But I Say To You . . . .

Matthew 5: 21-26 Marianne Niesen February 13, 2011

These are words that come to us from Jesus’ well-known Sermon on the Mount. Just a couple weeks ago, a group of us stood on a place in Galilee to remember that moment. It is called the ‘Mount of Beatitude’ and it is a lovely spot overlooking the Sea of Galilee. We have no idea of course if that is indeed the place but it is a mountain and it is a beautiful place for Christian pilgrims to remember this hallmark of Jesus’ teaching. Today’s passage that you just heard began in a familiar way…you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times… He begins as any good teacher of any time begins – with what people already know. You’ve heard it said…They already knew the law given to Moses. The Torah was central and every good Jew would have held it in great honor. You’ve heard it said…This is not a case of Jesus rejecting his heritage, his faith. He begins in the midst of it. You’ve heard it said…

You’ve heard it said to those of ancient times, ‘you shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’

He began with what people knew. The law said murder was wrong. That was Jewish law, part of the Ten Commandments, part of the Torah. We get that too, don’t we? Murder is wrong and those who murder must be held accountable. Liable to judgment. We’re with Jesus here – as were the crowds of long ago. He then continued, but I say to you… Like any good teacher, he then proceeded to the teaching, to the challenge. An aside…this method of teaching is something firmly rooted in Jewish tradition. Jesus offered his ‘midrash’ on the law. Midrash is a method of interpretation commonly used by the rabbis. “The nature of midrash was to “penetrate” (darash) the text and go to its deeper meaning.”[1] With his words but I say to you Jesus penetrated to his understanding of the heart of the matter, the heart of the law. But I say to you… We, as 21st century Christians listen with eagerness…yes, yes…what do you say, O great one? But, hold on a minute! The first and more common reaction to someone saying well, here is what we’ve always heard but I say to you…would not be eager anticipation but a healthy skepticism. You say to me? And just who are you? Why would I listen to you?

Folks, the first thing going on in this text – then and now – is the issue of authority. Jesus spoke with authority. And we – like those of his day – must decide if we will listen to him. He began with the Law, with what everyone already knew, and then continued. But I say to you . . . I don’t think that goes far enough. If we are going to get to a world where murder doesn’t happen, we must begin up-close-and-personal. So, I say to you if you are angry with a brother or sister, you’ve already started on the road to killing; if you insult a brother or sister, you’re approaching murder; if you even call someone names, you’re in trouble! Jesus took the law and brought it into the neighborhood which is the only place real change ever happens and where things get really personal and very uncomfortable.

Let’s face it - it is much safer to focus on the prohibition against murder than on the stuff in every human heart that can lead there. After all, most of us can probably say we have not murdered anyone. But, who of us can say we have never been angry with a colleague, never called someone a name, never relished launching a well-deserved insult? And you say what, Jesus? We are brought back to the basic issue - authority. Will we listen to what Jesus said? Do we truly want to follow that path? It is a path of reconciliation and forgiveness, turning the other cheek and non-violence. Do we dare make the big stuff personal? The law is not just something to know. It is something to make active and visible in our daily lives. You shall not murder – yes – but there are many ways we kill one another and if we are to live in a world where murder no longer happens, we must begin with ourselves, with our relationships and with the ways we treat each other. That’s what he said to them. To us.

You’ve heard it said that murder is wrong, but I say to you, it all begins quite small and the end of murder will come not with laws but with a change in our hearts, our everyday behavior, one person, one life at a time. The challenge in Jesus’ teaching was not that he tried to change the laws. He changed the focus from looking out there to looking in here, in the human heart.

There once were two cats of Kilkenny,

Each thought there was one cat too many;

So they fought and they fit,

And they scratched and they bit,

Till, excepting their nails,

And the tips of their tails,

Instead of two cats there weren't any. [2]

And so it goes. Most violence starts small. But, when anger takes over, so do irrational actions. And, while the cats of Kilkenny might not be unable to control their animal nature, Jesus reminds us we certainly can. But it won’t be easy. Frederick Buechner who does such a great job with defining big stuff has this to say about anger:

Of the 7 deadly sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back - in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you. [3]

You’ve heard it said that murder is wrong; that violence is wrong but I say to you, tend to your relationships. Stop calling names. Deal with anger before it deals with you.

Rabbi David Wolpe in his book Why Faith Matters [4] deals in one chapter with one of the big questions of our time, does religion cause violence? It’s a timely and good question and I commend his book to you but the thing that drew me back to it as I was writing this sermon was his reflection at the very beginning of that chapter. There, he reflected on a visit he had made, while backpacking through Israel some 30 years earlier, to a place called ‘Megiddo.’ He mused that it was a good place to reflect on the topic of violence and religion because Megiddo is also known as Ha-Megiddo or Armageddon – the place where some fundamentalist Christians believe the final battle between good and evil will take place. Indeed many battles – though not all religious – have been fought on that plain. And, I’m embarrassed to say that there are some fundamentalist Christian groups prodding toward and praying that the present conflict between Israelis and Palestinians will actually lead to that battle. They hope for war in the Middle East rather than peace.

But you really wouldn’t know all that if you visited today. Wolpe says that what he remembers most from his visit years ago was a woman with a shopping bag waiting at a bus stop. He wrote:

“Religious violence is real but it is a small part of the lives of most believers. More powerful by far is the guidance religion offers to live decently and to care for others. There are many more people carrying shopping baskets than sharpening their swords for the final battle.” [5]

We were there a little over a week ago. It was a lovely day. Cool breeze but sunny. A nice day for a walk. From the top of the tel of Megiddo, you could see Samaria to the south and Nazareth in the north and beautiful green fields stretching eastward. We saw a Canaanite altar over 3000 years old and remnants of stables from the time of Solomon. Near the stables, we noted a feeding trough, a manger, that kind of crib in which an infant may have been quite comfortable. In other words, the feeling of Armageddon was quite peaceful. Ordinary. You’ve heard it said that Armageddon is the place of violence and hate but I say to you, look again. You can change that. Watch the people, hear the birds, see the sky, breathe the air - and know that the future can be different. As Wolpe reflected on his own experience, he mentioned a poem by an Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai called Tourists. I was intrigued and went in search of it. Listen.

Visits of condolence is all we get from them.
They squat at the Holocaust Memorial,
They put on grave faces at the Wailing Wall
And they laugh behind heavy curtains
In their hotels.
They have their pictures taken
Together with our famous dead
At Rachel's Tomb and Herzl's Tomb
And on Ammunition Hill.
They weep over our sweet boys
And lust after our tough girls
And hang up their underwear
To dry quickly
In cool, blue bathrooms.

Once I sat on the steps by agate at David's Tower,
I placed my two heavy baskets at my side. A group of tourists
was standing around their guide and I became their target marker. "You see
that man with the baskets? Just right of his head there's an arch
from the Roman period. Just right of his head." "But he's moving, he's moving!"
I said to myself: redemption will come only if their guide tells them,
"You see that arch from the Roman period? It's not important: but next to it,
left and down a bit, there sits a man who's bought fruit and vegetables for his family." [6]

And so Jesus taught . . . You’ve heard it said that murder is wrong; that violence is wrong but I say to you, tend to your relationships. Stop calling names. Deal with anger before it deals with you. Rabbi Wolpe ends his chapter with this…

The deepest experience of God has never been in conquest but in compassion, community, holiness, and humble goodness. Inside of every human being is a battle against the pettiness and malice that thread through our character. That battle is often lost, but religion, at the very least, knows that it must be fought, and should be fought, each day of our lives. [7]

And so, Jesus taught you’ve heard it said but I say to you…

On our latest visit to the Holy Land, as always, I liked seeing historical places and learning new things but, perhaps, the greatest things about that journey were the countless little moments that almost go unnoticed. The moments of seeing ordinary people going about their lives, noting the common needs and desires that claim us all. There was the fully veiled woman in the women’s section at the King Abdullah Mosque in Amman who, as all of us Christian women shrouded in black peaked tentatively into the worship room, greeted us with a big smile and the words…Come! Come! Your God, my God…we are one. You are welcome. There was our Israeli guide speaking with great pride about what Israel has done to make the desert bloom. He took us to an olive oil factory on the Golan Heights so we could meet ordinary people who love their lives and what they do. We met a woman there who made olive oil products sound like the answer to every conceivable problem in the world. Then there were the relatives of my cousin’s husband, Palestinian Christians – quick to point out that they are my family – who waited in line over two hours at the checkpoint to get into Jerusalem to see us, ever hopeful for change. And there was Lulu, a curly-haired 2 year old peaking out of her father’s spice shop in Bethany, waving at us and shouting ‘hi! I-Lulu!’ while her Dad told us proudly, “she has a new sister, just born yesterday!”

It was Mark Twain who said ‘travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow mindedness.’ Indeed when we meet one another as fellow travelers on the road of life, as individuals with hope and dreams, it is much more difficult to make the judgments that lead to war. When we call one another by name rather than calling names, it is more difficult to hate. You have heard it said, do not murder but I say to you…start small…with your anger, your everyday living.

Many years ago, Jesus spoke to men and women not all that unlike you and me. They were ordinary people with hopes and dreams, struggles and temptations. They were mostly good, law abiding folk who began to follow an itinerant preacher who promised them life in abundance and hope in the face of fear. There was only one catch. They would have to make some changes, to follow the law up-close-and-personal. They made their choices. Some followed. Most did not. In the end, Roman violence destroyed an entire civilization. But a few kept hope alive and they remembered what that preacher had challenged… you have heard it said you shall not murder…but I say to you deal with your anger, quit insulting each other, and calling names. How we live our everyday lives matters, even now. Especially now. And so today the question remains. What authority will we give the voice of Jesus?

[2] Traditional Irish poem.

[5] Ibid.,Wolpe, p. 42.

[6] Yehuda Amichai, Tourists, found at http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/yehuda_amichai/poems/52.html

[7] Ibid., 80.