can only be given willingly.

So, God waited silently; he made no counter-argument. There was no reply—other than the winsome invitation of his simple presence.

It’s a prayer of faith, after all. Yes, God is good and he is not out to obliterate our dignity. If the prayer he forms in us seems to tend that direction, it is because of our misinterpretation, not his meaning.

It’s a prayer made in faith. If it seems counter to logic that is because faith is God’s logic, not ours. To God, it makes perfect sense. To us, it feels a bit crazy. But, if we sit with it long enough, we discover it is a good kind of crazy.

Like love.

……………………………………

When God gives a prayer it comes from the right kind of crazy called love.

That’s why letting God’s prayer form in us takes faith; it feels risky.

You have to trust God won’t leave you stranded, beaten down and humiliated.

He doesn’t.

……………………………

I’m glad Jesus taught in parables. He told several about seeds.

In front of my house is a tree. At one point, that tree was just a seed. It would not have become a tree had the seed remained.

When I tell Jesus’ parable of the mustard seed to children I point to the tree that grew from the seed and ask the children a silly question: “I wonder what happened to the seed after it grew into a tree? I wonder where it is?”

The children, no matter what age, look at me like: “Duh!”

So, we wonder some more: “I wonder if we could take this plant and put it all back into the seed again?”

“No!”

They smile and laugh.

The seed does not feel threatened. It is happy to disappear. There will be more beauty that way.

“Lord Jesus, let there be less of me so others can know more of you.”

human, humus, humble

To be human is to be “of the soil”, literally. In Latin the word for “human” is homo but it is part of a larger group of words among which is the Latin word humus, meaning “soil” or “earth”.  At funerals we often hear the words “ashes to ashes, dust to dust”. We are reminded that it is from dust we are born and it is to dust we all return.

These words reference the account in Genesis of adam’s creation.  We take this as metaphor, but there is a powerful truth we can’t ignore: our bodies indeed join the earth when we die.  Whether living or dying, we are part of this creation.

So what is the problem? If we all end up the same—if we all are the same—why do we have rich and poor, murderers and victims, royals and subjects, presidents and paupers?

It is because we fail to practice humility. You will notice the word “humility” is borne of the same root as humus and human. Our problem  is that we fail to be comfortable in our own skin, to come to grips with our place in this world, that we are of the earth—not above it nor any other living thing. We are not content with being “merely” human so we strive to become something greater, to distinguish ourselves from (and above) others.

But we can only be what we are: human. So, let us also be humble—for one day both kings and kids will return to the very same place, no different—not better, not worse—one and the same.

john stott and our need today

I just heard that John Stott died this morning. I don’t know why I should feel teary right now. It is not as though I knew him personally. I think it is because I lament the passing of a man who was, from what I could tell, a true model of grace and humility in Christian leadership. His passing has made me realize: “Men like him are too few these days. Too few, indeed.”

I wracked my brain, trying to think of those leaders today who could hold a candle to Stott’s class. Sadly, I could think of very few.

Too often our writers and teachers use sarcasm harmfully. Too often we employ excessive wit and incision, taking pot-shots at one another with unmitigated hubris. Too often our writers and teachers create unhelpful polemic in hopes of fostering “dialogue”. But how much “dialogue” really happens? Stott’s passing has made me realize that too often our Superstar Christians rely on charisma and style, leveraging clever forms of communication and wordsmithing (and publishing ploys) to propogate messages that are, by comparison…

…less-than-helpful,
…less-than-loving,
…baldly self-serving,
…far-from-thoughtful and lacking in humility.

I pray Stott’s life speaks loudly to us in these days. I pray that reflecting on his example imbues us with new-found dignity in our discussions and debates. I pray his spirit infects ours. We could sure use a dose of grace.

Lord, let us learn to follow in John Stott’s example, even as he followed the example of Jesus.

the explorer's virtue

Humility coincides with courage. It is the explorer’s virtue, calling you out of yourself into the wild mystery of another. It is a leap into an unknown world, decisive and selfless.

The Son of God leapt into our world to identify with us. (If the incarnation did not take courage, I don’t know what would!) This "leaping" is the essence of humility. The text in Paul’s letter to the church in Philippi says that such an act required Jesus to “empty himself.” If we are to practice humility, we must do likewise. Since humility is the practice of self-emptiness, it is not for the faint of heart. Indeed, it is the very power of God. Humility, therefore, coincides with courage.