Kill or be killed?
Commentary
Object:
Gilbert and Sullivan, the dynamic duo of the stage, created fun-filled musicals and light
operas a generation ago, giving high school drama departments and community theaters
plenty of material to dazzle and delight. Their names always appeared in tandem on the
programs. It was as if they were a married couple. Indeed, much of their career felt like
that. It was only right that their names be wedded together in common speech.
At the height of their success they even purchased a theater together so they could exert full creative control over their new works. Then came the nasty disagreement. Sullivan ordered the installation of new carpets. When the bill arrived, Gilbert hit the roof at the cost and refused to share in payment. They argued and fought about it and finally took the case to court. A legal judgment settled the claim, but it did nothing to heal the breach between them.
These grown men never spoke to one another again as long as they lived. When Sullivan wrote the music for a new production he would mail it to Gilbert. Then, when Gilbert finished the libretto, he would post it back to Sullivan again.
One time, they were requested to make a curtain call together. Although they normally refused such things because of their ongoing animosity, this time it was a benefit honoring their joint work, and they couldn't get out of it with grace. So they stayed at opposite sides backstage, entered from the far edges of the curtain, ensured that there were props in between them so that they could not see one another on the platform, and waved in isolation to opposite portions of the gathered audience.
Gilbert quarantined Sullivan in the prison of his mind, and Sullivan banished Gilbert from his social continent. Eventually they each became wardens for the prison of the other. Yet, like the guards who traveled to Australia on the first convict ships, it became apparent all too soon that there was little difference between the jailer and the jailed. Both came ashore onto a deserted island in the middle of an alien sea with no way to escape.
We are social creatures who cannot live in isolation. Yet, because of the sin and stupidity that trouble our human condition, we do not live well with those around us. The German philosopher, Schopenhauer, compared us to porcupines trying to nest together on a cold winter's night. We crouch toward one another because we need the heat of other bodies to survive. Yet the closer we huddle, the more we prick each other with our porcupine quills. Today's lectionary passages probe that conflict. When "Israel" was created as a nation in the original Passover, a brooding tempest of resentment roiled that has spilled over in ethnic bloodshed ever since. Paul, in his letter to the Romans, tries to steer Christians through the tumultuous seas of social chaos. As Jesus indicates in the gospel reading, each of us must deal with problems of social tension on a personal level, for it is most often those who are closest to us, our "brother" or our "sister," who feel the pain of our presence and we theirs.
Exodus 12:1-14
There are defining moments in every life. These are the occasions when identity is up for grabs and at least several strong contenders vie to acquire the rights to our purpose and values. We are at a crossroads, either as individuals or societies. We could go left. We might go right. The road ahead, with its sameness, may numb us into continuing as we are. Or the trackless hills beckon to vistas we had never considered before, off the highway completely. Even a valley, with its cool death of defeat, is a lure to our spirits.
Which way will we go? What pressures will force us, what attractions will draw us, what opportunities for redefinition will entice us?
Today's lectionary reading from Exodus 12 is the greatest defining moment in the life of ancient Israel. Everything changes after this point. Nothing remains the same. Suddenly, in the space of twelve hours, the path ahead is blocked and discontinuity demands a new identity. From this point forward, for thousands of generations, those who attach themselves to this small community of slaves, either by historical accidents of ethnicity or through faith commitments that rearrange international religious boundaries, will breathe a single word and it will shimmer as a paradigm-shifting talisman: Passover!
There are a number of levels of significance to that term. First, "Passover" contains memories of an action of divine intervention in Egyptian and Israelite history. The unique sociological role of the firstborn male was given new religious significance. Whereas the firstborn son was typically the recipient of the primary hereditary blessing, it was also this person's lot to carry on the family name, values, and traditions. Suddenly, in a single, decisive act, Egyptian culture was cut off. All who were supposed to receive the cultural mandate of continuity within the communities along the never-changing Nile were instantly set adrift, and all ties to the past were severed. In effect, Egypt died that night and could only hope to go into the future by reinventing itself. The standardized umbilical cord had been lopped as the destroying angel flew through, and old Egypt was gone. At the same time, this very act of discontinuity produced a new version of Israel. Previously, she was the identity-less under-caste of Egyptian society, working behind the scenes without voice or recognition; now, suddenly, she became an entire firstborn nation sired by Yahweh and heir to land and purpose and meaning and destiny that were being thrust upon her. In the Passover event, society was turned upside-down, so that the "haves" ceased to exist, and the "have-nots" became the defining oligarchy of a new civilization that was not merely gaining notoriety through revolution or comeuppance through evolution, but rather replacing human valuation systems with a divinely re- imposed social ordering.
Second, "Passover" redefined time for Israel. "This month is to be for you the first month, the first month of your year," said Yahweh (v. 2). Thus Israel was to explain the meaning of life by this event of release. Although the act of release from tyranny is not unusual in national celebrations ("Cinco de Mayo" in Mexico, for instance, or the American or Russian Revolutions, or "Bastille Day" and the French Revolution), what made this event unique is that all of time itself was to be reordered as originating from this day. It was the new way to think about the structure of daily life and the cycle of the seasons. This Passover redefined more than a nation; it was the new cosmology for understanding existence.
Third, "Passover" brought judgment and grace together in a strange way that would linger with Hebrew religion and Judaism and Christianity and Islam in an unending paradox. "We" become the favored people only because "they" are killed by God. Although "we" are probably not worthy, "they" were clearly in the wrong and deserved to be slaughtered. Each future branch of this religious tree would deal with this psychological conundrum in differing ways. Israel would presume on the "most favored nation" status and lose its religious moorings through ritual pride. Judaism would become self-doubting and introspective, believing that it retained a unique relationship with Yahweh, but was perplexed by the holy one's increasing silence and seeming forgetfulness of the passionate beginnings of their partnership. Christianity would package the problem of judgment's symbiotic twinship with grace into a new understanding of messianic mediatorship, combining both in the person of Jesus Christ. And Islam would declare that the lines between the chosen and the not-chosen remain clear throughout history, affirming divine vengeance as a necessary corollary to Allah's graciousness to some.
Romans 13:8-14
In the last chapters of his letter to the Romans, Paul outlined general principles of Christian social behavior. First, he urged a lifestyle of service rooted in sacrifice to Jesus, shaped by spiritual giftedness, and energized by love (Romans 12). Then Paul made this servant behavior specific by nodding to its public expressions (Romans 13). Finally, Paul revisited the issues surrounding the matter of the purchase and consumption of meat offered to idols (Romans 14:1--15:13), just has he had probed it in 1 Corinthians 8:1-- 11:1.
Paul's letter addressed a couple of specific issues -- the nature of civil government, for instance (13:1-7), and a rehearsal of the ethical options available in a community where faith seemed to come in differing strengths (14:1--15:13). But mostly he painted in vibrant colors the character of moral choices in a world that is compromised and broken. Darkness and light are the key metaphors. Evil has wrapped a blanket of pain and harm around all that takes place in the human arena. Jesus is the brilliant light of God, penetrating earth's atmosphere with grace and reconciliation. Because of his physical departure at the ascension, Jesus' followers now must step in and become 10,000 points of light, restoring relationships and renewing meaning. The key element in this witness is love. Jesus is great, and because of our connection with him, we can be, too. Not for our own sakes, of course, but in the eschatological hope that we already participate in the world of tomorrow today. That is why Christianity is the religion of the dawn, and its adherents are ambassadors of love.
Matthew 18:15-20
Jesus' words to his disciples in Matthew 18 about conflict resolution and forgiveness are wonderful on paper. We read them and nod with understanding and trust. Yet they are some of the most difficult words of challenge that face us anywhere in scripture. Jesus outlines a strategy for addressing our troubled relationships with one another. It is important to follow him down this difficult path in our attempts to restore relational glue to our fractured worlds, for the alternatives are much more destructive.
First, Jesus reminds us that we have to make the process of restoration a very personal matter. When we are hurt and when our pride has been damaged we often become vindictive and belligerent. We charge about and spew venom and seek to build polarized communities of those who are for "us" against "them." The weapon of response most readily available to us is gossip and rumor. If I can send a toxic word to poison the atmosphere around the person who has hurt me, I hold a new advantage over her or him. In so doing, of course, I demote the other person from humankind and relegate her or him to animal status or lower. She is no longer my equal; she is a slut or a witch or a bimbo. He has become a pariah or a jackass or a scoundrel.
When my friend becomes my enemy, I feel the need to degrade him or her until they no longer deserve respect and have ceased to be bound with me by the rules of gentlemanly conduct or even the combat and prisoner of war stipulations of the Geneva Convention. Then I can blast them with excessive force and hit below the belt.
Second, Jesus challenges us to keep these matters under the eye of the community. It is hard for us to think communally in our highly individualized societies, yet this is precisely what we need to do. To keep these matters under the eye of the community means to place ourselves in submission to at least some form of group identity. This is not easy. Our consumerist way of life constantly tells us that all of reality revolves around us, our tastes and schedules and desires. In stark contrast, to enter a community means that I give up some of my personal agenda for the sake of the greater good.
We cannot claim fidelity with God and at the same time play cavalierly in our daily relations with those around us. Each person and each congregation will have to be part of the process of determining how the community and its leadership will invest in reconciliation and restoration.
If we know this, then when we experience tension and broken bonds with someone else in the community, it is not ours or theirs to resolve in isolation. The community itself has a stake in all lives and their interactions. Therefore, says Jesus, it is absolutely imperative that we engage the power of the community in addressing the hurts that affect any of its members. Failing to do so does not so much destroy community as it does isolate us from it. We become impoverished when we think we have all the resources to force others into obedience to our way of thinking or living.
One more thing that becomes apparent in Jesus' teaching is that the entire emotional content of our relational difficulties needs to be reframed. Jesus says that our goal is to have a brother restored. Moreover, if that does not happen through our own initiatives and those of the community, the outcome must be that we treat the other person in the broken relationship as if he were a "pagan or a tax collector."
These designations sound ominous to us. They are off-putting to our sensibilities of associating with "nice" people. But we need to recall that Jesus was accused of spending too much time with tax collectors and sinners. To treat people in this manner is not to throw stones at them or to turn away in disgust. Rather it is a call to re-engage with them as those whom God is seeking and saving.
When Bill Hybels was a college student in Iowa, he had a roommate who trained his pet dog to growl whenever the town mayor's name was mentioned. No matter what might be happening at any time, if someone happened to say the mayor's name in passing, the little mutt would bristle and growl.
So it is with each of us, when relationships have become strained or undone by someone's carelessness, craft, or calumny. We bristle and growl. In the middle of other conversations, the name might be mentioned and we can feel our stomachs tighten and our breath catch. There is an autonomic response that drives us to pain and frustration.
Only if we can somehow reframe the other person's image in our senses as a "pagan or tax collector" -- that is, someone who needs to experience the grace of God -- can we still the inner growls and get the beast of our hatred to stop bristling. It is only then that we can hear Jesus saying, "You have gained again your sister. You have found again your brother." And something in the world smells sweeter because of it.
Application
Thomas Merton, when writing about the religious community with which he spent many years, noted that every prospective participant was initially brought in and made to stand in the center of a circle formed by current members. There he was asked by the abbot, "What do you come seeking?"
The answers varied, of course, in line with the individual's recent experiences. Some said, "I come seeking a deeper relationship with God." Others were more pragmatic: "I desire to become more disciplined in my practices of life." And there were always a few who were simply running away: "I hope to find solace from the world and refuge from the problems that have plagued me."
Merton said that there was really only one answer, which all needed to voice before they could take up residence. "I need mercy!" was the true cry of the heart. "I need mercy!"
Merton said that any other answer betrayed our prideful assertion of self-determination. We wanted, we planned, we were running away from, we desired ... But the person who knew his need of mercy had stepped out of the myopic circle of self-interest long enough to begin to see the fragile interdependence of all who were taken into the larger fellowship of faith. We cannot create community, for it does not revolve around us. We can only enter community or receive it as a gift. Hence, we need mercy in order to walk through its door.
This, of course, is the message of the lectionary texts today. Israel was created out of an act of mercy that she would forever remember in the Passover. Paul saw mercy as the public show of redemptive love. And Jesus announced that the antagonisms of our world can only truly find redemptive conclusion in the mercy of forgiveness.
Alternative Application
Matthew 18:15-20. Today's gospel reading is always good to preach on its own. After the tragedy of September 11, 2001, our nation experienced something of intentional, projected dehumanization. Those who hijacked the planes, according to many speeches and articles, were not humans but terrorists. They did not play by the rules. They did not value life as we did. They were schooled in barbarianism. For all these reasons and others like them our nation uttered cries for vengeance, many of which exceeded limits of human respect. It was General Philip Sheridan who gave us the striking reflection in 1869 that "The only good Indian is a dead Indian." Post 9/11 there were many voices that seemed to echo his advice in the new and painful context.
However, Jesus demands that we keep our hurting relationship and all its parties personal. "If your brother sins against you go and show him his fault, just between the two of you." This instruction strips me of my most destructive weapons and forces me to rehumanize the very one from whom my heart wants to pull away in disgust. Jesus does not claim it will be an easy thing to do. No psychologist would pretend the process is a lark, or carries us along like a carnival ride. Hurt is painful, and so is restoration.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 149
The very words, "Praise the Lord," have, in some circles, taken on a tone of mockery and scorn. In certain quarters, one can hear the high nasal satiric voice as it bleats out the opening words to this psalm. "Praaaise the Lorrrrd!" It's true. Making fun of Christian faith is quite fashionable these days. From comedians to songwriters to self-proclaimed spiritual-but-not-religious folk a steady stream of ridicule flows unabated.
The taunting disrespect comes for a lot of reasons. It is aimed at hypocritical television preachers who are quick to judge the moral turpitude of others, only to themselves be found severely wanting. It is leveled at religious institutions that are far more engaged in the maintenance of the institution than in actually praising the Lord. Yes, the mockery comes from many places, but it is generated by what the world clearly sees as a religious community unable to live up to its own teachings.
Maybe, as this psalm suggests, it's time to sing a "new song." Perhaps this song brings with it the melody of humility, tolerance, and hope. How does it go? Could there be harmonies of forgiveness, grace, and openness? What's the beat? Is it the rhythm of generosity and peace? Does it have a backbeat of compassion and justice?
There's no question about it. Listening to the rising tide of critique and outright condemnation of Christian faith raises the hackles. Yet, if honesty prevails, it must be admitted that much of the negative energy directed at the Christian community is richly deserved. We have not lived by the teachings of Jesus. We have not stood up for the poor and the weak. We are not good at loving our enemies, and we do not make a real great showing at offering forgiveness. We have uttered empty pious judgments and held to legalistic rulings while grace has been discarded and left behind. And we have looked the other way while people waving the cross of Christ have used his name for economic and political gain.
Yes indeed. It is time to sing a new song. But let the song come, not as a way to stem the tide of criticism. Let it come instead as a true and powerful symphony of praise to the holy creating God of Israel! Let this new song call the "assembly" to faithfulness and the leaders to integrity and passion. Let the notes of new life pour forth as the whole community joins with one voice to sing a new song.
At the height of their success they even purchased a theater together so they could exert full creative control over their new works. Then came the nasty disagreement. Sullivan ordered the installation of new carpets. When the bill arrived, Gilbert hit the roof at the cost and refused to share in payment. They argued and fought about it and finally took the case to court. A legal judgment settled the claim, but it did nothing to heal the breach between them.
These grown men never spoke to one another again as long as they lived. When Sullivan wrote the music for a new production he would mail it to Gilbert. Then, when Gilbert finished the libretto, he would post it back to Sullivan again.
One time, they were requested to make a curtain call together. Although they normally refused such things because of their ongoing animosity, this time it was a benefit honoring their joint work, and they couldn't get out of it with grace. So they stayed at opposite sides backstage, entered from the far edges of the curtain, ensured that there were props in between them so that they could not see one another on the platform, and waved in isolation to opposite portions of the gathered audience.
Gilbert quarantined Sullivan in the prison of his mind, and Sullivan banished Gilbert from his social continent. Eventually they each became wardens for the prison of the other. Yet, like the guards who traveled to Australia on the first convict ships, it became apparent all too soon that there was little difference between the jailer and the jailed. Both came ashore onto a deserted island in the middle of an alien sea with no way to escape.
We are social creatures who cannot live in isolation. Yet, because of the sin and stupidity that trouble our human condition, we do not live well with those around us. The German philosopher, Schopenhauer, compared us to porcupines trying to nest together on a cold winter's night. We crouch toward one another because we need the heat of other bodies to survive. Yet the closer we huddle, the more we prick each other with our porcupine quills. Today's lectionary passages probe that conflict. When "Israel" was created as a nation in the original Passover, a brooding tempest of resentment roiled that has spilled over in ethnic bloodshed ever since. Paul, in his letter to the Romans, tries to steer Christians through the tumultuous seas of social chaos. As Jesus indicates in the gospel reading, each of us must deal with problems of social tension on a personal level, for it is most often those who are closest to us, our "brother" or our "sister," who feel the pain of our presence and we theirs.
Exodus 12:1-14
There are defining moments in every life. These are the occasions when identity is up for grabs and at least several strong contenders vie to acquire the rights to our purpose and values. We are at a crossroads, either as individuals or societies. We could go left. We might go right. The road ahead, with its sameness, may numb us into continuing as we are. Or the trackless hills beckon to vistas we had never considered before, off the highway completely. Even a valley, with its cool death of defeat, is a lure to our spirits.
Which way will we go? What pressures will force us, what attractions will draw us, what opportunities for redefinition will entice us?
Today's lectionary reading from Exodus 12 is the greatest defining moment in the life of ancient Israel. Everything changes after this point. Nothing remains the same. Suddenly, in the space of twelve hours, the path ahead is blocked and discontinuity demands a new identity. From this point forward, for thousands of generations, those who attach themselves to this small community of slaves, either by historical accidents of ethnicity or through faith commitments that rearrange international religious boundaries, will breathe a single word and it will shimmer as a paradigm-shifting talisman: Passover!
There are a number of levels of significance to that term. First, "Passover" contains memories of an action of divine intervention in Egyptian and Israelite history. The unique sociological role of the firstborn male was given new religious significance. Whereas the firstborn son was typically the recipient of the primary hereditary blessing, it was also this person's lot to carry on the family name, values, and traditions. Suddenly, in a single, decisive act, Egyptian culture was cut off. All who were supposed to receive the cultural mandate of continuity within the communities along the never-changing Nile were instantly set adrift, and all ties to the past were severed. In effect, Egypt died that night and could only hope to go into the future by reinventing itself. The standardized umbilical cord had been lopped as the destroying angel flew through, and old Egypt was gone. At the same time, this very act of discontinuity produced a new version of Israel. Previously, she was the identity-less under-caste of Egyptian society, working behind the scenes without voice or recognition; now, suddenly, she became an entire firstborn nation sired by Yahweh and heir to land and purpose and meaning and destiny that were being thrust upon her. In the Passover event, society was turned upside-down, so that the "haves" ceased to exist, and the "have-nots" became the defining oligarchy of a new civilization that was not merely gaining notoriety through revolution or comeuppance through evolution, but rather replacing human valuation systems with a divinely re- imposed social ordering.
Second, "Passover" redefined time for Israel. "This month is to be for you the first month, the first month of your year," said Yahweh (v. 2). Thus Israel was to explain the meaning of life by this event of release. Although the act of release from tyranny is not unusual in national celebrations ("Cinco de Mayo" in Mexico, for instance, or the American or Russian Revolutions, or "Bastille Day" and the French Revolution), what made this event unique is that all of time itself was to be reordered as originating from this day. It was the new way to think about the structure of daily life and the cycle of the seasons. This Passover redefined more than a nation; it was the new cosmology for understanding existence.
Third, "Passover" brought judgment and grace together in a strange way that would linger with Hebrew religion and Judaism and Christianity and Islam in an unending paradox. "We" become the favored people only because "they" are killed by God. Although "we" are probably not worthy, "they" were clearly in the wrong and deserved to be slaughtered. Each future branch of this religious tree would deal with this psychological conundrum in differing ways. Israel would presume on the "most favored nation" status and lose its religious moorings through ritual pride. Judaism would become self-doubting and introspective, believing that it retained a unique relationship with Yahweh, but was perplexed by the holy one's increasing silence and seeming forgetfulness of the passionate beginnings of their partnership. Christianity would package the problem of judgment's symbiotic twinship with grace into a new understanding of messianic mediatorship, combining both in the person of Jesus Christ. And Islam would declare that the lines between the chosen and the not-chosen remain clear throughout history, affirming divine vengeance as a necessary corollary to Allah's graciousness to some.
Romans 13:8-14
In the last chapters of his letter to the Romans, Paul outlined general principles of Christian social behavior. First, he urged a lifestyle of service rooted in sacrifice to Jesus, shaped by spiritual giftedness, and energized by love (Romans 12). Then Paul made this servant behavior specific by nodding to its public expressions (Romans 13). Finally, Paul revisited the issues surrounding the matter of the purchase and consumption of meat offered to idols (Romans 14:1--15:13), just has he had probed it in 1 Corinthians 8:1-- 11:1.
Paul's letter addressed a couple of specific issues -- the nature of civil government, for instance (13:1-7), and a rehearsal of the ethical options available in a community where faith seemed to come in differing strengths (14:1--15:13). But mostly he painted in vibrant colors the character of moral choices in a world that is compromised and broken. Darkness and light are the key metaphors. Evil has wrapped a blanket of pain and harm around all that takes place in the human arena. Jesus is the brilliant light of God, penetrating earth's atmosphere with grace and reconciliation. Because of his physical departure at the ascension, Jesus' followers now must step in and become 10,000 points of light, restoring relationships and renewing meaning. The key element in this witness is love. Jesus is great, and because of our connection with him, we can be, too. Not for our own sakes, of course, but in the eschatological hope that we already participate in the world of tomorrow today. That is why Christianity is the religion of the dawn, and its adherents are ambassadors of love.
Matthew 18:15-20
Jesus' words to his disciples in Matthew 18 about conflict resolution and forgiveness are wonderful on paper. We read them and nod with understanding and trust. Yet they are some of the most difficult words of challenge that face us anywhere in scripture. Jesus outlines a strategy for addressing our troubled relationships with one another. It is important to follow him down this difficult path in our attempts to restore relational glue to our fractured worlds, for the alternatives are much more destructive.
First, Jesus reminds us that we have to make the process of restoration a very personal matter. When we are hurt and when our pride has been damaged we often become vindictive and belligerent. We charge about and spew venom and seek to build polarized communities of those who are for "us" against "them." The weapon of response most readily available to us is gossip and rumor. If I can send a toxic word to poison the atmosphere around the person who has hurt me, I hold a new advantage over her or him. In so doing, of course, I demote the other person from humankind and relegate her or him to animal status or lower. She is no longer my equal; she is a slut or a witch or a bimbo. He has become a pariah or a jackass or a scoundrel.
When my friend becomes my enemy, I feel the need to degrade him or her until they no longer deserve respect and have ceased to be bound with me by the rules of gentlemanly conduct or even the combat and prisoner of war stipulations of the Geneva Convention. Then I can blast them with excessive force and hit below the belt.
Second, Jesus challenges us to keep these matters under the eye of the community. It is hard for us to think communally in our highly individualized societies, yet this is precisely what we need to do. To keep these matters under the eye of the community means to place ourselves in submission to at least some form of group identity. This is not easy. Our consumerist way of life constantly tells us that all of reality revolves around us, our tastes and schedules and desires. In stark contrast, to enter a community means that I give up some of my personal agenda for the sake of the greater good.
We cannot claim fidelity with God and at the same time play cavalierly in our daily relations with those around us. Each person and each congregation will have to be part of the process of determining how the community and its leadership will invest in reconciliation and restoration.
If we know this, then when we experience tension and broken bonds with someone else in the community, it is not ours or theirs to resolve in isolation. The community itself has a stake in all lives and their interactions. Therefore, says Jesus, it is absolutely imperative that we engage the power of the community in addressing the hurts that affect any of its members. Failing to do so does not so much destroy community as it does isolate us from it. We become impoverished when we think we have all the resources to force others into obedience to our way of thinking or living.
One more thing that becomes apparent in Jesus' teaching is that the entire emotional content of our relational difficulties needs to be reframed. Jesus says that our goal is to have a brother restored. Moreover, if that does not happen through our own initiatives and those of the community, the outcome must be that we treat the other person in the broken relationship as if he were a "pagan or a tax collector."
These designations sound ominous to us. They are off-putting to our sensibilities of associating with "nice" people. But we need to recall that Jesus was accused of spending too much time with tax collectors and sinners. To treat people in this manner is not to throw stones at them or to turn away in disgust. Rather it is a call to re-engage with them as those whom God is seeking and saving.
When Bill Hybels was a college student in Iowa, he had a roommate who trained his pet dog to growl whenever the town mayor's name was mentioned. No matter what might be happening at any time, if someone happened to say the mayor's name in passing, the little mutt would bristle and growl.
So it is with each of us, when relationships have become strained or undone by someone's carelessness, craft, or calumny. We bristle and growl. In the middle of other conversations, the name might be mentioned and we can feel our stomachs tighten and our breath catch. There is an autonomic response that drives us to pain and frustration.
Only if we can somehow reframe the other person's image in our senses as a "pagan or tax collector" -- that is, someone who needs to experience the grace of God -- can we still the inner growls and get the beast of our hatred to stop bristling. It is only then that we can hear Jesus saying, "You have gained again your sister. You have found again your brother." And something in the world smells sweeter because of it.
Application
Thomas Merton, when writing about the religious community with which he spent many years, noted that every prospective participant was initially brought in and made to stand in the center of a circle formed by current members. There he was asked by the abbot, "What do you come seeking?"
The answers varied, of course, in line with the individual's recent experiences. Some said, "I come seeking a deeper relationship with God." Others were more pragmatic: "I desire to become more disciplined in my practices of life." And there were always a few who were simply running away: "I hope to find solace from the world and refuge from the problems that have plagued me."
Merton said that there was really only one answer, which all needed to voice before they could take up residence. "I need mercy!" was the true cry of the heart. "I need mercy!"
Merton said that any other answer betrayed our prideful assertion of self-determination. We wanted, we planned, we were running away from, we desired ... But the person who knew his need of mercy had stepped out of the myopic circle of self-interest long enough to begin to see the fragile interdependence of all who were taken into the larger fellowship of faith. We cannot create community, for it does not revolve around us. We can only enter community or receive it as a gift. Hence, we need mercy in order to walk through its door.
This, of course, is the message of the lectionary texts today. Israel was created out of an act of mercy that she would forever remember in the Passover. Paul saw mercy as the public show of redemptive love. And Jesus announced that the antagonisms of our world can only truly find redemptive conclusion in the mercy of forgiveness.
Alternative Application
Matthew 18:15-20. Today's gospel reading is always good to preach on its own. After the tragedy of September 11, 2001, our nation experienced something of intentional, projected dehumanization. Those who hijacked the planes, according to many speeches and articles, were not humans but terrorists. They did not play by the rules. They did not value life as we did. They were schooled in barbarianism. For all these reasons and others like them our nation uttered cries for vengeance, many of which exceeded limits of human respect. It was General Philip Sheridan who gave us the striking reflection in 1869 that "The only good Indian is a dead Indian." Post 9/11 there were many voices that seemed to echo his advice in the new and painful context.
However, Jesus demands that we keep our hurting relationship and all its parties personal. "If your brother sins against you go and show him his fault, just between the two of you." This instruction strips me of my most destructive weapons and forces me to rehumanize the very one from whom my heart wants to pull away in disgust. Jesus does not claim it will be an easy thing to do. No psychologist would pretend the process is a lark, or carries us along like a carnival ride. Hurt is painful, and so is restoration.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 149
The very words, "Praise the Lord," have, in some circles, taken on a tone of mockery and scorn. In certain quarters, one can hear the high nasal satiric voice as it bleats out the opening words to this psalm. "Praaaise the Lorrrrd!" It's true. Making fun of Christian faith is quite fashionable these days. From comedians to songwriters to self-proclaimed spiritual-but-not-religious folk a steady stream of ridicule flows unabated.
The taunting disrespect comes for a lot of reasons. It is aimed at hypocritical television preachers who are quick to judge the moral turpitude of others, only to themselves be found severely wanting. It is leveled at religious institutions that are far more engaged in the maintenance of the institution than in actually praising the Lord. Yes, the mockery comes from many places, but it is generated by what the world clearly sees as a religious community unable to live up to its own teachings.
Maybe, as this psalm suggests, it's time to sing a "new song." Perhaps this song brings with it the melody of humility, tolerance, and hope. How does it go? Could there be harmonies of forgiveness, grace, and openness? What's the beat? Is it the rhythm of generosity and peace? Does it have a backbeat of compassion and justice?
There's no question about it. Listening to the rising tide of critique and outright condemnation of Christian faith raises the hackles. Yet, if honesty prevails, it must be admitted that much of the negative energy directed at the Christian community is richly deserved. We have not lived by the teachings of Jesus. We have not stood up for the poor and the weak. We are not good at loving our enemies, and we do not make a real great showing at offering forgiveness. We have uttered empty pious judgments and held to legalistic rulings while grace has been discarded and left behind. And we have looked the other way while people waving the cross of Christ have used his name for economic and political gain.
Yes indeed. It is time to sing a new song. But let the song come, not as a way to stem the tide of criticism. Let it come instead as a true and powerful symphony of praise to the holy creating God of Israel! Let this new song call the "assembly" to faithfulness and the leaders to integrity and passion. Let the notes of new life pour forth as the whole community joins with one voice to sing a new song.
