Romans 8:31-39 "Free Fall"

         I do not know about you, but sometimes I think that the letters of the Apostle Paul – and most particularly the letter to the Romans – would be a good cure for insomnia.  The letter is not easy reading.  That is for sure.  It is filled with lengthy complicated sentences and spouts some fairly abstract theology.  Furthermore, oftentimes it has a convoluted grammatical structure. 

         Paul’s letters are not like the Gospels that are filled with engaging stories about Jesus – Jesus in the synagogue, in a boat, on a hillside.  We find no stories about Jesus healing lepers and mentally ill people and folks with all sorts of physical disabilities.  There are no tales of storms that are calmed, water that is turned into wine, and lunch for 5000 people. 

         You see, Paul’s letters have nothing to do with history or the things Jesus did.  Paul has no interest in telling stories.  Paul’s letters are about ideas - ideas about Jesus as the Christ, the Anointed One, ideas about God, a whole bunch of ideas that, when you put them all together, explain Paul’s view of the Good News of the Gospel. 

        Paul was getting ready to travel as a missionary to Spain when he wrote this particular letter to the church congregation in Rome, the capitol of the Empire.  Because he got waylaid there, ended up in prison, and was eventually executed, this letter was the last one that he composed and is a summary of his core theology. 

         Paul was an old man at the time and a mature Christian.  That is, this letter to the Roman church was not composed right after his conversion experience on the road to Damascus.  You might remember that as the time when he was struck by what seemed to be lightning and heard what seemed to be the voice of Jesus calling him.  This letter we simply call Romans was written some thirty years later.  By that time, Paul had had decades to reflect on his faith, to hone and refine it.

         I find it both inspiring and tremendously comforting that a culminating aspect of Paul’s theology blossoms in the verses we just read this morning:

“And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow— not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love.  No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

         What Paul is saying in all that flowery language is that God loves us. The world and everyone in it is God’s beloved creation – for all time – neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow – not even the powers of hell – can cause God’s love for each and every one of us to disappear – or even diminish one iota.  God’s love is strong and remains with all of us for all time. That is what the Apostle Paul is telling us in this wonderful passage. 

         That was also the message we received at our baptism - such a symbol of God’s grace - and that is the message that we will need to carry with us into this Lenten season as we explore our worship series theme of “Roll Down Justice” through the lens of the ancient ritual and sacrament of baptism.

         The title of our series comes from the words of the Old Testament prophet Amos, who said: “Let justice roll down like water and righteousness like an ever flowing stream.” 

Those are eloquent and powerful words.  But what does it mean to let justice roll down like the mighty waters of a flood and consume our lives as well as the lives of those we touch?  And how do we actually go about doing it?  That will be our challenge as we journey with Jesus these forty days of Lent – travel with him all the way through Holy Week and to the cross.

         However, we are getting ahead of ourselves.  You see, it all begins with God’s promise to love us – no matter what – not “us” in the exclusive “us and them” way we often use the term nowadays, but “us” in the most all-encompassing, global, and expansive sense possible.  God loves all of us in the world.

         There was once a little boy who was baptized. “God loves you.  You belong to God,” the pastor told him as she made the sign of the cross on his forehead.

           The next day, the child told his mother, "I can still feel the cross. I hope it never comes off."

           The watery cross undoubtedly wore off his forehead, but not God's unconditional promise of love.  Writing in the Huffington Post about the baptism of Jesus, Vicki Flippin of The Church of the Village in New York City says, "I tell folks that baptism is the church declaring what has always been true, that each of us belongs to God and only to God. (We are) claimed by God above all other claims."

         And heaven knows, every person faces so many competing – and often malignant and polarizing - claims in our world today.  We are claimed as Democrats or Republicans, as conservatives or progressives, as deeply admiring of our President or thinking he is not doing such a hot job.  We are claimed as white and privileged or part of a victimized minority.  We are claimed as successes or failures in our jobs and family life.  We are claimed as devote Christians or Islamic terrorists.  We are claimed as “us” and “them”.  

         Oh, our inclusive faith and the divisive culture that surrounds us are so much at odds!  As United Church of Christ pastor Jeffrey Carlson wrote, “Throughout our lives, the world does a lot to try to bully the beloved that’s within us – at school, at our workplace, even in our families. But we are called to be people who bring out the beloved in each other – through kindness, a tender heart, gracious forgiveness, building each other up as beloved sons and daughters of God.”

         What would it feel like to live as if we really believed that each person was one of God’s beloved?  What would it feel like to live as if our faith in the Gospel was stronger than the teachings of our culture?  What would it feel like to be a person who trusted that nothing has the power to separate us from the love of God and that no one – no matter what others may tell us - is bereft of God’s love?  What would it be like to have the confidence to proclaim that the only separation between the “other guy” (the one you fear, the one you distrust) and God is the separation you choose to insist upon? What would it be like to have the courage and confidence to proclaim – and live – with a different outlook on life – one where justice rolled down like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream?

         Would we bring contributions for the Food Pantry more regularly?  Would we seek out a Muslim and talk about our faith and hers? Would we take the initiative to find out more about the needs of the Town of Raymond and how we as a faith community might fill them?  Would we ask just how we here in this church are making a difference in people’s lives?

         Presbyterian pastor John Lentz tells the amazing and true tale of Felix Baumgartner.  He is a man who jumped out of a capsule 24 miles above the surface of the earth. He free fell for close to 10 minutes going faster than the speed of sound. Then, he pulled the chord on his massive parachute and safely landed outside of Roswell, New Mexico.

         Lentz writes, “I don’t know why Felix Baumgartner would do such a thing. But I am glad that he didn’t pass out, that his parachute opened, and that he is alive. The possibility of death was, to him, not a deterrent and he jumped. He trusted that he could do it, and he did it.

         How would your life be different if you trusted that “nothing separates you (or anyone else) from the love of God as revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord”? “This good news, this gospel fires me up (Lentz writes) and makes me want to tell others that they are loved just as they are. I would hope that it would make me less judgmental, less condemning, more forgiving, more expectant and hopeful; certainly less fearful, or at least puts my fears in a larger context.”

         Does it fire you up too, or does it seem simply overwhelming?  If it is the latter, you are not alone.  Just as the Apostle Paul’s letters are overwhelming at times, so free falling into a new life – to live as if the Gospel really mattered – to live with justice flowing from your life’s actions like a great waterfall  - is likewise overwhelming.  However, let’s remember that we do not take this journey alone.  We walk together with like-minded people here in this church – and we walk with Jesus. 

         There was once a man who owned a small sawmill during the Great Depression of the 1930’s.  “He would haul saw logs to the mill on a bobtailed log truck. One rainy afternoon he was bringing a heavy load of logs on a slippery dirt road. The truck slid into the ditch and could not pull itself out.

         (He) walked a mile up the road to a farmhouse and asked the farmer if he would pull the truck out with his tractor. The farmer said, ‘I don’t have a tractor, but I have a very fine mule  - Old Blue.

         The man said, ‘I don’t think a mule can do the job. I have a heavy load of logs.’

         The farmer said, ‘You don’t know my mule, Blue.’

         With that, they hiked back to the truck and hitched up Blue. The man cracked his whip and said, ‘Come on, Blue!’

         Blue pulled but the truck did not move. He cracked the whip again and said, ‘Come on, Mack!’ The truck moved slightly.

         He cracked his whip again and shouted, ‘Come on, Maude!’ And the mule pulled the truck out of the ditch.

         The man thanked the farmer and said to him, ‘Let me ask you a question. Why did you call that mule by three different names?’

         And the farmer said, ‘Old Blue is blind, and if he had thought he was the only one pulling, your truck would still be in the ditch.’

         We are greatly empowered when we believe that someone else is pulling with us and for us. We need not go it alone. There is help – both human and divine.  We can be justice seekers and peacemakers.  We can live letting justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

         That being said - what can we do in this first week of our Lenten journey to encourage such justice to flow through our lives?  What can we do to ensure that those we encounter understand that they are God’s beloved ones – and that we affirm their belovedness?

         The United Methodist General Commission on Race and Religion has three suggestions.

We can seek to do no harm – by thinking before we speak and understanding a human tendency to judge others - often harshly or unfairly.

We can do good – by owning our thoughts and beliefs and using “I” statements and listening with a compassionate and curious heart especially when someone’s experience or beliefs are different from ours.

We can stay in love with God – by being faithful to our commitment to be Jesus’ 21^st century disciples.

         Kent M. Keith had similar thoughts in his book The Paradoxical Commandments: Finding Personal Meaning in a Crazy World.  He says:

People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered:  Love them anyway.

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives: Do good anyway.

The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow:  Do good anyway.

Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable:  Be honest and frank anyway.

People favor underdogs but follow only top dogs:  Fight for a few underdogs anyway.

People really need help, but may not thank you if you do help them:  Help people anyway.

         It may be that “in a world that seems obsessed with who is ‘right and wrong’, ‘good or bad,’ ‘in or out’ or on’ this side or that side,’ it is a radical endeavor to name each person as “Child of God”– no matter what people say. (Marcia McFee).  However, we have an opportunity this Lent to intentionally and as a church family embrace our own – and others – “belovedness.”  We have an opportunity to try out living lives of justice as the prophet Amos implored us.  We have an opportunity to see if, come Easter, we have conformed a bit more to the character of Jesus and perhaps have also experienced the deepest joy possible. 

          So - during these next 40 days of the Lenten season, I challenge you to reflect on how justice might roll down in your life.  I challenge you to affirm your belovedness as well as the belovedness of those you would consider unworthy of such love (Immigrants?  Refugees? Muslims?  Latinos?  LGBTQ folks?  It will different for each one of you.).  But most of all, I challenge you to experience firsthand how the prophet Amos’ words have the potential to transform your life.

Matthew 17:1-9 "Beetles, Butterflies, and Personal Transformation"

         In the Harry Potter book series, “transfiguration” was a required course at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  It focused mainly on changing teacups into rats or maybe flowers into candles.  In Franz Kafka’s novella, Metamorphosis, transfiguration was a traveling salesman waking up one day to find that he had turned into a giant beetle – much like a monarch butterfly emerging from its chrysalis but without the existential angst.

         However, neither of these illustrations really get to the bottom of what Peter, James, and John witnessed on that mountaintop the day Jesus invited them to come along, and they naively thought it was simply to join their rabbi friend in a time of prayer.  Little did they know that they would be exposed to some of the most awesome pyrotechnics that would ever come to be recorded in the Bible.

         Not that they should have been caught completely unaware!  After all, the Gospel writer of Matthew tells us that the four of them hiked up to the summit of a “high mountain.”  What was left unstated, but was the norm in ancient Jewish literature, was that a “high mountain” was a “thin place”, a locale where the veil between the world as we know it and God’s world is diaphanous, nearly transparent.  A “high mountain” was a place so close to the spiritual realm that sacred encounters were bound to occur. 

         I mean, look at Moses on Mt. Sinai coming face-to-face with Yahweh/God (well, maybe not face-to-face, but the writer of Exodus does declare that he saw God’s backside).  Less dramatic perhaps were the words Jesus preached that we have heard for the past five weeks – the Sermon on the Mount.  Surely there was something sacred about them as well as they spilled down the hillside to the folks listening below. 

         This time, we are told, the three disciples looked up from their praying and daydreaming and saw the most astounding sight.  There was Jesus standing before them a short distance away, boxed in by the two most prominent men in the entire history of Judaism:  Moses representing the law and Elijah the prophets – and Jesus in the middle, symbolic of the fulfillment of the two. 

         The writer does not tell us how the disciples knew that the two men flanking Jesus were Moses and Elijah.  After all, they had come and gone generations before – but no matter!  That is not our concern.

         The Gospel writer does tell us that they were chatting away but fails to reveal what they were talking about.  Was it abstract theology?  Or just how the three of them found themselves together on the mountaintop – Why here?  Why now? Or were they just discussing the weather and “how about them Red Sox?”         

         However, the gist of their conversation is not our concern either because, at about that time, a cloud spread overhead, blotting out the clear blue sky.  And then Peter, James, and John heard a voice that, on the face of it, sounded so holy, so sacred, so nurturing.  It echoed the words spoken at Jesus’ baptism:  “This is my son, my beloved.”  And then it gently admonished the three disciples.  “Listen to him.”

         As Presbyterian pastor and writer Frederick Buechner notes, “It is as strange a scene as there is in the Gospels. Even without the voice from the cloud to explain it, they had no doubt what they were witnessing. It was Jesus of Nazareth all right, the man they'd tramped many a dusty mile with, whose mother and brothers they knew, the one they'd seen as hungry, tired, and footsore as the rest of them. But it was also the Messiah, the Christ, in his glory. “

         The disciples were left flat-footed and awestruck in the midst of the glistening white and dazzling faces.  Moments passed – or was it hours?  Who knows, but it was Peter who came to his senses first. 

         Now, he often gets a bad rap for what he did next – though I remain unconvinced that most of us would have suggested anything different.  Peter wanted to savor that moment of unabashed sacredness as long as he could and consequently felt a strong impulse to do something in response to it.  

         It was like the young parish priest who walked into the worship space of his church one morning and saw Jesus Himself praying at the altar.  He immediately alerted the priest-in-charge who in turn alerted the bishop.

         The bishop told the priest-in-charge that he must consult with the Pope on this, and he would call him right back. The phone rang shortly afterward, and the priest-in-charge asked what the Pope advised. The bishop replied, “The Pope says — look busy!”

         When you come right down to it, that is all that Peter wanted to do – look sharp and save the day!  So he ordered James and John to begin collecting materials for little booths (tents as one translation describes them) – one each for Moses, Elijah, and Jesus. 

Why?  Just because it seemed like a good and reverent thing to do: It was rather like building a church.  However, before they could pick up a single stick, the cloud enveloped them all, and the voice surrounded them:  “This is my son, my beloved.  Listen to him.”

         And as suddenly as the encounter had begun, it ended.  The voice was gone.  The cloud had vanished.  Elijah and Moses had flown the coop. 

         It was just Jesus – just Jesus - beside them, touching their arms, patting their backs, telling them once again not to be afraid and (Listen!) it was time to get back to the valley because there was work to do and a long road ahead.  And by the way, do not tell anyone what happened here.  The world would know soon enough what they had seen a glimpse of.  

         This Biblical idea of transfiguration is a far cry from teacups turning into rats and men into beetles and caterpillars into butterflies.  This story is one that seems so far fetched and “out there.”  And yet, it is found in all three Synoptic gospels – Matthew, Mark, and Luke, so it must be of profound importance – and not, I would venture to say, because of the special effects. 

         After all, as United Church of Canada pastor David Ewart wrote in his blog “Holy Textures,” “There is more to be known about what is really real than the eye can see.”  In other words, we need to look past the robe turned as white as any laundry detergent could make it and the face that looked as if it were on fire.  We need to quit focusing on the pyrotechnics and trying to come up with rational (or irrational) explanations for them, and seek the truth of this astounding passage.

         I love this story of the transfiguration – but only when I reflect on it as something other than a smoke and mirrors ploy to impress me into believing that Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah.  I love the story of the transfiguration when I see it as a narrative that offers me both a deeper perspective on Jesus and all that he stood for and, at the same time, empowers me to believe in the possibility of my own personal transformation.  Because when I read the story of the transfiguration that way, I cannot help but believe that I can actually make a difference in the world.

         The story of the transfiguration helps me to see Jesus in a fuller and richer way. 

In this story of a mountaintop experience, I am comforted in realizing that Jesus did not suddenly become someone he was not – one minute human and the next divine.  Jesus did not change from one type of being to another – from teacup to rat or person to beetle.   He did not change and become something new. 

         Rather, it is as Frederick Buechner noted, “It was the holiness of the man shining through his humanness, his face so afire with it (the disciples) were almost blinded.”  It was as if who he was all along was displayed for one brief shining moment in a different way. 

         I am comforted too in knowing that Jesus was not like Superman – one minute a bumbling Clark Kent and the next, after diving into a phone booth, a blue-caped superhero who is faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. 

         If Jesus changed only in appearance and did not become something new, then maybe, as Episcopal priest Michael Marsh speculated, the disciples were the ones who changed.  “Their sight was healed, their vision corrected, and their blindness removed. They saw the world transfigured, capable of revealing the beauty of God’s holiness.

They experienced all of life and creation (themselves included, I would add) as sacramental (holy). They saw and experienced life and the world as God sees and intends it.”

         If Jesus was really and truly human (and that is really and truly what orthodox Christians believe) and yet also embodied all that God dreamed for the world as the story of the transfiguration so beautifully illustrates and the church affirms, and if it was the disciples’ perspective that changed so that maybe they understood that they themselves had a spark of holiness deep within them because they were really and truly human too, then maybe – just maybe – it is the same with me, and I can be transformed as well. 

         I am comforted in knowing that Jesus lived in the valley along with the rest of us and so, in a mysterious way, his divinity was displayed not only on a mountaintop but also when he healed a leper, spoke to an ostracized woman at a well, and wept over a dead friend.          And I think that maybe I too can embody some of God’s dream as Jesus did when I am loving someone unlovable, protecting the rights of the ones cast aside, building bridges and seeking to understand rather than first being understood. I am comforted in knowing that Jesus and I might both harbor in our hearts a sacred spark, his an unquenchable fire and mine just a holy ember because we are both human and both have lived in the valley.

         The challenge of this passage for us then comes not in the mountaintop experience itself (which most of us will never have) but in the aftermath – in what we choose to do as a result of now knowing, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Jesus is not just a good man to follow, but he is a man through whom all the fire and light and love of God shines through. 

         Peter did not need to build a tent for Jesus.  That is where he went wrong.  That is where he was so naïve.  It is as one Bible translation puts it:  “Jesus pitched his tent in the neighborhood and lived among us for awhile – full of grace and full of truth.”  Jesus did not need a tent.  He already had pitched his – right in the midst of all of us.

         This is the last Sunday of the season of Epiphany here in church.  Lent with its ever-encroaching darkness begins this coming Wednesday and will take us all the way to Easter. 

        The season of Epiphany ends as it began – with light– first from a star that guided the magi to a cradle in Bethlehem and finally with a glimpse of Jesus as the Daystar, the morning star, the light that shines in the darkness, the light that illuminates the path we are called to walk together with him. 

         There is a time for mountaintop experiences.  There is a time to glimpse the holy.  There is a time to shout out all the ways we have been transformed and transfigured these past few weeks when we have tried to walk the path that Jesus lights for us. 

         How have you been transformed?  Have you been more loving, more generous?  Have you recognized Muslims, transgendered youth, immigrants facing deportation as beloved by God as you are? Have you thought about the ministry to which Jesus might be calling you?  Have you fed the hungry?  Have you spoken out for justice?

         Yes, there is a time to shout out all the ways we have been changed shout them from the highest mountain, but there is also a time to go back to the valley – and that time is now – because those ways in which we have been transformed find their life in the valley. 

        There is still work for us to do in the name of Jesus.  There is a long road ahead – but the path is illuminated – and our light too, with the help of God, will light it even more – as we edge closer to Jerusalem and the events of Holy Week, as the world’s light continues to dim all around us.

        

         

Matthew 5:38-48 "Coloring Outside the Lines"

         A pastor was giving a sermon based on today’s passage.  He decided to try some congregational participation.

         So he said to the folks sitting in the pews, “I’ll bet that many of us feel as if we have enemies in our lives. So raise your hand if you have many enemies.”  Now, this congregation being a very honest one, quite a few people raised their hands. The pastor smiled and continued.

         “Now raise your hand if you have only a few enemies.” And about half as many people raised their hands.

         “Now raise your hand if you have only one or two enemies.”  And even fewer people raised their hands that time.
         “See,” he says, “most of us feel like we have enemies. Now raise your hand if you have no enemies at all.”

         The pastor looked around and finally, way in the back, an old man raised his hand. The pastor acknowledged him.  The gentleman stood up and proudly announced to the pastor and the congregation, “I have no enemies whatsoever!”

         Needless-to-say, the pastor was astonished and invited the man to the front of the church.          

         “What a blessing!” the pastor said.  “How old are you?
         “I’m 98 years old,” he replied.

          “And you have no enemies?” the pastor asked once again.

         “Nope,” the elderly man said.  “Not a single one.”
         The pastor put his hand on the old parishioner’s shoulder and proclaimed, “What a wonderful Christian life you lead! Tell us how it is that you have no enemies.”
         The old man looked him in the eye and replied, “I outlived them all!”

         Friends and enemies:  That is what this passage we just read seems to be all about.  It is yet another excerpt – and a difficult one too - from the Sermon on the Mount.  Jesus has been up on that mountain preaching for quite some time now – four Sundays worth of verses, as you well know if you have been in the church the past few weeks.  And what he has to say to us this morning is no Sunday School picnic. 

         We have come a long way since we reflected on the Beatitudes (or Blessings) together.  We have imagined ourselves as light and salt.  We have struggled with anger, divorce, lying, and adultery.  And today we are looking our enemies and those who seek to bring us down – looking them square in the face and pondering what in heaven’s name we are to do about them in light of the Gospel message and our calling as Jesus’ 21^st century disciples. 

         As one blogger I read noted, “If you weren’t poor in spirit at the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount, you are bound to be by the time you finish.” Jesus does not go easy on us this morning. 

“If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.  And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well.  If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles.”

         How are we to make sense of those outlandish demands in our crazy, mixed up, dog-eat-dog world?  Even Jesus must have known that you do not get ahead being a doormat and that Casper Milquetoast never had a prayer of ending up as CEO.  Is Jesus trying to show us up as deficient, imperfect, well, OK, human?  Let’s look more closely and see what he might be up to.

        Jesus begins by tossing aside the so-called Law of the Tooth, words to live by in first century Palestine.  Gone are the days of “an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth” in the Kingdom about which he preached.  You see, God’s dream for the world is not founded on retribution. 

         Did you know that this Law of the Tooth was originally meant to keep violent retaliation from escalating?  The logic was that, if someone poked out your eye, then you had the right to poke out one of his eyes – but no more.  Likewise, if someone knocked out your tooth, then you were entitled to knock out one of your assailant’s teeth – but just one, no more.  In other words the punishment was to perfectly fit the crime.  Fair is fair, right?

         But Jesus seems to imply, “No.  It is not a question of fairness.”  And he gives three examples that really must have set his listeners back. 

         The first had to do with getting slapped in the face: “If anyone slaps you on the right cheek….”  Now, most scholars agree that Jesus was talking about being slapped with the back of the hand – which was a gigantic insult to even the lowest of the low. 

A slap on the cheek like that was tantamount to saying, “You are scum” – or as the Irish would say – “The back of my hand to you.” Contrary to erroneous interpretations, Jesus was not talking about a physical assault, like a punch in the mouth. And he certainly was not telling his listeners to roll over and play dead.

         However, he does say that simply taking the insult is not enough, “…turn to them the other cheek also.“ He seems to be imploring his audience to break the cycle of vengeance.  Fairness is not the question – or the answer.  He is asking us to color outside the lines, to go beyond what we know and are comfortable with, to offer more than what we are required to offer.

         The second example is this:  “If anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt…” Again, most scholars agree that a shirt was one of two garments people wore, a cloak being the other.  In this example then, you were literally being asked to relinquish the shirt off your back – even though what you wore was all you owned.

         But then he goes on to say that doing so is not enough:  “…hand over your coat as well.”  Jesus is telling his audience that, in this example, they need to give up their other garment too – and finish the day in their skivvies – or even less than that. 

         Like the first example, he seems to be asking his audience to break the cycle of reprisal.  Fairness is not the question – or the answer.  Jesus is asking us to color outside the lines, to go beyond what we know and are comfortable with, to offer more than what we are required to offer.

         Here is the final example:  “If anyone forces you to go one mile…”  Again, most scholars agree that Roman soldiers had the authority to demand anyone to carry their pack for a mile.  A soldier could pull you away from your fishing vessel or shop or grab a kid playing stickball.  Such a show of power! 

         But Jesus admonishes his audience one again that that is not enough:  “…go with them two miles.”  Once again, he seems to be asking his audience to look beyond retribution.  Fairness is not the question – or the answer.  He is asking us to color outside the lines, to go beyond what we know and are comfortable with, to offer more than what we are required to offer.

         And then, if tossing aside the cultural laws that defined first century Palestinian relationships was not enough, Jesus sums up this part of his sermon by preaching to not just love your neighbor, but love your enemy – not just put up with him or her - as well –

the one who insults you with a slap, the one who takes your shirt and leaves you half-naked and shamed, the one who bullies you into dropping everything and being a personal slave.

         Make everyone your neighbor, Jesus says.  Love your enemies – don’t just put up with them – and even pray for them while you are at it.  It is not a question of fairness.  After all, this is God’s way.  This is part of God’s dream for the world.  This, in God’s eyes, will make you complete – or, as many translations say - perfect.

         That is certainly a difficult concept to embrace in our competitive, winner-take-all world.  I mean, really, if life is not based on fairness, then what is it based on?

         Episcopal priest Michael Marsh tells a story from his boyhood about going to a carnival with his parents and younger sister.   He writes:  “The only thing I remember about that day is the monkey on a stick. Mom and Dad bought us each a little fuzzy monkey tied to a stick by piece of elastic. We carried them around watching them bounce and swing. At some point we went back to the car and laid them on the backseat floorboard and then went on about the day. When we came back to the car my sister got in on my side. As she did she stepped on my monkey and broke the stick. It was an accident. Nevertheless, it was broken.

         (Marsh continues.)  I got in the car, reached over, and stomped on her monkey. I broke it. Then my dad reached over the front seat and slapped my leg. Contrary to Jesus’ admonition in today’s gospel, I did not offer him the other leg to be slapped.

         ‘That’s not fair,’ I yelled. It made no sense to me that she broke my monkey and I got slapped. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a monkey for a monkey. Now that made sense. That was fair.”

         How must we as followers of Jesus view our world, if not through the lens of fairness?  Surely the alternative is what Jesus was getting at in these verses.

         So – I ask you:  What if we were to see the world instead through the lens of love without limits – as difficult as that would be?  What if we really embraced the fact of the abundance of God’s love for us and shared this “overflow” love?  What if we made a commitment to go beyond what we have to offer and worked instead to give more in the name of that love?  What would our lives and the life of this church look like if we moved beyond fairness to trusting that the more we give away, the more we will have?  What if changing lives lay at the root of all we did as a church?  What if we colored outside the lines? What if this command to love that permeates all of the Sermon on the Mount, what if this command was a core value in our lives and in the life of our church? What if we truly embraced William Sloane Coffin’s admonishment that an eye for an eye will eventually leave the whole world blind?

         Giving up retaliation for reconciliation, retribution for pardon, vengeance for forgiveness, fairness for love seems overwhelming and even un-embraceable.

         And yet, Jesus is inviting all the crowds who listen to him down through the ages even to us to embrace a life that seems, in many ways, to be counter to who we have become as human beings. As UCC pastor Mark Suriano writes, he is issuing “a call to the highest and best within us, to raise our sights and join him in creating a more compassionate world, and to create among us a true community of respect based on self-giving.”

        Oh, the old ways will not just disappear.  They are still very much around us – poverty, war, fragmentation – but we – you and I – have, through our baptism, declared ourselves to be Christians and so have made a commitment to a new way of living based not on fairness but on limitless love.  And we cannot forget that! 

         We cannot singlehandedly end world hunger or disarm the entire world.  But we can start small – in our own lives – treating our families with compassion rather than sowing the seeds of revenge or demanding that life be fair or always keeping score.  We can color outside the lines, go beyond what we know and are comfortable with, and offer more than what we are required to offer.

          We can start small - in the life of this church – by supporting and expanding upon all that we do to change lives and create and transform community.  We can start small and support this church’s mission work even if that means going above and beyond our pledge, even if it means giving something when before we have given nothing.  We can color outside the lines, go beyond what we know and are comfortable with, and offer more than what we are required to offer.

         And how will we know if we have succeeded?  As Lutheran pastor, Carla Works noted, “When anger results in reconciliation rather than retaliation God must be at work. When enemies are overcome by love rather than violence God’s reign is present."

         Changing the world is overwhelming.  We cannot make Democrats love Republicans.  We cannot make conservatives affirm progressives.  However, we can change our own lives as well as the life of this church.  Let’s let that be where our focus lies this coming week. It may not seem like much in the face of all the world’s craziness, but it is a start.

         I know of an old wall – stones piled high by some ancient farmer and his son.  Each spring, in that wall, a single flower grows and blooms – no soil, not much sun, just a crack in the rocks. 

         Let’s be like that flower this week – taking our time but always persisting – small but important steps as we practice the faith that Jesus sets forth in these verses we read –

trying out love instead of fairness and compassion instead of retribution, trusting that we have it within us to begin to shatter the old way of doing things (even on a small scale), or at least to open some well-placed cracks in it, like that ancient wall, so that the new order Jesus preached can begin to flourish.

         It is as Leonard Cohen wrote:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
That's how the light gets in
That's how the light gets in

         Let’s color outside the lines, go beyond what we know and are comfortable with, and offer more than what we are required to offer.  After all, that is how the light gets in.  That is how God’s dream will become a reality.