American Lies

 

Propers: The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 22), A.D. 2020 A

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.

“If any want to become My followers, let them deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow Me.”

In other words—it’s not about you.

It would be hard to imagine a more countercultural, more shocking, more un-American message than that simple truth: It’s not about you.

If we believe in anything, we believe in American Exceptionalism, and this rests upon the twin pillars of individualism and meritocracy. Individualism is the notion that we are free from the fetters of history, of sociology, of education or economics or group dynamics. We are, every one of us, a special and unique snowflake. We are, every one of us, the exception to the rule.

We aren’t like anybody else, we tell ourselves, and we think this a great freedom. We’re independent, like cowboys or mountain men. Yet American adults, by and large, are lonely, anxious, medicated, and depressed. Most of us live far from family. Most of us have lost touch with old friends. Most of us are performing without a net, without a support system, without a community. And this is not how humans are built to live. We think we can do it all. We think we have to do it all, or else. But we can’t. Not alone. No man is an island.

Yet we are conditioned to think of ourselves as failures when it all becomes too much to bear and we need help. Which brings us to meritocracy.

Meritocracy, we are told, is the American Dream. It’s the notion that anyone with gumption and drive can make it big, if only you put in the sweat and pull yourself up by the bootstraps. We’re all just one big break away from wealth and fame. But the flipside of this notion—that anyone can earn the right to be rich—is that if you’re poor, it’s your fault. You didn’t work hard enough. You weren’t smart enough. You weren’t good enough. And your bank account proves it. Your debts prove it.

We all love a good rags-to-riches story. But these are the exceptions that prove the rule. Gates, Bezos, Musk—these aren’t self-made men. Every one of them had a rich parent, a powerful friend, who gave them a leg up, gave them an opportunity. And then they used existing infrastructure and tax structure to keep their wealth and not give back. Oh, they write a check here and there, sure. But compared to their net worth, they’re giving away pennies and expecting to be lauded for it.

Individualism and meritocracy together tell us that the rich deserve to be rich and the poor deserve to be poor and if you’re struggling, if you’re lonely, then you’re weak. You’re a loser. It’s your own fault you aren’t a success story. It’s your own fault you aren’t a star. But there’s a solution! And it’s called consumerism.

Consumerism is the promise that you can buy happiness, buy worthiness, buy forgiveness. If you simply choose the right purchases, the right products, the right politics—well then, you’ve built yourself back up into someone worth loving. And this is why three-quarters of Americans die in debt—the average balance being about $61,000. What a wonderful legacy to leave to our children.

Now tell me, who does this system serve? It claims to serve you. It claims to be freedom: freedom to be an individual, to merit success, to consume your way to happiness, consume your own identity. But this is slavery, bondage to a gilded cage. We are alone. We are vulnerable. We are poor—despite our houses filling up with junk that we don’t need. And yes, I’m speaking in sweeping generalities. And yes, we live in an area that has a stronger community than most.

But statistics don’t lie. This has been the reality of our fellow Americans for generations. And we wonder why we’re coming apart at the seams. Cui bono: who benefits from this ideology of self-worship, self-sufficiency, and self-creation? Not us, despite all its lies to the contrary. Why, the way pieces fit so seamlessly together, one might almost come to think its origins diabolical, mightn’t one?

But thanks be to God, who proclaims our liberation. Thanks be to God, who sends His Passover Lamb to lead us out from slavery into the Promised Land and of milk and honey. The eternal life promised by Jesus Christ is not simply pie-in-the-sky, some distant fantasy future with no relevance for the here and now. Rather, if we seek to be reborn, to follow Christ, to be for this world a foretaste of the feast to come, then we must deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Him.

What does that mean? Clearly it’s more than checking the right boxes, signing the right tracts. Faith is more than simple mental affirmation. Nor does taking up the cross mean that we seek out extra difficulties, engaging in self-flagellation. No, to take up the Cross of Christ means to deny ourselves—it’s not about you—and instead to live this day for love of God and neighbor. Do not worry about seeking happiness. Do not strive for self-fulfillment. Such folk are never really happy, never truly are fulfilled. For those who seek to save their life will lose it.

Rather, empty yourself—of grudges, anxieties, fear, shame, pride—and live in the moment. Be present in the now, for the present is all we have. Yesterday is gone; entrust it to God’s mercies. Tomorrow may not come; entrust it to His promise. Do not constantly strive for the next goal, the next milestone, the next accomplishment, wishing, hoping, praying that this, at last, will be the one to finally make you happy, this at last will fill the hole deep within your heart. Life doesn’t work that way.

Treat today as the gift. Treat today as pure mercy, pure grace. You did nothing to earn this day. You did nothing to create yourself, and you do not truly sustain yourself. It is all given freely, superabundantly, out of love, every heartbeat, every breath—so that we are freed from scarcity to give to others in return. This then is the Cross of Christ: to die to the self, die to the ego, die to the strangling power of our sin; and to rise humbly, powerfully, gratefully, to new and eternal life, as new men and new women, in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Now this doesn’t mean that we ought to live foolishly. Christ admonishes us to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. It’s good to have goals. It’s good to accomplish something in this life. How else could we grow? But we mustn’t live in the future, nor in the past. We can and ought to visit them, yes. Learn from history. Hope for new horizons to come. But live in this moment. Live in the now. Do the good that God has placed in front of you, the harvest planted within your own field. And the future will come. And Christ will be there.

St Paul lays all this out plainly for us this morning:

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers. Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them.

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all … If your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink … Overcome evil with good.

This is not a checklist. These are not rules you must follow to make it into Heaven. Rather, this is what Heaven looks like here and now. This is what freedom looks like here and now. This is what denying yourself, taking up your cross, and following Christ looks like here and now. And it is liberation, pure and simple.

You are loved. You are forgiven. You are promised a future beyond any glory that you could ever imagine. And nothing can ever take that from you. Sin may delay the will of God, at least to mortal eyes. But in the end, at the last, His will be done.

Life isn’t about you. It never was. And thank God for that. It has always been about the inexhaustible love we receive from eternity in this present moment, poured out for the world from the Cross—and the freedom we are thus given to share this unconquerable love with all peoples and all Creation for all time.

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