Cheap Grace vs the “Other Jesus” Exodus 20:1-17, Psalm 19:7-14, Romans 7:13-25, John 2:13-22 March 19, 2006, Year B, Third Sunday in Lent The Rev. William V. Livingston, Rector Church of the Resurrection, Starkville, Mississippi Two weeks ago our Vestry, at its annual retreat, established some significant goals for Resurrection to live out our mission as a place for transforming lives. There was only problem when we got through. The problem was like the country pastor who stood before his congregation one Sunday and said, “I’ve got some good news and bad news. The good news is our church has all the money we need to take care of our building and grounds, to fund Christian education and our service ministry and pay all staff expenses. The bad news is the money is in your pockets.” The problem is whatever goals our Vestry sets will happen only if we, al of us make them happen, and historically, as a parish, we tend not to make such goals happen. Therefore, our Vestry proposed I offer a sermon to motivate us. As I understood their instructions, I’m supposed to have us understand the role and mission of being a church in today’s world and that we as a parish often fall short in this mission, but under no circumstances am I to make any of us feel guilty about this. Knowing this would be a difficult task, I was hoping for a biblical text that would create a perfect vision of what it means to be a church, and of course do so without creating any sense of guilt. And, what do I get? A screaming Jesus flipping over tables and chasing people with a whip. At first I thought of ignoring the text, but decided perhaps there could be no better text. First, let us consider the Jesus we encounter today. Passover, the remembrance of God’s killing the first born males of Egypt but passing over the children of Israel as the means to free them from Egyptian bondage, was and is one of the holiest days in Judaism. In Jesus’ time it was one of three holy days Jews were expected to make pilgrimages from all over the world to the Temple to offer sacrifices. Because only unblemished animals were sacrificed, those coming long distances had to buy their sacrifices at the Temple. Only Tyrian coins could be used for the Temple offerings. This system seemed to serve everyone: the Temple leaders made money off the offerings and kickbacks from the merchants and money traders, who themselves had a monopoly on the Temple sacrificial animals and coins and charged exorbitant prices. Things were always chaotic on Passover. Imagine the Cotton District Arts Festival multiplied by 100 times as many people, hundreds of languages being spoken, and throw in cattle, sheep and doves. Then, the “Other Jesus” shows up. This is not the candy-coated Prozac Jesus, the one we come to to get a weekly dose of so that we feel warm and fuzzy for a few days until we get another dose. This is not the Tea-Party Jesus whom we sit around in our finest clothes and claim him as our friend, nor the Potluck Jesus who joins us in our pews as we sing and feel joyful. No the “Other Jesus” makes a whip and chases us out of the Temple, flips over our tables and accuses us of desecrating God’s house. And, we don’t care too much for the “Other Jesus.” The problem is there’s only one Jesus: the one who healed the sick, fed the hungry, preached humility on a mountain side, allowed humanity to nail him to a tree, and, yes, got angry enough to flip over tables and use a whip. What got him this angry? He didn’t chase the woman caught in adultery with whip. He didn’t chastise the Samaritan woman for violating societal norms by speaking to him. He didn’t scream at Thomas for wanting proof. He didn’t even take the money bag from Judas, who managed to keep some of it for himself. No, we encounter this angry Jesus only when he challenges a religious system so embedded in its own rules and practices that it is no longer open to a fresh revelation from God, one in which the place to experience the Holy becomes only the status quo for some and inaccessible for others. He expresses his greatest anger at what some 1900 years later, theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer would call cheap grace: that we can experience the Holy and receive God’s love and grace and somehow think it does not require something of us as a result. The folks in charge of the Temple didn’t like this “Other Jesus,” and neither does contemporary status quo Christianity. Both like things predictable and easy. Nice comfortable pews, favorite hymns, warm fuzzy sermons, and a faith that expects nothing of us are much preferred to the “Other Jesus.” It wasn’t the animals in the Temple that angered Jesus. Bill Miller, an Episcopal priest in a posh Houston, TX, parish, frequently took his dog Sam to his office. Sam played with children in the parish’s day care center, would lay his head in the lap of the lonely parishioners who came by during the week because they had no where else to go, and once licked the tears from a grieving spouse as she planned her husband’s funeral. Unfortunately one day Sam unloaded himself near the altar. One of the status quo members confronted Bill. Although a life-time member who had chaired many committees, she also was one who had sought to quietly undermine efforts to bring “outsiders,” those not like them, into the parish and by a certain look, unkind comment or lack of response had caused younger and poorer members to leave the parish. She berated Bill and said, by relieving himself, his dog had desecrated the church. As he was picking up Sam’s deposit, Bill responded, “At least Sam’s mess is easy to clean up.” So, what does all this have to do with the preaching task assigned at the Vestry retreat? It was true in first century Jerusalem, it is true in Houston, TX, and it is true in Starkville, MS: cheap grace is easy and preferred over the “Other Jesus.” What is this “cheap grace” to which I keep referring? Isn’t God’s grace free? Yes, it is, but as a verse from the song “7 X 70" by Pierce Pettis says, “Grace is free, but it ain’t cheap.” Because I often hold out before us Christ’s invitation to care for the sick and suffering, to love those we don’t care for, to give of our time, talents and treasure, and I balk when I hear our nation desecrate Christ’s name by committing horrendous acts in the name of Christianity, I am well aware that many don’t feel I preach enough on grace. I have preached on the God who breathed life into us and is as close as our next breath, who took on our humanity and allowed us to hang the incarnate God on a tree, who wants nothing but the best for us, and loves us – not in spite of our getting dirty but because we get dirty. I have preached that this grace is free – that we can do nothing to earn God’s grace. If this is not preaching grace, I don’t know what is. However, I have not and will not preach cheap grace: a grace of status quo, one in which after we have been loved, nourished, comforted, it does not result in transforming our lives. You see, grace, while free, if it is genuine results in our becoming imitators of the source of that grace. Will we do it less than perfectly? You bet, and God still loves us and gives us more grace. But, when we think we can turn God’s grace to business as usual, for personal pleasure, that’s cheap grace. Yes, when our lives are miserable, we need to come to this space and be assured of God’s grace, but if our pattern is to only come to get our dose of the “Feel-Good Jesus,” and go home as if nothing else changes, that’s cheap grace. When we are too busy to assure that our children grow up experiencing God’s love, that’s cheap grace. When it bothers us that there are many new faces at church we don’t recognize, when we place higher priority on the hymns we sing or the eucharistic prayer we use than welcoming strangers, that’s cheap grace. When we say we shouldn’t serve because that’s not why we’ve come together, that’s cheap grace. When leading worship for clergy becomes simply a business for which we are paid and we seek to please folks rather than preach the Gospel because it makes life easier for the clergy, that’s cheap grace; and we’d better get out of the way of the flying tables. Free grace is defined in Eucharistic Prayer C as coming to this Table not only for solace, but for strength, not only for pardon but to be renewed, to be made into the people of God as one body, one spirit in Christ, who having received that grace go out to serve in Christ’s name. Free grace says, “I accept the love God extends to us but rather than just helping us feel good, it transforms us.” Free grace says all are invited and welcomed and I will do all I can to invite and welcome others and assure our children grow up experiencing God’s grace. When a guest arrives late, free grace slides over, assists the guest through the liturgy, invites her to the Student Center and introduces her to others. Free grace celebrates the diversity of God’s people. Free grace gives back to God out of generosity for the grace and abundance received. It discerns what unique gifts and talents each have received and uses those talents to pass on that grace. Free grace is not about increasing or maintaining our membership. That would be great if that happened, but if that is our motive, that’s still cheap grace. Free grace is not about parish budgets, elaborate buildings, groomed lawns or ornate temples. Free grace is about what consumes Christ consuming us. These are the goals your Vestry has set, but neither your Vestry nor your clergy can do this, it will take all of us experiencing and acting on Christ’s grace. Christ offers his grace to each of us. His grace lifts us up when we’re down, makes us whole when we’re broken, surrounds us in his love. We cannot earn it, we have nothing with which to buy it. It’s free – totally free – but it ain’t cheap.