Sermon delivered Sunday, August 14, 2016 (The Thirteenth Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 15, Year C (Track 2)) at St. Cuthbert's Episcopal Church, Oakland, CA.
“Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!” (Luke 12:51)
Jesus’s words in today’s Gospel passage stand in stark contrast to the understanding many of us in the mainline churches have of the teachings of Jesus. Jesus is the “Prince of Peace,” Jesus “loves the little children,” Jesus’s message was to “love God and love neighbor,” and that’s about it, right? We often talk about our faith as if we think “be nice to each other” pretty much sums up the Gospel.
But that’s not quite all of it. Jesus didn’t just say “be nice to each other.” He also said to free the oppressed and heal the sick and release the prisoners. He called us to fight against injustice, to stand in solidarity with the marginalized, to question any institutional structures whose rules about right and wrong ignore and even perpetuate human suffering. And as most of you know from experience, when you start standing up against injustice and raising up the voices of the marginalized, the reactions from others are often less than peaceful.
“I have not come to bring peace, but division,” Jesus says. Yes, he does call us to love God and love neighbor, but he wants us to understand that “loving God and loving neighbor” doesn’t mean always being nice, or never getting into conflict with anyone, or “keeping the peace” at all costs. Loving God and loving neighbor can be a revolutionary act – an act that compels us to see one other’s wounds rather than hide them.
Jesus’s words here echo other scripture passages from the Hebrew Bible that admonish false prophets for assuring the people that everything was ok when it wasn’t. He would have known these words of the prophet Jeremiah well:
“They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace.” (Jeremiah 6:14)
Or, as Taylor Swift puts it in her song “Bad Blood,” “Band-aids don’t fix bullet holes.”
Unfortunately that’s too often how we, in society at large and in the church, attempt to solve problems. We offer solutions that do not take into account the seriousness of the problem. We attempt to “dress the wound as though it were not serious.” We become like the false prophets Ezekiel spoke about, who cover a flimsy wall with whitewash to make look good what is really weak and rotting (Ezekiel 13:11). That’s the kind of “peace” Jesus is talking about when he says “I come not to bring peace” – he doesn’t come to bring the kind of peace that shoves conflict under the rug rather than resolving it, or worse, that denies there’s even a problem at all.
“I’m sure there’s a legitimate reason the cop pulled you over.”
“Just cheer up and snap out of it; you’re not REALLY sick.”
“I’m sure your boss didn’t REALLY mean that as a threat.”
You’re blowing things out of proportion, you’re being too sensitive.
Just put a band-aid on it.
Everything will be all right.
But everything is NOT all right, and as followers of Jesus Christ, we are called to say so, even if doing so causes conflict or division with those closest to us.
How many social issues in our society would cause arguments if you were to bring them up with your family members? When Jesus says, “I have come not to bring peace but division. From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three,” he didn’t mean that his GOAL was to divide people, to create familial discord, but that whenever the word of God breaks through into human society, it almost always causes conflict because of humanity’s tendency to avoid pain. We’d rather bury our heads in the sand and say “everything will be all right” than to acknowledge that there is something seriously wrong with us or with our society. So the voices that don’t deny the wounds, that shine spotlights on things others would rather stay hidden – they often wind up causing division within their communities, and especially within their own families.
This is playing out right now in American society with Black Lives Matter. One could certainly say that the Black Lives Matter movement has caused division in this country. But the folks affiliated with Black Lives Matter would probably say they haven’t caused division, they are simply pointing out divisions that have existed for a long time. Despite the achievements of the Civil Rights movement, we still have much further to go. When Barack Obama was elected President, it was easy for some people to assume we had “arrived,” that we had reached a point where racism was no longer an issue in this country. And it is easy for those of us who have never lived in this society with brown or black skin to say “peace, peace” on this issue, when in reality there is no peace. For those of us in that position of privilege, our role is to listen. To listen to the voices we have not heard, to bear witness to experiences that we have not had, and acknowledge that they are real even if we haven’t personally experienced them ourselves. We must not turn away from pain, but face it head on, as Jesus and the prophets did.
The apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans that “all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death” (Romans 6:3). Our baptism connects us not just to the washing with water that Jesus got from John in the Jordan River, but to the “terrible baptism of suffering” that he experienced on the cross, the “baptism” he refers to in today’s Gospel that causes him great distress. We should have issued little Benjamin a hard hat along with his baptismal candle a few weeks ago, because while baptism is empowering, it is also dangerous. It means that we are forever connected to God and our sins are forgiven, but it also means we are also forever connected to Christ’s suffering and death.
Many people have criticized Christian theology that emphasizes our call to suffering, that insists that suffering can be redemptive, that we can be saved through suffering, that Jesus saves us through suffering. They don’t want to acknowledge that anything could be positive about suffering because of the ways that idea can be abused by people in power to justify injustice, to keep the oppressed oppressed. “Oh, you guys are called to suffer, it’s ok, just wait and stick it out; your reward will be great in heaven,” the church has said to black people in slavery, to women in abusive relationships, to workers exploited by corporations.
But that’s not the message of the Gospel! That’s the message of the false prophets who say “peace” when there is no peace! The call to suffering is not a call to inflict suffering on others, it’s a call to experience the suffering of others – to “weep with those who weep and to mourn with those who mourn.”
Charles Péguy, a French poet and philosopher, imagines that when we die, the recording angel at the entrance to heaven will say to us, “Show me your wounds.”
A life in Christ calls us to a life of suffering. If we have no wounds to show at the end of our days, we haven’t truly lived the Christian life. We’ve followed the false prophets who say “peace, peace” when there is no peace. We’ve turned a blind eye to the world’s injustices and benefitted from our complicity in them.
In the midst of the national anxiety around the police shootings last month, there was a meme circulating on Facebook that said,
“Things are not getting worse, they are getting uncovered. We must hold each other close and continue to pull back the veil.”
Testifying to the truth might create division, but it is what we are called to do. Pulling back that veil so we can truly see the wounds that divide our society might make things seem like they are getting worse, but in another one of Jesus’s less popular sayings, he refers to this kind of conflict as the “beginning of the birth pangs,” of the necessary pain we must go through to come out on the other side with new life and a true peace, a peace that has its roots in reconciliation rather than denial, a peace that comes from healing the bullet hole rather than putting a band-aid over it.
That’s what “loving God and loving neighbor” looks like. Jesus calls us to a revolutionary love, a love that involves suffering. The suffering inherent in the Christian way leads us to a peace greater than any that would deny the existence of the wounds. And that’s the kind of peace Jesus is the prince of.
Showing posts with label conflict. Show all posts
Showing posts with label conflict. Show all posts
Sunday, August 14, 2016
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Overcoming Adversity
Sermon delivered Sunday, June 21, 2015, St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Franklin, TN at The Gathering Eucharist (alternative service), 10 a.m., held outside the side courtyard (usually in Otey Hall). 4 Pentecost, Proper 7, Year B (1 Samuel 17:(1a, 4-11, 19-23), 32-49, 2 Cor. 6:1-13, Mark 4:35-41)
The loose offering from this service was designated for the Mother Emanuel Hope Fund, to provide support to the families of the victims of the shootings in Charleston, SC.
Afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, and hunger.
Paul’s list in today’s passage from 2 Corinthians of all he has endured for the sake of the Gospel is not exactly a great selling point for following Jesus. “Come join us, and you too can experience afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, and hunger!” Oh goodie, where do I sign up?
Many of us often think that if we are following God and doing all the right things, no harm will come to us, and perhaps it’s not surprising we think this way, since there are many parts of the scriptures that affirm this correlation between good behavior or righteousness and prosperity and safety. Countless times throughout the “wisdom literature” of the Bible, which includes the books of Ecclesiastes, Proverbs, and the psalms, we hear some version of the idea that the righteous will prosper and the wicked will perish, that those who follow God will be rewarded and those who do not will be punished. That certainly sounds like an appealing system, one where our experiences are predictable and directly related to our actions, where people “get what they deserve,” so to speak, where the world is just.
But the reality of life is often quite different. It is easy to claim from an abstract philosophical perspective that we will be rewarded if we do good and punished if we do bad, but often our experiences don’t line up with those beliefs. A pillar of the community who has supported countless people and changed lives receives a diagnosis of a life-threatening illness and is dead within six months. A tornado drops out of nowhere and destroys the home of a young, struggling family who had just managed to purchase their first house. A young man from my hometown in South Carolina walks into a church in Charleston and kills nine people while they are gathered for prayer and Bible study.
Our reaction when we encounter such tragedies is often, “Why me?” or “Why them?”– especially if we think we or they were good people who didn’t “deserve” this. We can see this reaction from the disciples in today’s Gospel passage. Despite the fact that they have done everything “right” by following Jesus and doing what he asked in getting into the boat to cross to the other side of the lake, they are indignant with him when they encounter calamity along the way. When a storm threatens to capsize their boat, they wake up Jesus with the accusing statement, “Do you not care that we are perishing?” This is often our reaction to what we see as undeserved suffering. “What did I ever do to you, God? Do you not CARE that we are suffering? Why don’t you do something to stop it?” But our passage from 2 Corinthians offers another approach.
The suffering Paul and his companions experienced is not insignificant. We’re not talking about so-called “first world problems” like getting pickles on their sandwiches when they asked for no pickles, or their houses being so big they had to get two wireless routers. We’re talking some pretty horrific things -- afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, and hunger – and yet, he nonetheless proclaims that even in the midst of such suffering, they are truly blessed. No matter how awful their circumstances may appear from the outside, they are able to continue to praise God because they know the paradoxical truth of the Gospel, that through suffering can come new life, that there can be blessings even in the most unspeakable suffering. Although they are punished, they are not killed; although they are sorrowful, they always rejoice even in the midst of it; although they are poor, they are making many rich – maybe not literally, but in the truest sense of the word, through spiritual transformation; although they have nothing by physical standards, they actually possess everything that matters by spiritual standards through their faith in Jesus Christ and the assurance of new life that they have through him. No matter what people may say about them or what suffering they might encounter, their faith is not shaken.
Our passage from the Hebrew Bible today also gives us an example of keeping the faith in the midst of adversity. In the classic story of David and Goliath, David does not cower before a seemingly unconquerable obstacle. Though he is young and small and by all external standards seems a poor match for the giant warrior Goliath, he steps forward and agrees to meet Goliath’s challenge, trusting that God is with him despite his youth and lack of experience in battle.
Paul’s inspiring proclamation of faith and David’s heroism stand in direct contrast to the disciples in the Gospel passage, who panic in the face of the storm, who expect Jesus to keep them from ever suffering, who cannot trust that they will come through the storm with God’s help.
Where are you in these stories? Are you cowering with the disciples in the boat or proclaiming faith boldly in the midst of adversity with Paul? Are you like the disciples indignant that trouble has come their way, or like David striding confidently forward with only a few stones to defend himself?
Those of us who have had the good fortune of not experiencing much pain and suffering in this life are more likely to find ourselves cowering and indignant with the disciples in the boat when trouble comes our way. But those of us who have been people of sorrows and acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3) are likely to know something about what it takes to muster up courage and faith in the midst of adversity.
This weekend, the world is watching and mourning with our brothers and sisters in the Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC, after the horrific shootings there on Wednesday night. Unfortunately, our brothers and sisters in the black church are no strangers to suffering and grief. Their list of all they have endured over the years in terms of violence and intimidation could rival Paul’s list from 2 Corinthians, especially during the years of slavery and the civil rights movement: afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger. This list, foreign to so many of us in predominantly white churches, is all too familiar to many of our brothers and sisters in the black churches. And yet, somehow, many of them have managed to draw upon a deep reserve of faith that has seen them through these adversities and kept their hearts from being hardened by resentment and hate. On Friday, at the court hearing of shooter Dylann Roof, family members of those killed gathered to speak to him and told him they forgave him. What kind of faith gives you the strength to look your mother or son’s killer in the eyes and say, “I forgive you, may God have mercy on your soul?” Faith that has been refined through hardship; faith that knows that hate will never drive out hate, only love can do that; faith that knows that God can make a way where there is no way, as the saying goes.
And that’s exactly the kind of faith Paul and David had in our readings for today. They put their trust in God and drew upon the resources they had to find a way when many would have said there was no way.
In the story of David and Goliath, there is one small detail I have always overlooked that I’d like to lift up as a metaphor for our own abilities to overcome adversity. After rejecting Saul’s heavy armor because he wasn’t used to it, David goes to the river and picks out five smooth stones that he carries with them as his only weapons as he goes out to meet Goliath. Rather than putting his trust in the sword and spear and javelin, as his enemies did, David put his trust in God, and walks out completely unprotected, holding only a few stones. But those seemingly ineffective weapons actually give him victory over the giant.
The question in our walk of faith is not if we will suffer, but when. It’s not, “What can we do to avoid suffering?”, but, “How will we deal with suffering when it comes?” What resources will we draw upon to enable us to be able to say with the members of Emmanuel AME and the apostle Paul, “we are punished, and yet not killed; sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing everything”? Those resources might be our faith, the scriptures, our friends and families, a good counselor or spiritual director, spiritual practices that ground and center us, a special place we can go that brings us peace and comfort, or any number of other things. Those resources are the “stones” in our arsenal, or in our “toolkit,” if you prefer a less violent metaphor, that we put in our shepherd’s bag to take with us as we walk boldly toward the obstacles and the adversities that come our way.
What are your five smooth stones that you take with you to confront the adversities in your life? What resources help you to defeat the giant enemies in your spiritual walk?
In your bulletins you may have noticed a yellow piece of paper labeled, “My Five Smooth Stones.” If you noticed it, you probably had no idea what that was about, but now it should all be becoming clear to you. I’d like to invite you all to take a few moments to reflect on what your five smooth stones are (it doesn’t have to be exactly five; it could be more or less) that equip you to face adversity with faith and courage. And as you do that, I’ll be passing around this bowl full of candy stones, and ask you to each take a few to remind you of those resources in your lives that keep you strong. And if you’re missing any resources or think of ones you don’t have, make a commitment to reaching out and establishing those support systems for yourselves so you will be ready for the next giant or storm that comes your way.
The loose offering from this service was designated for the Mother Emanuel Hope Fund, to provide support to the families of the victims of the shootings in Charleston, SC.
Afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, and hunger.
Paul’s list in today’s passage from 2 Corinthians of all he has endured for the sake of the Gospel is not exactly a great selling point for following Jesus. “Come join us, and you too can experience afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, and hunger!” Oh goodie, where do I sign up?
Many of us often think that if we are following God and doing all the right things, no harm will come to us, and perhaps it’s not surprising we think this way, since there are many parts of the scriptures that affirm this correlation between good behavior or righteousness and prosperity and safety. Countless times throughout the “wisdom literature” of the Bible, which includes the books of Ecclesiastes, Proverbs, and the psalms, we hear some version of the idea that the righteous will prosper and the wicked will perish, that those who follow God will be rewarded and those who do not will be punished. That certainly sounds like an appealing system, one where our experiences are predictable and directly related to our actions, where people “get what they deserve,” so to speak, where the world is just.
But the reality of life is often quite different. It is easy to claim from an abstract philosophical perspective that we will be rewarded if we do good and punished if we do bad, but often our experiences don’t line up with those beliefs. A pillar of the community who has supported countless people and changed lives receives a diagnosis of a life-threatening illness and is dead within six months. A tornado drops out of nowhere and destroys the home of a young, struggling family who had just managed to purchase their first house. A young man from my hometown in South Carolina walks into a church in Charleston and kills nine people while they are gathered for prayer and Bible study.
Our reaction when we encounter such tragedies is often, “Why me?” or “Why them?”– especially if we think we or they were good people who didn’t “deserve” this. We can see this reaction from the disciples in today’s Gospel passage. Despite the fact that they have done everything “right” by following Jesus and doing what he asked in getting into the boat to cross to the other side of the lake, they are indignant with him when they encounter calamity along the way. When a storm threatens to capsize their boat, they wake up Jesus with the accusing statement, “Do you not care that we are perishing?” This is often our reaction to what we see as undeserved suffering. “What did I ever do to you, God? Do you not CARE that we are suffering? Why don’t you do something to stop it?” But our passage from 2 Corinthians offers another approach.
The suffering Paul and his companions experienced is not insignificant. We’re not talking about so-called “first world problems” like getting pickles on their sandwiches when they asked for no pickles, or their houses being so big they had to get two wireless routers. We’re talking some pretty horrific things -- afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, and hunger – and yet, he nonetheless proclaims that even in the midst of such suffering, they are truly blessed. No matter how awful their circumstances may appear from the outside, they are able to continue to praise God because they know the paradoxical truth of the Gospel, that through suffering can come new life, that there can be blessings even in the most unspeakable suffering. Although they are punished, they are not killed; although they are sorrowful, they always rejoice even in the midst of it; although they are poor, they are making many rich – maybe not literally, but in the truest sense of the word, through spiritual transformation; although they have nothing by physical standards, they actually possess everything that matters by spiritual standards through their faith in Jesus Christ and the assurance of new life that they have through him. No matter what people may say about them or what suffering they might encounter, their faith is not shaken.
Our passage from the Hebrew Bible today also gives us an example of keeping the faith in the midst of adversity. In the classic story of David and Goliath, David does not cower before a seemingly unconquerable obstacle. Though he is young and small and by all external standards seems a poor match for the giant warrior Goliath, he steps forward and agrees to meet Goliath’s challenge, trusting that God is with him despite his youth and lack of experience in battle.
Paul’s inspiring proclamation of faith and David’s heroism stand in direct contrast to the disciples in the Gospel passage, who panic in the face of the storm, who expect Jesus to keep them from ever suffering, who cannot trust that they will come through the storm with God’s help.
Where are you in these stories? Are you cowering with the disciples in the boat or proclaiming faith boldly in the midst of adversity with Paul? Are you like the disciples indignant that trouble has come their way, or like David striding confidently forward with only a few stones to defend himself?
Those of us who have had the good fortune of not experiencing much pain and suffering in this life are more likely to find ourselves cowering and indignant with the disciples in the boat when trouble comes our way. But those of us who have been people of sorrows and acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3) are likely to know something about what it takes to muster up courage and faith in the midst of adversity.
This weekend, the world is watching and mourning with our brothers and sisters in the Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC, after the horrific shootings there on Wednesday night. Unfortunately, our brothers and sisters in the black church are no strangers to suffering and grief. Their list of all they have endured over the years in terms of violence and intimidation could rival Paul’s list from 2 Corinthians, especially during the years of slavery and the civil rights movement: afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger. This list, foreign to so many of us in predominantly white churches, is all too familiar to many of our brothers and sisters in the black churches. And yet, somehow, many of them have managed to draw upon a deep reserve of faith that has seen them through these adversities and kept their hearts from being hardened by resentment and hate. On Friday, at the court hearing of shooter Dylann Roof, family members of those killed gathered to speak to him and told him they forgave him. What kind of faith gives you the strength to look your mother or son’s killer in the eyes and say, “I forgive you, may God have mercy on your soul?” Faith that has been refined through hardship; faith that knows that hate will never drive out hate, only love can do that; faith that knows that God can make a way where there is no way, as the saying goes.
And that’s exactly the kind of faith Paul and David had in our readings for today. They put their trust in God and drew upon the resources they had to find a way when many would have said there was no way.
In the story of David and Goliath, there is one small detail I have always overlooked that I’d like to lift up as a metaphor for our own abilities to overcome adversity. After rejecting Saul’s heavy armor because he wasn’t used to it, David goes to the river and picks out five smooth stones that he carries with them as his only weapons as he goes out to meet Goliath. Rather than putting his trust in the sword and spear and javelin, as his enemies did, David put his trust in God, and walks out completely unprotected, holding only a few stones. But those seemingly ineffective weapons actually give him victory over the giant.
The question in our walk of faith is not if we will suffer, but when. It’s not, “What can we do to avoid suffering?”, but, “How will we deal with suffering when it comes?” What resources will we draw upon to enable us to be able to say with the members of Emmanuel AME and the apostle Paul, “we are punished, and yet not killed; sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing everything”? Those resources might be our faith, the scriptures, our friends and families, a good counselor or spiritual director, spiritual practices that ground and center us, a special place we can go that brings us peace and comfort, or any number of other things. Those resources are the “stones” in our arsenal, or in our “toolkit,” if you prefer a less violent metaphor, that we put in our shepherd’s bag to take with us as we walk boldly toward the obstacles and the adversities that come our way.
What are your five smooth stones that you take with you to confront the adversities in your life? What resources help you to defeat the giant enemies in your spiritual walk?
In your bulletins you may have noticed a yellow piece of paper labeled, “My Five Smooth Stones.” If you noticed it, you probably had no idea what that was about, but now it should all be becoming clear to you. I’d like to invite you all to take a few moments to reflect on what your five smooth stones are (it doesn’t have to be exactly five; it could be more or less) that equip you to face adversity with faith and courage. And as you do that, I’ll be passing around this bowl full of candy stones, and ask you to each take a few to remind you of those resources in your lives that keep you strong. And if you’re missing any resources or think of ones you don’t have, make a commitment to reaching out and establishing those support systems for yourselves so you will be ready for the next giant or storm that comes your way.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Conflict in the church: treat them like an outsider?
Sermon delivered Sunday, Sept. 7, 2014 (13th Sunday After Pentecost, Year A, Proper 18), at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Franklin, TN (Matthew 18:15-20).
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus addresses one of those subjects nobody wants to talk about in church: conflict.
Many of us tend to think there should be no conflict in church, because if we were being “good Christian people” we wouldn’t disagree or argue with one another. But that simply isn’t true. Relationship therapists will tell you that in any relationship with any depth, conflict is bound to arise at some point. The problem in a relationship is not the presence of conflict, but how conflict is handled when it does arise.
Jesus outlines a very reasonable process for addressing conflict in this passage from Matthew chapter 18: “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone,” he says. The first step is to approach the person directly and privately, and almost all conflict can be addressed effectively at this level. Where we often get into trouble is when we avoid this step of talking directly to the person we are at odds with and instead start talking about that person to other people in unhelpful ways. If we approach the person directly and privately, in a spirit of respect and compassion, we can often address the issue right there and come to some kind of reconciliation between us.
But, in cases where that reconciliation is not forthcoming after a one-on-one encounter, the next step in the process Jesus outlines is to take along one or two other people with you to speak to that person. The reason he gives for this is so there will be a witness to your conversation, but a third party can also be a helpful mediator, especially if the person is trained to do such work. Often a third party can help broker peace between two people in conflict.
But if that doesn’t work either, the third step Jesus outlines is to take the issue to “the church.” It’s not entirely clear what “the church” means here, but most probably it means the local parish, not the entire denomination at large or the entire Christian community around the world! This step implies an appeal to the authorities – someone with the ability to issue judgment in the case, to make a decision about the matter; this is not an invitation to air your dirty laundry in front of the whole community at coffee hour!
If that step doesn’t work and the person still continues in the offensive behavior, Jesus says to “let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.” This phrase can be somewhat confusing, since in many places in the Gospels Jesus welcomes tax collectors and Gentiles to his community. But in this context, Jesus is probably using a phrase that would easily be recognized by his first century Jewish audience as meaning “outsider,” one who is not part of the fold. What Jesus probably means here is if the person has refused all attempts at reconciliation as outlined in this process, eventually you must come to a point where you treat that person as an outsider rather than as a brother. Hold them at arm’s length, in other words, because that person has violated a trust between you. This distancing is a way of ensuring that you don’t continue to get hurt, and to ensure that the offender doesn’t continue to hurt other people.
This process has much wisdom in it, but like anything else, it can be abused. As we attempt to follow Jesus’s teachings in this matter, we must be careful not to take this “formula” and make it the standard in all things rather than love. The Apostle Paul reminds us in our reading from Romans today that “the one who loves another has fulfilled the law,” and “love does no wrong to a neighbor” (Romans 13:8, 10). We must be careful that in seeking to address a conflict or confront someone about unethical behavior that we do not wind up doing wrong to that person, that we do not allow ourselves to become prideful judges whose focus is on exclusion and punishment rather than reconciliation and love.
I’m sure many of us know of situations where churches have taken the instructions in Matthew 18 to an extreme – where they have made it a practice to publicly humiliate anyone who is seen as a “sinner” in their midst, who are so concerned with purifying their ranks that they seem to forget that God also calls us to be merciful. The film Chocolat is a good example of a community who has taken the instruction to confront and condemn sin to an extreme.
If you haven’t seen this film, it came out in the year 2000 and was nominated for several Oscars. The plot centers on a woman named Vienne who moves to a small French Catholic village and opens a chocolate shop in the middle of Lent. Vienne is not Christian; she follows various spiritual practices of some of her ancestors from Latin America, so the fact that it is the middle of Lent means nothing to her and she proceeds to begin making delicious, sumptuous treats that of course none of the villagers are supposed to eat during the Lenten fast.
The mayor of the town, who essentially runs not only the town, but also the local parish church, is outraged. Not only does Vienne attempt to sell chocolate during Lent, she also associates with the so-called “river rats,” the gypsies that travel through town on the river. He stirs up opposition against Vienne and begins a campaign to “boycott immorality” designed to drive the gypsies and Vienne out of town.
Although he never references this passage from Matthew about dealing with sin and conflict in the church, it’s clear that the mayor thinks he is doing God’s work in treating these people like outsiders. He eventually whips himself into such a frenzy over Vienne’s presence in town that he is convinced that God is telling him to literally destroy Vienne’s shop. On Easter eve, he breaks in to her store with a knife and attacks all the chocolate statues in her front window.
On Easter morning, the new priest in town, a young man who has thus far been a puppet for the mayor, even allowing the mayor to write his sermons, finally has to come into his own. The mayor didn’t get a chance to finish the Easter sermon because he was so busy with his anti-chocolate crusade, so Pere Henri delivers his first real message, and breaks the ice of judgmentalism and exclusion in favor of a more open and inclusive approach. After citing the example of Jesus’s life and his tolerance and kindness to others, he ends his short homily by saying: “Listen, here's what I think. I think we can't go around measuring our goodness by what we don't do; by what we deny ourselves, what we resist, and who we exclude. I think we've got to measure goodness by what we embrace, what we create, and who we include.”
After the service, the whole town goes out for a huge Easter feast, with the desserts provided by – guess who – the local “pagan” owner of the chocolate shop.
I cite the example of this story because it raises an important question for us as we strive to live together as the body of Christ, as we try both to live out the example of Jesus’s welcome of outsiders and also attempt to deal with conflict and sin within the church. As much as some within the church would like to think that matters of sin and judgment are clear-cut and simple, there will always be questions among us about what exactly constitutes a sin that requires the use of this process Jesus outlines in Matthew 18. Exactly how sinful does someone have to be before we make the decision to treat them as an outsider rather than a brother? As we consider our response to that question, will we err on the side of judgment or on the side of mercy? Will we measure goodness by what we resist and who we exclude, or will we measure goodness by what we embrace and who we include?
If we look at the picture of Jesus’s life and teachings as a whole and do not allow this one passage to become the lens through which we read the Gospels, we will find a picture of abounding love and mercy, not a strict calculation that leads to expulsion in four easy steps. Immediately following this passage about dealing with conflict that ends with an instruction to treat the offender as an outsider, Jesus tells Peter that if another member of the church sins against him, he should forgive not just seven, but seventy-seven times (Matthew 18:21-22) – a figure meant to express a large, generous approach to forgiveness rather than a literal calculation of the number of times one should forgive. By that standard, our forgiveness should be boundless – so that even the Gentiles and tax collectors – even those we see as outsiders because they are not part of our group and those within our group who we have come to see as outsiders because of their sin – are still within the reach of God’s all-embracing love. As much as it is humanly possible, we should seek to model that love for others, knowing that even when someone has broken the bond of trust between us because of their sin, God’s forgiveness is still just as available to them as it is to us.
The God who we know through the person of Jesus Christ reminds us that above all, God desires mercy, not sacrifice (Matthew 9:13, Micah 6:6). The God we know in Christ forgave the woman caught in adultery, saying “let he who is without sin cast the first stone” (John 8:7). The God we know in Christ told Peter to forgive not just seven, but seventy-seven times (Matthew 18:21-22). So although there may be extreme cases where we must make the decision to hold someone at arm’s length and treat them as an outsider because of their refusal to engage in reconciliation, even then we must remember how Jesus treated outsiders overall: he loved them and invited them to the table. May we always do the same.
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus addresses one of those subjects nobody wants to talk about in church: conflict.
Many of us tend to think there should be no conflict in church, because if we were being “good Christian people” we wouldn’t disagree or argue with one another. But that simply isn’t true. Relationship therapists will tell you that in any relationship with any depth, conflict is bound to arise at some point. The problem in a relationship is not the presence of conflict, but how conflict is handled when it does arise.
Jesus outlines a very reasonable process for addressing conflict in this passage from Matthew chapter 18: “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone,” he says. The first step is to approach the person directly and privately, and almost all conflict can be addressed effectively at this level. Where we often get into trouble is when we avoid this step of talking directly to the person we are at odds with and instead start talking about that person to other people in unhelpful ways. If we approach the person directly and privately, in a spirit of respect and compassion, we can often address the issue right there and come to some kind of reconciliation between us.
But, in cases where that reconciliation is not forthcoming after a one-on-one encounter, the next step in the process Jesus outlines is to take along one or two other people with you to speak to that person. The reason he gives for this is so there will be a witness to your conversation, but a third party can also be a helpful mediator, especially if the person is trained to do such work. Often a third party can help broker peace between two people in conflict.
But if that doesn’t work either, the third step Jesus outlines is to take the issue to “the church.” It’s not entirely clear what “the church” means here, but most probably it means the local parish, not the entire denomination at large or the entire Christian community around the world! This step implies an appeal to the authorities – someone with the ability to issue judgment in the case, to make a decision about the matter; this is not an invitation to air your dirty laundry in front of the whole community at coffee hour!
If that step doesn’t work and the person still continues in the offensive behavior, Jesus says to “let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.” This phrase can be somewhat confusing, since in many places in the Gospels Jesus welcomes tax collectors and Gentiles to his community. But in this context, Jesus is probably using a phrase that would easily be recognized by his first century Jewish audience as meaning “outsider,” one who is not part of the fold. What Jesus probably means here is if the person has refused all attempts at reconciliation as outlined in this process, eventually you must come to a point where you treat that person as an outsider rather than as a brother. Hold them at arm’s length, in other words, because that person has violated a trust between you. This distancing is a way of ensuring that you don’t continue to get hurt, and to ensure that the offender doesn’t continue to hurt other people.
This process has much wisdom in it, but like anything else, it can be abused. As we attempt to follow Jesus’s teachings in this matter, we must be careful not to take this “formula” and make it the standard in all things rather than love. The Apostle Paul reminds us in our reading from Romans today that “the one who loves another has fulfilled the law,” and “love does no wrong to a neighbor” (Romans 13:8, 10). We must be careful that in seeking to address a conflict or confront someone about unethical behavior that we do not wind up doing wrong to that person, that we do not allow ourselves to become prideful judges whose focus is on exclusion and punishment rather than reconciliation and love.
I’m sure many of us know of situations where churches have taken the instructions in Matthew 18 to an extreme – where they have made it a practice to publicly humiliate anyone who is seen as a “sinner” in their midst, who are so concerned with purifying their ranks that they seem to forget that God also calls us to be merciful. The film Chocolat is a good example of a community who has taken the instruction to confront and condemn sin to an extreme.
If you haven’t seen this film, it came out in the year 2000 and was nominated for several Oscars. The plot centers on a woman named Vienne who moves to a small French Catholic village and opens a chocolate shop in the middle of Lent. Vienne is not Christian; she follows various spiritual practices of some of her ancestors from Latin America, so the fact that it is the middle of Lent means nothing to her and she proceeds to begin making delicious, sumptuous treats that of course none of the villagers are supposed to eat during the Lenten fast.
The mayor of the town, who essentially runs not only the town, but also the local parish church, is outraged. Not only does Vienne attempt to sell chocolate during Lent, she also associates with the so-called “river rats,” the gypsies that travel through town on the river. He stirs up opposition against Vienne and begins a campaign to “boycott immorality” designed to drive the gypsies and Vienne out of town.
Although he never references this passage from Matthew about dealing with sin and conflict in the church, it’s clear that the mayor thinks he is doing God’s work in treating these people like outsiders. He eventually whips himself into such a frenzy over Vienne’s presence in town that he is convinced that God is telling him to literally destroy Vienne’s shop. On Easter eve, he breaks in to her store with a knife and attacks all the chocolate statues in her front window.
On Easter morning, the new priest in town, a young man who has thus far been a puppet for the mayor, even allowing the mayor to write his sermons, finally has to come into his own. The mayor didn’t get a chance to finish the Easter sermon because he was so busy with his anti-chocolate crusade, so Pere Henri delivers his first real message, and breaks the ice of judgmentalism and exclusion in favor of a more open and inclusive approach. After citing the example of Jesus’s life and his tolerance and kindness to others, he ends his short homily by saying: “Listen, here's what I think. I think we can't go around measuring our goodness by what we don't do; by what we deny ourselves, what we resist, and who we exclude. I think we've got to measure goodness by what we embrace, what we create, and who we include.”
After the service, the whole town goes out for a huge Easter feast, with the desserts provided by – guess who – the local “pagan” owner of the chocolate shop.
I cite the example of this story because it raises an important question for us as we strive to live together as the body of Christ, as we try both to live out the example of Jesus’s welcome of outsiders and also attempt to deal with conflict and sin within the church. As much as some within the church would like to think that matters of sin and judgment are clear-cut and simple, there will always be questions among us about what exactly constitutes a sin that requires the use of this process Jesus outlines in Matthew 18. Exactly how sinful does someone have to be before we make the decision to treat them as an outsider rather than a brother? As we consider our response to that question, will we err on the side of judgment or on the side of mercy? Will we measure goodness by what we resist and who we exclude, or will we measure goodness by what we embrace and who we include?
If we look at the picture of Jesus’s life and teachings as a whole and do not allow this one passage to become the lens through which we read the Gospels, we will find a picture of abounding love and mercy, not a strict calculation that leads to expulsion in four easy steps. Immediately following this passage about dealing with conflict that ends with an instruction to treat the offender as an outsider, Jesus tells Peter that if another member of the church sins against him, he should forgive not just seven, but seventy-seven times (Matthew 18:21-22) – a figure meant to express a large, generous approach to forgiveness rather than a literal calculation of the number of times one should forgive. By that standard, our forgiveness should be boundless – so that even the Gentiles and tax collectors – even those we see as outsiders because they are not part of our group and those within our group who we have come to see as outsiders because of their sin – are still within the reach of God’s all-embracing love. As much as it is humanly possible, we should seek to model that love for others, knowing that even when someone has broken the bond of trust between us because of their sin, God’s forgiveness is still just as available to them as it is to us.
The God who we know through the person of Jesus Christ reminds us that above all, God desires mercy, not sacrifice (Matthew 9:13, Micah 6:6). The God we know in Christ forgave the woman caught in adultery, saying “let he who is without sin cast the first stone” (John 8:7). The God we know in Christ told Peter to forgive not just seven, but seventy-seven times (Matthew 18:21-22). So although there may be extreme cases where we must make the decision to hold someone at arm’s length and treat them as an outsider because of their refusal to engage in reconciliation, even then we must remember how Jesus treated outsiders overall: he loved them and invited them to the table. May we always do the same.
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