Matthew 5:21-26
Today we’re moving into a new section of the Sermon on the Mount. After talking about the character of a disciple in the nine beatitudes, and about the vocation of disciples as salt and light, which Joe so beautifully captured last week, this week we move into the practical applications of the sermon to the everyday life of the disciple. If the Beatitudes were the preamble to the constitution of the kingdom, these next teachings of Jesus act as the amendments that outline a kingdom way of living.
One of the patterns that we will see in the Sermon over the next several weeks is another series of thesis-antithesis statements. Remember that the Beatitudes were set up in three sets of three, following a pattern of thesis-antithesis-synthesis. Now Jesus turns to a similar pattern when talking about his teaching in relationship to the Old Testament Law, the Law of Moses. Remember the setting of the Sermon–Moses went up on a mountain to receive the commandments from God, Jesus goes up on a mountain to give the law as God’s own Son. Jesus does not come to abolish the law of Moses, he comes to fulfill it by embodying it in his own person.
The pattern goes like this: “You have heard that it was said” (Jews in Galilee heard the law of Moses read aloud in the synagogue—that’s the thesis), “but I say to you” (Jesus provides the antithesis, not as a way of erasing the law, but intensifying it. What Jesus is doing here is not merely restating the law, but getting at its original intent. The law of Moses was designed to show Israel what it meant to be fully human. Jesus, the one who was fully human and fully divine, takes the old law and radicalizes it, shaking it down to the roots of the law’s intent (that’s what “radical” means—the base word “radix” means “root”—to be radical is not to be crazy, as we’ve often thought, but to be rooted). Jesus is rooted in the law, but he calls his disciples to live a life with a much deeper rootedness than the legalism of scribes and Pharisees. To put it another way, the law showed the people of Israel what they should avoid. Jesus shows them what they should embrace.
So, today we look at this first statement: “You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ Do not murder was one of the original ten commandments, you will recall. Murder destroys the humanness of another, thus the law of Moses minces no words about it. Murder is something to be avoided, which most of us are able to do. How many times have heard people say something like, “Well, what I did was bad, but at least I didn’t kill anyone!”
And yet while it’s clear that we should avoid murdering the body of another, Jesus radicalizes the old commandment and goes down to its root. “But I say to you, that if you are angry with a brother or sister you will be liable to judgment.” Jesus understood that the dehumanizing act of murder has its roots in the dehumanizing of another person through our anger. And not only does anger dehumanize the other, it dehumanizes us, too. Every time we decide to allow anger to smolder inside of us, we become less than fully human and we belittle ourselves.
Anger is the gateway drug of murder. If we allow anger to escalate in our lives, we begin to see everyone around us as less than human, and we express our contempt through ever escalating means with ever escalating consequences. If we’re angry, says Jesus, we’re liable to judgment—God’s judgment, certainly, but also an indictment of ourselves. If that anger moves to abusive language and insult, we may be liable to accusations of slander. In some translations, the word “raca” is used as an example of a first century insult. It literally means “airhead” but it’s also the sound someone makes before they spit. And if you’re angry enough to spit, then the fire that’s inside you may become all-consuming. The “hell of fire” that Jesus refers to here is the word “Gehenna,” which refers to the smoldering garbage dump outside of Jerusalem. Anger that burns inside of us turns us into nothing more than a smoking garbage heap that is a stench in the nostrils to others. Jesus’ point is pretty clear here—anger makes us look and act like hell!
But what leads to anger in the first place? Well, I would argue, as I think Jesus argued, that anger is the result of a failure to have a realistic picture of ourselves. Remember that Jesus begins the Sermon on the Mount with the beatitude, “blessed are the poor in spirit”—blessed are those who have denied or renounced themselves. Blessed are those who recognize their own weakness, vulnerability, and brokenness. Discipleship begins with humility.
Jesus begins with that beatitude because everything else emanates from that clear and honest sense of self. Until we have a clear sense of our own brokenness, we will always tend to focus on the brokenness of others—and anger is the usual means by which we do so.
When I was pastor in Park City, I once came into the office and noticed that someone had slipped a book into my office mailbox titled Leadership and Self-Deception. There was no note attached to the book or any indication of who had put it there. When I looked at the title, my first thought was—anger. I’m the leader, who has the gall to say I’m deceiving myself and do so anonymously? How dare they put this in my box! I quickly stuck the book on my shelf and forgot about it.
A couple of years later I was working on a sermon series on leadership and finishing well and came across the book again. This time I decided, grudgingly, to open it and read it. And then I couldn’t put it down.
The basic premise of Leadership and Self-Deception is this: that all of us have a problem and that problem is that we each have a tendency to believe that other peoples’ needs and desires are not as important as our own. The book calls that state of thinking “self deception” or, more graphically, being “in the box.”
When we’re “in the box” we are focused on self and others are seen as problems or as objects to be manipulated for our own purposes. From our boxes, we find it easy to blame others or we begin to believe that we deserve certain things that others just aren’t giving us. As a result, we become angry. The more we’re in the box, the angrier we get.
How do we get in the box? Well, it happens when we choose not to do the things we know we should do. Here’s a simple example: I come home from work and notice that the dishwasher is full and ready to be emptied. Now I’m confronted with a choice: I can simply empty the dishwasher, which is what I know deep down I can do and should do. Or, I can choose to leave it full. Now, why would I do that? Well, maybe it’s because I did it last time. Or maybe it’s because my spouse was home all day and “should have” done it. After all, what else did she have to do? Or that my kids are too lazy and maybe they should do it. Suddenly, I’m no longer thinking of the other people in my house as people with their own plans and agendas, their own busy lives. I’ve suddenly made it all about me. I’ve put myself firmly in the box. And when I’m in the box, my biggest problem is that I don’t realize that I’m the problem. I blame others, but I’m really betraying myself. And the worst part of it all? I chose to be in that box without even realizing it.
See, when I’m in the box I can wind up inflating others’ faults, inflating my own virtue, and inflating the value of the things that justify my self-betrayal. In other words, I’ll make a bigger deal out of my “busyness” or the need to teach the others a lesson. Lastly, I’ll blame them for the whole situation in the first place. Now, that seems like a lot of work…probably more than emptying the dishwasher, eh?
Now put that on a macro level—is a lot of the anger and vitriol that is poured out every day in our own country and community largely the result of people being in their own boxes, individually and collectively claiming their rights and needs? Is it the result of people looking at leaders and politicians as less than human? Is it the result of a failure of a large majority of people in a consumerist culture to have an attitude of servanthood and humility because they are so self-focused that they want it all and want it now and to hell with those who stand in theway?
Anger is the result of believing that the world owes me something, that the world revolves around me and my purposes. Anger is the result of seeing others as being less important than myself—seeing them as less than human. Anger is the result of believing that all of my problems have external causes. Anger lashes outward at others without paying attention to what’s going on inside ourselves.
Our biggest problem is that we don’t know we’re in the box. As the old comic strip Pogo said so brilliantly years ago: We have met the enemy, and he is us!
I don’t know to this day who put that book in my mailbox, but as I read it I began to realize that it was, indeed, about me. The biggest pitfall of leadership is believing that everyone else exists to serve me and my purposes. Clergy can be some of the angriest people you’ll ever meet because we somehow believe that if everyone else would just get their act together the church wouldn’t be in such a mess. Many of the clergy that I know are always at war with their congregations, seeing them as an obstacle to be overcome rather than a collection of people with their own brokenness and their own boxes. This book, and the words of Jesus, called me to repent. I’m still thankful every day for that not-so-subtle reminder.
Jesus calls us to come out of the box, to let go of our anger and embrace a different way—the way of reconciliation. Remember, “blessed are the peacemakers?” Well, here it is in action. In fact, Jesus says that reconciliation is even more important than worship. Look at verse 23. “So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift at the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister and then come and offer your gift.”
Now, context is important here. Remember that Jesus is speaking to people in Galilee. The “altar” was the altar of the Temple in Jerusalem, more than a hundred miles away. Galilean Jews traveled to Jerusalem at least three times a year to make sacrifices at the Temple for the forgiveness of sins. Imagine making that journey of several days, walking up to the altar and then saying, “Oh no, I can’t do this until I’m reconciled with James or with Mary,” and then leaving your sacrificial animal there at the altar and making the hundred mile plus trek all the way back to make things right. Jesus may be exaggerating for effect here, but the point is pretty clear. The cure for anger is getting outside your box and going to whatever lengths it takes to engage the other.
We do this on a smaller scale in our communion liturgy. That’s what “passing the peace” is all about. In the invitation to communion we say, “Christ invites to his table all who love him, who earnestly repent of their sin, and who seek to live at peace with one another.” The passing of the peace provides an opportunity for those in the church who may be in conflict to be reconciled with each other before they come to the altar to receive the body and blood of Christ who died for us all, even for the ones whose anger and hatred put him on the cross.
When disciples are wrong, they admit it. The respond to anger not by escalation, but by engagement. Disciples don’t think first about going to court to assert their rights, they first try to mend the relationship. In verses 25-26, Jesus talks about coming to terms quickly with your accuser outside of court. Sort it out before it gets that far, or you may wind up paying the consequences. Take the initiative to mend the relationship. Move toward the conflict and away from anger. Get out of the box
Now some will certainly ask about righteous anger. After all, didn’t Jesus himself turn over the tables in the Temple? Indeed he did, but he did so as an acted parable of judgment on the Temple—not his own judgment out of his own anger, but as God’s own messiah. God would be the one to judge the Temple, and God’s Son does so on that day as a foreshadowing of what was to come.
JUDGMENT
That leads us to another point in the Sermon that’s connected to anger—that of judgment. Flip over to chapter 7, verses 1-5. “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged. For with the judgment you make you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get.” Now, this text has been abused quite a bit, suggesting that humans should in no way judge one another. The truth is, however, that a certain measure of judgment keeps us in community. As parents, we judge the misbehavior of our children out of a sense of love and correction for them. Jesus himself would encourage people in his church to discipline and correct each other, as in chapter 18 where Jesus encourages disciples to confront those who sin.
But while we are to hold one another accountable, the ultimate judgment comes from God. The judgment Jesus speaks of here in chapter 7 is when we deem someone else to be less than human and under divine contempt. We do this kind of thing when we’re angry—“Go to hell” we scream or, more subtly, when we make a claim that such and such person is bound for hell. We don’t get to make that kind of judgment, which is always evidence that we’re in the box. When we make judgments about the eternal destiny of someone else, we’re taking on the role of God, and Jesus says that we can expect the ultimate judgment on ourselves for doing so. That was the first human sin, you will recall—believing that we can play God ourselves.
No, we hold one another accountable, but we always do so with a deep sense of humility because we know our own brokenness. Jesus says in 7:3-5 that we should take the log out of our own eye before we try to remove the speck in the eye of the other. We need to recognize our own stuff before we can hold someone else accountable.
You know, I think Jesus’ teaching here is a real indictment on what the church has become. We are angry people. Maybe we don’t hold up signs on the street corner, but we do hold grudges. We may not be murderers, but we easily commit character assassination on those with whom we disagree. We’re pretty good at railing at what we’re against, but virtually silent on the things we should be for. We love to pronounce self-righteous judgment, but we are lousy at admitting our own weakness.
One of the authors that Joe and I both like to read is a young guy named Donald Miller. In his book Blue Like Jazz he tells the story of a time when he was a student and campus ministry leader at Reed College in Oregon, a highly intellectual and secular school that Princeton Review called “the college where students are most likely to ignore God.”
Each year, Reed College has something called “Ren Fayre,” where the campus shuts down so the students can party. Campus security keeps the authorities away so that the students can get drunk and naked as they want to.
It was in the midst of an upcoming Ren Fayre that Miller and some of his Christian friends were talking about how they could let people know there were at least a few Christians on campus. As a joke, Don suggested that they should build a confession booth in the middle of campus with a sign on it that said, “Confess Your Sins” because a lot of students would certainly be sinning. But one of his friends, Tony, started to get a look in his eye.
Tony started to think outside the box, and proposed that they actually do it—actually make a confession booth, but with a significant change. “We’re not actually going to accept confessions,” he said. “We’re going to confess to them. We are going to confess that, as followers of Jesus, we have not been very loving; we have been bitter, and for that we are sorry. We will apologize for the Crusades, we will apologize for televangelists, we will apologize for neglecting the poor and the lonely, we will ask them to forgive us, and we will tell them that in our selfishness, we have misrepresented Jesus on this campus. We will tell people who come into the booth that Jesus loves them."
Don Miller says that everyone was silent, but everyone believed deeply that it would be a good thing to do. Says Miller, “I wanted so desperately to apologize for the many ways I had misrepresented the Lord. I could feel that I had betrayed the Lord by judging, by not being willing to love the people he had loved and only giving lip service to issues of human rights. For so much of my life I had been defending Christianity because I thought to admit that we had done any wrong was to discredit the religious system as a whole. But it isnt a religious system; it is people following Christ. And the important thing to do, the right thing to do, was to apologize for getting in the way of Jesus…”
“Jesus said to feed the poor and to heal the sick. I have never done very much about that. Jesus said to love those who persecute me. I tend to lash out, especially if I feel threatened, you know, if my ego gets threatened. Jesus did not mix his spirituality with politics. I grew up doing that. It got in the way of the central message of Christ. I know that was wrong, and I know that a lot of people will not listen to the words of Christ because people like me, who know him, carry our own agendas into the conversation rather than just relaying the message Christ wanted to get across. Theres a lot more, you know.”
Jake, a student, heard Don’s confession at the booth that day, and said, with tears in his eyes, “I forgive you…It’s really cool what you guys are doing. A lot of people need to hear this.”
Yeah, a lot of people do.
Jesus calls us to get out of the box, to treat people as beloved images of God, to see them as fully human, to stop making judgments and start making friends, to replace anger with love.
Who do you need to confess to today? What log do you need to remove out of your own eye in order to see people differently? How will you step out of the box?
