Sermon:The Whole of Our Devotion
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2 Corinthians 5:11-15 • “The Whole of Our Devotion”
Series: “Growing in Grace and Generosity”
Some time ago, on an episode of the History Channel’s reality show about a Las Vegas pawn shop, a man brought in a violin and asked for an appraisal. The man claimed that he had recently purchased a piece of property that included a house and a barn, and shortly after his purchase, he came across an old chest, which when he opened, revealed the violin safely tucked inside. As the man dusted off the near-perfect instrument, he found the name “Stradivarius” inscribed on the violin. As most of you know, a Stradivarius violin in any condition is worth a great deal of money. So, the man had his fingers crossed that this violin would be his lottery ticket to Easy Street.
But when the pawn store owners examined the violin and then had it appraised by an expert, they reported to the man that it wasn’t a genuine Stradivarius. It was instead a cheap imitation produced in the early part of the 1900’s, worth around five hundred dollars – still a pretty penny, but not nearly the windfall that the man was hoping for. But what was most interesting was the explanation that the pawn store owner gave the now crestfallen man: “Just because something has a label on it doesn’t mean that it is real.”
Most everything in life is subject to some sort of cheap imitation. There’s very little that cannot be faked. This is true in business or in politics or in sports or entertainment, and, sadly, it is also very true in terms of Christian faith. I remember some years ago coming across a bumper sticker on the back of a car that read: “Jesus is coming. Look busy!” as if pulling the wool over Jesus’ eyes is actually something that someone might be able to do.
The truth of the matter is that too much of faith today is lived “on the surface,” at the level of appearance. It looks good. It talks a good game. It appears genuine. But in reality it’s nothing more than a cheap imitation. If only we might realize that one day the entirety of our lives will be judged by God in terms of the genuineness of our devotion.
That was Paul’s word to the Corinthians in the second letter he wrote to them. Second Corinthians is an apology of sorts, a defense Paul offers to his readers as to the genuineness and validity of his ministry. It’s hard for us to fathom anyone being critical of Paul because of how he stands as such a signal example of New Testament faith. But if you read carefully between the lines in Second Corinthians, you see Paul having to explain how he’s not in ministry for money, he’s not on an “ego trip,” and he’s most definitely not “out of his mind” or out of touch in his devotion to Christ. No, as Paul explains his motivations in verses 14 and 15: “For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.” In other words, the wholehearted devotion that Jesus showed in going to the cross for us and our salvation should inspire a similar devotion from those who would be true disciples.
Is that the level of devotion you have toward Jesus? Can you say that in your heart you harbor nothing less than complete dedication to the cause of Christ, even when others may not understand or appreciate that dedication, or at times be critical of it?
Walker Percy was an acclaimed Southern writer of the last century, who is associated with Louisiana though he was actually born in Birmingham. Many of Percy’s writings, though secular in nature, struck significant spiritual chords. For example, in his novel The Second Coming, Percy tells the story of Will Barrett, a middle-aged man wrestling with family dysfunction and faith dysfunction. In the early sections of the novel, Will, though outwardly successful and magnificently wealthy, is on the inside wrestling with his demons. As he sits in his Mercedes, parked in his five-car garage, he spots a cat outside in the driveway, lying in the sun, and the thought hits him that a cat is always a 100% cat, and Will begins to wonder if he has ever been 100% about anything at any point in his life.
Have any of us? Have any of us been 100% about anything? Have we been that with respect to our faith?
As Paul considers his faith in this passage, he acknowledges that his heart’s desire is to represent such devotion to others so that they might join him in giving their all to Jesus, who at Calvary gave his all for us. Paul knows that a half-hearted commitment won’t change anything or anyone. It certainly will not bring about the new creation Paul envisioned in which all things will be reconciled to God. Half-commitment will only result in sourness and frustration, belligerence and disappointment, because it merely mimics devotion to Jesus, who demands from us that we deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow after him. But if we have any understanding at all about what Jesus did in sacrificing his life for us and what God did in raising Jesus from the dead, then we must also come to realize that when we stand in his Risen Presence, all pretense and all sham and all deception are first exposed and then judged by the compelling love of Christ.
James Howell is the pastor of Myers Park United Methodist Church in Charlotte, North Carolina, a “tony” section of downtown Charlotte. He likes to tell the story about how one day he met a genuine and sincere disciple of Jesus whose wholehearted devotion called into question what he had always assumed was his own.
He had taken his family to London and as they were on a train ambling through the outskirts of the city, he thought he would kill some time quizzing his children on a few items he thought would be important supplements to their school curricula. The questions were light and playful. “How did the Gettysburg Address begin?” “Who constituted the Second Triumvirate?” “How do you count to ten in Spanish?” But when Howell asked his children to name the books of the Bible, a train rider across the aisle turned in their direction with his eyes wide open.
“Are you a Christian?” the man asked. Howell says that the manner of the man’s question felt different from the pious pamphlet pushers we bump into in America. When Howell acknowledged that he was, the man then asked, “What kind?” Howell thought to himself, “Good question. How shall I answer? A ‘generously orthodox’ kind of Christian, a la Brian McLaren? A ‘cynical-on-Monday’ kind of Christian? A Chalcedonian, historically orthodox Christian?” Finally, he kept his answer simple: “Methodist.”
“Methodist?” He just shook his head, as if Howell had told him that he was suffering from some chronic, lethal disease. “Where I come from,” he answered, “Methodists don’t take their faith seriously. They just go through the motions. It has no impact on their lives; it’s just a social thing.” Howell understandably felt defensive. “Oh, we don’t have that problem where I come from,” which elicited giggles from his wife and daughters.
Then Howell asked the man the same question. “And what kind of Christian are you?” The man answered, “A Gypsy Christian,” at which point he launched into a somewhat lengthy explanation of how even though other churches across Europe, including Baptist churches, are barely registering a pulse, the Gypsy Church is booming and thriving. Not only in England, but also in Hungary and Spain, France and Italy, Gypsies are coming to Christ in droves.
And then the man said, “You know, it’s not easy for a Gypsy to become a Christian. Do you know what the most common and best-paying profession is for a Gypsy?” And before Howell could hazard a guess, the man supplied the answer: “Fortune-teller.” “And when a Gypsy becomes a Christian, you can’t be a fortune-teller anymore. So Gypsies who become Christians have to give up their livelihood. It’s asking a lot.”
Astoundingly, Howell then asked, “Well, can’t they fake it? Can’t they just pretend to tell fortunes?” “No,” the man insisted. “Fortune-telling dabbles in the occult and claims for itself what is not true, so the new Christian who would be serious about faith must immediately put an end to fortune-telling. It’s asking a lot.”
And as the train stopped and the man got off, Howell was left thinking to himself about what professions American Christians ought to be forsaking, the careers of “fortune-making” about which the American church ventures no opinion, which may explain a lot about why the Gypsy Church asks for a lot and is booming, while the American church asks for next to nothing and is for all intents and purposes going nowhere.
Do you want to see the American church boom and grow? We can’t speak for every other church, but we can speak for this one. And speak with one voice is exactly what we must do. Because the love of Christ compels us, a love that gave its all and demands from us nothing less, we say to the world, “Jesus is coming. But don’t just look busy. Live for him and for this world he so dearly loves, and with all that you are and all that you have, look faithful.”