Father Peter F. Hansen

Sermon for Septuagesima

February 16, 2003

Paid in Full

“KNOW ye not that they which run in a race run all, but one receiveth the prize? So run, that ye may obtain .”

Did you ever do something well, and expected a reward—then got nothing? In fact, the better you did, and the more you shined , the more suspicion was thrown on you and you were punished for doing good work. We expect justice in this world, and that is because we expect that there is a just God who is in control. He is just, and He is in control. But what else do we expect?

      I had been to a meeting away from the Church a couple of Thursdays mornings ago. I drove up to the top of the parking structure and I saw that someone had taken my reserved parking place. Another lady was sitting in her car, gesturing that her reserved spot had been taken also. We both double-parked and went to call a towing service. The tow truck showed up and hooked onto the car in her space first. Just before he drove it away, two women ran over shouting for him not to tow their cars. It seemed that a group of parents had driven a class of grade school children from Oroville to attend a program at the university and all of them had taken reserved parking places in order to drop off the kids. This woman had to pay the driver a $45 fee for his service call, or he would have put her car in his yard and it would have cost her $95 to get it out.

      I asked her if the car in my place was one of theirs also. She said it was and I asked if it could get moved too—so I wouldn't have it towed. They assured me and drove their cars away to find parking. 20 minutes later another woman ran up to get the car out of my space. “Where am I supposed to park?” she asked me frantically, almost accusingly. “Well, you're not supposed to park in my reserved space,” I said. “I've just saved you $95 and waited an hour.” “The girl told us we could park here!” she shouted. “What girl?” “We called the girl at the school and she said to park in this structure!” “Well I hardly think she meant my reserved parking place.” But my reasoning was lost on her. “I'm not from Chico,” she continued to whine . “Where are we supposed to park?” I was looking at an adult who has been issued a drivers license . “Go further up the street, away from the college and you'll find parking,” I suggested . “We have a lot of little kids!” continued her lament. As she angrily got into her car and backed out of my space, I realized that she never said the words: “I'm sorry,” or “thanks.” I'm out an hour of inconvenience and I saved her $95. But it never occurred to her to apologize or to thank me. It was my fault.

      And it hit me. She's a victim . Oh , not a real victim. No one had done anything bad to her—in fact, I'd done her a favor. But she was convinced that in her world, she is the victim of any bad circumstances—no matter how much she brought it on herself—and she can't be blamed . She can blame someone else: me, the girl at the school, the city of Chico, the university, even her little kids . When someone decides to be a victim of life, they never have to say “I'm sorry,” and there is no circumstance where they owe anyone gratitude. Everything they receive is expected —in fact, it isn't enough to make up for all they've suffered. Nothing they do to you, or fail to do for you, can make them wrong—and so apologies are never in order.

      We're raising a whole generation of victims of life . It's so easy to be one. There is no responsibility or accountability. Anyone else's suffering cannot possibly top my suffering, so I have no reason to be concerned about what pain I cause you. I've got the most pain. The injustices done to me are more than I could ever do to you, so I have no cause to apologize to you or to thank you for anything.

      You may be thinking that I've got a grudge against this poor woman. Not really: in fact, I'm profoundly grateful that she helped clarify something for me. This mindset of victimhood is not linked to people who have truly been victims. There are real victims in life and their stories are heartbreaking. But even they have a choice to make afterwards, in their brokenness. They can use their victimization as an excuse for the rest of their lives for why they needn't be responsible for themselves, or else they can be heroes and rise above their circumstances.

     It's the heroes we used to celebrate. Today, we train people how to become victims of life. Their victimization can be tied to anything: r ace, gender, broken homes, siblings, the economy, the government, the church, their spouses, their bosses—and ultimately— God . God is the real villain in a world of victims. He let them be hurt. It's His fault. He's unjust. Life's unfair.

     Now we all know the adage: “Who ever said life was fair?” But that doesn't get it, not for a victim. Life should be fair. But how do we come to think so?

     Psalm 43 begins: “Give sentence with me, O God, and defend my cause against the ungodly people; O deliver me from the deceitful and wicked man. For thou art the God of my strength; why hast thou put me from thee? and why go I so heavily, while the enemy oppresseth me?” What David is saying is: “Judge me, Lord, and having found me righteous and worthy, defend me against them who wrongfully accuse me.” Do you ever ask God to judge you? Are you afraid to ask Him? If so, you'd better work on that. He will judge what you have not repented of. If your acts of selfishness are being covered by your victimization by the world , God will bring that to the light.

     Jesus was a victim, a real victim . But He never complained about it. He rose above it, was resurrected from it, and saved mankind by what He suffered, the righteous for the unrighteous. Through His sacrifice, we can be made whole. But we've got to stop complaining. We've got to stop making demands that God bless us. That won't work. He paid a price for us. Paid in full . So get over it. Be a hero.

     St. Paul wrote the Romans that “…to him that worketh is the reward not reckoned of grace, but of debt. But to him that worketh not, but believeth on him that justifieth the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness.” Romans 4:4-8 There is something to say about faith. Faith is believing that God is good, just, rational, loving, and mighty. Faith is knowing that God will judge everyone, and that His judgment of us would have been very bad for us, had His Son not intervened. He didn't do that out of a debt. He owed us nothing. We certainly weren't worthy of the favor. What, we want golf courses in heaven too? We demand cable TV? We don't want to worship Him there, but to be entertained and pampered and understood?

     In our Epistle today, St. Paul uses the example of a race, explaining that we run a race in order that we might win. Olympic runners all have that gold medal in their minds when the gun sets them leaping out of their starting blocks. Today's victim mentality would have us complain at the winner for winning. It's unfair that he should win, I mean, he beat me. I'm entitled to a little credit. I at least ran, okay? I gave him somebody to beat. Where's my gold medal?

     Jesus exemplified this mentality by creating a scene where men worked in a vineyard. Some worked all day, from sun up to sunset. Some worked half the day, and others just the end of the day because they were hired late in the afternoon. The owner of the farm began paying these last ones first, and he gave them each a day's wage. So the whole-day workers began to figure they were entitled to more than a day's wage. When they only received what they had originally bargained for, they began to gripe about it. “T hou hast made them equal unto us, which have borne the burden and heat of the day.” The answer is wonderful. “Friend, I do thee no wrong: didst not thou agree with me for a penny? Take that thine is, and go thy way: I will give unto this last, even as unto thee. Is it not lawful for me to do what will with mine own? Is thine eye evil, because I am good?”

     God is not unjust, but He is merciful and He is generous. Justice will prevail, and many will go to an eternal hell who counted themselves unfairly treated and entitled to do whatever they wanted in this life. No ‘ thanks .' No ‘ sorry .' Just “run over my husband with the Mercedes he gave me. He deserved it. He cheated on me. I get to cheat on tests: look how I've been cheated in life. I need to steal this car: why don't I get to have such things? I'm gonna take these drugs: my life is so messed up, and it's all somebody's fault.” When you begin to open your eyes, you may realize that the victims of life in our world are the most horrible people to deal with. And in the end, they'll blame you for being annoyed with them. They seem to feel they are entitled to your portion, to your place in line, to your space on the freeway, to Safeway's shopping cart, to get away with murder.

    “The wages of sin is death,” wrote Paul to the Romans. There are people lining up to receive reward for merely living and taking things all their lives. Their expectations will be disappointed by the Truth. “ but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Rom 6:23 That gift is for those who stop being victims and begin to be heroes . And what is a hero ? A hero is someone who takes every beating, suffers every wrong, feels every disappointment, and then takes God's side . God is right to hate sin. God is right to judge the world. God is going to have His Day, when the tables of all the bullies are turned. There will be justice. “The last shall be first, and the first last.” And so a hero smiles . It's that smile that makes a hero. Not a smirk, but real joy from knowing that God is just and He is merciful, that He will punish evil and reward the winner of the race. I will be paid in full.

     That race is your own life. You are the one who must run it to the end. Those who would steal your joy might do so, but only if you let them, only if you decide to be a victim rather than a hero . In the movie, Chariots of Fire , the Scottish runner Eric Liddle, is knocked out of bounds by a cheater during a race. It's a quarter mile, so he is quickly out of the running. He gets up and, instead of complaining to the judges or crying or getting angry , he sets off to overtake the others. As he crosses the finish line, his chest just breaks the tape. Then he collapses, gasping for breath. Not a victim . A hero . “That wasn't the prettiest quarter mile ever I've seen, Mr. Liddle,” says the professional trainer, Massobini. “But it was certainly the bravest.”

             PFH+