St. Thomas Evangelical Lutheran Church
3800 East Third Street
Bloomington, Indiana 47401
(812) 332-5252
Sermon for The Seventh Sunday of Easter (May 28, 2006)
Liturgical Color: White
Reverend Dr. Lyle E. McKee
"Weird Holiness/Holy Weirdness"
Grace to you and peace from our loving God, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, in the renewing power of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world. And for their sakes I sanctify myself, so that they also may be sanctified in truth. (vv. 16-19)
Every now and then I think about buying a motorcycle. It occurred to me this week when I heard that our governor would be riding his in the Indy 500 parade. Now, don't worry, I very seriously doubt that I would actually do it, but I enjoy thinking about it and have for a long time. Ever since I read "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" in college. Robert Persig tells a story that is filled with philosophical and aesthetic romanticism. He makes being on the road with your Harley as your only companion sound exceedingly attractive.
Part of the romance, though, is the hype that has been foisted upon us by Harley Davidson. That particular brand of motorcycle was not always so successful, I understand. Although Harleys were the cycle of choice for rebels and outlaw bikers, the company chose to distance itself from this antiestablishment image. But later, as Japanese imports flooded the market, Harley Davidson stumbled, close to bankruptcy. It was well into the 1980s before the company leadership embraced the hard-core biker group that was showing incredibly faithful brand loyalty. To ward off the invasion of the Japanese crotch rockets, Harley made a final, desperate bid for survival by focusing on its legendary connection with rebelliousness, sheer vitality and off-the-wall lust for the elemental life.
The strategy worked. Harley saved itself by embracing its outlaw image. Hog riders and cycle lovers want to see themselves as being part of another world. No matter the role they play 9-to-5 as lawyers, accountants, business leaders, or pastors, they feel unashamed and unabashed as they strap on their leathers and rumble off on their "Milwaukee monsters" to Sturgis, South Dakota. (reference to H-D from Homiletics, Vol. 12, #3, p. 42). Those rallies in the Black Hills draw crowds of about a quarter million people.
There's a message for us here, whether we're bike buffs or not. Jesus, in his great prayer in John 17, hopes his disciples will be willing to be of another world, to strap on the leathers of a counter-cultural spiritual life. Herein lies the problem. Although we are called to a radical Christianity, too many of us are practicing a bland Churchiness (a nice twist on the "truthiness" that plagues us these days—the Word of the Year for 2005, so named by the American Dialect Society, and used often by Stephen Colbert). Churchiness, like truthiness, loses sight of its original purpose and meaning. We've become a gaggle of weekend riders rather than the gang of road warriors Jesus refers to in the prayer of our text. Our primary identity is an outlaw identity—a weird identity, set apart—that is outside the law and inside God's grace.
The challenge is always to remember who we are and whose we are: citizens of another world, a weird breed apart. One of the presenters for our "Living the Questions" DVD session this week spoke of Christians as weeds in the garden—an unwanted presence or a tendency to be where some might think we ought not to be. Certainly such was the case for Jesus, associating as he did with those considered beneath the dignity of proper society.
But that's part of the rebellious fun of being a Christian for me. Commercials regularly appeal to our desire to live beyond "the rules." And Christian faith calls us to allegiance that falls primarily to our Lord, not to legalism. We get to live, in a sense, outside the law of human expectation and commandment, and inside the grace of God. Harley Davidson got it right when it discovered that hog riders are tapped into another reality, one that fills them with joy as they slip on their jackets and rumble off to Sturgis. We, too, are part of another world: the counter-cultural, convention-confounding reign of God. Not to mention rowdier, and a whole lot more joyful. As the study we did on Tuesdays calls it—a kingdom without walls.
When Jesus prays to the Father that we be sanctified in the truth, he is asking that we be set apart as different, as weird, as holy.
"You're weird," a young man said as he approached me. "You don't seem like a pastor at all."
I didn't get angry. In fact, I like it that folks are surprised by what I do. I smiled and said, "Thank you!"
"You're even weirder than I thought!" was the reply.
But, then, "being weird" is, in fact, similar to "being sanctified".
Sanctified is the verbal form of holy. Holy things or people are those that are separated from normal use for special, religious use. A holy bowl or chalice might look just like normal vessels, but it is separated from normal use for special uses related to the worship of God. A holy person looks just like a normal person, but he or she is separated from "normal" people for special, religious activities. Holy things and people are the same as normal things and people, but also different from the norm. "Different from the norm" sounds like a definition of "weird" to me.
Weird people don't always fit in. Jesus indicates that we do not belong to the world—we are not to be like the people of the world. We are to be different. The people of the world will hate us. Why?
It is not because of our superior moral lives. That is not the primary meaning of "sanctified", and it was with the morally superior people (Pharisees) that Jesus had the most trouble, especially as he, claiming to be God, established relationships with the morally inferior people (sinners) in the first century.
Holiness comes about through the relationship the Holy God establishes with us. Those who receive holiness as a gift are at odds with those who work hard to make themselves holy. But in terms of our sanctification (or holy weirdness), it is God who is the actor.
Jesus prays that God would sanctify us. It is not something we do for ourselves. It comes from God. However, God's means of sanctifying us is through the Word-or more specifically, the truth from the Word. (We all know that the Word has been used to support Untruths.) In simplest terms, I would say that the truth of the Word is that we are forgiven sinners, which implies two differences between us and the people of the world.
First, we recognize and admit our sinfulness. We don't have to cover up or rationalize our mistakes. We know that we are not gods. We don't have to pretend to be more perfect or right than we are.
Second, we recognize and accept the fact that God has forgiven all our sins. We don't have to wallow in our mistakes. We live in the freedom of forgiveness. Out of that freedom, we can respond with praise and love towards God, and with love and forgiveness towards other people. We have the freedom to be weird-different from people of the world-and to invite them to share in the weirdness that God gives.
Of course, there are right ways to be weird. Buying a motorcycle was a fairly flippant way to introduce the topic, and it certainly doesn't qualify. Still, it's important to recognize that what some people consider to be weird can, from a Christian perspective, be a good thing. There are times when being called weird is a compliment.
The truth declares that God has crowned every human being with glory and honor-not just you and your friends, but everyone. If God has crowned you with glory and honor, how can you belittle yourself? You're important to God.
If God has crowned the person next to you or across the room or across town with glory and honor, how can you belittle them? They are also important to God. We treat ourselves and others with respect and care and love-because we know that that's the way God treats us and others. If people call you weird because of that, it's a compliment. You are being sanctified by the truth. You are expressing a holy weirdness.
Being called "weird" is a compliment if it's because you won't go to parties where alcohol is served (for the youth) or abused (for adults). Being called "weird" is a compliment if it's because you won't use illegal drugs or abuse legal drugs. Being called "weird" is a compliment if it's because you would rather go to church on Sunday morning than sleep in or to stay out too late on Saturday night. Being called "weird" is a compliment if it's because you won't shop-lift or steal or vandalize other's property. Being called "weird" is a compliment if it's because you honor and respect your father and mother—and want to do what they say—at least some of the time. Being called "weird" is a compliment if it's because you stand up for things that are fair or just but unpopular. Being called "weird" is a compliment if it's because you are content not to go along with the crowd, because you know who you are and whose you are. You are a Christian—a child of God. You belong to God, not to the world. You don't have to be like everyone else.
And still, it is essential to note that while many of those examples are moral behaviors, it is not the behaviors that are most significant, but the relationship with God that leads to the behaviors.
Sanctification can result in us being a bit weird-and being weird because of our relationship with God is a good thing, a thing to be honored, a thing to which we devote ourselves. Interesting, isn't it? One of the ways we might talk about our religious living is in the context of our being weird for God-set apart for purposes that often just don't seem to fit with the way the world does things.
Before I close, one more point. It bears emphasizing again that this passage is all Jesus praying. One of the more powerful sermons I have ever heard was from a retired pastor in Wisconsin who addressed a conference meeting with the message that "Jesus is praying for you." What word from God could possibly be more powerful?
One author (O'Day) raises this issue: "It is interesting to ponder how the Christian community's self-definition would be changed if it took as its beginning point, 'We are a community for whom Jesus prays.'"
We have been assured that Jesus prays for us. That means, first of all, that we are in need of prayer. We simply can't do it by ourselves. It also means that we are guaranteed help from God.
We may not always want the help of God that Jesus asks for us. We may want to be part of the world, rather than be rejected or hated by the world. We may want to stay in our own "safe" areas, rather than to be sent into the world with a radical message. We may want to keep our individual identities, rather than embracing the unity and the weird holiness or holy weirdness that becomes our witness to the world.
Jesus is praying today for us-for you. Can you handle the honor of that reality? Can you embrace the responsibility it implies? Can you take seriously the call to be sanctified, set apart, holy and weird by the world's standards, living in the abundant, raucous, and joyful life that Jesus brings? Amen.
May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts
and minds through faith in Christ Jesus our Lord, unto eternal
life. Amen.
