The Rev’d Deacon Raul Ausa-Velazco
Christ Church, New Haven, Conn.
The Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany
February 16, 2020
Some of us may remember that in the late 1980s there was an ad campaign by the Episcopal Church which released a number of clever and cheeky posters. One of the most popular and well-known was an image of King Henry VIII under the words “In the church started by a man who had six wives, forgiveness goes without saying.” Of course there was a lot of debate then and since regarding the semantics and accuracy of this—Henry VIII wasn’t quite exactly the founder of Anglicanism, as many will point out, however the point being made was clear: the Church was trying to admit and advertise itself as that which we have so often pretended we are not: a company of sinners walking together.
I’m sure hearing that makes us a little uncomfortable. The language of sin and being sinners can be and has often been abused, especially to single out particular groups who have been deemed different and nonconformist in order to marginalize and scapegoat them. This has happened so often, in fact, that it has led many to even question the value of such a notion as sin. What value can such language have, especially when, if we think about it, all of us can be accused to being sinners?
In this morning’s gospel, we read a passage from the Sermon on the Mount wherein Jesus expands upon the Ten Commandments. And he expands them to perhaps an extreme and unrealistic level. He equates murder and anger, calling a brother a fool with blasphemy, and lustful thoughts with adultery.
His exhortation begs the questions, who among us has not been angry? Who among us hasn’t called our siblings fools, or worse? Who among us has not had something against someone, or at some point lusted for something or someone? Whom among us doesn’t know someone who is divorced, whom are also good and upstanding people? Are all of us bound to burn in hell?
How are we to understand this part of Jesus’ most famous and perhaps most important sermon? If read a certain way, it can certainly leave us feeling hopeless. What exactly is Jesus demanding of us? Are we truly expected to be perfect?
Scholars tell us that this sermon, and its counterpart, Luke’s Sermon on the Plain, were probably compilations of Jesus’ most important and well-known teachings stitched together in this scene to form Jesus’ manifesto—his constitution for the community of those will follow him.
If we separate Jesus’ words from Jesus himself, we are bound to misstep. In this sermon, this manifesto, Jesus is not merely giving a new way of living that is impossible; rather, he is creating the new community around himself, and intimately bound with him, of those who live as if Jesus is Lord, that blessed company we now call the Church. So, we these ways of living that Jesus describes are more about the community than individuals seeking personal perfection.
I imagine that most of us here, hearing these strict precepts laid out, may have felt hopeless, guilty, and perhaps a little resentful, thinking to ourselves, “This isn’t realistic. Who could possibly that way?” Indeed, no one can live up these standards on their own. And some scholars would suggest that this is the whole point.
These impossibly high standards are meant to take away our confidence in our own individual goodness and force us to rely instead on God and each other.
And so we begin to see how this sermon becomes the constitution of a community, and one which no longer trusts in its own righteousness, but on God’s and on God’s abiding presence with his Church.
One of the challenges we face in dealing with sin is that we have historically tended to make it rather large and cosmic. Sin is innate and original—it is the doing of the evil one—it’s beyond our control. But sin is also our daily companion, often consisting of the little wanderings from the way of God into our own ways. Yes, sin is cosmic and is a by-product of a created universe that allows for freedom of choice, and yes, know that evil is real. But it is also personal and incarnate, and for most of us, takes the form of a daily struggle to contain our straying and return to God.
If we have this community-creating aspect of Jesus’ words in mind, we might begin to notice how all of these difficult saying find their deeper meaning in this focus. Jesus draws out the communal aspect of sin when he says that if any of them have anything against a sibling, they should leave their sacrificial offering at the temple, leave, become reconciled with that sibling, and only then return to the temple. Jesus is trying to get us to know that our relationships with our neighbors reflected in our relationship with God. We are not able to offer sacrifices and present ourselves before God in prayer with integrity if we are harboring ill will towards his fellow children. There is a seamless continuity between our relationship with God and all our other relationships.
I’m sure the Jesus’ words about divorce this morning must have made some of us squirm. We certainly don’t think of remarriage as adultery in this day and age, and we are a bit more liberal in allowing couples to choose to end their covenant for a number of reasons. But what’s worth noting is that Jesus is describing a community that doesn’t require the remarriage of women. These words were spoken at a time and in a culture when a woman was economically and socially expected to be married. If she was not, then great sin must have accompanied her—there must be some reason no one wants her. Here, Jesus is constituting a community whereby, in the words of theologian Stanley Hauerwas: “[If] women who have been abandoned do not have to be remarried, then surely the church must be a community of friendship that is an alternative to the loneliness of the world.” In the first century, the conservative patriarchal Roman family would have looked at the immoral Christian community as a den of iniquity and unusual friendships.
Jesus’ teaching on the taking of oaths was probably the most confusing for most of us—and the best hint that what he’s talking about here is building a new community. We are told no longer swear by anything either in heaven or below, and instead let our “Yes be yes and our no be no.” Oaths are interesting because, when you think about, they basically say, “We usually lie a little bit – or a lot – but in this case, I really mean it.” Taking an oath means that lying and deception are the usual workings of things, but now, now I’m really telling the truth. Perhaps we can remember being in a situation where someone said something we didn’t quite believe and we said something like, “Do you swear?”
No, Jesus is saying that in this new community of his followers what you can expect is that people will always speak the truth. Jesus teaches that just as our worship of God is bound together with our treatment of our neighbors, so too is our speech. We should always be mindful that our speech is ever before God, and treat every promise as an oath.
So we can see in this sermon the creation of a community that needs God and each other, a community that no longer lives by the virtue of its own righteousness and instead knows its sin all too well. Yes, we are all sinners. And thus we are all dependent on the mercy of God and of one another.
There’s nothing harder than seeking forgiveness when you are convinced that you are perfectly good. What could you possibly have to be forgiven for? Jesus’ words this morning provide us with an antidote to that certainty. How are we measuring up to these standards? These are not here to make us feel bad. They are here to draw us closer to God and to our neighbors in humility and striving. Once you realize that we are not as good as we may have thought, then can we begin to rejoice in the goodness of God.
All of us, have fallen and will continue to fall short of what God’s glory and it is our common knowledge of that fact that binds us together. If we say that we are without sin, we deceive ourselves.
But in that truth we find that we are not alone: we are bound in a community of fellow sinners who are trying, each and every day, to live holier lives—to walk closer with each other and our Creator.
May God grant us the grace to see and know that we are sustained by a Lord whom doesn’t simply make demands of us, but whom walks with and among us, empowering us to forgive and be forgiven, to turn back from our wandering and to meet him again even in the midst of our imperfection.