A Sermon from the Church of
Bethesda-by-the-Sea in Palm Beach, Florida
Preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck on March 10, 2024 (Fourth Sunday in Lent)
You may know the story of the Christian missionary who traveled to India to meet Mahatma Gandhi. He asked him this question, “Mr. Gandhi, though you quote the words of Christ often, why is it that you appear to so adamantly reject becoming his follower?” Gandhi replied, “Oh, I don’t reject your Christ. I love your Christ. It is just that so many of you Christians are so unlike your Christ.”
And it’s true. Every single day we fail to live up to his words. We fail to love our neighbors as ourselves. We turn a blind eye to those in need. We don’t forgive others as we have been forgiven. The list goes on and on. I could go on and on. But I think you get the point. We are fallen creatures, “miserable offenders” as the old Prayer Book put it. And, yes, I do miss the old Prayer Book.
Precisely because of our humanity we will always be “unlike Christ.” The point of being a Christian, of following Jesus, is that we are forever striving to put our lives into greater harmony with the life and teachings of Jesus Christ. We seek to love one another as God loves us. We aim to break down the human barriers that divide us one from another. And we always stumble, we inevitably fail.
Of course, the goal is not to become Christ — that’s not in the realm of possibility. Rather, it is to continually seek to become more Christ-like. And until we draw our last mortal breath, that’s the thrust, that’s the trajectory, that’s the hope: to become more Christ-like in our interactions with one another, and in the ways we daily live out our lives. That’s what keeps those of us who follow Jesus reading Scripture and coming to church and saying our prayers. We are all, every single one of us, a spiritual work in progress. And that’s okay. That’s what we do. That’s who we are.
The good news, as we heard Jesus say in the gospel reading from John appointed for this morning is that, “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world.” That’s an amazing thing, right? Because if there was ever a group worthy of condemnation, it’s us. We have heard Jesus’ message of love and grace, but have failed to fully enact it in our lives. We have failed to honor the divine spark that is so deeply embedded in our very souls.
And yet. “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world.” But if “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world,” why did God send the Son into the world? Well, that famous John 3:16 verse tells us: “God so loved the world that he gave his only son to the end that all that believe in him should have everlasting life.”
I actually memorized that verse as a kid — which was not something that happened a whole lot growing up in the Episcopal Church. But I was so enamored with the guy in the rainbow-colored wig who always seemed to sit right behind home plate at World Series games and at the 50 yard line at the Super Bowl holding up that John 3:16 sign. You remember that guy? I could never understand how he always had the best seats to the best games.
And so one day, when I was with my family on vacation somewhere and there was a big game on TV, and I spotted the guy with the rainbow wig holding up his sign, I went back to our hotel room, picked up the obligatory Gideon’s Bible, and looked up John 3:16. Which is why I can only recite the King James Version: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” I’m pretty sure I thought that if I only memorized that verse, my beloved Baltimore Orioles would win the World Series that year. It didn’t work.
But rainbow wigs aside, I’m struck by the contrast between hearing that God sent Jesus not to condemn, but to love. And this isn’t just an abstract or theoretical concept. Jesus does not condemn us, but so often we, consciously or not, do a pretty good job at self-condemnation. We condemn ourselves for our moral failings, for things we have done and things we have left undone. We condemn ourselves because we don’t actually believe that we are worthy of God’s love. We condemn ourselves because we don’t actually believe that God could love us unconditionally. We condemn ourselves because we don’t actually believe Jesus when he says that we don’t need to live our lives gripped by fear. And so we condemn ourselves for not being good enough or smart enough or attractive enough. And that self-condemnation leads to a cycle of shame and guilt that is not of God; the God who sent his son into the world not to condemn us, but to love us fully and wholly and without exception.
The season of Lent is a time to reflect upon our shortcomings, to “acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness.” But I think we sometimes fail to remember that this process of self-examination and repentance is rooted in God’s love for us, not condemnation. Lent is a season of freedom and grace, not shame and guilt. Which is why being honest with ourselves about the ways we fail to be more Christ-like is so important.
The writer and Christian apologist C.S. Lewis once wrote that, “Those who do not think about their own sins make up for it by thinking incessantly about the sins of others.” And boy is that the truth. So it’s a healthy thing to think about our own sinfulness this Lent. And not only healthy but, in the long run, helpful. Because when we do, we start to see that there is light and forgiveness in Jesus Christ. Again, God so loved the world, that he sent his son to love the world. To love you.
And while I won’t be donning a rainbow wig this morning to share the message of God’s abiding grace, mostly because I don’t have one, I hope you can hear this message and allow it to infuse your very soul. Don’t condemn yourself because of your shortcomings and failures — God doesn’t. God simply wants you to get to know Jesus Christ in ever-deepening ways, to worship him, to follow him, to meditate on God’s holy Word, and to strive always to be more Christ-like as you make your way in the world.
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