Sermon for Sunday, February 23, 2014

Sermon for Sunday, February 23, 2014

Matthew 5:38-48,

7^th Sunday after Epiphany 

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

You know how when you look at a word too long, it suddenly doesn’t seem right at all? This happens all the time to me. Take, for example, the word “rhythm.”

As a former music major, you would think “rhythm” would be an easy one for me. But just hear me out: Picture the word “rhythm” in your head. How many h’s are there? Where does the “y” go? Is there a silent “n” at the end? You could try to write it down, but the more you stare at it, the stranger it seems. Trust me. Thanks be to God for spellcheck. Amen?

OK, maybe I’m the only one who has that problem! But perhaps you can identify with this: That moment when you try to explain what you’re doing to someone, and suddenly it seems like a really bizarre thing to do.

For example: Why are you leaving a plate of cookies and milk out on the countertop, with a carrot next to it?

Because…a fat man with a beard is going to come down our chimney while we’re sleeping, and he might want a snack.

OK…but why the carrot?

Because his flying reindeer also might be hungry.

This makes perfect sense, of course, until you try explaining it to someone. Suddenly, an old familiar tradition seems downright odd. Seeing old habits with new eyes means they can start to feel strange or even foreign to us.

This is what the Sermon on the Mount does for us, my friends. Over the past few weeks, we’ve experienced how Jesus skillfully raises up familiar situations, and then proposes such outlandish alternatives that our old patterns of behavior start to look strange and unusual. 

In today’s reading, Jesus continues on with his “you have heard it was said, but I say” structure of teaching the crowd. This type of sermon goes point by point, laying out real-life scenarios, naming our assumptions about how they should be handled, and then smacking them down with a challenge so radical, so ridiculous, that we can never view our old assumptions the same way again.

Today, it went like this: Jesus says, “You have heard it said, if someone hurts you, you’re entitled to hurt them in exactly the same way—but no more!”

This makes sense, right? In fact, this feels like a reasonable compromise. Because, if we were to tell the truth, our thirst for revenge and retaliation goes far beyond an eye for an eye. As a mother, I can tell you that I’ve had multiple daydreams about cars driving too fast down our street and hitting one of my kids, and these daydreams always include vivid images of exactly what I would do to the driver if I caught him. I don’t need to see a show of hands to know that some of you, too, can identify with that instinct. Mess with my kid, and I’ll take you down.

So, considering this reality, an “eye for an eye” seems a reasonable, and even a faithful, guideline, doesn’t it? One should only exact the same amount of violence on others as they have done to you—no more, and no less.

It is into this context, the context of our human condition, in which we can justify and normalize nearly anything, that Jesus gives his most famous sermon, saying:

“You have heard it was said, only hurt others as much as they have hurt you. But I say to you: Don’t play that game. Don’t counter violence with more violence—subvert it with its true opposite, love. Are you being sued? Don’t even go to court—give away twice as much as they’re trying to get. Don’t mourn the loss of your possessions—instead, be rich through the relationships you can build by giving to all who ask.”

In other words: Don’t fight fire with fire; fight fire with water. Challenge the paradigm. Jesus’ words shake the very ground on which all our assumptions stand. Jesus makes the things we’ve taken for granted as being lawful and faithful and even godly, and makes them look strange and unusual…kind of like staring at a word so long it looks foreign, or trying to explain family Christmas traditions to someone who’s never heard of Santa Claus.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how Jesus challenges our sense of what is normal as I watched and read the news this week. So much stuff gets thrown at us by various media sources that it’s nearly impossible to process it all. The avalanche of information means that shocking stories slide right on past us, and start to seem normal, familiar, or just “the way things are.”

Take, for example, just these few headlines from the past week:

Chicago: 13 year old boy faces felony charge for hitting cop with snowball.

Ukraine: 70 protestors killed and 500 injured on Thursday.

Florida: Dunn convicted of attempted murder; hung jury in “loud music” trial.

Arizona: Bill passes to allow refusal of service to gays and others.

And, again, in Chicago: official weekend shooting tally: zero.

You probably heard most of these stories, too. Maybe you shared one of them on Facebook, or talked to your spouse about it, or even read past the headline and onto the whole story in a few cases. But, more than likely, most of these and other stories flew right on past, because frankly, they feel normal. We know that stuff just happens on the south side. We know the gun lobby has more money than mothers of murdered children will ever have. We know there’s a culture war going on, and it’s being played out in our courts. In fact, we find this level of violence and injustice and inequality to be sadly normal, and we’re left feeling powerless to challenge the status quo.

I find myself wondering what kind of sermon Jesus would preach, if he were giving the Sermon on the Mount in our present-day context. I imagine it going something like this:

“You have heard it said: that kid should know better than to throw a snowball at a cop.

You have heard it said: the law allows for a person to ‘stand his ground’ and shoot if he feels threatened.

You have heard it said: governments kill civilians all the time.

You have heard it said: my religious freedom trumps your human rights.

You have heard it said: we can’t really expect to go an entire weekend without a couple of murders in Chicago.

But I say to you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

At the end of the Sermon on the Mount, in Matthew chapter 7, we read this: “Now when Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were astounded at his teaching.” I’m guessing that was a very polite way to put it! Jesus’ teachings are beyond astounding. They challenge us today as much as they did 2,000 years ago. They still shake the foundations of what we believe to be normal. They still seem too radical, too unreasonable, and too ridiculous to be taken seriously. We’d like to think that Jesus was just making a point, or being hyperbolic, or setting the bar really high so we’d have something to reach for.

But this is the Gospel of Matthew! This is the Gospel that gives us the Great Commission, which empowers us to “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you.”

We take that pretty seriously, or we wouldn’t be welcoming more than 25 new members here at Bethany next week! We take that commission pretty seriously, or there would be no church today! Amen! We must assume, then, that Jesus really wants us to do this stuff. Jesus Christ, Son of God, the Messiah, and the Prince of Peace, isn’t just messing with us by throwing out challenges we can never accomplish. He really wants his disciples to give up on the whole idea of revenge and retaliation, and instead become people of non-violence. He really wants Christians to be the kind of people who don’t groan when a homeless person asks for a dollar, but who instead work for better conditions for everyone. He really wants us to stop worrying about protecting our “stuff”, and instead seek to live a life in which home security systems and concealed carry weapons and gated entrances aren’t an issue, because instead of storing up treasures here that folks want to steal, we spend our time and money storing up treasures in heaven. He really does want us to love not just our neighbors, but also our enemies.

And, he just might mean it when he says “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” 

Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. These are probably the most challenging words of all—not only in the face of the imperfect world we live in, but also in the face of the undue pressures we already place on ourselves. In fact, many of us have found our way to the Lutheran church because of its emphasis on grace and forgiveness and acceptance of imperfection!

Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. As I considered these words this week, confronted with news headlines in one hand and the Sermon on the Mount in the other, I started to hear them in a new way. Suddenly, these words which were so familiar before, which I thought I understood, started to sound…different.

Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. The more I hear these words, the less they seem like a threat. In fact, the more I say them, the more they sound like a promise.

Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. Can you hear these words, sisters and brothers, as not a goal to be achieved, but an identity to claim? Hear how they echo the other words of Jesus: “Go, your faith has made you well.” “Little girl, get up!” “Take up your mat and walk!” “Lazarus, come out!”

And especially these, the words we heard in baptism: “Gene, Cheryl, etc, child of God, you are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.”

Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. Say it with me! Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. Sisters and brothers in Christ, it is this identity, as washed and forgiven, saved and sanctified, claimed and commissioned, perfectly loved children of God, which empowers us to read the news and to say, “You have heard it said that violence rules the world. But our Lord Jesus promises love conquers all.”

It is our identity as perfectly loved children of God, which empowers us to confront injustice and say “You have heard it said that the game’s always been played liked this. But Jesus’ disciples play by different rules.”

It is our identity as perfectly loved children of God which empowers us to look critically at our culture, at our world, and our own lives, and to say, “You have heard it said that this is all we can expect. But our Lord Jesus has said his kingdom is coming.” Thanks be to God. Amen.