An Unlikely Life

Matthew 5:38-48

March 5, 2014 • Mount Pleasant UMC

It’s called an “earworm,” and it’s not what you’re thinking. An “earworm” is that song that gets stuck in your head, the one that just won’t go away. Often, it’s a song you wish you didn’t know or really don’t want to find yourself humming along with. They are generally songs with a generic and easy-to-remember melody, which is why they stick with us so long. Three of the nine most persistent ear worms are by Lady Gaga: “Bad Romance,” “Poker Face” and “Alejandro.” A few are from earlier eras, like “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey, or “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen. And yes, you’re welcome for any or all of those songs that are now playing in your mind. That’s how earworms work: just a mention of the song will get it stuck in your head, whether you want it there or not. The song just won’t go away. So it’s a bit like that.

Or it’s a bit like going to the movies and you see an actor on the screen that you know you’ve seen somewhere else. You recognize the face or some of his or her mannerisms, but you can’t quite place where you’ve seen them before. How much of the movie is spoiled because you’re trying to figure out where you’ve seen that person before? If I’m watching something at home, I immediately get on IMDb and find out who it is, because otherwise, the thought just won’t go away and it bugs me until I figure it out. So it’s a bit like that.

But it’s more than that, because we’re going to be talking about a man who won’t go away. He is history’s most familiar figure (Ortberg, Who Is This Man?, pg. 12). If you were to try to take history, culture, literature, medicine or most any other aspect of our world today and pull his influence out, it would mean leaving that area of life gutted. Today, 2,000 years after his death, he continues to be a source of controversy, speculation, worship and adoration. He is the man who won’t go away. His life has been told over and over again on the silver screen, in novels and in television mini-series. His story continues to inspire, motivate and move people to do outrageous things. Hospitals have been built in his name, schools and universities were founded by his followers, and his teachings have inspired such diverse people as Mohandas Ghandi, Desmund Tutu, Martin Luther King Jr., C. S. Lewis, Jimmy Carter and Mr. Rogers. His name is Jesus, and he is the man who won’t go away.

He should have, though. Logically, once he was dead, the world should have forgotten about him. He was born as what was known in his day as a mamzer, a child whose parents are unmarried. As John Ortberg comments, “All languages have a word for mamzer, and all of them are ugly” (21). So it was well known that he was considered “illegitimate” (cf. John 8:41); the religious leaders raised that very issue as evidence against his authority. He was born in poverty, raised as a carpenter’s son, and grew up in a village that wasn’t important enough to even be put on first century maps (Hamilton, The Journey, pg. 15). Nothing good ever came from that part of the world, people believed (cf. John 1:46), and yet he spent most of his life within a small radius of where he grew up. When he was thirty years old, he began to teach and gather a small group of followers around him, but he never wrote a book, never lectured in the great cultural centers of the time, never built a building. He left no monuments; in fact, what sometimes frustrates first-time visitors to his homeland, as some of you will be this June, is that there are very, very few places where today we can definitively say, “This happened here.” All of the monuments and memorials that are there today were established centuries after he walked through the dust of that land.

And then there’s his death. He seems to have intentionally put himself in opposition to the rulers of his day. He knew he was going to die. And he died a painful, horrible, criminal’s death. The normal protocol for that kind of death would have been to either leave his body on the cross for the birds to eat, or take it down and just throw it in a mass grave. Had it not been for Nicodemus, who asked to bury his body, that could have been Jesus’ fate. He was born without dignity, and he died without dignity. Yet, today, the cross is one of the world’s most recognized symbols, and the name of Jesus is still spoken around the world. Sometimes in reverence, and sometimes in cursing, his name is breathed every single day—which ought to cause us to ask: who is this man? Why, 2,000 years later, does his single, solitary life continue to have such an inescapable impact on planet Earth?

People were asking that question even in Jesus’ own day, especially during those three years when he taught the people and healed the sick and raised the dead. The people asked in wonder, “Who is this man?” The religious leaders asked in fear, “Who is this man?” And the Romans asked in disgust, “Who is this man?” Everyone was asking the question, and everyone had their own answer, or at least their own opinion, much like today. For the next few weeks, during this Lenten season, we’re going to take a fresh look at Jesus. We’re going to ask who he was and why he continues to make a difference in our world. And, I hope, along the way, you’ll also begin to see ways he can make an even bigger difference in your life and how he might be able to change the lives of your friends who don’t yet know him. So we’re going to look at his life, because if you want to get to know someone, to really know what they are like, you need to study their life, see how they live, and listen to what they say. This morning, as we begin, we’re going to look at some of the outrageous things he taught, and how he calls us to live an unlikely life.

You don’t have to read very far in the Gospels to come across a story where Jesus is challenging the way we normally live. As we talked about a couple of weeks ago, he says things like, “Unless you forgive each other, God the Father won’t forgive you” (cf. Matthew 6:14-15). He tells us not to judge others (cf. Matthew 7:1-5), and, as I also reminded you a couple of weeks ago, Jesus also tells us if we have a problem with a brother or sister we should talk directly to them rather than simply unfriending them on Facebook (cf. Matthew 18:15). He takes on greed, lust, those who think they are important, taxes, and he says the ones who are truly righteous are most often the ones who are least likely to believe they are (cf. Matthew 25:31-46). And folks, that’s just in Matthew’s Gospel! Elsewhere, he says his followers will be servants to others, that we should be people who tell others about him, and that he is the only way to God. But most of all, he says, we should learn to love one another.

That’s the message at the heart of the passage we read this morning. This brief section is part of a larger sermon or teaching commonly called the “Sermon on the Mount,” because in Matthew’s Gospel, we’re told he preached it or taught it on a “mountainside” or hillside by the shores of the Sea of Galilee (5:1). In many ways, this sermon sort of sums up all of Jesus’ teaching, and if there is a “summary of the summary,” it’s Matthew 5:48: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” Talk about a tall order! How could we ever hope to live up to that command? What is Jesus saying here? Is he just another crazy teacher, setting an impossible standard for those who listen to him? Or is he calling us instead to a deeper life? Who is this man, and what does he mean when he says we should be “perfect”?

To answer that question, we have to back up a bit and look at the context, because our idea of “perfect” is a far cry from what Jesus is talking about here. When we think of “perfect,” we think of something without fault, unblemished, or in the case of our behavior, never making a mistake. Everything we do has to be right, and so many of us try to live the Christian life that way. Or, at least, we expect others to live the Christian life that way. If they make a mistake, we’re quick to jump on them and cry foul. There was a branch of the ancient Christian faith that lived that way; it was called “Pelagianism,” named after its leader, Pelagius. Pelagius taught that you had to access your faith by doing something; in other words, Jesus will love you better if you do this or that. It’s Jesus plus. Jesus plus prayer. Jesus plus so much Bible reading. Jesus plus good works. Jesus plus church attendance. And so on. That idea still exists, by the way. Doing certain things, we are sometimes told, will make us more acceptable to God. We’re told “Jesus plus” will make us perfect—and we buy into that because that’s the way the world works, right? If you work harder at your job, you get noticed and you might get a pay increase or a promotion or a better job. If you do more volunteering, people will think better of you. Or, in the religious world, we say if you pray more, or get more people to pray for you, you’ll have a better chance of getting your wish. Or if you work harder for God, you’ll get an upgrade in eternity. That’s how we interpret “perfect,” but that’s not what Jesus taught.

This whole chapter of Matthew’s Gospel has Jesus upending the normal way things were thought of, even the normal “religious” way of thinking. You think you’re okay with just not murdering someone? Jesus says murder begins when you call a brother or sister a “fool.” Good for you if you’ve avoided adultery, he says, but adultery really begins in the heart, when you begin to lust after someone. Divorce is a much more serious matter than the religious leaders had made it, and breaking your promise to anyone is a matter not just between you and them, but between you and God. In every situation, Jesus takes what is thought of as “normal” and deepens it, reaches down to the root or the heart of the matter. Then, in the section we read this morning, he pushes right into daily life as he addresses the matter of retaliation and of loving our neighbors.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth’” (5:38). What Jesus is quoting there is what Biblical scholar William Barclay calls “the oldest law in the world” (The Gospel of Matthew, Volume 1, pg. 163). Now, Jesus is quoting Moses, but that’s not uniquely a Moses law. Similar laws and guidelines have been found in many ancient civilizations. It shows up in the oldest known code of law, the Code of Hammurabi, written by a king of Babylon in the 2200’s B.C. One difference, though, between the Biblical law and the Code of Hammurabi is that the Babylonian king distinguished between classes of people. The Babylonian world functioned on a caste system, and in that system it was okay to harm certain individuals if they were “beneath” you socially. Those who were considered your peers, though, you were not allowed to hurt more than they had hurt you. But for Moses and the Biblical tradition, the law applied to everyone. However, it’s not about vengeance or revenge like we usually interpret it. It’s not a bloodthirsty law. It’s a law meant to limit how much you can retaliate, to curtail violence rather than to encourage it. In ancient times, and not-so-ancient times, a small thing could quickly escalate into a large feud. Let’s say I get a paper cut due to someone’s negligence. Then, to “get them back,” I set out a thug to cut off their hand. And then they gather their friends to kill me, and then my friends go to kill their entire family. Escalation: the most famous instance of this in our country were the Hatfields and McCoys, where one injury led to a generational feud between their families. The Moses law was meant to limit that sort of violence, not encourage it. If you are hurt, you are only allowed to hurt the other person up to the injury you yourself received (Barclay 164). If I got a paper cut, I can only give a paper cut back. I don’t have to, though, and that’s part of the point. The law really is: only an eye for an eye, or at the most an eye for an eye, and not more.

But Jesus, this teacher from Nazareth, takes this law in a different direction. He says that if someone slaps you on the right cheek, let them slap your other cheek as well (5:39). Now, if a right-handed person (which would be assumed in this culture) wanted to slap you on the cheek, they would do it with the back of their hand, not the flat of their hand. In Jewish understanding, that was a huge insult, but even moreso to let them hit you again. But that’s what Jesus says to do. Let them strike your other cheek, too. Let them swing back and hit you again. Without retaliation, without response. Then he goes on to say that if someone takes your shirt, give them your coat also (5:40). The “shirt” is the long, inner garment all men wore, made of cotton or linen, while the “coat” was a heavier, outer garment that men wore as a robe during the day and used as a blanket at night. Most people in Jesus’ world would have had two shirts and one coat. It wasn’t like they could go to their closet and get a new one. If they lost their shirt, life would be very difficult. Losing the coat would make life even worse. In fact, Jewish law said that if you won someone’s coat in a bet, you could only keep it for the day. You had to return it at night so the man could cover up. A man’s coat could not be taken permanently. But Jesus says if someone takes your shirt, give them your coat as well. Don’t demand your rights. Give freely to everyone, even if it leaves you without.

And then, to push the boundaries further, he says this: “If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles” (5:41). The Romans had this law called “impressment,” which meant that a Roman soldier could require any person to carry his gear for one mile, but no more. We see this in the story of Jesus’ crucifixion, when they call upon Simon of Cyrene to carry Jesus’ cross because he’s no longer able to carry it by himself. They “impress” Simon into service; to say no could mean death (cf. Card, Matthew: The Gospel of Identity, pg. 59). But Jesus says if the soldier requires you to carry his gear for a mile, go ahead without complaining and carry it two miles. Now, a soldier could get in trouble for that. His commander could discipline him for having a person carry his pack more than he was allowed. You carrying the soldier’s pack for two miles meant the soldier was breaking the law. So, can you imagine a big burly Roman soldier trying to get a Christian to put his pack down so that he doesn’t get in trouble? “C’mon, man, put it down. Please? Pretty please?” Jesus is calling for extravagant service, for a heart that doesn’t focus on privilege or position, but is willing to give. Don’t retaliate, don’t demand your rights and give up their position. That’s Jesus’ message. Who is this man? And what kind of world is he calling for?

Just in case we didn’t get it yet, Jesus pushes even further: “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven” (5:43-45). Talk about meddling! Now he’s messing directly with the way we treat each other! But people haven’t changed that much in two millennia. It was natural then, just as it is now, for people to love those who love us and to hate those who hate us. Our neighbors, we think, are those who love us. Our enemies are those who hate us. It’s a clear and simple line; we don’t have to think too much about it, do we? In our personal lives, we may not label people as “enemies,”  though that language certainly has become popular in the political world these days. But even if we don’t use that language personally, there are folks we consider “enemies,” even if we don’t call them that. Think about the people you avoid, the people you don’t want to be around, the folks who have hurt you or spoken ill of you or done something to someone you love. Enemies aren’t just the “big, bad evil empire” far away. There are enemies we see every day. But you know what? Those enemies are children of God, just like you and me. They are made in God’s image just like we are. They are loved by the same God who loves us. And that’s why Jesus doesn’t say, “Put up with your enemies.” He says love your enemies and pray for those who hurt you, who persecute you, who say nasty things about you.

And the word he uses doesn’t just mean “like” or “tolerate,” which is the way we usually respond. The word is agape, which means love with no strings attached. You’ve heard that word before. It is usually described as the kind of love God has for us—love without conditions, love without limits. Our world treats love as an emotion, as a feeling, but this kind of love is an act of the will, a choice we make, a choice especially directed toward those who don’t like us. Jesus says that to love those who are like us or whom we like is no big deal (5:46). Dallas Willard put it this way: “Loving those who love us and lavishing care and honor on those of our own group is something that traitorous oppressors, the Mafia, and terrorists do. How, then, could that serve to distinguish the goodness of someone born into God’s family or the presence of a different kind of reality and life? Even those with no knowledge of God at all, ‘the gentiles,’ do it” (Willard, The Divine Conspiracy, pg. 182). Rather, agape is best seen in Jesus, being nailed to the cross, who prays, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). Who is this man? Doesn’t he know this is not the way the world works? Of course he does, and that’s just the point. The world works that way, but Jesus doesn’t, and “he does not call us to do what he did, but to be as he was, permeated with love” (Willard 183).

Now, though few of us are likely to be smacked on the cheek, we do deal with insults or at least perceived insults. How do we respond when those come our way, according to Jesus? We know how the world tends to respond. Revenge, get back at the other person, strike back, post about it on social media and make sure people are on your side rather than theirs. We learn to respond that way early on, and it continues throughout our lives. Politicians can’t seem to campaign these days on their own platform but rather spend all their time and energy and money tearing down the character and the ideas of their opponent. No one runs based on their own ideas anymore (cf. Hamilton, The Way, pg. 83). Advertisers do the same thing, spending more time telling you what’s wrong with the other product than they do telling you what’s right about theirs. So we learn, don't we? We learn that the approved way to handle others, to handle disagreements is to tear the other person down. But Jesus stands before us and asks if we’re doing the loving thing. Jesus, this crazy teacher from Nazareth, calls us to put aside retaliation and to put aside resentment. He calls us to choose love even in the face of hurt.

That’s why Jesus can come to the end of this section and say such an unlikely thing: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (5:48). He doesn’t mean perfection in terms of doing every action 100% correctly. He doesn’t mean getting an A+ on everything. The word for “perfect” is teleios, and it was used to describe someone who had become complete. For instance, it would be used to describe a full-grown person. You know, a child at ten years old is not teleios, because they have growing to do yet. By the time we are 21, we’ve grown as much as we’re going to, and therefore we’re teleios, complete. Or think of it this way: someone who is just beginning to study a particular topic is not teleios, but a person who has studied that topic for many years, who perhaps has an advanced degree in that field, can be considered teleios in that they have what they need to work or serve or even just grasp that topic (cf. Barclay 177). Jesus is calling us to become the person God intends us to be: complete, perfect in the sense of seeking to live this faith out in every area of life. It means, in terms of this passage, resisting revenge or retaliation, not striking back, loving the enemy. John Wesley talked about it in terms of Christian perfection. Wesley described it this way: “This it what it is to be perfect: to have a heart so all-flaming with the love of God that we offer every thought, word, and deed to God through Christ. In every thought of our hearts, in every word of our tongues, in every work of our hands we declare his praise, not our own. We lift up the one who has called us out of darkness into his marvelous light” (“A Plain Account of Christian Perfection,” my paraphrase). Then he added, “O that both we, and all who seek the Lord Jesus in sincerity, may thus be made perfect…” When we hear Jesus telling us to be perfect as the Father is perfect, we should hear it as a call to love without condition, to set our hearts on being so filled with God’s love that it just oozes out into the world around us. We envision a day when we approach every person and every situation with the love of God. That’s the kind of life Jesus is describing. That’s the kind of life Jesus lived.

What would the world be like if we lived this way? What if just Christians chose to live this way? Might the world become more “perfect”? Yet we struggle to live this way, no matter how much we protest otherwise. It happens every day in the way we treat others—those we know and those we don’t know. A good question for us at the end of the day would be this: did my choices today and the ways I treated others move me closer to or further away from Jesus? Am I more like him? Did I treat the check-out attendant, the teachers at my child’s school, the people ahead of me on the road, the neighbor and the noisy child at the doctor’s office with love or with contempt? Was I so intent on being right that I failed to be loving today?

So here’s the question: do I really want to live the way this Jesus calls me to live? Because he doesn’t present it’s as an option; it’s a command. And it's a radical one. As Biblical scholar Tom Wright points out, “No other god encourages people to behave in a way like this!” (Wright, Matthew for Everyone, Part One, pg. 51). For many years, the nation of South Africa was torn in two by the official policy of apartheid, where the white minority ruled often in brutal ways over the black majority. Many people suffered in untold ways, and one of the leaders of the resistance in that awful time was an Anglican pastor named Desmond Tutu. Tutu, it is said, radiated joy even in the midst of suffering, and he was often invited to speak at rallies opposing apartheid. Those were dangerous settings, and the air was tense as those who came to the rally were surrounded by hostile “peace keepers.” At one such rally, Tutu looked up and saw the police officers surrounding the crowd, and as they scowled at him, he smiled back at them, saying, “Since the love of Christ will ultimately prevail, we invite you to join the winning team!” (Ortberg 97). The love of Christ brought about an eventual revolution in that country, as it has in so many places.

That same love inspired the earliest Christians to share what they had with each other. That’s a radical idea for us, who are all about what we own and what we don’t. But the book of Acts gives witness to the ways the believers were “one in heart and mind” and how they “shared everything they had” (4:32). And the observation? “God’s grace was so powerfully at work in them all that there were no needy persons among them” (4:33-34). Where does that kind of life come from? Where does the personal transformation come from that causes that kind of life, that kind of love, that kind of sharing? It comes from this traveling preacher who wandered the hills of a remote part of the Roman Empire, who never wrote down what he taught but who invested it into believers who would live it out. Who is this man? He is the one who calls for a radical change in our lives, who calls us to an unlikely way of living in this world.

To remind us of that unlikely way of life, he gave us an unlikely practice. On the last night Jesus was with his disciples, he gathered them around the table for a meal. They had shared many meals together, and at least a couple of Passover meals, but this one was different. Jesus took this meal and turned it upside down. He changed the script, he upended the ritual and he gave the bread and the wine new meaning. Forever after, this meal would remind his followers of what true sacrificial agape love looks like. It looks like kneeling down and washing feet. It looks like loving your enemies, giving them your coat. It looks like Jesus, giving his life for the sake of each and every one of us. This morning, as we come to this table in the presence of this unlikely savior, will you allow this act to shape and mold you? Will you allow Jesus’ unlikely life to become the model for your own? This Lenten season, will you seek more fully to live out his teachings and impact the world with his agape love? Let's prepare our hearts as we come to the table this morning.