The Second Sunday after Pentecost

Well, we’ve made it through the easy stuff. We’ve made it through Lent and Easter and Resurrection, through the Ascension and Pentecost and Trinity Sunday. Now for the hard part: what does all this mean for our lives? As Father Dunn asked us one summer, years ago, "Jesus died for you; now what are you going to do about it?" That’s today’s question, and it’s what all the Sundays after Pentecost, and the rest of our lives, is all about.

A wise man is like one who built his house upon a rock," said Jesus. "The rains came and the floods rose and the winds beat against that house, but the house did not fall, because its foundations were on rock. But a foolish man is like one who built his house on sand. And the rains came and the floods rose and the the winds blew and battered against that house, and it fell with a great crash."

Who could disagree with that? Anyone who ever put up a tool shed in the back yard knows its truth. So what more is there to say? Just this, Jesus adds -- that not everyone who says, "I know how to build a house," will enter the kingdom of heaven.

"Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven," says Jesus. "Not even everyone who prophesies in my name, or drives out demons or performs miracles in my name. The wise man is like one who builds his house on rock. The foolish man is like one who builds on sand." And since context is everything, it’s important to remember that Jesus offers these words to wrap up his famous sermon in which he’s been telling us what living in the kingdom of heaven is like, the Sermon on the Mount.

Belief, for us, is not the same as faith. We often speak of them as if they are the same, but they are not, at least not in modern English. And for this reason, I think that we should throw the English word "believe" out of the Bible. It has ceased to have a meaningful place in our religious discourse. The way we use the word "believe" has made it useless for talking about faith in God the way Jesus talks about faith in God.

We ask people if they believe in God the same way we ask them if they believe in the tooth fairy. What we mean is, "Do you think the tooth fairy exists?" and "Do you think God exists?" Such a question would get you locked up in a padded room in biblical cultures. The word "believe" is never used in that way in the Bible. In the Bible, the existence of God is a given, assumed, unquestioned. The issue of belief in the Bible is the issue of authority. It’s the issue of faith, of trust, of obedience. Do you trust the authority of God? Do you accept God as Lord? Is your trust in God such that you will not only hear what God says, but do it? Will you build your life wisely, on the word of the One in whom you say you put your trust? Belief, in the Bible, is the same as faith.

But belief, for us, is not the same as faith. The one is largely of the head or the mind; the other is of the will. Belief, for us, is saying, "Lord, Lord," the giving of verbal assent. Although it is impossible to have faith in something without believing in it, it is possible for us to believe in something without having faith in it. In the Bible, when belief says to Jesus, "Lord, Lord," it is faith that hears the words of Jesus and does them. That’s what belief meant then. "Believe in God; believe also in me," says Jesus. And what he meant was, "You trust God, don’t you? Trust me as well." But for us, when belief says to Jesus, "Lord, Lord," belief can hear his words and, without contradiction, not do them. That’s why it’s no longer a useful word.

I can believe that my old set of tires is good for one more trip across the country. The warranty promises that they’ll last another 10,000 miles, and the tread still looks decent. But if I do not have faith in them as well, if I do not trust them to do what I believe than can do, then I will buy a new set before I leave.

I can believe that a good airplane and a competent pilot can lift me from the ground in Denver and set me down safely in London in ten or eleven hours. And if I also have faith that both the aircraft and the pilot will perform as I believe they can, I will buy a ticket and get aboard. But there are lots of people who believe that the aircraft will land safely in London the next day, but whose faith fails them when the time comes to buy a ticket. In the Bible, to believe is to get on the airplane.

That’s why the language of Paul is helpful here. We are justified, put right with God, saved, by faith, by trust in God’s promise, St. Paul reminds us. We are not saved by what we do or by how we build. Nor are we saved by what we say, Jesus adds. We are not saved by, "Lord, Lord," which is the same as saying that neither are we saved by belief without faith.

Being made right with God, justification, is salvation. It is ours by faith. It’s our inheritance, the kingdom of heaven. It’s a free gift, straight from God, given to us just because God loves us and wants us to know it. But actually inheriting is something else again. Actually inheriting the kingdom life God has bequeathed us is another matter.

It’s as if someone gives you a free plane ticket to the vacation spot of your dreams, already paid for, first class, just because he likes you and wants you to have it. It comes complete with five-star hotel accommodations in Christchurch or Honolulu or Cape Town, with safaris and days at the beach thrown in. The ticket and accommodations are worth thousands of dollars; they represent an opportunity you never imagined you’d be able to have. And now you’ve got them in your hands. But if you don’t actually set aside some dates and book the hotels and get on the plane and go, you’ll never experience the vacation, except in your day dreams. Oh, belief says that you know you can, but it’s faith -- the will, the desire, the heart, the action -- that takes you to the airport and to the beach.

The plane ticket is like your baptism. If you put the ticket in a drawer, the dollar value will still be there. It remains a valuable and genuine gift -- on paper. But you will never experience the personal value of the trip until you take the grace out of the drawer and actually spend it. Baptism is like that. The kingdom of heaven is like that, Jesus tells us in his famous sermon.

Salvation is free, Paul reminds us. Justification, being put right with God, is your salvation. It’s the promise of God, and it’s yours free for nothing, regardless of anything you do or don’t do, just because God loves you and wants you to have it. It’s your inheritance. And we believe it. But that’s not the same as actually inheriting, as actually living the life the inheritance promises. If we’re actually to experience it, well, then, the wise man is the one who hears my words and acts on them, Jesus adds. Because there is one matter that remains. There is the matter of faith, of will, of desire, of action: Do we trust him enough to live it? Do we trust him enough to hunger and thirst for a righteousness that exceeds that of the pharisee, to show mercy, to make peace, to turn the other cheek when struck?

Do we trust him enough to give to those who ask of us, to walk two miles when asked to walk one, to love not just those who love us, but to love our enemies as well? Do we have the faith to pray as Jesus prayed -- that God will forgive us our sins in the same way that we forgive the sins of others? Do we have the faith to store up for ourselves, as he did for himself, treasure in heaven rather than on earth, the faith to be judged with the same measure with which we judge others, the faith to be recognized by the fruit we bear, the faith to live the kingdom life Jesus recommends? All this, and more, Jesus tells us, are the words a wise person not only hears, but does. Not because the doing saves you or causes God to love you, but because there is wisdom and life there.

Ryan was six years old when he said it, and his brother Dan was four. Both of them loved pancakes, so their mother promised to make pancakes on Sunday morning. At the table, Ryan and Dan began to argue over who would get the first pancake. So mom said, "Boys, why don’t we act as if Jesus were here? You know, if Jesus were here, he would say, ‘Let my brother have the first pancake; I can wait.’" And Ryan turned to Dan, and with all the authority of an older brother, he said, "Dan, you be Jesus."

Much of human history is the story of such foolishness, the story of our assigning the role of Jesus to someone else. Dan, you be Jesus. As Chesterton says, "The Christian ideal" -- living the kingdom life -- "has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult, and left untried." What foolish people we are, preferring sand to rock. Oh, we believe in rock, but, "’Lord, Lord,’ it costs so much less to build on sand. You be Jesus."

So much for the bad news. A sermon is meant to be evangelical. (I refuse to relinquish that wonderful word to just one group of Christians!) A sermon is meant to proclaim good news, Gospel. So let’s return to the good news, already proclaimed, but maybe not yet heard by everyone.

It’s possible to take a house that has been built on sand, to lift it up, to pour a solid foundation underneath, and to set the house back down. But it takes much more than a 200-pound weakling to do it. It takes the right equipment. And the good news is this: that God himself has lifted us up and has underpinned our foolish building with solid rock, with the assurance that we matter to God, with the assurance that we matter no matter what, with the assurance that we are loved.

"Christ is made the sure foundation." This is what Paul means when he says that we are justified, saved, by God’s free grace alone. "The righteousness of God has been made known; it is effective through the faith of Christ for all who have such faith." Or, if you prefer, "through faith in Christ for all who have such faith."

Either way, if I hear Jesus’ sermon correctly, faith is something that issues in works, in actual building, in building on the rock of kingdom living as Jesus outlines it. There is no conflict between "works" righteousness, on the one hand, and a righteousness that comes by faith, on the other. In his sermon, Jesus agrees with St. James that faith without works is as dead as a plane ticket lying in a drawer. Christ is the sure foundation, not only the foundation in which we believe, but also the foundation upon which Jesus himself calls us to build. Again, not because the building causes God to love us, but because in the building there is wisdom and kingdom life.

Think of it this way: We have been saved. It’s like being pregnant. There is nothing we can do to make us more saved, more justified with God than we already are. We are in good hands, as Huston Smith puts it. We are in good hands because God loves us, and because Christ has sealed that love, guaranteed it, with his own life and with his own blood. That’s Lent and Easter and Resurrection and Ascension and Pentecost, and all that, the easy part. It’s good news, and we believe it.

But what does that news leave me with if I continue to live as if the new foundation weren’t there? Can one enter the kingdom without living the kingdom life? If we say, "Lord, Lord, thanks for the foundation," but then go on as usual, fearfully trying to brace up our present lives with spiritual duct tape against the day when the rains will fall and the winds will blow, what does that leave us with?

William Willimon tells of a woman who was battling the storm of a severe neurological disorder which brought her much pain and for which she had endured a dozen surgeries. Despite it all, her disposition was altogether positive, and she continued to live with dignity and grace and charity toward her family and friends. He asked her how she did it, and she said, "It’s like I’ve been preparing for this for fifty years. When I was a child, my mother took me to church every Sunday. We had a difficult time, by most people’s standards. But at church I was always told that God loved me, that God has plans for me, that God would stand beside me no matter what. I’ve never really needed to draw on any of that until now. And now I’m so grateful that I know that. I’ve tried to stand by others as God has stood by me, and I’m grateful that when it came time for me to reach down and show what I was made of, I’ve had something to show for it." That was a wise woman.

Perhaps you remember the story some years ago of a Japanese soldier, who, after the end of World War II, continued to live alone in the jungle of a Pacific island, not believing that the war was over. In effect, he continued to believe in and fight a war that was no longer being waged. And it was not until his old commanding officer personally sought him out and ordered him home that the soldier would believe that the war was really over. Only then did he go home and start to build a new life.

What St. Paul is telling us when he says that God loves us and that we are justified, saved, by the grace of God alone is that the war we’ve been fighting all our lives is over. And what Jesus is telling us when he says that God loves us, loves us so much that he sent his own Son into the world to save it, not to condemn it, is the same message. As commanding officer, he tells us that the war is over. "Go home," he says, "and build a new life, a life on the rock of these words of mine. Build as if your life depends on it, which it does. Not because God won’t love you if you don’t, or if you build imperfectly, but because -- trust me! -- it’s the wise way to build."

When Paul is tells us that the righteousness of God, salvation, is effective through the faith of Christ for all who have such faith" -- or, if you insist, through faith in Christ for all who have such faith" -- he is saying the same thing: You are now free to go home and, with faith, in confidence, free to build the kingdom life, knowing, as Jesus knew -- having the same faith in God that Jesus had -- that you matter to God no matter what. You are free to have the faith of Jesus, knowing that God loves you. You are free to live, without fear, as Christ lived, free to hunger and thirst for a righteousness that exceeds that of the pharisee, free to show mercy, to make peace, to turn the other cheek, to give to those who ask of you.

We are free to walk a second mile when we’re asked to walk one, free to love not just those who love us, but, without fear, to love our enemies, free to pray as Jesus prayed -- that God will forgive us our sins in the same way that we forgive the sins of others -- free, without anxiety, to store up for ourselves treasure in heaven rather than on earth, free, without fear, to be judged with the same measure with which we judge others, free to be recognized by the fruit we bear, free to trust God the way Jesus trusted God, free to live the kingdom faith of Jesus and to experience the kingdom the way the One you have faith in recommends it. Free to live this life because you know that God loves you no matter what.

God loves you. We’re in good hands. With such a foundation, when the rains come and the floods rise and the winds blow, such a house will stand. You can carry that guarantee to the bank, and even to the grave.

In the Bible, there is no conflict between faith and works. For Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount, just as for James in his letter, faith without works is as dead as a "Lord, Lord" without building on rock, as dead as a plane ticket collecting dust in a drawer.

It is true that if we do our good works thinking they will somehow cause a loving God to love us more than he already does, or will cause God to love us more than he loves others who don’t do them, or because we believe that somehow they will buy us a ticket to kingdom life, to salvation, then we are fighting a war that has been over for centuries.

But if we believe that we can actually experience kingdom life without taking it up and living it for ourselves, well, where is our faith? Where is our trust? "Show me your works," says the One we call ‘Lord, Lord,’ and I will show you your faith, your trust -- your will, your desire, your heart -- because it’s only by your fruit that it can be recognized."

The question of God’s love, the question of salvation, is settled. You have been justified, saved. There’s nothing you can do about that. There is only one question that remains. It’s the question of all the Sundays after Pentecost and the question of the rest of our lives: How much do we want this new life, the kingdom life? In his sermon, Jesus concerns himself with how we use our money and possessions, how we use power. He speaks to the matter of our security, to our anxiety about tomorrow. He’s offers us words about how we treat our neighbor and our enemies. He speaks this way because, now that the war is over and because of God’s free gift, he knows that we will want to know how to spend the grace we have received to build the kingdom life God has prepared the foundation for.

So Father Dunn’s question, Jesus’ question, hangs in the air today, as it will every Sunday this summer and throughout our lives: Jesus died for you; now what are we going to do about it? Or, as Huston Smith might ask it: "We’re in good hands, and, in gratitude for that, will we not want to build as Jesus built, to bear one another’s burdens?"

In the Name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.