Church of the Incarnation

There have been some amazing innovations in my lifetime - things that have truly changed the way we live: the personal computer, the internet, cell phones. But by far the most important innovation would have to be... Purell. That's right, Purell instant hand sanitizer. A squirt, a rub, and you're germ-free.

When I served as a chaplain at Erlanger Hospital in Chattanooga I became devoted - some might say addicted - to the magical liquid. Each hospital room had a dispenser by the door - so I could sanitize for the patient's health on my way in the room and sanitize for my health on my way out of the room. And I was obsessive about seeing to sanitization. It turned out, though, that all my Purell-ing couldn't keep me healthy. I contracted pneumonia and ended up being hospitalized myself for almost a week. While I was out, my sister came to my apartment and essentially hosed down the entire place with Lysol. By the time I was released, there wasn't a germ left in my home.

But no matter how much I scrubbed myself and my dwelling, I kept having trouble breathing. For six months I couldn't even walk from the parking lot to my seminary classroom without getting dizzy. The doctors and specialists tried all kinds of medication, but nothing helped. Something inside me kept making me sick, and nothing I did changed that. Even Purell, miracle that it is, couldn't make me well. What was making me sick was far deeper than what Purell or even antibiotics could reach. Obviously there was a virus infecting my lungs, but I also believe there were other things in me that contributed to my illness as well - things like a relentless need to do everything perfectly, and an aching guilt over leaving Erlanger without having met every need of every patient that day. But these things were much more difficult to address than the germs that could be eradicated with a squirt of Purell. It was hard to admit that something in my character, something in my heart, was making me sick.

Jesus essentially tells the Pharisees and the scribes to quit worrying about who is and isn't using Purell and to focus instead on what in their hearts is making them sick. The Jews at that time had a rigorous and complex set of purity laws. They were to avoid contact with certain foods, diseases, and bodily fluids. If they did come into contact with a forbidden substance, they were to undergo a ritual cleansing, which might involve being isolated from other members of the community for a time, in order to avoid contaminating them, and which might also involve a ritual bathing of some sort to remove the contamination ceremonially.

These were not empty rituals. In today's reading from Deuteronomy we heard the command to be diligent about following all the laws, and later in the same book we are told that this diligence is what will set the people of Israel apart as holy to the Lord.

God is holy. Pure, perfect, clean. For the Israelites, only that which is also holy can come into God's presence.

And there are consequences to violating the sacred, consequences for the impure individual but also for the entire community. So strict adherence to the purity laws was a matter of personal piety, but ignoring them could place a barrier between the entire community and God. This is why the Pharisees and scribes confront Jesus when they see his disciples flouting the purity laws by not properly cleansing their hands before allowing them to have contact with their mouths when eating.

But Jesus does what Jesus usually does, and points to a far deeper problem than the one they want him to address. Jesus says it isn't what the disciples will ingest from their defiled hands that makes them unworthy to approach God, but rather what is already in their hearts. He says that within each of our hearts lie the feelings and motives which produce the violations against God and our neighbors that the Ten Commandments forbid. We're all greedy and deceitful and proud, we all have something deep in our hearts, some part of our character, that makes us sick, and no amount of Purell can wash that away.

It's so much easier to worry about the externals though, isn't it, the things that only touch us at the Purell-able level? We figure we're fine with God because we're here in church today - even though our mind's been wandering the whole service and our bulletin is covered in lists of what we need to get back to once church is over. We consider ourselves pretty good at our jobs or school work because we get praise from our co-workers or teachers - even though we know we aren't doing our best, but rather just enough to get by. We're proud of how selfless we are for helping sort school supplies or doing some other act of service - even though deep down we know we did it more so that others would see us doing it than out of a genuine love for the needy people served. Purell can't touch what's in our hearts, and neither could the purity rituals.

In fact, the rituals weren't designed to make us pure enough to approach God. Rather, they served to remind the faithful of our need for inner cleansing. Martin Luther described such laws as "the hammer of God that shatters our self-righteousness." Their purpose is to remind us that on our own we can never be holy.

Our worship service contains remnants of purity rituals, elements that remind us that even though we're here in church we still need God to cleanse our hearts and make us willing and able to be in God's presence. We begin our service with the Collect of Purity, asking God to search our hearts and cleanse them so that we will be able to love and worship God. And you may have noticed that before the Eucharistic prayer begins the Crucifer pours water over my hands into a little bowl. This isn't to sterilize my hands before the bread is touched - in fact, I Purell my hands just before this. Rather, this is a purity ritual, meant to remind the priest and the people of the need for inner cleansing. One priest I knew would pray aloud during this ritual: "I wash my hands to remind me that my heart is soiled. Cleanse my heart, Lord, and draw me near to you." He knew that the only way he could ever be pure enough to receive God into his heart in the Eucharist was for God to cleanse his heart.

Before we begin the Eucharist, we'll all confess our sins and ask God's forgiveness and we'll pass the peace, our chance to confess to one another and ask one another's forgiveness. And I'll declare us forgiven by God. But here's the problem: our hearts will be soiled again. Even before the collection plate gets to our row, we'll be back at our to-do list for the afternoon or wondering why the lady in front of us thought that outfit was a good choice or glaring our children into submission. The rituals, even the sacraments, won't change our nature. There is something deep inside us which, like a virus, keeps us sick. Selfishness and greed and fear will always creep back out of us, soiling our hearts and diverting our actions.

The disciples knew this. They knew that the purity ritual of Purelling their hands before meals would not make them worthy to stand before God. And yet, there they were with God in human flesh. They knew that Jesus accepted and welcomed them, unworthy though they were, because there they sat with Jesus. The purity ritual was important not because it made them worthy to be with their Lord but because it reminded them that they would never be worthy, but that their Lord accepted them anyway.

This is good news for us, too. The confession reminds us of how very unworthy we are to be in God's presence - through our thoughts, words, and deeds - things we have done and things we have left undone. Nothing we can do, no amount of Purell, can make us clean enough to be with God. And yet, here we are, surrounded by God's love and care for us both here now and always, wherever we go. We are utterly unworthy, and yet our Lord accepts us anyway.

There's a prayer in the Rite I Eucharist service that always reminds me of this same thing, and I'd like to close with it. Let us pray.

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us.

Amen.