Jesus said to his disciples: “You have heard it was said, You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your heavenly Father, for he makes his sun rise on the bad and the good, and causes rain to fall on the just and the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what recompense will you have? Do not the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet your brothers only, what is unusual about that? Do not the pagans do the same? So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” (Matt 5.43-48)
Today’s selection continues and completes last weeks’ antitheses, a section of Rabbi Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount in which he extends the Mosaic Law beyond the letter of the law, offering to his followers the spirit of the law, providing in this way a deeper and fuller understanding of God’s will for his people. In this way, Rabbi Jesus condemns the tendency of many to minimalism, that is, doing the least possible in order to comply, and challenges his listeners to maximalism, going beyond mere observance and doing more.
For the minimalist, showing up is enough. For the maximalist, showing up is only step one. Step two is doing something after you show up. Using six different situations, Rabbi Jesus expands the common or minimalist understanding of these six laws, showing that much more is required than a surface compliance, urging upon his followers a maximalist or expansive approach, in this way reaching a more profound level of obedience to the law.
The two antitheses, numbers five and six in Matthew’s line-up, that we find in today’s selection focus on our relationship with people we don’t like and have no cause to like. The first is the person who has done us harm. Whereas the ancient law that regulated revenge, the so-called lex talionis, or the law of retaliation, allowed a person to inflict equal but not greater loss on someone who has harmed him, “an eye for an eye,” Rabbi Jesus obliterates the notion of revenge and urges his disciples to turn the other cheek and to go the extra mile.
The last antithesis in this section addresses the disciple’s attitude towards enemies, the people we disdain and hate. As with the previous five situations, Rabbi Jesus begins with the commonly accepted practice, telling his listeners, “You have heard it said, You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.” Here, it is interesting that there was no commandment on the books that called for hating one’s enemy. The reason is simple. We don’t need a commandment telling us to hate our enemies. It comes naturally.
Rabbi Jesus takes our natural inclinations and turns them inside out, informing the people who want to learn from him, “I tell you, love your enemies and bless those who curse you. Do good to those who hate you and pray for those who mistreat you and persecute you.” With those few words, Rabbi Jesus’ new teaching summons people to rise above a natural response or the expected reaction to an enemy, and to do the opposite, the unimaginable, to love the ones we’re supposed to hate.
If we were to pick the most challenging of Rabbi Jesus’ teachings–and truth be told, they are all challenging to one degree or another—these two final antitheses are at the top of the list of things near-to-impossible to do. Again, the reason is simple enough. They both fly in the face of our natural impulses. It is no work on our part to want revenge, an eye for an eye. Payback just feels right.
Likewise, we find it second-nature to hate our enemies, those people we dislike for every good reason or for no good reason. After all, it’s the way the world works. We’ve been building walls ever since we lost the lease on Paradise, forming factions, drawing lines in the sand, putting up signs that read “Do not trespass.” When Cain killed his brother Abel because the sight of him set him off, the dye was cast, the rest of us despising others and disposing of their dead bodies without a shred of remorse.
But Rabbi Jesus issues a cease and desist order, telling us that those who follow his way in the world are expected to do better, much better. And while the true-and-tried responses to people we don’t like may work for other people, it isn’t going to work for those who want to be like him. In short, he tells us we’re better than that.
Reading our wayward hearts as well as he does, he cuts through our defense mechanisms and rationalizations with a simple, soul-searching question: “If you love those who love you, do not tax collectors do the same? And if you greet your brothers only, what is unusual about that? Don’t the pagans do the same?” With that question, he obliterates our “well, everybody else does it” line of defense.
The problem he lays bare is that we’re comparing our behavior to the wrong set of people. We’re grading ourselves on a curve, believing the average score is the one we want, whereas average is never going to cut it with him. He finds no reason why we’d want to brag on ourselves for doing average work. As he points out, everybody–for the most part–does average work, even tax collectors and pagans. So, if they’re the ones we’re comparing ourselves to, then we’re never going to stand out because, well, because we’re just like everybody else.
And right there is the challenge–not to be content with acting like everybody else, but instead pushing ourselves to become our better angels, so to speak. As a life coach, Rabbi Jesus counsels us to excel, to become exceptional, to exert ourselves, never content to just get by, but convinced that we can always do better, become better.
Rather than comparing ourselves with tax-collectors and pagans–his way of saying the way of the world–he offers us another measure, frankly, an incredible reach for mere mortals. He says, “Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” And with those few words, he definitely is upping the ante, putting before us a different role model, a different measure of success.
Our immediate response is to admit defeat, to say it is impossible, to toss aside the instructions because they’re too complicated. The problem for us is the word perfect. We’re simply not perfect-score people. Only on the best of days do we get all the words on the crossword puzzle and if we make it to the end of January with our New Year’s resolutions, it’s a cause for celebration. We’re not wired for perfection. It’s not written into our code.
Rather than give up before we start, knowing we’re never going to be perfect at anything, we may want to look closer at the word perfect, or at least the Greek word that is used. The Greek word teleios means complete, whole, arriving at the end. So, it implies a process, growth, a movement towards a goal. Our objective is wholeness, completion, fullness. And that happens when we walk step by step towards our destination.
As followers of Rabbi Jesus, our destination is God, not becoming God, but becoming like God. And what is God like? Ah, that’s simple. God is love. A love that forgives and forgets. A love that seeks no revenge. A love that goes the extra mile. A love that doesn’t put people into brackets or segregate others based on zip code.
Created in the image and likeness of God, we’re meant to become people who love like God loves. That is our goal, our purpose, our raison d’etre. And that likeness of God is something that we grow into, day by day, step by step, good deed by good deed. And the more the likeness of God becomes evident in our person, the more we are truly his sons and daughters.
Of course, the opposite is also true. If others look at us and see nothing god-like in us, then we’re going to have a difficult time convincing anyone that we’re on the way to fulfilling our purpose, claiming our heritage. If all others see in us is pettiness, hatefulness, and vileness, it is safe to say we haven’t done much to grow into the likeness of God, showing no family resemblance to the one who made us to love as he loves.
Rabbi Jesus, in his teaching today, reminds us of who we are and whose we are. Created by a loving God to be his loving children, we have a destination–the land of love. And to arrive on those shores, we sail in that direction each day, our eyes always looking for those shores, his winds filling our sails, urging us on in the right direction, helping us fight against winds that want to push us off course.
Back in 1987 there was a scientific study that argued that couples who have been married for twenty-five years or more begin to physically resemble one another as a result of their prolonged cohabitation. And while there have been efforts since then to debunk the thesis, it remains a fascinating idea and one that resonates with experience. We know that over time we begin to imitate people closest to us, even taking on their facial expressions and mannerisms.
As we listen to Rabbi Jesus tell us today that we must be perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect, he is simply telling us that perfection is a maturation process. The longer we stay close to God, the more we will begin to look like him. It may take years, but so long as we keep his ways before us, we will find ourselves picking up his ways and his wants for us. We will grow into God-likeness.
In the Fourth Gospel, there is a fascinating conversation between Rabbi Jesus and some of his disciples. At one point, one of the twelve, Philip, says to Jesus, “Show us the Father and that will be enough for us.” To which Rabbi Jesus answers, “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been with you this long? He who sees me has seen the Father.”
And that is what Rabbi Jesus asks of us today–to grow more and more into the likeness of the One who created us and called us to be his children, so that when we have matured after years and years of moving towards our calling, it can be said of us that he who sees us has seen the Father.” It is possible, so long as we look to him as our model, and not to tax collectors and pagans.
–Jeremy Myers
Sunday Brunch 