Love With Legs

The Sermon Study guide is here.

James 1:19-27; Matthew 20:20-28

July 21/22, 2012 • Portage First UMC

There are a lot of things I know. For instance, I know I should exercise regularly. I need to be out walking or doing something aerobic in order to have good cardiovascular health and to keep my weight under control. I know that. I’ve known that for some time. And in the spring, I was doing really well. Cathy and I would walk nearly every night. But then I left for the Middle East, and when I got home, it was really hot, and there are lots of things I need to be doing, and…and…and so I don’t. I know I should, but I don’t. I know I shouldn’t eat so many sweets, but I really love chocolate. And ice cream, I really love ice cream. And cookies, I really, really love cookies. And so, even though I know I shouldn’t, I get this craving somewhere in the evening for something sweet, and I go prowling in the kitchen. Where are the brownies? Do we have any cookies in the cabinet? I’m hungry, and I just need a little snack…and pretty soon, I’ve eaten more than I should. I know I shouldn’t go past the speed limit when I drive. I even have that handy thing on my car called “Cruise Control,” which allows me to set a speed on the interstate and stick with it. So, once I know what the speed limit is, I set the cruise for about 5 miles per hour beyond that. Because everyone knows they don’t arrest you for just 5 miles over. And besides, that little extra speed boost will get me to my destination much faster. And it’s okay, because there are still people going faster than me. And…and…and…I know I shouldn’t, but I do. There are a lot of things I know. And then there are other things I do.

The Apostle Paul once wrote this: “I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing” (Romans 7:18-19). I don’t think Paul was just talking about himself there; I think he was describing a universal condition. I know a lot of things—so why don’t I do them? Why don’t I live out what I say I believe?

This evening/morning, we’re continuing our series of sermons on the “Five Practices of Fruitful Living,” and so far we’ve talked about three practices that help us connect with God—radical hospitality (being open to God’s work in our lives), passionate worship (responding to God) and intentional faith development (learning to walk with God through small group studies). So far, everything we’ve talked about has been internal, stuff we do for our own growth. And that’s great, we need to grow our faith, but it’s also true that our faith is not just for personal betterment. On an afternoon walk one day, two of Jesus’ disciples, James and John, come to him. Actually, as Matthew tells it, they are hiding behind their mother, who has a request to make of Jesus. “Please let my boys sit on your right and your left when you become a king,” she says. The seats to the right and the left of the king were the places of honor, the places of power. And so, on one level, she’s affirming Jesus. “You’re going to become king,” she’s saying, “but when you do, I want to make sure my boys make out good.” It’s a selfish request hidden behind a compliment—and not hidden all that well! Well, naturally, it makes the other disciples angry; they’ve worked just as hard as James and John. And so Jesus pulls them all together (we’re not told where mom went), and tells them the real nature of greatness in his kingdom is servanthood. “Whoever wants to become great among you,” he tells them, “must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve” (20:26-28). Our modern translations tone it down by using the word “servant,” which somehow sounds nicer, but the word Jesus uses there is really “slave.” The nature of following Jesus involves being a slave—one who serves him and others not at our own leisure, but at his pleasure. We don’t really get a say in it, and the fourth of our five practices for fruitful living is service—mission and service.

Many of us, though, become content with the first three practices. We welcome God into our lives, we enjoy worship and we even get to the point where it’s important to us to study (or at least read) the Bible, to grow in our faith a bit. That, at least, was my story. I grew up in the church. My parents were and are life-long Methodists. I was baptized at the Sedalia church, which closed shortly thereafter, and we moved to the Rossville United Methodist Church, where we were in the building just about every time the doors were open. I was in Sunday School and worship every week, except for those two weeks in the summer when we went on vacation. My folks were very involved in the church, serving on a variety of committees and doing much more for the church and people in the community than I’m sure I was aware of. I gave my life to Jesus during a Vacation Bible School in fifth grade, and after that, I too became very interested in learning more about my faith and growing in it. And so it went, until I left for college where I got involved with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. Through that great ministry, I went to a missions conference called Urbana ’87. That year, the conference was focused on inner-city ministry, and during one of the talks, I felt God tugging at my heart. How could I respond? What could I do? How could I serve? So when we got back to campus, our group began to make plans for a spring break project working in inner-city Chicago, through InterVarsity’s Chicago Urban Project. And when we went that week, Cathy and I both felt a tugging on our hearts to do more. So, rather than looking for summer jobs that year, we signed up and raised money to be able to spend two months in the city working among those who had great need.

That summer changed me in so many ways, mostly in giving me a larger view of my faith. It could never again be all about “me and Jesus,” not when there was such a large world of need around me, and not when Jesus has called us to walk in his footsteps, the steps of a slave. It’s that same calling that led me to places like Claremore, Oklahoma to help build a church for Native Americans; to Lynchburg, Virginia to work on Habitat for Humanity houses; to Sun Valley, Arizona to work among the children at a Native American school; and to Red Bird Mission, where I saw and experienced a level of poverty I hadn’t seen up close anywhere else. Now, I’m not trying to build myself up in any way. I have very limited skills. Basically, when it comes to building or any sort of home repair or anything like that, I have to have someone tell me what to do and point me in the right direction. Only occasionally do they trust me with power tools, though I got pretty good with a sledge hammer on one trip! But my point is this: if Jesus can use someone as unskilled and uncoordinated as me in his service to others, he can use anyone, which is why his call goes out to all of us: whoever wants to be first must be a slave. That’s the example he set: Jesus came to serve, not to be served.

Getting stuck on those first three practices is not just a twenty-first century problem, however. In the first century, it was easy for Christians, to simply enjoy worship, get a good feeling and walk away without doing anything about what they heard. That is one of the issues James is addressing in his little letter that’s tucked near the back of the New Testament. James, we think, was most likely the half-brother of Jesus, one of those who didn’t believe Jesus was the savior at first. I mean, come on, you sat around the dinner table with him, you played baseball with him, you saw him when he was sick, you were in gym class with him, and then he grows up and claims to be the Son of God, the savior of the world? That would be a bit much to take in. But James at some point came around and in fact became the leader of the church at Jerusalem until his death. He writes this letter to the churches scattered “among the nations” (1:1). It was a “circular letter,” to be read in worship in many different gatherings, and so it addresses problems that are common in many different settings. In other words, this wasn’t just a problem in Ephesus or Corinth or Jerusalem or any one city—the problems he’s addressing are universal, and, it seems, for all time as well.

In the passage we read this evening/morning, James has two issues he’s talking about, but they are interconnected. Matters of the “tongue” begin and end this passage, and I think we’ll see why in a few moments. But in the middle of this passage is the church’s struggle with hearing versus doing. James puts it this way: “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says” (1:22). By “the word,” he’s referring to what was bring proclaimed in the worship gatherings, which in his day would have included the readings from the Old Testament as well as the message about Jesus (cf. Wright, The Early Christian Letters for Everyone, pg. 11); there was no New Testament in those days per se, but we understand that “the word” for us also includes that part of the Bible as well. But reading Scripture for those first-century believers was very important. They had come out of the synagogue tradition which had seven readings on a normal Sabbath, and in some places outside of Palestine there were more than seven (Osborne, “James,” Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, Vol. 18, pg. 41). Reading Scripture was central to their life together. But it was like they heard it, they listened to it, they maybe even complimented the rabbi on the way out, and then they went on about their lives. There was no response to the word. There was no action based on what they had heard. James says they were deceiving themselves. But, then, that’s what we have to do when we hear what we know is truth and we don’t to do anything about it. Let’s think about it in terms of our health. Every year, our insurance company pays for Cathy and I to have bloodwork done for a “wellness check,” and we get this several-page report back that says this and that about our health and then gives recommendations if we want to be in better health. And I read it, and I acknowledge that much of what it says is true. If I did what it says, I would probably be in better health overall. But then, I tell myself, you know, I feel fine. There’s nothing really wrong. And I rationalize myself out of doing anything. You do the same thing when the doctor tells you to cut out the sweets, to start exercising, to lose weight. We all do. And we do it in our spiritual life, too. We hear Jesus say to become a slave. We hear that. You’ve heard me say that over and over again. I’ve heard me say it over and over again. And then we rationalize it. Not right now. Maybe later. That’s not my gift. James calls that what it is: self-deception. We talk ourselves out of service because it’s uncomfortable. It might call us to push ourselves outside of our comfort zone, to take a risk, which is, of course, why this fourth practice is actually called risk-taking mission and service. For most of us, any sort of serious service, becoming a slave as Jesus says, responding to the word, is a risk. It pushes us beyond what we’re comfortable with.

Do not merely listen to the word, James says. Do it. Live it. Act on what you’ve heard. James says to not do so is like looking in a mirror in the morning, and then walking away without remembering what you saw. Mirrors in the first century were not what we think of today. They were polished metal—copper or bronze for most people, silver if you were wealthy—and so they showed a rather poor reflection. So failing to respond would be like someone getting up in the morning, seeing their messy hair, and walking out the door without doing anything. They fail to respond to what they know. “The word is the mirror of the soul,” James is saying, and the contrast is not between two people who don’t understand what they see in that soul-mirror. The “hearer” understands perfectly what the mirror shows. They have studied the Scriptures. They know what it says, and yet they don’t respond. The “doer” has also studied, and yet they refuse to talk themselves out of responding (cf. Osborne 43). As William Barclay wrote a generation ago, It is possible “to identify Church attendance and Bible reading with Christianity, but this is to take ourselves less than half the way; the really important thing is to turn that to which we have listened into action…What is heard in the holy place must be lived in the market place—or this is no point in hearing at all” (The Letters of James and Peter, pg. 59). Listen to James again: “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says” (2:22).

So what is it we’re supposed to do? James defines “pure religion” in verse 27: “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” When he writes this, James is really just summing up the teaching of all of Scripture, calling us to respond to what we hear in two ways. First, to “watch after” orphans and widows. We have to understand that, in the first century, orphans and widows were among the most vulnerable and impoverished of all people in society. Widows were left with no resources when their husband died. They had no male protector in a male-dominated society. They could not work. And even the inheritance went to the male children. If her paternal family was gone, she might literally have no one to care for her. Orphans were in the same category (Osborne 45). So who are the vulnerable today? Who are the “least of these” in our world? Pure and faultless religion is to “look after” them, which means caring for them, bringing them help and deliverance—watchful care (Osborne 45). Children in poverty, those who have no clean water, victims of abuse or the sex trade, elderly who are victimized by scam artists and even, sometimes, by their own family—we could go on and on, but James’ point is this: find those in need, find those who are vulnerable and care for them. He says that pure and undefiled religion isn’t about knowing the right theology or believing the right doctrines or knowing everything about the Bible. It’s not that those things are unimportant; it’s that they’re foundational, and they’re not where we’re meant to stop. Pure, full expression of our faith results in doing—caring for the least of these. Jesus said, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matthew 25:40).

Too often, today, Christians get worked up about the wrong things. Perhaps you heard the news story a couple of weeks ago about the pastor in Florida who managed to get the film “The Blind Side” pulled from the shelves of a Christian bookstore chain because there are a few instances of bad language in the movie. Never mind the fact that the “bad language” is in the midst of a scene about the horrible situation the young man, Michael Oher, was rescued from, never mind that the whole story is about a Christian family seeking to live out their faith and care for one of the least of these—no, it was more concerning to this pastor that someone might hear a bad word. And I don’t know that pastor, but I want to ask: wouldn’t it be more in line with Jesus to respond to that movie and even that scene by going out to serve someone like Michael Oher? Wouldn’t Jesus want us to worry more about the kids who are still stuck in situations where gangs might take over, where they have nothing, no food, no resources, no hope? James calls us to stop worrying about little things and, instead, engage in risk-taking mission and service—live out our faith. Don’t just hear the word. Listen and then go do it, James says. Care for those in need.

Now, the second piece of James’ guidance is this: “keep oneself from being polluted by the world” (1:27), and this takes us back to the image he uses to frame the whole section. James keeps coming back to the issue of the tongue, or what we say, how we use our words. In verse 26, he says, “Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless.” Wow, that’s pretty pointed, isn’t it? A lot of times, we use that to say we shouldn’t use those bad words, or to warn our kids against swearing or taking God’s name in vain, but James has something much larger in view here. Our words are the way we represent ourselves; it’s often the first or even the only thing someone else knows about us. Our tongue can either build others up or tear others down, and it often gets us in the most trouble. In fact, in the very first part of this passage, James writes, “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry” (1:19). Boy, do we have trouble with that in today’s world! We think, somehow, that by being angry and lashing out we can change someone else or change the world. How many of us have said something in anger and then later regretted it? Probably all of us! And now, we have these wonderful technological tools that allow us to do it instantly. We don’t have to weigh our words or even spell them right; we just get on Facebook or Twitter and lash out at whomever we want. We don’t have to look them in the eye, we don’t have to deal with our anger, we just spew anger and hate and meanness. I’m pretty sure that, if James were writing today, he’d have to include those venues along with the tongue, because the challenge of not being “polluted” by the world has to do with the things we say and the ways we react to others. Are we angry at the right things, the things that break God’s heart? Or do we just get angry when our feelings get hurt, when we don’t get our way, when it’s not all about me? Do we speak things that are not true? Do we do harm to others with our words or do we build them up? Later on in this letter, James will remind the church: “No human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be” (3:8-10). James says living out our faith has to do with what we do and with what we say, because in both instances we are representing Jesus to the world. In every situation, we are either hearers or doers. James calls us to be doers, who engage in risk-taking mission and service, seeking to change the world. Such action, one seminary professor said, is “love with legs” (qtd. in Schnase, Five Practices of Fruitful Living, pg. 106).

So where can you put “legs” to your love? Where can you be a doer of the word, engaging in risk-taking mission and service? There are nearly limitless opportunities, if we will open our eyes. In our own neighborhoods there are people who need a helping hand, a listening ear, a meal delivered, a kindness offered. The risk for us may be getting to know them well enough to put ourselves out there, to stop judging with our tongues and to start living our faith. You see, ultimately, “serving others does not merely involve helpful activities that make a difference; Christ-like service helps us become the persons God created us to be. It fulfills God’s hope and will for us” (Schnase 93). Beyond our own neighborhoods, there are many opportunities to step out and serve, far more than I could talk about here, so let me just mention a few that are of an immediate nature. Did you know that every Tuesday there are faithful folks who gather at the church to pray for you and for this community? Some of you have, undoubtedly, received cards from them as a reminder that you are being prayed for. Now, I hear some saying, “I don’t want to pray out loud.” Maybe that’s the risk God is asking you to take, to serve others by lifting them up to God in prayer. Be a doer of the word. Did you know there are women in this church who are making dresses out of pillowcases so that children in Haiti who have nothing might have a simple dress to wear? The risk for you might be giving up time on a Saturday to help, or learning a new skill, or risking looking like you don’t know what you’re doing. And yet that risk of embarrassment or whatever will make a world of difference for a child in need. Be a doer of the word. Did you know that in Appalachia there are as many as 56% of the population living in poverty? That compares to 15% poverty here in Porter County. Red Bird Mission has been there for decades trying to make a difference, to improve life, but it’s an uphill climb. Last year, the school nearly closed for lack of funds. So for the last four years, we’ve tried to make a difference by sending teams of people into that region to help improve the standard of living for a family or two. Chris Adkins is leading a team this fall—do you want to be a doer of the word, caring for widows and orphans, for the least of these? The risk for you might be going to a place and a situation where you’re not at all comfortable, where the traditions and even somewhat the language is different. Be a doer of the word. Last week, our children raised over $500 to give clean water to villages in Guatemala. Now, Keith Brutout has invited us to come along next year to see the difference our giving has made. Would you be interested in going to serve for a week in Guatemala? You see, the challenge is as we do the word, God steps it up. It becomes riskier, more challenging, which is why it’s easier for us just to hear and not do. But mere hearing is not our calling. Doing is.

I love the story from the late Richard Halverson, one-time chaplain of the United States Senate, but before that he had been a pastor at Fourth Presbyterian Church in Washington, D.C. Halverson once told about arriving in D.C. one night about dusk, and as they approached Reagan National Airport, Halverson looked out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of his church. But it was dark, and difficult to see, and despite pressing his face against the glass, he couldn’t see Fourth Presbyterian Church. He was able to make out a few things: the White House, the Potomac River and Georgetown, the distant Capitol dome, and as he saw each of those places, he thought of the folks who worked in each of them. He thought about how they were living out their faith in a sometimes difficult setting, and that’s when it hit him. “Of course!” he said. The passenger in the seat next to him gave him a strange look. “There is is!” he said. “Fourth Presbyterian Church.” What Halverson realized, again, that the church wasn’t a building. The church was spread all throughout Washington, thousands of points of light shining in the darkness (Colson & Vaughn, Being the Body, pgs. 307-308). The same is true of this church. All throughout Portage and Northwest Indiana and other places, there you are—Portage First, taking risks, serving others, being doers of the word. And God calls us to engage even deeper. Be people who regularly practice risk-taking mission and service. Be engaged in doing the word, in living out risk-taking mission and service. “Be people who do the word, not merely people who hear it and deceive themselves…Such a person is blessed in their doing” (Wright, The Kingdom New Testament, pg. 464). Let’s pray.