Remember Lot's Wife

In Nomine Iesu
Philippians 3:4b-14
October 8, 2017
Proper 22A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Do you remember Lot’s wife? You should. You’re supposed to. Jesus says exactly that in Luke 17: Remember Lot’s wife. But just in case you’ve forgotten Lot’s wife, let me remind you. Things didn’t end well for her. Lot and his family were citizens of Sodom. Sodom and Gomorrah were terrible twin cities. The wickedness of those cities was so great that the Lord decided to destroy them

both. Two angels told Lot not to linger—but to get out fast—and not to look back. But as fire and brimstone rained down from heaven—as Sodom and Gomorrah were being consumed by God’s righteous wrath—Lot’s wife—she looked back. And she became a pillar of salt. Remember Lot’s wife.

Why did she look back? Why did she disobey those clear instructions? As a little boy, this story always bothered me. I worried that I would have looked back too. Like most boys, I was very fascinated by fire and fireworks. Who could resist looking at such a fantastic display of fire and Sulphur? I hoped never to be in the same situation for fear that I, too, would look back.

But the older I get, the more I realize that I remembered Lot’s wife for the wrong reason. Her looking back had more to do with her heart than with her eyes. For even as the Lord was practically dragging her and her family to safety and deliverance and salvation, her heart ached for what she left behind. As citizens of Sodom, Lot’s family had enjoyed status and success, fame and fortune—a big house, lots of livestock, and acres and acres of lush green pasture. They had a good life in Sodom and Gomorrah—a life of achievements and accolades. And Lot’s wife couldn’t bear to leave it all behind—couldn’t bring herself to believe that the Lord would provide. Her faith was faulty. She loved her life and lost it. She turned back. She became a statue of sodium. And, so, we remember Lot’s wife.

We’re tempted to look back, too—to find our security in past success—to draw comfort from competitions we won. At some level, we love our trophies, our ribbons, our medals. They’re little symbols of our achievements and accomplishments. I know some pastors who have four or more framed diplomas hanging on their office wall. Do you really need to know that I earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in 1991 before you’ll receive pastoral care from me? Now, there’s nothing wrong with a case full of trophies and medals and diplomas. These things are part of our history. They show how God has gifted us in various ways.

But the problem is that our sinful nature always wants to translate our earthly success into heavenly merit. At some level, our plaques and awards make a pretty good case for why God should love us, accept us, and just be grateful that we’re on His team. This kind of thinking is nothing new. Meriting God’s grace was at the heart of the religious system under which Luther grew up—a system in which your religious resume—your assortment of good accomplishments—had to counterbalance your sins on God’s scale of justice.

In today’s epistle from Philippians three, the Apostle Paul engages in some serious boasting as he looked back over his life: If anyone else thinks he has reason for confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless. Those are some serious credentials. An Israelite with the papers to prove it. The top of his class—listed on page one of Who’s Who Among the Jews. He would have gone far, except for a fateful encounter with the risen Christ on the road to Damascus—an encounter that changed everything for Saul (including his name).

Never again would Paul look back. Never again would Paul look back to keep score on his achievements or to beef up his religious resume. He writes, “Whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” Now, as he looked back at his past in Judaism, all he saw was loss, rubbish, garbage. All those trophies, those merit badges and medals? They’re worthless in comparison to knowing Christ and being found in Christ.

Those two words, “in Christ,” are the key to understanding Paul. To be “in Christ” is to be a new creation—the old has gone and the new has come. To be “in Christ” is to have a righteousness before God that is not your own. It’s not about your works, your merits and achievements. Before other people, yes, those things can have some importance. People can’t see your faith; they can only see your works. But before God there is only one thing that holds—only one way that a sinner can stand before God justified, and that’s through faith in Christ, to be found in Christ, to be clothed with the righteousness of Christ—to believe that His death atones for your sins.

Paul suffered for this faith. And yet he considered his own suffering to be a share in the sufferings of Christ. He considered it a privilege to suffer and become like Jesus in His death, so that He might be like Jesus in His resurrection. The goal for Paul—the finish line—the end of the race—was resurrection. Paul’s goal wasn’t a good life or even a good death, but resurrection from the dead. That is the Christian hope. That’s why Paul pressed on, forgetting what was behind and straining toward what was ahead. Like the marathon runners who ran through our neighborhood last Sunday, there was no looking back. There was only forward progress toward the finish line—which, for us, is the resurrection.

Now even if marathons aren’t your thing, your baptism entered you into the race of faith. You were clothed with Christ, born again of water and the Spirit. Now, no race is fun while you’re running it. It can be painful, exhausting, and demanding. Did you see any of the runners’ faces last Sunday? They didn’t look too joyful. They weren’t very relaxed. So, too, you and I shouldn’t expect the baptized life to be easy or pain-free—a series of open doors and easy paved roads. No, it’s all uphill—with the devil, the world and our own sinful nature actively working against us every mile. But for those who follow Jesus, the joy comes at the finish line, where all the pain pays off, where suffering gives way to eternal joys.

And as you are running this race of faith, remember Lot’s wife. Remember the Apostle Paul. Don’t look back. Runners with a habit of looking back will inevitably stumble and fall. Don’t look back on your past successes; and don’t look back on your past sins. Christ bore your burden of sin to death on His cross. He bears it all away so that you can run unencumbered and forgiven. A fifty pound bag of guilt and shame will get you nowhere fast. Christ bore that on the cross so that you don’t have to. He bears your sins away even today in His holy meal, where the bread is His body and the wine is His blood.

Remember Lot’s wife. Don’t look back. Forget what lies behind and press on toward what is ahead—the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come. The only hardware that matters is a crown of righteousness. There’s one of those waiting for you at the finish line. You haven’t earned it. But it’s yours by grace, through faith, for the sake of Jesus’ own death and resurrection.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.