59̊ at 1pm in the afternoon. In the middle of February. In Indiana. And a forecast for mid sixties for the coming week. Something seems ... wrong here. Nice, a beautiful day to be sure, a blessing of spring in the heart of what is usually winter. But I can’t but help and be uneasy. You know how we are, expect the worst. We’ll pay for this. It can’t be this easy, this good, this blessed.
We aren’t made for grace, it seems. Or, maybe, to grab hold of an often misunderstand and neglected doctrine of the faith, maybe this is what sin has done to us. Made us suspicious. Made us live our lives waiting for the other shoe to drop. We were created for grace, for blessing and wholeness and joy unbounded. But something happened. A fruit was eaten, a choice was made, or a history was lived that made us suspicious, made us enemies of those who were designed to be us, to be family, brothers and sisters. They were designed to be a part of the rich tapestry of creation, in language and culture and color and shape and sound. But now, they are enemies. The other. The ones we protect ourselves from. The ones we build walls against. The ones who hate us as much as we hate them. Maybe more, at least that is what we assume.
This is the world we have fallen into. No sense romanticizing about it. No sense burying our heads in the sand about it. They are out to get us. Aren’t they? Of course they are. They hate our way of life. And we hate theirs in return. Don’t we? Of course we do. For protection, if nothing else. It only makes sense, we’ve got to keep what’s ours. We’ve got to stay safe. It is just the way it is. Let’s be real about it, can we?
Except then Jesus comes along and wants to change everything. We’ve got this figured out, Jesus, don’t be messing with us. Don’t be asking for something we can’t ... won’t do. We understand you have to push, you have to challenge us. That’s OK. To a point. But don’t go overboard. OK? Whatdaya say? Jesus?
Matthew 5:38-48 38 "You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' 39 But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; 40 and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; 41 and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. 42 Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you. 43 "You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. 46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47 And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
(Crickets chirping)
Very funny Jesus. If anyone knows that we can’t be perfect, it would be you. Right? Are you trying to make fun of us? Are you trying to make us feel inadequate? Are you making some larger point here that we’re missing? Because we got nothing. Just years of struggle, pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps, doing our best, soldiering on, putting on our big girl panties, our big boy boots and all that stuff that we say that supposedly motivates us to try again. To take that hill. To climb every mountain. And you know what? It works. To a degree. We can be better, we can be more, when we expend a little effort. We can be stronger, and more loving. We can be smarter and kinder. We can do that Jesus. We have done that. Regularly. But we lose our grip on it so regularly. It seems you’re never satisfied with small steps. Never content with feeble efforts. You seem to be calling us to an all or nothing approach. Can’t you give us credit for the attempt and overlook the detail, overlook the shortcomings?
And of course we know He does. He doesn’t love us because of what we do or don’t do. We know that. He loves us for who we are. Whether we’ve climbed the hill or not. Whether we’ve loved our neighbor, let alone our enemy. We are loved. We don’t need to do anything to get it, we can’t earn it, or be worthy of it. Except that we are made worthy by His love, by His choosing of us. Even soaking wet.
No rain in the forecast today, but you can bet it’s not far off. The rain falls. When we’ve chosen to embrace the sunshine, to live in the light, the rain returns. Regularly. Our fears return, our suspicious nature takes hold of us, the desire to protect our own lives grab hold of us and we forget to live in Him, the One who promises to love us, to hold us. We act as though we are on our own, our fate is in our own hands rather than in His. We live as though the boundaries that we have drawn, the company we choose to keep, the colors we prefer is what defines us, rather than truth that our identity is in Christ.
The Sermon on the Mount isn’t really an “ought” kind of sermon. We ought to do this, we ought to think that. No, it’s an is sermon. This is what we are. What we already are. We are perfect in His love. Perfect. His love has been poured into us. His vision has transformed our seeing. His will has shaped our longing. When we claimed Christ, that happened. Be perfect, be the perfect instrument of God’s grace and love that you are. That you are.
The problem is we don’t believe it. We listen to too many voices. We lean in too many directions. We succumb to too many fears. We surrender the perfection we’ve been given to live in the brokenness we prefer. It seems safer. And it is. In the terms we’ve defined for ourselves, in the short term, this world kind of safety, being wary of the stranger is a safer way to live. But not a richer, not a deeper or more abundant way to live. And that’s the invitation that Jesus is giving us in the Sermon on the Mount.
It’s not really a challenge to try harder, to be better bit by bit. It is instead a call to accept grace, to get wet. It’s going to rain, that’s the promise in these verses. It’s going to rain, and we are going to get wet. And we may think we don’t deserve it. That we should always live in the sunshine and the warmth. But it’s going to rain. We’re going to get hurt. We’re going to carry a wound. Be disappointed. Knocked down. It’s going to rain. So, the choice is not really how to keep ourselves safe. The choice is really how will we live, rain or shine?
Jesus says He came to bring us life, abundant, rich, satisfying life. A perfect life. When Wesley wrestled with this perfect idea, he decided it didn’t mean error free. That won’t happen, he says. There’s too much we don’t know. Too much that can get in our way. Too much that trips us up in a messy world, a fallen world. But in this fallen world there is the grace of God. There is the light of Christ. Perfection, Wesley argued, is not about doing everything right, but about wanting to. About desiring the good for all. About wanting to act in love - even when we don’t know what that is. It’s about willing God’s will in every situation.
The word we translate as perfect can also be translated as whole. Be whole, as you Father is whole. Be complete, be mature (maybe Jesus is saying “grow up!”), be finished. Be single-minded, focused on the goal of loving into wholeness. Teleos. That’s the word. Let’s love like God. Let’s choose, right now, in this moment in the history of the world, of our nation, let’s choose to love like God. To see like God. To risk like God.
It is asking too much, I know that. So did He. But He asked anyway. No, He didn’t ask. He told, He invited, He revealed the secret to living the life we were created to live. On this unseasonably warm and sunny day, He invited us to let it rain.
Shalom,
Derek
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