You might’ve seen the story in the Washington Post yesterday.
About Cardinal Theodore McCarrick, the former archbishop of Washington, and the allegations against him.
Cardinal McCarrick is yet another cause for shame in the Catholic Church’s clergy scandal.
Ever since November before last, opinion writers in the press have given evangelical Christians (or, at least a certain percentage of them) grief.
But it’s not really fair to single out conservative evangelicals as a cause for embarrassment because, as Christians, we already have ample reasons to be ashamed. As Christians,we already have plenty of reasons to be embarrassed over being Christian.
Christians, after all, are the ones responsible for the trite, saccharine Jesus-is-my-boyfriend pop odes to the Almighty all over the 91.1 airwaves.
Christians are the ones who revived Kirk Cameron’s post Growing Pains career with the straight-to-video Left Behind movies, and Christians are the ones who bailed Nick Cage out of his back taxes by watching his theatrical reboot of the same crappy film.
Speaking of Left Behind, did you know former disgraced televangelist Jim Baker is not only back on TV but he’s hawking 100lb flood buckets filled with freeze-dried food so that you can weather the apocalypse without cutting calories.
Nose around long enough and you’ll find a reason to be embarrassed about being a Christian.
Don’t believe me?
Go to the Barnes and Noble over by Springfield Mall after church today and look at the shelves underneath the sign labeled “Christian Literature.”
On cover after cover Joel Osteen’s pearly whites and vacant botoxed eyes pull you in, like the tractor beam on the Death Star, into becoming a better you and living your best life now.
And next to them, 63- I counted them this week- Amish romance novels. Amish romance novels. And no they weren’t 63 copies of the Harrison Ford-Kelly HotGillis film Witness. They were 63 different Amish romance novels with titles like Game of Love, Let Go and Let God, the Brave and the Shunned, and- my personal favorite, The Amish Mail Order Bride.
If anyone here likes to read Amish romance novels, I’m not judging you. Actually, that’s not true but my point is…we have plenty of reasons to be ashamed of being Christian.
From climate change deniers to thanking the Almighty for every touchdown and goal-line stop to the #Blessed license plate I saw on a Tesla yesterday to Red and Blue Jesuses in the social media scrum- we have plenty of reasons to be ashamed of being Christian.
Christians executed Galileo.
Christians excommunicated Graham Greene.
Christians excuse Franklin Graham.
The reason so many insist on protesting that Black Lives Matter is because Christians for centuries pimped out their bibles to join in the chorus of those who said they don’t.
We should be ashamed.
Christians have made bedfellows with colonizers and conquistadors. In whichever nation in whatever era Christians have found themselves they’ve never missed an opportunity to bless every power grab, baptize every war, perpetuate every prejudice.
We Christians have plenty of reasons to be ashamed.
Survey says we’re the ones who want to keep our neighbors in the closet, keep death row open for business, keep a wary eye on Muslims, and keep our communities closed to strangers.
Don’t even get me started on 19 Kids and Counting.
We have ample reasons to be ashamed.
But I digress.
So does Paul.
If you were paying attention to today’s passage, you may have noticed that the Apostle Paul loses his train of thought right here at the top of chapter 3: “This is the reason that I Paul am a prisoner for Christ Jesus for the sake of you Gentiles dash”
Check your bibles if you don’t believe me. The dash is really there.
Paul gets sidetracked at the start of his first sentence: This is the reason that I Paul am a prisoner for Christ Jesus for the sake of you Gentiles dash
And notice, that dash is 13 verses long.
The whole passage today is a parenthetical comment.
In Greek, it’s called an anacoluthon; meaning, it’s an interuppted sentence that consequently lacks a verb to complete it. Paul doesn’t finish his first sentence until he gets to verse 14. Paul doesn’t get around to putting a verb on verse 1 until he gets to next Sunday’s passage where he writes about bowing his knees in worship.
Next week, verse 14 begins a doxology, 7 verses of praise over the height and depth and breadth and length of the love of God revealed to us as for us in Jesus Christ. But that long doxology in the second half of Ephesians 3 is preceded by an even longer digression.
This is the reason that I Paul am a prisoner for Christ Jesus for the sake of you Gentiles dash…
And then St. Paul digresses for 13 verses about the grace of God and the mystery of Christ and how that grace for them has made him a prisoner.
And not only a prisoner, a doulos Paul calls himself- a word your bibles translate as servant.
It means slave.
The doxolgy to follow is preceded by a digression about how- why- Paul is a prisoner.
A digression which ends with his plea to them not to lose heart over his suffering.
Do not be ashamed of my suffering, Paul writes.
In other words, what provokes this long digression is what prompts his epistle to the Ephesians in the first place. Paul knows that, in a place like Ephesus, a ministry pockmarked by suffering and shame undermined his message of salvation.
As St. Luke reports in the Book of Acts, the Christians in Ephesus worshipped in the shadow of the temple of Artemis Ephesia. The temple of Artemis was one of the seven wonders of the world. At 70 x 130 meters square, it was 4 times larger than the Parthenon in Athens. It was made of marble, latticed with 127 columns. Outside in front of the temple was a horseshoe shaped altar with a statue of Artemis at its center where worshippers would offer sacrifices to petition Artemis to intercede on their behalf, to rescue them from whatever suffering had befallen them.
Artemis’ power was such that Ephesus was the one city in the Greco-Roman world without any imperial cult, without any statues or altars to the Emperor. You see, even Caesar showed deference to Artemis Ephesia. She was a god who delivered the goods.
And then here’s Paul, in prison- again, writing to a tiny church worshipping in the shadow of a god against whom not even Caesar will step.
Paul doesn’t appear to have been on the receiving end of any divine intercessions.
He’s no better off than a slave.
His God hasn’t delivered him from suffering- Artemis’ forte.
His God has delivered him into suffering.
And where Artemis was symbolized by raw, visceral power- those aren’t breasts on that statue, those are bull…nevermind, you can look it up when you get home- the Christ that Paul proclaimed had none, had been emptied of power.
The Christ that Paul proclaimed had only a cross.
It wasn’t just his ministry, pockmarked as it was by suffering and shame, that Paul had to double-back on, digress and explain.
It was his message.
It was his message of the cross.
Just -pas we have plenty of reasons to be embarrassed about being Christian, St. Paul assumed it was obvious why his hearers in Ephesus (and elsewhere) would be ashamed of the Gospel.
Paul digresses on his way to doxology because Paul knows that what is shameful and embarrassing about his Gospel of the crucified Jesus is the crucified Jesus.
I’m going to say that again in case I lost you in all my digressions:
What is shameful and embarrassing about the Gospel of the crucified Jesus is the crucified Jesus..
To Jews and to Romans alike, our testimony about the crucifixion was shameful.
Do not be ashamed of my suffering for the cross, Paul essentially says here in his letter to the Ephesians. Do not be ashamed of this shame, Paul says in his letter to Timothy. Do not be ashamed of the Gospel, Paul says in his letter to the Romans.
He has to say it again and again, in different ways and digressions, because to the Romans, crucifixion was shameful- so shameful that until Christianity converted the heart of the empire, nearly 300 years after Paul, the word “crux” was the Latin equivalent of the F-bomb.
Crucifixion was so degrading and dehumanizing- designed to be so- you weren’t permitted to speak of it, or use the word ‘cross’ even, in polite society.
But to the Jews, crucifixion was an altogether different sort of shame, for the Jews’ own scripture proscribed it as the ultimate degradation and abandonment. According to one of the commandments God gives to Moses on Sinai: “…Anyone convicted and hung on a tree is under God’s curse.”
That’s the commandment Paul wrestles with in his Letter to the Galatians. In the entire Torah, only the cross- being nailed to a tree- do the commandments specifically identify as being a godforsaken death.
Paul digresses here in Ephesians 3 over the words that mark his ministry, words like prisoner and slave and suffering, because of the one word at the heart of his message.
Paul must command his churches again and again not to be ashamed of our testimony about the Cross, not to be ashamed of his suffering for the message of the Cross, because that manner of death specifically marked Jesus out under God as accursed.
That’s why Christ’s disciples flee from him in the end.
It isn’t because they believe his mission ended in failure.
No, they flee from him because they believe his mission ended in godforsakenness.
They abandon Jesus because they believe God had abandoned him.
They flee not only Jesus but the curse they believe God had put on him.
To Jews and Romans alike, Paul’s Gospel about a crucified God was a tougher sell than Facebook stock. No one in Israel expected a crucified Messiah and nothing in Caesar’s empire prepared Romans to pledge allegiance to a man who had met a death so shameful they dare not speak of it.
Paul’s message and his ministry in service to it were scandalously and profanely counter-intuitive.
By any standards, Jewish or Roman, you would’ve had to be insane to worship a crucified man, much less suffer yourself for one.
Which- pay attention- I believe remains the strongest argument for the truth of the Gospel.
Sigmund Freud famously argued that human religion is constructed out of wish fulfillment.
Religion, Freud critiqued, is but the projection of humanity’s hopes and desires.
Religion is the product of our deep (and maybe insecure) longing for a loving Father Figure.
The human heart, Freud didn’t say but would concur with Calvin, is an idol factory. We need religion. We create religion because we need our wishes to come true.
My wife tells me Freud was wrong about penis envy, and I’ve only thought about my mother in Freud’s way a few times (just kidding), but, by and large, I think Freud was right.
I know the Apostle Paul would agree with him. Religion is man-made. We make God in our image, not vice versa, and then we project all our aspirations, assumptions, and prejudices on to him.
That’s why so often God sounds like an almighty version of ourselves.
That’s why so much of the “Christianity” out there in the ether shames and embarrasses us. The plastic pop songs and the Christian kitsch; the Self-Help and the Civil Religion and the Red and Blue hued Jesuses.
It’s all what Freud and Paul call ‘religion.’ It’s all just a means of helping us endure life and advance through it.
Plenty of other religions have stories about God taking human form. On those counts Christianity isn’t unique. It’s a religion like so many others.
And every religion has the Law.
Every religion tells you what you ought to do for God.
Every religon tells you what you must do for your neighbor. Every religion has the Golden Rule.
But only Christianity has as its focus the shameful suffering and degradation of God.
The Gospel, our testimony about the crucified Jesus, is not religious at all. It’s irreligious, Paul writes to the Corinthians.
It’s a disgrace.
It’s so shameful that Paul calls it a stumbling block for religious people. Freud was right about religion, but he didn’t understand that Paul’s Gospel is something else entirely.
It’s not religion at all.
No one would have projected their hopes on to an accursed crucified man.
Crucifixion is not the invention of wish fulfillment.
Maybe that’s the only real argument for the Gospel.
Maybe that’s the only real safeguard we have against our suspicions that it’s all so much embarrassing fantasy and nonsense.
Maybe that’s the only hope we have that we’re not deluding ourselves with our faith.
If you read my blog, then you already know that I spent my final day in my last congregation burying a boy the same age as my youngest son, Gabriel.
He was the fifth child I’d buried in that parish.
And his was the third five foot long coffin I’d buried because of suicide.
Peter, Jackson, Neil.
I wish I could forget their names.
Since I’m new here, you should know: I hate my job sometimes.
And since I’m new here, you should know too, just as often, I doubt the existence of the One from whom my vocation supposedly comes. To be honest, I don’t take seriously the atheism of anyone who has not thrown dirt on a child’s casket.
And you should know, I do respect the atheism of anyone who has.
The boy last month- his name was- is- Peter.
Peter had been fighting with his mom about doing his homework.
He was dyslexic and ADD and homework had always been hard.
Peter was fighting with his mom about doing his homework, the kind of fight I’ve had with my own kids a thousand times. The kind of fight, I’m sure, you’ve had with your kids.
Just go do your goddamned homework, Lisa had yelled at him.
Fuck you, Mom, Peter shouted back already climbing the stairs, I’m going to go and kill myself instead.
And, he did.
A panic rushed over his mom a few moments later. She screamed at her oldest daughter to check on him, but it was littlest sister who found him and, too late, tried to untie his belt.
Maybe he meant to do it.
Maybe it was an impulsive way from an impulsive kid to win an argument.
Maybe he was standing on the chair waiting for his mom to rush in through the door and he just lost his balance.
His mom, Lisa, was stoic when I met with her, as strong and self-possessed as a statue, until she told me how she used to write letters to Peter whenever he was about to go on a trip. She’d write it and then hide it in his bag for him to discover later.
Her Artemis-like artifice fell apart in front of me as she sobbed: “Now he’s gone on a trip to God and he’s never coming back AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WRITE TO HIM!”
Watching her powerful facade crack in my lap, I felt righteously PO’d.
Your heart would have to be made of stone to hear a mother’s spleen-deep sobs and not feel furious.
Feel foolish for believing in the first place.
It’s the nature of ministry that the doing of it thrusts upon you plenty of moments where you feel like a fool for your faith and you consider quitting not just your job, though that, but quitting this whole Christian thing too.
And I don’t know how to say this with the force with which I feel it (maybe that’s why Paul digresses so often and for so long) but every time- those moments where I despair that Freud’s right and we’re all just deluding ourselves; those days where I feel the faith is as unconvincing as Paul preaching in the shadow of the Temple of Artemis- it’s the shame of the cross that saves me from unbelief.
The disgrace of our Gospel saves me from my unbelief.
The disgrace of our Gospel, that which prods Paul to digress before his doxology, it’s my hedge against unbelief.
The shame of the Cross, the embarassment that prompts Paul’s digression, at the end of the day I am persuaded it’s the only thing that makes doxology- praise, possible.
Flip the channels, thumb through your paper, scroll down your Facebook feed; fact is, you have plenty of reasons to be embarrassed and ashamed about being Christian. We’ve got hucksters like Joel Osteen and Jim Baker. We’ve got hypocrites like Cardinal McCarrick and Franklin Graham.
The truth of the matter is- we’ve got plenty of reasons to doubt and think Freud was right that it’s all so much fantasy.
But in the amazing dis-grace that is the cross we have one reason to believe.
And I believe that one reason is the only reason you require to believe.
Look, you know as well as I do that there’s more people not here this morning than are here. Don’t lie and tell me you’ve never wondered if maybe they’re all right and we’re wrong.
So, here it is, just so you know we’re not all deluding ourselves:
The shame of the cross is such that no one- no one, certainly not a Pharisee like Paul; certainly not a Roman citizen like Paul- would’ve projected their religious wishes upon a crucified Jesus.
And, #2 –
The Judaism to which Jesus belonged did not have as a central part of its beliefs any hope in the resurrection from the dead.
Take those two together and I am convinced that we never would’ve heard of Jesus Christ crucified for our sin and raised from the dead for our justification unless it really happened.
The Sunday before last when I preached I told you that I believe here in the Church the main thing needs always to be the main thing. The Gospel of Jesus Christ, crucified for your sin and raised for your justification, can never be assumed, I said. It needs always to be our main message and it must always be at the heart of our every ministry.
And I said it for a reason.
Maybe this is a lowkey note with which to end, but if it’s enough to warrant Paul’s long digression then it’s worth me putting it plain today. We can save the doxologies for another day.
Here it is:
I don’t believe the Gospel is a guarrantee to make your life happier.
I don’t believe the Gospel is necessarily helpful- either for you or our society.
But I do believe it’s true.
I do believe it’s true.