Failure to Love

Matthew 22:34-40

August 4, 2024 • Mount Pleasant UMC

It is no secret that we live in a fractured world. We live in a contentious world. We live in a world where people in Barcelona, Spain spent an afternoon throwing things at and yelling at tourists to go home because they didn’t want “them” in their city. It is an “us vs. them” world, and no part of life seems untouched by our divisiveness. We live in a nation where this upcoming election threatens to tear at the very fabric of who we are, and we’ve already lived through at least a decade now where politics and opinions have torn families, relationships, communities and even churches apart. We’ve had people leave here because of what they think my politics are, or what they believe the church’s politics are, or what they fear the church’s politics might become. We live in a fractured world.

We live in a fractured church. The United Methodist Church continues to live in the shadow and the aftermath of that word we had never heard before a couple of years ago: “disaffiliation.” There are still feelings of hurt and anger and bitterness and frustration over what did or did not happen at General Conference this year, what we think we had been told or promised, and how we fear the decisions about policies regarding human sexuality will or won’t affect our church. Even within Mount Pleasant, we are not of one mind. We live in a fractured time.

We also live in a world where the words of Jesus are still true and this prayer of Jesus still goes unanswered: “I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you” (John 17:20-21). That all of them may be one. Another way to say that would be: “that all of them may be whole.” The Hebrew language has a beautiful word that they use as a greeting and a wish for each and every person. The word is shalom, which some translate as “peace,” but which actually means “wholeness.” It means becoming and being who and what God wants you to be. For the next few weeks, as we head toward what will undoubtedly be a contentious election season, I want to explore what it might look like to become whole, to experience shalom. We’re calling this series “Mended,” because that is our hope and prayer: that as God’s people become whole, we will see the world, the church, and our culture become mended, more whole itself.

So during the last week of Jesus’ life, as Matthew tells it, a lot of different groups are coming to Jesus, trying to trick him into saying something he shouldn’t and trap him in his own words. Groups that normally would have nothing to do with each other have come together with a single, united goal: they want to get rid of Jesus of Nazareth. They’ve had enough of his disruptive ways. And so in this chapter, group after group come to Jesus, bringing questions and situations they want him to comment on. In the passage we’re focused on this morning, Jesus is confronted again by a group of Pharisees, experts in the law of God. The Pharisees counted 613 commandments in what we call the Old Testament, and they expected everyone to keep every one of those laws perfectly (cf. Card, Matthew: The Gospel of Identity, pg. 198). In fact, some people believed that if all of Israel kept all of the commands perfectly for a single day, the Messiah would come. Yet another reason Jesus could not be the Messiah: people around him weren’t keeping the law perfectly. I wonder if any of them remembered Jesus saying that he came to fulfill the law (cf. Matthew 5:17). Whether they did or not, on this day they send their best law expert to ask Jesus the question. And it’s a doozy. It’s complicated, as you might imagine. In fact, this question was the most actively debated question among rabbis of the time (cf. Card 198), and Jesus has been asked this question before. But here it comes again: “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” (22:36). Of all 613, which one is the most important?

Now, you see the catch here. Everyone likely had their favorite law. Mine, personally, is found in Exodus 23:19: “Do not cook a young goat in its mother’s milk.” I have never broken that law. Not once. That’s why it’s my favorite. But everyone then would have had their favorite. Different rabbis emphasized different laws as “the most important.” Different rabbis interpreted some of the laws differently. So Jesus is being asked to choose between various viewpoints among Jewish leaders of the time. He is inevitably going to make someone mad. No matter what he chooses, someone (probably several someones) will consider him wrong. Teacher, what is the greatest commandment?

Jesus is a genius. Well, of course he is. He is the Son of God, after all. But really, his response is a master class in answering critics. He begins by quoting a verse every Jew then and now would know. It’s the verse at the heart of their faith: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind” (22:37). Anything worth anything would have to both flow from and agree with that principle (Davis, Come Alive: Matthew, pg. 176). Love God with everything you are; Jesus says that is the first and greatest commandment, and number two is similar: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (22:39). And then he goes for the mic drop: “All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments” (22:40). In other words, if you don’t get this, all the rest of the 600 plus commands don’t matter. N. T. Wright says, “Jesus’ answer was so traditional that nobody could challenge him on it, and so deeply searching that everyone else would be challenged by it” (Matthew for Everyone—Part Two, pg. 93). Love God. Love people. Where have I heard that before? Someone should put that on a banner.

Some people think Jesus cheated; he was asked for “the greatest commandment” and he slipped in an extra. And while Jesus can certainly do that—he can do anything he wants—these really aren’t two separate commands. They are two sides of the same command. The command is to love, and the word there is agape. I’ve taught you this before: agape is one of four Greek words that we translate “love,” and it represents the kind of love God has for us. Unmerited, no strings attached, nothing you can do to earn it love. One author puts it this way: “Love here is a decision of the will where, after surrendering to God, you begin to adore God” (Davis 176). And not only is it the kind of love God has for us, it’s also the kind of love God asks us to have for each other. So we love God by loving the people around us, and when we love the people around us we are loving God. When we lovingly serve others with all of our heart, soul and mind, we are loving God with all of our heart, soul and mind. See how this works? It’s all intertwined. You can’t love God without loving others, and you can’t really truly love others without loving God. This is the heart of what it means to follow Jesus. This is the soul of what it means to live well in this world. This is the center of the Gospel.

So why, then, is the world so broken? Why are we so divided? Author Rich Villodas puts it this way: “If the greatest commandment given by Jesus is rooted in love, the greatest sin—and perhaps all sin—must in some way be the rejection of this command” (Good and Beautiful and Kind, pg. 4). In other words, the brokenness, the lack of shalom that we experience is because of sin which can, according to Jesus, be defined as a failure to love.

We don’t talk about sin much anymore. People don’t like to hear that word or be told that they are “sinners.” The whole idea currently has a negative connotation when in reality it’s simply a description of who and what we are. It’s a reality statement, not a judgment. And just “not talking about it” won’t make it go away. Now, it is true that there are corners of Christianity where the word “sin” is used in a manipulative way, as a way to try to control what people believe or watch or the choices they make (Villodas 5-7). Anything the group or leader doesn’t like is deemed “sin.” I knew of a Christian institution where, at one time, the boys could wear jeans but the girls could not. They had to wear skirts; to not do so was considered sinful. That’s manipulation. Or, in another instance, I knew a congregation who could not go to see movies in a theater but they could rent them at a video store (remember when we had those?). Manipulation. So in some ways we’ve swung the other way in reaction to such abuse. But, again, not talking about sin doesn’t make it go away.

Instead we need a better understanding of it. We can either define following Jesus as sin-avoidance, making our lists of do’s and don’ts and expecting everyone to measure up to our idea of right and wrong (and increasingly, that even includes our political opinions). This is the way of the Pharisee, and we can easily trick ourselves into believing that we are actually following Jesus when really we’re just following rules. Or we can define sin as a failure to love, a negation of love, and that following Jesus looks like love. According to Jesus, we live it out in our “love for God expressed in love for neighbor” (Villodas 8). In other words, we live it out as we live the way Jesus lived because no one ever lived a life of shalom like Jesus did.

I grew up thinking that sin was something I did, some wrong action I would take. I don’t know that anyone ever specifically said that to me, but I do know I spent a lot of time trying to do the “right thing.” I think I’ve said recently I’m a rule follower by nature, so rules and limits and legalities come easily to me. Somehow I would take whatever principles were taught in Sunday School and turn them into rules. I was the religious leader, standing on the street corner in Jesus’ story and praying, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people…” (Luke 18:9-14). I told you a few weeks ago that I have been the older brother in the story of the prodigal son: “I’ve never left home and yet I never got to have a party!” And do you know what happens to a rule follower when you break one of those rules? Some of you do, because you’ve been there. We turn inward. We listen to the voice inside that tells us how badly we’ve messed up. We turn away from others, and from the world, and focus on ourselves.

And do you know when the real sin begins? When we turn inward. When we turn away from others and from God. When we fail to love. Why is the world broken? Why is our culture fractured? It’s because of sin, but not necessarily like the TV preachers want you to think. It’s because we’ve failed to love God and we’ve failed to love others. Sin happens when we become closed off from others because when we are that way, we can’t carry out Jesus’ greatest commandment. The violence, the hatred, the anger and the apathy that fill our day-to-day lives are all because of sin. We have failed to love.

Democrats hate Republicans. The right despises the left. Families are split apart because of who they voted for or what stance they take on social issues. The rich look down on the poor and the haves ignore the have nots. Churches argue over issues of sexuality or social justice or even which Bible translation is the right one. Social media algorithms make sure we only see things that we already agree with and therefore we live in an echo chamber. Nationalism, racism, sexism, ageism and all the other isms take over our lives. We curve in on ourselves and begin to believe that only we are right. “Thank God that we are not like other people!” It’s all sin, and it’s sin that we cannot save ourselves from. Some people will say if we can just pass the right laws or elect the right people, then we will be saved. Do you remember what I tell you over and over again during election years? It’s that famous quote from Chuck Colson: “Salvation is not coming on Air Force One.” Legislation and government cannot save us. Others throw themselves into their work. If they can just do a good and lasting thing through their daily grind, surely that will overcome the brokenness. I can tell you pastors and church staff are especially vulnerable to this. But work cannot save us. Yet others think that if we just know more, learn more, educate ourselves, we can do better and be better. In the aftermath of the death of George Floyd, there was a huge push for education. Scores of books were published trying to help people understand systemic racism. I read a lot of them. There were workshops and listening sessions and study groups, all designed to help us overcome racism. And have things changed? Not really, because education cannot save us. Nothing we can do by ourselves will overcome sin because sin is rooted too deeply in us. Sin is a failure to love. Pastor Rich Villodas, again, says it wonderfully well: “The antidote for sin it not found by looking to the left or the right. It’s in a power outside of ourselves: the Cross of Christ” (19).

The hope for this broken, fractured world is the same that is has been for 2,000 years: the love of God as demonstrated by the cross of Jesus Christ. The cross is the supreme example of a love that would do anything in order to reach us. Jesus gave his life to bring shalom between God and humanity. And so shalom will only come and heal our land as we re-learn what it means to love God and to love people.

Those are themes we will continue to explore in the weeks to come. But right now, I want you to picture a scene on the night before Jesus went to that cross. He has gathered his friends and closest followers in a room on the edge of Jerusalem. They have gathered to celebrate the Passover meal, a day early because he will be crucified on the actual day. Sitting next to Jesus on one side was John, a disciple who had come to Jesus a while back with his brother James asking for positions of power, influence and importance when Jesus established his kingdom. Their request had sparked a whole lot of discussion and, honestly, arguments among the disciples as to which one of them was the greatest. Over there, at the side table, is Peter, who got a new name and was told he would be a leader of the disciples. That undoubtedly also sparked jealousy among the twelve. On the other side of Jesus was Judas, who had already agreed with the religious leaders that he would hand Jesus over to them at an opportune time. Some think Judas was trying to get Jesus to take action, and others think he might have been disappointed by Jesus’ refusal to battle the Romans. Whatever his motive, he has heard the same teaching as the others and engaged in the same ministry but has come to a different conclusion. He will betray Jesus this very night. And I don’t know if he was involved in the argument that night or not, but Luke says that first the disciples argued over which of them could possibly betray Jesus, then they argued over which one of them was the greatest (Luke 22:23-24). So if you’ve pictured a nice, quiet, da Vinci-painting dinner, you couldn’t be more wrong. This last supper was full of the same kind of people we know today: contentious, argumentative, disagreeable and broken. In other words, human.

And in the midst of that meal, in the midst of the arguments, in the midst of the betrayal and posturing, Jesus took simple symbols: bread and wine. One is his body, the other is his blood, both together are symbols of love and mercy and grace and hope. And so still today, 2,000 years later, we take these same symbols as reminders of God’s love. But these symbols weren’t meant to allow the disciples to curve inward and just remember how much God loved them as if it were somehow just for them and them alone. These symbols were meant to remind them of something else Jesus said that night: “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:34-35). It’s interesting that he called it a new command, because it was actually the same thing he had been telling everyone through his entire ministry. It was his answer any time anyone asked him how they should live. Love the Lord your God. Love your neighbor—your actual neighbor, your good neighbor and your rotten neighbor—love your neighbor as yourself. Love God. Love people. To do anything less is to miss the way of Jesus. By this—not by your church attendance, not by your knowledge of the Bible, not by the number of Christian t-shirts you wear or the Christian concerts you go to—by this, by the way you love, that’s how they will know you follow him. Love God. Love people. It’s that simple. And that hard.

So, as people seeking to follow the way of Jesus, let’s come to the table he has prepared for us. And may these symbols call you to love more deeply and help heal our broken world. Let’s pray.