Preached on September 12, 2010 at First Congregational Church of Tallmadge, UCC.
1 Timothy 1:12-17
Picture yourself waiting at an airport, surrounded by strangers. You arrived early in case of delays, but the security line was short and now you have to wait until they call for boarding. You can see out the window that the airplane hasn’t even arrived yet. You’re going to be waiting awhile, so you’re kind of stuck when one of those strangers sitting nearby turns and asks you “what comes into your mind if I tell you that I am a Christian?”
As an experiment, the Christian journalist Phillip Yancey asked this question at airports, and the responses he got were overwhelmingly that people thought he would be judgmental and bigoted, and the next thing he would probably say is that they are going to hell unless they believe like he does (What's So Amazing About Grace?)
I would probably have said the same thing – but not because I think that about Christians in general. I only think that about the kind who accost me in public and want to tell me all about God.
A friend of mine is a minister who used to serve a church in a small town. He knew most of the other ministers (because it was a small town), and there was one in particular who saw it as a part of his calling to talk to everyone he met about God, and to offer them God’s salvation. Both ministers used to work out at the local Y, and my friend noticed that when this other minister was in the locker room, that area would kind of clear out. They saw him coming, and no one wanted to get trapped in a conversation that wasn’t about business or baseball.
This guy tried to save the other ministers because he worried about the heresy of their beliefs. One day he stopped my friend on the jogging track and began to talk to him about his Christian beliefs, and my friend said “I am a Christian, and right now I’m jogging. Bye.” That’s a line you can use.
Too many of us have heard too much of religious talk that comes across as pushy, boastful, self-centered, and offensive. We hear it on television, from strangers, neighbors, and sometimes from our friends and relatives. And so we react against it by going to the other extreme. Better not to talk about it at all. Or maybe it’s that we don’t know how to put our faith into words because we don’t have it all figured out, and we worry that we will say the wrong thing. Either way, we prefer to let our actions speak for themselves. It’s both easier, in the sense of being less vulnerable, and less offensive, in the sense that we won’t be forcing our beliefs on anyone else.
Instead, our message will be in the way we treat people. We like what St Francis of Assisi said about preach the gospel always, and if necessary, use words. That is how I understand Christianity: it is a way of living that invites people to know God through acts of love, not by the power of argument or persuasion.
So it kind of bothers me to open the Bible and read Paul’s words about what a big sinner he was – “the worst of sinners” - and how he received grace when Jesus Christ called him, was patient with him, and made him a new person. I would rather he not make such a big deal about himself. My first reaction is that Paul reminds me of someone who traps me in a corner and says “I want to tell you what God is doing in my life.” It seems more than a little manipulative.
And yet, that’s not really what Paul is doing.
Paul is not cornering strangers here. When we read this letter, we are listening in on a very intimate conversation from a long time ago, between two people who knew each other very well. Timothy knew Paul’s character, and he already knew Paul’s history. We’re listening in on a conversation between two people who are very close, and I almost think that Paul is whispering, as he tells his story of grace. This isn’t a story about Paul, it’s a story about grace. It’s a story told to Timothy as he faces a community full of competing ideas about what is true and what is important. Paul writes as someone who has been through it to someone who is in the midst of it: “remember that God’s grace is at the center of this faith.”
I have been on the Timothy side of these conversations with some of you. In quiet places, you have told me the stories of grace from your lives, and those stories are a gift to me. You do not tell them in order to call attention to yourselves, and even when these stories are of dramatic, life-changing moments, you are not boastful. You would never get on Oprah’s couch and tell these stories. But in a quiet voice, without agenda or judgment, you share them with me; you share them with friends, with your children, with your neighbors and co-workers.
I do believe that actions speak louder than words, and I believe that we say the most about God’s grace when we show it in our lives, rather than saying it with our lips. But with people who know us, there is also the right time and place for us to say a word or two.
Tell them that the reason you took food to a neighbor when her mother died is that the surest evidence for God that you have ever known was when you were in pain and people you barely knew gave you the support you needed. They held a light for you as you walked though the darkness, and you remember how it made such a difference.
If people in the office collect donations for flood relief in New Orleans, or Pakistan, say that we’ve been praying for these places when you add your $10 to the hat. Say that this is a church without boundaries, and you know this because they accepted you when you thought that you were unlovable. When you had given up on yourself, grace broke through.
If someone asks you about the Florida minister in the news who planned and then cancelled a burning of the Koran, then tell them that you see God in acts of giving rather than acts of antagonism. Tell them that you attend a church that cares for people of any religion, or none at all, and that on the anniversary of the terrorist attacks, your church was gathered in a memorial service to care for a family, while volunteers were helping at a mobile foodbank to give food to people who needed a bit of help.
If you have children, let them know that worship is important to you: “worship is where I get the strength for the difficult things in life.” Let them know that your family gives money to the church: take turns placing the offering envelope in the plate. Tell them what you are thankful for when you sit down for dinner.
Most of us are not called like Paul to travel the world and spread the gospel, but a plate of food for a neighbor, a contribution to flood relief, giving away groceries: these are all stories of God’s grace at work in our lives. Why not say so, in the right place and the right time?
I heard the story of a group of missionaries who wanted to begin work in a new country. They got clearance from the government, made all the arrangements to move their homes and equipment, and then they were told “just one more thing. Christianity is not recognized here. You cannot speak about your faith.” They said, “well, that’s fine,” and they set up medical care, and helped to dig new wells for clean water, and provided education. And eventually, some of the townspeople came to them in private and asked them “why did you come here? Why are you doing these things?” And, very quietly, the missionaries said “because of a man named Jesus Christ, who is the son of God. Jesus Christ is why we are here.” We tell our stories in a whisper.
To tell a story of grace is simply to put into words what is true for you. And if it is true for you, then it’s worth telling people about. To tell a story of grace is not to try to change someone, but to trust them with your story with no strings attached.
These stories are not really about us. These stories are about God. Paul didn’t write all those letters so that he would become the hero of the New Testament. He didn’t think that there would be a New Testament! He wrote them because he had experienced God’s grace in his life, and he wanted that grace to be at the center of the life of his friend Timothy, and of the life of Timothy’s church.
To tell my own story of grace I must go back to my teen years, when I was much more quiet and reserved than you know me now – and I know that’s really saying something. I was very unsure of myself, worried about not fitting in, worried about being judged by others as somehow not measuring up. Mostly, I kept myself in the background, and tried to observe life around me; I held my own gifts back. I suppose this is not so uncommon for adolescents. Many young people live with great sensitivity to being judged.
It seemed that the only place outside of my home where I felt free to be myself was in the family of the church. Here I met people who carried themselves with confidence, and they certainly were not cool enough to earn such confidence in the way of the world. How could these regular, un-cool people be so confident? I discovered that they were confident because they experienced God’s unconditional love; God’s grace. They could never lose it, so they could risk giving themselves in grace to others, including me. Through them, God’s grace changed my life.
Grace continues to change my life, and the changes tend to be gradual. As I grow in God, I let go of those inner worries that damage my soul. I focus less on how other people treat me, and more on how I want to treat other people with compassion. As I learn to live move fully in grace, my life becomes more whole, more joyful, and more secure.
Our time of worship will close with a hymn, "Amazing Grace," which was written by a man who once worked on a ship to transport slaves. John Newton’s change came gradually. It was some years between his conversion to Christianity and his decision to quit the slave trade, and some more years before he entered Christian ministry. But along the way there were certain, crystallizing moments. In this hymn, Newton describes his encounter with the grace of God, and says that the change in his life was so great, it was as if he had been blind, and now he sees.
