The Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany [Year A] - February 16, 2014 (Matthew 5:21-37)

Typically every week at the end of the gospel lesson, I confidently and boldly conclude the reading by announcing, “The Gospel of the Lord.” “Gospel” means “good news,” so it’s like I’m saying “Yes. This (which I just read) is the good news of the Lord!” The congregation’s response is meant to echo that enthusiasm, even if we often just mouth it absent-mindedly because we’re so used to it: “Praise to you, O Christ!”

Every once in a while, however, we encounter a reading where I feel like replacing that confidence and boldness with the tone implied by a timid question mark: “Um…the gospel of the Lord?” And you, after listening to words from Jesus that don’t sound like a Sunday morning moment of sunshine and encouragement, might want to respond with an appropriate amount of trepidation: “Uh…praise to you, O Christ?”

I don’t know about you, but for me this morning is one of those occasions. The chunk of Jesus’ teachings presented to us in this morning’s gospel lesson are a bit much. There’s no healing miracle here, no story about Jesus bringing hope to the masses or touching the wearied life of some person in need of grace. There’s no neat parable with fun characters acting out a worthy lesson.  Instead, it is a set of teachings, one after another, very difficult to understand, and touching on topics that likely make all of us a little uncomfortable. So I find myself saying: is this really the gospel of the Lord?

"Jesus Preaching the Sermon on the Mount" (Gustav Dore)

One of my colleagues calls this “Country Music Sunday, which, in my book, might make it a little easier to swallow. He calls it that because this lesson talks about “lyin’, cheatin’, and killin’.” Just add a pick-up truck, and you’ve got all the makings for a good country music song.

In all seriousness, while this gospel lesson does address some of the very same topics that some of the most authentic country music does, Jesus isn’t singing a song, and we know it. He’s preaching a sermon, and this morning we’ve actually caught him in the middle of an extended portion about the Jewish law code and how to interpret it, a teaching meant for his followers and a crowd that has gathered around him who are just beginning to figure out how Jesus and the message he brings fits into God’s kingdom. Do you ever wonder about how Jesus fits into things? Do you observe Jesus in the Bible stories and wonder just how exactly his life is good news?

Sin = missing the mark?

As we ponder these things, we must remember that Jesus came as a first-century Jewish man who had inherited a particular way of life that involved obedience to all kinds of rules and restrictions that were enshrined in the Jewish law code. The core of that law, so you know, was formed by the Ten Commandments and the other laws directly associated with them which Moses had handed down centuries earlier to Jesus’ ancestors as they had wandered in the wilderness. Although they had been given as a gift to help God’s people live as a light to the nations, it had always easy to interpret them in a very legalistic manner, as if life were one big Olympics with judges standing by the sideline cruelly deducting points and enforcing boundaries and awarding medals to the quickest and the perfect.

When we try to figure out who Jesus is and figure out how he fits into this lengthy set of codes and rules, when we try to understand this good news that he brings, it’s tempting to think that he’d come to do away with all these rules and restrictions. That’s one common trap. We know him as a man of compassion and mercy and so we paint him as some hippie from the 1960’s, who essentially comes to lower the standards set down by the law, to make things a little less strict. We come to the conclusion that life in God’s kingdom will involve Jesus’ minimizing of everyone’s faults and viewing all our “lyin’, cheatin’ and killin’” as mere factors of our “humanity”…and be cool with it all.

However, it is clear after sermons like the one he gives today, Jesus isn’t going to take that approach. As it turns out, Jesus actually takes the law very seriously—in fact, he re-interprets it in a way that goes far beyond a legalistic reading, and he adds to it an overly-exaggerated system of consequences for what we should do when we disobey.

As an aside, I've heard it said that this is the one that really flushes out the biblical literalists from everyone else. If we take Jesus at his literal word, there’s not a one of us here this morning that wouldn’t be blind or maimed in some way!

In any case, one by one he goes through certain commandments—murder, adultery, bearing false witness—and extends their reach into the human heart. In Jesus’ view, it’s not just the outward action of taking someone’s physical life that counts as murder, but also the taking of their life through hateful speech and slander. It’s not just the act of illicit sex that makes someone guilty of adultery, but the thought alone of it. We thought we knew what lyin’, cheatin’, and killin’ was, but it turns out it’s much more than we thought.

This is the part of confirmation class that usually takes most of the confirmands off guard, and the part that is always the most humbling for me to teach, as well. All our lives we’ve thought we’re pretty good about keeping, say, the fifth commandment: You shall not kill. It seems pretty straightforward and something that most people could avoid doing—here’s the boundary, don’t cross it—until we read Martin Luther’s explanation of what it means in the Small Catechism which is entirely based on Jesus’ sermon here:  “We are to fear and love God,” Luther says, “so that we do not hurt our neighbor in any way, but help her in all her physical needs.” With that understanding of the law, we realize that each of us has blood on our hands at some point.

The segment on divorce is another one of those cases where we must make take into consideration what the religious and social connotations were in Jesus’ time. Divorce was allowed by the Old Testament law, but Jesus realizes that in his day, men were abusing this stipulation in the law in order to get rid of one wife so they could start sleeping with another woman, which in many cases they had already started doing. He names that practice for what it was: adultery. But then he expands its implications by saying such a man who does just that is guilty of making the woman guilty of the same. Rather than viewing a woman like she is some form of property, somehow beneath responsibility to the law, Jesus explains that a broken relationship with a wife is no different than a broken relationship with a husband.

Whether it’s sexual ethics or bearing false witness, Jesus expands the scope of all of these commandments, taking them from a very strict sense of the actions that our hands or eyeballs make and extends them into our heart, which is where our actions are ultimately rooted. And I imagine that comes as a quite shock for those who think that the good news of Jesus is that he comes just to be cool with us the way we are.

I think when we hear Jesus’ words, however, uncomfortable they may make us feel, we have a choice, not too unlike the stark choice laid out before the people of Israel in this morning’s reading from Deuteronomy. One, we can simply view these interpretations of the Ten Commandments as yet more ways we just don’t get it right, more ways we fall short and deserve consequences. We can hear them as examples of how religion, even at its self-proclaimed best is nothing more than a bunch of restrictions and regulations that essentially condemn the human experience or at least suck all the fun out of it.

Or we can choose to see them as good news. We can view them as evidence that God sees us as we are, flawed at every edge, darkness deep within, and still calls us to be so much more, to be help for our neighbor and light to the world. We can hear them and realize that these are not regulations handed down from some place on high, or dictated from the sideline but they are spoken by the lips of someone who is living with us, someone who dies with us, feeling every bit of brokenness himself. We can hear these words, as incriminating as they are, and still know they have the power of healing because we know ultimately that this Lord will not leave us, wagging his finger, when the commandments become too hard for us to bear. Instead, he will stand with us the entire way, and as it turns out, be thrown into prison—and pay every last penny!—have his body beaten, and descend into the pit of hell to have us choose the life God desires for us.

All the counselors at the camp I worked at during college quickly discovered that the best place to hold cabin devotions was by the lake at the foot of the large cross that stood at its edge. No matter how rough the week had been, no matter how much they had all torn the cabin community apart with bickering and rule-breaking, quiet time at that cross always seemed to restore some hope for the rest of the week, pull things back together. No words needed to be said. Simply the presence of that cross spoke volumes about the love God had for them—has for all of us—and about the better vision of ourselves God calls us to.

Simply the cross: when we’re thinking where Jesus fits in, that’s where Jesus always fits in best. This is where Jesus’ words lead us, today, one big human cabin community that we are, torn apart by bickering and rule-breaking. Torn apart, and yet being put back together by Jesus on the cross. And with that in mind, we can hear those hard words about being the light of the world. We can hear these challenging commandments and, knowing the one who speaks them comes with unconditional love, we can respond in boldness and confidence: Yes, this is the gospel of the Lord. 

Praise to you O Christ!

The Reverend Phillip W. Martin, Jr.

The Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany [Year A] - February 9, 2014 (Matthew 5:13-20 and Isaiah 58:1-9a)

On Christmas Eve, to make room for people to sit in the balcony, our hand bell choir moves all their equipment and music stands down to the right side of the narthex and plays from there. They set up all their hand-bell tables in a U-formation and Kevin directs from the middle. As it turns out, the sound reverberates in that space very nicely and since it’s not completely cut off from the sanctuary here we can hear the sound of the bells echoing throughout the church. The problem with this configuration has always been that during evening services that area gets very dark. In fact, it is so dark that the musicians have a hard time playing. In the past one ringer would always bring little lights for each music stand, but for whatever reason that was not available this year. So, what to do? It was, like, “Jesus, we know you’re the light of the world and all…but we can’t see our music.” Our property manager, overheard them talking about this one day in the office and on a trip to Home Depot came up with a brilliant solution: Miner’s headlamps! He bought about six of them and distributed them to the choir.

Now, I’m not a hand bell player, but I can’t imagine why they didn’t end up going with this option, can you? This would have been awesome! Apparently someone just brought in a floor lamp instead and they used that. But…check it out! Miner’s head lamps!  Imagine each person with their own, right there on their forehead, right about where a pastor’s oily finger once made the sign of the cross! It fits Jesus’ instruction almost perfectly: “Let your light so shine before others that you blind them with the piercing beam of your good works so that they may see their music and ring praises to your Father in heaven.”

Darkness was not just something the hand bell choir had to deal with on Christmas Eve. Darkness—and I mean pitch-black darkness—was an everyday reality for those who lived in Jesus’ time. In fact, I don’t think we in the 21^st century can quite appreciate just how dark it was back then. I read an article recently about some research that suggests that until the dawn of streetlights in the 19^th century, people typically went to bed around 8:00 every night. It was just too dark to do anything. Therefore, the presence of light—any light at all—was significant.

Moreover, most families lived in one-room houses back then. The stove and kitchen area was typically located outside but the eating area, the sleeping area, and the place where the animals could overnight was often one big space inside. In other words, there weren’t any interior walls or corners that could cast shadows. Therefore, you can see how the placement of one single oil lamp in the room would then illuminate everything, although that illumination would have still been weak. A simple oil lamp made of clay was not a miner’s headlamp, after all! By contrast, it provided a soft glow that probably didn’t give off enough light for anyone actually to do anything all that productive, but as long as no one obstructed the light, it at least allowed people to see the basic dimensions of the room in the dark—where the walls began, where any furniture was, where people lay sleeping. In a way, you could say the light gave the room shape and form, that it brought it to life.

Salt, the other metaphor that Jesus latches onto to explain what embodying his kingdom’s righteousness, functioned much the same way. Salt had many uses in ancient times—it was used as a preservative, as a fertilizer, and as something that gave flavor to food and brought out its best qualities. In addition to that, we know that pieces of stone known as salt plates were thrown into the dung pile, which is what was used in each house as fuel for the earthen stoves. These salt plates served as a type of catalyst to keep the dung burning. After a while these plates tended to lose their chemical properties—their “saltiness,” perhaps—and they’d be discarded. Bread bakers will assure you that salt is actually what gives bread its flavor. It’s not really the type of flour you use or the amount of fermentation the yeast provides that makes bread tasty. Those add to it, of course, but the key ingredient is the salt. So, regardless of which use of salt Jesus was referring to as he spoke about the kingdom, notice that salt is something that is added to something else in order to make it function better or taste the way it’s supposed to.

By using both salt and light as descriptions in his teachings, Jesus is saying that his followers’ life together—their ability to embody God’s righteousness—is the element that expands the world’s dimensions, an essential ingredient to the best life of the world. When they shine, for example, the world won’t be shrouded in darkness. The world will be able see what it really is, that it has a purpose and function. It can wake up and give glory to God. Their task, in other words, is not to become the room, the space, itself. Rather, they are live in a way that illuminates the room so that it may become visible and useful. Likewise, Jesus’ disciples aren’t expected to become the whole loaf of bread, or the whole dung pile, as the case may be. Instead, they become the element in the bread that makes it come to life. They give the world flavor; they enable it to live up to its true purpose. They become the catalyst in the burning fuel that helps the fire burn brighter and stronger.

In giving these instructions, Jesus wasn’t really saying anything new to God’s people. Ancient Israel, you see, was supposed to live as a light to the nations. From their very beginning they had been called out of relative obscurity, given a life as an often scrappy little group of people and yet placed on the lampstand of Jerusalem for all to see. Their goal was never to try to take over the world and expand their borders so they might include everyone. It was to live in holiness and righteousness in such a way that others may know that their God was the real Sovereign who loved the world and wanted to save it. Their light would shine when they embodied the mercy and lovingkindness of God’s law. 

The prophet Isaiah points out what that looks like very clearly this morning: when they, for example, share their bread with the hungry and do something to take care of the homeless and needy. It isn’t pious acts of religiosity or efforts at world domination that will be salt and light. It is humble living out of God’s rule of justice and peace for everyone. It is that kind of righteousness that makes them the key ingredient, the bright light, for creation.

This is the pattern that Jesus lays out for his own followers in his teachings, in his life, and ultimately through his death on the cross. The truth of this community’s relationships with God and then with each other—how they deal with conflict, for example, how they practice forgiveness and mercy, how they care for the least among them, how they lay down their lives for each other—would shed light on what humanity could be. It would disperse the shadows of sinfulness that had been lurking for so long.

There are a lot of challenges to being salt and light for the world, but one of the greatest is fighting that urge to become the whole room or the whole loaf. This is not to say that Jesus’ community should not welcome new followers or grow in size and influence. But it does suggest that we need to focus on ways to be in the world rather than withdrawing from it to exist to ourselves or dominating it in order to create some type of Christian super-state. Those are temptations that the Church has all too often given into. Jesus words are a good reminder that even though he calls us to what seems like minority status, we should not feel small and insignificant and ineffective. God still has given those in his kingdom the ability to function as that which allows the world to see God’s glory and be blessed by his righteousness. That all seems kind of obvious, but it’s critically important to remember that God’s light does not just shine as we do ministry and tend to the needs of each other when we’re in these four walls. The life we share in Jesus Christ is not just something we pass back and forth with each other in a self-serving manner.

As a pastor, I love it, of course, when there are a lot of kids at a youth group event or high participation in some service project one of our teams has organized. And I’m thankful for the support from parents and other family members that have allowed our youth programs at Epiphany to expand and include more and more people. However, Jesus words about salt and light are a strong reminder to me that Jesus doesn’t just call us to participation in church events. After all, that was one thing the scribes and the Pharisees were probably really good at: church attendance. Rather, Jesus calls us to be salt of the earth and light of the world. If a youth is unable to attend a particular event, it may be that person is called to be a little salt on the football team that day. Or shine a little light of Jesus’ righteousness at play practice. Or add a little of God’s good flavor at band rehearsal.  It means to shine in that cubicle at work, to practice acts of faith and sacrificial love throughout the day, wherever we are. 

Did anyone watch the Opening Ceremony for the Olympics the other night? I could take or leave the fancy choreography of the floor show, but I do always like to see how they light the Olympic flame. There’s always some kind of dramatic pageantry that goes along with it. I’ll never forget the games in Barcelona where the archer shot a flaming arrow into the cauldron. That’s why the way they staged the flame-lighting in Sochi the other night caught me a little off-guard. The Olympic flame was cleverly placed outside the stadium where the opening ceremonies were held. When the time came for the flame to be lit, the torch bearers simply left the stadium! Rather unceremoniously, they walked right out the doors and into the open area outside. All those thousands of spectators were left back inside by themselves. 

It wasn’t a very dramatic end to all the torch-passing at all, but it certainly served as an example of what God intends for his followers to do with this light of righteousness: it’s meant for the world. It’s eventually meant to go out there. We share the Lord’s light with each other here. We are replenished by the bread and the wine and the font of new life. But, ultimately, we are the light of the world, too. And whether it burns in you like a small oil lamp…or a the piercing beam of a miner’s headlamp…the point is to carry it out there, to open their dimensions, and let the world know who has created it and what it really is called to be.

Thanks be to God!

The Reverend Phillip W. Martin, Jr.

The Second Sunday after the Epiphany [Year A] - January 19, 2014 (John 1:29-42)

photo credit: EPO

On a steep hill, high above the city of Rio de Janeiro stands a gigantic statue of Jesus Christ. I’ve never seen it in person, but like most of you I’ve seen countless photos of it. It’s a famous world landmark. Officially it’s called “Christ the Redeemer,” and I find it really quite breathtaking: he stands tall and straight, looming above the city with his arms completely outstretched. This week, it was in the news that lightning struck the statue right on the tip of the right hand, causing a whole finger of the concrete and sandstone Jesus to fall off. Apparently It’s not the first time lightning has struck Christ the Redeemer. In fact, it’s happened so many times they’ve installed lightning rods around him, but this is the first time the damage has been this significant. No worries: they’re going to be able to re-attach his finger. What is cool, however, is that the lightning strike itself was caught on camera—right at the moment where the big bolt of white is zigging down from the sky to touch Jesus, almost like he’s drawing it to himself— as if to remind us, once again, of his power.

It’s a fascinating image and moment, and one that fits perfectly from these scenes of the beginning of Jesus’ ministry as he walks along the coastlines of Galilee and draws people toward him like he’s got some kind of electrical pull. We see him make his way through ordinary people’s lives, reminding people that God is powerful and on the move—he’s a roaming, roving Christ the Redeemer with that trademark wide embrace, reaching out and calling all people. 

John the Baptist bearing witness, Annebale Carracia

This same scene—that is, Jesus’ moving about and calling folks to follow him—occurs in every gospel, but in the gospel of John, it’s especially clear that Jesus’ ministry actually begins with John the Baptist. Jesus’ ministry and work on the stage of human history effectively starts when John, a popular but boisterous prophet who was a type of forerunner to Jesus loudly and points him out. Before Jesus has said or done anything in John’s gospel, John the Baptist has already started talking about him and telling those around him what Jesus is about.

That’s interesting, if you ask me: that before Jesus is noticed, even as he goes about in the towns and villages, someone else calls attention to him, someone else testifies to his presence and his identity. It’s what a prophet does, just as redeeming with outstretched arms is what a Savior does.

More importantly, notice that John the Baptist doesn’t mince words, doesn’t hem and haw when it comes to explaining who Jesus is and why he matters. Right off the bat John tells us four key things about him: Jesus is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Jesus somehow existed before John even though John seems to come first in timeline of history. Jesus brings the Holy Spirit, and Jesus is the Son of God. Bam! Kind of like a lightning strike! He leaves no doubt about who this Jesus is. This introduction and explanation of Jesus takes place over the course of two or three days. First John the Baptist is questioned as to whether he might be the Messiah. Instead, at his first opportunity, John finds Jesus and points to him. “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” he cries out, as if to urge his own disciples to leave and follow the Lord. Many old paintings depict John the Baptist with an elongated pointer finger because of how clearly he points and says, “Look!”

detail from "The Crucifixion" by Matthias Gruenewald (1512-1516)

Incidentally, the things John says happen to be some of the biggest issues of theology that the early church struggled to understand and communicate about Jesus. For example, it was critical very early on to explain that Jesus’ death somehow dealt with the world’s brokenness and estrangement from God, that his life of suffering and then his sacrificial death would save the world and set it free. His inseparable relationship with the very Spirit of God, which brought life to creation at the beginning of time and inspired the prophets, was another aspect of his identity that was important to point out. John also wants to make it clear that Jesus is not just another prophet, like himself. He is the very Son of God. As such, Jesus will be revealing parts of God’s nature that no one has ever before glimpsed. That’s a lot of information about Christ to cram in the first two days. For what it’s worth, John the Baptist’s claims about Jesus seem to get the job done. We are told John’s disciples leave him and begin following Jesus.

When the attention and action does finally shift from John to Jesus, however, things change rather abruptly. We go immediately from clear, definitive pronouncements to a very open and inquisitive approach to ministry. When John’s disciples begin following Jesus, he turns and asks them a fairly non-confrontational question, “What are you looking for?” or “What do you want?” When they say they want to know where he is staying, he invites them, drawing them in, “Come and see.” As it turns out, they not only take him up on the offer, but they stay throughout the whole day, even though it’s already late. Our translation says 4 o’clock in the afternoon. In the Greek it says, the tenth hour. The point is that they linger longer than one might expect. I imagine he spends time getting to know them, asking them questions, engaging them in dialogue. The impression they get is so favorable, so captivating, that they respond by bringing others to see him.

Jesus calls the first disciples

There is an important lesson for the church, for followers of Christ, in these first chapters where Christ is being made known and starting things off. On the one hand, we need to be like John the Baptist, clear and consistent about who Jesus is and why he matters. On the other hand, we need to be open and inviting and focused on relationship-building when we’re engaged in the ministries of Jesus. When it comes to talking and teaching about Christ, the Lamb of God, clarity and boldness is helpful for everyone. When we vacillate in our message or get wishy-washy in the task of pointing to him, the mission of his movement suffers. This is why I’m encouraged by some of what our new presiding bishop, Elizabeth Eaton, has been saying. She wrote recently in The Lutheran, “If our life together consists primarily of being affirmed by God’s unconditional love and doing works of justice and charity without understanding that God has brought about the transformation of justified sinners through the costly grace of the crucified Christ, then we are not church.”^[1]

However, when it comes to actually serving as Christ does and sharing that ministry with others, it is always better when we follow Jesus’ example and give things time, engage them in dialogue.  Find out what people are looking for, what they want, what their lives are in search of rather than quickly shoving down their throats what we think they need. Judgmentalism and abruptness will not serve us well. Like Jesus, we need to show patience. Demonstrate compassion and hospitality. Realize this might involve staying until the 10^th hour with them, all the while providing an opening for the patience, compassion and hospitality he always shows us.

Slow as it may seem, Jesus shows us there is, in fact, electricity in this approach. Andrew and the other unnamed disciple are drawn in. Andrew then responds by going and getting his brother, Peter, who will go on to be a leader in the early church. It is still how the communion of Christ’s believers grows most effectively today, and how solid relationships of love and trust are built among God’s people. It’s why I tell people to visit a congregation at least four times before they decide you want to look elsewhere. This is why even things like short-term mission trips, as good as they are for getting us out of our comfort zones and providing service to communities that need it, can still be problematic. These kinds of interactions can come across as too abrupt and judgmental to those being served, unless great sensitivity is demonstrated.

I am thankful to say that, by and large, this kind of sensitivity and care is what we witnessed this past summer in the community we served in West Virginia. After the first couple of days of working in a day-camp like setting with the neighborhood kids, both our youth and I started to wonder what the point of the interaction was. Many of them wanted to be assigned other tasks of service, like building something or moving equipment. But, to give them credit, they stuck with it and got to form some relationships with them. Once some more meaningful dialogue started to occur between them and us—between the serving and the served—our youth began to witness some form of change in respect and interest level. The awkwardness of the first day’s “hellos” was replaced by outstretched arms giving hugs and wiping away tears when we left.

A church that can extend those arms of “Come and see” and a church that can, like John the Baptist, be clear about the person those arms are attached to, will be like a church who can stand atop a hill and let the storms of the world rage around us. We may lose a finger here or there, but God can re-attach it. Most importantly, though, we will be seen as a people who know the Redeemer of the world is in our midst, a people pointing to Jesus, the Lamb of God, whose arms are not just extended to call us to follow, but to suffer and die for us and take away the sin of the world. “Look!” the world will say, because it will be clear in our words and actions that God loves the world. It will be clear by the power of the Holy Spirit that this movement he has begun is still charged with that same merciful electricity.

Thanks be to God!

The Reverend Phillip W. Martin, Jr.

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[1] “Getting to What Really Matters,” the Reverend Elizabeth Eaton, in The Lutheran, January 2014