"Remember This: It's Not Over 'Til It's Over"

Pastor Nagle
03/09/2005

“Remember This: It’s Not Over ‘Til It’s Over” Ps 51:1-13 Romans 7:14-25 Midweek IV March 9, 2005
I’d swear that TV’s funniest videos are made up—except that we all know that some people do really stupid things. Do stupid things and dangerous things, awful things and rude things, harmful things and thoughtless things. Even sinful things. And you yourself may know that because you read the newspapers, or maybe because you were witness to embarrassing moments, or maybe your own personal history would cause people to ask: What were you thinking? Though, of course, you weren’t thinking. Or weren’t thinking clearly. Or weren’t thinking long-term. Or weren’t thinking about others. Wouldn’t it be nice if there were some built in warning-light that asks if you really want to keep on doing what you’re doing? Computers have them. Cars have them. All we have is Judas.
People have wondered forever what Judas was thinking. Was it the money? Was it the fame? Was it a concern for right religion? Was it concern for Jesus’ safety? Whatever it was has caused the name Judas to be linked with hatred and scorn. Even though he repented. And that’s what it said in our scripture tonight. That Judas suddenly realized he had done wrong. I guess you have to congratulate him for something. It’s more than you and I may have done. Which is only half-accurate. You and I have repented for the things which have been uncovered. It’s the rest we keep quiet. And why not? Do you really think we’re going to admit to something that no one else has discovered about us? No, we’ll pretend it’s all right and, only later, when the truth has come out, will we make a show of being sorry. But even then, it’ll work out in our favor. Not that we escape, but that we are forgiven.
I’m spending some of our Lenten time together making a list of things we should always remember. A kind of handy digest for believers. And here’s this week’s nugget: it’s not over ‘til it’s over. Was it Yogi Berra who said that, or Judas Iscariot? Either person, there’s some wisdom there, if we’d pay attention to it. Though some people don’t pay attention and, brought face to face with all they have done and left undone, are quite certain there’s no hope for them, ever. Even knowing that Judas repented, some people still see only darkness ahead for people who mess up. For, rightly, they say— maybe Judas did repent, but did God accept Judas’ repentance. I can’t say for sure, but I think I know. Was not the purpose of the cross that the payment for sin would be made, and that all who had offended God would be put back in a right relation with him? Though saying Judas only “offended” God is a pretty big understatement. In betraying Jesus, Judas did more than offend God. He tried to kill him off.
There are at least three ways to look at Judas. One is to say, That’s the worst excuse for a human being we have ever seen, and God should have invented a new and deeper level of hell to which he should be sent. Other people might say, Judas was wrong and what he did was awful, but we have to hope that a loving God was willing to deal with even that most horrible sin. And the rest of us might say, We’d better hope that Judas gets loved and gets in, because we’re not a whole lot better than he was. Which is not what most people say—that last, I mean. Only a few mentally-disturbed people actually think that what they have done is as bad as what Judas did. You don’t think that you’re as bad as Judas, do you?
Well, if you do, and I myself do think that, let’s ask the righteous others sitting around you tonight to be quiet for a bit while you and I talk about the grace of God. You have heard me say time and again that if it weren’t for God’s grace, I would go totally crazy. That’s what it means to see yourself like Judas. To know that what you did and how often you did it and how unbothered you were, was more than just stupid. More than offensive. That it went to the very core of the matter, and caused people to shake their heads. On that, I’ll bet we can agree. But then what? Once you come to your senses and realize how really stupid it was, or even if you don’t fully realize how stupid it was, is there anything still ahead?
Is it all hopeless? Or is there something that can change what we have done, and make it better? Is there any reason to believe that good could come from the wrong stuff we have done? That there could be restitution? Or amendment? That the world would be willing to change its mind, and that God would be willing to forgive any of it? It’s a long-shot, in some people’s eyes. Would you forgive you, if you were in charge? Are you glad you’re not in charge? Could you imagine a loving grace-filled verdict from God who is in charge? Shouldn’t we be glad at the very thought that God might let Judas in, knowing that if Judas gets in, we do too? But my constant proclamation of grace often has been met with a stony silence from some people, with the claim that by begging or assuming or hoping that Judas is in—and me too—that I cheapen God’s grace. That for grace to be given, for any change to be made, for a difference in the days ahead, there needs to be an apology, even a groveling, that indicates the stupidity was fully realized.
It’s not an easy thing, this matter of grace. If it’s grace, it’s free. But if there’s a string attached, it’s not free. And though my apology might be sincere, my sincerity might not stretch to cover every time I do the same stupid thing. And though I might have changed my ways in order to give up one kind of wrong, I have taken up something else stupid, maybe different in size or matter, but not in separation from God. In short, it’s either stupid or it’s not. It’s wrong or it’s not. We’re either in or we’re out. And I like to think that I’m in. Though there is a catch—not that I must fully repent to be in, for I cannot, but that I must fully proclaim it, which I can do. Not proclaim my entry through the pearly gates it with a smugness that figures I pulled a fast one on God, but to tell everyone that God pulled a fast one on me, and wouldn’t give me up without a fight.
Though when you do stupid things, there are consequences. You know, you can’t un- ring a bell. But even the consequences of life can be used by God to make a difference. Is not Jesus’ death on the cross the greatest example of all? God can do whatever he wants, and nothing will get in his way. Not even death itself. Nor does he limit himself in the number of possibilities. Of all the banners that have been displayed here over the years, I think the one that most people find assuring is the one that says “God isn’t finished with me yet.” It isn’t the prettiest banner we display, but it is the most truthful one, for it reminds us that it’s not over ‘til it’s over. And here is what grace proclaims: that it’s never over. And that life and repentance and awareness and grace is always being defined and tried on and accepted and proclaimed. And that if one thing isn’t so, another might be. How shall we best picture the love of God? If there can be 57 varieties of pickles, can there not be 57 varieties of grace?
Though just what is meant by the banner message isn’t certain. God isn’t finished with me yet. Does that mean that he’ll make me better? Or that there are trials still in store? Does he expect me to make restitution, or to see myself in a different light? Does he want me to relinquish control? Will he use me as an example for others, maybe make me the poster boy for grace? Who knows? There are many different paths that might be taken, and the details of the journey aren’t certain. But the constancy of God’s grace is.
Grace that comes to cover over a little bit. Grace that comes to cover over a lot. Grace that comes freely and without any knowledge on our part. Grace that is obvious to everyone. Grace that comes after proper apologies are made. Grace that comes even when the apologies are only half-hearted. Grace that turns life around. Grace that comes when life has already been turned around. Grace that has already begun but promises still more ahead. Grace that has begun and begs to be shared with others. All of which makes grace something infinitely wonderful. Grace still to come.
St. Paul said it first: I haven’t done the things I should have done, and I have done the very things I shouldn’t have. Is that true for you too? Sure it is. So what’s next? Just admitting it all—or admitting it all and trying to make amends? It’s a truism much proclaimed, that you can’t unring a bell. But you can ring it a second time, doing better. Or if the first bell was ruined, you can get another bell. Or if the world is out of bells, you can give the word yourself, telling people that it’s never over. That if the consequences of wrong seem to go on and on—and they often do—then the grace of God goes on and on too, and it always does. So that we live with hope, and with certainty. With embarrassment and with relief. With loss and with gain. With defeat and with victory.
When we do something stupid, people ask us, What were you thinking. When God takes us back and takes us in and takes us home, people may ask him that too. It’s the same question, but with two different answers. What were you thinking? I guarantee you that God’s answer is better than ours.