Oak Chapel United Methodist Church

All Sermons are © Copyrighted and may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the author.

This week I came across a neat little poem I first read, I think, in high school. It’s by Leigh Hunt. Maybe you remember it, too?

Abou ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold: -
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
“What writest thou?” The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, “The names of those that love the Lord.”
“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, “I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men.”
The angel wrote and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great awakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.

The poem expresses a truth Jesus taught: that there is a continuity, a common thread, in all love. God’s love of us, our love of God, and our love of “our fellow men” (as Abu put it) are all the same love, inseparable. As we read last Sunday, from the First Epistle of John, if we claim to love God and hate our neighbor, we are liars. That is to say, it’s just not possible. It’s like claiming to be in China and in the United States at the same time, or like claiming to love God but not Jesus, or vice versa. Listen to Jesus, now, as he says goodbye to his disciples: (John 15: 9 - 17)

There is a logic here which is easy to miss. Permit me, if you will, to change the sentence order, and paraphrase a bit, and see if I can catch the sense of it: This is Jesus speaking: the Father loves me because I keep his commandments. He doesn’t just love me on paper, or in some detached way, but I actually abide in my Father’s love (It’s where I live!) and because of that my joy is complete – it is as full and wonderful as any human joy can be. And then (to his disciples) if you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love (live in it, be sheltered by it), and your joy (like mine) will be full. God’s love for me, my love for you: it’s all the same love.

Since love is indivisible (as the angel taught Abou Ben Adhem) – Jesus continues (and here’s the rub), “this love of God for me, and my love for you, should be continued, and completed, in your love for each other. So here it is in a nutshell: love one another as I have loved you.” To not love each other, after you’ve experienced God’s love, and the joy that comes with it, would be to lie. It’s not possible.
And then, raising the stakes even higher, Jesus adds these words (so perfect for Memorial Day), “Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. And you are my friends….” A very broad hint about what is about to happen. He is saying, “I will provide you, my friends, with a template of human love. I will die for you, and then you will live and die for each other.” Anyone who thinks the life of love is an easy life (just a mush of good feelings) should read this passage. “Greater love hath no man than this….”
Living by love is the hard way to live, but it brings great joy. Law-based living (on the other hand) seems hard, but, in fact, is the easier way. We love rules, and regulations, and laws, because obeying the letter of them makes us feel secure, and (besides) there’s always a way around rules and laws. For example, teens are always trying to establish a-law based relationship with their parents. “You said I couldn’t drive your car while you were away, but you didn’t say anything about mom’s car.” (Legalistic) “You said I couldn’t swim, but you didn’t say I couldn’t put my suit on and walk around in the pool – or dive.” There’s always a way around a rule. Teens think they’re being clever, but what they are really doing is avoiding a love-based relationship with their parents. When love is the key, we are far more obligated. When love is the key we don’t catch people in their words, we do what we know the other person intended. Otherwise we make a mockery of love.

This is a major reason people avoid loving relationships with God, trying always, instead, to make these relationships legal. Legalistic religion is easier, not “easy” but easier. All you have to do to be on God’s side is do whatever’s on the check list. Go to church. Say grace. Give ten percent. Read the Bible. Go to confession. Whatever. That’s not a walk in the park (And we preachers are glad to find people like that. Shame on us.), but, in the long run, legalistic religion is infinitely less demanding than opening oneself up to the overwhelming, endless love of God -- listening to his intention for us instead of toying with his words. “What do you want me to do with my life, Father. Where would you have me go.” Relinquishing our own wills. Dying in baptism. He died for me; now I will die for him. Love all around. It’s not accomplishing what we perceive to be God’s will; it’s surrender.

At the heart of John Wesley’s Covenant Service, in the English Methodist Church, are these thoughtful, soul-searching words: “Christ has many services to be done; some are easy, others are difficult; some bring honor, others bring reproach; some are suitable to our natural inclinations and material interests, others are contrary to both; in some we may please Christ and please ourselves; in others we cannot please Christ except by denying ourselves. Yet the power to do all these things is given to us in Christ, who strengthens us.” Who is this God, and what does he want from me? Can I please him by obeying all the rules? No. It’s harder than that. He wants me to love him as much as he loves me, and to love others in that same extravagant, risky way. That doesn’t come from the rule book, it comes from the heart.

From the night John Wesley felt his heart “strangely warmed” at Aldersgate Street, the Wesleyan faith has been one of the heart. A few years ago a Roman Catholic historian, Clifford Longley, characterized our Methodist heritage most delightfully: “Wesleyanism,” he said, “at its simplest definition, is a choir founded by John to sing the hymns of Charles and to live accordingly.” I like that. A religion not of rules (We have plenty of rules, too many I think, but they are organizational. Obeying them doesn’t get us to heaven.) – a religion not of rules and laws, but of the heart, a people, surrendering themselves, and trying to love one another as Christ has love them. I hope Methodist will always be so.

Mary Ann Bird tells of a stupendous second grade teacher, Mrs. Leonard, who, with seven little words, changed her life. You see, Mary Ann was born with a cleft palate and a badly disfigured mouth. Her teeth were crooked. Her lips were all wrong. And whenever she looked in a mirror she knew for a fact that she would never be loved except by members of her family. When she went to school and confronted the cruelty of the other children, the pain of being different grew even worse. But, in second grade, there was Mrs. Leonard. One day the children were scheduled to take a hearing test. It was pretty primitive back then. Each child would back up against a wall, and Mrs. Leonard, from her desk on the other side of the room, would whisper something, and if the child could hear it he passed.. It was usually something like, “Do you have new shoes?” or “Did you do your homework?” When Mary Ann stood there, humiliated as always by her looks, Mrs. Leonard whispered, “I wish you were my little girl.” Mary Ann Bird says, “I don’t know why, but from that moment on my life was going up, not down.” Someone had expressed a word of love. When we are lost, we hear God whisper, “I wish you were my little girl (or little boy).” And love permeates everything, top to bottom, side to side.