Sunday, February 16, 2014

Reading the Sermon on the Mount as an Invitation, not a Condemnation

Epiphany 6


During the season of Epiphany, our readings from the gospel draw our attention to two things.  First, we confront the claims of who Jesus was.  The visit of the Magi, The baptism of Jesus, Jesus’ presentation in the Temple, the beginning of Jesus’ preaching.  All of these point to Jesus as the light of the world, the hope and messiah of Israel, and the messenger of the Reign of God.

Second, as a result of the way our lectionary assigns readings, we are confronted with Jesus’ proclamation of the coming reign through the Sermon on the Mount.  We've been hearing portions from the Sermon on the Mount over the past few weeks.  The sermon starts out pleasantly enough:  Blessed are the poor, the meek, the peacemakers, the mourning. You are salt and light!  Be salty!  Shine out for the entire world to see!  Have hope in a future!  This is good news for a world in which evil conspires to destroy the creatures of God!  Your comfort is in the promise of God!

But then the Sermon on the Mount gets difficult!  Jesus gets all unreasonable!  It’s easy to listen to the Gospel today and have a sense of panic, anxiety, and perhaps shame.  Jesus takes moral stances on actions that by their frequent commission prove that they have historically been difficult to uphold.  Murder is not done away with, adultery still occurs, divorce breaks relationships, swearing oaths is considered necessary so that what we say carries some credibility.  Removed from the context of the rest of Matthew’s Gospel, today’s passage simply reads as throwing more rules and responsibility on an already burdened humanity in a high-stakes game of life or death, both temporal and eternal.  Refraining from killing someone is not enough; we have to forego any expression of anger.  Avoiding adultery is not enough; we have to avoid lustful thoughts.

We are left with no room for compromise.  We feel undercut. Condemned.  If this is what God requires of us, who can stand as righteous before God?  No one.  Certainly not me.

Wait. Stop.   

Before the proclamation of the God News of God in Christ is swallowed in self-pity and shame, or before we dig in our heels to prove our own righteousness, let’s take a step back and look at the whole Gospel of Matthew.

If you were to search for a phrase that defines the essence of the Gospel of Matthew, the phrase “righteous perfection” would do the trick.  In Matthew 5:48, Jesus says “Be perfect, as your Father in Heaven is perfect.”  In fact, you will hear this in the Gospel reading next week.  Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew is announcing the impending reign of God and he almost always takes the ethical demands of the Kingdom of God to their most strict reading.[1]  

In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus as the messiah is the one who is tasked with revealing the perfect will of God by interpretation of the Torah—the teaching of the Will of God.  This is what Jesus meant when we heard him say in the Gospel last week "Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.”  Jesus as the messiah discerns what God had in mind all along in the law and the prophets.  But more than teacher, Jesus is the fulfillment of the Torah as Emmanuel, God with us, the word of God made flesh.  The life and teaching of Jesus is the definitive ruling on what the reign of God looks like. 

And even more than that, at the conclusion of the Gospel of Matthew, at Jesus’ ascension, we are assured by Jesus that all authority in heaven and on earth has been given to him.  “The making of disciples, baptizing, and teaching which the risen Jesus authorizes still involve the practice or observance of  all we have been commanded to do, but this is not simply a new code of behavior to be followed in the absence of the Messiah. For Jesus tells us that He is with us, even to the end of the age."[2] The conclusion of the Gospel of Matthew is the announcement of the continuing presence of the Messiah and Lord.

Back to the Sermon on the Mount. The starting point for Christian interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount is the good news of who this Jesus is who speaks to us. Separating the proclamation from the Proclaimer or abstracting a code of moral maxims from the whole vision of divine blessing and ultimate dominion will pervert the Sermon into being one more moral agenda.[3]  If we forget that we are forever accompanied and empowered by the one who proclaimed this vision, we would indeed have reason to despair.  But we are not alone.

What the Sermon on the Mount presents to us is a vision of a Kingdom whose realization in the here and now is begun and yet incomplete.  What Jesus speaks so forcefully about in the Sermon on the Mount is the vision of the future.  The vision is a promise; it is not merely a prescription to follow, as though it could be achieved if all of us only tried harder.

And in this vision of the future, no compromise is possible because it is not so much a program for behavior as a manifestation—an epiphany—of the reality that we catch glimpses of as we seek the reign of God in its fullness.

So we return to our particular gospel lesson for today.  Our distance from the Kingdom is here highlighted by the light of Christ thrown over the failures of human relationship.  It is abundantly clear that our relationships to one another matter to God.  To say otherwise would be to miss the point of God's entire project with the world.  And what we are meant to understand is that the motive of the heart laid bare is just as important as an act that comes from our bodies. 

In Jesus’ interpretation of the Torah, gone is the recourse to self-righteousness—to judge and condemn others who do in one situation that which we have wished we could have gotten away with in another.  Gone is the supposed sanctuary of the hidden parts of our hearts in which we would harbor hate and the desire to use others for our own purposes.  Gone is lie that life is ultimately a fight of self-interested conquest.

“These persistent words [of the Sermon on the Mount] confront us with a dire diagnosis of our human condition so that we may no longer live out our days in the anxiety of trying to work out some arrangement and in the denial of the truth which we know in our hearts [and in so doing, we end up living a lie]. Only the [Christ] whose righteousness suffices for us and whose announcement of the kingdom has filled our lives with light and hope would dare to expose the deadly lie of our lives so baldly.”[4]


We instead have to challenge our impulses to live free of our neighbors, and confront the desire to pursue our own projects as though God and the rest of humanity make no claim on us.  We must say ‘no’ to the lie that denies or cheapens our interconnectedness.  We are asked recognize that our wills and our desires have consequences for our relationship to others, even if no action takes place.  We must remember that human dignity is a nonnegotiable trait of all the children of God.

In short we are asked to obey, but the uncomfortable truth is that doing so requires a vulnerability and accessibility to God so intimate that we shy away from it.  And it is no wonder we shy away, given how often we hear these passages as mere moral condemnation, and not as a hopeful promise of a future God moves us toward.

But what if, beloved of God, what if we took these words as more than a moral measure—as more than a way to measure our shortcoming.  What if we considered them signs of the Reign of God?  What if they became not the marks against us on the tally sheet we imagine God carries forever, but the lens through which we pray that God would enact the Kingdom through our lives?  

And what if, beloved of God, we were willing to bring our shame and discomfort and pain to God in prayer, and possibly private confession through the rite of reconciliation?  The grace of God is free.  The forgiveness of God is unreserved.  The love of God passes all understanding.  What if we could risk that level of intimacy with God, and receive peace and strength?

Beloved of God, the Kingdom to come that we seek is a gift, not an achievement.  Remember as you hear the Sermon on the Mount that you may feel conflicted, you may feel convicted, you almost certainly will be challenged, but you are not condemned.   You are invited to join in the proclamation of the truth concerning Jesus and a “vision of the Christian life which only God can bring to perfection.”“Filled with a hope that is not born of human ambition or effort, the Sermon on the Mount is an epiphany of the will of God, fulfilled and embodied in Jesus who proclaims and grants it to his followers out of the largess of the kingdom to come.”[5]  We are invited to participate in ever greater measures.  Will we take some steps further into the Kingdom?




[1] One notable exception is divorce.  Mark, writing earlier than Matthew, does not permit divorce at all.  Matthew allows divorce on the grounds of unchastity.  In this case, Matthew records Jesus loosening an ethical precept where it is elsewise stricter.  But it is not clear if he means on grounds of adultery or according to relationships among family members that were forbidden in Leviticus but probably common in Greek converts’ lives.
[2] (Matt 28:20).
[3] I am here indebted to the work of DAVID L. TIEDE (“Let Your Light Shine: The Sermon on the Mount in Epiphany”) Luther Northwestern Theological Seminary, St. Paul, Minnesota, Word & World 4/1 (1984)
“TEXTS IN CONTEXT”.  Copyright © 1984 by Word & World, Luther Seminary, St. Paul, MN. Retrieved from http://wordandworld.luthersem.edu/content/pdfs/4-1_1984/4-1_Tiede.pdf.
[4] Tiede, ibid.
[5] Portions of this paragraph appear in Tiede (Ibid).  This sermon is in large part dependent on his work cited above.  And I am particularly grateful for his words.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

This Little Light

“This Little Light”
Robert Berra
St. Matthew's Episcopal Church, Chandler
2/2/2014

Feast of the Presentation in the Temple /  Candlemas

Malachi 3:1-4
Hebrews 2:14-18
Luke 2:22-40
Psalm 84 or
Psalm 24:7-10

Sermons are never the act of a lone preacher.  Or even just the preacher and God.  Sermons are an act of the entire community.  So, I’d like to ask your help with something.  I’ve never done something like this in a sermon before, and I’ll need your help to make the sermon work.  Will you go out on a ledge with me?

In our planning for today’s service, we knew pretty early on that we would end up holding these little candles.  And a song has stayed with me since then.  Perhaps you all know it:  “This little light of mine.” 

This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine

Do you know it?  Good!  Now, here’s what I’d like you to do.  When I give the refrain (   ), I’d like you to join me with (I’m gonna let it shine…)  Let’s practice it once, just like I sang it before.

This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine

Jesus gave me the light; I'm gonna let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine

We read in the Gospel today Simeon’s prayer of thanksgiving for living to see the coming of the Messiah:

my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people Israel."

Later in the Gospels, we hear from Jesus that
14 “You (Y’all) are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. 16 Let your (y’all’s) light so shine before men, that they may see your (y’all’s) good works and glorify your (y’all’s) Father in heaven.

We understand that, just as Jesus was known by Simeon to be the light of the world, we who are grafted into Christ’s mystical body by Baptism also begin to bear this light in the world.  That is why we give a candle to the newly baptized at this parish, even though the Prayer Book does not call for it.  We make big promises as Christians: promises to continually turn away from the spiritual forces which corrupt us, to continue in the life of the larger community, to proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to strive for justice and peace, and to respect the dignity of every human being.

Hide it under a bushel? Oh no! I'm gonna let it shine
Let it shine, all the time, let it shine. Oh yeah!

Bearing this light into the world goes by a sometimes scary word:  Evangelism.  This word may not necessarily be scary to this congregation, but I know I’ve had a checkered and flinching past with the concept of evangelism, and I know I’m not alone.  I’ll share with you why.

I’ve mentioned before that I’ve spent some time outside of organized Christianity.  What I haven’t mentioned is how being outside of the organized faith was a great gift; the perspective I gained has been vital in informing my practice as a Christian now.  In the Christian world I left, evangelism was taken to mean that one goes out to tell people about Jesus.  It was from that time outside the faith that I observed that what passes for “Good News” is actually not good news; it’s often manipulation of people’s fears.  Watching evangelism felt like watching someone trying to make a transaction—a profession of faith gets you into Heaven!  And who wouldn’t want to go to Heaven!  Eventually, if it was a hard sell, the threat of Hell would make an appearance.  At that point, the Christian traded the loving God for the wrathful God, and traded Good News for ultimatums and coercion.  Implicitly, it shows that the particular Christian is more certain about God’s wrath than God’s love.

What was worse, and I still see this often, is seeing something that is supposed to be evangelism, but it is actually fulfilling a some sort of inner need for Christians.  One night in Chandler a few years ago, Laura and I passed by a youth group yelling and holding signs reading “You are all going to Hell!” on a street corner.  This is called evangelism by the people who are yelling, but it is actually a way for them to confirm their own image of themselves:  a persecuted minority bravely standing against the wickedness of the world.  Taking delight in believing atheists will deserve what they get in Hell also falls in this category; the Christian whose evangelistic efforts are rebuffed wants to feel vindicated in the afterlife.  I have had Christians tell me that Hell will show the atheist who was right, and they have said so just a little bit too gleefully.  So, some Christians who publicly say they need to evangelize quickly turn around and disparage the person they seek to talk to, which shows a lack of respect for the very person—another child of God— the Christian wants to talk to. 

As I got used to seeing bad evangelism, evangelism as a concept became a problem for me.  I still hold disdain for the reliance on fear, and I watch Christians show utter disrespect for those we are supposed to love as we love God and as God loves us.  None of this is news; non-Christians have been onto this game for a long time. They experience Christian love as the most conditional of all.

Even when I re-entered the Church, I felt that I had few models of what I would consider to be healthy, natural evangelism.  What’s more, I have feared that some of the embedded theologies with which I grew up would mean that I would fall into the same bad habits as those noted above if I tried to evangelize.  I think quite a few others who are refugees from other denominations feel the same way.  Entering the Church again was sometimes like going through spiritual triage; it takes time for wounds to heal.  It was my second semester of seminary before I could bear to call myself an evangelist in a way that resonated with my soul and not just my head.

Don't let the Satan blow it out; I'm gonna let it shine
Let it shine, all the time, let it shine. Oh yeah!

Even as we bear the light into the world, we are still subject to darknesses that inhibit and affect our human nature.  I mentioned earlier a few examples of how evangelism goes wrong:  The presentation of the Good News of God takes on a transactional model.  Some Christians rely on fear, not love, in representing God.  Sometimes our own need for vindication or the need to be right trumps our call to love and bring healing.  Further, and to paint with a board brush, we have at least 500 years of evangelization efforts that melded Western values and “civilization”, both the good and the toxic, into the Gospel as though they were one and the same.  Christian attempts to spread the light became preparing the road for the genocide of many first nation peoples.  Evangelism, in this case; was not simply the presentation of the Gospel.  It was coercive assimilation.  

This history, as well as current Christian behavior, is on display for the whole world to see.  This history chastens my own efforts and makes me think about my motives.  For the will-to-power over others and our own sense of pride may be at work even as we try to do the good God has given us to do.  To be called to evangelize yet see the pain it leaves on others is difficult. 

And yet, we are still called to bear this light of God into this world, as mixed as it is in the stuff of human life.  Our call flows right into the work a life of faith leads us to follow.  We seek God’s will and to live it out.  We seek the healing we need to turn our timid and halting voices into enthusiastic songs of joy about God’s work in our lives.  We seek the understanding we need to discern the Good News in this time and place.  We seek God’s way viewing the world and our neighbors, so we may better understand God’s love.  To seek these ways of being, we need to push away pride— we need to push away the need to be right—and  we need to relinquish our desire to always be in control, as though God can no longer surprise us through the life of someone else. 

Everywhere I go, I'm gonna let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine

The checkered past of Christian history and the current reputation Christians now hold make our responsibilities harder.  In my role as a campus chaplain, I have gained much more experience actively being ignored as people walk past.  But I can tell you that when the conversations come, they are amazing.  If the conversation gets to five minutes, it is quite pleasant. If the conversation goes to fifteen minutes, I get an opportunity to learn about the deeper joys and fears of others.  Sometimes I get to name the holy in their lives.  Occasionally they name the holy in my life.  I recently had a conversation with a student.  In the course of the conversation, the student went from experiencing discomfort and fear about what I would say and how I would react to his story, to the student experiencing the hope that community could bring.  This movement from fear to hope is a fairly common reaction that evangelists see, but we have much to do. 

Many have experienced church as shackles instead of freedom.  Others hear these stories and hold onto them, even if they have no personal experience of Christianity.

What I suggest we need in order to bear the light into the world are Christians willing to tell the stories about where God has been in their life. I do not say this simply to suggest that positive stories need to drown out the negative stories.  The negative stories alert us to a self-critique that is essential in the examined life.  I do not say this to suggest that the story of another who experienced pain at a Christian’s hands can be overridden by our positivity.  For us to treat someone’s life in that way is not to invite healing, but to continue to allow the other’s wounds to fester in silence.

No, telling our stories cannot only be a tactic for reclaiming better public relations.  Our stories instead testify to the good, inspire joy, name our own brokenness, open our own wounds, and do so to allow someone to see another experience of God.  And most importantly, they open opportunities for others to explore their own lives.  Sharing our stories humanizes all of us if we are willing to step into the space of listening and speaking deeply from our core.  I have a hunch that if we would begin practicing this type of evangelism, we begin to see God more readily in the other person.

May I suggest that, for the next two weeks, you add into your own prayer life a request that God alert you to when you might share something from your own life, and when you might need to be curious about someone else’s life.  You might find that light recognizes light.  You might find that the light illuminates a darkness that you are called to heal. You might be surprised how brightly your own light starts to burn.  If that happens, I hope you’ll share your story with me!

Won’t nobody blow it out; I'm gonna let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine