Matthew 5:38-48
David A. Davis
March 12, 2017
Lent II

The word “perfect” is rare in the four gospels. For that, I guess, folks like us should be grateful. Folks like us, meaning human beings. There’s no shortage of “perfect” in the epistles, however. “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear” (I John 4). “Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above” (James 1). “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12). Perfect love. Perfect gift. The will of God, good, acceptable, perfect. Lots of “perfect.” But in the gospels, both English and Greek, the word occurs just a few times. Three to be exact and two of them I just read to you from Matthew, from the Sermon on the Mount.

“Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” The only other instance of the word is also in Matthew. In chapter 19 Matthew writes about someone who came to ask Jesus about what good deed has to be done to have eternal life. Jesus responded, “Why do you ask me about what is good? There is only one who is good. If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.” The man asks which one. Jesus rattles off a few from the list of ten. The man said, “I’m all over that. Got it. What else do I lack?” “If you wish to be perfect,” Jesus said, “Go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When the young man heard that, Matthew tells the reader, “he went away grieving, for he had many possessions.” Perfect. The Sermon and then Jesus’ call to the rich young man. Only three times in the gospels. But maybe that’s plenty when it comes to perfection.

Pope Francis has been shaking it up a bit recently. This week he said in an interview that he would entertain the idea of married men becoming priests. He shared thoughts that were much more nuanced on the subject but that was the headline. Last week, just as Lent was starting, in another interview the Pope said that one should always give to the poor and stop worrying about how that person on the street might spend the money. “Who are we to judge?” was his basic argument. And don’t just toss the money in their direction, he said. You have to look them in the eye, touch them, and in so doing acknowledge their human dignity. Some published responses to the Pope’s word about serving the poor covered the spectrum from cynicism to practicality. If someone chose to follow the Pope’s teaching they would soon be a beggar and homeless themselves, one person wrote. Another article pointed out how that in any city in the United States it just would be impossible (in case you had not already figured that out). Others suggested that the Pope must have been exaggerating and that anyone who works in an urban center knows you have to make a plan when it comes to beggars and stick to it to give your philanthropic dollars in ways that go the farthest while working on advocacy and policy. Maybe in that interview, all the Pope was trying to say was, “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

Turning the other cheek. Going the extra mile. Giving to anyone who begs or wants to borrow from you. Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. And in the context and flow of the Sermon on the Mount it’s not just that short list of aspirational behavior in play. Jesus’ zinger of a concluding sentence, his rhetorical flare, his memorable, quotable sermon snippet goes all the way back to where we left off last week about Jesus coming to fulfill the law. Jesus preaches about reconciling with a brother or sister and not letting your anger open you to judgment, and lusting in your heart being akin to adultery, and if your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out, and divorce, and making an oath, letting your yes and yes and your no be no. Then he says, “Perfect. Be Perfect.”

In his book on the Sermon on the Mount, Professor Allison from Princeton Seminary points out that if Jesus was suggesting moral perfection here, if Jesus was calling those disciples and the crowd listening in to a kind of perfection that means being without sin, if Jesus was intending to refer to sinlessness with the word “perfect,” why would his teaching in the Lord’s Prayer include a petition for daily forgiveness. Just a bit later in the Sermon, Jesus teaches them how to pray and how to ask for forgiveness. It strains theological, spiritual common sense to think that Jesus’ turn of phrase is a hyperbolic call for sinlessness. The word “perfect” might appear a whole lot more in the epistles but it is exactly there where the first interpreters of the gospel, the first theologians affirm that “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” (Romans 3) and that “if we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us” (I John 1). Jesus may have been tempted in every way as we are and was yet without sin (Hebrews 4), but as for us, not so much.

The Common English Bible translates the 48th verse of chapter five like this: “Therefore, just as your heavenly Father is complete in showing love to everyone, so also you must be complete.” Professor Allison and others point out that the Greek word for “perfect” here, telios, can be translated, can bear the connotation of “complete.” When Jesus asked that rich young man “if you wish to be perfect…” he was asking him if you want to be all in, if you want to really do this discipleship thing right now, if you want to be completely, utterly, drop-your-net-and-follow-me in, then sell your possessions, give the money to poor, and come, follow me. It’s a “if you want to be complete” kind of commitment.

No, not “you complete me” as Tom Cruise said to Renee Zellweger in the film Jerry Maguire. But more like, there is a completeness, a wholeness when it comes to God and God’s kingdom. It’s God’s perfection, not ours. God’s perfect love. There is an “A to Z” and “Alpha to Omega” sense to God’s whole kingdom of love, righteousness, justice, and peace. It has a “this is it” sort of definition. When it comes to turning the other cheek and caring for the poor and loving your enemies, that’s how it is, that’s how it will be in the kingdom. It is perfect, just perfect. Life in the kingdom of God is the definition of turning the other cheek and serving the least of these and a love that knows no bounds. Complete in the kingdom. Complete in him, in Jesus, for that matter. Perfect. Just perfect.

Three times here in Matthew Jesus used the word. Only three times in all of the gospels. But he must have thought it more than that. You remember when Jesus looked up and saw rich people putting their gifts into the treasury at the temple. Jesus also saw a poor widow put in two small copper coins. Jesus said to the disciples gathered around him, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them, for they contributed out of their abundance, but she, out of her poverty, has put in all the living that she had.” What Jesus could have said when he looked over to her was “perfect, just perfect.”

When Jesus was in Bethany at the house of Simon the leper, a woman broke open a very expensive jar of oil and began to anoint his head. It created quite a stir and everyone else in the room became angry and started to scold the woman. That’s when Jesus said, “Leave her alone. Why yell at her. She is offering me a service and anointing my body beforehand for burial.” Jesus spoke those puzzling words about the poor always being with you. “Truly I tell you, whenever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.” That’s how he finished. He must have been thinking “perfect, just perfect.”

When Jesus and the disciples were up around the Sea of Galilee, Jesus looked up and saw a huge crowd coming toward him. Jesus turned to Philip and asked how they were going to feed all these people. Andrew said, “There’s a little boy here who has five loaves and two fish.” Jesus told them to invite everyone to sit down. What he might have thinking was this is perfect, just perfect. After Jesus told the one about the Good Samaritan, he said to that rich lawyer, “Go and do likewise.” He could have easily said, “Be perfect, just perfect.” The father who embraced his lost son, crying out “This son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and now is found.” Those hugging words could have been “perfect, just perfect.” The wise maidens who brought enough oil to keep their lamps burning, the sheep who did all that was described unto the least of these, Martha who chose the better portion and sat at the feet of Jesus, the tax collector who beat his own chest in prayer and cried out, “Lord, have mercy on me a sinner.” The one leper who came back to throw himself at the feet of Jesus and offered him thanks. All of them. All of them. It could have been. He could have said, he could have thought, “Perfect, just perfect.” Because each and every one of those snapshots, those scenes from the life the kingdom, they point to something greater. They offer a glimpse of the kingdom of God. Turns out there’s a whole lot more of “perfect” in the gospel than the three times the word was used.

After the Women’s March back in January, I talked to colleagues and church members and friends and family who all participated in Washington, in New York, in Trenton. One thing, one theme, was consistent in every report and description I heard. What was most meaningful was that sense of being a part of something greater. It wasn’t a particular speech that folks will remember. Most folks could quote a saying or two from a sign or share a chant that moved through the crowd. Everyone noted the lack of any incident or any violence, But what will most be remembered, according to people who went, was that feeling of taking a small part, a little cog, one voice in something that was so much bigger, greater, more important, more profound. Knowing somewhere deep within that day, that each was a part of a powerful message so beyond themselves, but somehow made greater because of the presence of each and every one.

Anyone who has been a part of a choir when the piece was just sublime, or in the jazz band the night they killed it, or on a team that won a game they were not supposed to, or part of a group at work that met the untenable deadline, or in the cast when the play soared to another level, or in the congregation for that Easter proclamation never to forget (“Christ is risen”). Jesus’ exhortation to perfection isn’t a call to a beyond human sinless state. It is an invitation to take part in a kingdom of forgiveness, generosity, and love that is so much bigger and greater, more profound than you can even fathom. And don’t forget the one who is doing the exhorting, the one who is preaching here. Jesus and all those snapshots, those scenes. His life of forgiveness, generosity, and love. The exhortation is to be a part of something much greater and in so doing, to draw near to Christ himself. “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

There is a major gathering this week in the Presbyterian Church. It’s called the “Next Conference.” About 600 Presbyterians from around the country will gather to worship, to be inspired, to hear about compelling ministries, to discern what might be next in the PC(USA). Tom Charles has been invited to speak. Together with Sue Jennings, Ann Youmans, and others, Tom leads our ministry in refugee resettlement. Tom has prepared a guidebook for sponsoring refugees that has already been shared with hundreds of contacts in other congregations. I received an advanced of Tom’s remarks to the conference next week and with his permission I share this one small bit.

At one point Tom tells of his own motivation and passion for being involved in refugee work. He cites the influence of his parents and grandparents. He mentions being a part of a congregation that has resettled twelve families over 60 years. But then Tom writes this, “But, most of all, my passion comes from the realization that I am most fulfilled as a Christian when I do this work, receiving back so much more than I provide. Put very simply, it is when I am working with a refugee that I feel closest to Christ.”

The hours, the hurdles, the joy, the frustration, the challenges, the laughter, the hard conversations, the organizing, the job training, the language teaching.

“It is when I am working with a refugee that I feel closest to Christ.”

Tom might have put it another way, “It’s perfect, just perfect.”

© 2017 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.

Matthew 5:13-20
David A. Davis
March 5, 2017
Lent I

In response to the threats, acts of hatred, and vandalism directed at the Jewish community, my friend and colleague Rabbi Feldman and I wrote a letter to the local media outlets. When discerning whether to respond, we both knew that our members would want, would expect us to say something, to do something. I haven’t seen the letter anywhere yet so perhaps we missed deadlines or used wrong emails or maybe the rabbi and the minister were just too verbose. Allow me to share a portion of what we wrote:

We know from studying history and from each of our own traditions why it is so critical to love your neighbor as yourself, to accept the orphan, widow, and stranger, and to demonstrate respect for people of different faiths and backgrounds. We hear the hate speech coming from too many places in our country and we want to counter that speech with language of love and trust and acceptance and honor.

We know of Muslims who feel threatened today by certain policies and statements being made in many public forums and then this week we witnessed acts of hatred directed at a Jewish cemetery in Philadelphia. This is not only disrespectful to the deceased and their families but it also violates so many of our religious traditions of demonstrating honor to people after they pass away and honoring religious institutions. These actions must stop.

In Princeton, we are proud of the multi-faith voices that come together to celebrate certain national holidays and to unite in support of certain values that are key to our religious traditions and to our country. When the times call for us to speak out against religious discrimination and anti-Semitic acts like we have witnessed this week – we do so as well.

The letter ends with a prayer from the Jewish Prayer Book which in part prays for the day when “all who live on earth shall realize we have not come into being to hate or to destroy. We have come into being to praise, to labor, and to love.” We have come into being to praise, to labor, and to love. It doesn’t get any more basic than that. It’s pretty fundamental: to praise, to labor, to love. Sums up the necessities when it comes to being a child of God, a people of God. Almost a kind of stating the obvious, or establishing the baseline, or it’s in the DNA. As the people of God, at the very least, called to praise, to labor, to love.

When you are reading the Gospel of Matthew and you come upon the phrase “the least of these,” one would expect to be in Matthew 25. “Truly I tell you,” Jesus said, “just as you did it to one of the least of these…” “The least of these” you heard this morning in Matthew is also from Jesus but it comes in the early stages of the Sermon on the Mount. “Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven.” The least of these… commandments. Matthew’s Jesus affirming his fulfillment of the law and the prophets. A continuity with the establishment of God’s people. Rather than abolishing the hows and the whats and the whys of the covenant relationship between God and God’s people, Jesus comes to fulfill, re-establish, embody, deepen, live out even the least of these commandments. The least, at the least, at the core, the basics, as simple as to praise, to labor, to love. Anyone who does the very least of what it means to be a child of God, to be the people of God, they will be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

When I was getting ready to move from elementary to junior high school, it came time for me to pick an instrument to learn. The junior high band director — his name was Mr. Salerro — was scheduled to visit my school and meet with anyone who was interested so they could get started over the summer. I had determined that I wanted to be trumpet player and that’s what I reported to the rather intimidating junior high band director. Mr. Sellaro looked at me and said, “What a beautiful embouchure! You are a trombone player.” Translated, that means your lips are too fat to play trumpet. It wasn’t until much later that I realized it likely had nothing to do with my lips. It was more of a head count. The band director needed trombone players. Fuzzy Graffam’s lips weren’t any fatter than mine. He became the tuba player. I don’t remember anything else from that meeting but I know I went home from school that day carrying that big, blasted trombone case. It was an example of what in the philosophy of communication they call “Speech Act Theory.” With those words, with that declaration, “You are a trombone player”, I was a trombone player.

Jesus said, “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world.” Right there in the Sermon on the Mount, after the blessings of the Beatitudes and before all the instruction yet to come. “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world.” Before “Let your word be ‘yes, yes,’ or ‘no, no,’” and before turning the other cheek and going the extra mile, “You are the salt… You are the light.” Before love your enemies, and not letting your left hand know what your right is doing when it comes to giving alms, and the Lord’s Prayer, and the lilies of the field. “You are the salt… You are the light.” Before the log in your own eye and ask and knock and do unto others as you would have them to do you, Jesus said, “You are. You are.” Salt. Light.

Preachers like me have the tendency to take the images, the metaphors of salt and light and absolutely squeeze the life out of them until they are just hanging there in a sermon like a dried, smelly dish rag hanging on the faucet the morning after a nice dinner party. So I’m going try not to do that. I’m just going to go with this: when it comes to salt and light, you don’t get any more basic, fundamental, necessary. When it comes to life, to the existence of life, light and salt represent the basics. Jesus and his speech act, establishing the people of God, bringing the people of God to life as salt and light to the world. That the most basic, necessary qualities and characteristics of life in God are in you, part of your DNA, to praise, to labor, to love. At your birth, at your baptism, each day by God’s grace and in God’s Spirit, you are a trombone player! Which is to say, whether you know it or not, whether you believe it or not, you are God’s praise, God’s labor, and God’s love in the world! You are! You are the praise, the labor, and the love of God in the world! You are! You are! Salt. Light. You are because Jesus said so.

I was in the grocery store early one morning a week or so ago. I was in line at the registers in the back of the store just inside the rear entrance. It was before 8:00 a.m. and there was only one cashier working. There were maybe four or five of us in line. One person in line just ripped into the cashier about the line, and not enough help, and time wasted waiting there. “I know it’s not your fault and I shouldn’t be yelling at you!” the person yelled at the cashier.

I was getting off a plane in Newark and most of us had gate-checked our carry-on. So the passengers dutifully lined up along the wall up the jet-way, which is the rule and etiquette of the occasion, while we waited for our bags to be brought in the door. One guy, who looked a lot like me expect bigger and taller, he came off the plane and just stood on the other side by the door. Eventually, someone had to say something like “the line is this way.” The man didn’t move, he just huffed and puffed and said, “Yeah, what are you going to do about it!”

I was driving back to the church for a meeting just last Thursday night. It was dark. I stopped in the center of town on Witherspoon Street there at the crosswalk for several groups of people to cross. I inched forward preparing to turn right and come up through Palmer Square. On the sidewalk was a couple with a stroller. I was checking to see if they were coming out and they waved me on. As I turned my head back, and started to move a bit, a young woman was in the crosswalk already. I stopped as soon as I saw her. I guess she wasn’t sure if I would. She stopped in my headlights, looked right at me, and made a vulgar gesture with her hand.

I can’t be the only one who has noticed that the world could use a lot more salt and light lately. Yes, among the nations. Yes, among leaders. Yes, in governments and policies and decisions. Yes, in the public square, and in local disagreements and debates, and certainly on social media, and, yes, on campus and in schools and in faith communities. But also, more salt and light a whole lot closer to home, more salt and light coming from you and me. A whole lot more of the most basic, necessary qualities and characteristics of life in God. You and your praise. You and your labor. You and your love. You are!

Every one of us knows what it is like to get cranky, snippy, irritable because we’re hungry or thirsty. Every parent has watched a child have a meltdown and then felt guilty because the baby was just hungry. The toddler, the teenager, the college kid, the spouse just needed to get some nourishment, needed to eat something. Like that Snickers commercial where the person turns back into themselves, to their own DNA, after a snack. I’m not sure I could argue theologically that the Lord’s Supper works that way. But it is interesting to think about it that way. Feasting on Christ’s promise, coming back to his table of self-emptying love, nourished again by his goodness, his grace, his mercy so that you can once again be salt and light in your slice of the world, in your corner of life, in your house. So that you can be sent out to praise, to labor, to love. O taste and see that the Lord is good. Filled at this table so you can offer to the world, to your world, the most basic, fundamental, necessary, the “at the very least part” of being a child of God, a disciple of Jesus. You are saved by his grace. You are claimed by his love. You are salt and light! God knows the world could use more, that we could all use a bit more salt and light.

That letter, the letter I shared, maybe it will make it out there, maybe it won’t. The Apostle Paul wrote to one of his congregations, “You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, to be known and read by all; and you show that you are a letter of Christ, prepared by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone, but on tablets of human hearts” (II Corinthians 3:2-3). When you are expecting your church, your pastor, your rabbi to say something, do something, make sure you’re doing it too. Talk to your neighbor, call your co-worker, stop your classmate, have dinner with friend, the folks you know who are Jewish, and tell how you are really sorry for all that’s happened in the news this week. It’s the least we can do.

This is my body broken for you. You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.

© 2017 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.