"Rooted and Grounded in Love"
Ephesians 3:14-21
Rev. Laura J. Collins
July 27, 2003
When I was 18 years old, the professors at the Quaker college I had just entered had the good sense to make me read a book of sermons by Paul Tillich. It was then that I first read his sermon, "You Are Accepted." It immediately became my favorite sermon and remains so today. I reread it regularly. I was tempted simply to read it to you today.
The first time I read Tillich's sermon I was three years removed from my first bout with major depression and my second bout was still another year away. But the moment I read the words they resonated deep within my aching soul. Tillich was, in my mind, the greatest theologian of the 20th Century. There are plenty of people who would argue that point with me. But his definition of sin in this particular sermon is one I quote frequently.
Tillich says that we must understand sin, first of all, in the singular, rather than the plural. Sin is the state of being in which we find ourselves, not the petty or horrendous activities often described as sins. Rather, it is that truth of human nature so aptly described by that other Paul in his letter to the Romans. The apostle wrote in the 7th chapter of that book: "I do not understand my own actions. ... For I do not do the good I want, but I do the very thing I hate."
Sins are those actions we do which we hate or those actions we fail to do which we know we should. But sin, in the singular, is simply a universal fact of life.
Sin is, Tillich writes, the state of separation. Separation from other people, separation from our deepest self and separation from God. It is that distance we feel within ourselves, not even knowing what we want or how to get there; the distance we experience from our neighbors, for whom we find it difficult to sustain any genuine level of compassion; even the distance we feel from those closest to us. It is the distance we feel from the very Source of Life itself.
Sin is separation.
It is important to grasp the true nature of sin, Tillich writes, or else we cannot grasp the true nature of grace.
Grace, like sin, is one of those strange words that has been trivialized and overused and misunderstood and yet there is no other word in the English language that can be substituted for it. Grace is more than the gift of life or the particular gifts and blessings we find throughout our lives -- though they are most certainly graceful.
Grace is definitely not the good works we stack up, like jobs on a resume, to hand in at the door of heaven.
Nor is grace a magical power that lifts our spirits but has no practical use in the world.
And grace is not simply a heavenly parent willing to forgive and forgive and forgive in spite of our foolishness, though forgiveness is clearly a central tenet of grace.
Grace is what happens to us, in the deepest place in our souls, when we suddenly understand, not simply with our head, but in the very bowels of our being, that we are loved. Loved and accepted as we are, in spite of our worst tendencies, in spite of our inability to fully love ourselves, in spite of whatever the world is telling us, in spite of everything wrong in the universe.
Grace comes to us in those vulnerable moments of darkness or hopelessness or grief or great fear. When for no reason at all, with no effort on our part, we really know, in the most powerful way of knowing that we are OK, that everything is OK, that in spite of all appearances and logic to the contrary, that love is, in fact, the only thing that matters and that we are, in fact, beloved. In the words of the great mystic Julian of Norwich, "All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well."
Grace is the moment when the separation vanishes and we see who we are and what we are to do; when we recognize our brothers and sisters for who they are, and their connection to us; and when we understand that we are inseparably bound to the Creative Spirit, the Compassionate Lover, the Ground of our Being.
In the apostle Paul's letter to the Ephesians, he has been detailing for the church community, how Jesus has become our peace, the one who reconciles us to each other and to God. Then suddenly, mid-letter, he breaks into this prayer we heard this morning: "For this reason, I bow my knees ..." and he prays a passionate prayer.
Paul's prayer is that we might be strengthened in our inner selves, that Christ might dwell in our hearts and that we might be rooted and grounded in love so that we might know the breadth and length and height and depth of a love that is beyond human understanding, but which can fill us with the fullness of God.
Rooted and grounded in love.
Ric and I have spent our first two years in our home un-planting rather than planting. The woman who lived in the house for almost 50 years let the yard get terribly over-grown in her later years. So we uproot bushes and scrub trees every time we have a chance to work in the yard. I have decided that planting is much easier than uprooting. I keep threatening to rent a roto-tiller and just go at the whole darn yard, but my dear husband, Mr. Why-Use-Power-Tools-When-Hours-of-Sweat-Will-Do-the-Trick?, insists that the roto-tiller will not really get at the roots. And he has a point. Who knew how far and wide one little forsythia bush could spread its treacherous roots?
Paul wants us to be rooted like that. So that nothing, not a roto-tiller or any earth-shaking tragedy, will be able to pull up our trust in the grace of God. Deep roots that will survive drought and allow us to grow again even after we've been chopped back by the harsh realities of life.
Grounded, while it sounds like a continuation of the rooting metaphor, actually refers to construction. Grounded like a strong foundation of a building. I still smile thinking about the looks on the faces of the construction workers who had to spend weeks chopping away at our stone walls in order to build our elevator shaft. Ray, the construction manager, would just shake his head in disbelief -- "Look how thick this wall is -- look at these stones they used!" These stones were put here to stay. This was no fly-by-night organization, no inflatable church fad. This was a place intended to stand through the centuries.
That is how we are to be grounded. With a strong, unbreakable foundation, able to withstand storms and decades of wear and tear. "How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, is laid for your faith in God's excellent Word."
Sometimes I struggle as a pastor to know just how to convey this kind of unshakeable grace, this kind of unbreakable love. What words can I possibly use to describe to you the depth of God's love for you? What music is majestic enough to convey the heights of God's grace? What prayer is powerful enough to embrace the breadth of God's care? What story could ever assure you of the lengths to which God will go for you?
I can plant a seed, but I can't make it take root.
I can lay a stone, but I can't finish the building.
Only God can. Only grace can. So I pray, like Paul, with fervor and with hope, that you will know that you are accepted. That you are the beloved. That you are born in grace and held in grace and will someday die in grace because that is the nature of our God and nothing in life or death or life beyond death can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Nothing. Nothing.
"The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose, I will not, I will not desert to its foes. That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, I'll never, no never, no never forsake."
Webmaster : Brian C. Monsell