“Ambushed by Resurrection”
Matthew 10:34-39
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
7/2/17
The passage we
just read appears in Matthew and in Luke. In fact Luke, in some respects the
most socially and religiously provocative of the four canonical gospels,
includes not one but two versions of this text. To be honest, I have never liked
this passage. It always feels like an ambush.
“I have not
come to bring peace, but a sword.” What happened to the Prince of Peace?
“Whoever loves
father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.” What happened to Honor your father and mother?
To be worthy
of me, says Jesus, take up your cross. Didn’t Rome use crucifixion to manipulate
public behavior through the most horrifying cruelty possible?
To really live
your life, release your death grip on it. With that, Jesus challenges some of
the most fundamental tenets that first-world cultures celebrate and enshrine as
“inalienable rights.” Things such as: Grab all the gusto you can! Control your
own narrative!
Dogmatic maxims like these can lead
to trouble. If I claim some divine right to grab all the gusto I can get, I inevitably
keep grabbing, even when it means grabbing more than my fair share. And the
more I consume, the more insatiable I become. That becomes a way of life. I
feel entitled to all I want, so, I lose sight of others and their needs. I lose
compassion for them.
Similarly, when I claim divine right
to control my own narrative, I will have to control other people’s narratives,
because my life cannot be distanced from the lives around me. Controlling my narrative, means forcing my opinions,
my desires, and my fears onto the lives around me. And I find that if I don’t
do this, my neighbor’s own quest for well-being may hinder my gusto-grabbing
happiness, or threaten my power-hungry and image-conscious ego. Only when I get
my way, by whatever means, is God in heaven, and all right with the world.
Into all of my
efforts to manipulate and rationalize advantages for myself, Jesus keeps saying
emphatically and unequivocally, Stop it! To
use your God-given gifts to make some kind of god out of yourself is to misuse
them. It’s also, unavoidably, to exploit your neighbors.
So,
give it up, Allen. Lose that life. Only then will you truly live.
Like I said –
I’ve never much liked this passage. But bless my heart, it’s challenge to me is what makes it gospel for me.
Here’s how
things unfold: While these six verses do feel rather blunt at first, I stop and
remember that Jesus offers them as an expression of Love, not of anger or vengeance.
After spending enough time with them, I begin to hear them revealing a purpose
that aims to heal and make whole. Instead of blunt, they become incisive.
When Jesus
says that he comes not “to bring peace, but a sword,” I can hear him saying
that he comes to sever some of the bonds that human beings hold most tightly
and dearly. But, what’s loving about
that? Well, I think he does that not to end
relationships, but to re-new them.
When a broken bone doesn’t set
correctly, an orthopedic surgeon may have to re-break the bone and re-set it. The
intentional break and re-set allows the arm, or leg, or rib to be restored to proper
alignment and to full strength and function.
If this is the
kind of thing Jesus is talking about, then in order for groups of people, even
those as close as family, to discover their true purpose and their deepest joy,
they must cut themselves loose from what has become outdated ties. Then, in a consciously-chosen
act, they commit themselves to something new, something even deeper than the
bonds of family relationships, deeper than the bonds of any sort of tribe,
congregation, denomination, party, or nation. Even more appropriate than the
image of re-setting a bone, is the image of cutting the umbilical cord between
a newborn and mother.
Marianne gave
birth to our children in a birthing center in Rincon, GA. Both times, I watched
Marianne, exhausted and awestruck, hold that pink, wrinkled, puffy-eyed baby she
had carried within her for nine months. And both times, the midwife took two
surgical clamps and pinched them down tightly and close together on that gently
twisting, bluish-gray tether still attached to our baby’s belly.
The midwife held out a pair of
sterile scissors and said, “Would you like to cut the umbilical cord?”
It was not a
merely symbolic act. By cutting the cord, I severed the most vital physical
aspect of the pre-natal bond between Marianne and our children. Forever. The
experiences of both pregnancy and childbirth were complete, and an utterly new
set of relationships began, for all of us. Relationships of unspeakable joy and
heartache. Relationships of relentless discovery and bewilderment. Relationships
in which we began a continual process of coming together, ripping apart, and
coming together anew. Peace is a rare gift in all of that purposed turmoil.
All
relationships experience turmoil, don’t they? Things as they were end. And after
each experience of change and loss, the Spirit lays us at our mother’s breast,
freshly re-formed and capable of new depths of trust. Accepting this process as
not merely inevitable, but healthy – that’s the key. It’s a necessary step
toward making peace with the always surprising ambush of Resurrection. I think
that’s how losing one’s life for Jesus’ sake becomes an experience, ultimately,
of great joy.
For us as
Christians, the Sabbath day is always a celebration of Easter. No matter what outside
distractions may clutter our hearts and minds on a Sunday morning, the reason
we gather is to bear witness to the transforming power of Resurrection in the
world. All that we say and do and sing should proclaim that truth.
In a few minutes, we will celebrate
the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. As you pass the bread and cup today, I ask
you to say something different. As the first tray comes, say to your neighbor,
“Broken bread for your broken heart.” And when the second tray comes, say, “The
cup of Resurrection.”
As we remember Jesus’ passion at
the hands of a fearful and violent empire, may we all be reminded that through
this ritual meal we are being nourished with the resurrecting power of agape
Love, that perfect Love that liberates us from all encumbering fears and loyalties,
so that we may die to self, and rise to Christ. So that we may live in and
share the presence of God’s kingdom here, and now, and always.
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