Dangerous Words

Matthew 5:38-48

It only takes about two sentences of Jesus’ preaching this morning to get me riled up and mad.  Of course, that’s Jesus for you: Never content with the status quo, always poking at it for more generous justice, more abundant relationship, more God and less us…. 

He’s a pain in the neck because he keeps wanting to reinvent the  rules and customs that we live by.

So my reaction is probably very much what a lot of people felt that same day that Jesus first said this.  And I’ll bet I’m not the only one in the centuries since then to be upset about it.

I like to think I’m a big fan of the kingdom of God that Jesus preaches.  I love the vision of a world where right trumps might, love and generosity are more influential than power or money, and God lives oh-so-close to us.

But then today he says,

Do not resist an evildoer.

Turn the other cheek.  Go the extra mile.

Give to everyone, love your enemies.

Most of it sounds nice and generous, but it’s dangerous stuff.

Loaded with dynamite.

Over two hundred centuries, how many abused women, slaves, and minorities have had “turn the other cheek” preached to them as a lesson not to rock the boat, to accept the abuser and the oppressor as holy and right?

I shudder to think.

“Go the extra mile” and “love your enemies” can be just as dangerous when preached and applied to the powerless.  And it boggles my mind to think of God’s living Word announcing that we should “not resist an evildoer.”

So I’m mad.

I want to march up to Jesus and demand to know why we’re supposed to let evildoers run rampant.

After all, that’s already the way of the world we live in – think North Korea, the recent abuse of stand your ground laws, West Virginia’s water supply (or, rather lack of safe water!), Wall Street bailouts – you could probably name more.

All of those result from a long unspoken policy of not resisting evildoers.  In fact, for the most part, we don’t even use the word evil to describe the actions that produce these things.

This is dangerous stuff, what Jesus says today.

I’ll readily admit it has its benefits, too.

The advice about exaggeratedly generous responses to physical violence, aggressive lawsuits, and conscription has inspired some incredibly powerful non-violent resistance that has changed our world for the better, over and over.

Even more effective would be learning to love our enemies – not like them, but love them, so that we genuinely want what’s best for them – learning that could transform our individual lives and our entire political world in ways that lead to peace and mutual respect.

But I can’t get over that idea of not resisting evildoers; and the vast unrewarded generosity that Jesus is preaching makes me a little uneasy considering that last week, thanks to Judy, we thought about making “yes” really mean Yes! with all our hearts, and saying a real “no” to the things that drain and destroy us.

Although, as I think about it, that might be part of the answer I’m looking for. 

Saying “no”, and meaning NO, to the things that drain and destroy does mean saying no to actions or even dreams of revenge,

saying no to things that escalate violence or division,

saying no to anger with our enemies and indifference to those outside our safe communities.

Jesus is preaching a real “Yes!” to generosity, a Yes fueled by the inspiration of God’s own holiness, God’s unprejudiced generosity, God’s desire for relationships of love instead of hate or fear.

It’s a tall order to be perfect as God is perfect, even with careful scholarship to point out that perfect doesn’t mean flawless, here, but deeply whole and true to one’s self and purpose.  (Perfect has always been dangerous language, too, but that isn’t Jesus’ fault, just the translators.)

But still that’s our call from God, the foundation upon which all of Jesus’ preaching is built. 

We are completed, whole, and true to ourselves most of all when we take seriously the truth of our creation in the image of God, the identity in relationship to God that God gives us in creation and in baptism.

How often do you take time to care for that image of God in your soul and body? 

How clearly do you see that self that God has made in wonder and joy?

Do you look for that lovely, holy image in strangers and friends?

If you don’t do and see those things now, please, please, please, make the time to pray with your reflection in the mirror – read Psalm 139 to your reflected self. 

Please give yourself the grace of looking for God’s image in your own heart and in the faces of others. 

Please spend intentional time with the people who see God in you and reflect it back.  Seek them out if you don’t know them yet.

And that may, in the end, be something of what Jesus means in telling us not to resist the evildoer.

Not to submit to abuse, or accept oppression, but to be true to the self God calls us to be.  To remember that in spite of insults and abuse, we are wholly worthy of and responsible for bearing the image of God in our bodies and selves.

Abuse and oppression create the terrible belief that the victim has brought the violence or injustice on themselves.  The perfect image of God within us denies that dangerous and powerful delusion with the loudest possible voice, calling out that we are holy and worthy of respect and care.

Resistance – violence for violence, revenge for insult – warps our souls into the image of the evildoer, and plays in to the evildoer’s power. Knowing ourselves as the perfect, whole and healthy image of God calls us out of the evildoer’s power with dignity and grace – a painful, long, long, difficult and often dangerous process, but the only way to healing.

Love of the evildoer, of corporate leaders driven to soulless action by culture and commerce, of unsettled majorities made violent by fear, even of dictators and oppressors, may even transform the painful contortions of our culture and generation. 

After all, love leads to urgent action for healthy change, not regulation and resignation.

Such a tall order, but one that accelerates our world into the kingdom of God.

I’m still a little mad at Jesus.

And oh, how I wish he’d never said to not resist the evildoer.

Because if they’re cut loose from the heart and spirit of God, those are still such dangerous, even appalling words.

But when they resonate with the awesome image of God within and among us, they’re a holy risk and challenge, one we face together, not alone.

We have each other to call out and respect the image of God in us,

and in our enemies,

and we have the abundant generosity of God to fuel us on the long and uphill road away from abuse and oppression, hate and fear, violence and division,

in our world and in our lives.

It’s a long road, but I’m in.  Are you?

Not Going to Heaven

Isaiah 58:1-12, Matthew 5:13-20

I may have some bad news today, my friends. I don’t think we’re going to heaven.

I’m going to be in a lot of trouble if you stop listening after that one line, so bear with me for a few minutes.  It’s about that last thing that Jesus said in the gospel story we heard this morning:

“For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

That’s right.  Unless your righteousness, your daily practice of your faith, is greater than that of the most publicly faithful people you know, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

That’s you and me both, because I know I’m not more righteous than the scribes and Pharisees were. The Pharisees were the people in Jesus’ time who clearly dedicated their lives to living according to God’s will and law. 

We don’t have any exact equivalent today, but you can think about monks and nuns – or anyone else whom you respect and would just automatically assume does a really good job of being Christian.

Going above and beyond that, above and beyond the law of God, is a very tall order. 

And there’s plenty of evidence that as a society, as a culture, even as a church, we are not living up to God’s will in the world.

There’s a pretty good description of the problem in what we heard from the prophet Isaiah this morning.  God says to the people: You’re wondering why I’m not impressed with your religious observances, and don’t seem to be listening?  Well, it’s because those religious observances don’t change your heart, and they don’t set people free.

The religion I’m interested in, God says, is actions that feed the hungry, protect the vulnerable, and free those who are imprisoned, literally and metaphorically.

How do you think we do on that scale – not just at Calvary, but Christians in general – here in our time and place?

It’s good to remember that our gatherings for worship often do remind us and guide us about how to feed the hungry, care for the vulnerable, and set people free, but I believe that God also wants us to look around at a bigger picture.

Hungry people in our country are getting hungrier as food stamp benefits are cut and pantries struggle to keep up.

Prison populations go up and up - a trend that’s as much or more about prison-heavy laws as it is about crime.

You and I get more vulnerable every day as more and more data moves silently to the NSA and to hackers (who are only sometimes the same).

The news is full of vulnerability, oppression, and shame.

No, if you look around the community, and the country, and the world, we’re definitely not headed for the kingdom of heaven.

That’s bad news. Seriously bad news.

I’ll soften the blow a little bit by pointing out that Jesus was not talking about whether we go to be with God when we die.  I do believe we do and will.

No, Jesus is talking about heaven that matters here and now: the kingdom of God.

And Isaiah, Jesus, NPR and Fox News agree on one thing, even if it’s for very different reasons: we’re not on the road to heaven on earth, or a whole and holy world.

And a healing and whole society is incredibly important to God. 

The whole Bible tells us that a culture and society reflecting God’s will is far more important than our individual sin or righteousness. We can’t be well with God, you and I, if our world is sick with sin.

Are you mired in the bad news now?

Because there is good to go along with it.

One of the most important things our faith can do for us is to show us, clearly, when we’re headed in the wrong direction.  That’s what Isaiah is talking about this morning. What Jesus talks about, today and so often in the gospels.

And both of them point out that God has already chosen us not to go to heaven, but to bring heaven here.

If you set people free, Isaiah says;

set people free, and share the shelter and the food that you have; when you take anger and hate and fear out of the public debate in favor of trust and generosity and kinship, when you do these things light shines in the darkness.

Light shines, and God builds you up with abundance and refreshment and you become a source of healing for the whole world.

It’s not an if/then bargain, but a promise of what happens when we live God’s will.

And Jesus doesn’t mince words either:

You – yes, YOU (all, plural), not someone else – you are the salt of the earth.  You are the light of the world.

Salt changes things.  Light guides and directs.

You, - us, you and me – we are the agents of inspiration, the examples for the world, and the catalysts, the agents of change.

This isn’t an opt-in program.  God has already determined that it’s us, you and I, who are the light of the world, the salt of the earth.

We don’t have a choice – we are the ones who shape the world.

Whatever we do, we do shape the world.

When we take small actions – bringing food for the pantry, offering care to a neighbor, helping one person to justice – we’re a good example in a small way, and we offer healing in a small way.

But there’s also that bit about being a city built on a hill, unable to hide, and that means that we don’t have a choice either, but to stand up for whatever it takes in funding or political will and cultural change to feed all the hungry people. 

We don’t have a choice but to work to set people free – everything from really good employment and recovery programs to changing laws about drug sentencing and immigration. 

We don’t have a choice but to protect the vulnerable, to stand together against phone taps and witch hunts and discriminatory laws and policies and any erosion of basic human rights.

Salt and light.  Changing things, and showing the way.

There’s action for you and me to take among the businesses we deal with, the organizations we help, and yes, the government we live with, every day.

It’s one heck of a tall order,

and it definitely exceeds the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees.

But one thing more is absolutely clear from Jesus in today’s gospel: God believes in us.

God believes you are the salt of the earth; you are the light of the world. So when you heal and nurture and shield and free, you shall be, Isaiah says, like a watered garden, abundant and refreshing, and the restorer of the world.

The world we live in doesn’t look much like God’s will right now, and that means that Jesus is right, and we are not on our way to heaven. But the good news, the really big news of the gospel today, is that it’s our privilege and our job to bring heaven here.

You are salt, and you are light. God believes in you.

Are you in?                         

What are you looking for?

John 1:29-42

Do you remember when your life changed?

Maybe it’s when you met your spouse.  Or realized what you always wanted to do when you grew up.  Maybe it was realizing that you do like brussels sprouts, after all.  (As long as they are properly cooked.)

Pregnancy and birth; physical injury or illness and their healing; relationships and accidents are just some of the ways our lives change in noticeable, markable ways, great and small.

Some of those threshold moments sneak by, so that later you can tell it happened, but the how and when are fuzzy.  But others are crystal clear.  The sort where you vividly remember the day and the time and the circumstances, years – even decades – later.

For two disciples, it was at four pm, the day after John saw Jesus.

Getting a notice of timing like that in the gospel is rare and odd.  I suspect that the whole reason it’s there today is so we, the readers, can recognize this little story for the threshold moment it is: The moment when life changes.

Years later, those two could probably describe just how it was – sunny or cloudy, what they were doing, and thinking, who was nearby – when at four that particular afternoon they really saw Jesus, the Messiah – and thus became his disciples.

I love those kind of memories – love the sense of place and vividness and occasion they give to my life story. 

I can still see the tangled maze of classrooms and offices I was looking at when I realized I was going to attend this new math and science high school we’d been touring - even though I thought I hated math.  That experience profoundly changed my life. 

I vividly remember the setting and conversation when I finally decided to come out about my desire to be a priest.

And the angle of the sunlight in the office of the diocesan deployment officer as I described an idea of ministry with a congregation much like Calvary, just a few months before you sent out your search profile.

But I don’t have any memory like that about deciding to follow Jesus.  No sharp, clear memory of becoming a disciple. 

I suspect some of you do have vivid memories of that life-changing experience of seeing, believing, and following Jesus – and that many of you, like me, have no such thing.  For the most part, we’ve grown up in a world that takes the story of Jesus for granted.

So I admit, I’m sometimes a little envious of the disciples in the gospel and the fresh, firsthand experiences that revealed God to them in Jesus.  So I read the stories carefully for clues to sharing that experience. And there are two things in particular I noticed about today’s story.

The first is that these disciples found Jesus by listening to other people.  Simon listens to his brother Andrew.  Andrew and his buddy listened to John the Baptist, their teacher and leader.  John listened to the One who told him how to recognize the Son of God. All of them listened and responded when someone said: Look!

That’s critical. I hear stories – and perhaps you do, too – that just sound ridiculous to me.  Announcements and claims about the end of the world, or the next big thing, or a powerful spiritual experience.   My rational mind has doubts, and I nod, but don’t respond – I don’t act on the news.  That’s a way to protect myself from both anxiety and boredom, but I’m sure I’ve also missed some real gifts that way. Because listening, and acting on it, opens doors.

And then there’s the other piece in today’s story.  A pivotal question:

What are you looking for?

That’s the first question Jesus asks – the first words he speaks in John’s entire gospel.

Two people have peeled off from their own teacher, John the Baptist, and started trailing after Jesus around town.  So he turns to them and asks:  What are you looking for?

It’s an entirely reasonable question, given the context, and their response: “Where are you staying?” makes some basic sense, even if it might feel a little stalker-ish between strangers in our day and age. 
But there’s so much more to it.

These two first followers are telling Jesus they want to join in, to hang out with him, to abide – a term with true relational depth.  They are looking for a home with the Lamb of God. 

They may not know they’ve said that much.  They might just be curious. 

But Jesus answers their desire – simple or deep – with a practical, physical answer and an invitation to expanding relationship. 

“Come and see,” he says. See for yourselves, and see what God is doing.  So they see, and they abide. 

And it was four in the afternoon when their lives changed.

What if Jesus, in the flesh, here today, turned to you right now and asked, “What are you looking for?”

What would you say?

Listen seriously and deeply to yourself for a moment, now.  What are you looking for, right now? 

There are no wrong answers.

Honesty with God about your simple curiosity is just as important an answer as a quest for the meaning of life.

I was just looking for a less boring Saturday afternoon when I agreed to tour the Math and Science Academy.  Twenty-mumble years later, I can tell you that what I found (at about two o’clock in the afternoon) was rich relationships, permission to believe in myself, and that gift of joy and wonder in all God’s works that we pray for at baptism. 

So what are you looking for?

That’s what changes your life. 

That’s what lets God in to guide your journey, to walk beside you, to teach, to hang out, to heal. 

That’s what lets you commit your whole heart to God.

What are you looking for, right now?

Write it down. 

(Yes, really. Write it down.)

You can offer that desire to God, putting it in the offering plate (we won’t read them – just offer them to God).  Or you can take that note home, put it on your fridge or in your datebook, keeping that response in front of your eyes.

I want to encourage you to answer that question two more times this week.  Once when you’re relaxed, and once when you’re busy.  Listen honestly to yourself, write it down, offer it to God.

Maybe you’ll remember - vividly - the time this week when your life changed. 

Maybe you won’t.  Many of the changes God makes in our lives are subtle and slow.

But listen to others, and listen for the voice of Jesus.

Because God is asking you:

What are you looking for?