Can't Touch This

1 John 5:13-21
Easter 7
May 16, 2021

William G. Carter  

I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, so that you may know that you have eternal life.

 

And this is the boldness we have in him, that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have obtained the requests made of him. If you see your brother or sister committing what is not a mortal sin, you will ask, and God will give life to such a one—to those whose sin is not mortal. There is sin that is mortal; I do not say that you should pray about that. All wrongdoing is sin, but there is sin that is not mortal.

 

We know that those who are born of God do not sin, but the one who was born of God protects them, and the evil one does not touch them. We know that we are God’s children, and that the whole world lies under the power of the evil one. And we know that the Son of God has come and has given us understanding so that we may know him who is true; and we are in him who is true, in his Son Jesus Christ. He is the true God and eternal life. Little children, keep yourselves from idols.

I’m sure you have noticed. There are some things that just don’t fit together.

• Ketchup on a peanut butter sandwich. No, don’t do it.
• Motor oil and maple syrup. One of them will ruin your car, the other destroys your pancakes.
• Filing for divorce on Valentine’s Day. That would be a stupid gesture.
• New York Yankees fans and Boston Red Sox fans. They can’t stand to sit in the same stadium.

Some things just don’t fit together. Here are two more: Jesus Christ and evil.

It is a stark duality, typical of John, typical of early moral teaching in the church. It’s either this or that, Christ or evil. Love or sin. Truth or lie. Clarity or illusion. There is a difference between them.

John can see the divisions rather clearly. Over here is the realm of righteousness. Over there is a world of destruction. We belong to either one or the other. This is simply the way John talks. It’s there on the very first page of his letter. Chapter 1, verse 5: “God is light and in him there is no darkness at all.” Can you hear it? 

“If we say that we have fellowship with him while we are walking darkness, we lie and do not do what is true; but if we walk in the light as God is in the light, we have fellowship with one another.” Chapter 1, verses 6 and 7. Either we lie, or we tell the truth. Either we walk in darkness or walk in the light. For John, there doesn’t seem to be a dusk or dawn.

Maybe you have known Christians who talk this way. They have the whole world sorted. It’s this or that. You’re either one of them or you’re not. Such clarity can lead to the temptation of superiority. Either you are on the road with me, or you are on the wrong path.

I had a college roommate who was wired this way. He was so certain of everything. If I was reading a novel in the dorm room, he felt the need to comment on whether he approved. If I lingered too long with my wayward friends, he quoted the Bible, “Bad company ruins good morals.” (1 Cor. 15:33). If I played raucous music on the stereo in our room, he would leave immediately. There were some weeks I played a lot of that music just to clear him out of there.

We graduated in the same year, parted ways, never saw one another again. Invited him to my wedding, didn’t get a reply. Lost track of where he went or what he’s doing. And I’m fairly certain that he didn’t expect me to become a minister. According to his typology, I wasn’t pure enough.

Now, John divides the world this way because other biblical writers divide the world this way. We heard Frank sing the first psalm, the overture to a collection of 150 psalms. On the one hand: “Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked, or take the path that sinners tread, or sit in the seat of scoffers; but their delight is in the Torah of the Lord.” On the other hand, “The wicked are not so; they shall not stand in the judgment, nor sit in the congregation of the righteous.”

It’s either-or. The righteous are like trees planted by streams of water, well-rooted and prolific. The wicked are like dry stalks of wheat, cut from their roots, ready to blow like chaff in the wind. Through the generations, there have been far too many preachers and prophets, so certain of their own clarity, that they would turn the either-or into a decision and ask, “So where do you want to be?”

One of my teachers canceled some of his teenage dates on Friday nights, after his minister said, “When the Lord returns, do you want him to find you at a drive-in movie?” And it would scare him. The clarity would frighten him.

I guess my response is that it’s never that easy. For one thing, clarity doesn’t always keep anybody out of trouble. To follow the news of the day, or the news of any other day, why is it that some of those who prop themselves up as “right,” as morally correct, as pure, should fall so dramatically? I could name names, and you could name names. They were so clear, so self-assured, so triumphant, so full of themselves – and now they circle around the drain.

This is where John reminds us declares that none of us can ever claim to be superior or exempt. For the six weeks that we have worked through this letter, we have heard the Prayer of Confession introduced with truth from chapter 1:

If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1:8-9)

Self-deception is always a possibility. Brennan Manning says the best way to save our lives is through simple honesty. Here’s how he says it in his book, The Ragamuffin Gospel:

 The Good News means we can stop lying to ourselves. The sweet sound of amazing grace saves us from the necessity of self-deception. It keeps us from denying that though Christ was victorious, the battle with lust, greed, and pride still rages within us. As a sinner who has been redeemed, I can acknowledge that I am often unloving, irritable, angry, and resentful with those closest to me. When I go to church, I can leave my white hat at home and admit I have failed. God not only loves me as I am, but also knows me as I am. Because of this, I don’t need to apply spiritual cosmetics to make myself presentable to Him. I can accept ownership of my poverty and powerlessness and neediness . . . My deepest awareness of myself is that I am deeply loved by Jesus Christ and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it.[1]

The first step to “walk in the Light” is to simply get over ourselves. To knock off all pretense. To be real. To stand on the same ground as everybody else. If we are honest about the times we stumble, the missteps that led us astray, God can do something about us. The Gospel offers us a good cleansing, and the possibility of a fresh beginning.

But there’s something else here. John reminds us that life is inherently dangerous. It is remarkably easy for any of us to go astray or get ourselves in trouble. We do not – and cannot – live in insulated bubbles. We live in the world, as Jesus stepped foot in the world. And “the world that Christ so loved” is the world that crucified him. We can’t ever forget that.  

Now, that word “world” – in Greek, “cosmou” - is a loaded word in John’s writings. It refers to the whole system of operations, to the twisted and destructive ways that the world usually works. This is a world consumed with consumption – we will mow through a field like a cloud full of locusts. Power becomes an aphrodisiac. Rebellion leads to arrogance. Arrogance leads to abuse. Truth is compromised by cover-ups. Life can be destroyed and dismissed as expendable.

John puts it this way: “All that is in the world – the desire of the flesh, the desire of the eyes, the pride in riches – comes not from the Father but from the world. And the world and its desire are passing away, but those who do the will of God live forever.” (2:16-17).

It reminds me of an old youth group exercise. We would learn the Ten Commandments, get a handle on what they mean. Then we would say, “Let’s read a magazine together.” Or “let’s watch a half-hour of television together.” We would give a scorecard to the teens and say, “How many of the commandments were broken?” After about ten minutes, we would lose track.

We can’t be deceived by the sunshine. There are shadows too, all the time. John reminds us that there are “mortal sins.” At this, all the Roman Catholics in the room snap to attention. Some of you were raised with the medieval classifications of “mortal sins” or “venial sins.” To translate for the Presbyterians, a mortal sin is a deliberate act of disobedience, done with forethought, malice, and rebellion. A venial sin may merely be a mistake. In other words, heavyweight sins and lightweight sins.

But John writes our text a long time before the church began to classify sins. When he says, “mortal sin,” what he means is there are some sins that can kill us. Without constant vigilance, without regular self-reflection, we could become ensnared and be the next one to circle the drain.

That’s why our spiritual tradition offers a prayer discipline called “the prayer of examen.” It’s usually a bedtime prayer, at the end of the day. The invitation is to reflect on the day from start to finish, to call to mind the foul thoughts and the nasty inclinations, and to also remember the moments of grace. We pray for God’s forgiveness as we step into the cleansing light of Christ. There is no need to cling to what God has already released. Try this some time. Try it tonight. You might sleep better.    

As someone paraphrases our text, “My purpose in writing is simply this: that you who believe in God’s Son will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you have eternal life, the reality and not the illusion.” (The Message, 1 John 5:13). The Easter life is an honest life, a forgiven life – and therefore a life filled with God’s eternity. That is what Christ has come to offer each one of us – a life that breathes peace because Jesus invites us into the peace. This is what he comes to do. This is what he continues to do.

Some things don’t fit together.

• Like meanness and mercy; one of them must win, so it’s best to choose mercy.
• Or death and life. You can bet on life.
• Or selfishness and sacrifice. Only one can remain, and the wrong one will deliver a mortal blow.

Two more things that don’t fit together: Jesus Christ and evil. They are incompatible. And it’s just as well. Evil tried to get rid of Jesus, and he came back from the dead. Ever since, evil has been exposed. The world still does its best to pull us into the darkness, but Jesus continues to be the light of the world. Trust that. It’s the truth.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel (Sisters, OR: Multnomah Publisher, 1990) 25, 27.