8/14/55

Scripture: I Corinthians 10: 1-13

Text: I Corinthians 10: 12; “Let any one who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall.”

The daily mail includes some of what my friends call “junk mail;” some first class business letters; often first rate personal letters; and an occasional “crank” letter. So far, it has been my good fortune to have very little of the unsigned kind of stuff that “tells one off” but carries no signature.

There came to my address some time ago a signed letter, enclosing a pamphlet, the effort of which seemed to be to persuade the readers that ordinations and academic degrees have nothing to do with one’s call to preach the gospel, or even necessarily to have anything to do with Christian experience.

This was no news to me, nor to any other thinking Christian. On the other hand, I wonder how the Lord of Creation can be so long-suffering and patient with those who suppose that a stirring of the emotions alone can possibly take the place of consecrated and trained intelligence. Those who assume that all one has to do, if he is really called to preach the gospel, or discuss his Christian faith, is to open his mouth and let the Lord fill it, seem to me to be woefully ignorant of the hard work and earnest thought and genuine effort that the Almighty requires of those who make any effort to be His prophets or teachers.

But it is quite true that the matter of being educated, or rich, or influential, or ordained or a member of the bar or engineering society has its pitfalls. One can easily fall into a pride of status that blinds him to the worst pitfalls around him.

Indeed, the perils of pride are the most insidious of all dangers that beset mortal souls. The title of a book by Vardis Fisher, “Forgive us our Virtues,” is highly suggestive of this point.

Christian folk have long considered it a virtue to pray, with faith that prayer will be answered. Many of us, however, pray as though we were in the place of God who had sense enough to give the right answer. It is easy, instead of pleading to know the will of the Eternal God for us, to try to persuade God that we ought to get what we want.

Years ago, a story circulated about a group of ministers who held a prayer meeting for rain in Boston. It appeared to them that rain was needed, so why not get together and pray for it? Another minister coming to the prayer meeting from the low, marshy grounds of Concord-Sudbury didn’t see it the same way. He didn’t need so much rain where he lived. In fact he had to get through so much mud and high water in his carriage that he arrived only with difficulty. And he said this to the others: “You ministers in Boston start praying for rain the moment a tulip begins to wilt in your front garden, and you don’t stop until all Concord and Sudbury are two feet under water!”

What makes anyone so confident that he knows what he should have in answer to his prayer? It is sobering, and humbling, to remember that the rain which could benefit the oats and the corn and the garden, is not at all welcome for a picnic or for the haying. And, after all, who are we to know what ought to be the weather upon the good earth, or the climate where the soul must dwell?

James Lichliter says that “Christianity is a remarkable blend of skepticism and optimism.” Christian thinking and experience are skeptical about the goodness of what is called the “good man,” the wisdom of the “wise man,” the piety of the “pious man,” because all human virtue is infected with the evils of self-centeredness.

On the other hand, the Christian is optimistic, because he trusts in God who shares our predicament in love and suffering. His unlimited forgiveness encourages us to keep on trying in spite of our failures.

It is not a comforting or flattering business to realize that we need to pray for forgiveness for the very things that we suppose to be our virtues. But, if we do realize it and pray for such forgiveness the door may open to the peace that passes mortal understanding, and to the joy that the world can not give or take away.

Let us illustrate the matter negatively in a few ways. First, take religion itself. Nothing is finer, or nobler in human nature, than our capacity for worship and adoration; and our willingness to spend, and be spent in the service of God and His Kingdom. The religious part of life is the creative part. Out of it come our new and improving patterns of behavior, the significant changes in mind and character.

But all this good is infected with evil. For this life of faith is responsible for the great glories and the deep disgraces in human history. The Bible opens the mind and will to great good. But it is likewise used to fortify people in stubborn perversity, and blind self-righteousness.

One’s loyalty to his church, or to his religion, is such a good thing that he rarely sees the perverse pride that may inhere in it. But others can!

One’s power of conviction is such an excellent thing that it is rarely possible to see through it to detect the will to power. But others can! If one does not wish to think, he can be offended, and may feel righteously indignant when questions are raised that require looking into.

If you or I want to be saved without undergoing any change of heart or mind, we can find in any religion, our own included, certain doctrines and practices that will appear to us to do the trick. If we be “liberal” and “broad-minded” about religion this virtue may stem not so much from Christian love as from personal indifference; while on something that appears important, like taxes, or socialism, we really wax fanatic! The problem is endlessly complex, because we are people and we differ, each and all.

But under the forms of religion, the sins of pride and selfishness can fester and thrive and do their work of character destruction and social deterioration almost unchallenged, because we see so little use in praying for forgiveness for what we suppose to be our “goodness” -- our “virtues.”

This is true, as well, for our morality. Suppose you must make a decision, in the light of what you believe to be right or wrong. You mull it over for a while, finally reaching a conclusion that is right and proper for you. So you go ahead and act for a number of good reasons and with the best of intentions.

I make my decisions that way, too. So does everybody else. But, sooner or later, these moral judgments collide head on. And what I think is right and proper conflicts with what you think is right, or my other neighbor believes is proper. Why? Not necessarily because either of us is a hypocrite, but because we are human, incomplete, and sometimes perverse. Being human, each of us judges the goodness of things unconsciously in the light of our own particular interests, needs and experiences.

So the good that I would do is only partially right. It may be biased in favor of me. And by the same token, the good that you would do can be biased in favor of you. This fact will continue to bedevil you and me, and all others, until people become angels.

If the issue be a minor one, a tolerable live-and-let-live arrangement can be worked out. If it seems a more serious matter, we may resort to the courts, on principle. Even then, we may concede that justice is done only if we win the case.

When war is declared, or a real strike breaks out, both sides appeal to reason and conscience. And each cuts the other down in utter sincerity and for the sake of principle.

Now we can get too cynical about this. For the good that we do is certainly worth doing, and believing in. But we need to be aware that our moral judgments are seriously flawed by self-interest no matter how right and proper they may seem to be. It isn’t enough to justify our virtuous pretensions.

Look, further, at man’s organizing genius; his scientific progress, and technical skill. We can hardly fail to be grateful for this virtue that confers on us, and on all mankind, so much benefit. But the benefits have their counter liabilities.

When the U.S. Army occupied Japan, doctors and sanitary engineers of the occupation force went to work. Within a single year, the death rate went down dramatically, and stayed down. That was a splendid humanitarian achievement. Thousands of lives were saved from early and needless death.

But, at the same time, nothing was done about control or persuasion concerning the birth rate. In a country that has suffered acutely from overcrowding, the struggle for existence became still more severe, and communist missionaries find a warm welcome among many. That is ironical, and it jars us into realization that what we call progress creates further problems. And some of the problems are not as far away from us as in Japan.

Even our conquest of nature is a victory less clear than we like to think, because DDT and penicillin encourage hardier parasites. And the possibility that nuclear fission can fall into the hands of greedy and impetuous men clouds our existence with the threat of doom. So there is more than just a literary paradox in the thought that we need forgiveness for what we suppose to be our virtues. This is Christian realism.

One of the credits of our Christian religion appears to be that it sees the human problem as a problem of power, and not a problem of weakness. The temptations of Jesus in the wilderness were the temptations of a strong man, aflame with a great purpose - temptations to dominate, to rule, to be spectacular. It may be that the remembrance of that testing served to prompt the Master when he sounds his later warning to all his disciples: “What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” [Mark 8: 36].

With this in mind, we leaf through the gospels again, and we likely find two things. The first is that Jesus leveled his strongest attack at people whose respectability made them scornful; whose religion made them proud and unteachable, whose patriotism made them exclusive; whose wealth and power made them irresponsible. I do not think he despised the respectable; certainly he did not hate those who were earnest in their religion; I do not supposed he condemned patriotism. I think he loves the wealthy just as he loves the poor; and the powerful as well as those who have little power. But he is severe with those who have become corrupted by their pride of position.

The second thing you may notice is that, for Jesus, the function of religion is not to reinforce the simple moral decencies of life. We can achieve that if we have any character at all. But the function of religion is to redeem our purposes and motives, and to help us make the best possible use of whatever personal force we have. The stress falls not on our weaknesses but on our strength.

We may be in less danger over the things we’re ashamed of and keep out of sight, than over the things we’re proud of and feel good about; because then our guard is down. Paul put it very bluntly, and right out of his own experience, when he said: “Let anyone who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall.” With that note of humility, the positive Christian answer begins. It begins when we stop kidding ourselves, give up our illusions of virtue, and are ready and willing to seek God’s help.

We must, indeed, rely on conscience and reason to help us do good. But the thing that we do is never wholly good. It is flavored by self-interest or self-love. Even the highest religious virtues of devotion and zeal can serve as outlets for our pride and will to power.

That is why we bow in contrition, and sometimes in our religious worship, confess that we are miserable sinners who have “followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts.” The form of that ancient and genuine prayer of the church is couched in archaic language but its meaning applies to us now at every moment of our contemporary lives. The prayer is not a matter of cajoling an offended deity, or like “polishing apples” with the teacher or “buttering up the boss.” It is a necessary and realistic reminder to ourselves in the sight of God, just who we are -- such complicated and often mixed up people, that we are weakest at our strongest points and may be most prone to do evil when conscience seems clear.

So we confess our inadequacy; we give up the hopeless attempt to carry a burden beyond our own power, and we humbly and gratefully carry it with God. We try to become more teachable. We may learn to understand the spots that are our “Achilles heel” where we are spiritually off balance and off center. Our idea of sin is sharpened and clarified as we, perhaps, acquire a stronger sense of the beauty of holiness.

The Christian answer begins with humility, and goes on to charity. I do not mean “alms giving,” but rather a genuine concern for the well-being of others around us. Our criticisms are tempered with appreciation. We are aware of the frailties and the genuineness of others.

When Napoleon and companions were climbing a steep path on St. Helena, they met a peasant carrying down a big bundle of faggots on his head. The aide-de-camp briskly motioned the burdened peasant to step aside. But Napoleon, who remembered carrying similar burdens as a boy, rebuked the offer, exclaiming: “Respect the burden! Respect the burden!”

When we learn more about recognizing and telling the plain, unvarnished truth about ourselves as in the sight of God, our self-righteousness gets tempered and we become more charitable. When we realize how much we need the forgiveness of God, we are more ready to extend forgiveness to others.

If we put less confidence in the peace that we think we understand, because it is compounded of fear and self-indulgence, we may come closer to the peace that passes understanding.

Humility is the basis of charity, and charity has power to heal this sick world, because it works with patience and compassion.

And these things come about not because of our own proud determination, but out of willingness to accept the grace of God in human lives.

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Dates and places delivered:

Wisconsin Rapids, August 14, 1955

Wisconsin Rapids, July 15, 1962