Sermon - 5th Sunday after Pentecost - Year A

Romans 7:15-25a         

                                    The Good That I Would Do

“I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.”

The best lecture I ever heard on original sin was from an unlikely source.  It was an appropriate source, for me to refer to on this July the 4^th weekend, because the speaker was a seasoned politician, one with a high position in our nation’s government.  John Hamre served as the Deputy Secretary of Defense.  He is also a member of Luther Place, an ELCA congre­gation in Washington, D.C.  He spoke at the 1997-98 LSM-USA National Gathering.

Dr. Hamre spoke of original sin as an essential doctrine for those who live in a democracy.  If our system of government is to work, he pointed out, we must remember the wisdom of the church’s doctrine on what it means to be sinful creatures.

Now, you might expect (because I certainly did) that a member of the military establishment would speak of evil in the context of our nation’s enemies.  In that era there had been so much talk of Saddam Hussain.  The changes in the Soviet Union were more recent occurrences.  As Dr. Hamre began, I expected him to speak of the sinfulness which results in evil nations and abusive governments.  But this was not what he came to talk about.  Rather he spoke of the necessity of a government in which my short-sightedness could be compensated for by the involvement of another.  He spoke of the need to have divergent opinions in order that workable solutions could emerge.  He spoke of the need for critical voices which could expose the limitations of my own human attempts to get things right.

The doctrine of original sin is not so much a statement of how evil and sinful we humans are - it is an acknowledgment that sometimes, even when we are trying our hardest, the result we get is not what we had intended.  Sometimes, even when we act in the best of ways, our actions still result in another being harmed.

Another gem from today’s reading from Romans: “I find it a law that when I want to do what is good, evil lies close at hand.”

                                           

Now, evil can be discussed in the context of actions which are in opposition to the will of God.  There are actions committed by humans which must be described as sinful and evil.  St. Paul understood this aspect of sin.  His training also enabled him to understand how easily our good inten­tions go astray, how often we succumb to tempta­tion and do not do the thing that we set out to do.  St. Paul knew of this basic human weakness.  But in today’s reading St. Paul is not addressing the simple tendency to do the wrong thing even when we know what the right thing is.  Paul speaks of the trap of doing exactly as we had planned only to realize that our actions did lead to a result we had intend­ed.  He writes of the horror associ­ated with realiz­ing that we have done just as we have planned only to discover that our actions have led to an even greater evil.

Rabbinic anthro­pology had already made allowances for the inner conflict between the law of one's heart and the law that directs one's hands.  These teach­ings held that in our heart or mind, we can know the right choice.  The Rabbis taught that it was entirely within reason to believe that a person could know and even choose the action which was right.  It is possible for one to discern the will of God, to know the mind of God, when faced with practical, real-life questions.

But, the Rabbinic understanding of human behavior went on to say that while we may know right from wrong, we will quite often choose that which is wrong.  Our mind knows the right, but the temptation to sin is just too strong for us to withstand.  Rabbinic anthropology held that while we might know the right, we seldom choose the right, thus we need a God who is capable of forgiving our sins.  We must have a God who is willing to provide guidance for us as we seek to amend our lives.

The followers of Jesus, immediate as well as those who have come along in the opening decades of the twenty-first century, under­stand the strength of temptations.  Everyday tempta­tions enter our lives and quite often - - most often - - we are unable to turn them away.  The neighbor wishes to be kind, but the latest gossipy scandal is simply too delicious not to spread.  The alcoholic wants to be sober but cannot resist the morning "eye-opener."  The politician wants to be fair and just, but the temptation to play favorites is just too strong.  Temptation is a powerful thing.  It often seems impossible for us to turn it down, to turn from temptation and embrace instead the way of righteousness.

St. Paul understood this, the ancient Rabbi's had spoken of this aspect of the human condition.  But as St. Paul writes these words, he does so with an eye on an even more penetrating horror.  St. Paul is not so much concerned with the evil actions that lead to a need for God's forgiveness, Paul addresses the evil which comes even when we have done the very thing that we thought would result in goodness.

Political, social or personal examples are readily avail­able.  Attempts to protect the environment end up damaging the seas and atmosphere even more.  Weapons engineered to provide national security produce global danger.  A drug designed to reduce infection yields the tragedy of deformed babies.  Programs to end poverty create helpless dependency and despair.  Parents trying to give their offspring the best that life can offer produce aimless, alienated, and angry children.  What Paul is describing is not our failure to live up to our ideals, but something far more sinister.  Paul is describing the bewilderment and shock that occur when, in fact, people do live up to the ideal only to discover that the result is devastating evil.  There is a back-side which comes with every coin.  This is then that we cry out in anguish, "I did not create what I wanted; I created the very thing I hate."

We can see how this happens, in matters of social policy, in concerns of public health, in relationships with our children.  But this same horrible trap exists in another place - in the one place where we most need to avoid such double binds.  The spiritual person longs for one "good" above all others - it is the good of being in rela­tionship with God.  What we long for above all else is the experience of connectedness between ourselves and God.  Yet, how are we to achieve this? 

If we believe that we can work our way to God, the power of temptation and our inability to do the good that we know we should prevail upon us and we realize that we can never achieve the relationship which God intends for us.

If we believe that through true humility we can come to God and stand in God's presence, we are soon overcome with the realization that to strive for humility is itself an act of hubris.

How are we to know God?  How are we to approach God?  If we give over our full selves to this endeavor, we soon realize how far astray we have allowed ourselves to go.  Unable to earn God's favor, the deliberateness of our actions prevents us from believ­ing that it just happened to us.  It is this bind that leads Paul to ask, "Who will rescue me from this body of death?”

Paul, trained in the traditions of rabbinical theology, already knew of God’s ability and willingness to guide him along right pathways.  Now, he is praying for a messiah who will set him free from this last evil.  He is hoping in a God who will indeed set him free from the torment of doing the right thing and having the wrong result.  He cries out, “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!"  Only in Christ are we set free from the guilt associated with succumbing to temptation.  Only through Christ are we able to obtain the thing we want most of all - a relationship with the one who has created us.

Niebuhr, ethicist and theologian once said, "I am never as dangerous as when I act in love."  It is when I am trying to do right, it is when my intentions are all in the right place that I am most likely to screw things up, to make a royal mess, to hurt in ways that really matter.  When I act in love, when I do what I do because I believe that what I am doing will make life better, then my actions are laden with all sorts of expec­tations and hopes.  It is when I act from such powerful convic­tions that I am most likely to create the very thing I hate.

Biblical scholar Kasemann writes, "What a person wants is salvation.  What (the person) creates is a disaster."

John Hamre encouraged that group of college students to become wise.  To exercise wisdom in facing significant decisions and to we wise enough to admit their limitations.  His lecture on Original Sin invited them into a community of trust where they could speak of their hopes and aspirations.  His words call upon each of us to ask for the input of others (particularly those who see the world differently from ourselves) in order that we do not blindly charge forward toward a goal with horrible side-effects and unintended consequences.  This, he said, is the true genius of a democratic style of government.  In a democracy, as soon as one begins to amass power you work to share that power with the powerless, the forgotten, and the those without a voice.  We are at our best when we are capable of asking those critical of us what it is in our way of thinking which leaves the door open to unintended but never-the-less horrible consequences.

Scripture had intended to teach the same lesson.  And long after John Hamre is gone and this system of governing is abandoned, St. Paul’s words will remain with the followers of Jesus:  “I do not understand my own actions.  For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”   We are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves.  Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!

Amen.