My high school piano teacher would laugh when she made mistakes. I vividly remember sitting at a Steinway piano in her music studio while she sat at the piano next to me. She would demonstrate something, and then I would try to imitate what she did. And I was always surprised, and delighted, when she made mistakes because she would gently laugh.
As a seventeen-year-old perfectionist who was very hard on himself, I was not only surprised when my teacher laughed. I was impressed. In fact, I was somewhat envious. I secretly wished that I could laugh when I made mistakes at the piano. But I was incapable of it because my developing emotional self was too riddled with self-judgment and guilt to do so. I would scold myself over every missed note or memory slip. To make a musical mistake was another blow to my self-esteem.
But unlike me, my teacher was able to extend grace to herself. While demonstrating a figurative passage in a Scarlatti sonata, she would misjudge a leap, and then she would smile, laugh, and continue. This was no scornful or dismissive laugh. It was a laugh of good humor, a laugh demonstrating that my teacher was abundantly aware of her own imperfections and, I imagine, confident enough in her many gifts as a musician and teacher. It reflected her personality itself, which was always kind and gracious. Mistakes couldn’t suppress the smile, laugh, and twinkle in her eye because she didn’t take herself too seriously. She didn’t keep score of all her mistakes. She was in it for the music.
The secret envy I had of my piano teacher’s ability to laugh at herself was not just about music. I longed to be able to extend grace to myself in all aspects of my life, especially in my life with God. Our spiritual lives are hardly like piano lessons, but perhaps there is some analogy here. Are we in it for the music, or do we fearfully tally mistakes and shortcomings? Of course, missing an accidental is morally neutral, and committing a sin is not. Laughing at a missed octave leap in the left hand isn’t an offense against God, but laughing at your sin could be blasphemous. So maybe the analogy lies in how we manage our mistakes and faults. Are we in it for the music, or do we ruthlessly keep score?
This would be a good question to ask the prophets, who seem to be custodians of long lists of faults and failings. Where’s the music in their judgmental speech, which fastidiously keeps score of the sins of God’s people? As difficult as their speech is, we tend to love the prophets only when they support our agendas. Liberals love the prophets because they speak truth to power and are strident voices for social justice. Conservatives love the prophets because they pronounce God’s judgment on those who willingly defy God and commit immorality. But one thing holds both sides in common: they both love the prophets as voices of judgment against their enemies. And they love the prophets because the prophets reinforce their own moral superiority.
But these are all the wrong reasons to love the prophets. Truth be told, if we love the prophets so easily, we must not be hearing what they’re really saying. And if we love the prophets because they accuse our enemies, then we, too, are ruthlessly keeping score and are unable to hear the music.
It seems clear what the prophet Micah is saying to the false prophets of his day, but it’s not so clear where the music is in what he says. Micah castigates those who say what the political and religious powers want to hear. If they’re given enough money, they will say anything, regardless of the word of God. They are the ones who avoid speaking the truth out of fear of losing the wealthy parishioner’s pledge. These prophets don’t challenge an unjust social order; they reinforce it by tailoring their words to encourage the oppressive status quo. They say comforting things to the upper crust of society whose mouths are filled with good things while those working the land can find no bread. These prophets make crooked the straight ways of God. They are charlatans, not prophets. And Micah is also clear about the destructive consequences of such behavior.
But in Micah’s caustic words, is there yet music to be heard amid all this score keeping? Is the point of judgment to lead to destruction, or is there something more? After all, it would hardly be appropriate to laugh lightheartedly at the egregious sins of the false prophets and power-hungry leaders of Micah’s day. But is it too preposterous to think that underneath all the talk of God’s wrath and anger there might be some music?
Not so fast, say those who boisterously advocate for the oppressed. The rich who complacently abuse the poor and think they can rely on God’s favor should be punished. We need justice. Not so fast, say those who might be less concerned with the poor and more intent on desiring God’s vindictive wrath towards those who sin.
But true justice is far more than punishing the offenders. And it’s far more than needing an angry God to make things right. Micah, after all, is a true prophet. Micah might be naming the hard truth, but his end goal is neither retribution nor affirming the agendas of others. Micah is involved in a far grander project because he knows that despite the proliferation of mistakes, and as much as we might tend to keep score, it’s really all about the music.
Is judgment, then, a gift? If we were less serious and could laugh at ourselves occasionally, we might see this. If we weren’t so proud as to avoid naming our human frailty, we might hear the music in judgment. If we could understand what Jesus taught us, that our sins and failures do not define our identity as God’s children, then there is music to be heard. And if so, then our sins need not entrap us in quagmires of guilt and shame but instead can prick our consciences so that we are able to receive God’s love and mercy. They prompt us to hear the music once again. God judges for our own good: not to make us miserable but to ensure that no one makes crooked the straight path toward righteousness and equity.
With this good news, can we flip the narrative of the false prophets? The false prophets are constantly telling us what is wrong. The Church is dying. The Church is full of hypocrites and injustice. Our nation is falling apart. The world will never have peace again. It is a perpetual headline of bad news, of keeping score.
But if God’s judgment is a gift, then true prophets help us to hear the music beneath the litany of offenses. The Church’s present state is an opportunity to set human ego aside and reclaim the Gospel’s power. A nation’s political dysfunction can be a prompt towards reform and collaboration. And amid global conflict, relationships among enemies are possible, which will enable God to bring true peace. Sometimes our undoing is our remaking, and this can be a great gift.
Micah and all the other prophets dismantle our fragile egos and sinful human projects so that God can remake them in his image. The prophets bring the worst injustices into the light of God’s judgment, which is painful to us who continually walk in darkness. The only agenda of true prophets is to point to God’s mercy, love, and forgiveness. It might take harsh language to command the world’s attention, but the end goal is far beyond wrath and anger. The prophet’s job is not so much to keep score but to help us hear the music.
And to hear the music in the Book of Micah, we must jump to the end. After seven chapters of uncensored language, after accusing the false prophets of being merciless cannibals, and after foretelling the destruction of the holiest of cities, Micah ends with an exquisite ballad of love that will move any warm heart to tears. God will again have compassion on us, Micah says. God “will cast all our sins into the depths of the sea.” God will show faithfulness and loyalty to his people, as was sworn to “our ancestors from the days of old.” And that is how his book ends: with God’s gracious music of salvation.
Our sins are nothing to laugh at, but we ourselves are laughable. We’re so foolish as to think we can be perfect. We’re so ludicrous as to imagine we can save ourselves. We’re so judgmental as to think that we need an angry God to make everything right again. We’re so good at keeping score but so very poor at hearing the music of God’s love that surpasses our understanding.
But the music is there, behind all our sins and hidden within the disappointments of daily life and in our failures. The music lies as an invitation of grace to deliver us from our valleys of guilt and despair. So, laugh at yourselves. Laugh at the inept wiles of the devil, who would have us believe that our sins have more power over us than they do. Laugh and rejoice that when we stumble and fall, God will help us get up again and walk into his arms of love.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost
November 5, 2023