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THE SINLESS FRIEND
OF SINNERS #1
SAILING WITH THE SINNERS
Maybe you've heard the old line, which has many variations:
I don't smoke; I don't chew; And I don't run with those
who do.
Because it's common knowledge that you generally pick
up the bad habits of the people you hang around with. It's no wonder the
Apostle Paul tells fledgling Christians and those who are would-be chewers
— whether it's a temptation to chew on tobacco or on gossip:
"‘Therefore come out from them and be separate,'
says the Lord."
That's in Second Corinthians chapter six, quoting from
the prophet Isaiah. So this is good advice ringing in our ears from both
Testaments.
However, this runs headlong into our radio series title for this week:
THE SINLESS FRIEND OF SINNERS. And there's a classic Bill Hybels story
which helps us to get started. In his book, Becoming a Contagious Christian,
Bill and his talented writing partner, Mark Mittelberg, describe one of
Hybels' great passions, which is to get out on a boat with some of the
guys and participate in a hard-sailing regatta. May the best boat crew
win. A team is nine men, and on several occasions it's just been Bill
the Born-Again Guy and eight other jocks from off the corner. They get
out there under the hot sun, sail in the race, and then pull up at the
dock, all sunburned and tired and happy.
And . . . thirsty. And while the Rev. William Hybels sips daintily on
a born-again 7-Up, the other eight guys in his crew immediately begin
a libation process generally known, in the old Coneheads line from Saturday
Night Live, as "consuming mass quantities of alcoholic beverages."
Beer after beer goes down eight throats while Bill Hybels, senior pastor
of one of the biggest Christian churches in America, sits right there
with them having a 7-Up.
You can understand that the fish stories and the salty talk get more and
more boisterous as the beer takes hold. But Hybels stays right there.
Why? Because, in his own words, when he asks himself, "What am I
doing here? The voices are loud, the language is foul, the egos are out
of control. Why am I here?", the Holy Spirit whispers back to him
— through the fog of blue talk and Budweiser: "Bill, you're building
bridges. You're establishing trust. You're laying the groundwork for conversations
that might happen a year from now. You're doing the kind of work that
Jesus did."
And you know, it worked out exactly that way. In the first chapter to
his book, Hybels tells about a man named Tom, who climbed on board the
sailboat for one of these regattas. He liked his on-board rock-and-roll
music loud, and his post-regatta beer ice-cold. Lots of it. But he showed
up for one race with his arm in a sling. "What happened?" Bill
asked him. And Tom confessed he'd gotten a little drunk the night before,
got in a fight, and got pretty messed up. Then he grinned good-naturedly.
"You're a preacher. I guess you got some verse to quote to me, don't
you, Hybels?" And the preacher grinned right back. "Yeah, I
do. Galatians 6:7." "What's it say?" And Hybels looked
right at him. "It says that what a man sows, he later reaps."
And the man had never heard that verse. "It says that? What's it
really mean?" And this was Bill's opportunity. "Tom," he
told him, "it means that when you sow the kind of seed you sowed
last night, you're going to reap the kind of sling you're wearing today."
And they went back and forth. For two years, in fact. But one weekend
this Tom drove 200 miles to attend Willow Creek and hear his sailing friend
Bill Hybels preach. It was a long process, but it finally paid off in
another candidate for the kingdom of God.
Well, friend, our focus this week isn't on a man, no matter how big a
church he might have. The subject of our study this week is Jesus Himself,
who is often described as the "Friend of sinners."
"I no longer call you servants," He
once said to His disciples, who were definitely dyed-in-the-wool, Grade
A sinners. "Instead, I have called you friends."
In Matthew nine, some of the religious people of the
day, who never drank or smoked a lid, and never ran with those who did,
asked Jesus' disciples a question. Here's the Clear Word paraphrase of
their complaint:
"Later when Jesus accepted an invitation
by Matthew to dinner, He found that Matthew had invited his relatives
and friends, including tax collectors and other social outcasts. They
all had come in order to see Jesus. Some even sat next to Jesus and His
disciples and ate with them. When the Pharisees learned about this, they
called some of the disciples aside and asked, ‘Why does your Master let
such socially despicable people as publicans, who collect taxes for the
Romans, and others who live in open sin, sit and eat with Him?'"
In the King James:
"Why eateth your Master with publicans and
sinners?"
Now, it's appropriate to have the same concern in this instance as a friend
of Hybels might have on his behalf. Because this is a risk! No two ways
about it! First of all, there's the matter of influence. People will make
assumptions about you based on who you hang out with. That's fact. If
you're on a sailing yacht, with plenty of booze-drinking, belching, and
Beastie Boys music rattling from all the speakers, and eight-ninths of
the regatta team comes into port drunk, people might figure you're inebriated
too.
In the New International Version text notes, the scholars point out that
in the culture of Jesus' day, sitting together at a meal carried enormous
social significance. Here's what they say:
"More than simple association, eating with
a person indicated acceptance and recognition."
And the Pharisees seized on this. Was Jesus approving
of the sins of people by eating with them? It certainly looked that way.
But even more of a concern is what being with sinners does to the pure
Christian. The salt of the sinner usually gets on the Christian. They
spill their wine on you; their crude words reach your ears; you hear their
R-rated jokes. Why was it that the sins of His friends never stained Jesus?
Was it worth the risk?
In Philip Yancey's book, The Jesus I Never Knew, he does a careful study
of the four Gospels and reports that there are exactly eight occasions
where somebody invited Christ to a meal. Eight events where somebody said
to Him, "Jesus, please come over and eat with me." Now, three
of these were ordinary, no-problem times: the wedding at Cana, a meal
with His friends Mary and Martha, and the interrupted supper at Emmaus,
right after the resurrection, where Christ's two followers suddenly recognized
their Lord. Those three meal scenarios are fine. But in all five of the
others, five out of eight, there is this scandal attached. Jesus eating
with tax cheats. With prostitutes. With people who never go to church.
With card sharks and underworld mafiosi types and people with bad breath
and bad hair. In Yancey's words, these five scandalous events "defy
all rules of social propriety."
Again, let's ask why. Why would the sinless Friend of sinners take these
five chances on two levels? First of all, the risk of reputation. Secondly,
the personal risk of being stained by the sins He got so close to, getting
the smell of tobacco smoke on His own clothes.
Well, Christ's answer is in the very next verse:
"People who are well don't need a physician,
only people who are sick. These people feel they need help. That's why
they've come here."
Keep in mind that Jesus was really the only Man who
had what these people needed. They were sick — meaning, their souls were
sick. And He was the only Doctor listed in the Yellow Pages or on the
Internet. If He wasn't willing to hang out His shingle and hang out with
them, what hope did they have?
Here's just one more sailing story á la Bill Hybels. He and his
son Todd got in the habit of going to a particular restaurant where the
proprietor was a big, gruff guy . . . just the type the Pharisees of Chicago
would say to avoid. But Bill made friends with him, exchanged pleasantries
each time. And once the man said, as they paid their check, "Man,
I can't wait for the weekend. Gonna do some real livin'." That was
the hook Bill needed. "I'm curious," he said. "What exactly
is real living?"
And the big guy gave him his definition. "A day on my powerboat,
with a case of beer, a carton of Camels, and my gal in a bikini. That's
real living."
Bill didn't turn purple. He didn't give the man a temperance lecture or
pull back the restaurant tip he'd been planning to give. He just gave
his good-natured, not-offended grin. "Aaah, that's not real living,"
he retorted. "Real living is a sailboat and a steady wind, the sun
on your back, and a few close buddies you can open up your life to about
things that really matter."
And the guy laughed at him. "You don't know nothin' about real living!"
Well, he and Hybels went back and forth, the next few times they saw each
other. "I know what real living is, and you don't." All good-natured
. . . but you see, Bill and the Holy Spirit are planting a seed.
Again, the point: who will mingle with this man as a Christian, as a witness,
if Hybels doesn't? Who will be his "physician" to point him
to wellness, if Bill turns away, saying, "You're no good; I can't
get near you"?
Yes, thank God for Jesus, the sinless Friend of sinners. And for His helpers,
people like us.
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