"Saul the Pharisee, Paul the Apostle"

Sermon by The Rev. Brad Landry

October 23, 2022

This might come as a surprise to some of you, but I have not always been known by my current name.

Allow me to explain: Before I was Paul the Apostle, I was known as Saul of Tarsus.

A lot has changed since then.

The story that Jesus told about the arrogant, boastful Pharisee? Yeah, that could have been me.

You see, I was a Pharisee, and a damn good one (if I say so myself).

My teacher was the famous scholar - Gamaliel. I guess you could say I went to the Harvard of my day. I was ambitious, I was zealous, I was eager to get ahead in the world.

But so very much has changed since then.

It’s been, gosh, thirty years(?) since I was knocked off my high horse on the way to Damascus and blinded by that gracious light.

I am an old man now, and my journey has brought me here to this dank, dark prison in Rome. My eyesight may be failing, but I can read the writing on the walls…the time of my departure has come.

(Shiver) It’s much colder here than in Jerusalem. You may have skipped over this portion of my letter today, but that’s why I asked Timothy to bring me my cloak.

That Pharisee Jesus speaks of…he was so close, yet so very far off, was he not? He had all the externals down pat: he went to church, he fasted and prayed, he gave a tenth of his income (there’s a bit for you to remember this time of year!) Jesus isn’t telling us not to do these things, he is telling us why we do these things matter.

I used to think I had somehow impressed God by being better than others. While I may not have exactly blurted it out loud, that doesn’t mean that I didn’t think that way.

“O God, thank you that I’m not like…” (and you fill in the blank of who we want to shame today).

All of my efforts were focused on how I stacked up against the competition. And let me tell you, there is no joy when caught in constant comparison.

In truth, the joy, the meaning, the real kind of life I had been longing for was not something I discovered all on my own.

You may have heard of my little mid-life crisis on the road to Damascus. I had been going about my ambitious business, snuffing out heresy and doing what I though was best to keep the faith.

And then that light, that stunning, spectacular, sacred light showed me my blindness.

“Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” I heard a voice say.

“Wait, what? Who are you!?” I stammered.

“I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.”

My companions didn’t know what hit me. I lie on the ground, muttering. Were it not for Ananias and the others in Damascus, I would have been lost.

For several years after that I dropped off the map - almost literally. I travelled far into the desert of Arabia and wandered through the wilderness just like my forebears. I needed some time to sort out exactly what had just happened to me.

My life since then has been all about learning the prayer of that man who went down justified from the temple. “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

Jesus says “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.” And of this I am living proof. I have exalted myself, only to be humbled. And I have humbled myself, and been exalted more than I deserve.

It is the Great Reversal, of which he spoke so often: “The first shall be last, and the last shall be first.” God is not interested in our rankings or status or privileges. God sees us for who we truly are.

True humility, I’ve learned, is not about denying our gifts, our skills, and abilities. No, that would be false humility. The word itself - humble - comes from the root humus, meaning “of the earth.” To be humble is to be grounded. Remembering where we came from, and to where we shall return: “Remember thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return.” This is true humility.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if I, Paul, were to write a letter to you - the saints of God in Homewood?

Sure, I’ve gained a reputation for having a sharp tongue. I’d probably have some frank words for your leaders, when they get anxious and major in the minors so to speak. I’d probably remind you that what unites us in Christ is greater than what divides us. Many of my exhortations in my previous letters could equally apply to you.

But what I’d want you to know, uniquely, personally, directly: Is that God loves you unequivocally, without exception, without qualification. Not because of what you’ve achieved, but because of who you are. You are, each and every one of you, beloved.

Centered in this, our true identity, the rest of our lives will fall into holy order. If right action flows from right being, we would do well to contemplate the prayer of the wiser person: God, be merciful to me, a sinner. A sinner redeemed by the grace of God.

So pray this prayer. Make it your own. Paraphrase it into your own words. Live it, do it, be it…and you too will go out from this place justified.

Grace and peace to you in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Sincerely,

Saul the Pharisee turned Paul the Apostle