Sermon prepared for
by Gregory S. Kaurin, associate pastor
traditional services, 9/22/02
Texts: Jonah 3:10-4:11 &
Matthew 20:1-16
Sermon:
But I Called Shotgun!
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Anyone who has ever been a
parent or a youth pastor has heard this complaint on road trips. The kids scramble to the van, there’s pushing
and shoving, someone wins the match, and at least one is left standing on the
blacktop and whining, “But I called shotgun!”
You soon find yourself arbitrating this very important issue of who gets
to sit in the front passenger seat, trying to explain to young Chip that
“all-time-callsies” really isn’t fair and that he
needs to share the most high and honorable shotgun seat with his fellow
passengers. Unfortunately, no matter the
results, even if you have a carefully laid out, organized flowchart stipulating
who was going to sit where and for how long, there will always be that second
whining, pouting, voice coming from somewhere in the back, “It’s not fair!”
Now, I could be entirely
cold and callous about the whole thing, except that I distinctly remember, from
grade school up through high school, racing my own friends to that coveted seat
called shotgun. Half the thrill was its
name: “shotgun.” Rebellious, tough, and
no matter where you were going, you were at least two feet in front of the guys
sitting behind you. Of course, the
others were whispering and making rabbit ears behind your back, but that didn’t
matter: you were sitting shotgun.
I’m not sure how far we
adults have really progressed from that point.
I’ve heard the suggestion that the adult world is really just “tall grade
school.” And when I look through the
stories of the Bible, I can see that this is a rather consistent theme. God must feel like the only adult on the road
trip of life with all his children crying out, “It’s not fair; it’s not
fair! I called shotgun!” And the only time we’re not whining about it
are the times that we’re fairly sure that we are riding shotgun, and that we
are sitting at least two feet in front of all our rivals, and at God’s right
hand.
Look at Jonah in our first
lesson. In Sunday school you might have been
taught that Jonah didn’t want to go to
God called him again, and this
time Jonah went. However, Jonah didn’t
give the Ninevites any real warning. Instead, he just announced that in forty days
his Hebrew God was going to destroy them, no if’s, and’s or but’s. And yet, the Ninevites
responded by searching for their own hope.
They converted and prayed and fasted and begged God’s forgiveness, all on
the off-chance that it wasn’t as settled as Jonah had made it sound and that
God just might forgive them.
Then, we learn of what Jonah
was really afraid. He wasn’t afraid of
the Ninevites.
He wasn’t afraid that they wouldn’t listen to him. He was afraid that they would listen, and worse he was afraid that God would forgive them! Jonah complained, “I knew you’d do this,
God! You’re too soft-hearted with all
this graciousness and mercy. Why are you
always so ready to ease up on the punishment?
It’s not fair that the rest of us have had to faithfully go to your
And God just asked, “Do you
have a right to be angry with me?” After
the shady bush grew and died, Jonah felt even angrier and insulted. God asked again, “Do you have a right to be
angry with me?”
Jonah answered, “Yes, it’s
no fair; nothing’s fair; take me out of it.”
God’s answer is this, “Jonah,
that bush was my creation. You had no
part in its life, you did nothing to create it and nothing to earn or deserve
it. Still, when it died you mourned its
loss. Now, look at that city. Maybe it’s easy for you to dismiss their
lives, because to you they are statistics and stereotypes, diseased and sinful,
ideas and trash. But remember, Jonah,
that I created those people, 120,000+ and all the other creatures in their town. I lovingly fashioned every one of them. They might be as bright as limp linguini, but
they are mine.”
Love and mercy, and also his
justice, is God’s to give out as he chooses.
And whenever you call a person or a group of people to mind remember
that God made them and shaped them. If
he chooses to rescue them from evil, on this side of life or the next, then so be it. Amen. Let it go.
Let it go, because we all need God to be that merciful.
The real underlying message
in both the story of Jonah and the gospel lesson about the vineyard is that we
all depend on that level of love and mercy.
Maybe you’ve been reciting the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer since the
third week of your conception, and still you and all of us depend, for our
entire lives we depend, on a forgiveness, grace and mercy big enough that gives
some sorry ne’er-do-well chap the same love and acceptance that God gave us.
And as soon as we start
playing the comparison game, as soon as we start looking at our good works and our
discipline compared to that two-faced, hypocrite over there—as soon as we start
trying to keep score like that, we become the Pharisee in the Temple and fall
under the judgment of our own two-faced hypocritical words.
So, think of the vineyard
owner in Jesus’ story. The owner asked
the same question of his workers, “Do you have a right to be angry at me? It’s my vineyard; it’s my money, and you were
paid generously, even for a full day’s labor.”
And when you realize that the
“day’s wage” that Jesus was talking about in the story was actually God’s forgiveness
and eternal life. Do we really have any
right to complain if God might choose to give the same forgiveness and eternal salvation
to anyone he wants? Why do we let it
bother us, when none of us can earn or deserve it? Why do we continue to pretend that we do earn
it when we’re faced with the possibility that God’s grace and love for us might
be bigger than we can imagine, realize or interpret?
Don’t let God’s grace and
forgiveness offend you, let it free your heart. Take delight in it. This is the kind of God that you work for—one
that grants salvation to those who might do nothing more than hold out their
hands, to those who say nothing more than, “Jesus, remember me when you come
into your kingdom.” You need this kind
of God.
He has given us laws of love
and service in order to give us direction in our lives, not in order to show us
how to shoulder our way to the front seat.
Enjoy the relief of the shady bush while it’s there. Enjoy the people and moments that pass
through your life. Pass on the same
peace and assurance that you have been given.
God does it all to you and
for you and through you in order to bring about his will and purpose that he
has had from the beginning of creation.
Through millions of years and billions of people, this has been his
desire for every living person:
“They might be as bright as
limp linguini, but I will be their God.
And they shall be my people.”
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