Luke 6:27-38
“But I say to you who are listening: Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who asks of you, and if anyone takes away what is yours, do not ask for it back again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.
“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you expect to receive payment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. Instead, love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, for he himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.
“Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap, for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”
This week is the second chunk of Jesus’ famous Sermon on the Plain, Luke’s version of the famous Sermon on the Mount. In both gospels, it follows the part where Jesus says blessed are you when people persecute you on his account. And, fortunately or unfortunately, because it is so hard, today’s part is featured in both.
This part is Jesus’ Greatest Hits: Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Turn the other cheek. Go the extra mile. Give people the shirt off your back. Do unto others not as they do to you but how you would have them to do to you.
As I thought about these words this week, I heard myself arguing with Jesus. Maybe you should have been more realistic, Jesus. What about times when we are too tired, overwhelmed, hurt or afraid for such a steep call to love? What about times when power is abused and people are dehumanized, couldn’t you have said, “Folks, just do your best, because, let’s be honest, some people are just impossible to love. Some people, if you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. Couldn’t you have added a caveat or two, Jesus, like, Don’t be a doormat. Don’t be an enabler. And as for judging people, sometimes it’s necessary. Forgiveness is good to a point, but then you need accountability.” Couldn’t you have preached that, Jesus? Maybe they would call it The Sermon on the Brink.
But he didn’t. Jesus preached an unflinching, counter-cultural message of love that we honor fully when we admit how much we chafe against it.
This week, I read a book called How to Have an Enemy, written by a Mennonite named Melissa Florer-Bixler. She studied today’s text, as well as the Psalms, the letters of Paul, and Jesus’ interactions with the brutal Roman Empire, the faith leaders and friends who all turned on him. She asserts that the Bible does not call for lazy coexistence, passive acceptance of abuse or shallow calls for unity. She wrote, “It is the work of the gospel to uncover the source of our enmity, to stand fully before it, to confront it, and to be transformed.” Said another way, Jesus did not tell his followers that they would not have enemies. He called them to love the ones they had. So, buckle up. The transformation of enemies, both around us and within us, is the work of the grace of Christ. It is as wild and powerful as any force in this world.
Roman Williams, former archbishop of Canterbury, wrote that a slap from someone in a Roman garrison was meant to be the end of the story, and that to turn the other cheek, was not only a refusal to be passive but it was a refusal of the passivity of simply reproducing what has been done to you. It was, he wrote, a miracle.
I heard someone say once, in response to evil and suffering and enemies in this world, “Jesus is God’s answer. Not an explanation, which I might prefer, but God’s answer.”
So, church, there are two things I want you to know. First, that what we are called to do
here is not easy. It is not a life hack. It is not a quick-fix. It is not a short-cut. It is not a one-time decision. This is love in its most inconvenient form. Love that shows up when we are tired, hurt, overwhelmed and afraid. Love deeply aware of the power dynamics that still refuses to return insult for insult or injury for injury. Love that doesn’t wait for the other person to deserve it. It is slow and difficult work, a long obedience in the same direction, as Eugene Petersen called it.
But, second, I want you to know, that it is possible. It is worth it. It is not attained by our effort alone but is a gift of God. Sometimes it breaks through history like daffodil pressing a
green shoot out of the crust of winter, bold and undeniable like Dietrich Bonhoffer standing against the Nazis or Martin Luther King Jr. marching for justice. But more often, this love shows up in quieter ways: sewing up a hole in the sock of a person who slept in the warmth of a church on one of the coldest nights of the year. Listening with patience when judgment would be easier. Offering kindness to someone who never returns it. It is love in its most inconvenient form, the love of Christ himself on the cross, and somehow, it is the most transformative power on earth.
There was a member of my former church who would disparage almost every sermon I
gave. He always withheld his hand in the receiving line. He yelled at me in the narthex many times. It broke my heart, if I’m honest. One day, I was scheduled to visit their home because his wife had undergone surgery. I kid you not, on the drive to his house, I got a phone call I’ll never forget. My father called to tell me the oncologist had said unfortunately there was nothing more they could do for my mother. It was the first time I had heard Dad’s voice catch, maybe ever. I hung up and sat in the car for a few minutes outside their house with the wind knocked out of me and this house to visit. Then, I felt something like a radiating cocoon of courage cover me. It was a refuge and strength, like the Psalms might call it. Maybe a kind of power in knowing that nothing the gentleman inside the house could say would be worse than what I had just heard.
When I entered their home, he asked with a smirk if I wanted some non-fair-trade coffee. I
responded, “That sounds great.” We chatted about the surgery, traded details about this or that church member, and his wife asked how mom was. I was pretty frank. “Oh, I am sorry.” The temperature seemed to drop in the air. Suddenly, the gentleman got up and left the room. I heard him rummaging around in their garage. He returned a few minutes later with half a box of potato chips and gave it to me. There were 8 or 9 bags in there. “For the kids… they’ll like them. I know it says quinoa but they’re good.” For a brief moment in time, his gaze softened, and for the same moment of time, it was like the window of heaven had rolled down in my heart too and a breeze of love blew in. “Thanks.”
I drove away, still stunned but muttering to myself blessed are you… when you didn’t see that coming… blessed are you…when you don’t know if it will last… blessed are we, when the chips are down, by a Holy Spirit that blows where it will and will stop at nothing to mend us.
I know that many people never get anything close to box of chips to make enemy love palatable. I know there are situations where reconciliation seems over the horizon of our lifetime. But the call to love remains. And that means the grace of Christ remains too, and it is as wild, mysterious and inconvenient as ever. I’ve seen its power too often to bet against it. And we know this for sure: this love sets us free.
Amen