Sixth Sunday after Pentecost (July 5, Fr. Guiliano)

Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?

St Paul’s Letter to the Romans moves like a symphony. Themes appear once, twice, again. Tension builds to dramatic peaks like this morning’s. Then, they fade away. The key changes, the tempo & time signature. It’s important to pay attention.

One of the constant themes from Chapter 1 through 7 of Paul’s letter is sin. The first few chapters are an indictment of humanity, describing sin’s universality and the nature of human hypocrisy. Not only do all people act wickedly, we also judge. 

We imagine we are the morally upright, and we accuse others of wrongdoing. We attempt to teach others; we don’t teach ourselves. 

Our second reading today continues strongly on the theme of sin, but Paul’s diagnosis shifts. He goes deeper. Rather than accusing humanity as a whole, his words become personal. “I,” he says. “I.” Paul invites us to imagine our moral struggle in these terms: 

I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.

This problem – the inability to do good – has appeared in philosophical and religious writings from antiquity to today.

The Greeks called it akrasia or asthēnia; the Latins incontinentia or infirmitas and many other words meaning weakness, powerlessness, a lack of self-control or self-mastery. Some of the Jewish rabbis spoke of “the good impulse” and “the evil impulse.” Paul imagines the human person caught between many powers, and here talks in terms of sin, sin that dwells in us, in our flesh, even as our minds delight in God’s law. 

It’s not that we are ignorant of the good. It’s not that we don’t want to do it. It’s that we can’t, at least sometimes. Our human nature, our mind and flesh, are not aligned. Desires make war against each other, and others powers act upon us.
   
Who here has not felt that kind of inner conflict? “I do not do the good that I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.” 

We feel it every time we succumb to temptation, when we give way to anger, greed, or jealousy, when we condemn our neighbor or fail to do them good when it would be easy to do so, when we lie, when we cheat. 
How easy it is to sin, and how hard it can be to do what is right. Think of how we covet.

We desire what belongs to others. We want what we shouldn’t have. Paul points to this sin in particular in the verses preceding this reading, citing the 10th of the Ten Commandments. 

“You shall not covet.” We know coveting isn’t good, but it’s so easy to do and so easy to hide.

Covetousness can hide in plain sight. It is possible to want another’s home, to want another’s property, to want their life, to want their connections, their loved ones. You don’t have to reveal it openly. It’s not like lying or murder or open prejudice. Desire can sit secretly.

And how acceptable it has become to be covetous in America, to scroll through the television or on Facebook and Instagram and give way to desire (wanting our neighbor’s looks or skills or very being). Or, to pull up homes on Zillow and dream of rooms and gilded hallways better than our own. 

And let’s remember, there are places far darker than these on the Internet. It’s all one click away. The Internet is vast machinery of desire and the portal is right in our hands. To quote a great poet…well, to quote Olivia Rodrigo and her song jealousy / jealousy: “I kinda wanna throw my phone across the room….co-comparison is killing me slowly. … I see everyone getting all the things I want. I’m happy for them, but then again, I’m not….I can’t stand it. Oh God, I sound crazy.” 

Covetousness…desire can hide from others. But we can’t hide from it ourselves. We’re in the room with it, with that screen and that phone we want to destroy. We know the contradictions in our hearts. 

We know there is a part of us that truly desires the good. But still we don’t do it. We are caught up in a life we cannot handle. We despair. Rodrigo says, “I’m so sick of myself.” She might well have echoed Paul in saying, “Who will rescue me from this body of death?” 

Romans Chapter 7 stacks up the tension. Dissonance and discomfort build. We are meant to feel uncertain, disquieted, as hear Paul’s words -- until the resolution cuts through. 

Paul writes: “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” 
 
In the precise place of our weakness, at the moment we feel most helpless, trapped in “this body of death,” Paul takes us back to the salvation offered to us in Jesus. 

The burdens of this life are great. But give thanks for what Christ offers; and here his voice when he says to you:

Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.