Father Gary’s Sermon

Inspired from Matthew 10:34-42

Proclaimed on June 26, 2005

A pastor was standing in the receiving line after his first service in his new parish. Everyone was telling him what a ‘nice’ sermon it was, when a strange looking guy came through the line, grabbed his hand, and said, “Preacher, that was the worst sermon I ever heard.” As you might imagine the pastor was a little surprised, but went right on shaking hands. A few minutes later the same guy came through the line again. This time he said, “That sermon had nothing to do with the text.” Later, this same fellow showed up a third time: “Preacher,” he said, “If all your sermons are as boring as that one, I’m never coming back here again.” At that point, a very considerate member of the parish drew the pastor to one side and said, “Don’t worry about him. He’s just a little crazy. He repeats what he hears everyone else saying.”

When I first read the Gospel reading for today I wondered how the people of Jesus’ time responded to his statements. Here was a man of obvious spiritual power, a man of peace, talking not about peace and tranquility, but about bringing a sword into our relationships. What on earth was he talking about? How did those hearing him respond to his words? When Jesus spoke of setting a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law, was he being anti-family? Was Jesus speaking out against family values?

I do not think so. I say this because of an interesting experience I had when I visited Israel in 1979. I was there on a study trip at Hebrew University through the Biblical Archaeology Society. I was part of a very diverse group. One morning one of my colleagues and I decided we were going to jog around the old city of Jerusalem. Another member of our group, who happened to be a middle-aged Jewish mother, requested to join us. As we were well into our run, I asked her how she felt about the Arab children who had been sporadically throwing stones at our group because they thought we were Jewish. Her answer was surprising. She stated that she was truly thankful for the Arabs and other gentiles. Noting our surprise she stated, “You obviously don’t understand about we Jews. Where there is more than one Jew in a room there is going to be a fight. The Arabs and other gentiles distract us long enough to prevent us from killing each other.”

Being a good Jew himself, Jesus probably knew this about his own people. Indeed, as a religion Judaism was hardly homogenous. The Scriptures reveal many an argument, debate, or heated discussion between Jesus and the Pharisees, Sadducees, and other religious groups of that time. What is confusing about Jesus is that his own theology is difficult to peg. Sometimes he sounds similar to the Pharisees, other times he might seem like a good Sadducee, and still others a good Essene. So what brought about the conflicts between Jesus and these various groups when they occurred? Usually it had to do with the identity of Jesus and his mission. Indeed, this one issue so distraught them that the Bible on different occasions notes how these disparate groups often formed unnatural alliances with one another in order to kill Jesus. This probably put his disciples in rather precarious circumstances, probably not unlike that new pastor standing in the receiving line at his new church. I can see the disciples coming up to Jesus after a controversial sermon or discussion and telling him what a wonderful job he did, then withdrawing to the rest of the group discussing among themselves whether Jesus was crazy or not. He understood all too well the people who surrounded him. He also knew that swords were being raised against him and those who would dare to follow him.

Regardless of what happened then, I don’t think things have since changed that much. Indeed, I can pretty much identify with the crazy man who repeated to the new minister what he heard others saying behind his back. You see, I subscribe to Sermon Shop, a group on the Internet who weekly share their sermons and give their thoughts, feelings, and reflections on each other’s sermons. The discussions are all interesting, as they cover the whole range of positions from skepticism to passionate conviction, from self-proclaimed orthodox to raving revisionists. I sometimes catch myself yelling at my computer while reading some of the opinions expressed. Then in the midst of my own passion, I’ll run to our Lord in prayer and say, “Lord, did you hear that?! Did you hear what so-and-so had to say about your teaching today?” Then I begin to feel sorry for the congregation that will have to listen to that sermon. Of course, the others are probably thinking the same thing about the “lousy preaching” the people at St. Stephen’s has to endure.

However, this is the reality of our times. When I became an Episcopalian I was so excited about the new religious family I had gained. What I have since come to realize is that this is a rather dysfunctional family. Indeed, like many of the other religious traditions about us, we are debating some very controversial issues among ourselves. As time as progressed, however, these arguments have become conflicts. We have become enamored with our own words and ideas. They have become important symbols to us. Indeed, more important than the persons we oppose. In time these conflicts have reached the point where we want to be in charge, even if it means “killing” our opponents by putting them out of power. We can see this process at work in our local parishes, the diocese, the national church, and now the worldwide Anglican Communion. How are we to deal with these “swords” that have been raised against us?

I am not too sure that I have the answer to this question, but I believe a story by David Busch is on the right track. He tells of one of his experiences in the Vietnam War. He was a member of an American platoon hunkered down in a rice paddy in the heat of a firefight with the Vietcong. Gunshots, mortal shells, and the confusing nastiness of war were all around. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a line of six monks appeared. They walked into the midst of the firefight, along the elevated berms that separated paddy from paddy. As they walked by, the soldiers on both sides of the fight took note of the poise and calmness of the monks. Said David Busch, “They didn’t look right, they didn’t look left. They walked straight through. It was really strange, because nobody shot at ‘em. And after they walked over the berm, suddenly all the fight went out of me. It just didn’t feel like I wanted to do this anymore, at least not that day. It must have been that way for everybody, because everybody quit. We just stopped fighting.”

What this author says, I believe, is important. He is illustrating a basic principle of all of social life: emotions are contagious. We transmit and catch moods from each other with each encounter. Some of these encounters are toxic, while some of them are nourishing and refreshing. However, when these encounters collapse into killing fields, our ideas and beliefs have then become more important than the life of the other. Oftentimes, however, in the heat of battle we do not realize this until after the harm is done. That’s where it becomes important to experience the lives of those monks, as we lie hunkered down in our rice paddies. Indeed, this is the role Jesus took among his contemporaries of that bygone day. For in the midst of the issues of his time, he never forgot the true value of those with whom he debated. He never allowed his position on theology to lead to the killing of another. However, he did allow himself to be killed by those who not only disagreed with him, but who also came to hate and despise him. In so doing, did he lose the argument? No. Indeed, by his resurrection God proved Jesus to be the winner of the truth game.

Yes, Jesus did bring a sword into our midst, to be used, not to maim or kill the other, but rather to use it to make a point. The point is that discussions on meaning and values are important, but not more important than the very lives of others. While passion is important, it must not overrule our compassion. As followers of Christ, we must take part in discussions regarding meaning and values. But we must not forget the reason we join these discussions--to reveal the value that God’s love has for each of us. This must be reflected not only with our words, but also most importantly with our behavior. From time to time, we all need a line of monks to remind us of what is really important. And from time to time, we will be called upon to be that line of monks for others.

When we look at the total life of our Lord as he spoke it, as well as how he lived it and died, I believe this is what our Lord meant when he promised not to bring peace, but instead to bring a sword. He meant that we must be loving even when we are being truthful; not in order to make another feel good, but rather to let the other know that he or she is valued and loved even when we think he or she is wrong. We are called to use our “swords” to make a point--the point that God loves and values the other, even when those others use their “swords” to turn upon us and destroy us. It may seem to be a bit crazy, but ultimately, it will prove to be good swordsmanship. Then in the Resurrected Life we will come to know the truth.