The Reverend Dr. Lillian Daniel
July 6, 2008
First Congregational Church,
www.firstconge.org
630-469-3096
I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I
do the very thing I hate.
Scripture: Romans 7:7-20
What then should we say? That the law is
sin? By no means! Yet, if it had not been for the law, I would not have known
sin. I would not have known what it is to covet if the law had not said, ‘You
shall not covet.’ But sin, seizing an opportunity in the commandment, produced
in me all kinds of covetousness. Apart from the law sin lies dead. I was once
alive apart from the law, but when the commandment came, sin revived and I
died, and the very commandment that promised life proved to be death to me. For
sin, seizing an opportunity in the commandment, deceived me and through it
killed me. So the law is holy, and the commandment is holy and just and good.
Did what is
good, then, bring death to me? By no means! It was sin, working death in me
through what is good, in order that sin might be shown to be sin, and through
the commandment might become sinful beyond measure.
For we know
that the law is spiritual; but I am of the flesh, sold into slavery under sin.
I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the
very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree that the law is
good. But in fact it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me.
For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will
what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the
evil I do not want is what I do. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no
longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me.
Sermon:
Do you ever walk away from a situation asking yourself, “Why did I do that?”
I ask it at least once a year, every morning on July 5th.
In Glen Ellyn, July 4th is an extravagant festival of bacchanalian proportions. Surely there is not another village this size that does July 4th with this much energy. There’s the morning parade – extraordinary not just for its content, but for its length and duration. I mean, everybody gets to be in this parade – a no-cut parade. This leads me to think every year, why doesn’t our church have a float in this parade? Every year, I think that; and then every year, I forget about it until the next year’s parade, when I say, “Why doesn’t our church have a float.” So this year, I am saying it to you all on a Sunday morning. If any of you creative types would like to do something, I would be more than willing to ride on it – with a tiara. No, I really do have an idea for a float, but no skills to make it happen, so talk to me if you think you could do something.
The interminable parade, the people’s long march, is the beginning of the festivities that concludes with a massive fireworks display worthy of a major city, not a village of 27,000. So the day turns into one huge street party, from morning until late at night – this grilling explosion. I have found that if you’re not careful, you can eat about six different meals on July 4th – all without leaving your own yard. Every year, I tell myself that I am not going to overdo it. And every year, I fail to show restraint. When you start the party in the morning, your will power runs pretty low by the late afternoon.
With all that temptation over time, it is impossible not to over-indulge. That’s why they have this four-mile race in the morning – so that all the weekend warriors can justify what will follow. One guy, who was bringing up the rear of the race, really struggling, panting, out of breath responded to our encouraging cheers by saying, “Now, I can eat five brats.” He knew where he was headed, and admitted it – you’ve got to respect that. Most of us don’t plan to eat five brats, we just slip into it somehow. Then we wake up on July 5th, and I quote this scripture from the book of Romans to myself: “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” Then I take a Zantac® and live to see another day.
“I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”
It’s only in retrospect that I hate it. Three days ago it was exactly what I wanted to do.
Why did I do it? We can ask that question about things much more serious than a case of indigestion.
What made me lose my temper?
Why did I tell her something she didn’t really want to hear?
Why did I think that it was worth breaking the speed limit in order to get there thirty seconds sooner?
Why did I fail to listen to my doctor?
Why did I do that?
It’s a question that human beings have been asking themselves since first we were created with free will in the Garden of Eden, created with free will and the freedom to make big mistakes. Why did I do that? Adam and Eve must have said it after eating the apple, the forbidden fruit, feeling ashamed. As they packed their suitcases for life outside paradise, they realized that having the ability to make their own choices was not all it was cracked up to be. Stepping over the apple core on the long march into the real world, they must have asked themselves: “Why did I do that?”
They weren’t the last Biblical characters to ask that. The Bible is full of “why did I do that?” stories. Later, the greatest leader in the Christian church, the apostle Paul, who took a handful of Jesus followers and taught them how to be the church, the one who took the message of Jesus all around the world, from Turkey to Greece to Rome, where he wrote this letter – one of the greatest theological treatises in history. Even Paul asked himself the question, “Why did I do that?,” but he put it more beautifully, more poetically. He said, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” Why did I do that?
I love it that even Paul, the unstoppable builder of the early church, had mornings like July 5th, when he wrote those words of regret.
I also like it that we don’t know what it is he did. He does not include that in this letter. Perhaps it was something everyone knew he had done, so he did not have to tell the church in Rome. Or perhaps he was referring to the general cluster of things we do that we do not understand. In laying out his agony, he invites us to see ourselves in this scripture – to realize we are not the first generation to get it wrong.
When Paul said, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate,” he was not just speaking psychologically, as we might hear on Dr. Phil or talk radio. He is talking spiritually. How can I be delivered from a cycle like this? The answer he found was both inside himself and outside himself. On one hand, he found enormous comfort in the notion that in Christ our sins can be forgiven – that in the late nights of asking God, “Why did I do that?,” God can offer a blessing that says, “I forgive you.”
Paul also knew the work did not end there. He still asks the question, “Why did I do that?” He is saying, “Yes, Jesus forgives me, but what’s my part in this? How can I examine my own actions, and do my part in living up to God’s forgiveness?”
I knew a man whose favorite expression was, “That’s yesterday’s newspaper.” Every time you would try to talk to him about something serious from the past, he would cut you off. “Don’t have regrets. Live in the moment. Don’t look back, that’s my philosophy.” Here’s the problem. He was somebody who really needed to learn from his mistakes, because he kept hurting people in the same way over and over again. He’d always cut you off. “That’s yesterday’s newspaper.”
He acted as though this was a prescription for a happy life, being joyful, living in the moment. You know what? He was not a very happy man. He had a string of broken relationships behind him, a daughter who wouldn’t speak to him, four failed marriages, and business colleagues who dreaded dealing with him. He bounced from one difficult situation to the next, repeating the pattern, because he couldn’t ask himself the question, “Why did I do that?”
So to me, the question, “Why did I do that?,” has a hopeful side to it. It may be a question that we ask in times of regret, but it’s a hopeful question because it indicates that we human beings have a capacity to learn from our mistakes. Just the fact that we ask the question means that we are looking at ourselves, thinking about what we did and imagining that we could have done better. Your past is not yesterday’s newspaper, something to toss in the recycling bin and forget about. If you don’t examine it, instead of being yesterday’s newspaper, it could be tomorrow’s headline – so it’s worth examining.
Serious regret is just the flip side of believing in yourself. We regret what we did, but we hope for a better outcome the next time. Why did I do that? I want to know so that I don’t do it again the next time.
The people I worry about are the people who never ask that question. Who never say, “Why did I do that?” Who never admit, “I do not understand my own actions.”
Tony Robinson, the author who has
spoken at our church, talked about some words of Ralph Waldo Emerson that have
been dear to him for many years. He says them over to himself at day’s end, for
they convey the promise of grace in the new day. “Finish each day and be done
with it. Tomorrow is a new day. You will begin it well and serenely and with
too high a spirit to be cumbered by your own nonsense.” That’s wiser than
saying, “It’s yesterday’s newspaper.” Emerson taught us to pay attention, to
learn from our lives; but having done so, we do get to see a new day. We do get
to move forward.
In Paul’s letter to the Romans, we learn that our most important leader struggled with will power. The architect of the church experienced sorrow about his own behavior. Insightful people can behave irrationally. It is the human condition; but bad behavior is not the end of the story. Forgiveness in Christ will follow, and so can self-understanding: exterior gift of forgiveness; interior gift of understanding.
Communion has always been a time when we are supposed to examine our own hearts on the way up to the table. Is there anything we are carrying that doesn’t belong there? Is there anything in our lives we have glossed over like yesterday’s newspaper? For some of us, a little quiet time in church is the only opportunity we have to really look at our lives and our actions as our own. Sometimes we don’t love what we see, but always the act of seeing, is Godly. It’s worthy of the communion table.
At the table over there, Christ will pick up the rest of the equation. Christ will meet us half way.
So come, those of you who seek self-understanding; come, those of you with regrets; come, those of you who have fallen short of perfection; come, those of you who do not understand your own actions.
Behavior is not the end of the story. This table is for you and for many, for the forgiveness of sin and new life. Amen.