GOOD ENOUGH
Romans 4:13-25; Mark 8:31-38
Second Sunday in Lent
March 8, 2009
Pastor William S. Waxenberg

His name was David Goodenough.  But if you broke apart David’s last name—Goodenough—it spelled ‘good enough.’  David ‘Good-enough.’  But, of course, his last name wasn’t pronounced that way.  It was pronounced Goodenough.  Which was a good thing, because David was never good enough. 

David and I went to elementary school together, and, simply put, David wasn’t popular, or even particularly well-liked by anyone.  David was about as wide as he was tall.  He wasn’t very bright, or at least he didn’t appear that way.  He never raised his hand in class, and whenever the teacher did call on David for an answer, it was usually wrong.  David was never invited to any the sixth grade parties.  And at recess, whenever we chose up sides for softball or any other sport, David was always picked last.  David Goodenough just wasn’t good enough.

But on a warm spring day in May of our sixth grade year, during recess we chose up sides for a softball game, and true to form, David was selected last.  After all, who wanted David on their team?  He couldn’t hit, he couldn’t catch a ball, and he certainly couldn’t run. 

David always batted last in the line-up, and when his turn finally came, all the outfielders moved in, right behind the infielders, because, after all, David never hit the ball out of the infield.  Never.  In fact, David hardly ever hit the ball at all. 

I don’t remember how many pitches were thrown to David, but I do remember—like it was yesterday—that on one particular pitch David swung the bat with all his might and—BOOM!—David connected.  I mean really connected.  He hit the ball as hard as he could and he launched that ball high into the air.  It rose high over the pitcher’s head, over the shortstop’s head, and it kept on rising.  We were stunned.  Everyone.  Those of us who were on David’s team, and those who were out in the field.  Other kids, teachers, everyone.  We just stood there in disbelief.  David had actually hit the ball—and he was as stunned as the rest of us.  He just stood there!  Until finally, we recovered our wits and began to yell.  “Run, David, run!”  And David
began to run as the ball continued to rise higher and higher and farther and farther, sailing over the heads of the outfielders, until it began its descent, hitting the ground in deep center field and rolling all the way to the outfield fence.  And we continued to yell, “Run, David.  Go!  Go!  Keep running,” as the outfielders scrambled for the ball.  The race was on!  The outfielders running for the ball, and David running as fast as his short legs would carry him, David was running around the bases. 

By the time the outfielders caught up with the ball, David had rounded second base and was running to third.  The centerfielder picked up the ball and heaved it as hard as he could, bouncing it into the hands of the shortstop.  By now David was rounding third base, heading for home.  And everyone was yelling as loudly as we could, “Run, David, run!”  And the shortstop whirled to throw the ball home as David was closing in on home plate, still several feet away.  The ball was now sailing toward the catcher.  David was running toward the plate.  Harder, faster, David was moving as fast as he could, faster than he’d ever run in his entire life.  And—SMACK!—the catcher caught the ball as David crossed home plate.  Safe!  And the crowd—kids, teachers, on-lookers, even the opposing team—went wild.  A homerun for David!  And, for a moment, David was finally good enough.

Of course, it didn’t last long.  David soon went back to being David: David Goodenough, but not David Good-enough. 

Which, when we stop to think about it, pretty much describes us too, doesn’t it.  For, truth be told, we’re not really good enough either.  Which is what Paul’s been arguing up to our Second Reading for today from Romans 4.

Paul’s point has been that the power of sin is so overwhelming, so all pervasive, so infectious, that there’s absolutely nothing we can do to overcome it.  Not our obedience to the Law.  Even that won’t make us good enough.  Our obedience to the Law won’t justify us or make us right with God.  Our obedience to the Law won’t put us on God’s good side.  What then will?

Paul’s prime example for his argument is Abraham, Abraham who was an old man, almost 100 years old; and Sarah, Abraham’s wife who was 90.  God had promised them that they would have a son, and through their son all the families of the earth would be blessed.  And Paul reminds his readers—and us—that Abraham trusted in God’s promise.  Even though he and Sarah were well beyond their child-bearing years, they trusted that what God promised them was true.  And it was this faith, their faith, their trust in God’s promise, that justified them, that put them right with God.  Not their obedience to the Law, but their faith.  For righteousness with God depends on faith, writes Paul, faith in God’s promise which is a promise of grace.  And this is true for everyone, he writes—Jew and Gentile alike.  Or, to put it another way, no matter who we are, no matter where we’ve come from, faith and faith alone is the proper of relating to God.  Faith in God’s promises.

Now in the New Testament, one Greek word can be translated three different ways: belief, faith, trust.  Martin Luther preferred “trust.”  The proper way of relating to God is trusting God, trusting that God’s Word is true, trusting in God’s promises, trusting that what God says God will do, God will do. 

It’s like marriage.  I may believe in the concept of marriage, but that’s an intellectual acknowledgement of its importance.  My relationship with my wife, however, is a lot more than an intellectual exercise.  It’s an exercise, a relationship, built on trust. 

It’s like the relationship between pastor and congregation.  When you called me to be your pastor, we may have believed that it was a good idea, but our relationship had better be based on more than that.  A healthy relationship between pastor and congregation—or any healthy relationship for that matter—is based on trust. 

And that’s what Paul says to us this morning.  Our relationship with God is a relationship of trust.  Abraham trusted in God’s promise, and now we—you and I—are called to trust that what God has done in Jesus—Jesus “who was handed over to death for our trespasses and (who) was raised for our justification.”  Jesus, in whom God did his work of amazing grace for us and for the world.  This is the object of our faith, our trust.

To put it another way: we’re not holy enough, you and I, but God has made us holy in the cross of Christ.  We’re not righteous enough, you and I, but God has made us righteous in the cross of Christ.  Or, to put it still another way: like David Goodenough, we’re not good enough, you and I, but God has made us good enough in the cross of Christ.  And we receive this gift in faith, trusting in God’s good work for us, God’s good work in

the Son of Man who underwent great
suffering, and was rejected by the elders, the
chief priests, and the scribes, and was killed
and after three days rose again.

And by this graciousness of God received in faith, we’re good enough.  But now what?  Now that God has put us right with himself by grace through faith, what happens next?  Well, as Jesus says to us this morning, we take up our cross and follow him. 

But what does that mean?  What does it mean for us to take up our cross?  Often times we understand our cross to be something in our life that’s difficult or challenging: an illness that comes our way, a relationship that goes sour, a job that is lost, a loved one who dies.  But isn’t it more likely that when Jesus says we are to deny ourselves and take up the cross, that when Jesus says we are to lose our lives in order to save them, what he really means is that we are “to bear one another’s burdens”?  (Galatians 6:2)  That cross-bearing is something we do not for our sake but for the sake our neighbor in need?

Which is why we put the names of those we’re praying for each Sunday in the bulletin—so that we can take the names home and continue to offer them up in prayer.  This is why we stop and listen to each other when someone shares a need with us.  This is why some of you offer to sit with members of our congregation when a loved one is having surgery.  This is why we bring food on the first Sunday of the month to help feed the poor.  This is why we gather for a funeral, even if we don’t know very well the person who has died, but we do know the family. 

This and so much more.  Why?  Not so that we can be made good enough.  God in Christ has already made us good enough in the cross.  But now we live our lives trusting that this is so.  We live in faith.  And we live our lives in faithful response, picking up the cross for the sake of our neighbor. 

David Goodenough.  I have no idea what ever happened to David.  He moved away the summer after that softball game.  And I don’t think anyone missed him either.  But I hope that somewhere along the way, David
Goodenough came to believe that he was good enough.  Not because of anything he did, but because of what God did for him in the cross of Christ. And I hope David latched on to that amazing love, trusting that this love was for him.  And that, somewhere today, David is a faithful servant of Jesus, helping to bear the burden of his neighbors in need.  Maybe that will be your hope too.  Good enough.

Amen.