Galatians 2:15-21
Hebrews 11:1-16
July 30, 2023
William G. Carter
We ourselves are Jews
by birth and not Gentile sinners; yet we know that a person is justified
not by the works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ. And we have come
to believe in Christ Jesus, so that we might be justified by faith in Christ,
and not by doing the works of the law, because no one will be justified by the
works of the law. But if, in our effort to be justified in Christ, we
ourselves have been found to be sinners, is Christ then a servant of sin?
Certainly not! But if I build up again the very things that I once tore
down, then I demonstrate that I am a transgressor. For through the law I
died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with
Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And
the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved
me and gave himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God; for if
justification comes through the law, then Christ died for nothing.
My faith was formed in a Presbyterian congregation. If you had not read the sign on the street corner, you could probably discern it’s a Presbyterian building. There’s a pulpit right in the middle, signifying the centrality of scripture and the preaching of the Word. There’s no communion railing, inviting all to have direct access to the Lord’s Table. High above the organ pipes, there’s an inscription from the 100th Psalm: “Enter His Gates With Thanksgiving” – a most Presbyterian sentiment; John Calvin used to say gratitude is the highest Christian virtue, even higher than love. If ever there was a Presbyterian building, it’s that building.
But here is the most curious aspect to that sanctuary. On the walls around the room, there are several plaques. It’s been a while since I’ve been back, so I’m not sure how many. There must be eight or ten large plaques. As I recall, some are bronze and a few in marble.
Each plaque has a name or two. I don’t know most of the names. To the best of my memory, there was one man’s name, with the notice that he been a church leader, and then two dates separated by a dash.
Other churches memorialize the church members who gave their lives in the service of the country. It notes the war, the name, possibly the year they were lost. Yet the plaques in my home church are markers of longevity. A long-time Sunday School teacher is remembered. Over here, two elders. I guess if you survive four hundred Session meetings, somebody puts your name on the wall.
In the back corner, a marble plaque marks the two people that I remember. The Rev. Edgar Frank and his wife Helena served the church when I was a child. I remember his quiet voice, speaking complete and grammatically correct sentences. Some say he phoned all the church members for their birthdays; don’t know what else he had time to do. What’s stunning to me now is the span of his service: thirty-seven years. What pastor in his or her right mind serves the same church for thirty-seven years?
Yet one thing I know. When I grew up sitting in our family pew, I had a sense that I was surrounded by people who had been faithful to God for a very long time.
As we move this summer through the apostle Paul’s listing of the nine qualities of the Spirit-filled life, it’s inevitable to spend some time reflecting on faithfulness. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, and generosity are exemplary character traits. The trick is to keep them going, to live a faithful life over a long stretch of time. That’s the characteristic that gets your name upon the wall.
We don’t know the name of the preacher who gives us the Letter to the Hebrews. She didn’t sign the letter. But we know something of what she was dealing with. Her church was tired. They were worn out. They had put in their time, in fruitful and unfruitful seasons, and they were ready to give up.
The preacher says, “You can’t give up. It’s too early for that. Faithfulness sees the far-off horizon what we can’t yet see. We aren’t making this up but viewing what we know about God’s future.”
Then the preacher turns to point to the plaques upon the wall. “Look at Abel, who made the acceptable sacrifice, and Enoch; all we know about him is that he pleased God. Then there’s Noah, who hadn’t yet seen a rain cloud before he trusted God to start building a big boat. And Abraham, who had no idea where he was going, but God said, ‘Trust me and I will lead the way.’”
The list goes on: Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, and bless her warm and generous heart, Rahab. Each one of them trusted the God we cannot see. They endured for the sake of promises that remained just out of sight. They didn’t stop. They kept going.
“And with people like these, who are now cheering us on in our journey, we can’t stop. We must keep going. This is a long-distance marathon, not a 440 sprint. God is the One who initiated the race. God is the One who called us to start running. And God is the One who sent Jesus to run the race before us. Thanks to Jesus, because of Jesus, we keep running.”
Leave it to the preacher to speak of Jesus. That’s what preachers do. And if we’re going to talk about faithfulness, about God-inspired faithfulness, we must speak of Jesus. For the preacher of the letter of Hebrews, as for the apostle Paul who writes to the Galatians, it’s all about the faithfulness of Jesus. Jesus is full of faith.
Now, maybe you’re saying, “Wait a minute.” What do you mean Jesus is full of faith? Aren’t we supposed to be the ones who have faith in Jesus? Aren’t we called to trust him no matter what? Well, sure. Of course.
Today we heard that second scripture text from the Galatian letter. It is a tightly compressed paragraph. It is a theological jewel, a sparkling and dense diamond worth the riches of the Gospel. Paul says some revolutionary truth: if we want to be right with God, if we want to be justified, it’s not going to come through anything that we do or say.
There are the Ten Commandments. The commandments are good. They teach us how to live. However, nobody can keep the Ten Commandments. It doesn’t matter how perfect you think you are; you’re not perfect.
There are the teachings of scripture, the moral instructions in how to treat one another kindly, how to live graciously, how to give generously, how to lift one another up. Yet when you pull out of the parking lot this morning, somebody may cut you off (accidentally or purposefully), and all your Good Christian Emotions are going to fly out the window.
We can’t make it by ourselves. That is the blessing of being poor in spirit. We don’t have the ability to achieve our way into the good graces of God. We can be honest about that – because there’s a way forward, and it’s quite literally the good graces of God. God says, “You are forgiven. Nothing you can do to earn that. It’s a gift.”
But God, isn’t there something we should do? God says, “Sure, but that comes later. What comes first is forgiveness, mercy, grace.” But God… And God says, “Listen, I sent my Son to your planet and people like you killed him. So in response, I forgive you. My kind of righteousness is to raise him from the dead, so he can keep teaching you, and nudging you, and releasing you from the slavery of your own incompetence.”
Whew! This is
Galatians. It’s a big book. Heavy book. So heavy that it set old Martin Luther
back on his heels. Luther went to the monastery to make himself acceptable to
God. It didn’t work. The deeper he plunged into the depths of his soul, the
more anguished he became – until he started reading the Bible. Especially the
letter to the Galatians. Commenting on today’s text, he wrote,
If I could perform any work acceptable to God and deserving of grace …, why should I stand in need of the grace of God and the suffering and death of Christ? Christ would be of no benefit to me. Christ’s mercy would be of no use to me. … With Paul we absolutely deny the possibility of self-merit.[1]
Or to put as simply as possible, we can’t win over God when God is already on our side. Trusting this essential truth is the definition of faith. Grace is invisible; can’t see it, can’t taste it, most of us can’t entirely hear it. Yet we can trust what we cannot see. We can step forward into the promises that are still ahead of us. This is the essence of faith. It is the faith that saves our souls, the faith that reconciles our brokenness, the faith that invites the cleaning, liberating presence of Jesus Christ into our lives. His Spirit in our flesh.
This is a lot to take in. Of course it is. It is as close to the center of the Gospel as we get. Paul shouts it out: “We know we are not justified by the works of the law, but by faith in Jesus Christ.” Galatians, chapter 2. Those are the very words that ignited the Protestant Reformation. It is the Word from God that keeps the fires burning.
And to push it one step deeper, there is ever more Good News. The text has a built-in ambiguity to it. Maybe you saw the two Bible footnotes when I read the text. “We are justified by faith in Jesus Christ.” The text reads that way. It also can be translated, “We are justified by the faith of Jesus Christ.” It is Christ’s faithfulness that saves, and we trust that. He died for us. He was raised for us. He rules over us. He dwells within us, for Jesus is faithful. He’s a whole lot more faithful than we are. This is the blessed Good News.
There’s a lot here, and there should be. This is what the Sabbath is for, to ponder the Mystery of God at work in our lives. We hear God’s announcement that we are acceptable even in our unacceptability. And it’s just enough Light to keep moving. Just enough mercy to step into another week. That’s what faith is all about. And we keep on, one week after another, and one day, perhaps to our surprise, God inscribes our name on the wall,
One of the treasures on my bookshelf is a book of verse from my beloved professor Dick Armstrong. With deep insight and pastoral good sense, one of his poems is titled “Roller Coaster Ride.” Give it a listen:
Faith is a roller coaster ride for clergy, clerks, or
clowns.
The best disciples, old and new, have had their ups
and downs.
The psalmist and the prophets had their moments of
despair,
And even Jesus, on the cross, had doubts that God was
there.
When faith is riding on the ridge, it shows in word
and deed,
For mountains move if faith is but a grain or mustard
seed.
It’s not that we make miracles by willing to believe.
Faith’s not a work but God’s free gift that we by
grace receive.
That thought should keep us humble when we’re feeling
strong and tall.
The higher up the heights we climb, the father we can
fall!
As autumn leads to winter’s snows, and nighttime
follows day,
Faith does not always sail the crest nor on the summit
stay,
But sometimes plummets down the steeps with such
breathtaking speed,
That roller coaster riders should this warning bear
and heed.
Yet when the coaster car is at the bottom of the
slope,
The peaks of faith loom large and give new impetus to
hope.
Then we recall those moments when our faith in God was
sure,
Confirmed by truth, sustained by love, we find we can
endure
The ups and downs of faith. Indeed, we now can even
say
Without the lows there’d be no highs, without the
night no day.
The ride is always risky, even scary, we’ll agree,
But if we stay inside the car of faith, we’re safe.
You see,
The roller coaster Maker is the one who takes the
toll.
The car won’t ever leave the tracks if God is in
control.
So re the roller coaster ride I’ll take my own advice
And hand on tight until the end, no matter what the
price.
For when the ride is over and the ups and downs are
through,
I hope to be with God – and all the other riders, too!
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
[1] Martin Luther,
Commentary on Galatians 2:16, available online at https://ccel.org/ccel/luther/galatians/galatians.v.html
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