Sunday 29 January 2017

Kingdom Manifesto (Matthew 5:1-12)



(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Sunday Worship on January 29, 2017, Epiphany IV)

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Sunday School and the Ten Commandments

My chief memory of Sunday School consists not of the lessons we learned or the verses we memorized. What I remember most are the crafts that we did. Popsicle sticks. Pipe cleaners. Toilet paper cardboard rolls. Macaroni. Socks. You name it, we probably used it in Sunday School.

I still have a number of these crafted masterpieces. Some go up on the family Christmas tree each year. Others of them are tucked away in my childhood Bible. One craft that we did on several occasions—and so I have several duplicates—is a Bible bookmark. Can you guess what was on that bookmark?

The Ten Commandments.

I wonder, why were these bookmarks always the Ten Commandments, and not some other Bible verse? A couple reasons immediately spring to my mind. First, the Ten Commandments can almost all be captured in just two or three words—“don’t steal,” “don’t lie,” “honor your parents”—so it’s easy to display them on a paper imitation of the two stone tablets where Moses wrote them. Second, and perhaps more significantly: what better reminder for a bunch of rowdy church children to behave, than a replica of the Ten Commandments staring up at them through their Bibles?

The Ten Commandments: 
A Me-First Manifesto?

But now that I look back on it, having lived through the culture wars of the last few decades, I wonder if there weren’t perhaps a deeper reason for the popularity of these Ten Commandment bookmarks. For many people, the Ten Commandments were more than ten very important laws; they were a flag to wave, a line to draw in the sand, a mark of religious identity. To display the Ten Commandments was another way of saying, I’m a Christian.

Which is a bit odd, I think. What about the Ten Commandments distinguishes us as Christ-followers? Jesus doesn’t say, “Don’t kill.” He says, “Watch out for anger in your heart.” Jesus doesn’t say, “Don’t commit adultery.” He says, “Don’t lust.”

The Ten Commandments originally signified a holy relationship between the people of Israel and God. They were sort of like the wedding ring that God and the people of Israel wore on their fingers, marking their commitment. But I’m afraid that, in today’s world, the Ten Commandments have been hijacked by our me-first culture. If you think about it, the Ten Commandments now pass as a rather good manifesto of our modern world, where what matters most is what’s yours: your money, your property, your good name. “Don’t steal,” “don’t give false witness,” “don’t covet,” “don’t murder”—these laws are self-evident to anyone who fears losing what they have acquired and earned and achieved.

In today’s world, the Ten Commandments have become laws that protect and preserve the way things are. Is that how the kingdom of God will come on earth as it is in heaven?

The Beatitudes:
Pointing toward Goodness 

Not according to Jesus in today’s scripture….

Last week, Jesus called his disciples. This week, he prepares them for the adventure of faith that lies ahead. I think of today’s scene a little bit like a locker room huddle. The disciples have put on their uniforms; they’re ready to take the field. But before they do that, Jesus sits down, and they gather around him in a holy huddle. At this point, we might be expecting them all to put in a hand and give an enthusiastic shout, “One, two, three—go God!” But instead we get something very different.

In our translation, it looks like Jesus is giving his disciples a lesson in holiness, a sort of “sainthood for dummies.” Sort of like he’s saying, if you really want to excel out there, to raise your game, to play your best, here’s what you need to do.

But this is where, I think, our translation lets us down a little bit. That word “blessed” elevates Jesus’ message to the playing field of angels and saints, monks and nuns. We read this passage as a list of heavenly ideals, which allows us who live in the real world to settle sometimes for a lower, more practical way. Being meek and merciful is great if you’re living in a sheltered community of like-minded brothers and sisters, but to be that way in the dog-eat-dog world of business and politics would just be silly.

If we read this passage in the original Greek, though, the heavenly elevator drops beneath our feet and we find ourselves plummeting to solid, earthy soil. The word with which Jesus blesses is not a religious word, a holy term of consecration. It is a worldly word, an everyday word, makarios, a word that means something more like “good for him or her.” It’s the sort of word you would use to describe someone who is in a good place. Someone’s just gotten engaged? Good for him. Someone’s just received a college degree? Good for her. A couple has just had their first child? Good for them!

All this to say, Jesus isn’t giving his disciples a crash course in sainthood. He’s not raising the bar for those who want to take their faith to the next level. He’s plainly pointing to where the goodness already is in this world.

The Kingdom of a Fool and a Weakling

And look to where he’s pointing. If you asked the world where is the goodness of life, it would probably say: “Good for them who are content with what they have, who have a happy family, who sit at a fully furnished dinner table; good for them who dwell in a comfortable home, who have secured their future, whose strength always wins out.” But Jesus points in the opposite direction. Good for them whose spirits are empty, whose faces are tear-stained, he says; good for them whose hands are unguarded and childlike, whose hearts are simple.

It’s just like Paul says in our other scripture today (1 Cor 1:18-31). Jesus is a fool and a weakling. He does not proclaim the goodness of power and achievement, might and material. He proclaims the goodness of the nobodies and the nothings, “the things that are not.”

For Jesus, the kingdom of God has already breached our world, but it is not where the world would expect a kingdom: the goodness of the kingdom is here where there is need and lack; it is here in the shadows of possibility and potential. The kingdom dwells in prayers and promises, in starry hopes and unseen visions—which is to say, in all the places that are empty enough to welcome it. The kingdom comes not where we are content and well rested and self-assured, where we are ready to put up our feet and call it a good day. It comes where we are restless and risky and hopeful, where we are spooked and haunted by the holy possibility of something more. The kingdom of God is not coming by way of world leaders or CEOs or pop stars, whose lives are consumed with protecting and preserving their own kingdoms, but by way of people who claim no kingdom of their own: by way of hearts that are hungry, fists that unfold into helping hands, spirits that are always seeking, eyes that see the best possibilities in the worst realities.

From the Ten Commandments to the Beatitudes

The Ten Commandments make a lot of sense to the modern world, because the modern world hears in them the promise of protection and preservation. “Don’t take my stuff,” “don’t even get any ideas about my stuff,” “don’t say anything bad about me”—above all, “don’t take my life.”

I wonder then: when we enshrine these words in the halls of our courts of justice, what are we really saying? Are we proclaiming the kingdom of God? Or the kingdom that we have built and acquired and secured for ourselves?

The Ten Commandments seem so obvious, so commonsensical, and the Beatitudes so strange, because we generally live by the rule of self-interest. We can appreciate the Ten Commandments because they protect our interests and preserve our life. But Jesus goes beyond them, because his interest is the kingdom of God, where life is not something to protect or preserve, but something to seek out and something to share, something to sow and something to grow.

What would it look like, I wonder, if the Beatitudes adorned the halls of our courts of justice? How crazy would it be if the poor-spirited and humble were lifted up in our halls of power? If ever such a day were to come, then, I imagine, would we have relinquished our own small kingdoms for the kingdom of God.

“Good Adventure” to You

Letting go of what we have so that we might welcome the kingdom of God is not easy. But it is good. It is a good risk, a good leap of faith, a good adventure.

Which is exactly what the Spanish translation of today’s scripture beautifully and prophetically proclaims. Bienaventurados. “Good adventure.” Good adventure to you who have nothing, to you who have given away what you have, to you who have lost and are losing. Good adventure to you, for you are open to a new way, a better way. Good adventure to you, for you more than anyone are on the cusp of life; you stand at the trailhead of the kingdom.

Prayer

Lord of the lowly,
God of “the things that are not,”
Whose power is neither might nor material—
Lead us on the good adventure
Into your kingdom.
Grant us the poverty of spirit
That finds riches only
In love for the other. Amen.

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