Getting It Right—or Going with Grace

I don’t know about you, but I’m still riding high from last Sunday. It’s always a joy to have the bishop with us. The church was full, and the brats and strudel were fantastic—thank you to Kathleen, Cynthia, Elizabeth, and everyone who helped make it a proper celebration. And, of course, the confirmands—all seventeen of them—were an inspiration. Watching people make or renew their commitments in the church, whether at a wedding, confirmation, or baptism, always warms and reawakens the heart of the congregation. We’re reminded of our own vows, and some of us are inspired to make them for the first time.

Church vows are big—cosmic, in fact—because they set the tone and intention of our lives. In baptism we commit to come to church, to turn back when we stumble, to share the Good News, to seek Christ in our neighbors, and to respect the dignity of every person. Those are mighty commitments indeed—powerful enough to usher in the Kingdom if we all lived them fully. So naturally, we want to get them right, don’t we?

And it’s this idea of “getting it right” that I want to talk about this morning. Because “getting it right” matters to us. It speaks to our sense of worth and value—or, in theological terms, to justification. When we get it right, our place in this community, in the world, and even in God’s kingdom feels justified. We have a right to be here because we got it right.

Despite my best intentions as a pastor and teacher, I may have played into this very human tendency to value righteousness this way. Over the past six weeks, I met with our confirmands for class and sent out a lighthearted quiz before each session—an invitation to explore their knowledge of church history, scripture, and the nuance (and peculiarity) of Anglicanism. It was meant to be fun and spark conversation, but more than one of them confessed to a little performance anxiety.

Then, when the bishop came last Sunday, he met with the confirmands before the service and quizzed them on the sacraments. “How many are there?” he asked. Even though he softened his question by assuring the wide-eyed students there were no right answers, I don’t think anyone believed him—including me, having just taught on that very subject a couple of weeks earlier. I’ll admit to a little anxiety myself—perhaps payback for all those quizzes I’d given—but I wanted to show the bishop that I had “got it right” as a teacher.

Are there seven? Five? Two? We went around the room, and everyone offered thoughtful responses, which led to a rich discussion about what it means to live a *sacramental* life—regardless of how many technical sacraments there are. It was, in the end, a much more meaningful understanding of the concept. The bishop, it turns out, was right: there really were no right answers—especially when it comes to God.

And that, I think, is the larger point I’m trying to make this morning. In a culture obsessed with righteousness—or “getting it right”—as a measure of justification, value, and worth, it’s important to remember that God couldn’t care less.

That may sound flippant, but the parable we heard this morning from Luke seems to portray God in exactly that tone. “In a certain city,” the parable begins, “there was an unjust judge and a persistent widow.” Over and over, this woman petitioned the judge to grant her justice against her opponent. We’re not told much—only that the judge was approached time and again and asked to adjudicate. *I am justified over my opponent; I’m in the right*, argued the woman. *So give me justice*. The judge ultimately gave the petitioner what she wanted, but not because she was, in fact, righteous or deserving, but because he had grown tired of her persistence.

Admittedly, this parable takes some thought and prayer to unravel. Its details can be distracting, playing to our human tendency to assign righteousness. In the absence of a just ruling, *we* want to step in as the righteous judge. This woman, simply by virtue of being a widow, deserves our compassion—right? Widows in the first century were, indeed, among the most vulnerable and oppressed. She’s practically swimming in righteousness. How can the judge in this parable be so uncaring, so unjust?

Jesus is making a larger point about God, though, casting God as the unsettling character in the story—the anti-hero judge who upends our assumptions about righteousness. God doesn’t play by our righteousness rules. God doesn’t care if we “get it right.” We are not justified by worldly measures—like quiz scores, how we’ve been wronged, or even our status in society, whether high or low.

Now, before you say, “Hold on—I thought we were supposed to care for the least, the lost, and the lonely; to seek and serve Christ in all persons,” let me assure you that’s still true. It’s part of what it means to live into our baptismal commitment. But it’s not what makes us righteous or worthy before God. We are justified by one thing only—and that’s grace through faith. In other words, we are worthy because God loves us. Full stop. That’s what grace is: a gift given to each of us through Christ—and it’s amazing indeed.

God’s love, though, is *not* the measure of righteousness in this world, is it? And that’s why, by the world’s standards, God’s judgment would seem unjust. That’s the power this parable holds. That’s also the Good News.

Think about it—if God judged us by the same measure we use to judge one another, none of us would have much reason to hope. Instead, we have been given the gift of grace. We are loved by God and are simply invited to live into that love—and when we stumble, to accept the gift again and again.

Last week, in the commitments of our confirmands and in the renewal of baptismal vows, we witnessed actions that weren’t about “getting it right” before God, but about responding to God’s grace. When we renew our vows, we’re not proving our worth—we’re embracing the love that has already claimed us.

In the passage we heard from Paul’s letter this morning, Timothy is urged to persist in sharing the Good News of grace, for many in this world will no longer listen to sound teaching. Having “itching ears,” they will turn away from the truth and wander off into myths.

The myth we’re indoctrinated with—and the one the powers of this world are desperate for us never to forget—is that we are justified, that we are declared righteous (or condemned), by how we look, who we love, what we’ve achieved, how much we own, or any other quantifiable measure. There are a lot of itching ears out there, unable to hear Jesus’ radical, alternative message of grace.

The world tells us to prove our worth; Jesus invites us to live as if it’s already been proven. So if there’s anything worth getting right, it’s to trust that truth—and let grace have the last word.