Sermon for Trinity 17
It’s good to be a beggar!
Luke 14:1-11
Trinity XVII
October 4, 2009
Fifty two years ago today, the world changed forever. America was aroused from its post-war complacency by the beeping sound of a tiny artificial moon orbiting the earth at 17, 500 miles per hour, and circling the globe once every ninety minutes.
“Sputnik,” the Soviets called it. And on that October day in 1957, America’s self-confidence was shaken to the core. No longer could we assume that we were the most technologically advanced nation on earth. No more could we rest secure in our historic invulnerability as a nation seperated by oceans from any other nation that might wish to do us harm. A missile that could launch a satellite could also carry a hydrogen bomb from Siberia to Chicago or New York or Los Angeles. We suffered a national identity crisis, and it really wasn’t until Neil Armstrong set foot on the surface of the Sea of Tranquility and planted Old Glory there twelve years later that we got our mojo back.
The launching of Sputnik was a blow to our pride. Our national self-esteem took a beating. We were proud in exactly the sense that Scripture speaks of pride. Our self-esteem knew no bounds. We bestrode the world like a colossus, and we were lulled to a stupor by the conviction that we were simply the best at everything- that nobody could touch us, that we could set our own agenda for ourselves and even for the world. But Paul warns that pride comes before a fall. And it so it does.
A few weeks ago I was watching Alan Alda’s PBS program. He was reporting on a study which showed that praising a child for his intelligence undermines his ability to learn. In stead of addressing the task at hand, he becomes invested in protecting his self-image as “smart.” He becomes proud. He doesn’t try as hard. He doesn’t do as well- and he starts looking for excuses instead of trying harder.
By all means, praise your child, he people who conducted the study say. But praise her for how hard she works. Praise her for something she can control. That way she won't be hostage to the expectation of always succeeding, and will interpret failure, not as disaster or as a blow to her entire identity, but as a prompt to take the necessary steps to turn that failure into success.
Pride is crippling. I’m not speaking now- nor is Jesus- about a healthy attitude toward one’s ability to cope in this world. Pride, in the spiritual sense, is something very much like the attitude of a child whose chief end in life is defending a self-concept as smart. It’s the arrogant assumption that somehow we’re entitled to set our own agenda, and take over God’s job as the one who runs our lives.
My secretary in my first call once showed me a cute article on what children hear when we pray the Lord’s Prayer in church. “Our Father, who draws art in heaven,” the composite children’s version of the prayer went,” “Howard be thy name. Thy kingdom come. My will be done on earth, as it isn’t heaven.”
And that’s pride in a nutshell: “My will be done on earth, as it isn’t heaven.” I want to live a certain kind of lifestyle. And so I must. I’m entitled. If I don’t, it’s unfair. It’s unjust. It’s a tragedy.
I want this job, or that spouse. I want this car, or that house. I want… because I deserve it. Because I’m entitled. Because I’m smart, or attractive, or talented, or… well, you fill in the blank.
And when we fail, and can’t reconcile that failure with our sense of entitlement, we become frustrated and angry. Perhaps we despair. Perhaps we pout. Or perhaps we lash out.
I’m entitled to that promotion. How dare they give it to somebody less deserving! I’m entitled to that raise. Why, I can name you a dozen people who don’t work nearly as hard as I do, and don’t do nearly as good a job! I’m entitled to that recogniition. How dare my host slight me, and give the respect I’m due to someone else!”
Pride is a way of life. To be precise, it’s the Old Adam’s way of life. It measures success in terms of money, or honor, or standing. It keeps track. It keeps score. It harbors resentments. And it bears grudges. It may or may not forgive- but it certainly never forgets!
And pride comes before a fall. If we build our lives on a sense of entitlement, it’s hard to deal with not getting what we think we’re entitled to. And it’s harder still realizing, like the child who has been praised for his intelligence all his life but suddenly fails an important test, that maybe we’re not quite as entitled as we think we are.
Jesus suggests another approach to life. It’s summed up by what are generally considered Martin Luther’s last words: “We are beggars. This is true.”
What if we don’t make any assumptions? What if we yield to God the perogative to decide what we get and don’t get? He clothes the lilies of the fields. Jesus tells us that He’ll clothe us, too. He cares for the sparrow in its flight- and Jesus tells us that we’re more important than many sparrows.
Jesus suggests that we ask ourselves, not what we’re entitled to, but rather what we’re called to. Pride centers on the self, and is always interested in advancing the self. But what if we truly mean it when we pray, “Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven?” What if we have sufficient faith- sufficient confidence in God- to acknowledge that, if He is truly almighty and truly loves us, as we confess, then where we are and what we have at any particular moment of life is where He wants us to be, and what He wants us to have- and that we can know no higher good than His wise and loving will for us?
Suddenly, instead of defending our egos, we’re fulfilling our calling. Suddenly, instead of a desperate effort to live up to our own expectations- or those of others- we find ourselves fulfilling the very purpose for which God put us on this earth- and for which He has brought us to this particular place, and to this particular hour.
What, finally, could be more fulfilling than that? Why would we ever choose anything less?
That kind of faith is hard. In fact, it’s impossible. Our egos are strong. Our Old Adams and Old Eves are stubborn. We want our way- and if we don’t get it, their very strong inclination is to hold their breaths until we turn blue. But then, we still don’t our way. We only turn blue.
But perhaps, in our wiser moments, it occurs to us that there’s something worse than not getting our way. There are sadder things than dying without fulfilling our own ambitions and goals. And one of the saddest is dying without fulfilling God’s ambitions and goals for us. If that were to happen, then our life would truly be a failure. If we fail to fulfil the purpose for which we were put on this earth, then we might as well never have been born.
But if God is indeed God- and the God He reveals Himself in Christ to be- then His good and gracious will is the ultimate good for us. We can live before Him as the beggars we are. Beggars, after all, are the only people who can benefit from grace. And God’s grace to beggars is far more lavish than all the things we tell ourselves we’re entitled to in this life.
But we don’t do that much, do we? Our pride is just too strong. Our envy of those who get what we think we deserve is just too deeply engrained. Struggle as we do against our pride, it often gets the best of us. We find ourselves demanding what we think we deserve.
But God, in His mercy, doesn’t give us what we deserve. And not giving us what we deserve is the very definition of grace. He would, of course, be perfectly justified in leaving us to our poor and paltry ambitions, to achieve and to have those unimportant and finally irrelevant things which comprise the impoverished meaning we try to impose upon our own existence. But instead, He gives us His very best, and places us in the circumstances He had in mind when He created us, whence alone our existence on this planet can finally find fulfillment and meaning- if not, perhaps, in our own eyes while we live where He has put us, in His- and in the eyes through which we will view our lives in eternity.
It was King David- and not Mel Brooks- who first said, “It’s good to be the king.” But there are better things. “Katie.” Martin Luther once told his wife, “you have a husband who loves you. Let someone else be empress.”
And we have a God Who will always put us where we need to be, when we need to be there, in the circumstances in which we need to be. Let someone else have the higher place at the banquet, Jesus advises. That way you’ll never be humiliated for your presumption at claiming a higher place than you get. And when you’re called to a higher place than you are, your honor will be all the greater.
And we are all beggars. None of us deserve a seat at the table where the heavenly banquet will be spread. Those who presume to demand a place on the basis of what they deserve will find themselves outside looking in. But those content to be a beggar at the banquet, sitting at the very lowest place- present only by God’s grace and mercy in Christ are they who are done the greatest honor of all, and made sons and daughters of the living God, and royal princes and princesses in the Kingdom of Heaven.
It may be good to be the king. But both in time and in eternity, it’s better to be a beggar.
May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
Luke 14:1-11
Trinity XVII
October 4, 2009
Fifty two years ago today, the world changed forever. America was aroused from its post-war complacency by the beeping sound of a tiny artificial moon orbiting the earth at 17, 500 miles per hour, and circling the globe once every ninety minutes.
“Sputnik,” the Soviets called it. And on that October day in 1957, America’s self-confidence was shaken to the core. No longer could we assume that we were the most technologically advanced nation on earth. No more could we rest secure in our historic invulnerability as a nation seperated by oceans from any other nation that might wish to do us harm. A missile that could launch a satellite could also carry a hydrogen bomb from Siberia to Chicago or New York or Los Angeles. We suffered a national identity crisis, and it really wasn’t until Neil Armstrong set foot on the surface of the Sea of Tranquility and planted Old Glory there twelve years later that we got our mojo back.
The launching of Sputnik was a blow to our pride. Our national self-esteem took a beating. We were proud in exactly the sense that Scripture speaks of pride. Our self-esteem knew no bounds. We bestrode the world like a colossus, and we were lulled to a stupor by the conviction that we were simply the best at everything- that nobody could touch us, that we could set our own agenda for ourselves and even for the world. But Paul warns that pride comes before a fall. And it so it does.
A few weeks ago I was watching Alan Alda’s PBS program. He was reporting on a study which showed that praising a child for his intelligence undermines his ability to learn. In stead of addressing the task at hand, he becomes invested in protecting his self-image as “smart.” He becomes proud. He doesn’t try as hard. He doesn’t do as well- and he starts looking for excuses instead of trying harder.
By all means, praise your child, he people who conducted the study say. But praise her for how hard she works. Praise her for something she can control. That way she won't be hostage to the expectation of always succeeding, and will interpret failure, not as disaster or as a blow to her entire identity, but as a prompt to take the necessary steps to turn that failure into success.
Pride is crippling. I’m not speaking now- nor is Jesus- about a healthy attitude toward one’s ability to cope in this world. Pride, in the spiritual sense, is something very much like the attitude of a child whose chief end in life is defending a self-concept as smart. It’s the arrogant assumption that somehow we’re entitled to set our own agenda, and take over God’s job as the one who runs our lives.
My secretary in my first call once showed me a cute article on what children hear when we pray the Lord’s Prayer in church. “Our Father, who draws art in heaven,” the composite children’s version of the prayer went,” “Howard be thy name. Thy kingdom come. My will be done on earth, as it isn’t heaven.”
And that’s pride in a nutshell: “My will be done on earth, as it isn’t heaven.” I want to live a certain kind of lifestyle. And so I must. I’m entitled. If I don’t, it’s unfair. It’s unjust. It’s a tragedy.
I want this job, or that spouse. I want this car, or that house. I want… because I deserve it. Because I’m entitled. Because I’m smart, or attractive, or talented, or… well, you fill in the blank.
And when we fail, and can’t reconcile that failure with our sense of entitlement, we become frustrated and angry. Perhaps we despair. Perhaps we pout. Or perhaps we lash out.
I’m entitled to that promotion. How dare they give it to somebody less deserving! I’m entitled to that raise. Why, I can name you a dozen people who don’t work nearly as hard as I do, and don’t do nearly as good a job! I’m entitled to that recogniition. How dare my host slight me, and give the respect I’m due to someone else!”
Pride is a way of life. To be precise, it’s the Old Adam’s way of life. It measures success in terms of money, or honor, or standing. It keeps track. It keeps score. It harbors resentments. And it bears grudges. It may or may not forgive- but it certainly never forgets!
And pride comes before a fall. If we build our lives on a sense of entitlement, it’s hard to deal with not getting what we think we’re entitled to. And it’s harder still realizing, like the child who has been praised for his intelligence all his life but suddenly fails an important test, that maybe we’re not quite as entitled as we think we are.
Jesus suggests another approach to life. It’s summed up by what are generally considered Martin Luther’s last words: “We are beggars. This is true.”
What if we don’t make any assumptions? What if we yield to God the perogative to decide what we get and don’t get? He clothes the lilies of the fields. Jesus tells us that He’ll clothe us, too. He cares for the sparrow in its flight- and Jesus tells us that we’re more important than many sparrows.
Jesus suggests that we ask ourselves, not what we’re entitled to, but rather what we’re called to. Pride centers on the self, and is always interested in advancing the self. But what if we truly mean it when we pray, “Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven?” What if we have sufficient faith- sufficient confidence in God- to acknowledge that, if He is truly almighty and truly loves us, as we confess, then where we are and what we have at any particular moment of life is where He wants us to be, and what He wants us to have- and that we can know no higher good than His wise and loving will for us?
Suddenly, instead of defending our egos, we’re fulfilling our calling. Suddenly, instead of a desperate effort to live up to our own expectations- or those of others- we find ourselves fulfilling the very purpose for which God put us on this earth- and for which He has brought us to this particular place, and to this particular hour.
What, finally, could be more fulfilling than that? Why would we ever choose anything less?
That kind of faith is hard. In fact, it’s impossible. Our egos are strong. Our Old Adams and Old Eves are stubborn. We want our way- and if we don’t get it, their very strong inclination is to hold their breaths until we turn blue. But then, we still don’t our way. We only turn blue.
But perhaps, in our wiser moments, it occurs to us that there’s something worse than not getting our way. There are sadder things than dying without fulfilling our own ambitions and goals. And one of the saddest is dying without fulfilling God’s ambitions and goals for us. If that were to happen, then our life would truly be a failure. If we fail to fulfil the purpose for which we were put on this earth, then we might as well never have been born.
But if God is indeed God- and the God He reveals Himself in Christ to be- then His good and gracious will is the ultimate good for us. We can live before Him as the beggars we are. Beggars, after all, are the only people who can benefit from grace. And God’s grace to beggars is far more lavish than all the things we tell ourselves we’re entitled to in this life.
But we don’t do that much, do we? Our pride is just too strong. Our envy of those who get what we think we deserve is just too deeply engrained. Struggle as we do against our pride, it often gets the best of us. We find ourselves demanding what we think we deserve.
But God, in His mercy, doesn’t give us what we deserve. And not giving us what we deserve is the very definition of grace. He would, of course, be perfectly justified in leaving us to our poor and paltry ambitions, to achieve and to have those unimportant and finally irrelevant things which comprise the impoverished meaning we try to impose upon our own existence. But instead, He gives us His very best, and places us in the circumstances He had in mind when He created us, whence alone our existence on this planet can finally find fulfillment and meaning- if not, perhaps, in our own eyes while we live where He has put us, in His- and in the eyes through which we will view our lives in eternity.
It was King David- and not Mel Brooks- who first said, “It’s good to be the king.” But there are better things. “Katie.” Martin Luther once told his wife, “you have a husband who loves you. Let someone else be empress.”
And we have a God Who will always put us where we need to be, when we need to be there, in the circumstances in which we need to be. Let someone else have the higher place at the banquet, Jesus advises. That way you’ll never be humiliated for your presumption at claiming a higher place than you get. And when you’re called to a higher place than you are, your honor will be all the greater.
And we are all beggars. None of us deserve a seat at the table where the heavenly banquet will be spread. Those who presume to demand a place on the basis of what they deserve will find themselves outside looking in. But those content to be a beggar at the banquet, sitting at the very lowest place- present only by God’s grace and mercy in Christ are they who are done the greatest honor of all, and made sons and daughters of the living God, and royal princes and princesses in the Kingdom of Heaven.
It may be good to be the king. But both in time and in eternity, it’s better to be a beggar.
May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
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