17 February 2024 Luke 5:27-32
Much is made of the fact that Jesus was at a party with “tax collectors and sinners.” But why was Levi having a party in the first place?
It seems, under the circumstances, a curious thing to do. What would the invitations have said? “I am repenting of my sins. Cocktails at 6”?
Perhaps it was because Levi recognized how difficult a thing repentance was. Many features of Christian living are like that. It has long been recognized that forgiveness is easy, right up until the moment you actually have something to forgive. Then forgiveness has to be repeated about every fifteen minutes, swimming upstream, as it were against a tidal wave of pain, anger, and resentment. Repentance is much the same way – we know certain sins are bad and bad for us often long before we are ready to give them up. Repentance therefore needs to be repeated again and again, swimming upstream against the enthusiastic temptation to forget all about it.
In his famous allegory, The Great Divorce, C.S. Lewis imagines a bus trip from hell to heaven, where poor damned souls can get a look at what they are missing, and decide whether to stay or go back. One such visitor brought his pet lizard with him, a symbol of his temptation to lust, and the lizard was continually whispering in his ear. An angel approached, and offered to solve the problem of this chatty temptation: “Shall I kill it?”
“You didn’t say anything about killing him at first. I hardly meant to bother you with anything so drastic as that.”
“It’s the only way,” said the Angel. “Shall I kill it?”
“Look! It’s gone to sleep of its own accord. I’m sure it’ll be all right now. Thanks ever so much.”
“May I kill it?”
“I think the gradual process would be far better than killing it.”
“The gradual process is of no use at all.”
“Some other day, perhaps.”
“There is no other day. All days are present now.”
“Get back! You’re burning me! You’re hurting me now!”
“I never said it wouldn’t hurt you. I said it wouldn’t kill you. May I kill it now?”
Back and forth the Angel went with the visitor until he finally said, “Damn and blast you! Go on, get it over,” and then whimpering, “God help me!” (The Great Divorce, pp. 106-115).
We can’t imagine life without the sins that we like, and resist with all our strength, again and again, the merciful offer of deliverance. Repentance hurts. Unlearning what are often the habits of a lifetime is like setting a bone without anesthetic, breaking a bone that has healed crooked so that it can be made straight. It is the iodine that kills the germs while it stings like crazy. It’s the physical therapy that breaks up scar tissue so that joints can move again. God never said it wouldn’t hurt us. He said it wouldn’t kill us.
And that’s why Levi had a party. He knew he needed help, and what better help than people who were in the same boat he was: “There was a large crowd of tax collectors and others sitting at the table with them” (Luke 5:29).
“I am repenting of my sins. Cocktails at 6.”
It has been well said that the Church is not a museum for saints, but a hospital for sinners. All saints know how hard a thing repentance is, how much they need the support of fellow sinners who know repenting from the inside. Saints are humble because they all remember how much help their holiness took.
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