Unforgettable

Propers: The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 22), A.D. 2019 C

Homily:

Lord, we pray for the preacher, for you know his sins are great.

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

I grew up in a town called Schnecksville, which literally means snail-village. It’s a decent place to come of age, with a few quirks and curiosities to keep things interesting. It’s out there where the exurbs meet the country in the hills and valleys of Pennsylvania. And after a few years spent in Philadelphia, Boston, and the bustling metropolis of Fargo, my wife and I ended up in New York Mills, an even smaller town, with a few quirks and curiosities of its own.

Basically my whole life, then, whenever someone has asked me where I’m from, and I’ve dutifully told them, the inevitable response has been: “Where?”

Little towns like ours are not great in the eyes of the world. We have no international airports, no world-famous opera houses, no headquarters for billion-dollar corporations. We don’t even have a MacDonald’s. Or a stoplight. What we have are families doing their best to raise and educate our kids in a safe and healthy environment, and neighbors working together to build a lively and intimate community of which we can all be rightly proud. And that counts more, I think, than all the stock exchanges and stadiums in the world.

Greatness, as the world sees it, has never mattered much to God. This sets Him apart from most every deity ever conceived by the blinkered mind of man, gods of conquest and riches and glory and might. I mean, He has those things, sure, but they don’t much matter to a God who is truly infinite. Power doesn’t impress the Almighty. Wisdom doesn’t impress the All-Knowing. And all the possessions in the world mean little to the One who creates and upholds everything and everyone in every moment of their being.

God is not impressed by great empires or great riches or great fame. He is impressed by great humility, great gratitude, great love. To Him we are all like little children, who cannot possibly match our parents’ abilities, but whose kindness and love warm their hearts all the more for our powerlessness. A small child can offer nothing to the Father save love, and that’s all that pleases Him.

When Jesus speaks of the high brought low and the low raised high, He isn’t really saying anything new. We heard that very same song from Mary when she was asked to be His Mother—a young, poor, humble girl from a backwater village, specifically chosen to be the Mother of God in the flesh. It’s the same thing we read in the Prophets, as they rail against kings and conquistadors, warning that the highest of the high must be servant of all and slave to all, lest they in their tyranny be toppled from the throne, and a worthier steward raised up in their stead. God speaks to the elite as the Voice of the poor.

And this of course is why Christ Himself goes unrecognized as the Messiah, the Logos, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords—for He is not born to the purple in the palace of the emperor, nor does He descend fully armored at the head of heavenly hosts. He is born in a manger, in a cave, to a poor young woman and a carpenter. Because that, for God, is greatness: not the rich and the strong and the mighty and the feared; no, the humble and the loving and the simple and the low. They are the royalty of God. They are His Holy Family to which He is born for this world. And that’s a very different set of priorities from those we’re used to hearing.

We’re all raised to believe that we’re supposed to be millionaires and movie stars and celebrities, that we’re to work hard to make money to buy stuff we do not need. We toil and sweat and bleed and strive for medals, for diplomas, for promotions, for fame—that people would know our name and bow to our honor and revere our positions upon the lofty ladder of life.

But none of that means anything in the end. Celebrity perishes as swiftly as the falling of the stars. Any monuments we raise shall crumble. Any buildings erected in our memories shall fall. And any book we may write will one day be left unread. No one on their deathbed wishes that they’d worked more hours or bought more stuff. Rather, what matters to us, when all else is stripped away, is the people we’ve loved and the families we’ve raised and the kindness we have shared with others.

Because in this world, let me tell you, we are not immortal. We are not memorable. We live, we die, and we are forgotten—just like our great-grandparents, and their great-grandparents, and the entire mass of humanity before them. Even the great men and women of history aren’t really remembered for who they were. Rather, they are known for a handful of deeds they supposedly did, and even this we remember quite poorly. You and I will be forgotten in a matter of decades.

But not by God. God never forgets. That’s what makes Him God.

God never forgets the kindnesses we show, the love that we share, the humble holy gratitude we lift up with empty hands. He never forgets when we feed the poor or clothe the naked or listen to a friend or pet a dog. He never forgets what He loves about us. And that is why we’ll rise again. Not because we were rich or strong or great or famous. Not because we earned our place in Heaven. But because we were, and we are, and we always will be, loved.

And on that day, when the world is remade, and we rise to new life in a new Heaven and a new earth, there will be a great leveling. There will be no bank accounts or pocket books or Forbes 500 lists. There will be no prizes for having had power or wealth or position, for having been born to a given family in a given place. Rather, we will all see each other face-to-face for the very first time. We will see spirit to spirit and soul to soul, so that many who are first shall be last, while many who are low shall be raised up higher.

And all of humanity will stand in the unfettered light of God’s truth, the fires of His love, so that the good we have done will be purified and refined, while the wickedness of the past shall be burned out of us and blown away. In God, nothing good is ever truly lost.

So don’t worry if you’re from a small town or a big city. Don’t worry if you made millions or just barely enough to get by. None of that matters to God. Be humble and loving, generous and fearless, confident in the grace and mercy and promises of God. Because He sees every act of grace, every simple kindness, every selfless love that you have ever shared in your life. Only the sins are forgotten.

For regardless of the circumstances of your birth, or the position you attained in this life, you delight your Father in Heaven, as only a beloved child ever can.

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.