Sermon for September 2, 2018 
Read James 1:17-27 and Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23 So, at first glance, in our passage today the Pharisees seem to be overly concerned with hand washing. They come across as overly fussy, looking for something to be unhappy about. But when we look at what the hand washing really means, their protest starts to make more sense. It’s not just a quick rinsing of the hands, but instead a ritual washing followed by speaking the blessing: “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with Your commandments, and commanded us concerning the washing of the hands."
They did this to remind themselves who they were, and who they belonged to. The point was to set them apart and to remind them of the work that God had already done for them. One we understand their tradition, we might find it harder to fault the Pharisees for wondering why some of Jesus' disciples did not wash their hands before eating a meal. It would be like wondering today why a group that calls itself religious does not say grace before eating.
But Jesus does fault the Pharisees. Now, he’s not faulting them for trying to follow the rituals, but instead for only following the rituals. He notices that there has developed a tremendous gap between the Pharisees' external religious practice and their internal belief. The Pharisees have concentrated so much on these external measures of religious practice that the internal marks of faith are forgotten, or worse yet, deliberately avoided. There are plenty of outward signs of religion that might look holy and well-meaning, but the inward marks of faith are what are important. We see the outward signs but the inward signs are more meaningful.
What Jesus is really arguing with the Pharisees about what is important in life. They have a basic theological difference because the officials think that obeying the complex rules for piety are what it's all about. Proper washing of the hands, kosher eating, and ritual observances were the key things for the Pharisees. Jesus makes the point that these things don't really matter at all. It's what comes out of you that counts, he says. It's what you say and do to others that matters.
But convincing others that the ritual matters less than our everyday behavior isn’t easy.
I’m endlessly frustrated when our faith tradition is regarded (by insiders or outsiders) as somehow nothing more than a collection of rules to follow. It’s something I hear most often from people who have left the church for one reason or another. Christianity, from their perspective, is a set of strict beliefs that one must wholly accept and flawlessly adhere to, and anyone who marches out of time is sent packing. It worries me that that is what they’ve seen modeled. The letter of the law, in this interpretation, has no room for humanity, for context, for imperfection, or for conscientious dissent – it is synonymous with the whole religion. To be Christian is to follow orders. Because that’s all they see of what Christians do.
I’m usually quick to point out all of the good that they do to. The work that our own PCUSA does with disaster assistance and hunger efforts and mission relief. From a lobby in congress down to individual churches that raise food and money and clothes for others, we are far more than just the ritual of Sunday morning. Our denomination welcomes different voices and even has a whole piece in our book of order about the importance of the opinions of the minority. There are lots of ways to disagree and still be Presbyterian. But that is harder to see because it’s not the stereotype.
A healthy, God-oriented heart is revealed in faithful actions. Authentic faith is found in the impact of our inner life on our outward behavior. God is the ultimate relativist – responding personally and intimately to every life-situation. Rigid obedience to rules and conventions is useless apart from an open heart and loving acts. Doctrine and ritual are valuable as the inspiration to loving action. But legalism deadens the spirit and excludes contrasting ways of loving God. Our rituals and doctrines shape our lives; yet, their proof is found in our care for others.
Too often, it’s like that old joke about a man sat who through a church service and then on the way home he fussed about the sermon, he griped about the traffic, he complained about the heat, and he made a big fuss about how late the lunch meal was served. Then he bowed and prayed, giving God thanks for the food.
His son was watching him all the way through this post-church experience. Just as they were beginning to pass the food he said, "Daddy, did God hear you when we left the church and you started complaining about the sermon and about the traffic and about the heat?"
The father blushed and said, "Well, yes, son, He heard me."
"Well, Daddy, did God hear you when you just prayed for this food right now?"
And he says, "Well, yes, son, He … He … He heard me."
"Well, Daddy, which one did God believe?"
What you say and what you do are not separate from who you are. Period. Your words and your actions are indeed windows through which to view your soul. What we do every day matters more than what we do once in awhile.
Here’s the thing, rituals in themselves aren’t a bad thing. The reason why the rituals were started was to remind us of our relationship with God. To show us how we should live. Washing our hands to remind us to obey what God commanded us isn’t a bad thing. Saying grace over a meal to offer gratitude to God isn’t a bad thing. In fact, they are both pretty good things.
The trouble comes when we let the rules mean more than the living. When we place the priority on following the ritual exactly instead of taking care of the people around us. That’s what Jesus objected to, not the ritual itself. Over and over again in the gospels, Jesus is patient with every group who isn’t getting what he is saying, except one. The one thing Jesus lost his temper over every time was hypocrisy. Those self-righteous who measure their godliness by the number of rules they follow, rather than by the amount of love and grace they bestow. He tells them that their hearts are “far from God," hardened by fear or hate or distrust.
Yes, it is easier to just follow the rules of a faith than to really pour our heart and souls into it. Rules make great litmus tests and are simply pass or fail. Real moral discernment, on the other hand, is messy, awkward, and fraught with mistakes. You can be a great rule-follower by, well, obeying the rules, and get it right every time. But it’s darn near impossible to be a moral person without screwing up a lot because so much of our moral development happens by observing and acknowledging our errors.
In other words, it is better to make mistakes while trying to care for others, then to follow every rule perfectly but to never notice those who are hurting around you. So when you follow a ritual, whether it is coming to church on Sunday morning, saying grace before a meal, or even washing your hands, remember why you are following it. Make sure your actions match your words and show what is in your heart.
