An Embarrassment of Riches (Matthew 5:21-37)

     I’m always struck by the somewhat slippery nature of biblical interpretation.  Now, hold your cards and letters … I mean slippery in a good way, of course.  Down through the ages, these texts have been interpreted by very different people using very different methodologies, and they continue to be a comfort and a blessing to the people of God.

Of course, misinterpretation, and over-interpretation, of Scripture has led to some ridiculous understandings over the years . . . and this is at least partially because the way any given of passage is heard depends on the location—not only geographically, but historically and socially—of the one who is doing the hearing.

And nothing illustrates this point with more clarity than today’s passage . . . it contains four seeming injunctions, two of which are positively embarrassing.  It says everyone who looks at a woman with lust has committed adultery . . . didn’t Jimmy Carter get into trouble taking that one literally in the pages of Rolling Stone?   And then there’s the follow-up: “If your right eye, presumably the one you looked at the woman with, causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away?”  Really?  If every guy who looked at a woman, ah, lustily got his right eye pulled torn out, the eye-patch makers couldn’t keep up with the demand.

And what about swearing?  Jesus isn’t talking about cussing here, but the swearing of oaths . . . are we really supposed to not take oaths of office, or swear before a judge, and et cetera?  Only a few sectarian groups retain this injunction in toto as listed here, and maybe that’s one reason they’re sectarian.  How are we supposed to get along in secular society without swearing affidavits, or without putting our old hands on the Bible?

Hmmm . . . let us investigate further, brothers and sisters . . . maybe Jesus isn’t talking literal proscriptions here, just like he probably doesn’t want us to not do nothing  to make a living, like the lilies of the field, even though that’s what a literal reading of a later statement from the Sermon implies.  Maybe he’s talking a bit more generally here . . . maybe he’s painting with a broader brush.

First, let’s look at the context of this passage, specifically about four verses earlier where he says “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.”  Next, notice the structure of these admonitions.  First he quotes a piece of the Hebrew Law, then gives them his take on it: “You have heard that it was said X, but I say Y.”  He reads the law, then interprets it, like any good preacher does.   Now: remembering what Jesus said just a few sentences earlier—about fulfilling the law—do you think it’s a coincidence that not five verses later he begins quoting and interpreting it?  Neither do I.

So maybe we need to keep the word “fulfill” in the back of our heads when reading this passage . . . how does his version of a law—which in every case seems to make it more strict—in actuality “fulfill” it?  Let’s look at his first example: “You have heard that it was said: ‘You shall not murder;’ and 'whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.'  But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, 'You fool,' you will be liable to the hell of fire.”  If we put aside the hyperbolic “hell of fire” thing—suffice it to note that Jesus is probably not referring to what we think of as Hell—putting that aside, you can see that he’s made it seemingly more stringent.  Not just murderers are subject to judgment, but those who are angry with a fellow Christian are as well, or those who insult another . . .

Again we need to put aside that “judgment” thing, except to say that he doesn’t specify (a) what the judgment will be, (b) when the judgment will occur or (c) who the judgment will be by.  And if we do, maybe we can notice that Jesus doesn’t make it tougher so much as he broadens it, or makes it more full.  It may be that he “completes” it, which is one of the constellations of meaning of the Greek word pleroow, translated in the Sermon as “fulfill.”

And how does he broaden it?  He includes more than just killing someone . . . he extends the Ten-commandment proscription against murder to unresolved anger and enmity.  He gives an entire mini-discourse on relationships between members of the body of Christ.  If you are angry with a brother or sister, and insult a brother or sister, and say “you fool,” you will be subject to judgment.  This is about relationships, and everything he quotes damages them.  They damage personal relationships, making it harder for folks to get along.   But of equal importance is that they make it harder for a community to function.  Animosity and bad blood impede the mission of the Body of Christ.

     Here’s the upshot: if you’re offering your gift at the altar, which is an ancient way of saying “if you’re at worship,” and you know that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar—in other words, stop your worship—and first be reconciled to that person, and then come to worship. Enmity between members of a congregation spoils worship, it poisons it, and worship is the food-source, the nourishment of the body of Christ.  If you think about your own experience, you can see it’s true: if there is bad blood between you and another member, it can be hard to even show up on a Sunday morning, much less worship with any integrity.  But if we make it up with him or her, our souls are cleansed, and we can enjoy our time with God once again.

And notice that Jesus doesn’t say if your sister or brother has something against us and it’s our fault, in fact he lays no blame at all . . . he just says to do it.  It doesn’t matter whose fault it is, we’re just supposed to do it.  There is a strain of humility needed here, as there is in all of these examples.  We are to reconcile with one another not only for our own good—everybody knows how good that can feel—but also for the greater good of the worshipping community.  Again, we’ve all been in worship where you can feel the enmity, feel the division in the air . . . well, Jesus is implying, you might as well not even bother if that is the case, you might as well not do it, because it is not doing you or the body of Christ any good.

Then Jesus makes an interesting move, as we preachers say: he expands it to outside the community, telling his followers to settle with an accuser—is it the same brother or sister from the previous verse, or an outsider?  At any rate, Jesus tells us to settle on the way to the courthouse, presumably in front of the entire community.  Not only does this make sense from a personal viewpoint, keeping one out of jail, but from a witness viewpoint as well.  Remember that “don’t hide your light under a bushel basket” line a little earlier in the Sermon?  If we settle our disputes, whether in the community or outside of it, without being drug into court, it is a witness to others outside our circle of faith.

Well.  This first example, about interrelationships and their healing, provides an interpretive lens for the rest of the passage . . . “You have hear it said  'You shall not commit adultery.' But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”  Jesus knew, even before modern-day sexual harassment laws, that leering at women does not a good relationship make.  Or a good workplace, or a good community of faith.  We are not to treat others as objects, to objectify one another, whether the opposite sex or not.

Note that he treats it as one-sided . . . then just as now, the power balance was tipped decidedly in the male direction, in the direction of the patriarchy.  It’s not an accident that he targets men . . . men are the ones with the power.  And in a relationship based on an imbalance of power—one which I believe Jesus came to rectify—staring openly at the less-powerful is a sign of that power, a sign that one does it because one can get away with it.

I find that peoples’ views of this passage are clouded by hazy notions of what Jesus meant when he said “adultery.  Adultery in the biblical world was defined as extramarital sexual intercourse between a man and another man’s wife. It arose out of the property laws in ancient Israel, where the wife “belonged” to her husband, and the extramarital relationship violated the rights of her husband. A man could have such a relationship with an unmarried woman and not be guilty of adultery, but if the woman was married, both he and she were guilty.  Note that this was not because of some abstract notion of what was “moral” and what was not . . . it was based upon the very concrete notion of women as property, or chattel.  One which we do not hold today.

As such, the whole basis for the divorce passage is invalidated, but it still is instructive that Jesus seemed to consider normative a loving relationship between marital partners.  And it is not an accident that Jesus addresses the divorce problem from the male perspective \ only.  Note that in his saying, it is the man who causes the woman to sin.  Is this not a significant turn-around from Genesis, where Eve corrupts Adam, not the other way around?

Finally, we come to the proscription on swearing . . . in a community of faith, or in any community, for that matter, a person’s word should be her or his bond.  Simple honesty is what Jesus calls for, both within and without the community.  Relations within are strengthened thereby, and we are a light to the rest of the world if we model these things outside.

Brothers and sisters, this can be a hard passage, even with our observation that it’s about relationships.  It is hard for two people to reconcile, it is difficult and scary, and it requires a subsuming of our egos that can be foreign to those of us brought up in today’s culture, where we’re taught that self-promotion—taking care of old number one—is the path to success.  It is hard to go to a person who has wronged us and reconcile . . . everything we see, everything we read, from television to popular fiction screams about fault, and that the one who is to blame is the one who must make amends.

But as Paul points out in Second Corinthians, perhaps picking up on this important theme, we have been given a “ministry of reconciliation” and we are to proclaim a message of reconciliation to the world.  And what better way to proclaim it than to be examples ourselves?   Our communities and our lives are better if we live in harmony, in peace with one another.  And f we, who have Christ on our side, who have power of the Holy Spirit on our side, cannot do this, who can?

If you’ll remember a couple of weeks ago, we noted that although we think of Jesus as addressing a huge crowd of onlookers, if you look carefully at the very start of chapter five, the whole Sermon on the Mount is preached to his disciples, not to the crowd.  And that is the word of hope here . . . it is only in the context of our relationship with Christ, and the power of the Holy Spirit that comes upon us at our baptisms, that we will ever be able to live it out.  God does not ask impossible things of us, but provides us through the Spirit the power and grace to put it into practice.  Hallelujah!  Amen.

Satyagraha (Matthew 5:38-48)

     It was hot, brutally hot in the tropical sun.  The farmer was bent over, had been bent over, it seemed, for centuries, though it had only been since that morning, when he looked up and it seemed like a vision, as if it had just . . . appeared out of nowhere, he could’ve sworn it wasn’t there a minute ago, then he looked down to his work, and back up and there it was, as if born out of the tropical mists.  He had the irrational urge to pinch himself to see if he were still awake, but he didn't . . . what he did do was look back down at the earth, at the fruits of his morning’s labor, and then quickly back up to see if the phantom had disappeared, but it hadn't--it had just gotten closer.  Close enough that he could now see it clearly: a bald, middle-aged man, wearing the traditional dhoti and shawl, with sandals on his dusty feet.  He was surrounded by similarly-clad men, and suddenly, the peasant-farmer knew who it was: it was Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, otherwise known as Mahatma Gandhi.

He also knew what the great man was doing: he was marching to the sea, in protest of the British overlords’ control of the most important compound of human civilization, apart from air and water, that is.  He was protesting the British Colonial government's control of salt.  Despots know that to really control a peoples, to really keep a tight choke hold around their collective neck, it is important to control the basic elements of life.  The British were experienced colonialists, adept at the subjugation and maintenance of their colonies, and a major tool was the absolute control of salt. The British Raj awarded the ability to manufacture salt—of course to a favored British company—taxed salt production, which was of course passed on to the consumer, and forbade anybody else, whether company or individual, from making it.

Not only did the farmer know where Gandhi was going, but he knew just what he was going to do when he got there.  He knew this, because Gandhi had publicized the event ... A large-scale protest did nobody any good unless people—both oppressed and oppressors—knew about it.  So Ghandi had announced that when he got to the sea at the small town of Dandi, he was going to do one only one thing: he was going to make salt.

And such was the power of his personality, and so heavy the yoke of British rule, that the march grew, accreting marchers so that by the time they reached the sea, more than 50,000 were gathered to watch Gandhi break the law. The farmer was one of those: he'd left his field and followed him along the way, because he understood that this road, this road, in the end, meant freedom.

Jesus would have understood this as well—after all, Gandhi learned about nonviolent resistance from him, and today’s passage is ground-central of his teaching on the subject.  And if this is news to you, it's because for centuries the church has taught 'passive' behavior in the face of power and worldly (or church)  authority.  We have been seduced by teaching that we should bear abuse or being used by those in power, what Paul would call the “powers that be,” and this passage has been used to support it.  Women should 'go the second mile' and endure a broken, abusive marriage.  An man who’s been hit by another shouldn’t fight back, he should just 'turn the other cheek,’ as should a child that is being bullied or a wife who is being abused.  We are not, this interpretation suggests, to resist at all, we’re to be passive, to receive the abuse and, tacitly submit to more.

In its original context, however, this teaching did not advocate Christians becoming doormats for our enemies.  It did not advocate that we give in to evil in some kind of misguided attempt to show that we are morally superior, or that evil will somehow be defeated by our getting tromped upon.  As Gandhi pointed out, Jesus was never passive, he always resisted evil, he just didn’t do it with violence.

Biblical scholar Walter Wink points out that there are two standard responses to being confronted with violent abuse: fight or flight.  In fight, a person resists violence with violence . . . if you’re struck, you strike back.  If you’re attacked, you retaliate in kind.  In flight, you get away as fast as you can, you put yourself out of the situation.  The problem is, neither way really solves anything.  If you hit your attacker back, the violence escalates, and somebody might get hurt badly, or even killed.  If you flee, you haven’t really solved anything, it’s liable to happen again, because the dynamic hasn’t changed—your attacker has come to the—correct—conclusion that his way works, and that he can get what he wants that way.  Neither way, in other words, teaches your enemy anything, neither way invites him to change.

Jesus’ way, Wink explains, is a third way, that is neither submissive or violent, and he illustrates them in the teaching in our passage.  First, the cheek thing: “If anyone strikes you on your right cheek, turn the other also.”  Though it seems like a milque-toasty thing to do, it actually subverts the status quo.  To see how this is so, consider that Jesus very specifically says “If anyone strikes you on the right cheek”, and this specificity is the key to its meaning.  The first thing we have to know is that in the first century, nobody in their right minds would hit someone with their left hands, it was considered dishonorable, shameful: the left hand was considered inferior.  If a person were trying to beat down an opponent, to show who was boss, or even if it was in the heat of the moment, a first-century person would never hit someone with the left hand.

To see how this plays out, I need a volunteer from the audience, er, the congregation.  (gets a volunteer)  Now.  Remembering that I have to hit him with my right hand, and Jesus specifies that I’m doing it on his right cheek, how do I have to hit him?  (demonstrates)  I have to backhand him, and backhanding is the way masters hit slaves, they slap them as if they were inferior, as if they were not equal.  By hitting him with my right hand on his right cheek, I have asserted my dominance over him, that he is my inferior.  Now: turn the other cheek.  Note that it’s the left cheek, and notice further that to hit him there, I have to either (a) hit him with my left hand, which is shameful, which a civilized, free man would never do or (b) hit him with my closed fist, which only an equal would do.  Either way, by turning the other cheek, he has asserted his equality, and caused me, the attacker, to risk extreme embarrassment—turning the other cheek is hardly a passive way to resist my attack, it forces me to acknowledge his equality, and has the potential of embarrassing me to boot.  And oppressors hate being embarrassed.

Now.  Let’s look at the second stricture: if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well.  It sounds like he’s saying “If anybody breaks into your house and steals the silverware, give him the television too, or if anyone holds you up and demands your watch, give him your wallet as well, but in the context of first century Palestine, that wasn’t it at all, and to understand why, it helps to know a couple of things.  First, the Greek word translated here as “coat” describes an outer covering—thus the translation—but the one translated “coat” describes the inner clothing.  Second, the economics of the day were similar to the company store of Tennessee Ernie Ford fame, where the coal company both paid the workers and owned the store from which they must buy food and clothing.  In this case, in the uncertain middle-eastern climate, small farm-holders had to borrow from wealthier land owners during bad years, but in good years never made quite enough to pay them back, so they got further and further into debt, and they literally were sued by the wealthy land-owners for the coat on their backs, just before they took their land, that is.  And so Jesus tells them that if you are sued this way, give him all your clothes, so that you’re naked, which is extremely embarrassing for the one doing the suing.  And in fact, in Hebrew tradition, it was shameful to see somebody’s nakedness—remember Noah’s sons walking in backwards to cover their dad’s nakedness?  So this tactic both shames the oppressor and exposes the injustice to the public.

Ok, there’s one more … go the extra mile.  Note that Jesus again is very specific: “if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile,” and it’s because this addresses a specific regulation of the Roman army.  One of the things occupying armies do—and they were under occupation, remember, by the Romans—is to live off the land, to take food, strip crops, etc from the folks being occupied.  One of the secrets to the longevity of the Roman empire is that they made this burden as light as possible, to keep things below revolutionary boiling point, and there was a regulation that a centurion could only make a peasant carry his stuff one mile, so Jesus counsels that the peasant carry it two.  Now picture this: at the end of the prescribed mile, the centurion goes to take his pack from the farmer, but he continues on, and the soldier, afraid of being punished, keeps trying to take it back, and on down the road they go, the centurion begging to get his stuff back and the farmer refusing . . . it’s a ridiculous picture, isn’t it? And the onlookers would jeer, and the centurion would sweat, and once again injustice would be unmasked and ridiculed, two of the major aims of non-violent resistance.

When Mahatma Gandhi got to the coast, he broke the salt laws in front of flash-bulbs and whirring newsreel cameras, and the entire world learned about the unjust laws of the British Raj . . . after the action in Dandi, Gandhi continued on down the coast making salt as he went, and after his inevitable arrest, the action was carried on by successors, who extended it to other locations, and cameras followed them, and the British government was mightily embarrassed, and though the action brought no immediate relief, it triggered a wider Civil Disobedience Movement that contributed significantly to the eventual negotiated end of British rule.

Gandhi considered civil disobedience a tool in a larger way of being that he called satyágraha, which is a cognate of two Sanskrit words: satya, or truth, and agraha, for force or strength . . . truth strength, as it’s sometimes called, or soul force, as you might have seen it rendered.  There is strength in telling the truth, in unmasking the oppression, in embarrassing the oppressor, and that is what our three examples from Jesus do, isn’t it?  They all expose the injustice, they unmask the inequality that is inherent in each situation.  Forcing an attacker to either give up the attack or hit his victim as an equal exposes the inequality to the world. Forcing an oppressor to strip you naked exposes him to ridicule and underlines and exposes the injustice in his position.  Finally, the idiocy of the Roman occupation is unmasked by the spectacle of a centurion following a farmer and begging for the return of his kit.

But if those these acts of satyágraha, of truth force, reveal the injustice to the world, they reveal it to someone else as well: to the oppressors, to the one perpetrating the evil.  And that explains why Jesus couples this teaching with a command to love our enemies . . . it’s not some mushy, love-boat love, not some saccharine valentine’s-day sentiment, Jesus’ is talking about an active doing, a service to the one being loved.  And what better service, what more important thing can we do to those enmeshed in evil, than to gently point it out, to give them an opportunity to see it from a different perspective, and an opportunity to change their ways?  More importantly, it gives them an opportunity to become part of the inbreaking and already here—in the person of Jesus Christ—Kingdom of God.  As Walter Wink put it, loving our enemies means enabling them to see their sin and giving the opportunity to turn from it, thus becoming a part of God’s kingdom on Earth.

Gandhi formulated his doctrine of satyágraha almost two thousand years after Jesus laid down the principles in this oft-misunderstood teaching . . . and can you imagine a church in this country that lived by this third way?  That resisted unjust laws and renounces the use of violence in the doing?  Can you imagine what would happen if instead of throwing up our hands and saying “what are you gonna do?” we practiced Jesus’ third way in everything we do?  Amen.