Sept 9, 2007: DOES WHAT WE DO MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE?
Philemon 1-21; Psalm 139:1-6, 13-18
Eileen Parfrey -- Springwater Presbyterian Church

Reading Philemon: letter, to owner of slave (who has betrayed in some way)
Children's Time: why do we worship together?

The last time I mentioned Harry Potter in a sermon, I attributed something to a colleague in Wisconsin, which earned me an emailed correction from him when he found my misquote online by Googling himself. Therefore, it is with some trepidation that I evoke some of the theology contained in the latest Harry Potter book, but it ties in to Philemon. I haven't finished the book, so I can't reveal too much if you haven't read it.

The connection between Potter and Paul's letter has to do with betrayal, broken trust. Scholars think Paul is writing to the erstwhile owner of a slave named Onesimus, who has somehow betrayed his owner (Philemon) in the process of running away, maybe by stealing. Speaking of coincidence, though! Onesimus is serving Paul while he's in prison, when he's converted by the same evangelist who converted his owner. Now it appears it's time to go back to Philemon and to try to accomplish a reconciliation.

Icka. Under those circumstances, who'd want to return? You've done dirt to someone with a lot of power over you, and now you're going back. For what-punishment? A pound of flesh? To prove your remorse and earn your crown in heaven? We can only imagine the conversation between Paul and Onesimus, where Paul convinces him it's the Christian thing to do. But Paul's letter to the slave owner is more conciliatory, more deferential, than we usually associate with this feisty apostle. "I'm entitled to command you," he says "but for the sake of love, receive him as a brother."

Speaking of eating crow. Years ago I knew a congregation in which an elder and the pastor were engaged in a dispute so acrimonious they were suing each other. Neither one was righteous in this, both were self-righteous, and the congregation suffered through the battle. One Sunday during worship, the pastor made an apology and strode into the congregation offering his hand to the elder. The elder refused to take it. The pastor left that church soon after, while the congregation reeled trying to understand the power-play of forgiveness given and not given. Almost as if floodgates had been opened, by the time the next pastor arrived, accounts of abuse surfaced in several marriages, an affair between two leaders came to light, and several marriages dissolved. Session might have been more helpful to the new pastor, but it was still divided over the pastor/elder lawsuit. The whole thing was so hard on the poor new pastor that her shrink still refers to her condition as post-traumatic shock. The leadership consultant presbytery sent said that a congregation is condemned to repeat betrayals, generation after generation, until they "get it right," until they do the hard work of reconciliation.

Which is where Harry Potter comes in. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (the wicked Lord Voldemort) used a horcrux to ensure he could rise to power again, even if he was destroyed. A horcrux is a seemingly ordinary object which holds part of one's soul in order to provide the basis of regenerating oneself after bodily death. To make a horcrux is to deal in the darkest of the dark arts. What makes the process so terrible is that the maker must tear his soul in order to make it. To make even one is dangerous, but He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has made seven horcruxes for himself. Our heroes' clandestine research into horcruxes has revealed that it is possible to undo the effects on a person of making a horcrux, but very few attempt it. Why? Because the maker's soul can only be knit back together through an excruciatingly painful process known as remorse. Remorse.

The irony is, Voldemort's efforts are all for the purpose of compelling something which cannot be commanded (because it can only be given)-namely his continued life after death. Harry and his friends know that the soul lives even without the body, but Voldemort is oblivious to that. Remorse to undo the soul-tearing meant to compel what can only be received, what has already been given. Remorse, to ensure the continued life of the soul. The reason remorse works on horcrux-damage repair (from Reformed theology's viewpoint) is because it is the thing that helps you to "get it right" again. It makes me wonder if Onesimus and Paul had already worked out what JK Rowling needed six books to lead up to. Remorse cannot be compelled, and grace cannot be commanded. Grace can only be received. Remorse can only be offered.

I wonder if what was going on with that elder and pastor who could not reconcile had to do with grace. When you're stuck at "I've done nothing wrong," you can't receive grace. Shirley Guthrie, one of the great theologians of the 20th century said, "The good ones go to hell," meaning if you don't think you need forgiveness, you pretty much won't get it. I don't know what toll that will take later, but that's not today's sermon.

Today's sermon asks, "Does what we do make a difference?" Does it make even a scintilla of difference that we do what we do? I love that word-scintilla. It means "trace" or "spark," sort of like Harry Potter using his wand, that little spark off the end. Only, grace is not magic. We don't command grace; we receive it. And what we do-the church-what we do is remind each other of God's grace. There's more than a scintilla in that. Worshiping together is an act of faith that says "yes," grace does make a difference. When we worship together, when we serve and learn and work together, what we're saying to each other is, "Over here! This is where I've experienced grace." This is where what we do makes a difference.

No one comes out of this life unscathed. There are no exceptions-even in our case. We are all both the betrayed and the betraying. Which is the mercy, now that I think of it. Because I think we're a little more likely to extend grace to others when we notice our own reflection in their betrayals of us. We've all made our personal horcruxes -to protect our position of power or to ensure we are invulnerable to pain or to gain more of what we want. But our faith says it is essential that we repair the damage we inflict in making and using these horcruxes. Maybe just for the sake of our own souls. Onesimus is sent back.

It's just that this is so impossible to do unless we make an assumption of abundance. We've got to assume abundance. Grace is not a zero sum balance. If one person is forgiven a particularly heinous sin, that doesn't diminish the store of grace for me. Grace is my grandma carrying the dessert to the Sunday dinner table. While we ooh over the pie, she sings out, "There's more where this came from!" You know what that means: there's more than enough. That's grace: there's more where this came from. The apostle Paul could command Philemon's grace toward Onesimus. But then it wouldn't be grace. Besides, there's more where this came from!