Sermon:  “Put on Christ Jesus”

Prayer:   “May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of our hearts and minds here together be acceptable to you, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer.  Amen.”

As a little girl, I loved to play dress-up.  I loved Halloween too – I still do – because you get to put on the costume and pretend to be someone else.  One year an angel, another year a witch.  Boys did this too:  one year he’d be a monster, the next year Batman.  Some of you have heard me joke about the favorite dress-up game my preschool friend Nancy and I used to play – “here comes the bride.”  My mom had this fabulous silver satin bathrobe.  It was kind of worn and ripped, and the lace trim was a little yellowed and coffee-stained, but it floated beautifully down the shiny hardwood floors of the hallway at my house, or at hers.  So of course, if I had a play date at her house, I had to bring the all-important bridal gown. 

And you know we always wanted to be the bride, or at least the maid of honor.  No one wanted to be the groom, and certainly not the minister.  But we felt it was essential to dignity of the processional to have clergy at the end of the hallway holding the Holy Bible.  So we’d make Nancy’s baby sister Carol be the minister.  She’d usually wear something like a diaper with high heels – you know, a great look for a pastor – but she was perfect.  She was just old enough to play and just young enough to take the role nobody wanted.  She’d proudly stand there holding the big dusty old black family Bible and watch us come down the aisle – one of us in the spectacular gown and the other holding the train – and each of us with a straggly home-picked bouquet of dandelions from the yard.

Now compared to that, you have to admit that to “put on the Lord Jesus Christ,” as Paul so sternly advises here in his Letter to the Romans, sounds kind of dull.  Not much of a dress-up game, especially if your image of Christ is what my pastor friend Margie calls “moo cow Jesus.”  He looks a lot like my mom’s bridal portrait – you know, very pretty – with the long white robe, the golden-haired perm, and big, soulful blue eyes.  Not much of a compelling action figure.  I mean, who would buy a comic book where Clark Kent, instead of turning into Superman, responds to evil by changing into a long robe and sandals to speak softly to the world about peace.  Who’d want to dress up like that guy? 

I’m guessing most of you feel the same way about this invitation to “put on Christ.”  That long flowing white robe doesn’t sound very fun or very practical, nor does it sound like it would offer much protection against evil, right?   One of the things I love about our church is how most of us refuse to wear anything resembling a “holier than thou” mask or costume.  In fact, we often define ourselves here as Christians who are not like those who wear their faith on their sleeve, who would “put on Christ” in some judgmental, overly churchy way – as a hypocrite or a Pharisee would do, for appearances sake. 

And this is exactly what Paul struggles with here in this chapter of his Letter to the Romans.  As a former Pharisee, he had spent most of his life focusing on his own personal holiness – as the Pharisees were good people, not so unlike our Pilgrim ancestors, or many Christians today – who do try to understand God’s law and do the right thing in everyday life, not just in church.  They had faith practices of cleanliness and prayer that we can admire.  Grace before a meal, for example – stopping to wash, be reverent, and give thanks together in table fellowship – a practice of the Pharisees that Jesus brought to the table of the Last Supper and to the communion we share today.  But Paul’s conversion opened his eyes to how easily the FORM of religious rules could replace real heart-based faith, where love is the foundation of all laws of ethical behavior. 

And so, that’s where Paul begins this part of Romans, responding evidently to that church’s struggle with the law of Caesar’s empire.  And so he quotes Jesus and his “Great Commandment” from the Jewish law in Leviticus, to “love your neighbor as yourself.” Paul reminds the Roman church, and us, that Jesus calls his disciples to work with the world – to love and respect the people in it – but not to get dragged down into its sinfulness – or to use those great Bible words, its “debauchery and licentiousness.”  He calls us to be rooted in relationship with a loving God and then, in response, to go out into the world as living embodiments of God’s love.  Paul invites us to prepare well and dress for the job by putting on the “armor of light” that is the gracious spirit of the living and risen Christ.

This is very different from putting on a phony mask of faith, like the ones Jesus condemns the Pharisees for wearing.  In our church, I think we try very hard to be genuine in our faith – we are far from hypocrites or Pharisees – but my tough question today is this:  Do we try too hard to not be “too Christian” – whatever that means?  Are we ever afraid to “put on Christ Jesus,” for fear of losing our real selves? I think that if we decline the invitation to put on Christ Jesus, we rob ourselves of a great spiritual opportunity.  We miss out the very real POWER of the Holy Spirit to love, protect, and even transform us. 

I can tell you I have seen the power of the Holy Spirit transform someone –right before my eyes – when I was just learning to be a minister, back in Berkeley, when I was the Youth Pastor at the Congregational Church.  The senior pastor Pat had just gotten a new car – a beautiful new golden Honda Accura – and we were standing on the back porch by the parking lot admiring it – she’d just gotten it the day before and this trip to church was its maiden voyage.  And while we were gazing upon its beauty, one of the little old ladies of the church who had a few physical challenges was just then backing out of a handicapped space opposite the new car.  She backed out and backed out and just when we expected her to turn the wheel, instead she slammed on the gas and rammed into the back end of this gorgeous new car!  We were stunned.  We just stood there and stared for what seemed like an eternity.  But then something, the Holy Spirit I’m sure, just compelled me to turn to Pat and say, “You know, I’m thinking this would be a good time to put on the likeness of Jesus Christ.”  And you know, she did.  We both did.  Something just came over us, and somehow we were able to step up and say the right thing, do the right thing. 

We were able to show real compassion for the poor woman who’d done the deed – ask about her, be sure she was OK – because you know, she was MUCH more upset to have caused the crash than we were to have seen it.  THAT is what Paul means when he invites us to “put on Jesus Christ.”  If we put on Christ, we get the gift of compassion and peace when we need it the most.  We remember Paul’s words that “we have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.”  And so, the garment of Christ is a beautiful thing that we GET to wear – it is graceful and lovely, like that beautiful dress-up bridal gown I wore as a child.  This garment of Christ was never meant to be a spiritual straightjacket IMPOSED upon us, like a dark 19^th-century clergyman’s jacket with a tight collar.  Wearing that would definitely NOT allow us to embody the grace of God or carry the Good News of the Gospel.  Instead, Jesus proclaims release to the captives.  He sets free those all who are oppressed – his love sets us free even from the bondage of religious obligation and guilt.

The truth is that the Good News of the love of Jesus sets us free to be more fully ourselves than ever before – the Christ garment we get to put on is the bright glory of God’s extravagant love for us.  As members of Christ’s church, his “holy bride,” we get to wear the fancy gown and live a joyful, processional life, moving ever closer to Jesus.  He waits at the altar with love, calling us to serve the world at his side.  That gives a whole new twist to saying “yes to the dress,” right?  Saying “yes” to the love of Jesus means no one has to get stuck holding that heavy black dusty old Bible and standing all alone at the end of the hall.

So I invite you, as this new school and church program year begins, to consider the invitation to “try on” Jesus for size.  Just saying grace more often at meals might be one place to start, remembering that Holy Communion begins at home.  But also consider joining a prayer or study group – our fall adult education schedule fills almost a whole page in the bulletin, so there are many choices.  And that’s just one way to approach Jesus.  Another way is through service, sharing with others in Christ’s name.  You get that opportunity to “put on Christ” even if you take on just an occasional church job – like teaching Sunday School, helping at Yankee Fair, joining an usher team or getting trained to run our REACH booth for worship video and sound, or helping out with Fellowship Hour or at the welcome table.  You don’t have to start with a huge time commitment – you don’t have to start by trying on the full regalia of Christ; you can take it one sandal at a time!

Thanks be to God for this Good News.  Amen.

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Romans 13:8-14

⁸Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. ⁹The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet”; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” ¹⁰Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.

¹¹Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; ¹²the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; ¹³let us live honorably as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. ¹⁴Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.