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A Sermon Preached at St. Christopher's Episcopal Church, Oak Park, IL
on the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, September 16, 2007 (Proper 19, Year C, RCL)
by the Rev. Paris Coffey

Readings: Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28; Psalm 14; I Timothy 1:12-17; Luke 15:1-10

The Lord looks down from heaven upon us all, to see if there is any who is wise, if there is one who seeks after God. - Psalm 14:2

On Tuesday, bells and bugles - accompanied by a gentle rain and litany of the dead - echoed throughout the United States as our nation paused to mark the sixth anniversary of 9/11. In Washington, President Bush and hundreds of White House staff members stood on the South Lawn observing a moment of silence. At the Pentagon, a bugler played taps as relatives of the 184 people killed there huddled under umbrellas. In Shanksville, Pennsylvania bells tolled and a wreath was laid in the grassy field where Flight 93 went down, killing 40 courageous civilians. And in New York, where two hijacked airliners toppled the World Trade Center, the names of those who died were read against a steady beat of drums and sound of bagpipes.

This last ceremony was held for the first time in a New York City park adjacent to Ground Zero, rather than at the World Trade Center site where construction now fills the block where the towers once stood. The ceremony began with the "Star-Spangled Banner" sung in soft, high voices by the Brooklyn Youth Chorus, but at 8:46 AM - the moment the first plane struck the North Tower - a tolling bell called people to silence. Slowly - over the next two and half hours - the names of the dead were read aloud by first-responders who'd helped rescue victims from the collapsing towers. They read 2,750 names - a list that included for the first time a woman who died in 2002 from lung disease caused by the Trade Center's collapse.

It was, as always, a moving tribute with many names ending, "My friend, my father, my cousin, my colleague . . ." At the same time, though, I couldn't help but think, too, of the 1,107 American troops who've died in Iraq just since January, the 15,000+ Iraqi civilians who've died violently this year alone, the 200-400,000+ genocide victims who've died In Darfur in 4 ½ years of conflict, and the 1,000+ Israelis, or worse, 4,000+ Palestinians who since September 11, 2001 have met their end at the hands of what many call terrorist acts. The description of these conflicts and their numbers might be argued, but the truth is, this is just a partial list of many such losses throughout the world.

Clearly, the United States is not alone in its loss, and yet I wonder how many of us think of these tragedies globally as others thought of us when they said on September 11, 2001, "Today we're all Americans." All over Paris these words were seen on signs or heard in the streets, while in London, Tehran, Nairobi, Helsinki, Sarajevo and numerous other cities, candles were lit and prayers said for the victims of 9/11. Many international cities still mark this day in an act of unity with our country's loss, and yet how many of us, amid the destruction of suicide bombs, genocide or other tragedies, say, "Today we're all Iraqis," or "all victims in Darfur, all Israelis," or "all Palestinians?" How many of us, in fact, when an earthquake strikes Peru killing 513 people say, "Today we're all Peruvians," or even, "all New Orleanians until that city is rebuilt and dignity restored?"

The world is full of violence, suffering and loss for countless people - all of whom are loved by God. We're all in this together, although sadly this truth can escape us, especially if we see ourselves as different - as self-sufficient or singularly righteous people unaware of our own sin. This is the case with the scribes and Pharisees in today's Gospel who challenge Jesus not just for consorting with sinners, but for hosting them. "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them!" the righteous scribes and Pharisees protest.

For the Jews, eating together was one of the most intimate things a person could do, and here Jesus is eating with sinners. Luke says simply that "all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus," but apparently it's more intimate than that. Apparently these sinners, who come "seeking after God" as the Psalmist would say, also share a meal, turning what might have been a simple theological exchange into an intimate encounter. The learned scribes and Pharisees, on the other hand, who've been shadowing Jesus now for some time, come wanting to trip him up. They come seeking to challenge his theology - to protect the faith from Jesus, for they are righteous men - the "good guys" they would say - which some Christians today might validate.

After all, the learned scribes and Pharisees knew their "Bible" by heart. They prayed, tithed (often up to a third of their income - which sounds great to me), fasted twice a week, attended "church" regularly and were generally moral people. Many of them couldn't remember ever breaking a commandment, and I don't mean just the ten, but the 613 rules contained in the Old Testament. That's a lot of rules, but the scribes and Pharisees, who believed all the right doctrines, followed such rules religiously.

Moreover, I'm sure they practiced impeccable liturgy as well - swinging the incense just so, chanting the Psalms with perfection, and doing everything in seamless symmetry, fully vested, the way things had always been done before. Surely this is what God intends, rather than those new-fangled ideas Jesus advocates like cavorting with sinners. Tax collectors and prostitutes, after all, might pour out their hearts to God in some messy, soul-baring way, and although that may be what they need, since they're sinners, the Pharisees would say it won't do them any good if they haven't kept the rules, for rules matter more than people.

"They're sinners, they're lost, and that's that," the scribes and Pharisees would assert, and yet what they fail to see is that we're all lost in one way or another; lost in righteousness or rightness - if you're a Pharisee - and as a result, lost in the practice of love and in awareness of their need for God. Indeed, blinded by self-righteousness, the scribes and Pharisees fail to see and understand the very heart of God who loves the lost/the sinner, and this includes every last one of us. It includes those lost by their own stubbornness, willfulness or stupidity like the sheep who wanders off in today's Gospel; and it includes those who get lost through no identifiable fault of their own, like the lost coin.

Unlike coins, however, none of us are without sin. On the other hand, neither are we without goodness. Rather, as a six-year-old girl once said, we're "streaky people," or as a sign outside a country church put it, "You aren't too bad to come in; but you aren't good enough to stay out." That's us! That's Americans and Iraqis; Israelis and Palestinians; Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists; that's even Orthodox Christians and Episcopalians. All fall short of the glory of God, and yet by owning the truth about ourselves, warts and all, and accepting that we're all in this together, we can not only find God, but can be the face of God for one another.

We can break down barriers of judgment and hatred in the world, but more importantly we can break down barriers within ourselves that come when we compare our insides with other people's outsides. On the outside we look one way - sleek, shabby, or somewhere in between, but on the inside we're all a little shabby, each and every one. Those who outwardly look the best may be the most afraid their vulnerability will be discovered. And so we need to share our shabbiness/to acknowledge our vulnerability as a man who was church shopping knew when he happened upon an Episcopal Church one Sunday morning. The service was well underway when the man entered, and so the people were already at prayer. Noses pressed to their Prayer Books, he heard them all say together, "We have left undone those things which we ought to have done, and we have done those things which we ought not to have done." Sighing, the man slipped into the back pew "Thank goodness!" he said with relief. "I've found my crowd at last."

He found people willing to own the truth about themselves and with it found God's strength - not in human power or perfection, but in human vulnerability. He found a connection with others, just as others connected with us in our profound vulnerability on September 11, 2001. As New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg acknowledged this past Tuesday, six years after the attack on the Twin Towers, "That day we felt isolated, but not for long and not from each other." I would add, "and not from God" as well, for in our reaching out to one another in vulnerability we come to know the true power of the God who loves the sinner and seeks the lost, bringing us back into community with God and one another.

Amen.