The Power of the Imaginative Story: Matthew (part 8)

At the end of Matthew chapter 5—the end of the first third of what we call “The Sermon on the Mount—Jesus says some things that tend to drive people crazy:

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 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.” (Matthew 5:43-48)

It seems difficult to conjure up warm and fuzzy feelings toward people who wish you harm. But that may not be the point of love, and perhaps that’s not the point of what Jesus is saying.

God is the central player in the generous act of love, and Jesus affirms that as he describes the way that God cares for all people through the natural order of things. Love for the enemy, like all of God’s love, is an ongoing activity into which we are called to participate. In other words, God’s love is a party in process, and we’re always showing up at a celebration that is fully underway.

I like to think of things like love and hate as spinning cycles or wheels. You can either break the spinning of the cycle or you can latch onto it and enjoy the ride. You can join into the cycle of hatred and it will keep spinning faster and faster. You can also break that cycle by not offering it the energy it demands. In a similar way, you can jump into God’s cycle of love, allowing it’s power to carry you into places you could never go to on your own power. And even though you can never break God’s cycle of love, you can certainly refuse to participate in it.

I believe there are a number of things that work this way, things like love, forgiveness, and generosity. That’s why what Jesus says at the end of the quotation is so important to us:

“Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

In the Greek of the New Testament, the word that we often translate as “perfect” can also be “mature” or “complete.” This is not an impossible call to strive toward perfection, but rather a call to participate in the generous, loving, life of God, to launch our lives into the spinning cycle of his reckless love—a love that has universal impact. Love finds perfection, not in our flawlessness, but in our vulnerable engagement with God’s love.

Thinking of Boston

This has been a very sad week. The drama that unfolded in Boston drew us all into the pain, sorrow and anxiety that flowed through the city. While there is relief that one suspect remains alive and is now in custody, perhaps able to supply answers to the “why” of this tragic act of violence, most of us have become realistic enough over the past decade or so to know that our relief will be short lived. There’s always another danger waiting to make itself known to us.

I know that we have our share of problems and failures here in the US. But I must say that I’m fascinated by how things seemed to play out in Boston. The chief of police appeared to asking rather than demanding that residents stay inside and be willing to inform police of any suspicious behavior they might observe through their windows. From what I understand, people cooperated willingly with that request.

When the owner of the boat where 19-year-old Dzhokhar Tsarnaev was hiding found him there, he didn’t alert his neighbors so that they could pull the young man out and beat him to death and hang his body from a light pole. The man contacted the police and waited.

I suppose there will be things posted on various social media sites that scream for the young suspect’s blood—these things appear to be unavoidable these days. But what I’ve seen so far are posts expressing sorrow that a young person would commit such a heinous act and then have his own life thrown away. People have encouraged us to pray for him just as we pray for those who have suffered at his hand. I am glad for these words.

So, yes, there will be the enacting of justice, if by justice we mean setting things right again (although, that will never quite be the case for those who have suffered. And keep in mind that justice is not the same as retribution). There will be consequences experienced by young Dzhokhar, who will never be free again and is probably grieving the loss of his own brother.

It is sobering for we, who trust our lives to Jesus, to remember who we are in times like this. We are called to care for widows, orphans, the foreigner, and all who suffer. We are also called to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. These can be tough assignments, but it is what we do, and must do. Not everyone will do this, but we must. That is how we exist as the light of the world, the salt of the earth. We do this because we follow Jesus, and we also do it on behalf of the rest of the world.

Lord Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on us.

A Lenten Reflection for March 13, 2013

“Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away; for I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me.” (John 6:37-38)

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do: by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and to deal with sin, he condemned sin in the flesh . . . (Romans 8:1-3)


Our story of faith seems to move from the singular to the plural, from the particular to the universal. It moves from Abram to his descendants to all the families of the earth; it moves from Moses to the Hebrew slaves to the nation of Israel; it moves from Jesus to his followers to the church and to the world.

Paul tells us that Jesus came deal with sin. John tells us that Jesus came to be the savior of the world (1 John 4:14). The issue of sin moves easily from the particular to the universal and back again. Sin may be about me, but it’s about me in the context of us.

When we read the narratives of the gospels, it is a bit shocking to see how this dealing with sin comes about for Jesus. It comes about by sin having its way with him. The story culminates in sin winning the day, parading Jesus’ perfect, broken body around like a macabre trophy. Sin wins and Jesus suffers and dies.

I suppose that’s part of the reflective lament of the season of Lent. We hover over the passion narrative and watch tragedy unfold. This one sent as savior of the world, whose words and works rolls across the cracked and wounded skin of Israel like a healing salve, is suddenly despised by his own people and brutally, shamefully, executed. Somehow, in that sad drama, Jesus deals with sin.

It isn’t just that Jesus takes my sin and your sin away. It’s that Jesus allows the systemic, violent sin of the world to focus its fury on him on a particular day in a particular point in human history. In that particularity, in and through Jesus, God takes both sin and death into himself. He doesn’t heap sin and death on us; he embraces them willingly in order to rip out their teeth and ultimately destroy them.

We don’t see the turning of the tables until Easter. Yes, sin and death win on Friday. But their power is unraveled on Sunday. Yes, in the world there is still sin and, yes, we will still die. But neither sin nor death gets the last word in the story. God’s word is the last word.

And his word is Jesus.