The Hardest Rule in the Bible

The Rev. Whitworth Ferguson III
Manassas Presbyterian Church
Manassas, Virginia
May 6, 2007

The Hardest Rule in the Bible
Acts 11:1-18
John 13:31-35

Anne Lamott writes in her most recent book
(Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith)
of the annual fair at her church tucked away
in a small community just north of San Francisco.
The “Faith Fair” was a tradition at her church,
and every year Lamott had been actively involved.
She was the one who was tasked with buying
crafts and games for the children,
and she was also the one responsible for renting
the inflatable jump house.

All the children in the community came to the fair
and they were especially entranced by the jump house,
a big inflatable room that looked like a giant Blue Dog.
The children would bounce themselves red,
or if they’d had too many hot dogs or sno-cones,
they’d bounce themselves white.

Every year she would write up
what her out-of-pocket expenses were
and turn them into the church for reimbursement,
and every year she’d been paid quickly.
Every year, that is, until that year,
the year in which her story was set.

That year she sent off her expenses the night of the fair,
sent them off by e-mail,
pleased with herself, no doubt,
for having been so helpful to the church treasurer
in getting her expenses in before the end of the day.

Minutes later, though, came the sound that announced that
she “had mail”.
As she read the e-mail,
her joy from the day evaporated,
boiled away in anger:
Things apparently had changed since last year:
Now she would have to submit receipts from her credit cards,
or if she had written a check,
she’d have to provide a copy of the canceled check,
if she wanted to be reimbursed.
It was nothing aimed at her, she was assured,
just new policies,
new procedures,
new practices put in place.

Her response to the e-mail was, “Excuuuuuuse me?”
She’d been doing the same thing year after year
for as long as she could remember,
She had chaired the Fair for six years,
she put in hours and hours of time to make it a success,
she was exhausted after a long day,
and now they were telling her
that they wanted receipts and canceled checks?

She sat down at her computer
and wrote an angry response
to almost everyone she could think of,
all directed at the “petty bureaucrat”
hiding behind the policies, practices, and procedures.
“Clearly,” she wrote,
“I do not have what it takes to be a Presbyterian.
I simply cannot spend one more second on this matter”.

And then she made that mistake so many of us have made
when we’ve written an e-mail in anger:
she hit the “send” button.

For a few seconds she felt “powerful and righteous”.
having expressed her indignation
at how she was being treated.
But then she realized what she had done.
She knew she had made a mistake.
She knew the man who was responsible for the change,
the one she dubbed a “petty bureaucrat”,
was in fact, a good man, a faithful man.

What she had done was something we all do,
we do all the time:
She had stopped thinking about others;
she had turned her attention on herself;
She had let anger get the better of her;
She had stopped loving.

She cooled down
and then sent another e-mail to the group,
apologizing to everyone
for having been such a grump.
The man at whom her anger was directed wrote back,
“We are here only with love for you, Annie.”

That man had learned the lesson that Lamott
had forgot in her anger.
It is the hardest lesson in the Bible;
A lesson that is so hard it makes keeping the Sabbath
in July and August seem easy by comparison.
The lesson we heard in our gospel reading,
the lesson that Jesus calls a “new commandment”:
that we are called to love one another.

It is such a hard lesson,
even for clergy.
How can I love the person ahead of me
in the express checkout lane
who has 20 items, when the sign says 12?
How am I supposed to love the person in the movie theater
who doesn’t turn off his cellphone?

How can I love someone with whom I disagree
on a matters that to me have great importance,
matters of theology, or
considering our location, matters of politics?
How can I love the person
who disagrees with my choice?

How can I possibly be expected to love someone
who has offended me?
Someone who has hurt me emotionally?
Someone who has injured me physically or emotionally
and doesn’t seem the least bit sorry
about what he or she has done?

Jesus isn’t interested in any of these questions.
He leaves us with no wiggle room,
He is direct and to the point:
“if you want to be my disciple,
if you want to be known as my disciple,
it will be only if you have love for one another.”

Now that’s hard enough to do even within the boundaries
of a Christian community,
whether it was those who were with Jesus
that night in the Upper Room,
or those of us gathered here within this space.
But the commandment is not limited;
Jesus makes that clear in other parts of the gospels.
Our lesson from Acts also reinforces that lesson.
The Gospel, the good news, is to be shared with all,
which means love is to be shared with all.
The imagery that was Peter’s dream was not about
what can and cannot be set on the dinner table;
it was about sharing the love of God with all.

It is hard to love,
hard to share love unconditionally.
Jesus’ would have a one-word response to us:
“Try”
Try.
Try our best, knowing that like Anne Lamott
we will sometimes fail,
but we are never to stop trying.

It is easier, though, not to try.
It is so much easier to criticize, carp, complain.
So much easier to get with others who think just like you do
and say “Can you believe that new church treasurer?
Who does he think he is, with his policies, his procedures?
Doesn’t he know I’ve been involved in this church fair
since long before he even became a member?
Doesn’t he know I’ve always put in my paperwork this way?”

Ah, but in that there is not even a hint of grace,
the grace each of us has been given by God through Christ,
the grace we are called to extend to others,
to all in love,
to all through love.

We are called to love because that’s the only thing that matters.
We are called to love because it is the only way
we will truly know God’s love, God’s grace.
It was the Russian novelist Dostoevsky who defined hell
as "the suffering of being unable to love.”
(Brothers Karamazov, VI,3,i:360)
and I think that is a very apt description.

We are to love because we have been commanded to
by our Lord,
We are to love because only when we do
will be be known as disciples of Jesus Christ.

As you come to this table,
think about someone with whom you’ve been angry,
or about whom you’ve expressed,
disdain, disappointment, disagreement.
Let this holy meal wash away the toxin of those feelings,
and let the bread and wine fill you with peace,
and fill you with love.
And then share that love,
share that love “in truth and action”
rather than empty words,
share that love in goodness and grace,
nourishing the person
as God’s love in Christ nourishes you.
Then, and only then,
will you be known as
a disciple of our Lord Jesus Christ.
AMEN