John 8:31-36
Jesus said, to some of the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples and you will know the truth and the truth will make you free.” They said to him, “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free’?”
Jesus answered them, “Everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not have a permanent place in the house, but the son has a place there forever. So, if the Son makes you free, you will be free, indeed.”
I found myself playing Foosball recently with one of my favorite 9 year-old boys, who shall remain nameless. (It’s questionably for pastors to invoke their own children as sermon illustrations, and even moreso where other peoples’ kids are concerned. So I will refrain.) Anyway, when he asked me if I played foosball, I gave him the same answer I give when someone asks me if I golf or play pool; something like, “I have played foosball, but I don’t play foosball.” Which really just means, I’m terrible at foosball – and golf and pool, for that matter.
But, since he’s one of my favorite 9 year-old boys, I agreed. And, first came the rules. And, since I’ve only played foosball, but don’t play foosball – and as with golf and pool, I’m usually holding a beer in one hand and a pool cue, golf club, or foosball rod in the other – I didn’t know the rules, didn’t think there were, really, rules to foosball, so was utterly at the mercy of my 9 year-old friend, who had LOTS of rules about how to play foosball.
I couldn’t keep track of them all at the time and can’t possibly remember them, now. But there was an “off-sides” rule somehow. And he seemed to have very official-sounding names for very particular offenses and penalties, like “tripping” I think. Maybe “tackling” was another. I was mystified by how little plastic figures, with immovable arms and legs, permanently attached to a metal rod could “trip” or “tackle” anything, but I was in no position of authority to argue with my 9-year old opponent. It was his table, his house, his rules, after all.
There was also a rule about whether my foosball players would, could, or should be upside down or right-side up at particular times. I think some of the foosball players could kick the ball backwards but others could not. I never did get to drop the ball back onto the playing field after a score, either – that was always his job. AND, of course, after I scored a time or two, my favorite 9 year-old seemed to suddenly remember more rules he’d forgotten to tell me about before we started. (I’m certain by the way, that he comes by all of this naturally. See, my favorite nine year-old’s father is a lawyer.)
But I played along, confident that I would and could and should win – no matter how many rules he threw at me – because he’s 9. But, as you might have guessed, I lost that freaking foosball game to my favorite 9 year-old.
And it makes me think about what we’re up to on Reformation Sunday: what Martin Luther was challenging in the Church of his day, and something like what Jesus meant when he talked about being a slave to sin, and about how we could be freed from that kind of bondage.
See, I think God’s people on the planet are called “children” for some very good reasons. Since the beginning of time, we’ve been pretending that the rules can save us. So we’ve messed with the rules – creating our own and breaking God’s – in ways that work to our advantage, in ways that disadvantage others, and in ways that make winners and losers of God’s people. And I think, like my favorite 9 year-old, we’ve convinced ourselves that by fudging the rules, by bending the rules, by making up and massaging the rules for our benefit, by playing by the rules at all – we can come out on top; that we can win, in the end.
In other words, we have convinced ourselves that our best chance for salvation, our best chance at freedom, as Jesus says it this morning, our only hope for victory is wrapped up in the Law of God’s rules.
Which is what people were up to in the days of Martin Luther – back in the 16th Century. They were keeping score with rituals and rules and restrictions and riches. You could pay cash for salvation, by way of something called an Indulgence, for example. The church was acting like a bunch of children, convincing people they could buy their way out of purgatory and into heaven, for the right amount of money. People were told they could make a spiritual pilgrimage or visit a holy shrine to earn favor and forgiveness in God’s eyes. We call this “works righteousness” nowadays – the notion that we can behave our way into God’s good graces.
And all of this made Martin Luther sad. It made him angry. It made him want to change and reform so much of what was happening to God’s Church in the world.
And it wasn’t much different than what was going on in the days of Jesus, either. The followers of Jesus were screwing up even while he was still walking around on the planet. The Pharisees were pointing fingers, the Sadducees throwing stones, the Scribes were scribbling down their rules, and the disciples were doubting that the grace Jesus proclaimed, promised and embodied, could really be true. And the faithful were falling for it.
All of it was about who was right and who was wrong; who was earning God’s favor and who was reaping God’s judgment; who was playing by the rules and who wasn’t; and who may or may not win, in the end.
God’s children were under the impression that following the rules – keeping the Law, at all costs – was the only way to win… the only way to be free …the only way to be saved. And, like me against my favorite 9 year-old, people fell for it – people fall for it – all of the time, thinking they could out-smart it all by following the rules.
But like those people listening to Jesus in this morning’s Gospel, we forget, don’t we? We forget that we have been – and are, still – slaves to Sin, slaves to the rules, slaves to the Law. And as slaves, like our confession reminds us, we cannot free ourselves. There is no amount of rules to follow… there is no correct Law to abide… there is no way, even, to tweak or twist the rules or the Law so that it leads to our victory.
Because we need more than the Law. We need the Son. We need the grace of a God, who isn’t keeping score; who isn’t dangling the rules before us like a carrot; who isn’t twisting the rules so that we’ll keep playing at this thing called FAITH, as though it were a to-do list for some cosmic task-master, rather than a grateful response to a generous God, which our faith is meant to be. We need the grace of a God who already loves us – and who always, always, always will – because we are, indeed, children of God. Nothing more and nothing less.
See, I imagine God watching all of us children – you and me and all of creation, I mean – like my favorite 9 year-old’s parents watched him kick my butt at the foosball table. Smiling and laughing. Not at all surprised. All of us knowing it was never about the rules or the score or the winning or the losing, anyway.
All that matters – God knows, and wants us to believe – is that we’re all set free, each and every one of us. That we all win, in the end. That God holds no grudges – and neither should we – until we learn to live differently and to love more radically and to hope more earnestly, and to play more fairly … for our own sake and for the sake of the world … thanks to the grace that belongs to each of us, that frees every one of us, that makes us all winners, in Jesus Christ, our Lord.
Amen
(…and for the record, I did Google “Foosball Rules” in preparation for this sermon and found nothing about “tripping,” “tackling,” or “off-sides.” And the rules I did learn about were not in my favorite 9 year-old’s repertoire, so I’m totally kicking that 9 year-old’s butt next we play.)
