Rev. Jeffrey T. Howard
New Covenant Presbyterian Church
Sermon Romans 14:1-12 Stumbling Blocks
September 17, 2017
This is my third sermon from Paul’s letter to the church at Rome. So far we have learned is that as forgiven sinners we are transformed with new minds and a new way of thinking. Then we learned last week that this transformation leads to loving one another. Today we will look at something that is often a stumbling block to love. This would be judgment. When we judge others for their faults it is hard to love them. Thankfully, as we will see, God does not want us judging one another. We don’t have to judge because God does it for us. And freed from the responsibility to judge we now can love one another. We will get to this, but first, let’s pray.
“Grant unto us, O Lord, to be occupied in the mysteries of thy heavenly wisdom, with true progress in piety, to thy glory and our own edification. Amen.” (John Calvin)
Romans 14:1 Accept the one whose faith is weak, without quarreling over disputable matters. 2 One person’s faith allows them to eat anything, but another, whose faith is weak, eats only vegetables. 3 The one who eats everything must not treat with contempt the one who does not, and the one who does not eat everything must not judge the one who does, for God has accepted them. 4 Who are you to judge someone else’s servant? To their own master, servants stand or fall. And they will stand, for the Lord is able to make them stand.
The church in Rome was experiencing a dispute. They were arguing with each other. And this dissension was preventing them from doing what Jesus wanted. Jesus wanted a church of people who love each other. And if people in the church are in heated arguments it is hard to love.
Specifically, the Roman church was experiencing cultural differences. One group, the weaker one, wanted to maintain Hebrew cultural practices. The wanted to eat food and celebrate festivals as described in the Old Testament. The other group, the stronger one, didn’t care about these things. So when someone brought a potato casserole with bacon in it to a potluck dinner the weaker group, who wanted kosher food, was offended. They ended up eating only vegetables fearing the meat was not prepared to their standards. The stronger group was upset because the weaker group wouldn’t eat what they had brought. The dinner turned ugly when the two sides started yelling at each other. Let’s go back to Romans.
5 One person considers one day more sacred than another; another considers every day alike. Each of them should be fully convinced in their own mind. 6 Whoever regards one day as special does so to the Lord. Whoever eats meat does so to the Lord, for they give thanks to God; and whoever abstains does so to the Lord and gives thanks to God. 7 For none of us lives for ourselves alone, and none of us dies for ourselves alone. 8 If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. 9 For this very reason, Christ died and returned to life so that he might be the Lord of both the dead and the living. 10 You, then, why do you judge your brother or sister? Or why do you treat them with contempt? For we will all stand before God’s judgment seat. 11 It is written:
“‘As surely as I live,’ says the Lord,
‘every knee will bow before me;
every tongue will acknowledge God.’”
When a person joins the church he or she must stand before the congregation and publically declare that Jesus in their Lord. This is proof that the Holy Spirit is with them and that they are justified in the sight of God. Anyone who believes in Jesus Christ is forgiven and put right with God. One day all of us will be judged by God, but Jesus will be there to give us a full pardon. All of us will be forgiven. So if, when we get to heaven, we experience forgiveness, why would we not also experience forgiveness in church?
We are not to judge one another. Judgement is God’s prerogative, not ours. God will judge. And we already know the verdict for all who believe: Not Guilty! Rather than judging one another, we are called to forgive and love one another.
Today the church is also divided. Recently a group of conservative evangelicals released a document called the Nashville Statement. Article 1 of the Nashville Statement states:
WE AFFIRM that God has designed marriage to be a covenantal, sexual, procreative, lifelong
union of one man and one woman, as husband and wife, and is meant to signify the covenant
love between Christ and his bride the church.
WE DENY that God has designed marriage to be a homosexual, polygamous, or polyamorous
relationship. We also deny that marriage is a mere human contract rather than a covenant made
before God.
union of one man and one woman, as husband and wife, and is meant to signify the covenant
love between Christ and his bride the church.
WE DENY that God has designed marriage to be a homosexual, polygamous, or polyamorous
relationship. We also deny that marriage is a mere human contract rather than a covenant made
before God.
Many good Christian believe this with all their hearts. Many good Christians think that the Nashville Statement is an abomination of the gospel. There are good theological arguments on both sides. I’m not here today to talk about same-sex marriage. What I am here to do is to tell both sides that you are to love each other. This may be difficult in the heated polarized environment we find ourselves in today. But scripture teaches us that we must love God and love our neighbor even if we disagree with them.
We do this by remembering that what brings a church together and gives it unity is not our position on cultural or theological matters. What brings together is Jesus Christ. Think of a circle. With Jesus at the center of the circle, the divisions at the perimeter don’t seem so important. Remember this when you talk with people from the other side. Do not let your disagreements cause you to take your eyes off Jesus. And do not allow yourself to become a stumbling stone for people trying to get to Christ.
The story is told of a monastery that had fallen upon hard times. Once it was a great order, but as a result of the waves of anti-monastic persecution in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and the rise of secularism in the nineteen, all its branch houses were lost and there were only five monks left in the decaying mother house: the abbot and four others, all over seventy in age. Clearly, it was a dying order.
In the woods surrounding the monastery, there was a little cabin that a rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used as a retreat. The old monks could always sense when the rabbi was visiting the cabin. "The rabbi is in the woods, the rabbi is in the woods again," they would whisper to each other. As he agonized over the imminent death of his order, the abbot decided to visit the rabbi and ask for any advice that might save the monastery.
The rabbi welcomed the abbot at his hut. But when the abbot explained the purpose of this visit, the rabbi could only commiserate with him. "Yes. I know how it is," he exclaimed. "The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore." So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together. Then they read parts of the Torah and quietly spoke of deep things. When the time came for the abbot to leave, they embraced one another. "It has been a wonderful thing that we have talked after all these years," the abbot said. "But is there nothing you can tell me, no piece of advice you can give me that would help me save my dying order?"
"No, I am sorry," the rabbi responded, "I have no advice to give you." But then the rabbi paused and said quietly to the abbot, "But, there is one thing I have to tell you: One of you is the Messiah."
When the abbot returned to the monastery his fellow monks gathered around him and asked, "Well, what did the rabbi say?"
"He couldn't help," the abbot answered. "We just wept and read the Torah together. The only thing he did say, just as I was leaving—he said that one of us was the Messiah! Maybe it's something from Jewish mysticism. I don't know what he meant."
In the days and weeks and months that followed, the old monks began to think about this and wondered whether the rabbi's words could actually be true? The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one of us monks here at the monastery? If that's the case, who is it? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone he probably meant Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than a generation. On the other hand, he might have meant that Brother Thomas is a holy man. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Certainly, he couldn't have meant Brother Jonathan! Jonathan gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people's sides when you look back on it, Jonathan is virtually always right, often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Jonathan, but surely not Brother Philip. Philip is so passive, a real nobody. But then almost mysteriously he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Could Philip be the Messiah? Of course, the rabbi didn't mean me. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? Oh God, me?
In the woods surrounding the monastery, there was a little cabin that a rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used as a retreat. The old monks could always sense when the rabbi was visiting the cabin. "The rabbi is in the woods, the rabbi is in the woods again," they would whisper to each other. As he agonized over the imminent death of his order, the abbot decided to visit the rabbi and ask for any advice that might save the monastery.
The rabbi welcomed the abbot at his hut. But when the abbot explained the purpose of this visit, the rabbi could only commiserate with him. "Yes. I know how it is," he exclaimed. "The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore." So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together. Then they read parts of the Torah and quietly spoke of deep things. When the time came for the abbot to leave, they embraced one another. "It has been a wonderful thing that we have talked after all these years," the abbot said. "But is there nothing you can tell me, no piece of advice you can give me that would help me save my dying order?"
"No, I am sorry," the rabbi responded, "I have no advice to give you." But then the rabbi paused and said quietly to the abbot, "But, there is one thing I have to tell you: One of you is the Messiah."
When the abbot returned to the monastery his fellow monks gathered around him and asked, "Well, what did the rabbi say?"
"He couldn't help," the abbot answered. "We just wept and read the Torah together. The only thing he did say, just as I was leaving—he said that one of us was the Messiah! Maybe it's something from Jewish mysticism. I don't know what he meant."
In the days and weeks and months that followed, the old monks began to think about this and wondered whether the rabbi's words could actually be true? The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one of us monks here at the monastery? If that's the case, who is it? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone he probably meant Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than a generation. On the other hand, he might have meant that Brother Thomas is a holy man. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Certainly, he couldn't have meant Brother Jonathan! Jonathan gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people's sides when you look back on it, Jonathan is virtually always right, often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Jonathan, but surely not Brother Philip. Philip is so passive, a real nobody. But then almost mysteriously he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Could Philip be the Messiah? Of course, the rabbi didn't mean me. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? Oh God, me?
As they contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one of them might actually be the Messiah. And on the off, off chance that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.
Because the monastery was situated in a beautiful forest, it so happened that people occasionally came to visit the monastery to picnic on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its paths, even now and then to go into the dilapidated chapel to meditate. And as they did so, without even being conscious of it, they sensed this aura of extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five old monks and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely attractive, even compelling, about it. Hardly knowing why, people began to come back to the monastery more frequently to picnic, to play, to pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends.
Then it happened that some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a while, one asked if he could join them. Then another. And another. And it happened that within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order and, thanks to the rabbi's gift, a vibrant center of light and spirit.
Because the monastery was situated in a beautiful forest, it so happened that people occasionally came to visit the monastery to picnic on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its paths, even now and then to go into the dilapidated chapel to meditate. And as they did so, without even being conscious of it, they sensed this aura of extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five old monks and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely attractive, even compelling, about it. Hardly knowing why, people began to come back to the monastery more frequently to picnic, to play, to pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends.
Then it happened that some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a while, one asked if he could join them. Then another. And another. And it happened that within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order and, thanks to the rabbi's gift, a vibrant center of light and spirit.
The Messiah was present in that monastery. Jesus was there. And when them monks realized that Jesus was with them they began to treat each other with respect, love, and forgiveness. What would happen if the church today thought that Jesus was present? What would we do if Jesus’ love and forgiveness filled this place? What would visitors think if they came here and found a vibrant, loving, forgiving, and nonjudgmental community? I think that is what people are really looking for and would fill a church where it is true.
And so I urge you to treat others with love and respect and forgiveness. Remember that Jesus is here with us, watching what we do. Let’s do what Jesus wants. Let’s pray.
Father in heaven be with us today and fill us with your love. Help us to love one another. And help the families living around the church to sense that this is a loving place. We pray this in the name of your son, our Lord, Jesus Christ. Amen.
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