The Sunday Sermon: October 31, 2021 – 23rd Sunday after Pentecost
Scripture: Genesis 3:8-13, 24
Confess: First Steps
On this Halloween Sunday, we have a scary story to read from our Holy Scriptures. The scariest story of all for us people of faith. But as we begin something new again today, we begin with a tale that is not quite as scary, but every bit as incriminating. It’s not new. Let’s see if you remember it:
Once upon time, the eldest and richest woman in a village decided that it would be a good idea to give a feast for all of the townspeople at the start of the new year. She called her council of ten elders together to plan the event.
“I will provide the feast,” she said, “if you will each bring a jug of wine.”
“Of course, of course,” they all agreed.
But as soon as they had parted, the youngest of the group was already cursing himself for having agreed to part with one whole jug of wine. He did not have much wine in his stores, and he did not want to spend money either.
“There must be another way,” he told his wife. And he sat down to think.
After a while a smile crossed his face. “The other nine elders will pour their wine into the common pot. Could one jug of water spoil so much wine?”
And so it was that on the day of the feast this man put on his finest robes, filled his jug with fresh water from the well, and went to the party. On his way he met up with the other elders. They were greeted at the party by the sounds of music playing, and the delicious smells of food cooking. The host motioned for the elders to pour their jugs of wine into a great clay pot in the courtyard. And they did, each one of the ten, the youngest elder last.
First there was dancing and entertainment. Then the bell was rung and the guests were seated.
The elders sat together at the head table. The host ordered her servants to fill everyone’s cups with the wine. Each of the elders waited patiently for the last guest to be served. There were all anxious to taste the fine, refreshing wine.
The host gave the signal and the guests put their cups to their lips. They sipped … and they sipped again …
But what they tasted was not wine. It was water.
For each of the Elders had thought, “One jug of water cannot spoil a great pot of wine.” And each of them had filled their jug from the well, not from their cellar.
(And now, here’s the real horror to this story:)The ten elders looked at each other sheepishly, avoiding the eyes of their host as they continued to drink as if it were the finest wine their lips had ever tasted…
Let us pray …
Keep that story in your head … We’re beginning something new this morning, a new Session in our combined Sunday morning Sunday School/Worship hours. After a week to kick off our Stewardship Season and a second week, last week, with a guest preacher, we’ve found our way back to the curriculum we’re using in our first hour together on Sunday morning in Christian Education and our second hour together here in Worship, to learn more sincerely how to follow Jesus. Last month we explored “welcome” – the welcome we receive and the welcome we offer. In the next four weeks, we will explore more deeply what it should mean for us to “Confess.” This morning we learn, or are reminded (really), that confession begins with “admission” and acknowledgement. Before we can make a confession, we have to realize there is something to confess. We must see sin (think big, now) in order to admit it.
The Elders in our opening story saw their “sin,” they tasted it, in fact. But they didn’t acknowledge it. They didn’t admit it. Shame on them, right? Then again, they had a pretty powerful precedent and a couple of other pretty well-known human beings that modeled their own denials. None other than Adam and Eve, the parents of us all.
Get ready now. Snuggle up to the person next to you and listen again to a story that should give you goosebumps. Listen for the Word of God.
Read Genesis 3:8-1313 (The story gets scarier here as the Lord God speaks curses to all, I’ll spare you that fright, but not the final one) Read verse 24. (Shudder) The Word of the Lord … Thanks be to God.
If I’m being honest, I’ve always loved a good ghost story, a good scary story to give you chills and make you wonder if you ought to think of things now a bit differently than you did before. I suppose that’s why Genesis, chapter three, is one of my favorite scripture passages. Not because it makes me feel good, but because it scares me by identifying humanity so starkly but so absolutely, and naming our “ghosts” so profoundly, yet simply. This part of the creation story is not, and never was, about how evil came into the world or about the origins of death. Those are our own ghost stories. The writer, or writers here are not concerned with such “other-worldly” issues. They are concerned with the ghosts of broken relationships, divine and human, and with restoring them. Let’s unpack this a bit.
God is seeking a part of the creation, humanity. God goes to the garden and cries out, wails, “Where are you? In verse ten, the first human being answers, “We’re hiding, we’re afraid, we’re naked.” This is the first chill! If we “cinematized” this moment in the story, we may use cosmic explosions, mushroom clouds, rolling thunderstorms and flashes of lightning cracking solid oaks. An eternity passes in the fraction of a second before God responds with the question in verse eleven: “Who told you that you were naked?” In the infinitesimal space between verse ten and verse eleven in our reading, there is a cosmic shift, a move from union and communion, joy and happiness, wholeness and oneness with God and all creation, to disconnection and discord with them, and discord among and within ourselves. Have you felt the chills yet?
We know this story better than almost any other in the Old Testament. We know why the human beings in this story were scared, why they were hiding in the garden. They did something they weren’t supposed to do. They ate “forbidden fruit.” God realizes that in our story immediately after hearing that the man and the woman were now ashamed … They now had a nakedness, an ignorance, an awareness that they lacked something they deeply coveted and thought they deserved – knowledge, our story tells us – and they were, for the first time in their lives, ashamed. So, we know why the human beings were hiding in the garden. And having read and heard this story so many times in our lives we think we know why God banished them. Not so fast, my friends.
I’m certain that most, if not all of you picture Adam and Eve holding half-eaten apples in their hands as they leave the garden of Eden, separated forever now from the tree of life. These two, the first of us all, are driven out of paradise. And, we think we know why God has banished them, banished us, to the wilderness. But … we don’t know. At least we don’t if we think it was because of an apple and their disobedience.
After that eternity passee between verses ten and eleven, God asks an even scarier question. It’s written like this in Genesis: “Have you eaten from the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” But it sounds like this to us today: Have you done something wrong?
Now think about that question and who’s asking it for just a moment. In no expression, or understanding, of “God,” should we imagine that the response to this question, ““Have you something wrong?” is not already known! That’s why it’s so scary.
Whether we experience God as a supernatural, omniscient being beyond creation, or a hyper-natural inclusive force in the depths of it, God as “God” already knows the answer to this question. And here’s the really scary reality: So do we. There’s only one answer. But it’s not the answer the human gives. God asks, “Have you done something wrong…?” And Adam says, “Well, the woman whom you gave me, she talked me into this.”
Another eternity passes, I suppose. The heart of God breaks in two. Or in three at this point. The first one is lost. Mores chills, if we’re really listening.
So God turns to the second and asks, “Have you done something wrong?” And Eve says, “Well … The snake was in the grass and it talked me into this.” Two down … and out. It is at this point, according to our story, after several explosive curses (that, trust me, you did not want me to re-enact) that God pushes them out of Paradise. More chills. There’s punishment in verses 14-20, and banishment in the last verse. Our final goosebumps come from imaging the cherubim, and angel of God, holding a twisting, flaming sword, staring right into our eyes. Now that’s a horror story.
Punishment and banishment not because of what we do. We are banished for what we refuse to do: accept and acknowledge our “sin,” our separation, our participation in injustice and unjust systems, our refusal to even consider that “we did something wrong.”
In our opening wisdom tale, the reason the elders can’t look their host in the eyes was not because of what they did, but because they refused to acknowledge their own deceit. They continued to drink as if (that water was) the finest wine their lips had ever tasted.
Where in our lives, where in our community and country, where in the world, are we refusing to accept responsibility for what is happening?
Racial injustice? “We didn’t …” we begin, and (buzzer sound) … Wrong answer.
Hunger and poverty? “Now, as far as that goes … “ (buzzer sound)
Climate change? “Well … “ (buzzer sound)
Whatever follows that “well …” sends us further into the wilderness. There’s only one answer for us: “Yes, we have benefited from being ‘white.’ ” “Yes, we can do more for those who are hungry and poor.” “Yes, our carbon footprint is too big!” “Yes” is the only answer that sets us on the path back home.
God (whoever and however “God is”) can deal with our disobedience. I mean, heaven knows, God must deal with our disobedience. God can deal with “sin,” with our separation, our perceived “nakedness and embarrassment.” But God cannot, and will not, abide our irresponsibility, our unwillingness to admit that we are wrong. The moment that Adam and Eve, the human beings, you and I, reject the notion that we are accountable for our own actions, that we have dominion over our own lives, the moment we disregard our responsibility to all that is around us, the moment we reject these things and refuse to live in harmony with Creator and creation, the ghost story begins again.
It doesn’t matter one bit who told us we were “naked;” who told us that there wasn’t enough or that we are more than we actually are; or that violence can solve our global problems and money our personal ones; or that all we have to worry about is ourselves; or that we can remove all pain from our lives, physical, emotional, spiritual, if we just try hard enough; or that life is supposed to be easy, trouble free, and comfortable all the time. It doesn’t matter where those temptations come from – Adam, Eve, the snake, our parents, our textbooks, our own government. Whoever offered us that fruit, we choose to “eat it,” to consume the lies of these ghosts and goblins.
We live the way we’re living because we’ve chosen this way over God’s way for the world and for our lives.
We are reminded of this, or informed of this for the first time, not to make us feel guilty, but to set us back on a path of righteousness. We must admit before we can confess. We must confess before we can repent. We must repent before we can repair. And it all begins with admitting, with saying “yes” to the question that has only one answer. Did you do something wrong? Yes …
Try it this week – acknowledgment. Answer, “Yes, I did … Yes, I have … Yes, I am …” Say it to your children, children say it to your parents. Say it to your spouse, your co-workers, your friends, the store clerk, the home repairman, to anyone you need to. Acknowledge that you are not who you were created to be so that your horror story may become one of hope.
Come back next week ready to confess. Amen.
Reverend Joel Weible, Pastor
Pewee Valley Presbyterian Church / October 31, 2021