I am a hypocrite. There – I've said it. And, if you're honest, you'll probably admit that in many ways you are too.
Last week I found myself doing exactly the sort of thing I decry in others, and which seems to me to go against the gospel Jesus taught – and which I claim to preach – in so many ways.
In a nutshell, what happened was that I ignored a homeless person by the side of the street and passed by the other side. And the reason I did so was because I was rushing to get to an engagement for tea with a couple who – to put it bluntly – are probably some of the wealthiest people in the area. Thus I cold-shouldered the poor to glad-hand the rich.
I felt bad enough immediately afterwards. But I was even more convicted when at our church prayer meeting that evening someone read Isaiah's exhortation to 'share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter... to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood'. Ouch and double ouch, and rightly so!
As we continue our fortnightly pilgrimage through Mark's Gospel we find ourselves reading some very stark words of Jesus, with particular resonance for church leaders such as me. 'Beware of the scribes,' Jesus says, 'who like to walk around in long robes and be greeted with respect in the market places and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honour at banquets' (Mark 12: 38-39). He continues: 'They devour widows' houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.'
Holy Week – with all its extra services, reflections and ultimate culmination in Easter festivities – is an easy time for us to fall into such hypocrisy, especially if we are a church minister. But hypocrisy is a danger for all of us, and at any time of year. How can we watch out for these things in ourselves, based on these words of Jesus?
What do we delight to wear? I've never understood some clergy's obsession with robes. Granted, Old Testament priests were told to dress ornately to reflect the majesty of God's particular presence in the temple. But all that came to an end with Jesus' 'great high priesthood' and his one, final sacrifice. The New Testament never commands church leaders to wear ornate robes and Jesus' teaching here seems to militate against it. Indeed, the whole idea seems a far cry from the simple lifestyle of the carpenter of Nazareth.
Of course, we don't have to be ordained to love fancy clothes. We can all become slaves to fashion. But when it comes to such matters, the New Testament has a different take: 'Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience,' enjoins the Apostle Paul (Colossians 3:12). Now that's a beautiful wardrobe!
When we pray, who are we praying to? This might sound a question to which the answer is obviously, 'God, of course.' But I have heard public prayers in services and meetings which sound rather more aimed at those around than the Lord above. Some border on political announcements or even theological diatribes.
It's easy, as Jesus warns, 'for the sake of appearance' to 'say long prayers' – whether they are liturgical or extempore, and to think in so doing we have ticked the box. Or to appear part of the truly devout in our congregation, we may like to be seen raising our hands, or, depending on the prevailing theology of a church, very definitely keeping them down.
At the heart of hypocrisy is the thought that appearances are what count – whether that is a deliberate covering up of ongoing unrepentant sin, or the more subtle belief that if we 'say and do the right things' (even to prove our doctrinal orthodoxy or spiritual keenness) we will be counted worthy by God and others.
The message of Good Friday and Easter is that Jesus came for hypocrites, which is all of us. For none of us live up to our own standards, let alone the two great commands of Christ – to love God and neighbour. I'm a failure and so, my friend, are you.
The hymn Amazing Love reminds us this Holy Week how Jesus frees us from the slavery of hypocrisy. And so we pray as we read some of its words: 'My Lord, what love is this, That pays so dearly: That I, the guilty one, May go free! Amazing love, O what sacrifice, The Son of God given for me. My debt he pays, and my death he dies – That I might live...' Let us hear and respond to the invitation of the final verse: 'Come wash your guilt away – Live again!'
David Baker is a former daily newspaper journalist now working as an Anglican minister in Sussex, England. The Rough Guide to Discipleship is a fortnightly series. Find him on Twitter @Baker_David_A
