They say the clothes make the man. That seems a bit shallow to me, but what we wear certainly sends strong social messages and can determine how we are treated.
This reality calls to mind an experiment which clergy sometimes like to try on their congregations. Over the years I’ve heard multiple different stories of this experiment, Unfortunately, I can’t recall where I read these stories nor was I able to find any examples. So, what follows is based on my recollections and almost certainly combines details from several distinct incidents.
A pastor invited the new bishop to come preach at her congregation. The bishop enthusiastically agreed and suggest possible dates. “I’m available on the second and third Sundays of next month,” he said.
The pastor replied, “Either would work for us. Shall we say the third Sunday?”
“Great,” said the bishop. “I’ll put it on my calendar. But you know, maybe we could try something on the second Sunday. You said your congregation is friendly and welcoming. What say we put that to the test?”
“I’m intrigued. Tell me what you have in mind,” the pastor responded. The bishop shared his idea. The pastor thought it would be an illuminating exercise. And so it was agreed that the bishop would preach on the third Sunday, but the week before he would make an unannounced visit.
The congregation was told that the bishop was coming on the third Sunday. No one was prepared when he showed up a week early. Not that anyone knew. The bishop was new and so few if any church members knew his face. And he wasn’t wearing anything that identified him as clergy. Nonetheless, he stood out from the rest of the congregation. Whereas most folks were wearing suits or dresses, the bishop was wearing jeans that looked to be overdue for a washing and an old, worn t-shirt. He hadn’t shaved in several days. And his hair…well, he appeared to have made an attempt to comb it, but it had been very unsuccessful attempt.
When he walked in, the ushers eyed him suspiciously, handed him a bulletin and offered a flat, unenthusiastic greeting. As for the congregation, few spoke to him and when they did it was limited to a perfunctory “hello” or “good morning.” He found a seat in the sanctuary, but no one sit near him. After the service, the response to his presence was the same: he was ignored by most, eyed with suspicion by some and avoid by all.
The next week the bishop returned. This time he was readily identifiable by his black suit, clergy collar and large cross hanging from a chain around his neck. The ushers fell all over themselves to welcome him. Numerous people came up to him before the service, introduced themselves and said told him how happy they were that he had come to their church.
The service started. The pastor introduced him. The bishop thanked her and then read a scripture passage much like our reading from James. It was one of the many scriptures that deal with hospitality, welcoming the outcast and not showing partiality.
Then the bishop addressed the congregation: “You probably don’t realize it, but we’ve meet before.” Most of the congregation looked puzzled. “I visited last week.” More confusion in the pews. “But you wouldn’t have recognized me. I was dressed very differently.” A few stirred with dawning realization of his meaning. The bishop went on to describe the discussion he had had with the pastor, his visit in disguise, and how he had ignored and made to feel unwelcome. The sanctuary was dead quite; you could have heard a pin drop.
The bishop wasn’t harsh with the congregation, just honest. He presented the experiment and their failure to show hospitality as a learning experience. He reminded them of how Jesus had welcomed the outcasts; of how good has shown us mercy and hospitality through Christ; and how all Christians are called to imitate this gracious Divine welcome.
After the service the bishop stood with the pastor. Many folks, looking abashed, came up to him and apologized. A few offered weak excuses for their failure to welcome him the previous week, but it was obvious that they were deeply embarrassed, even ashamed. A few thanked the bishop: “That was a difficult sermon, but we needed to hear. We clearly have a lot of work to do. Thank you.”
But one man, a leader in the congregation and a well known figure in the town, was apoplectic as he approached the bishop. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? How could you do that? If we’d only known of course we would have rolled out the red carpet for you!”
As he raved, the bishop and pastor stood slack-jawed. When the man finally stopped to breathe, the bishop said quietly, “Sir, I think you may have missed the point.”[1]
James confronts his audience with just such a scenario in which economic and social class determine the dignity with which someone is treated. Our reading begins with a hypothetical situation that must surely have reflected actual events witnessed by the author. It sounds almost like a joke, but is far more serious: Two men walk into worship, one is well dressed, the other is poor and shoddily dressed. They are judged by their clothing and treated accordingly. The first must be wealthy and is thus treated with honor. The second being poor is treated with indifference, if not disdain. This appears to reflect the common patron-client relationships of the Roman world. One did not climb the social ladder. Instead, one sought to cultivate relationships with wealthy, influential patrons who might provide access to money and resources, or, at least, help defend you in court—Roman society was very litigious. In return for such assistance, you were at the patron’s beck and call. Such actions as James describes were common and widely accepted social practices, but James challenges the social mores of his day and condemns such behavior.
James tells his readers that by showing favoritism to the wealthy while ignoring or, worse still, humiliating the poor, they are setting themselves up as judges with evil thoughts. Partiality— bias based on socio-economic status—is a sin, he declares. It reveals a lack of mercy, an empty faith, and a failure to love. Indeed, such bias violates the equality inherent in the royal law: you shall love one’s neighbor as one’s self.
This is a passage of scripture that seems as fresh and relevant today as the day it was written. Who among us has not judged another based on their appearance, on their clothing, their skin color, their car, their home, their job, their tattoos or hairstyle. I dare say that any of us who have sit on the chancel or in the choir loft have at some time analyzed a late comer to church on their superficial characteristics and wondered, if only fleetingly, if they are one of us, if they belong here in our church.
The wisdom of the world tells us this is the right, safe thing to do. Those who are well to do could be a great benefit to us or our church. We, after all, have a budget to fund. The rich person could be a big supporter of the budget and special projects. She might have connections that would benefit us or might bring her well off friends to church. There is much to gain from welcoming the rich. By contrast, there seems to be little to gain from welcoming the poor.
Indeed, our society shapes us to look upon the two groups differently. We are taught that the poor have themselves to blame and hard work will lift everyone up, never mind the fact that some of the hardest working people in this country are poor, working multiple jobs, sometimes dirty unpleasant jobs, but still unable to get ahead. I have mentioned before a study released several years ago. In it, participants were shown pictures of various people. Some of those pictures were of obviously poor and homeless persons. The researchers found that most people reacted to the images of the poor with revulsion, with disgust. They reacted to the images as if they were being shown objects instead of humans.[2] [Then there are the implicit-association tests developed by social psychologists.[3] They’ve been in use for some years now and almost everyone who takes them fails. Most folks are shown to have some implicit prejudice, some form of racism, sexism, homophobia, or ethnocentrism. Even one of the developers of the test consistently shows gender and racial biases and the author of an article describing the tests, a man who was born in India, was shown to have a bias against Asian Americans.
We seem to be wired to be biased. But let me hasten to invoke the philosophical principle, “An ‘is’ does not equal an ‘ought’.” Just because we are all biased does not mean we should be so. Indeed, our biases, our prejudices, our fear of the other, and our favoritism and discrimination are all manifestations of our sin. The wisdom of the world is faulty.]
But the wisdom of God contradicts the wisdom of the world. The royal law of God is to “love one’s neighbor as one’s self.” No provision is made for first making a cost-benefit assessment of the relationship. Nor is there any allowance for a judgement of is worthy or deserving of our acts of love. We often speak of the “worthy poor” and the “unworthy poor,” distinguishing who deserves our help and who does not. This distinction seems to have arisen in Christian thought at the time of the Reformation when upheavals in society caused a great migration of folks from rural areas to cities. Overwhelmed by the needs of the growing poor, people began to differentiate between worthy and unworthy. This was a sharp departure from the medieval attitude that saw the image of the poor Christ in beggars and from the early churches belief that it was better to be taken advantage of than to turn away someone in need. [Haruko Nawata Ward, “James 2.1-17: Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Vol. 4, pp. 40, 42]
But the Royal Law of Love makes no provision for determinations of worth. As Thomas Merton has pointedly observed, “Our job is to love others without stopping to inquire whether or not they are worthy. That is not our business and, in fact, it is nobody's business. What we are asked to do is to love, and this love itself will render both ourselves and our neighbors worthy.” [from a letter to Dorothy Day]
Our call is simply to love, because every person is of infinite value to God. Such God-like love expresses itself inevitably in hospitality and mercy. Living faith always leads to works of love. Without them, faith is only an empty shell, a white-washed tomb—it looks good on the outside, it sounds good as it declares its belief and trust, but it has no substance, it is hollow, it is lifeless and reeks of sin and death. But love, expressed in deeds of hospitality and acts of mercy, leads to life.
This is the point of James’ famous declaration that “faith without works is dead.” This is really just a negative statement of the same principle which Paul expresses more positively when he encourages the Galatians to display a “faith expressing itself in love.” (Gal 5.6 NIV) 1 John makes the same point when the elder reminds us that we cannot claim to love God whom we have not seen if we do not love our neighbors who we do see (1 John 4.20) so we must “love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action. (3.18) And of course, much of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount points in this same direction: faith must be active in love.
Which brings me to this week’s school shooting in Apalachee, GA and last night’s mass shooting along Interstate 71 in London, KY. Once more we heard from many politicians the by now stock response that they were “sending their thoughts and prayers.” These prayers are usually followed by a failure to enact, or even attempt, any meaningful actions to curtail our epidemic of gun violence. Many of you may recall John Wesley’s admonition: “Pray like everything depends on God and work like everything depends on you.” James says faith without works is dead. One wonders if politicians’ prayers that are not followed by efforts to actually address the problems we’re all are praying about aren’t hollow or perhaps even performative. At the very least, a quick perusal of social media suggests that offering prayers after a shooting is increasingly seen as an empty gesture—and one likely meant to avoid meaningful gun reform—by a growing number of Americans. Prayer is being discredited and people, including too many of our children, continue to die.
Faith that is active in love is faith that works for the good of the other. It is faith that is concerned with their needs—for safety, for food and shelter, for grace, for meaning and hope, for community. It is faith that actively expresses love in acts of hospitality and mercy, which is of course the main focus of our reading from James.
Lyle Schaller, a well-known church consultant, was once working with a congregation in Minneapolis. After a worship service one Sunday, he asked a young woman named Jennifer why she attended that church.
Jennifer told him that a few years before her life had fallen apart. She had been married, hoping to have children and working quite successfully at a good job. But she was “restless” and struggling to find meaning in life. She began to use cocaine recreationally, but soon became hooked. Her marriage fell apart, she lost most of her resources and she was on the verge of losing her job. Her sense of dignity and worth pretty much collapsed.
She lived in the same neighborhood as the church and one Sunday she happened to be walking by shortly after the service ended. A young woman was coming out of the church carrying a baby. She said hello to Jennifer who stopped to admire the baby. After some pleasant small talk, during which Jennifer had revealed that she lived in the neighborhood, the woman asked if Jennifer went to church. When Jennifer replied that she did not, the woman said, “We’d love to have you visit our church sometime.”
Those words, that encounter, stuck with Jennifer. The young woman had been so nice; she seemed like someone Jennifer would like to know. With the encouragement of a friend, Jennifer decided to visit the church.
Two weeks later, full of trepidation, Jennifer walked into the church. She felt awkward as she hadn’t been to a church in years. But the young woman who had invited Jennifer saw her, came over to welcome her and invited Jennifer to sit with her. Afterwards they went out to lunch. Over the next few months, a friendship developed. Eventually, Jennifer was comfortable enough to tell her friend about her struggles with drugs.
Her friend listened and then said, “Why don’t you come the Winner’s Club at our church?”
“The what?” Jennifer asked.
Her friend then explained that the Winner’s Club was a twelve-step, small-group program for folks struggling with drugs. Jennifer decided to give it a try. With the help of that group, the support of her friend and many people at the church and the grace of God, Jennifer got clean and her life started to improve. On the anniversary of her sobriety, the pastor, with Jennifer’s permission, announced, “We have a birthday today. Jennifer has been drug-free for one year.” And the congregation stood up and began to sing “Happy Birthday.” After the service people kept coming up to Jennifer to congratulate her, to hug her, to tell her they were happy for her and proud of her.
After recalling all of this, Jennifer told Lyle Schaller, “In a few weeks, I’ll be off drugs for two years, and my church promised to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me again. This congregation invited me to church, and when I came, full of fear, they welcomed me. In spite of my drug problem, they loved me and supported me. They helped me connect with God and [they] became my family. And that, Mr. Schaller, is why I come to this church.” [told by Martin Thielen in The Answer to Bad Religion is not No Religion: A Guide to Good Religion for Seekers, Skeptics, and Believers, pp. 101-103]
Jennifer’s life was changed. She found hope and community. She achieved sobriety and stability in her life. All of this happened because a congregation extended welcome to a troubled outsider whose presence offered them no benefit. Jennifer’s life was changed because first that young woman and then an entire congregation exercised mercy instead of judgmentalism, because they showed love for someone who was different instead of suspicion or disdain. St. Maximus the Confessor [6th cent., Byzantine monk and scholar] declared, “Blessed is the one who can love all people…always thinking good of everyone.” Blessed indeed is such a person because his faith is not dead, but alive. Blessed is the one who can love all people without partiality, because in her mercy has triumphed over judgement. Blessed is the one who can love all people, welcoming and befriending the poor, the despised, the outcast as brothers and sisters, for the Kingdom of God awaits such people. Blessed is the one who can love all people and seek their good, for this fulfills the royal law of Christ. Amen.