Sermon Draft October 7th

My Name is Earl Jesus

You ever watch the television show My Name is Earl? For those of you who haven’t, let me give a brief synopsis:

Earl, an unkempt n’er-do-well, for whom nothing seems to go right, is taken by surprise one day when the scratch ticket he buys at the local Gas and Gulp turns out to be a million dollar winner. Earl is so jubilant over this seeming reversal of fortune, that he runs outside into the street, rejoicing. Where he is run over by a car.

Lying in the hospital, bandaged and high on pain meds, Earl watches a documentary on Buddhism that talks about karma. The notion that past wrongs done to people cause problems for one in the present—but that these problems can be erased by good deeds done. In his drug-induced state of enlightenment, Earl takes this teaching to heart, mangling it to mean that, in order to reclaim the right path for his life, he must first go back and un-do all the wrongs he has ever done to anyone. He immediately makes a list, and once released from the hospital, embarks on a program to do just that. Hilarity ensues! And that’s My Name is Earl.

I mention it because, in a way, our name is Earl, too. Not that we are losers trying to make things right. But that we sometimes share Earl’s new ethical worldview—simply stated, that what goes around, comes around—that the bad will get their just desserts and the good will receive their reward; and that evil done can be erased by good done. The Buddhist concept of karma, which is quite a bit more complex, has been co-opted by our modern American society, stripping it of its spiritual roots and accoutrements, and rendering it a clichéd maxim of a moralistic theology. And yet, it is an extremely seductive concept. For one big reason—it affords us the chance to redeem ourselves.

For instance, if we take karma as a given in this way, we can withstand the wicked (or avoid being wicked), because the wicked will eventually reap what they sow and come to a wicked demise. Conversely, if we are good—do good things, say good things, give money to the poor and champion the oppressed, then, karmaically speaking, it’ll be let the good times roll for us. Our good deeds done will be rewarded with good things done for us in the end. Or, if you’re like Earl and you have a list (which you gotta admit, we all do,) then balancing out the karma by righting the past wrong wins you cosmic forgiveness. Kind of salvation feng shui.

The psalmist seems to suggest just this. “Do good yourselves,” he writes, “and as for those who do wrong—they will soon wither and fade away, so don't be jealous of them or be provoked to anger by them. (It's bad karma.) Just you wait—instant karma's gonna get them. But there's a striking difference between what Earl thinks and what the Bible says.

For, if we believe in our hearts that the bad people in the world will all come to just and satisfying ends—we’re mistaken. Just look at the Soprano’s! (That was another television reference—I had to set that straight because I saw some of you looking at the choir with new interest.) Seriously though—the evil in this world often prospers and wins—one need only look at the situations in Myanmar and Darfur to see that first hand. Where's the karma in that?

And conversely, it seems like no matter how good some people are, terrible things befall them. Disease, violence, disaster, financial ruin—all in payment for clean living, gentleness, prudence, and good stewardship. Where's the karma in that?

The prophet Habakkuk lamented to the Lord about the same kind of thing. He said, “Why, O Lord, do you make me look at this world of woe, these troubled, oppressed people, this strife torn creation of yours that you said was good. All is death and doom, all is squabbling and fighting, and the wicked hover around the righteous, like jackals waiting for the kill. Why don't you do something?”

And therein lies the key to why karma just doesn't fly for Christians. Because for all our earnest attempts at righting the wrongs in our lives and our world—we know deep down that we can't fix things—not ourselves, and not the world. Only God can redeem us from our sins because only Christ died for their remission. Only God can bring about God's peaceable kingdom—in which there is no more suffering, because only God is master of all things. We know that only God can help us. And so, we expect God to do something.

And God does do something. In ancient times he sent his prophets to speak his word and bring the people back to faithfulness. He kept his covenant with Israel and when they returned to his care, he took them in, no matter how wicked they had been. He provided enough for all to share and live (though quite often the people did not share). And God provided one whose mission it was to take all the bad karma on himself and destroy it through his selfless death on the cross, and by his resurrection transferring the power of his good karma onto us (what Luther called the “happy exchange”--though Luther would probably be doing backflips in his coffin if he heard me compare it to karma.) God sent one whose very name means he saves. His name was not Earl. His name is Jesus.

His name is Jesus. And he doesn't keep track of good deeds, tallying them up like greenstamps towards the purchase of salvation. (Oh, for you young'uns—greenstamps you got at the supermarket and you saved them, pasted them in little books and then traded them in on merchandise. Like 500 books for a transistor radio. Oh, a transistor radio was like a huge ipod that only played music other people wanted you to hear. Well, just watch some Brady Bunch reruns and you'll catch on ) Jesus isn't Santa Claus with a naughty and nice list. Jesus' list has everyone's name on it and it's entitled TO BE SAVED.

The second half of today's gospel speaks directly to Jesus' stance in the face of our Earl-ness . When we do good and expect something for it, karma-like—Jesus confronts us with the truth. We are doing only what we are supposed to be doing—we shouldn't think that we're advancing our cause one iota. Instead we should joyfully do good in thanksgiving for the abundant love God has shown us. In this way our works are our “duty and delight,” our obligation and our joy, as it says in our communion liturgy, and, incidentally, in the new stewardship emphasis that Dean will introduce to you after worship (shameless commercial over now). We love because God first loved us. Our good deeds are not selfishly directed, but selflessly directed.

So we don't keep lists of prior sins to atone for one by one until we're free and clear and good comes our way. (Indeed Luther recommended that one not agonize over individual sins—racking one's brains for the inclusion of each and every misspoken word and unintended offense-so that each and every one be erased through penance. He advocated a general attitude of repentance.) We don't do that—we repent and confess and we expect God will wipe away that debt and restore balance. We expect God to do it.

Why? One word. Faith. It is God's gift, passed down from generation to generation. And it's powerful stuff. It kept the Israelites going as they endured Babylonian exile and Egyptian enslavement. Faith It was what made it possible for the psalmist to stand firm in the face of those wicked ones who mocked God and the law. Faith. It kept Timothy going—though he was a young leader of an irascible bunch of church-goers. Faith. The disciples wanted more of it, but Jesus said a little goes a long way brother.

And when it boils down to it, you can either go with Earl's concept of karma, or you can rest in faith. Which means you can either trust yourself with your eternal salvation—or you can trust Jesus. As for me........trust Jesus. (checks off this one item on “my list.”) Amen