Advent 3: What Do We Embrace That is Authentic? Matthew 11:2-11

After Martin Luther defended himself at the Diet of Worms, he had a problem. The Catholic Church wanted him dead. Not figuratively, not metaphorically, but actually, literally, dead. His friends were certain that Church officials would try to kidnap Luther on his way home, and so they did the only thing they could think of to protect him. They kidnapped him first.

They secreted him away to a forgotten little forest castle near Eisenach, called Wartburg Castle, and there he hid out, passing his days quietly but industriously, translating the Bible into German.

Meanwhile, in the rest of Germany, everyone assumed Luther had been taken by the Roman Church, never to be heard from again—either dead or soon to be that way, and either way beyond mortal help. He very quickly attained the status of a martyr, and his alleged execution wildly fanned the flames of the Reformation.

In fact, the movement quickly spiraled out of control. It seemed that, having broken from the Roman church, the entire fabric of society was unraveling. The peasant’s revolted and were violently put down. One of Luther’s own teachers took his reforms entirely too far, burning churches and monasteries and threatening the lives of the clergy and those in religious orders.

The scene became so horrendous that it forced Luther out of hiding in order to assert order again. He denounced his former teacher, and ordered people to leave the churches and the clergy alone. He even did what he could to save the lives of many monks and nuns, and in the end, he ended up marrying one of them—a nun, that is—Katherine von Bora.

But for all of this drama, Luther’s hard work was just beginning. For now he had to pore over every aspect of Church ritual, tradition, and dogma, and sort out those things that are authentic and necessary to the life of faith from those things that hinder it.

You could say, “Well, sure, but who is Martin Luther to make those decisions? He’s not the Pope, he’s not a cardinal—he’s not even a bishop! Who does he think he is?” And that’s a very good question. It was, in fact, the very question that the Pharisees must have been asking themselves after the event in our Gospel reading. “Who does this Jesus guy think he is? Who is he to lecture us on the Law? Who is he to say what rules should be obeyed and which ones should not? Does he think he is greater than Moses? The nerve of that guy!”

But, in fact, if you look at the text closely, Jesus wasn’t superceding Moses. He wasn’t issuing a new commandment here, or saying that Moses’ commandment to rest on the Sabbath was invalid. What he was doing was following his own conscience, and, quite frankly, common sense. It did not make sense to him why we should be allowed to help a sheep out of a pit, but we cannot help a human being out of the mire of illness and misery. To allow this man to stay in his crippled state even one more day went against everything the Law of Moses had really taught him. And so he broke one law in order to keep another, because he could not remain faithful and do anything else.

And he wasn’t necessarily commanding that everyone else do the same. It was what HE had to do in order to be in right relationship with the Divine. We all of us have to make similar decisions—often hard ones, often painful ones—every day. We have to weight, “What is the greater good?” and we have to, like Martin Luther, sort through all the detritus of our faith to find those shining nuggets of truth, and also to discern which pieces are actually obstacles to faithful living, and to have the courage to lay them aside.

In the Gospel of Thomas, Jesus’ disciples ask him for some guidance on this very question. They ask him, “Do you want us to fast? And how should we pray? Should we give alms? And what foods should we abstain from?” And Jesus answered them, saying, “Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate, for all things are disclosed to heaven.”

Instead of telling his disciples what to think or how to act, he taught them to discern, to think for themselves, and to make their own decisions about what constitutes faithful living.

I believe he wants the same from us today. Being part of a church or a religious tradition or institution does not relieve us from the responsibility to think critically or to be answerable for our own spiritual lives. In fact, they only give us more stuff to sort through, which is both a blessing and a curse. Because some stuff is, indeed, very useful. The Christian tradition is full of practical advice, mystical practices, and moral teaching that is useful for anyone on a spiritual path. But it is also filled with a lot of dubious nonsense that can trip us up, or separate us from our true selves, from others, and even from God.

And guess what? No one can tell you which is which. Not even Martin Luther. Not even Jesus. YOU have to sort through the tradition you have embraced, and YOU have to say what is useful and what is not, what you will keep, and what you will discard. Because YOU are the expert on YOUR spiritual life. Not me, not any clergyperson, not any theologian, not even any god. YOU. Period.

Now, sure, you can abdicate that responsibility. You can hand your power over to an alleged religious “authority,” and put yourself under the rule of a guru or a bishop or a pastor or an imam, but I’m afraid that is the easy way out, and on the spiritual journey, the easy way is almost never the best one.

But Jesus has given us some guidance, some advice on how to do this in the verse from Thomas. He said, “Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate.” Most of us grow up telling lies not because we choose to be malevolent, but because we are scared. And it’s a habit that dies hard. We lie to each other because we’re afraid of what will happen if we don’t—often because we are afraid of hurting someone’s feelings. This is often one of those cases of breaking a commandment in order to fulfill a greater one, perhaps.

But the most insidious lies are the ones we tell ourselves—about who we are, what are motivations might be, and what we believe. Often we just go with the flow, or just try not to rock the boat. People don’t like it when we ask the hard questions, so we just keep our mouths shut. Or we just accept some “authority’s” version of reality, even when, deep inside, we know they are dead wrong.

But Jesus calls us to a more abundant life than that. Jesus calls us to a life of AUTHENTIC faith. Having an authentic faith means having the courage to ask those hard questions, of ourselves, of other people, and yes, even of our tradition. And it means trusting in the strength and the veracity of our own soul, our own conscience, even in the face of great opposition, as Martin Luther did.

To paraphrase the Buddha in our opening reading, “Do not be satisfied with tradition, or with what the scriptures say, or with what the clergy tell you. When you know in yourselves what is true, what leads to wholeness, put THAT into practice and trust it.”

As we progress into this Advent season, I invite you to examine your own spiritual lives, to have the courage to sort out the wheat from the chaff. What is working for you? What isn’t working for you? What things are wholesome and blameless; what are those things that lead to welfare and happiness? YOU get to say—after all, it’s YOUR spiritual life. Don’t take my word for anything, or the Buddha’s or even Jesus’. Instead, I hope you will take a hard look, think critically, and make your own decisions. Do not tell lies—even to yourself—and do not do what you hate. Because there is nothing hidden that will not be revealed in time.

And, I also want to add, don’t be afraid to make mistakes. Our spirituality is a growing, changing thing, and if we are careful, it always will be. What works for you now may not work for you next week. Perhaps you will throw something onto the trash pile today, but next year, it will be there for you to retrieve if you suddenly realize it has some use to you. So be honest, be ruthless, be brave.

Sure, it can be dangerous, as both Jesus and Martin Luther can attest. But it is also the work we have been given to do. It is YOUR work to grow your soul. No one can do it for you. And only YOU get to say what is nourishing and what is not. Let us pray….

Jesus, you do not ask us to check our brains at the door,
You do not ask us to betray ourselves
or to sacrifice ourselves at the altar of tradition or authority.
Instead, you empower us to take responsibility for our own souls.
Help us to be worthy of this sacred entrustment.
Help us to be faithful to our Divine calling,
and indeed to the Divinity that is within us,
as you were, even though it cost you mightily.
Help us to count the cost,
and not to trade our souls to gain the world. Amen.