Romans 7:15-25a

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

 

            We’re dealing today with the topic of sin, which can be a real downer. To lighten up the subject and keep us from getting too dragged down into a world of gloom and darkness, I’m going to enlist the aid of some comic characters from the entertainment world. 

 

            This sermon angle was inspired by my running across a copy of a book on our shelves at home called, The Gospel According to the Simpsons. The book is a study of the ways in which this most popular cartoon show in history depicts the religious culture of this country.

 

            It occurred to me that there are two characters in that series who personify the contrasting facets of sin. First, we have Mr. Burns, Homer Simpson’s wealthy boss, who could have served as a model for last week’s sermon. He has no conscience, no heart, no compassion, no code of ethics. He lives only for himself, and finds pleasure in demeaning and even inflicting pain on other people. For Mr. Burns, rules are to be followed only if they are to his advantage. Human beings are merely resources to exploit for his own benefit. The clinical definition of his behavior would be sociopathic.

 

            On the other hand we have Homer. Homer is an utterly inept person, a miserable father and husband. He is selfish, greedy, and stupid. He has absolutely no will power or self-discipline, and is carried away by whatever emotion or primal urge strikes him at the moment. In his own way, he manages to cause as much destruction as Mr. Burns. The difference between the two is that Homer has a heart and a conscience. Deep down, he wants to be a good person and is genuinely sorry for all the damage he causes. He just can’t seem to help himself.

 

            For those who don’t watch the Simpsons, here are a couple of even more glaring examples of these two facets of sin from the entertainment world, one contemporary, one from way back. In the Austin Powers series, Mike Meyers takes on the character of Dr. Evil. This villain takes pride in his evil ways, and his sole reason for living is to cause as much harm to the world as he possibly can. As a father, he is disappointed at his son’s inability to follow in his footsteps. His describes his son as only semievil, quasievil, the Diet Coke of evil, not quite evil enough. Again, we would define him as a sociopath.

 

            On the other hand, we have two characters who played a significant role in my formative years, Laurel and Hardy. My father was a big Laurel and Hardy fan, so we saw quite a bit of them. These two were two well-meaning, but spectacularly incompetent, characters who left a swath of destruction wherever they went. The simple act of delivering a piano or cleaning a chimney, or even house-sitting, would inevitably result in entire neighborhoods becoming federal disaster areas. They were basically good people who couldn’t help but mess up whatever they tried.

             

            In our day and age, we tend to define sin mostly in terms of Mr. Burns or Dr. Evil. Sin is viewed as intentionally doing that which is wrong. Sin is knowing the difference between right and wrong, and then deliberately choosing to do wrong.

            People who commit this kind of sin cannot be reasoned with. They can only be restrained, through some type of security or police action.

 

            Granted, this kind of sin exists. There are full-blown sociopaths in the world. There are people with sociopathic tendencies. Some even manage to get themselves into positions of considerable power and influence. They must be controlled.

 

            But there is a problem with focusing on this facet of sin. For one thing, it places a disproportion focus a relatively rare form of sin. Sociologists estimate that fewer than 3% of all males, and only 1% of all females in the United States have sociopathic tendencies. That means that the overwhelming majority of sinners and sins don’t fall under this category.

 

            Placing too much emphasis on sociopathic sin is a major cause of strife and hatred and polarization in the world. It causes us to demonize others. It artificially and falsely divides the world into good guys and bad guys. It leads us to assign evil motives to everything from mistakes to differences of opinion.

           

            So when somebody says or does something that we see as harmful to our interests, we lump them in this category of sin.

            If a person says something that I don’t believe to be true, he’s not merely mistaken, he’s a liar.

            If he causes damage, it’s not that he made a mistake; it’s that he’s a bad person.

            If a government leader takes an action I don’t understand or agree with, it’s because he doesn’t care about the people.

            The reason a judge makes a decision I don’t agree with, is that he’s trying to destroy the country.          

            A person who has entered this country illegally is not just a political problem, he’s a thief and a rapist and murderer.

            A person from another faith tradition is not a person deprived of the life-giving message of Christianity, but an enemy of God and of civilization.

 

            In his letter to the Romans, Paul is careful to put the focus of sin where it belongs. In the vast majority of cases, sin is not sociopathic. Sin is not intentional. It is not something we plan. But it is something we all do.

 

            Paul expresses the frustration of most sinners this way: “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. I do not do the good that I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.” Homer Simpson and Laurel and Hardy could not have agreed more.

 

            When I read Paul’s words, I am reminded of the time we contracted to have a couple of new windows installed in our house in Wisconsin. The fellow who came to do the work was one of the nicest, most polite, earnest, and conscientious young men you could ever want to meet. He was a new employee who really wanted to do a good job for us and to prove himself to his boss. He showed up right on schedule one afternoon, and began to take out one of the old windows.

            I had plenty of work to do, and so I went up to my office and closed the door to shut out as much of the noise as I could. Late in the afternoon, after finishing my work day, I came downstairs saw him carefully cleaning up after himself. And then I saw what he had done.

            He had not just removed the old window; he had taken out the trim, the sash, every bit of wood in that whole frame. We had a giant hole in our living room.

            It gets worse. The woodwork was original with the house. It was an intricate, detailed pattern that nobody makes anymore. In taking it out, he had destroyed all of that irreplaceable wood. How were we ever going to match the rest of the windows in the house?  In a state of shock, I called his boss. When he came over, it was his turn to be in a state of shock. As we gaped at the tremendous damage done to our house, the look on this young worker’s face was heart-breaking.

            He had so wanted to do the right thing. He had tried his hardest to make things right. He had so desperately wanted to please us. Instead, he had done the exact opposite. In our Christmas pictures from that year, you can see behind the Christmas tree, this huge gash in the wall stuffed with insulation to keep out the subzero temperatures while we tried to figure out what to do.

 

            That is the picture I have in my mind when I read Paul’s words to the Romans. We’re not bad people. The vast majority of us want to do the right thing. We want to do what God wants. Look at the outpouring of compassion and generosity in any community when tragedy strikes. People want to do God’s will.

 

            But you know the old adage, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

            Or as Dandy Don Meredith used to say, “If wishes and buts were candy and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas.”

 

            Time after time, we find ourselves doing the opposite of what we want or believe. That young workman on our window failed and caused a great deal of destruction because of just plain ignorance. We often fail and cause destruction for the same reason. But we also fail because of pride, because of fear, desire, passion, distrust, anger, laziness, and many other reasons.

 

            We want very badly to be the people of God, to please God in every way, to do what is right in God’s sight. And we set out to do it.

            But sometimes, doesn’t it feel as though we’re swimming for shore wearing heavy boots that we just can’t get rid of? We know where we’re going, we know how to get there, we try hard, but something keeps dragging us down. And no matter how hard we fight and kick and splash, no matter how much effort we put in, we just can’t get where we want to go. 

 

            No one experienced that helpless feeling more than Martin Luther. He was obsessed with trying to do God’s will. He was scared to death of failing. He had come to believe that if he did not get this righteousness bit perfect, God—being a God of justice—would condemn him. Luther tried to monitor his every action, every thought to make sure everything he did was pure and godly.

            To his horror, he could not do it. To be sure, many of his “sins” were trivial. One of the priests to whom he was confessing his sins finally told him to get out and don’t back until you’ve committed a sin worth confessing. But Luther knew he could not follow God’s law perfectly. He could not meet that impossible burden.

 

            What saved Luther was that he finally opened his eyes and saw God’s grace. He read the Bible through Paul’s eyes and saw at last that God does not impose harsh demands on people.

            God does not demand perfection.

 

            God understands that all people are to some degree captive to sin.

            God understands that, apart from that small segment of sociopaths, no one intends to live an unhealthy lifestyle.

 

            No one intends to be a bad parent.

            No one sets out to form bad relationships.

            No one intends to let down a friend.

            No one intends to lose their temper.

 

            No one means to be unfaithful to others.

            No one intends for their marriage to fail.

            No one means to get themselves addicted.

 

            No one tries to ignore those less fortunate

            No one tries to break promises or resolutions.

            No one tries to develop lazy habits.

            No one intends to be thoughtless or selfish.

           

            No one intends to sin, but everyone does.

 

            God is not looking to condemn people but to save them from the consequences of their destructive actions. Not to impose burdens but to lift them. 

 

            God has shown us what is good. God has given us the ability to tell right from wrong. God has shown us to what where abundant life lies.

 

            And yet God knows our nature. God knows that sin is a part of us. That even though we know what is right and we know where God dwells, and we swim toward that goal, the heavy boots of sin keep dragging us down.

 

            As we sink, we wonder what is wrong with us. How do we keep getting in these predicaments? Why can’t we be the people God wants us to be? Until, sometimes, like Luther, we fall into frustration and despair.  

 

            God sent Jesus to relieve us of that burden that drags us down. That is why confession and forgiveness is such a big part of the Lutheran church. When I do a more contemporary version of that rite, I almost always use our Gospel passage today from Matthew.

           

            Come to me all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens. All who are trying to do the right thing. All who find yourselves doing not what you desire but the very thing you hate. All who set out to do good, and find yourselves ruining other peoples’ houses.

 

            Come to me and I will give you rest. I will take away the burden of sin that drags you down, and I set you free.

 

            I will not free you of all the burdens of life, for life must be a struggle or it is worth living. But my burdens, my demands are light. My yoke is easy.

            Come to me and find the rest for your souls that you need to live with joy in the kingdom of God.