Salty, holy, lighted people who are pissed off

Matthew 5:38-48

"You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile.
Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you. "You have heard that 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, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same?
Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.


Jesus seems to like this turn of phrase. "You have heard it said... but I say to you." And really, we've heard a lot of things said. Heard a lot about the way the world is run and how it functions and what ways to succeed. And this goes beyond the bible, too. I just had a conversation with several friends at home about some colleagues who cheated in college or grad school. Either they had someone else write a paper for them or tucked answer keys in obscure places. Their rationale seems to be that this is the only way to get ahead in an overly competitive world. And so my friends and I are sitting around this table having dinner and asking ourselves what we should do in response. Turn them in? Let it slide?


And as Christians, living under the law, we fight this battle daily. We see someone breaking a law, be it civil or biblical, and our alarms go off. Perhaps because we are Americans, we feel it is our civic duty to report crimes and misdemeanors. To report wrongdoing for the sake of public order. But I believe it is a human thing, too. How many times has someone living with you reminded you that you forgot to take out the trash, that you left water running or lights on or that you somehow disobeyed house rules? How many times have you reminded them that they have broken some house rule?

There's something demeaning about being told you broke a law. A sense of guilt. We crumble in ourselves as we listen to the admonishment. And there's something vindictive in reminding someone that they, too, have broken a law. Have you ever had those arguments? “You did this.” “Oh yeah? Well you did THIS!” It's like we all want to tear each other down because we're feeling down. And if we're down, everyone else should be, too. What’s that funny saying, “If momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

Or maybe I'm alone there. But I doubt I'm the only one that's ever made mistakes or pointed out another's mistake. Whatever the case, I know this gospel lesson speaks to me. Because I know it's easy to love those who love me. To love those who don't tear me down. And I know it’s easy to hate, to get annoyed, to roll my eyes, to dismiss a person. And on those days when the entire world is picking at me, messing up my latte, demanding more of my time, and misunderstanding every word I say or doubting everything I do - the last thing I want to do is love. I'd rather call it a day and retreat to my couch. Retreat into a good book with a story full of clearly defined heroes and villains. It's easier to be alone with my contempt for the world. And I justify, the world probably doesn’t want to be around me like that anyway.

Try reading this gospel in THAT kind of mood. Try reading "Be perfect" after reading "Love your enemies" on a day when it feels like the whole world is on your case and you’d dump the whole world into some category of enemy. You feel rotten and then you're told you are even more rotten because you aren't loving those who aren't loving you.

I believe Jesus is calling to us in that very mood. Reminding us that we are salt. We are light. We are Children of God. We are holy. This gentle reminder is enough to restore our caved in souls. This gentle reminder tells us that love is possible within our very broken bodies. We look at ourselves and are able to see what God has made us - salty, holy, lighted Children of God. Filled up with something that we cannot create in ourselves. Filled up with something we cannot earn. Filled up with something that cannot be diminished or taken away or used up by anyone.

So it matters less what the world demands of us. What the laws say. What our response is. How we even go about dealing with other people who sometimes build us up and sometimes tear us down. Before we can do any of that, we must know that we are holy. And no, I don't mean "filled with holes." I mean we are God's children, filled with light and love and the promise that though the world lives one way, we are able to live another. When we are incapable of dealing with the world for another minute, the light in us spills forth and goes beyond the law. Walks the extra mile. Gives away the extra shirt. Gives away the extra food. And loves the person we cannot love.

This is Christ in us. This is our light. Our salt. Our holiness that we did nothing for. Thanks be to God for days when we feel like nothing and God is everything and more.