It may be a peculiarity of the American can-do spirit that is somehow convinced you can spruce something up that seems undesirable, or that you can always make lemonade out of lemons. The stuttering jalopy of a car just needs a new coat of paint. The tattered book simply needs new binding. The human face wrinkled by time and aged by hard living can be renewed by all manner of cosmetics and plastic surgery. If we deal with the outside enough, we can make up for what’s lacking on the inside.
But the human heart is more difficult to spruce up and much easier to hide. The heart does not readily show its true colors. It’s not visible. All manner of hardened emotions and resentments steep and fester while papered over with one layer of makeup after another. No wonder today’s Gospel reading is over-simplified into easy judgment of hypocrisy. It’s an excuse for avoiding the difficult interior work of the heart.
If we’re honest with ourselves, some of us probably love the moments where Jesus becomes indignant at others, especially so-called hypocrites. We encounter this today. Jesus enters the scene after he has performed numerous healings, taught the crowds, and fed the 5,000. He is riding on a high of approval from many in the crowds, and his opponents are in for it. We rub our hands together with glee, waiting for Jesus to deliver the zinger. Whether it’s with his closest disciples or other religious figures, Jesus cuts to the chase, going deep into the heart and criticizing facades. And on the right side of history, perhaps we rejoice in the downfall of his opponents. You got what was coming to you, didn’t you? You were so hyped up on piety and tradition, but you missed the point of it all. Get ‘em, Jesus!
But the truth is that dichotomizing Jesus’ teaching in such an extreme way has raised up all manner of straw men. You know them, I’m sure. Church traditions are getting in the way. All those vestments—forget about them! All the public prayer and private devotion just turn everyone into religious automatons. We should be more earthy, less pretentious. Isn’t that what Jesus would want?
And without realizing it, suddenly we have become caught in our own trap. As we furiously point fingers at the makeup on the faces of those around us, we find we have it right on our own hands and on our faces. We are guilty as charged. We are indicted. We have revealed the depths of our own hearts, full of vindictiveness, rage, jealousy, mean-spiritedness, and all manner of spiritual filth. And when we find ourselves oversimplifying Jesus’ words, we inevitably find ourselves accused by them. And this is precisely why Jesus cuts straight into the heart.
What Jesus does not say is that traditions are bad. What he does not say is that rules and regulations are not of God. What he does say is that your faces may look good, but your heart is in bad shape. You’re too worried about the outside and not concerned enough with the inside. So, what are you going to do about it?
The problem is that when God starts to unpack the baggage of our hearts, we find ourselves in yet another bind. Jesus lists all manner of vices, and I’m fairly confident that if we did a word cloud of these vices, we would have a few words in bigger letters than the others. Theft, murder, fornication, adultery, licentiousness, deceit, slander, wickedness! And in smaller letters, mumbled half-heartedly, we find evil thoughts, coveting, envy, pride, foolishness. The things we can see get judged and the others ignored. And the most toxic and dangerous are usually the things that are invisible because they hide and proliferate and grow sour.
And this seems to be Jesus’ point: that like any weed we want extirpated from our garden, we have to dig down to the root to get rid of it. Deep down, in the dark places, is where the bad stuff goes to hide, plant itself, and flourish. And who wants to go there?
What Jesus does not do, and what we are probably sorely tempted to do, is pit actions against contemplation, law against grace, traditions against innovation. All Jesus is saying is, don’t forget about your heart. Watch your heart. Be vigilant. Because those invisible things inside are more powerful than you might think. You can put all kinds of makeup on your faces, but never forget what’s in your heart. And really, you can’t always judge a book by its cover.
Jesus has revealed an almost inevitable tension between what we say and what we do. He points out how we don’t put our money where our mouth is. But most importantly, he shows that exactly when we are tempted to judge the makeup on others’ faces, if we only looked into a mirror, we’d see plenty of it on our own. Instead, why not look into our own hearts, as scary as it may be?
Inside the hearts of each and every one of us is a “little world,” to quote the great Christian thinker Origen.[1] Lest we judge a murderer, we should look within for the rage that can lead to such a hideous act. Lest we judge another’s sexual sin, we should confront the unexpressed lust inside us. Before we cast stones at egomaniacs, we would benefit from acknowledging the destructive pride, envy, and resentment lurking within our own souls. Because a book that needs some serious editing can hide easily under a flashy cover.
But there is something else to Jesus’ admonitions. If we stay with the seemingly indignant and angry Jesus, we miss the good news. And if there’s anything that we’re meant to hear from him, it is good news. If there’s anything we’re meant to hear in this tumultuous time of pandemic, worldwide violence, natural disasters, and societal instability, it’s good news from the mouth of the Prince of Peace. And he has plenty of it to share with us.
Jesus’ words may judge us, but he looks on us with compassion and love. His words judge us not to condemn us or shame us, but to change us. Jesus shows us unequivocally the vast amount of makeup on our faces that seeks to glamorize our outsides while neglecting our insides. But Jesus also shows us that God sees more than the façade. God sees more than just sour lemons or a terrible book that needs a distracting cover. We are beloved children. And if the heart is sour, there’s always the potential for change.
And God looks on us with every bit of optimism that wants to make lemonade from lemons. God wants us to let him in to our hearts to make us beautiful not just on the outside but on the inside as well.
This is the hardest part, because which of us wants to let the King of heaven into our jaded old hearts? Which of us wants to invite him into our house of disarray that has not been cleaned in years? And which of us wants to let him do some spring cleaning, to throw out those things with which we don’t want to part? And maybe this is why we usually don’t want to let him in.
But hear this: God wants our hearts and nothing less. God wants to go deep inside our souls. He doesn’t mind it when we tend to our faces, and he doesn’t mind our pious actions, ritual, or traditions. But he wants something else, too. He wants to take all our hard hearts of stone and to give us new ones of flesh.
And if we let him in, he will do so. He will heal us on the inside, not just on the outside. God does not need to change our exterior. He strips away all that we use to protect ourselves from the truth, and most importantly, from himself.
And when God has wiped all this façade away and done his work of healing, he reveals that image that he remembers from the moment he created us. God sees not some shameful creature, but he sees what he once made with love. And God says, it is very, very good.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost
August 29, 2021
[1] This is referenced in A Season for the Spirit by Martin L. Smith (New York: Seabury, 2004), 29-30.