Just Do It

Dr. D. William McIvor

September 10, 2006

Presbyterian Church in Sudbury

Introduction to the Morning Lesson

Back in early July I spent some time thinking about the sermons that I would preach in September. So one night at dinner I said to Merrie, “I think I’m going to preach a sermon series from the book of James and talk about practical Christianity — you know, weekday faith.” She replied, “That’s a good idea. We all need that, especially us educated types. The more you know, the more you have to do.”

I think Merrie is right. We are highly educated people. We value knowledge and learning for ourselves and for our children. But when it comes to Christian faith, it takes more than knowledge. We have to find ways to live what we know and not just at church. Faithful living is about what we do in the workplace, the marketplace, the classroom, and the neighborhood.

The book of James helps us know what to do. It is within a biblical tradition of writing called wisdom literature. I’ll say more about that later in this series but in general wisdom literature is very practical. It talks more about what we are to do than about what we are to believe. So James famously says things like “faith without works is dead” or “be doers of the word and not hearers only.”

Of course, this is why the great Reformer, Martin Luther, called James “an epistle of straw” and wanted to throw it out of the Bible. Luther championed faith above all else. He agreed with the Apostle Paul who wrote “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God — not the result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Ephesians 2.8-9) If that key opens the door to being a disciple of Christ — and Luther thought it did — then James seems to miss the point.

But I think Luther missed James’ point and I hope these sermons help us be better disciples of Christ who both believe and do. Let’s turn to our text for today in James 1.

James 1.17-27 (NRSV)

Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. In fulfillment of his own purpose he gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures.

You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness. Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.

But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like. But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act — they will be blessed in their doing.

If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless. Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.

Introduction

Almost 25 years ago I took up running, partly to stay in better shape and partly for fun. Any runner knows that running is fun, painful fun sometimes, maybe even masochistic fun, but fun nonetheless. I don’t run fast and sometimes not very far. But for 25 years I’ve never gone more than a week or two without running and when I’m at my best I run four or five times a week.

A few years ago I wasn’t running very much. I never stopped completely but I wasn’t very disciplined about it. So back in January I made a new year’s resolution to start running more and I’ve worked my way back up to averaging nine or ten miles per week. Both my kids became runners in part because of my example. They have run marathons and half marathons and now that their old dad is running more again they want me to do a marathon with them. I don’t know about that. Twenty-six miles, 385 yards is a very long run. Maybe if I lose 40 pounds. But a half marathon is at least thinkable again.

I mention all this only as commentary on my sermon title. “Just Do It” was introduced in the late 1980s as the advertising slogan for Nike shoes.[1] Any runner knows it is the perfect slogan for running. Three syllables and eight letters say it all. To be a runner you cannot think about running. You cannot plan to run or wish to run or hope to run or intend to run. The only way to be a runner is to just do it. No matter the weather and no matter how you feel, you have to tie on your shoes and get your fanny out on the road. “Just Do It” describes perfectly what it means to be a runner, even a fat, old runner like me.

In the context of the book of James it also describes perfectly what it means to be a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ. According to James you cannot think about being a disciple. You cannot plan to be a disciple or wish to be a disciple or hope to be a disciple or intend to be a disciple. You have to just do it. Which leads to a couple of questions.

ONE: What is “it”?

We need to ask first, what is “it”? If we are to just do “it” what is the “it” that we are to just do? What is “it”?

In terms of the text, “it” is “the word of truth” (1.18) or the “implanted word that has the power to save [our] souls” (1.21). What is this word? James doesn’t say exactly but he hints at it. The word comes to us as part of “every perfect gift … coming down from the Father of lights” (1.17).[2] But the thing about a word is, we have to hear it, or, if it a written word, see it. We have to take the word into ourselves. We have to receive it and let it become a part of us. The best stance for receiving a word is, of course, hearing.[3] That’s why James says we are to be “quick to [hear] and slow to speak” (1.19). We have to quiet ourselves enough to really hear the word, to hear “it.”

Finding quiet in order to hear “it” can be a real challenge, especially in our very noisy world, especially with younger children, especially with the demands of work and getting to work. Despite all the challenges, mornings are probably the best times for quiet. I love early mornings. Merrie and I are both early risers and we are blessed that the windows of our bedroom face east. We are often up before dawn or are awakened by the earliest hints of the dawning sun. Of course, when the nights are warm and we leave the window open, the early morning birdsong greets us. About four o’clock yesterday morning a freight train’s mighty engine geared down for the change in grade. A train’s noise can rattle the soul when up close but at two mile’s distance the sound is calmly reassuring that some people are already going about the work that keeps the world going. Sometimes if it is especially quiet we can hear through our bedroom window the bells of a monastery or convent — I’m not quite sure where it is exactly — calling the religious to morning or evening prayer. And even though I am not of that order, the bells remind me to pray.

You see, in deep quiet our senses sharpen and attune themselves more keenly to all that is around us. There is just so much threeness —colors and shapes and textures and sound. There is so much there — around us, above, below, inside, outside us. Eugene Peterson says that even with the help of poets and scientists we can account for so very little of what is there.[4] For it is the world in all its created splendor and in all its human complexity. And when we are quiet enough to really hear it or still enough to really see it or attuned enough to let our souls vibrate with its rhythm, then we become aware that all of it is God’s gift.

Gratitude is the typical response, of course, often spoken as gratitude to God even by those who don’t believe in him. One pastor tells about a young member of his congregation named Johnny Bergman. Johnny and his wife were enthusiastic participants in that church but then the sordid and rank growth of a distracting world choked their young faith. They acquired children. They became suddenly wealthy and their lives filled up with boats and cars and house-building and social engagements. They were less and less frequently seen in church. But after a two-year absence, on a bright sunshiny Sunday Johnny was there again.

Surprised to see him, his pastor said, “Johnny! What brought you to worship today?”

He replied, “I woke this morning feeling so good, so blessed — so created — I just had to say thank you, and this is the only place I could think to say it rightly, adequately — I wanted to say it to Jesus.”[5]

The next Sunday Johnny’s string of absences resumed until one Sunday years later pain brought him back to church. But that is another story for another sermon. The point now is that Johnny was right. The sheer wonder of life, of creation, of the world, of grace and love are God’s perfect gift, come down from above from the Father of lights.

That’s what “it” is. It is God’s perfect gift. It creates in us adoration and wonder and thankfulness. It is the reality that shapes our living.

TWO: How do we “do” it?

So if “it” is this sense of wonder and thankfulness for God’s perfect gift, for creation and life and our place within it all, how do we “do” it? That’s the next question. How do we “do” it?

James answers with a very common analogy in ancient wisdom literature.[6] He describes people who look in a mirror and see their faces but then they go away and forget what they look like. This is like someone who looks at what they are supposed to do but then goes away forgets about doing it. It’s like someone who thinks about running, who even imagines being a great runner, but then forgets to run. In other words, they hear the word or see the word but they don’t do it.

But when we are doers of the word, we look into “the perfect law,” that is, the way God’s perfect gift has created the world to be. Then we shape our lives accordingly. That means we take care of “orphans and widows,” says James. (1.27) We take care of the overlooked, the underestimated and passed by, the stepped on and the little ones who do not have the strength to rescue themselves from all that puts them down and holds them down. When we don’t forget the least ones, however they may come before us, we are shaping our lives according to God perfect gift.

This reminded me of something in a book by the Jewish philosopher and Bible scholar, Martin Buber.[7] He was best known, of course, for his book I and Thou which described how life is defined by our relationships with each other and with God. We cannot be fully human as God intends until we are in ultimate relation with others. “As I become I, I say Thou,” Buber wrote. “All real living is meeting.”[8]

In one of his books he described a meeting with another human, a meeting the consequences of which changed Buber’s life. “What happened was no more than that one forenoon, after a morning of ‘religious’ enthusiasm, I had a visit from an unknown young man, without being there in spirit. I certainly did not fail to let the meeting be friendly, I did not treat him any more remissly than all his contemporaries who were in the habit of seeking me out about this time of day … I conversed attentively and openly with him — only I omitted to guess the questions which he did not put. Later, not long after, I learned from one of his friends — he himself was no longer alive — the essential content of these questions; I learned that he had come to me not casually, but borne by destiny, not for a chat but for a decision. He had come to me, he had come in this hour. What do we expect when we are in despair and yet go to a man? Surely a presence by means of which we are told that nevertheless there is meaning.”[9]

Buber learned that no one comes to us by chance. We are borne along to each other by destiny, by the hand of God. No matter how casual or brief our encounters with others, we must be fully present to them to meet their needs. Of course, not every encounter is with someone despairing of life. But how do we know if we are not fully present, particularly with the least ones, the forgotten ones, the hurting ones, the insignificant ones?

In other words, we are to shape our living by love, by the doing of love, which is God’s perfect way, not by the world’s way. “Make love your aim,” wrote William Sloane Coffin, one of American’s great religious leaders and prophets, who passed away a few months ago. These words are from Coffin’s last book, a book entitled Credo, which is Latin for “I believe.”

“Make love your aim, not biblical inerrancy, nor purity nor obedience to holiness codes. Make love your aim, for

‘Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels’ — musicians, poets, preachers, you are being addressed;

‘and though I … understand all mysteries, and all knowledge’ — professors, your turn,

‘and though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor’ — radicals take note;

‘and though I give my body to be burned’ — the very stuff of heroism;

‘and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing’ (1 Cor. 13:1-3 KJV).

“I doubt if in any other scriptures of the world there is a more radical statement of ethics. If we fail in love, we fail in all things else.”[10]

We are to do love. Of course we fail in this all the time. We fail love. We manipulate love. We forget to love or are so concerned or consumed with our own needs that we think about love but don’t do love. Then we realize we’ve blown it and think God must hate us.

But what is the perfect gift that has come down from above? That we are loved and forgiven. We don’t deserve to be loved and forgiven. But we are. That is God’s perfect gift. It is why Jesus came. It is the reality that shapes our lives. Love and forgiveness are the word. We are to do it. And love and forgiveness — God’s perfect gift — are the way we forgive and love ourselves and learn that God already loves us and forgives us. You are loved and forgiven. Therefore, love and forgive.

Conclusion

We have to stop for today. I’ll close with these famous lines from the poet John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892).[11] He puts into verse what the book of James is all about.

O brother man! Fold to thy heart thy brother;

Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there;

To worship rightly is to love each other,

Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer.

Follow with reverent steps the great example

Of him whose holy work was ‘doing good’;

So shall the whole earth seem our Father’s temple,

Each loving life a psalm of gratitude.

Then shall all shackles fall; the stormy clangor

Of wild war music o’er the earth shall cease;

Love shall tread out the baleful fire of anger,

And in its ashes plant the tree of peace![12]

Just do it!

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