EASTER 7-A, May 4, 2008

No one gets through this life without his or her fair share of pain and suffering. We can deal with that. Sometimes, however, it certainly seems as if we are getting more than our fair share. When that happens that is when we all have problems. Of course the issue comes down to the question about what is my fair share and what is more than mine. That is also a question that cannot honestly or satisfactorily be answered in this life

We can deal with suffering that comes justified. We may not like to endure such suffering. But it is certainly more acceptable if we can find some justification for it. It is what we consider unjustified suffering that causes the problems. Peter, in today’s second lesson, is only considering justified suffering, of which there are two kinds. The first is suffering because of our faith. The second is suffering because of our sins.

Considering the second first, suffering for our own sins, is easy. We deserve to so suffer. After all, we took pleasure in committing the sin. We knew better. No one forced us to do it, whatever it was we did. We did it freely, willingly and with pleasure. Granted, we may not have been fully aware of the consequences of what we were about to do before we did it, and we probably were not. But that is beside the point. We ate too much, drank too much, went too fast, spoke to quickly. We did it. We enjoyed it. And when it came time to pay the price for that selfishness, that foolishness, we had no one to blame but ourselves. The suffering was justified.

On the other hand, when we suffer because another feels accused and even condemned because of our good and loving actions, we should rejoice, says Peter. Yes, that suffering is truly unjustified because the one who hurt us was wrong. Even so, the pain we endure is not lessened because we are suffering for our faith. We can only hope that the one who has hurt us might stop and think about what he has done, come to his senses, repent of his actions and change – and maybe even ask for forgiveness.

It seems that no matter how strong or how weak our faith we do not get through this life without suffering, both for our sins and for the sins of others. It goes with the territory of being human. If Jesus could not escape it, and he was totally innocent, never deserving of the least bit of pain or suffering, why should we expect to be different, to be an exception to the rule? But we do. We don’t like to suffer even if we know that some how in some way the suffering may be good for us or even deserved.

In many ways what Peter is saying is what my Mother said to me as a child when she served something for supper that I hated, like onions on anything. "Eat it," she said. "It’s good for you", even though she knew I would hate every bite I took. It didn’t matter that my mother was right: I didn’t like eating what I didn’t like, good for me or not.

It doesn’t matter that taking the medicine is the only way to get better. We don’t like to take the medicine. We want to get better, but the truth of the matter is that the path to wholeness and health, both physical and spiritual, travels through some pretty painful territory sometimes.

Peter calls that medicine that we often have to take in life in order not only to get through this life but, more importantly, to live out our faith, Peter calls that medicine "humility". That is true no matter what age we are. I remember growing up, especially as a teenager, how I had all the answers, how my parents were so foolish and so stupid to think they knew what was best for me. Yet I knew I had to obey my parents because they were my parents and because I knew what the consequences would be if I did not. For a proud know-it-all, that was a painful and bitter medicine to swallow.

I wish I could say that I had learned my lesson back then, but I did not. Thinking back on those first years after ordination I must have been insufferable at times. I had all the answers. All anyone had to do was ask me. Humility came hard at times and was often a very painful medicine to take for me. In all honesty, it still is. Maybe you all are exceptions and learned humility at any early age and have been spared much pain since – but I wouldn’t bet the house on it.

The role of humility is to try to save us from ourselves, from making foolish mistakes and then, even worse, blaming someone else for the pain and suffering our pride brought us. Our pride so blinds us that we deny we deserve the pain and the suffering. We may not be that good but we are certainly not all that bad, either.

Our pride, when it gets out of hand, can even accuse God of punishing us unjustly. How, we ask, can God be so good? How can being a Christian be so wonderful if innocent people like us, or people not as guilty as their pain and suffering seems to indicate, be in so much distress? Pride blinds us to the truth.

As we who have learned the hard way can attest, had we taken that dose of humility when it was offered when we were young, we could have spared ourselves from foolish thoughts and even more foolish actions. Humility helps us swallow our pride. It is often bitter medicine to swallow but it will save us from much pain and suffering if we do.

Nevertheless, it is probably safe to say that even the most well-intentioned plans will meet with resistance. Nothing ever goes off perfectly without at least the slightest hitch. Even when we think everything was just right, when we think back on what happened, we will always find something that could have gone better. There always was and always will be something or someone trying to hold us back from doing what we believed to be the absolutely right thing or tempting us to do what we should not.

To use Peter’s words, there always seems to be a "roaring lion" prowling around surreptitiously trying to put the skids to whatever we are up to, no matter how noble the cause. Even when we think that no one could possibly oppose us, someone always does, even if the reason for the opposition is almost groundless. Good deeds always meet with opposition somewhere, somehow. That is simply a fact of this sinful and broken world in which we all live and it is a truth that must never be discounted. To do so will only make matters worse.

The name of that lion is not the devil but pride. Our pride tells us that we are the exception to the rule, that we can do whatever we please and be justified in doing so. It is the pride of others that takes exception to our good and loving actions and tries either to dissuade us from doing good or actually work to hurt us for doing so. Pride is a roaring lion. If it can make enough noise, it will convince us to back off from doing good or convince us that we have permission for being selfish

Peter reminds us that while we must be humble, we must also be strong and vigilant at all times. He further warns us that we had better not assume that because we are doing God’s will there will not be those who will oppose us. The truth is, whether we realize it or not, living out our faith is often like living in a lion’s den. The further truth is that we are sometimes that lion when, in our pride, in our sinfulness and selfishness, we try to deter those who want to do what is right from doing so. And sometimes in our pride that person we deter and devour is ourself.

The problem we all face is that we live in a sinful and broken world. It takes humility to admit that we are part of that sinfulness and brokenness. It takes the grace of God, the support of one another and the will to persevere to repair that brokenness, to silence the roar of that lion called pride. May we, in all humility, become more part of the solution and less part of the problem.