Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost [Proper 20], Sunday, August 20th, 2023
GENESIS 45:1-15; PSALM 133; ROMANS 11:1-2A, 29-32; MATTHEW 15:21-28

For God has imprisoned all in disobedience
so that he may be merciful to all

I’m going to let you all in on a bit of a secret today. Though to be truthful, it’s not one that I’ve kept well, or even one that might come as a surprise to you—because it has a lot to do with how, and what, I preach Sunday after Sunday.

Very early in my time at St. John’s, I wondered what would happen to an Anglican congregation like ours, if I were to preach grace consistently and often. That is, to continually keep for us, very near the surface of our minds and our imaginations, that God, in Christ, has accomplished something for us that we are not able to accomplish for ourselves. That we are reconciled to God not on account of what we do, but on account of what Jesus does in his life, from incarnation to resurrection to ascension, but primarily on the cross. A reconciliation that means we are forgiven our sins; and that this forgiveness means that we are able to forgive one another. That the grace of God towards us means we can act gracefully towards one another.

I’m not sure how radical this sounds to you, to preach God’s grace, rather than human accomplishment, as the centre and foundation of faith. It is usually considered a received truth that Anglicans are a bit slippery on this point. We slip into imagining that if only we tried harder, we would be worthy of God and one another. I’ve heard plenty of sermons (bishops are often the worst offenders) that translate, roughly, to a call to change our attitude, because if only we acted just the right way, the world would know justice.

The trouble is, of course, that there is a grain of truth to this; but it’s still quite far from the gospel of grace. The gospel of grace begins with what God accomplishes for us; it does not begin with human potential or human capability.

So it might be a surprise to some of you, if I am making it a habit to preach grace at St. John’s, Kitchener, that I have yet to preach on Romans this season. Romans is the letter where Paul  works out the gospel of grace, and many of its implications; it’s the letter that has triggered conversions and shattered theological foundations over and over in history just because it is so compelling, so world-changing; it has animated the greatest of theologians from St. Augustine, to Martin Luther, and to Karl Barth. It is earth-shattering and radical because at its heart, the message we hear if we listen to Romans is that God has already done it. Before we were even a twinkle in the eyes of our parents, God has done what needs doing in order to secure our salvation. And there is nothing we can add to God’s work in securing that salvation.

There is part of us though that already knows this. Our successes in work, the ones we think will finally bring happiness, don’t succeed in bringing happiness; the perfect parenting book doesn’t make for perfect children (so it must be the parent’s fault, right?); and finding the home we think will be just right still doesn’t bring the satisfaction we thought it promised.

It used to be that media consumption led us to believe that people we didn’t know and lived far far away were living better lives than we do; today, social media consumption leads us to believe that people we know are living better lives than we do, happy in their perfect job, with perfect children, living lives of great satisfaction in beautifully decorated homes. So we try harder, thinking that if only we just do it right, get it right, act just right, our world will be made right.

And it doesn’t work.

There’s a good reason why people at St. John’s Kitchen, at least some of them, have what is an extraordinary intimacy with Jesus: because they’ve largely been excluded from the empty project that is success and salvation through the right job or a beautiful home, or perfect children. While many of the rest of us haven’t had to give up that empty hope quite yet. And while many of these sorts of comforts and hopes are good—they just aren’t as good as we make them out to me.

St. Paul puts it this way in our reading today: “For God has imprisoned all in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all.” Failure is universal; we are not God and we cannot save ourselves; we are all disobedient in our own way. But this failure, including putting our hope in all the wrong things, is nevertheless no barrier, no obstacle,  no problem for God—because God will have mercy on us all, from the miserable sinner who knows it, to the miserable sinner who doesn’t know it. Our weakness is where God is strong; our failure is where God is victorious and triumphant. God will be merciful to us, no matter how much hope we put in the creaturely comforts of life, no matter how much pressure we put on ourselves to make ourselves worthy.

This is God’s intention: that he would be merciful not simply to the godly, but the ungodly; not just for the righteous but the unrighteous; and all while we were still helpless. This is the Gospel of grace: that in Christ, God is merciful to us all.

Now grace it does have its effects. To bend the knee to the God who offers himself for us, the God who reconciles us to himself in Christ, forgiving us fully and completely and without reservation—to live in the light of that promise does lead us to forgive others as we have been forgiven; it leads us to be reluctant about judging others for their sin, because we have been released from judgement; it leads to a pursuit of justice, but not according to our own righteousness, instead according to God’s justice, God’s own righteousness.

That is, it leads to gracefulness towards others, just as God has been graceful to us.

I don’t, though, want to lose the main point here, for today. The main point here is that we can let go of many of the ways we try to control or to fix others. We can let go of many of the ways we try to control or fix ourselves. We can let go of the ways we try to make ourselves worthy of the affection of others or of being perceived as good and successful in the eyes of the world. Because God, in Christ, has already made you worthy.

And all the ways you are disobedient and ungodly, all the ways that everyone else is disobedient and ungodly, all the ways we are confident in ourselves and our money and are things, all the ways we are merciless with ourselves, all the ways we are merciless towards others, all of this is washed away in God’s mercy when he plucks out our stony hearts and gives us hearts of flesh instead; and when he writes his law on our hearts.

This is the gospel of grace: at your worst, you are good enough for God; and the worst you’ve done, is pardoned and forgiven in Christ, crucified for the sins of the world, and crucified for you; a living God that lives that you might have life.