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New Life                        Luke 7: 11-17                   June 6, 2010

The book I'm OK, You're OK, by psychiatrist Thomas A Harris, is one of the best selling self-help books ever published. Harris wrote it, way back in 1969, as a practical guide to Transactional Analysis - the theory of human behavior developed by Eric Berne and described in his popular book, Games People Play.

The book touched a nerve. From its first publication onward, the popularity of I'm OK, You're OK gradually increased until, during 1972, it made the New York Times Best Seller list and remained there for almost two years. The publisher estimates that over 15 million copies have been sold, and that the book has been translated into over a dozen languages.

In its rave review, Life magazine predicted: "I'm OK - You're OKmay make it up there [in popularity] right next to the Holy Bible or maybe even The Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook."

The basic premise of Harris's philosophy of human behavior is that most of us emerge from childhood thinking that we are not "OK," and that everyone else is "OK." It's what he calls the "I'm not OK, you're OK life position." He then argues that it is because of this life position that so many of us have low self-esteem, suffer from feelings of inferiority and spend our time seeking the approval of others.

As the title of his book suggests, Harris believes that the key to a happy, productive life rests with our ability to consciously and systematically learn to adopt what he believes is the only healthy life position: The "I'm OK and you're OK" state of mind.

Over the years since Harris wrote his bestselling book, our culture has grown more and more accepting of his premise - particularly the "I'm OK" part. In fact, the pendulum has swung, as pendulums always do, to the opposite extreme, and a generation or two has grown up thinking that the needs of the individual should come first, largely because we who are their parents and grandparents have taught them that it is so.

Today, phrases like "Be yourself," "Believe in yourself" and "You must love yourself before you can love someone else" are some of our culture's most deeply entrenched beliefs, and anyone born in the 1970s, 1980s, or 1990s has heard them whispered in their ears since birth and reinforced by music, literature and every other popular medium.

Listen to the evidence listed, by two current-day psychologists, in a more recent book - aptly called The Narcissism Epidemic:

• A girl planning her Sweet Sixteen party demanded that a major road be blocked off so a marching band could precede her grand entrance on a red carpet.
• Five times as many Americans undergo plastic surgery and cosmetic procedures than ten years ago, and ordinary people hire fake paparazzi to follow them around to make them look famous.
• High school students physically attack classmates and post YouTube videos of the beatings to get attention.
• And, until the bubble burst, anyway, Americans regularly built ostentatious "McMansions" and bought expensive cars - on credit they couldn't possibly afford.

Those of us who take the Gospel seriously know that neither the "I'm not OK, you're OK" nor the "I'm OK, you're OK" life position is the one that's in God's plan for humanity. If the words and actions of Jesus are to be believed, the life position you and I and all of God's children enjoy might aptly be described as "I'm not OK, and you're not OK, but that's OK!"

Our Gospel Lesson for this morning underscores this undeniable truth.

Jesus heals a lot of people, according to the Gospel of Luke. And in most of those instances, the healing happens following an expression of faith.

A woman approaches Jesus at a dinner party and demonstrates her devotion to him by pouring perfume on his feet. Another woman battles through a crowd just to touch the hem of his garment.

And right before the encounter that makes up today's story, a Centurion - a Roman soldier - sends word through his friends that his servant is ill. "Just give the word," the man says, "and I know he'll be healed."

Jesus praises all three of these people and attributes their healing to their faith.

The woman in today's story is different from the others. She doesn't ask Jesus to raise her son. She doesn't fall on her knees and beg for her son's life. All she does is cry. And Jesus has compassion on her.

As Luke tells it, the woman in Nain, a village a mile or so south of Nazareth, was a widow. And now, her only son was dead as well.

In the first Century, the identity and security of a woman came from being affiliated with a man.

This woman has no husband, and now she has lost her only other male affiliation. She has now lost her son - her principal source of identity and her principal means of security.

In all likelihood, this woman from Nain would now be literally dependent upon the community for survival. She couldn't be more vulnerable or marginalized. And of course, like any other mother in this situation, she is also torn apart by grief.

So when Jesus touched the funeral bier that day he restored not just one life, but two: mother and son.

You would think that the two of them would have been overcome with gratitude, wouldn't you? Yet Luke never mentions a word about expressions of gratitude or praises to God.

There are two startling facts in this story.

In Luke's other accounts of Jesus' miracles, people's healing is attributed to their faith. "Rise up," Jesus is fond of saying, "your faith has made you whole."

Or even if the healing happens without a request for it, at the very least, the ones who are healed say thank you or begin praising God.

But in today's story? Not one word about faith. And not one word about gratitude or praise. Just a mother's tears before the raising and a son's random sayings - none even important enough to write down - afterwards.

You see, this story isn't about faith. And it's not about gratitude. This story is about grace. Pure, unadulterated, undiluted, unearned, un-asked-for grace. This miracle doesn't happen because of a mother's faith or because of her son's worthiness. It happens because Jesus has compassion for her. Period. The mother didn't have to act faithfully. The son didn't even have to live gratefully afterwards.

It could be that both mother and son were faithful and grateful. But the point of this story is not the mother and her son. The point of this story is Jesus' compassion. The point of this story is that when grace comes into our lives, it requires nothing of us. Nothing but a choice: to receive it or not.

It's true that we're not OK. Sinful. Imperfect. Difficult to love, and often unwilling to love one another.

And it is equally true that God knows all about us. As the Psalmist so aptly puts it: God is "acquainted with all our ways" (Ps. 139:3). God knows that we are not a bunch of Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts.

But that's OK, because God loves us and forgives us. Even before we have a chance to ask; and yes, even if we neglect to give thanks. The grace of God just arrives, often at the least expected of times. We can't earn it. We can't work for it. We can't plead for it. It just comes.

All we can do is choose whether to receive it or reject it.

Jesus wandered through the gates of a town called Nain, one day, noticed a funeral procession and, out of the blue, gave new life to a woman and her son - two ordinary, unremarkable, but broken and needy people. Just like that.

And in a very real way, Jesus is wandering through the aisles of our church this morning, noticing a bunch of ordinary, unremarkable, but broken and needy people gathered in this place.

The same compassion, the same forgiveness, the same new life that Jesus gave to the widow and her son is available to each of us. We simply need to receive it.

One last thing: When we receive that new life - when we accept that forgiveness - we are ten, maybe a hundred times more likely to accept and forgive others too, warts and all.

Even if you're not a baseball fan, this week you probably heard or read about young Armando Galarraga, the Detroit Tigers' pitcher who nearly pitched a perfect game - a game where the pitcher faces only 27 hitters and gets all of them out - a remarkable feat that has only been achieved twenty times in the hundred and thirty-year history of Major League baseball.

Yes, you probably heard or read about this young pitcher this week, because his perfect game was stolen from him by an obvious, horrible call, on the final out, by an umpire named Jim Joyce.

But mostly, all of us, fans and non-fans alike, now know the name of Armando Galarraga because of the way he reacted to losing his place in the record books.

From the moment Galarraga realized what happened - and television replays of the play made it perfectly clear what happened - he smiled and said, "Hey, nobody's perfect, these things happen." He never blamed Joyce - an umpire clearly old enough to be his father - nor did he seethe with anger. He forgave the man who stole his perfect game - even before Joyce had the chance to ask for forgiveness.

Hopefully, this young pitcher will be a role model; not just for baseball fans, but for people everywhere. Forgiveness received and forgiveness given - it is the way God wills that we live together.

                                                                             AMEN

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