Fearful Love

Propers: The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 19), 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.

So much of our experience of religion depends on whether we approach faith with an attitude of love or of fear.

Fear can so easily twist religion into xenophobia, fundamentalism, puritanism, and violence. Fear is the mother of hatred, aggression, and dehumanization. You can find terror wrapped around the heart of every religion, and indeed of irreligion. Fear of others warps us into something fearful to others. And fear of God, ultimately, twists us into devils.

But wait, wait, pastor, you might say. Isn’t the fear of the Lord the beginning of wisdom? Don’t the Scriptures teach us that? Indeed it is, and indeed they do. But the fear spoken of here is more accurately understood as awe and wonder. We do not fear God because He is evil, but because we realize ourselves to be evil. We fear Him the way we fear a loving parent: fear of disappointing Him, fear of fessing up. And even then, this fear is the beginning of wisdom, not its end.

The Scriptures also teach us that there is no fear in love, but that perfect love drives out fear. The more we get to know God, the more we wrestle with Him, the deeper into the Scriptures we delve, the less we find a stern God of unremitting wrath and the more we discover a self-sacrificial God of unconquerable love. And this is not some limp-wristed, namby-pamby, tapioca love. This is love as a white-hot fire, an all-consuming furnace, refining us as silver in the crucible purified seven times. The fires of God’s love, the flames of His Holy Spirit, reach out to engulf this world and make it new.

Ours is not the God who pitilessly casts sinners into endless conscious torment, torturing eternally the children He claims to love. Lord, no. Ours is the God who humbles Himself, who descends from on high, who works and sweats and laughs and cries, ever forgiving, ever healing, even to the point that we would crucify Him for it. And then, from that Cross, pouring out His life for the world, He lifts His face to heaven and prays, “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.” And this for His murderers, in the midst of His own murder!

God casts Himself into hell—for us! He plunges down into Sheol, down into Tartarus, the ancient Pit, the depthless Abyss, and there He conquers. He harrows hell. He batters down the gates of death. And He liberates the prisoners, the spirits in rebellion, even unto the time of Noah, when we are told the every thought of every man was only evil all the time. And this is somehow more shocking, more awe-inspiring, than any act of wrath could ever be.

Because if that’s what love does—if that’s how God works—who could ever possibly stop Him? Who could stand up against a love like that, a love that never quits, never gives up, never exhausts itself? A love that dies and goes to hell and back to gather every lost, last, loathsome sinner home again in Him? It is a power unlike any we have ever known, a power beyond fear, a power beyond violence—the power of Jesus’ Resurrection. It has already shattered death and hell, and now it spreads to encompass the whole of Creation, until at the last, at the End of the Age, God is All in All.

You can’t stop God from loving you. You can’t stop Him from forgiving you. You can’t stop Him from saving you. He will outlast you. He will outlive you. He will outlove you. Until finally you cannot stand against the endless tide of white-hot grace anymore, and you repent with bitter tears your long lifetime of rebellion. And then He will kill you in your sin, burn you up to ash—and thereby raise you to a glorious new life, a glorious mercy, a glorious forgiveness which can never be taken away. And we will each and every one of us finally be at the last who we were always meant to be—for we will all be uniquely one in Him.

Terrible things will happen. Sin has consequences. Rebellion breaks the world. But be not afraid. He sees you, He loves you, He dies to bring you home. And He will never abandon you. Should you fly up to Heaven, He is already there; should you fall down to hell, He has already conquered. You cannot escape the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. And thank Christ for that.

In our first reading this morning, Elijah fears that it’s all over, that he’s the last faithful person on earth. All the rest are dead and gone, and he’s ready to throw in the towel. But just when he’s at his lowest, just when he fears the worst, God reveals to him a bold and shocking new vision, a brand new beginning. Elijah has never been alone, and never will be. And what he thought would be the end is but the first page of the next chapter in the story of the salvation of this world.

We are beset, my brothers and sisters, by many challenges, many fears: Covid-19, the economy, whatever’s left of our political system. And our churches face challenges too: budget crises, attendance crises, the loss of faith in the West. And the most popular varieties of Christianity, the ones that attract banner crowds, are those that full-throatedly embrace nationalism, militarism, the obscene accumulation of wealth, and the gleeful damnation of everyone and everything that doesn’t fit their own pretty picture of a perfect, purchasable world.

You can almost smell their fear beneath their bleached-white rictus grins.

But fear not. Love may be unpopular, love may be misunderstood, but it is far more powerful and far more terrible than any religious or secular fear. With Christ beside us, we stand upon the waves. With Christ within us, we are already saved. And the petty problems of this world are as nothing to those who know that death is defeated, sin is slain, hell is harrowed, and God is forever victorious in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Bad things will happen, yes. This is still a broken world. But though our journey be beset with troubles and struggles and mourning and loss, nevertheless Christ is with us, Christ is for us, and Christ will bring home. Nothing, ultimately, can change that. Nothing can snatch you from His loving and crucified hands. And the day will come when those same hands will dry all tears, heal all wounds, and raise up all the dead from their graves.

So be bold, my Christians. Be brave to love, to give, and to forgive. Be the calm in this world’s storm. Be the life amidst the dead. Call all of Jesus’ wayward children home in Christian love. Give them a foretaste of that fantastic feast to come, an eternal life that starts in the here and the now.

And when death comes, disease comes, fear and hatred and violence come knocking, laugh in their faces, spit at their feet. They have no power over us. They have no power to take us away. They are one and all defeated from the Cross and for all time. For Christ is our God—therefore we fear no gods, no devils, and no simpering wicked men.

We have seen the love that burns through them all. We have seen the victory of Jesus Christ our Lord. And we will never be the same.

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