One Thing Goes With the
Other The Rev. Fred G. Garry - February 4, 2001
Texts: Isaiah 6 and I Corinthians 15 It is more blessed to give than to
receive. It is more blessed to give, than it is receive, and
it is easier too. Near the end of the movie Terms of Endearment
the retired astronaut turns to his neighbor and refuses her
graciousness. "I don't want any of that. You'll be nice,
and then I will have to be nice and humble like and say 'thank
you.' Let's just skip all of that." Although a simple I
exchange it points to a pervasive truth, most of us, if push
came to shove, would much rather give than receive.
The first intern I worked with in Ohio,
her name was Amy. Amy had a horrible time with this. Each time
she preached or did something in worship, people would compliment
her in the receiving line. They would say such outlandish things
as, "I enjoyed your sermon," or "what you said
touched me," and so on. But Amy would just panic when this
happened. Out of her mouth would come the most twisted nonsense
I have had the privilege of hearing. What she would try to say
to each compliment was that, any an good or graciousness experienced
from deeds wherein she was the main actor should be referred
to God, all benefits and sense of freedom should be attributed
to the Holy Spirit and not to her.
Amy was never able to communicate this
point from start to finish in the reception line, but she tried.
She tried and tried again. Finally I took the bold step of making
a suggestion. "The next time we are in a reception line,
and someone says they enjoyed something you said or did, say,
'thank you."' A look of horror flashed across her face as
if to say, how could such blasphemy even be thought. And then
she tried the twisted nonsense of her reception line speech on
me, until I offered her this challenge. "Am you willing
to accept criticism?" I asked. "Yes, of course. You
can criticize me."
"If You are willing to accept criticism
you have to be willing to accept praise as well. One thing leads
to the other."
I count it as a great accomplishment
that by the time Amy left her internship she was able to say
thank you when praised. I count it as great because it was a
real challenge for her. In fact it uncovered a deep challenge
she needed to face, The ability to accept praise was a deep challenge
she needed to face to be an effective minister, but more importantly,
to be an effective human being. For in various and sundry ways
this challenge is rather pervasive and common, something we all
face from time to time. I have to raise my hand here and say,
jut this week someone was offering me a very nice gift of praise,
and without blinking, I was speaking like Amy did so many times
in the reception line. When what I needed to say was, thank you.
But alas, I failed.
Praise can be hard to accept, why I am
not quite sure. Some could call it a fear of looking proud, or
a desire not accept credit for some else's work. Amazingly I
find many people who are willing to take the blame for others,
more than I find people who are willing to accept the credit
for an accomplishment. And perhaps to a certain degree this is
good, as Jesus said, don't let your right know the good your
left is doing. Let your mercy be so natural it becomes an instinct.
So perhaps accepting credit, once we have achieved this sense
of good purpose is hard because it brings to the surface something
we keep deep inside. That might be it in some cases, but I am
not convinced that this is the case in most situations of acceptance.
Acceptance goes deeper than just credit
or praise. It is more blessed to give than to receive, and remember
its easier. It's easier to give help than to receive it; most
of us would rather give our time, our energy, and our resource
to others, than to receive this from some one.
My favorite instance of this is when
people come to the house and you offer them something to drink.
I have seen people, hot, sweaty, and in real need of just plain
water to rehydrate them, say oh no thanks. And I know why, they
don't want to accept the offer for fear they would impose. When
all along what would thrill the heart would be for them to say,
yes that sounds great. Some of the greatest meals of my life
have been where friends stopped by and stayed for dinner. The
greatness of the meals was based I believed in the joy of being
able to give to others unexpectedly.
In truth though these meals are not the
norm. I can remember being amazed as a young boy at the way people
came each day and stayed with my grandmother. How they would
come to her tiny apartment in the late afternoon and stay and
talk with her, join us for dinner, and leave late in the evening.
What was amazing was to see people without the fear of imposing,
without the fear of accepting, of being accepted.
The clearest image of this for me comes
from the life of John Calvin. Calvin was the reformer of Geneva
whose writings, commentaries, and sermons form the foundation
of our tradition. Around the halls of Princeton there are many
famous portraits of Calvin hung in important places. All austere
and severe. Yet the image I have of Calvin is twofold. The first
was his reluctance to be a pastor. He was not trained to be such,
always had great doubts about being one, and had moments of success
and failure to keep his mind ever wondering. The second image
though was his reluctance to take a wife.
Every significant event in Calvin's fife
was marked by reluctance, a kind of caution and trepidation his
writing completely lacks. Calvin was a much more confident writer
than he was a person, and certainly, pastor. But no more clearly
was this the place than in relation to marriage. He didn't want
to get married, was afraid of marriage, thought it would be disastrous
and resisted the demands of the other reformers to take a wife.
But they pressed him until he relented, as it was important for
the cause that all the pastors be married so not to tacitly support
celibate priesthood or rumors of impropriety.
Calvin's capitulation though came with
a list. If he were to take a wife she would have to be of a certain
kind with certain skills and someone beside him would have to
find her. The list contained such things as not too pretty, chaste,
sensible, economical, patient, and would look after his health.
To this end he agreed to endure a wife. Well as fate would have
it, they found her and brought Idelette de Bure to Geneva. And
good to his word Calvin married her. And then, much to his surprise,
he fell deeply in love with her.
The very few comments we have about Calvin's
personal life and emotional struggles are nearly all in regard
to Idelette, and most poignantly, his feelings of grief when
she died. They were together only ten years, but for the next
twenty he would mourn her. The comments are often buried in his
writings and they are subtle, sometimes hidden so well only a
very trained eye can see them. His Psalm Commentary written
shortly after her death is riddled with prayers of anguish and
longing, mostly I believe, for Idelete. Yet in a moment of great
exposure and revelation he wrote, "Truly mine is no common
grief. I have been bereaved of the best friend of my life, of
one who, if it had been so ordained, would willingly have shared
not only my poverty but also my death."
I can never hear these words and not
remember the list (not too pretty, patient, chaste). The grief
Calvin faced is such a stark contradiction of his reluctance,
the sense of not wanting to be bothered, and I would argue not
wanting to risk acceptance, and all that goes with it. It was
never his intent to have such a love, to know Idelette, to be
loved by her. He was content he argued being a bachelor.
Calvin falling in love with Idelette
always reminds me of the fear that keeps us so often from accepting
what is good in life that causes us to say, thanks, but no thanks.
Calvin devoted his entire life giving his effort, his sweat and
blood, his very self, so others could accept what was good in
life, so they could be freed from fear and walk in joy, in hope.
Yet when it came down to it, he wrote a list, as if to say, if
I must, I must. "Mine is no common grief. I have been bereaved
of the best friend of my life."
So often it seems the Holy Spirit has
to work in spite of us, while trying to make a way for us. Thank
God our Father is patient, for we are the most exasperating of
all creatures, most exasperating, yet also most coveted. This
was Paul's message. The message Paul receive was very simple:
In Jesus Christ God has chosen to love us, and this love is not
temporary, this is a love that conquers death, that continues,
an eternal choice to love us was made in offering his Son to
us. This was the simple message Paul received. No conditions,
bar acceptance. For love is never forced, never imposed, it is
offered and made valid in reception.
Paul called the church to this simple
condition again and again, saying, hold fast to the faith you
have received, remember the good news: while we were yet sinners,
Christ died for us, rose for us, and reigns in power for us.
We win be freed from sin and death, if only we believe. This
is the gospel he received and offered, and so it is the same
gospel we receive and offer today. This was the gospel Paul offered,
and this was the gospel Paul struggled to accept. As we can see
in our passage today, from the moment of his conversion, until
his imprisonment, Paul struggle to truly accept, to accept the
love of God without the reluctance guilt can bring, without the
seemingly innate reservation we seem to have when offered good
things. Just as we struggle with praise, or with love, so Paul
struggled to truly accept the freedom he offered to others. Throughout
his ministry Paul would offer his own list, his list of shame:
last of all to one untimely born he appeared to me. I am the
least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because
I persecuted the church. But by the grace of God I am what I
am.
With this list of shame Paul would ever
be ready to accept criticism and ever reject the praise. While
some, can indubitably find humility in this list, there is something
more, and something only in the end of his life would he let
go of. The something more is that lingering sense of shame, the
deep sense of not being worthy. Only in the end would be accept,
I believe, the strange truth, that Gods choice of low is not
aimless and blind, it is not foolish or capricious. The love
of God looks deep into the heart and says, there is my child.
And in the end, to truly believe, we must be willing to hem these
words and be set free.
Amazingly Paul was willing, just as we
to help others hear this voice, while never being truly willing
to believe it himself. Most of us here fall into this trap again
and again, offering what we are unwilling to truly receive. We
would spend a lifetime helping others so to avoid the moment
when we would be called to receive. The amazing challenge of
the Gospel is not believing God would come to us, or that God
would love the world; the amazing challenge is that we would
believe it ourselves, hearing the words, you are my child, the
one I love. These are words that are difficult to accept. It
is strange but true: there is nothing more difficult to accept
than our acceptance. Amen.
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