Made for Relationships

Made for Relationships

Genesis 1:26; Deuteronomy 6:5; Leviticus 19:18[1]

One of the challenges of this time of separation from others is that we don’t have nearly as many face-to-face contacts with people. Of course, we do get to see each other on the screen with our Zoom gatherings, but it’s just not the same as being together. Believe it or not, I’m actually an introvert. I love being around people, but I need “alone” time to re-charge. Even those of us who are introverts need to see the people in our lives. I think part of the stress we’re all feeling is that we don’t have the same level of personal interaction with co-workers, friends, family, and the church family.

One of the main motivations for being a part of a church like ours is the relationships we form. As we heard earlier in our service, many times the church becomes an extended family for those whose are away from their family members. I don’t know about you, but that’s one of the things I miss most about being able to gather together in person. At the same time, I have a deep concern for your safety, and I don’t want to leave anybody out of our worship. For now, it seems that the best course is to continue to gather on Zoom, and to have regular opportunities for us to “meet and greet” one another in safe ways.

The fact that relationships are so important to us is, I think, something that is true by design. In the creation story in Genesis, God says, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness” (Gen. 1:26). This passage is the basis for the idea that we as human beings are created in the image of God. Throughout the ages, theologians and scholars have debated precisely what that means. Some have said that it is our capacity for reason, others that it is our ability to “have dominion” over the rest of creation, and others have even said it is the fact that we walk upright!

I would say that the Scriptures point us in a different direction. Understanding God is in some ways straightforward, and in other ways it is complicated. Especially in the New Testament, as in our Gospel reading, the language for God is the language of “Trinity.” This is one of the most complicated aspects of our faith. As I understand it, Trinity means that God does not exist in a solitary condition. Rather, God is “God in three persons” who are bound together by love. God is “God in relationship,” “God in community.” The very statement that “God is love” implies that at the heart of who God is, there is relationship. For there to be love, there has to be an “other” to love. That love starts with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, who are bound together by the love they share for one another. And so it is that I think we are meant to read the creation of humankind in the image of God in part as a statement about who God is: God is “love overflowing” to all of us, and the whole creation.  

“God’s love overflowing”[2] reaches out to all created things, and especially to the human family. As I mentioned, that we are created in God’s image means that we are made for relationships. We are designed to respond to the love that God has poured out in our hearts. The primary way in which we do this is in our relationship with God our Creator. We are to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might” (Deut. 6:5). That means seeking God, following God’s ways, honoring God with our lives, and serving God by serving others.

That last part points us to the other essential way in which we respond to the love God has poured into our lives. Just as God exists in the community of love between Father, Son and Holy Spirit, so we are made to love others. We are created to “love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18). We love God by loving others through the relationships we build with them. Just as God exists in a fellowship of love, so also we who are created in his image are made for relationships.

We’ve been given an amazing gift: we’ve been designed to relate to God and one another with love. And we’ve been given an amazing task: we’ve been created to share God’s love with one another and with those around us. To be this kind of people, people who are fundamentally shaped by God's love, people who share God’s love with all those we encounter, is more than we can do by ourselves. Fortunately, we have an example of what that looks like in human terms in the person of Jesus Christ. And we have a “helper” to guide us and empower us in the person of the Holy Spirit. We who are made for relationships can look to God our Creator, our Redeemer, and our Sustainer to live out the love we have been given by sharing it with all our fellow members of the human family.

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[1] © Alan Brehm. A sermon delivered by Rev. Alan Brehm, Ph. D., on 6/7/2020 at Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] See the PCUSA statement on the Trinity entitled “The Trinity: God’s Love Overflowing” at https://www.presbyterianmission.org/resource/trinity-gods-love-overflowing/.

Outcasts

Outcasts

Luke 10:25-37[1]

Growing up, I always felt a bit like a “misfit.” It seemed that I was different from everybody else, and I struggled with where I fit in. In fact, I carried that feeling with me into adulthood. I simply tried to do what was right, I tried to do my best, I tried to be as straightforward and transparent as possible. But it always seemed like I was a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. Of course, I realize that many of us feel that way about ourselves. We see others as “with it” or “all together” or “on track,” while we think we fall short. Sometimes we may have even felt that way in our families. Those challenges can lead us to think of ourselves as “outcasts.”

Of course, the reality is that the world is full of people who are truly outcast. While not all societies have actual “caste” systems that rigidly regulate relationships, I would say most of us have a functional equivalent. If you don’t come from the right family, or if you didn’t go to the right school, or if you don’t have a certain amount of education, or if you don’t make a high enough salary, you are outside the group. If you doubt that we have this in our culture, look at the entry requirements for some country clubs around the nation. While we’d like to think that skin color no longer serves as one of those criteria, I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to find people who exclude others on that basis as well. Our world is full of outcasts.

I’m not sure many of us have ever drawn the connection between outcasts and the Parable of the Good Samaritan. For us the parable has become so commonplace that travelers even have a club named “The Good Sam Club,” whose members pledge to stop and help someone who is broken down on the side of the road. This would have made no sense to Jesus’ audience. In his day, there was no such thing as a “good” Samaritan in the eyes of the Jewish people.  Samaritans were the “unclean Samaritans,” the “unwelcome Samaritans,” or the “hated Samaritans.”^[2] A Samaritan was the definitive outcast to the Jewish people of Jesus’ day.

That’s what would have made this parable so shocking to the people Jesus originally told it. He was turning their world upside down. The Priest and the Levite, who would have been honored religious leaders, come off not looking so well. And the Samaritan, who would have been despised in the eyes of Jesus’ audience, turns out to be the “hero.” More than that, he turns out to be the one who shows them how to truly fulfill the command to “love your neighbor as yourself”: by showing mercy!

It’s hard for us to imagine how shocking this parable must have been when Jesus told it. His Jewish contemporaries would have expected him to tell a parable about a particularly righteous Jewish person who showed mercy toward a Samaritan. That person would have been viewed as exceptionally compassionate, but the story would have left intact the Jewish people’s sense of ethnic and religious superiority over the Samaritans. And it would also have allowed us to walk away from the story with all of our prejudices intact, comfortable in the assumption that we’re loving the “right” people.

But the parable of the Good Samaritan exposes a flaw that most of us carry in our hearts. Although the scribe knows the Scriptures well enough to give the right answer to his own question, it’s one thing to know what is right and another thing altogether to do it! His question “who is my neighbor?” betrays his desire to restrict the range of “love” to those whom he judged to be “worthy” of that love. Unfortunately, we all fall short in this regard: we are quick to love those who are “like us,” but we all have our own version of who is an outcast, so different from us that we don’t believe the command to love applies to them.

We might be able to hear this parable with our assumptions and prejudices intact if it had taught us that we should love our neighbors, including the “despised” outcasts like the Samaritans. But Jesus turns the tables on us as well. The parable of the Good Samaritan doesn’t teach us to go out and help the outcasts! The outcast in Jesus’ parable is not the one in need of help. The outcast is the one who truly practices the command to “love your neighbor as yourself”! At the conclusion, Jesus tells this Scribe something he probably found hard to swallow: to go and do as the outcast Samaritan has done!

The irony is that many of the people we relegate to the category of “outcast” for whatever reason often have a better grasp of what it means to love their neighbors than we do. Often they are generous, compassionate, kind, and go out of their way to help someone in need. And they do it simply because that’s what’s in their hearts. Many who go to what we consider “Third World” countries come back with stories of how the people there enacted the love of their neighbors in a way that affected them powerfully. In fact, some theologians call it the “reverse mission”: when we who come from wealthy, “Christian” nations go to serve those we consider to be “in need,” they challenge us with the way in which they live out love, and mercy, and kindness. I think that in order to love another, any other, as a neighbor, we have to first be able to see ourselves in them, and see them in us. I think that’s the kind of change of heart that Jesus was seeking with this parable. We love our neighbors when we’re willing to see in every person the face of a neighbor, when we embrace in them the Christ who said “I was an outcast.”

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[1] ©Alan Brehm 2019. A sermon delivered by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 7/14/2019 at Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] Cf. Fred Craddock, Luke, 151: “This man who delayed his own journey, expended great energy, risked danger to himself, spent two days’ wages with the assurance of more, and promised to follow up on this activity was ceremonially unclean, socially an outcast, and religiously a heretic.”

Who Am I?

Who Am I?

Psalm 8[1]

The question of the meaning of human life is one that has been raised in various ways throughout history. On Christmas eve, 1968, it was brought to the forefront by the famous picture of the “earthrise” over the moon taken by the astronauts of Apollo 8.[2] For the first time the human family saw the earth from a vantage point other than our own. That image created a whole new approach to the meaning of human life, because it showed how small a planet we live on in comparison with the vastness of space. The question, “Who am I?” took on a different implication for many who saw this as evidence of our insignificance.

Now images of the earth taken from space are commonplace. And the Hubble telescope has brought us even more images of the vastness of the universe. But since this was the first time human beings had seen the earth as a small planet in the vast ocean of space, it made a huge impact. And yet, as striking as that image was, it wasn’t the first time that individuals had noticed that our human existence can seem rather unimportant in the scheme of things. When you look at the sweep of human history—empires and nations rising and falling over the centuries—or when you simply take the time to look up at the night sky, it can easily provoke us to ask, “Who am I?”

In fact, the psalmist who wrote our lesson for today reflects on that very question. Like anyone else, the psalmist apparently was moved by the vastness of the night sky to wonder about our place in all of that.[3] He asks, “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?” (Ps. 8:3-4). It’s a common experience to feel a sense of awe when you see the beauty of a clear night that seems so full of stars. And it’s common to wonder at our place in the universe when we feel that sense of awe.

But there are several ways in which the question “Who am I?” is framed in a unique manner by the Scripture lesson. First, the wonder at our place in a universe that can seem overwhelmingly immense is framed by an affirmation that it is our God who rules over all of it.[4] At the beginning and the end of his reflections, the psalmist affirms, “O LORD, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” (Ps. 8:1, 9). The question begins and ends with the affirmation that God is the one who reigns over all creation. While God’s great majesty may lead us to wonder at our place in things, at the same time, because we are God’s creatures, our lives are by definition endowed with significance.

The second way in which the psalmist frames the question “Who am I?” is by placing it in the context of God’s care for all people. Notice that the psalmist doesn’t simply ask “What are human beings?” Rather, he asks, “what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them” (Ps. 8:4).[5] Literally, the psalmist wonders why God “remembers” and “visits” mortals. The acts of “remembering” and “visiting” sum up God’s works on behalf of his people Israel throughout the Hebrew Bible. God continually made them the object of his attention and care. But the psalmist extends that care to include all humankind. Again, the thought that God pays attention to and cares for every human being is one that we may might find so amazing that it’s hard to believe. But the psalmist insists it’s a vital part of the answer to the question, “Who am I?”

The third way in which the Psalmist frames this question is by affirming the dignity of all human beings as partners in caring for God’s treasured creation.[6] He says it this way, “You have given them dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under their feet” (Ps. 8:6).[7] It seems clear that the psalmist is reflecting here on the description of humanity as a part of God’s creation in Genesis chapter one. Unfortunately, however, the ideas of “ruling” (Gen. 1:26) or having “dominion” (Ps. 8:6) over creation have been misconstrued.[8] The idea is not that this world and all that is in it is ours to do with as we please. The idea is that we are called to be partners with God in the ongoing project of creation. We mortals have been entrusted with that which is most dear to God’s heart!

There are many ways we could approach the question “Who am I?” We could approach it functionally, based on what we do. We could approach it philosophically, or from the perspective of psychology. And those approaches have important lessons to teach us. But from the perspective of the psalmist, one cannot fully answer the question of the meaning of our lives apart from the God who created us and who reigns over all things.[9] Photos like the “earthrise” can make us think that we are alone in a vast and empty universe. But the Psalmist begs to differ. We are not left here on our own, but rather we are the objects of God’s continual attention and care.

We are not mortals who live out our short lives with no significance, but rather we are partners in God’s ongoing project of creation. That has a lot to say about who God is: not a God who is distant and absent, but a Creator who takes great delight in every aspect of creation. We see that in Jesus our Savior, and in the work of the Spirit. But it also has a lot to say about who we are: we are an important part of God’s project. All 7 billion of us are beloved and cared for by the God who is beyond the vast universe. However we answer the question “Who am I?” we cannot leave that out of the equation. God loves us all, and that's a very important part of answering the question, "Who am I?"

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[1] ©2016 Alan Brehm. A sermon delivered by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 5/22/2016 at Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] See the photo on NASA’s web site: http://www.nasa.gov/multimedia/imagegallery/image_feature_1249.html . The caption reads: “Apollo 8, the first manned mission to the moon, entered lunar orbit on Christmas Eve, Dec. 24, 1968. That evening, the astronauts-Commander Frank Borman, Command Module Pilot Jim Lovell, and Lunar Module Pilot William Anders-held a live broadcast from lunar orbit, in which they showed pictures of the Earth and moon as seen from their spacecraft. Said Lovell, ‘The vast loneliness is awe-inspiring and it makes you realize just what you have back there on Earth.’”

[3] Cf. James L. Mays, Psalms, 66, where he says that Psalm 8 “reports the wondering reflection that arises when a mortal looks at the heavenly bodies as a result of the Lord’s creation and control” and it “marvels at the attention and importance that God gives to the human being in such a universe.”

[4] Cf. Mays, Psalms, 34: “Because ‘the Lord reigns,’ human beings may and must praise in wonder and joy, pray in dependence and gratitude, and practice the piety of trust and obedience.” Cf. also J. Clinton McCann, Jr, “The Book Of Psalms” New Interpreters Bible IV:711: “the proclamation of God’s reign frames the psalm.”

[5] Cf. Mays, Psalms, 67-68: “The Psalm does not frame the question absolutely and ask, ‘What is man?’ The question is qualified: ‘What is the human being that you, Lord, remember and visit them?’ ‘Remember’ and ‘visit’ are biblical verbs used to speak of the divine response to human finitude and fallibility, the necessary attention God pays to mortals.” He continues, (ibid., 68): ““The psalmist knows about that mortal existence as an Israelite, a member of the covenant people. But his question is not about Israel alone; it is about the entire race. He believes and assumes that God remembers and visits every human, that Israel’s experience with God is the truth about God’s way with all.”

[6] Cf. Mays, Psalms, 69: “The administration of the Lord’s reign in the world extends beyond a messianic king and covenant people to include humanity as a whole. Everybody is involved in the kingdom of God.” Cf. McCann, “The Book Of Psalms” NIB IV:712: “God and humans are partners in the care of creation, because God has made the risky choice to share God’s power!”

[7] Cf. Mays, Psalms, 69, “In the psalm’s world of thought, kingship had an ideal and normative dimension. Dominion involved a pattern of responsibility. Glory belonged to the ruler, but the ruling was to be for the benefit of the ruled….” From that perspective, he interprets the “dominion” given to humankind by saying, “Human beings are to use their power over creatures in a way that serves the purposes and practices of their own sovereign.”

[8] Cf. Mays, Psalms, 70, where he says that in our world “Dominion has become domination; rule has become ruin; subordination in the divine purpose has become subjection to human sinfulness.” Cf. McCann, “The Book Of Psalms” NIB IV: “Apart from the limits of God’s sovereign will, the exercise of dominion is in danger of becoming simply human autonomy, or self-rule. … In other words, dominion without the recognition of God’s claim on us and on the earth becomes domination. To leave God out of the partnership invites disaster.”

[9] Cf. McCann, “The Book Of Psalms” NIB IV:711, where he says that “the character of God’s sovereignty cannot be understood apart from the knowledge that God does choose to be ‘mindful’ and to ‘care for’ humanity; the identity of humanity cannot be understood apart from this relationship with God.”

Eliminating Hostility

Eliminating Hostility

Ephesians 2:11-18[1]

I’ve spoken before about the concerns I have about the hostility that divides our culture. We’ve seen a little of that over the last few weeks as our nation debates the legacy of oppression and the continued use of a particular flag as a symbol. We’ve seen it in the disagreements over sexual ethics and the morality and legality of marriage. We’ve seen it in the continuing dispute about immigration policy. But these are just the latest expressions of our polarization as a people.[2] When we cannot even discuss the issues that face us without resorting to insults, rage, and even sometimes physical violence, the level of hostility in our society is out of control in my opinion.

As I’ve said before, the really sad part of this is that people who profess to follow Jesus Christ participate in this public brawl. In fact, there are some who claim that God is on their side and feel entirely justified in using hateful words and actions against those with whom they disagree—or worse! I realize that we are all human and our feelings on a matter can get the best of us at times, but I must say I continue to be stunned by the way in which otherwise good and kind Christian people can get riled up at each other. In my opinion, when we let that happen, we are choosing our need to be right over our commitment to Christ and to one another in the Body of Christ.

But the truth is that the community of faith has always faced issues that have been divisive and have even provoke volatile reactions. The world that St. Paul inhabited was just as torn by disunity, strife, and hostility as ours—perhaps more so.  Most if not all the churches of his day were living with the tension between Jewish and Greek and Roman members. If those terms don’t mean much to us today, let me say that they didn’t mix well.[3] From the Jewish perspective, everyone fell into one of two categories.  Either you were one of the Jewish people, who were God’s chosen ones, or you were a Gentile.  Many Jewish people hated and despised Gentiles as “dogs.”  Nor was that kind of thinking limited to the Jewish people.  From the Greek perspective, everyone was either a cultured Greek or a crude barbarian.  And the Romans seemed to think that everyone who wasn’t a Roman was savage and uncivilized. It’s the kind of either/or, all or nothing mindset that says that you’re either one of us, or you’re our enemy.

Into that world, the Apostle Paul proclaimed a message that must have seemed like wishful thinking. He proclaimed the good news that in Christ God has eliminated all the hostilities that divide the human family. In our lesson for today, he approaches the issue from a Jewish perspective.[4] He alludes to the fact that, while Gentiles were permitted to enter the outer courts of the Temple, they were forbidden to go into the inner courts where the Jewish people worshipped.[5] There was literally a “wall” that divided the two groups at the Temple in Jerusalem. But Paul says that through his death and resurrection, Christ “has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us” (Eph. 2:14). Despite all the differences and divisions, all the hatreds and hostilities that existed in his world, St. Paul believed that Christ had torn down all the walls that separate the human family.

He went further than that. In his mind, Christ not only “put to death” the hostility that exists between different groups of humanity (Eph. 2:16). He went beyond that and created “one new humanity” by reconciling us all to God. And so the Apostle says that in his death and resurrection, Jesus the Christ has “made peace” for the human family. Indeed, Paul can say, “he is our peace” (Eph. 2:14). Again, in a world that knew precious little peace, St. Paul had the boldness to envision the peace that Christ made for us all, transforming all humanity into one family, united in faith and hope and love. He viewed Jesus’ death as an act of peace overcoming the hostility that infects the human race.  He believed that the peace inaugurated by Jesus Christ could heal the divisions of his world.[6]

I guess the question that faces us in our divided world is whether we believe that Jesus is our peace. We must decide whether we are willing to follow the example of the Apostle Paul in viewing Christ’s death and resurrection as an event that eliminates any reason for continuing to cherish hostility toward other human beings. We have to figure out for ourselves whether we believe that Christ has indeed torn down all the walls that separate the human family. We have to make up our minds as to whether we think that the peace inaugurated by Jesus Christ can heal the divisions of our world.[7]

It’s not an easy question. The hostility that divides our world is deeply entrenched in some cases.[8] Some parts of this human family that St. Paul says Christ has reconciled into one have been at war with each other for centuries. Can we really muster the faith in this day and age to believe that what Jesus Christ did so very long ago can actually make a difference in the hostility that infects us all? I think that’s for each of us to decide. But what is undeniable is that the Scriptures declare that what Christ has done is powerful enough and far-reaching enough to make peace for the whole human family. And we in the church have been entrusted with a special role as God’s agents of peace. We’re called to demonstrate that the peace Christ has made is more powerful than all the hatreds that divide us.[9] We’re called to serve in community with one another in a way that shows what that peace looks like in everyday life. As we do so, bear witness to the day when all hostility will finally be eliminated by our Savior and Lord.

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[1] ©2015 Alan Brehm. A sermon delivered by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 7/19/2015 at Hickman Presbyterian Church in Hickman, NE.

[2] Cf. PBS Newshour, “Pew study finds more polarized Americans increasingly resistant to political compromise,” 12 June 2014; accessed at http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/pew-study-finds-polarized-americans-increasingly-resistant-political-compromise/ . One surprising finding is that technology has actually contributed toward our tendency to related only to “people like us.”

[3] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 120, where he contrasts the Greek concept of friendship, which was based on “the equality of the partners” and was therefore exclusive in nature with Jesus’ friendship which included even the unrighteous and the despised. He says, “Jesus breaks through this closed circle of friendship.” Therefore (p. 121), “Christians must show the friendship of Jesus in openness for others.”

[4] Although I speak of “Paul” as the author of Ephesians, the actual composition of Ephesians was likely more complicated. For example, A. T. Lincoln, Ephesians, 128–129, points out that many believe an original hymn lies behind the affirmations of reconciliation here and in Colossians 1:15-20. In fact they think that the hymn original spoke of Christ’s death reconciling “the two” referring to the two parts of the cosmos: heaven and earth. This might make some sense in light of an observation Jürgen Moltmann makes in The Way of Jesus Christ: Christology in Messianic Dimensions, 282–284 regarding evidence that “cosmic forces” were worshipped in that part of Asia Minor. He says, “Because the worship of cosmic forces was a part of their environment, the Christian congregations in Ephesus and Colossae had apparently found themselves faced with the question about the scope of Christ’s lordship. The Christian answer was that since Christ is the mediator in the creation of these powers, he is also their redeemer, and therefore their true Lord (Eph. 1:21; Col. 2:10).”

^[5] J. R. Wagner, “Piety, Jewish” Dictionary of New Testament Background (C. A. Evans & S. E. Porter, Ed.), 799: Gentiles could and did bring gifts and sacrifices to the temple (Josephus Against Apion 2.5 §48; Jewish War 2.17.3 §§412–14; 5.13.6 §§562–63), though they were prevented from moving beyond the outer court by a barrier carrying a strict warning that to proceed further would result in a death sentence (Josephus Antiquities 15.11.5 §417; Philo Legatio ad Gaium 31 §212; cf. Acts 21:27–29).

[6] Cf. Ralph P. Martin, Ephesians, Colossians, and Philemon, 32: “The apostle’s teaching holds out the hope and prospect of a reconciled, unified, and amicable society, whose microcosm is seen in the church’s worldwide, transnational, and reconciling family.” Cf. also Jürgen Moltmann, Ethics of Hope, 238-39: “In the depths of the paralysing and often deadly conflicts between the peoples, this divine peace already reigns. In the divine depths of the universe, everything is already reconciled. The person who perceives this views his enemies as ‘already reconciled’ and will try to turn the conflict into just community with them.”

[7] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, On Human Dignity: Political Theology and Ethics, 128, where he quotes the 1981 Declaration of Peace by the Society of Protestant Theology: “There are no dimensions of our life in which we cannot be certain of the peace of God. There are no conflicts of our life, neither personal nor political, which are not embraced by God’s will for peace with human beings and his whole creation. There are no enemies, neither personal nor political, for whom God’s will for peace does not apply.”

[8] Cf. Moltmann, Church in the Power, 186-87, where he suggests that in part the inability to be open and vulnerable to other stems from the compulsion to justify one’s being out of a fundamental insecurity. He contrasts that with the Christian faith in justification by God, which frees us from the burden of self-justification, and grants us the freedom (p. 188) “to recognize the other person in his human dignity and his human rights” and (p. 189) to recognize “the other in his otherness. In this way, the church is to be (p. 188) “a fellowship of the justified who no longer have to justify themselves” and are therefore free from all that divides us from each other.

[9] Cf. Confession of 1967, 9.21-26: “To be reconciled to God is to be sent into the world as his reconciling community. We are entrusted with God’s message of reconciliation and share his labor of healing the enmities which separate us from God and from each other.” Cf. also Henri Nouwen, Here and Now, 109, where he says that a “truly compassionate heart” is “as heart that remains open to all people at all times.”

A Boundless Heart

A Boundless Heart

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24;  Matthew 25:31-46[1]

It seems to me that the more diverse our world gets, the harder it is for us to practice compassion toward the people we encounter. When everybody looks like us, talks like us, dresses likes us, thinks like us, we can easily see them as human beings who have feelings and problems just like us. But the more our society changes, the more we encounter people who look different from us, who talk differently, who dress differently, and who think differently. When we are used to being around people who are basically “just like me,” we may find it challenging to show compassion to people who seem different.

I believe our Gospel lesson addresses this problem. The Parable of the Sheep and Goats is one that many of us know. “I was hungry” is a theme that has echoed throughout the centuries. One of the things I think we have to recognize is that this is a parable. It is story told for a purpose, not a lecture outlining what we’re supposed to believe. It’s not a simple prediction of what’s going to happen to “good” and “bad” people at the end of time.[2] And so our task is to try to understand what is the purpose of this story.

One clue that I find interesting is that both the sheep and the goats are surprised at the verdict.  The sheep are commended for being kind and merciful to Jesus, but they are completely unaware of ever having done anything special.  In response he told them when you were kind and merciful to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were being kind and merciful to me. Similarly, the goats are criticized for not having practiced kindness and mercy toward Jesus, but they seem shocked at such a verdict.  They seem to be among those who thought themselves pious and religious because they were devoted to worship at the synagogue or the Temple, or because they were scrupulous about following the Jewish laws about living lives that are “clean,” or because they were pillars of their religious communities.

If that is the case, we might think that surely some mistake must have been made. But it seems to me that Jesus was saying much the same thing that the prophets said centuries earlier. In fact, the passage we heard this morning from the prophet Ezekiel contains a scathing criticism of the leaders of the prophet’s day, who are identified as the “fat sheep” who have failed to care for the “lean sheep.”[3] In fact, they have positively trampled on those they were supposed to be serving. [4]  And like the prophets before him, Jesus reserves some of his harshest words for the religious pillars of his day.

The reason for that is that if there’s one thing Jesus was good at, it’s cutting through the façade of religious pretense.  No amount of put-on piety could change the fact that many of the most “religious” people of his day were essentially unkind toward others.  In another context, Jesus said that they gave a tenth of everything, even their cooking spices, but they neglected “the more important things of the law, like fairness, mercy and faithfulness” (Matt. 23:23, NIRV).[5]  At the end of the day, they failed to relate to others with compassion or mercy.  And that is the whole substance of what it means to love God.

I think one of the main purposes for this parable was to remind us that the best measure for the genuineness of our compassion is how we treat “the least of these.”[6] And I think Jesus was trying to point out the hypocrisy of those who were up to their necks in religious devotion but who, when it came right down to it, were incredibly unkind to the people around them. I think what he was trying to do was to make it clear that that when your religion keeps you from practicing basic human kindness and compassion, it becomes a gigantic exercise in missing the point!

In the kingdom where Jesus reigns, what counts is mercy.  That’s what Jesus said when the religious leaders criticized him for hanging out with the wrong kind of people, the “different” people of his day.  He said, “Go and learn what the Scriptures mean when they say, ‘Instead of offering sacrifices to me, I want you to be merciful to others’” (Matt. 9:13, CEV, quoting Hos. 6:6).[7]  The whole point of true religious devotion is to inspire us to be people who are kind and compassionate to others—especially “the least of these.” We cannot escape the fact that, from Genesis to Revelation, God calls us to practice compassion and mercy toward the least and the lost and the left out.

Now, admittedly, kindness and compassion can be difficult—especially when it comes to people who may seem different from us. But no matter how much the people we encounter may challenge us, we are commanded by our Lord and Savior to cultivate genuine love toward our neighbors, all our neighbors.[8] And it seems to me that starts by treating people with basic kindness and compassion, regardless of who they are, or where they come from, or how different they may be from us.

In order to do this, I think we need a heart that is basically open to all people. We need what one teacher called a “boundless heart” to relate to others with kindness and mercy.[9] From my perspective, that means trying to see the people around us--all the people around us--especially those who seem most different from us--as human beings who have feelings and problems just like we do.[10] In fact, the Scriptures call us to see Jesus in the people around us, especially the least and the lost and the left out.[11] When we can do that, then we can freely and joyful feed those who are hungry and clothe those who are naked and welcome those who are strangers to us. Then we can practice the mercy and compassion that come from a boundless heart.

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[1] ©2014 Alan Brehm. A sermon delivered by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 11/23/2014 at Hickman Presbyterian Church, Hickman, NE.

[2] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, In the End, the Beginning, 71: “The point is not the judgement in accordance with good or bad works. It is the identification of the coming Son of man with the hungry and thirsty, the strangers, the naked, the sick and the imprisoned.” Cf. also Ulrich Luz, Matthew 21-28: A Commentary on Matthew 21-28, 282, where he points out that the focus of the passage is on the pronouncements in Mt. 25:40, 45, “which in their repetitions of the works of charity emphasize the standard by which people will be judged.”

[3] Cf. Joseph Blenkinsopp, Ezekiel, 159, where he says that the context of this passage is the “economic and political exploitation” that occurred in “the upheaval following the Babylonian conquest.” He points out that the language here is similar to that in Matthew 25:31-46, “Disconcertingly, perhaps, the criteria for discrimination is not religious orthodoxy or orthopraxy but care for the weak and disadvantaged--the hungry, the thirsty, the sick, the prisoner and the stranger.” 

[4] Ezekiel says, “You have not strengthened the weak, you have not healed the sick, you have not bound up the injured, you have not brought back the strayed, you have not sought the lost” (Ezek. 34:4).

[5] Cf. S. Westerholm, “Clean and Unclean,” in J. B. Green & S. McKnight (Eds.), Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels, 131; Donald A. Hagner, Matthew 14-28, 670.

[6] Cf. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, 3.2:507-508, where he identifies the “least of these” as “the world for which [Jesus] died and rose again, with which He has made Himself supremely one, and declared Himself in solidarity.” Many scholars believe that “the least of these” is a specific reference to itinerant Christians who went about without any visible means of support in obedience to Jesus’ instructions in Matthew 10:5-10.  See, for example, Luz, Matthew 21-28, 280-81 and Hagner, Matthew 14-28, 744-45. I find this interpretation overly specific. It seems to me that all of the “least of these” are included, not just specifically Christians or specifically Christian teachers. Besides those cited explicitly in the notes, other advocates of this “universal” interpretation include Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 4.3:890-92;  Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol. 3, 152–55; Kazoh Kitamori, Theology and the Pain of God, 98–104; Gustavo Gutiérrez, A Theology of Liberation, 194, 200–203; Leonardo Boff, Jesus Christ Liberator, 71–72; and Jürgen Moltmann, Experiences in Theology: Ways and Forms of Christian Theology, 266–267.

[7] Cf. Donald A. Hagner, Matthew 1-13, 239: “Mercy is a better way of obedience.” Cf. also Ulrich Luz, Matthew 8-20: A Commentary on Matthew 8-20, 34.

[8] Cf. Desmond and Mpho Tutu, Made For Goodness, 142-43, where they suggest envisioning those we have difficulty being kind toward as children who are themselves vulnerable.

[9] “Even as a mother protects with her life her child, her only child, so with a boundless heart should one cherish all living beings.” Cf. “Karaniya Metta Sutta: The Buddha’s Words on Loving-Kindness” (Snp 1.8), trans. by The Amaravati Sangha, Access to Insight, 14 (June 2010); accessed at http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/kn/snp/snp.1.08.amar.html .

[10] Cf. Henri Nouwen, The Wounded Healer, 41: “Compassion is born when we discover in the center of our own existence not only that God is God and man is man, but also that our neighbor is really our fellow man. ... This compassion pulls people away from the fearful clique into the large world where they can see that every human face is the face of a neighbor.”

[11] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 127, where he observes that this passage has often been treated ethically, “with somewhat colourless talk about ‘love of our neighbor’.” He continues,  “But it is not only love that is demanded. It is in the first place faith, the faith, namely, that the least of the brethren are waiting in Christ’s stead for the deeds of the just man. It is not that the wretched are the object of Christian love or the fulfilment of a moral duty; they are the latent presence of the coming Saviour and Judge of the world, the touchstone which determines salvation and damnation.” He concludes (p. 129), “the question is not how people or happenings outside the church respond to the church, but how the church responds to the presence of Christ in those who are ‘outside’, hungry, thirsty, sick, naked and imprisoned.” Cf. also Barth, Church Dogmatics 4.2:658.

Forgiving as We Have Been Forgiven

Mt 18:21-35[1]

Every Sunday, millions of Christians in this country pray for God to forgive us as we forgive others. I wonder to what extent we really take that seriously. Let’s face it, there’s something very difficult about really forgiving those who have wronged us. On this day, it’s especially difficult for us to forgive those who attacked this country and caused the deaths of thousands of our fellow Americans. And on this day, of all days, the good news of our Lord and Savior Jesus the Christ tells us that we are to forgive those who sin against us not just seven times but seventy-seven times![2] When I was planning my sermons a couple of months ago and I saw that what the gospel reading was for this Sunday, I knew it was going to be challenging for us.

The last ten years have consumed us with a “war on terror.” Apparently, in some measures we have been relatively successful at thwarting Al Qaeda.[3] And yet, at what cost? Besides the many thousands who have died, there is also the cost in what are essentially intangible measures. We’ve had to learn to adjust to a whole different way of life that is marked by greater hostility toward those who are different from us, greater anxiety about our safety, and greater fear about our future. But perhaps the most pervasive cost to us is that in our effort to make ourselves feel safe we have sold our souls to the gods of war and violence. In the process, we have essentially imprisoned ourselves in a house whose boundaries are inscribed by our fear and anger and unwillingness to forgive.

There’s a story in the 2005 Sydney Pollack film, The Interpreter that I think illustrates our predicament: do we go on avenging ourselves on our enemies, or do we find a way to practice the forgiveness we say we believe in, and in so doing set ourselves free from that awful day? The film is about an interpreter at the United Nations named Sylvia. She tells the story of a ritual of forgiveness in Africa that’s based on the principle that “the only way to end grief is to save a life.” The ritual takes place when someone is murdered. After a year of mourning, the family of the victim undergoes the “Drowning Man Trial,” where the killer is tied up and thrown into a river to drown. The family have to choose—if they let the killer drown, they will have justice, but they will spend the rest of their lives in mourning. If they save the killer from drowning, if they accept that they share a common humanity and that life isn’t always just, then their act of saving a life can heal their grief. Whether there is or ever was such a thing as a “drowning man trial,” I think it serves at least like a parable for us: do we forgive as we have been forgiven, and in so doing find healing for ourselves, or do we seek vengeance and punishment, and so find ourselves trapped in grief and bitterness?

There is a real-life story of forgiveness that comes out of South Africa and the injustice of Apartheid. One person who embodies this story is Archbishop Desmond Tutu. He was raised in one of the townships—or better shanty towns—where black South Africans were kept. He lived Apartheid—he and his family experienced it firsthand. Several of his friends were imprisoned and even killed in the violence that defined South Africa under Apartheid. When that whole system of oppression ended, the South African people faced a crossroads: would they simply live out the script of every oppressed people throughout history, whereby the oppressed become the oppressors, or could they find a different path that would lead to healing for both oppressed and oppressors alike?[4]

The leaders of the new South Africa formed a “Truth and Reconciliation Commission” to try to seek that different path. Instead of handing out punishment, the whole purpose of the commission was to give victims the chance to tell their stories, to have their suffering acknowledged, and to confront their oppressors in person. And to give the oppressors a change to tell the truth about their crimes and seek forgiveness and clemency. They had no idea what would happen from this, but as it turns out, time after time, oppressed and oppressor came together and experienced genuine reconciliation based on the experience of crimes acknowledged and forgiven.

One of the foundational principles of this experience is what Tutu calls “Ubuntu.”[5] It is a Xhosa word that stands for the idea that we all share a common humanity. It says that the only way the human family can thrive is together. That means that when we look at another human being, even someone who has wounded us deeply, we cannot see an enemy, but rather a fellow human being, a brother or a sister. It seems to me that, in order to prayer the prayer, “forgive our sins as we forgive those who sin against us” and mean it, we have to practice “Ubuntu”—we have to acknowledge that we share a common humanity even with those who wrong us. When we can look at those who inflict pain on us and see brothers and sisters, then we can begin to forgive as we have been forgiven. Then we can begin to set them and ourselves free from the vicious circle of bitterness, hatred, and violence, and move into the freedom of forgiving as we have been forgiven.[6]

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[1] © 2011 Alan Brehm. A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Alan Brehm on 9/11/11 at First Presbyterian Church, Dickinson, TX and at A Community of the Servant-Savior Presbyterian Church, Houston, TX.

[2] Cf. M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” New Interpreters Bible 8: 380, where he observes, “Whoever counts has not forgiven at all, but is only biding his or her time (1 Cor 13:5). The kind of forgiveness called for is beyond all calculation.” Cf. also D. A. Hagner, Matthew 14-28, 537. Cf. also Ulrich Luz, Matthew, 465, where he points out that Peter was asking not about limited forgiveness but whether he was expected to practice perfect forgiveness. Jesus responds by calling for “The most perfect, boundlessly infinite, countlessly repeated forgiveness.”

[3] “Ten Years On,” The Economist 3 Sept 2011, 11-12.

[4] Cf. Desmond Tutu, God has a Dream: A Vision of Hope for our Time, 52-58.

[5] Cf. Desmond Tutu and Mpho Tutu, Made for Goodness: And Why This Makes All the Difference, 47; cf. also Tutu, God Has a Dream, 25-28.

[6] Tutu & Tutu, Made for Goodness, 150-51.