September 8, 2024

“The Law of Liberty”

A very curious phrase appeared in last week’s scripture reading from the book of James.  It was in verse 25: “But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act – they will be blessed in their doing.”  It’s that phrase, “the law of liberty” that caught my attention when it showed up again in this week’s reading.  James writes, “So speak and so act as those who are to be judged by the law of liberty.”  I love the turn of words; I’m not entirely sure why.  I guess it’s because I love the word liberty, and, stuck together with the word law, it sounds almost like an oxymoron.  What in the world could this “law of liberty” be?

James starts out by talking a lot about transgressing [I don’t like that word as much as the word liberty].  He offers a little snapshot of one of our familiar transgressions, welcoming the rich, nicely dressed, influential person with great falderal, and ignoring the poor, dirty stranger with shabby clothes.  Then he says, “. . . if you show partiality, you commit sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors.”

Now, I have to admit, I’m not fond of reading from scripture about “committing sin” and being “convicted as a transgressor.”  I have a feeling there are others who share my discomfort.  From time to time I hear someone say, “I don’t like those prayers of confession in worship.  I don’t like to wallow around in guilt.  When I come to church I want to be uplifted, not put down.”  Believe me, I sympathize.  It makes me a little uncomfortable too.  I’ve got guilt stuff running around in the back of my head from all the way back in Sunday school, and it’s one of the things that turned me off about church when I was a teenager.  After all, I knew I was going to be judged worst of all, and probably go straight to hell because I used to sit up in the balcony of the sanctuary playing poker with my friends during worship (you know, holding the cards down real low so the preacher – who happened to be my father – wouldn’t see).

But you have to admit, there’s a lot said right there in the Bible about sin, and a lot about confessing sins and seeking forgiveness.  Jesus certainly spent a lot of time talking about it, and he gave us a pattern of prayer to use that began, “Our father, which art in heaven,” and led to “forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.”  So, you can argue that it doesn’t feel good to admit you’re a “transgressor,” but you can’t argue with Jesus.

And after all, James does have a good point in this passage when he talks about our sin of favoritism.  It does seem to be in our nature to play favorites.  When “a person,” as James says, “with gold rings and in fine clothes” walks in, and “a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in,” don’t we tend to take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, “Have a seat here, please”?  The exasperating thing James has to say about this is that he lumps it right in there with adultery and murder.  Now, it seems to me that showing a little partiality is a thoroughly human thing to do.  And it doesn’t seem to be as serious an offense as murder, for crying out loud.  And our hearts were all broken and even filled with rage to hear about the shooting rampage of a 14 year-old boy at a high school in Georgia, and how he got access to his weapon.  At least if I were in charge of the universe, that sort of thing would be pretty far from showing a little partiality on the damnation scale.  If anybody were going to be sent to “H, E, double hockey sticks,” I’d think it would be the murderers.  Those of us who just forget ourselves every now and then and show a little extra courtesy to the one who butters our bread can surely be understood and won’t lose our assigned seating on the bus to the pearly gates.  But James has got this bug in his bonnet about being “transgressors.”  And he says that “whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become accountable for all of it.”  In other words, I guess he’s saying, if you’re trying to be good and not do any bad things, then if you show partiality to someone, you’re just as bad off as the murderer.  Now does that seem fair to you?

After all, Jesus himself showed partiality in a big way.  In this remarkable story we heard from the gospel of Mark, Jesus is confronted by a Gentile, a woman who is described as Syrophoenician.  I find that interesting because it means she was a Syrian from the Phoenician coast.  The place she lived – in the vicinity of Tyre – is now in Lebanon, but was then part of Syria.  That area was densely populated and quite wealthy at the time.  So it was what we might refer to as a geopolitically prominent region.  We might be likely to offer her one of the best seats in the house if she came to visit in her fine clothes and rings.  And these days, our hearts especially go out to Syrian citizens, so we’re likely to side with her on a number of counts.  But Jesus apparently had a problem with her.  She was a Gentile.  She asked him to heal her daughter.  And his reply? “Let the children [that is, the Jews] be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs [that is, the Gentiles].”  Essentially, he called her a dog.  This Syrian woman from a wealthy, influential region, he called a dog; his ministry was for the Jews.  Now I ask you, is that not showing partiality?

Here’s the kicker: this woman who had every right to be incensed, who might easily have spit in his face, or at least wheeled around and left in a huff, said, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”  That’s a woman of substance and grace.  And Jesus knew it.  He told her, because she said that, her daughter was healed.  Something tells me that Jesus was so tuned in – so capable of reading a person’s character in an instant – that he knew how she would respond.  Something tells me he set the whole thing up to make a point and to demonstrate something to those around listening in.  Something tells me it had everything to do with the law of liberty.

After all the admonitions about transgressing and showing partiality, James tells us to “So speak and so act as those who are to be judged by the law of liberty.”  And the “law of liberty” sounds like something different than the regular old law about not playing poker in the balcony.  Indeed it is.  James says, “For judgment will be without mercy to anyone who has shown no mercy. . .”  It seems this harshest of verdicts is reserved only for one kind of sinner, the one who shows no mercy himself.  Maybe the murderers and people who show partiality aren’t necessarily going to hell after all.  Maybe there’s some real grace in being held equal with the murderers.  Maybe I am just as guilty for showing partiality (or playing poker in the balcony) as the guy doing twenty to life for first degree homicide.  And maybe that truth is actually liberating; because maybe it breaks down the barrier between me and him.  Maybe in the eyes of the Almighty he and I can’t be separated from each other by judgment, because we’re both guilty as charged, and both share the free grace of Divine mercy.  If that’s the case, then whether he’s behind the bars, or I’m strolling around free as the breeze paying lots of attention to the person with rings and fine clothes, we’re still brothers, bound together by mercy.  Maybe Jesus knew that.  In his day a Jew and a Gentile were separated in the eyes of the faithful by a judgment as severe as that of the Taliban.  And Maybe Jesus was making the point that a Gentile woman could hold her own in a contest of wit and grace with a learned Rabbi, and was equally deserving of mercy.  Maybe he was making the point that Jews and Gentiles, faithful followers and blatant transgressors were bound together by a judgment of mercy.  And that’s no meager bond.  Maybe that’s what it means to be “judged by the law of liberty.”  Maybe the law of liberty is the law of mercy.

The law of liberty is this: mercy trumps judgment.  That’s what James is saying.  Sometimes we play the judgment card, and say “you evildoer, you’ll have to answer for that!” or “I know I’m no good; I’ll never forgive myself.”   But, by the spirit of grace, we also can play the mercy card.  Every so often a little break in the clouds of our hearts opens up and we find ourselves capable of saying something like, “I know you hurt me bad, but I can’t just quit loving you,” or “If I can be forgiven, knowing what I’ve done, then maybe I can forgive myself.”  The point is that when someone plays the judgment card, and someone else plays the mercy card, mercy wins.  That’s what I like about faith.  Mercy trumps judgment.

We’re beginning a whole new program year here at the Memorial Congregational Church.  And I’d like to start us off on a keynote: if we are to stand for something in this world, if we are to be known for something in the community, if we are to speak a word to those who come looking for a little light on their path, then let it be this: Let us set judgment aside, and let this be known as a place where mercy is proclaimed, and mercy is given.  Let us be those who affirm and hold ourselves accountable to the law of liberty.