Erl Purnell Sermon

bEpiphany 7 ~ February 19, 2005 ~ A sermon preached by The Rev’d Erl G. Purnell at Old St. Andrew’s Church, Bloomfield, CT

Isaiah 43.18-25; Psalm 32; 2^nd Corinthians 1.18-22; Mark 2.1-12

There’s an old quip you’ve probably heard. It’s about making a mistake and it goes something like this: Yeah, I made a mistake...once. I thought I was wrong but later found out I was actually right all along.

The joke aside, deep in the privacy of the Soul, it seems most people are afraid, or at least worried, that somebody will discover their inadequacy. The fears are often about doing something wrong, past failures, or maybe tasks on the horizon that seem impossibly daunting. Some folks are such perfectionists they’re nearly paralyzed when a mistake is made or things don’t work out exactly right—nothing is ever done as well as it should be. A marked feeling of guilt wet-blankets the individual nearly to the point of suffocation. The guilt is about not being good enough or not doing good enough.

Perhaps you remember another sermon I preached on this topic. Well, today’s lessons bring us back to transgressions, sins, and guilt. Yuck. I hate this part of religion. I hate reminders like “you have burdened me with your sins; you have wearied me with your iniquities.” It’s easy to read the Hebrew Bible and be pretty sure that all of humankind are louts who are not only bad but getting worse. The Psalmist says, “While I held my tongue, my bones withered away, because of my groaning all day long.”

On top of the O.T. harangues are Augustine’s notions of original sin and Pharisee-like requirements for receiving God’s blessing...maybe…if we’re among the chosen. Yuck. Judgments of a wrathful God overwhelm and then petrify as they assure we faithless of the darkness in our Souls.

So, not only does the Almighty seem to beat on our heads but we do it to ourselves as well. We load the baggage on the roof rack and fill up at the Guilt Station every few miles. Not very promising. But, are there other ways to be in relationship with God and with our own Souls? Perhaps a new Covenant!

This week I had two interesting encounters. A parishioner called me to unload some hard feelings. He was honest and forthcoming. What a refreshing call. Here was someone not willing to burden himself with ill will; someone ready to jettison his unnecessarily heavy baggage and so get on with more important things. In other words, he said what was on his mind, I listened to what he had to say, and then we let it all go. We both felt better and I’m incredibly grateful that he called.

In the second encounter, I was talking to Shaun, a check-out person at Fitzgerald’s Grocery Store in Simsbury. She’s kind of a friend and we always exchange two minutes worth of chatter when I buy my Wednesday salad. Some how we got on the topic of fear and guilt. I guess it was already on my mind as I anticipated writing this sermon. Shaun, who is a pretty independent thinker and also an ardent Christian, said, “Well, I’m not afraid any more.” I loved hearing that from her. She’s simply unafraid because, she said, “I accept who God made me to be.”

I’m wondering this morning if this isn’t a little of what happens when the paralytic stranger comes through the roof into the middle of Jesus’ house. Here’s a cripple weighted down by his handicap. The man doesn’t even ask for anything. Rather, Jesus senses “their faith” and says, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” Basically, I hear Jesus saying, You’re OK just the way you are. You’ve done nothing wrong. Let go of the burden that says you’re bad or inadequate. God loves you just the way you are, now love yourself. This is new for God. This is the God Jesus knows so intimately. This is the God of the new Covenant.

When the skeptical scribes chime in, “Why does this fellow speak this way? It is blasphemy!” Jesus decides to press the point. Not only is the paralytic man fine just as God made him, but when you really let go of your burden—call the Rector to talk over the problem or refuse to be afraid—all is made new. Broken legs become agile legs. Freedom is granted. The metaphor becomes real just as when the Velveteen Rabbit became real.

One more thought then I’ll have said enough for today. In a third conversation this week I found myself listening to another parishioner’s fears and burdens. Though not identical to mine, I recognized what he was saying because my profile’s similar. So, I told him—but I suppose I was really talking to myself—that he may feel like he’s on a raft alone in the ocean but, actually the ocean is full of rafts with people like us. And…it is.

We’re the ones who are trying hard to do what’s best and trying to be honest and upright. We’re the ones who do a pretty good job most of the time and hate to screw up, though that happens sometimes, too. We’re the ones trying to forgive others for their mistakes and trying even harder to forgive ourselves for things we haven’t done per-fect-ly. We’re the ones on the rafts like everybody else, looking for some bread and wine to tide us over for the coming week.

Amen.