Broken Pride, Broken Promises, and Apologies

Luke 7:36-50; 1 Kings 21:1-21

June 12, 2016

Let me share an additional reading for the morning, from 1 Kings, as rendered by Eugene Peterson in The Message: 1 Kings 21:1-21

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In the bulletin, this homily is called “Broken Pride,” but it would be more accurate to call it “Broken Pride, Broken Promises, and Apologies.”

The texts we’ve read this morning are all about brokenness, from the personal sin of the woman in Luke’s story to the systemic sin that would keep her in her place, from the personal sin of Ahab’s greed to the systemic sin that allowed his household to act murderously to satisfy his greed.

The stories, however, are also about accountability, and, ultimately about grace and forgiveness.

In the story from Luke, Jesus offers extravagant grace to a woman whose brokenness if never named, but is acknowledged as significant. Jesus offers grace and never shames the woman. She responds with extravagant love that raises the ire of the proper leaders of the traditional faith community who would, it seems, rather see the woman punished than forgiven.

Rather than judgment, Jesus shows forth a forgiveness that challenges not only the Pharisees, but, honestly, me, too. This story makes me wonder if I can show the kind of grace that has been shown to me. Do I have the kind of compassion for those with whom I disagree or for the ones I find disagreeable?

That kind of grace and that kind of compassion have the power to transform, not only individuals, but communities, and entire systems, as well. If you doubt that, think back to the truth and reconciliation process that Nelson Mandela initiated upon assuming the office of the presidency in South Africa. He launched that public process while, at the same time, personally forgiving the individuals who had unjustly imprisoned him for almost 30 years. Imagine.

I certainly have never experienced transformative forgiveness and grace on that kind of scale. Few of us have, but we all have opportunities to share such transformative power on more personal terms.

You may be wondering why I’m wearing this old t-shirt this morning. Well, it’s not merely because it’s summer time, nor has the household gone to hell in a handbasket with Cheryl out of town last week, nor is it because my nice clothes are dirty – they’re not. No, it’s because this shirt reminds me of something important.

Most of you know that every summer for the past decade I have spent a couple of weeks serving as pastor-in-residence at Camp Hanover, the Presbyterian camp outside of Richmond in the Presbytery of the James. Camp Hanover sits on almost 600 acres, of which a bit more than 500 are mostly woods. Given that, it may surprise you to hear that a common phrase at camp is, “let’s meet at the tree.” Sounds pretty unhelpful as directions go, right?

But such directions work perfectly well because, on the field that greets you when you drive in, stands a lone tree whose branches spread out in a tangled warren casting delightful shade across a circle easily broad enough to gather several dozen kids in its cool.

For many years I’ve called it “the forgiving tree,” because beneath its boughs I learned an important lesson about brokenness, accountability, forgiveness, and grace.

It all began at a morning devotion that I led for the older campers – middle-school and high-school kids. I have no recollection of the point I was trying to make that morning, but I’ll never forget the lesson I learned when I made an off-hand crack in the midst of the back-and-forth with the campers.

I know it shocks you to hear that I might make an off-hand joke, but, yes, I did. Alas, I made the crack at the expense of the middlers. I didn’t intend to be mean-spirited, but I came off that way, and following the devotions one of the counselors called me on it.

I thanked him for pointing it out, and at lunch time I invited all of the middlers – probably 30 kids and counselors – to meet me at the tree right after lunch. I apologized to them for my words that made them feel excluded or belittled, asked them to forgive me, thanked them for the grace of that moment, and sent them on to rest time.

What has any of this to do with Pride, with the texts of the morning, with any larger concerns?

It has to do with gifts and shadows, and what I’m calling broken pride.

We all have gifts. Our particular gifts shape what we do with our lives. From time to time we justifiably take pride in those gifts. Personally, I’m good with words, and, sometimes, with word play. It’s a gift that has shaped my vocation both as writer and preacher, and also, to some extent, as one who tries to lead with good humor.

But our gifts also come with a shadow side that tends to be exposed when we don’t balance gifts. That morning at camp, the shadow side of leading with humor and a facility with words was exposed when I didn’t balance it with compassion and thoughtfulness.

Giving him the benefit of a doubt, I’d suggest that King Ahab probably rose to power both as a son of the former king and because he had leadership gifts, including a desire to make Israel great. The shadow side of such desire is marked by materialism, greed, and egocentrism.

Working within a system shaped by others before him who shared similar characteristics, Ahab’s greed is unbridled until he encounters Naboth and his vineyard. As Carolynne Hitter Brown points out,

Naboth’s response to Ahab went much deeper than a simple refusal to sell a piece of land. Naboth specifically told Ahab, “The Lord forbid that I should give you my ancestral inheritance.” With this response, Naboth stood for righteousness in the face of a powerful and corrupt system. His words pointed straight to the essence of Ahab’s and Israel’s problem. As a nation, Israel had turned away from God’s covenant and was serving foreign idols. In his heart, Ahab knew the truth, but after a lifetime of blasphemy, his conscience was seared. Naboth’s words convicted Ahab of deep sin.[1]

Contrast Ahab’s situation with the one I found myself in. We were both confronted by truth-tellers who spoke a simple prophetic word calling us to account for our actions. Ahab was cut to quick, and refused to eat. Then the household of Ahab responds by murdering the truth teller and stealing his land.

I didn’t follow that path, but it’s not because I’m somehow fundamentally different and better than Ahab. No, I didn’t follow that path because I was in the midst of a community that, for decades, has worked to find and carve out other paths. I had plenty of options, and well-worn paths to follow to get to places of grace, forgiveness, and reconciliation.

In other words, I could take the gifts I have been given and in which I take justifiable pride, and, by grace, use them for building up relationships and communities, rather than allowing their shadow sides to rip apart relationship and undermine communities.

At their best, celebrations such as Pride remind us of giftedness – what have we done today to make us feel proud! They challenge us to accept ourselves and one another – I am what I am! – and to own up to the fullness of who we are, as well.

God’s grace opens space for us to be honest with ourselves. It opens space for accountability, for forgiveness, for restoration of right relationships, and for community to grow and prosper.

It’s a happy coincidence – or perhaps just a logical choice – that the image of a tree figures prominently in scripture as a symbol of peace and the security that comes with justice and right relationships.

Isaiah assures the people of Israel, even in the midst of their exile:

“You shall go out in joy and be led back in peace;

The mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song,

And all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.”

Micah promises that,

“In the days to come the mountains of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains … that they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; national shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid.”

In other words, the tree of life shall belong to everyone, and we will all be welcome to gather in its shade, enjoy its fruit, and rest beneath its branches. As the old spiritual promises, we all have a right to the tree of life.

We come, as we are, bringing our gifts and their shadow sides, because we are all rooted and grounded in the same life-giving source of grace. So come with pride in your giftedness, come owning up to the shadows, come as you are to take your place beneath the tree.

We have our own little “tree of life” this morning, decorated with some rainbow bling, We also have some rainbow paper, and some pens. You’re invited to come and write your gifts on the paper. This will be our prayer today, as we give thanks for the gifts we have been given, and as we own their shadow sides, we pray for wisdom and courage to use what we are – all of what we are – for building a wider world in which everyone born finds a place in the shade of the tree of life.

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[1] Carolynne Hitter Brown, in Preaching God’s Transforming Justice (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2012) 277.