Let's draw together a few loose threads from the last few sessions. Some weeks ago I used the metaphor of fish not being aware of the water in which they lived and to which they owed their very being.
Last week we looked at the passage in Exodus where Moses encounters a presence which identifies itself as "I Am", or, in other words, as being itself. It seems, from this passage, that the "water" in which we swim isn't just some inert substance, but has all the properties of a self: it is conscious, has a sovereign will, and has purposes. Moses encounters reality, and reality is alive and conscious in the same way that he himself is alive and conscious. In the course of the story, Moses is told to remove his sandals, which is an act symbolising his removal of all that stands between himself and reality; for none of us quite perceives reality, because of the self protective layer which we, every one of us, builds up between us and reality.
We Christians have a special, technical term for this protective layer, but I hesitate to use the word because it is so fraught with associations, and most of the associations are unhelpful, inaccurate and wrong. The word is Sin.
If you want a quick and easy definition of Sin it is this: anything which stands between you and God.
Back in the 1740s, Jonathan Edwards, who had a somewhat different definition of sin, preached one of the most influential sermons ever to come out of a pulpit, "Sinners In The Hands Of An Angry God". His sermon is full of details of the hell that awaits the people on whom God is going to vent his (sic) spleen, on account of God being decidedly ticked off at their naughtiness. This sermon was hugely influential in the formation of later Christianity, particularly in the United States. As a young Christian I was taught, in a church influenced by this kind of thinking, that when Jesus was on the cross he took the sin of the world on himself and became so repugnant to God that God looked away (as though such a thing were remotely possible!), prompting the anguished cry, "why have you forsaken me?" Sin was about behaviours, and those behaviours evoked God's disgust and anger. This is a version of the term "sin" which, I think, is neither helpful nor true.
Jump forward a few hundred years, and take a look at how "sin" is used in our own culture. It's all a bit confused. People use it as a shorthand for what they don't like about somebody else, as in "the sin of this government is its attitude to wealth" or "his besetting sin is his pomposity". "It's an absolute sin" we say of someone enjoying an indulgence we would very much like for ourselves but can't afford. Myriad advertisements speak of "sinful pleasures" meaning slightly naughty indulgence (chocolates seem to be particularly prone to this description). Sin now treads that delicious line between enticing and forbidden, and it is all a matter of personal opinion and it is all, ultimately harmless. It's a different idea of "sin" than Jonathan Edwards', but it is no more helpful, no more true. Both of these ideas of sin equate sin with behaviours or some sort, and that is not exactly what the term means.
Sin is whatever stands between us and God. Sin is the insulating layer we manufacture to preserve us from the biting keenness of reality. Of course these insulating layers lead us into various kinds of unhelpful, self defeating behaviour, but sin is actually more a way of being than a way of doing. And sin is cognitive. Sin is what stops us young fish from knowing about the water.
Central to Christianity is the belief that reality contains all those properties we associate with being a person; that is, that reality is not so much a person as something greater than personhood. Further, we say reality wills our wholeness, and seeks us out for relationship. And even further, we say that reality, reaching out to us, has a particular focus in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. He has, like the old fish, come to teach the young fish about water. He has come to enable us to remove our sandals and stand on holy ground. And all that being so, the ministry of Jesus is heavily concerned with sin. But the infuriating part of Jesus ministry is that, when it comes to key concepts like "sin" he is very light on definitions, and strong on telling enigmatic stories. So let's look at one of those stories: one in which sin is actually a central theme; one which is already well known to all of us; one which has become a taonga of our entire culture: The Parable of the Prodigal Son.
You know the plot by now. There are a couple of boys, one of whom is a paragon of familial probity and one who is an impetuous little prat. There's also a father who is a bit addle headed - I mean, what sort of man would give his teenager 5 million bucks and send him off to Las Vegas? The good son stays home and runs the farm, the idiot goes and burns through the cash faster than you can say "ponzi scheme", then comes crawling back. The father welcomes the wastrel and the other son gets (to most of us, justifiably) angry at this.
My cycling through of the Greek New Testament brought me, once again, this story, in Luke 15, a couple of weeks ago. Reading it, I found myself, as happens so often, tripped up and laid flat by one word. ἐσπλαγχνίσθη.
This word occurs in verse 20, and describes the father's reaction when he lays eyes on his returning son. The young man has been involved in God alone knows what depravity. He has lost half the family fortune and is now crawling up the road, dressed in rags and covered in pig shit. So far, so expected. But notice the father's reaction. He is not angry. His reaction is ἐσπλαγχνίσθη, which means moved to the deepest part of his being by pity. Pity! He doesn't turn his eyes away, he runs towards the poor befuddled kid. He doesn't react with disgust, he embraces and kisses, finds new clothing and a decent pair of shoes, and makes preparations for a party. Explaining why, I have to make an ecumenical borrowing. Very ecumenical.
The Buddhists have a concept, "unskillful means" and I think it makes some sense here. When we choose to do something, no matter what it is, we are trying to achieve some end or other and that end is, as often as not, worthy. So we want to be thought well of, or we want to make ourselves safe, or we want some intimate contact or we want to grow as people, or whatever it is, and we choose some activity or other to achieve that end. Inevitably, the activity doesn't bring us what we want. In fact, it often ends up diminishing the end we seek. We have used an unskillful means. The end is betrayed and subverted by the means. For example, Adolf Hitler is possibly the wickedest person I can think of. When he subjected the whole world to horror, he was attempting to achieve ends which were more or less good: the security and longevity of his people and their preservation from perceived threats. But he was severely disconnected from reality, so his analysis of reality was, of course warped, and the methods he used to achieve these ends led to the utter destruction of Germany, and the deaths of millions of people. Talk about unskillful means! When we are separated from reality, we will tend to use unskillful means most of the time and end up diminishing ourselves. "The wages of sin is death", as Paul says.
So this young man sets off to make a name for himself and experience life, and find a personal identity apart from his father. Just look where it gets him. The father, sees the results and is moved with pity for his son's foolishness and for the ignominy his foolishness has wrought. The boy's separation from his father occurred not in the casinos and brothels of the far country, but in that moment when he looked at his Dad, and thought "silly old fool. I can do better than that. "
The father's action in allowing his son to have his own way is seen, in this light, not as an act of foolishness, but, as a recognition of the seriousness of the lad's choice and as the only way in which the breach might be repaired. Sure the father might have bribed or bullied the son into staying, or flat out refused to give over the dosh, but in doing so the original separation would have remained and, though hidden, would never have been healed. The father allows his foolish child to drink this cup to the dregs, because only then could he deeply understand himself and understand his father.
And then we have the final chapter of the story, concerning the older brother. It seems that he too has separated himself from the father, but out of cowardice or inertia has hidden that separation from sight, and taken the path of outward respectability. I must confess, that many times I have secretly identified with the elder brother, as did, I suspect, most of Jesus' original hearers. The story ends with the older brother in a fit of the sulks, standing outside the family home while his father begs him to come into the party. We never find out how it works out.
Sin is whatever separates us from God. The separation can happen quietly, and gradually and we sometimes hardly notice that it has happened. Sometimes we don't actually notice that it has happened at all. We notice, in other people, the destructive results of the division, and in ourselves continue to plug on, wondering why we seem to make the same old mistakes time and time again. "Think again," says Jesus. "The Kingdom of God is as far away as your own hand."
Get rid of the sandals.
Let the old fish show you the water.
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