Tuesday, November 25, 2014

King and Judge (Reign of Christ)

Matthew 25:31-46
31 "When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. 32 All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, 33 and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. 34 Then the king will say to those at his right hand, "Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 35 for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36 I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.' 37 Then the righteous will answer him, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38 And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39 And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?' 40 And the king will answer them, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.' 41 Then he will say to those at his left hand, "You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; 42 for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43 I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.' 44 Then they also will answer, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?' 45 Then he will answer them, "Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.' 46 And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life."

            It was his first Sunday in the pulpit as the new pastor. In the days leading up to that first Sunday, members of the church and community had been welcoming, offering words of encouragement, telling him how excited they were to have him and just how much they couldn't wait to hear him preach his first sermon in worship with them. As it turned out, that first Sunday the new pastor preached from a passage in the gospels and declared the grace of God through the love of Jesus Christ and the call of Christ to all Christians to share that love unconditionally with everyone they meet. As the new pastor stood at the door of the sanctuary following the service, it seemed everyone who walked by and shook his hand said something like, “That was a great sermon, preacher,” to which he would respond with a simple “thank you.”
            Well, a week later (as you might expect) Sunday came again, and the new pastor was set to deliver his second sermon to the congregation. That second Sunday, the new pastor climbed up behind the pulpit and preached from a passage in the gospels and declared the grace of God through the love of Jesus Christ and the call of Christ to all Christians to share that love unconditionally with everyone they meet. At first, a few members of the congregation had puzzled looks on their faces, but soon there began to be whispers between some of them saying, “Isn't this the same sermon he preached last week?” For the most part, the congregation chalked up the apparent mistake to nerves and all the complications that come with a new pastorate, and once again, after the service, folks filed by and said to their new pastor, “Good sermon, preacher.”
            That week, just as the week before, the new pastor spent time among the folks of the community, visiting homes, hospital rooms, and meeting members in his office at the church, and just as the week before, Sunday came right after Saturday. When it came time in the worship service for the pastor to preach, one of the ladies on the back row leaned over to one of the other ladies on the back row and said, “I hope he found some new material.” She was to be disappointed though, for that third Sunday the new pastor (once again) preached from that same passage in the gospels and declared the grace of God through the love of Jesus Christ and the call of Christ to all Christians to share that love unconditionally with everyone they meet. This time, there were fewer folks saying, “Good sermon,” and more folks quietly grumbling under their breath as the exited out the side doors of the sanctuary. 
            Later that week, some deacons and leaders of the church called a meeting with the pastor in his office. Thinking he was shucking his duties to deliver a fresh sermon every week, they confronted him about his apparent laziness. One of the more outspoken and short-tempered deacons, demanded to know if their new pastor was going to continue to preach the same sermon every week: “We pay you enough money and give you this office so you have the time and place to prepare a new sermon for every Sunday!” he shouted. Others in the room echoed the sentiment, claiming that they needed to hear something besides the same sermon every week.
            Well, the new pastor looked at each of the dozen or so faces crowded in his office and replied to their complaints and demands. He said, “I've been your pastor now for three weeks—nearly a month—and I've spent time getting to know people in this church and in this community, and after each Sunday I sit in my office to pray about what I should preach the next Sunday. The way I see it, I figure a sermon ought to be more than a time-filler on a Sunday morning; a sermon is a call to action. So, I figure I’ll just keep preaching the same sermon until y’all get it!”
            Now, perhaps repetition isn't the best way to learn, to grow, to change one’s way of seeing the world, but it is quite effective when it comes to making a point. While I don’t think I’d stand up here and preach the exact same sermon three weeks in a row, I do think there are some words, some lessons from the Lord we need hear more than once. There are some words from Christ in which we need to stew for a while, until they really sink in deep. In fact, Jesus himself repeated the same message three times (although in three different ways) in chapter twenty-five of Matthew’s gospel.
            In this chapter, Jesus repeatedly expresses the importance of being ready, of being about the Lord’s work until his return. In what we call “The Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids” in verses 1-13, Jesus warns about the danger of being rejected, left out in the darkness, if one is not prepared when the bridegroom (that is, Jesus) returns. Last week we read verses 14-30 and Jesus’ “Parable of the Talents,” in which we heard the Lord speak about the danger of allowing our fears to keep us from the work of love, the work of God’s kingdom until his return. Now, in the text before us, we hear (in Jesus’ own words) the only detailed account of that final judgment in all of the New Testament (I bet you thought it was in Revelation didn't you?), and what is Jesus' message? Be ready, doing the work of love—the Lord’s work—until he returns.
            While these words from Jesus don’t really conjure up the grandiose images of the likes of Hal Lindsey or Tim LaHaye and their Late Great Planet Earth or Left Behind (respectively), they are words that describe the reality of that final judgment, when Christ the King will take his seat upon his throne and separate the righteous sheep from the unrighteous goats. And just what is the criterion for this sacred sorting? What is the basis for the King’s judgment that brands one a sheep or a goat? Well…that question may have a relatively surprising answer for some of us.
            To get to the answer to that question, we have to ask another question about this text: what exactly is the difference between the sheep and the goats in the first place? On the surface, the answer is simple: the sheep cared for “the least of these” and the goats did not. The righteous fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, cared for the sick, and visited the prisoner. Meanwhile, the unrighteous did none of those things. But for me, that brings up another question: why did the sheep do these things when the goats didn't?
            At first I’m tempted to say it is because the sheep, the righteous ones, recognized Jesus in the faces of those they helped, welcomed, and visited, but that is quite the opposite of what Jesus says in verses 37-39: “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38 And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’” The righteous don’t recognize Jesus in those they cared for. What’s more, the unrighteous, the goats, their response seems to suggest that if they had known that Jesus claimed such people as his family they would have cared for them: (verse 44) “Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?'”
            It seems that if these unrighteous people had just known that Jesus was going to hold them accountable for their actions towards the least of us, then they would have surely gone out of their way to serve them, to care for them, to welcome them. But again, the righteous were not motivated by how Jesus would respond to them at the time of judgment; they didn't know they were serving Jesus when they served the hungry, thirsty, stranger, who was naked, sick, or imprisoned. The goal of the righteous in their service was not some eternal pat on the back, some divine promotion. No, in fact it seems as if the righteous whom Jesus calls “blessed by my Father,” those to whom he beckons “inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world,” it seems as if these righteous ones are not motivated by any self-serving goal whatsoever. In Jesus’ words they seem downright surprised by the King's blessing: their very response says something about their very nature, for they could have simply said, “Thanks, Jesus,” but instead they respond to the King as if there has been some kind of mistake: “When did we do these things you’re talking about? Are you sure you’re talking about us?”
            You see, I’m convinced that the difference—the real difference—between the righteous and the unrighteous is this: the righteous are motivated by selfless love, the kind of love that can only come from God, while the unrighteous are motivated by selfishness. That’s why I’m convinced that when that day comes, and we are all gathered together (whatever that may look like), and the Lord holds his final judgment, that we will not be judged by the trivial hash marks of man-made religion. We will not be judged based our accomplishments in this world, the amount of money that has passed through our hands, the number of hours we've logged inside the four walls of a church building, or the number of proof texts we've stuck on our bumpers and in others’ faces. No, I am convinced, that when that day comes, there will be those who say, “Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many deeds of power in your name?” and the Lord “will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; go away from me, you evildoers.'”[1] I am convinced that on that day there will be those who stand before the Lord with their chests out, their heads held high, and their hands outstretched for the keys to their mansions, and the Lord will say to them “I never knew you.”
            I am convinced of these things because I see firsthand the way Christ’s name has been used for selfish gain, how the promise of heaven drives people more than the power of Christ’s love. I live in a world that says to the least of these, “If you’re hungry or thirsty that’s your fault…If you’re sick and can’t afford to get better that’s not my problem… if you’re not from around here or I don’t know you, stay over there where you came from and leave us alone…if you’re without the basic needs of life, don’t use my tax dollars to pay for what you need…if you’re in prison you deserve it.” I see a world, a culture, that says these things and then with its next breath demands to be recognized as Christian!
            The day of Christ’s return (his Second Advent) is coming. The day of judgment is coming. It may be hours or centuries away, but it is coming, and all of us will be gathered together to stand before the throne of the King and Judge, our Lord Jesus. We will be gathered before him and he will separate the sheep from the goats, and I pray that on that day, when I stand before my King, that I can say to him, “I did my best to love without condition, to care for the outcast, the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the poor, the sick, and the prisoner,” and I pray that he will say to me, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” I pray that all of us here this morning may hear our King say those words to us, so let us be ready. Let us live this day and each day hereafter in the selfless love that comes only through God. Amen.



[1] Matthew 7:22-23

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Wasted Talents, or Fear and The Gospel (Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost)

Matthew 25:14-30
14 "For it is as if a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them; 15 to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. 16 The one who had received the five talents went off at once and traded with them, and made five more talents. 17 In the same way, the one who had the two talents made two more talents. 18 But the one who had received the one talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master's money. 19 After a long time the master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them. 20 Then the one who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, "Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.' 21 His master said to him, "Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.' 22 And the one with the two talents also came forward, saying, "Master, you handed over to me two talents; see, I have made two more talents.' 23 His master said to him, "Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.' 24 Then the one who had received the one talent also came forward, saying, "Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; 25 so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.' 26 But his master replied, "You wicked and lazy slave! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter? 27 Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received what was my own with interest. 28 So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents. 29 For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. 30 As for this worthless slave, throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.'

            I must have been about twelve or thirteen years old when my buddy John asked if I wanted to go with him and a group from his church on a little trip over to Dothan one Friday night. I wasn’t really sure where we were going to go or what we were going to do, but it was my best friend asking if I wanted to go somewhere and do something, so of course I figured it was going to be something fun. The old, tan, Dodge church van, with “Goodman Baptist Church” hand-painted on the side pulled into our driveway, and I climbed in and over the slick vinyl seats to sit in the very back with John as we rode the way to Dothan. We parked in the lot of an old, converted strip mall, which was already dotted with church vans and buses, and there was a line of people coming out the front door of the center store. I remember there being masking paper over all the windows, so you could just see the silhouettes of those who were gathered inside. I had no clue what we were doing.
            Eventually, after waiting our turn, we made it inside. We were in this large, open room, with various old couches and chairs strewn about, and there was a console television playing Christian music videos from a cassette tape in a VCR on top of the TV. We waited as a group until our church’s name was called, but while we waited we filled out blue cards that asked for our name, address, telephone number, whether we were regular church attenders, and where we went to church. When they called our group, we were instructed to walk in single file, holding hands with the person in front or behind if we needed to. We were going to be walking through a series of rooms they told us, and in each room we’d witness something different.
            We weaved our way through the building as teenagers and adults enacted various scenarios involving drunk driving, terminal illness, and murder. With each room, with each scene the message was obvious: “This could happen to you, so what will happen to you when it does?” The last room, though, really stood out. It was dark—pitch-black—and hot. There was a sound system in that room with the volume turned all the way up playing sounds of screams, cries of agony, and maniacal laughter. This room was hell (or at least a low budget version). The message of this room was clear: “This is where you will spend eternity if you don’t do what we’re about to tell you.”
            It was a judgment house, a hell house, a place designed to literally scare the hell out of you. And it did just that to me: I remember being terrified of that place, of that thought that I could spend one more second in a place that scary, so when a “counselor” asked me later in a room for “guests” if I wanted to accept Jesus in to my heart so I’d stay out of hell, well of course I said yes. However, he could have asked if I wanted to ask the Barney the Dinosaur into my heart to avoid hell and I would have said yes.
Fear is a powerful force. Fear is a powerful motivator. Fear is a powerful rhetorical tool. But fear is not the gospel.
About now you may be wondering what in the world a judgment house and fear have to do with a parable that is obviously about stewardship, a parable that many of us have been taught our whole lives is about using the talents God has given us to make more for God (or, if we’re honest about our own desire for the meaning of the parable, how to make more for ourselves). Well, I have to be honest with you; I’ve never really liked this parable from Jesus. I didn’t like the notion that Jesus would belittle someone in a parable who was just trying to do the right thing, while taking what he had and giving it to someone else. Having grown up as a poor kid, I always flinched at the words of the parable in verses 28 and 29: “So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents. For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.” Surely Jesus isn’t condoning this notion that the rich should get richer while the poor get poorer.
I’ve always wrestled with this parable and what was really at the heart of Jesus’ words. That is, until I had one of many conversations with a dear friend and brother recently. When I came back to this parable, something caught my attention more than ever. It’s right there in verse 25; it stands out like a neon sign, pointing to the purpose, the truth of this parable. You see, in verses 24 and 25 the third slave says this: “Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed;  so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.” Did you catch it?
The first two slaves went and took risks, used the talents their master had given them. I believe even if they had lost some of their investment, their master would not have scolded them, for they did just what he had entrusted them to do. But this third slave…he did nothing. He’s the definition of a conservative: he doesn’t take a chance; he isn’t risky with his investments; he takes the sum of fifteen years of hard work and buries it in a hole (a practice seen as wise in the first century and perhaps at this point in the 21st century when inflation is up and interest rates are down!). He knows the smart thing to do. He’s done the safe thing, and in the end he hasn’t lost a dime. So why does Jesus tell us the master scolds this slave? Why does this slave have his wisely saved talent taken away? Why is he thrown into the outer darkness to gnash his teeth and weep? Look again at verse 25: "…I was afraid…”
Fear is a powerful force. Fear is a powerful incentive to do nothing. Fear is a powerful motivation to keep us from the master’s work. But fear is not the gospel, because fear keeps us from entering into the joy of our Master.
Like the third slave in Jesus’ parable, too many of us are afraid. We’re afraid to take a chance, to invest our lives, to enter into the joy of our Master. We’re afraid that God is an angry, old man in the sky who will punish us forever and ever if we don’t “do right.” We’re afraid that we’ll be less of a person if we don’t pray more, read our Bibles more, or come to church more.  We’re afraid that Jesus might have meant all that stuff he said about loving our neighbor (whoever they may be) as we love ourselves, all that stuff he said about letting the one of us without sin cast the first stone. We’re afraid Jesus may have meant it when he said that the meek, the poor, the broken-hearted, and oppressed will be blessed. We’re afraid that Jesus meant all that stuff about denying ourselves and taking up a cross to follow him. We’re afraid that the log in our own eye really is bigger than the speck in our neighbor’s eye. But perhaps most of all, what terrifies us more than we can confess is this: too many of us are afraid that God doesn’t love us.
Some of us are terrified by the thought that God may not love us, that Christ’s words and witness to the love of God may not be true, that it’s not enough to simply let God love us, to let God love through us. So we cling to the law, to commandments that tell us we aren’t good enough, to proof texts that tell us we are better than other sinners. We do our best to keep a tally of those sins we aren’t guilty of, hoping that when the Master returns we can say, “Master, I knew that you were a harsh Lord…so I was afraid, but I followed the commandments, and I held others at a distance when they didn’t. I did right. I followed the rules, and I know I was better than a whole bunch of others who broke your commandments and didn’t have nearly the attendance record for church services I did.”
Some of us are terrified that God doesn’t actually love us, that it really is up to us to try to work our way to righteousness, or at least a righteousness better than those people we don’t like, those people we don’t want in our church, those people who we secretly hope will be thrown into the outer darkness to weep and gnash their teeth. Some of us are so afraid that God doesn’t love us that we won’t let God love us.
Fear is a powerful force. Fear is a powerful incentive to do right to be right. Fear is a powerful way to keep ourselves from loving others. Fear is a powerful way to keep ourselves from letting God love us.
Then again, there are those of us who are afraid that Jesus meant all those things he said and that God actually does love us, without condition, without prerequisites, with all of our sins, our flaws, our weaknesses, and our shortcomings. We’re afraid that God really does love us, and we’re afraid that means God loves the people we don’t like, and we’re afraid that God is calling us to love them too.
Fear is a powerful force. Fear is a powerful way to keep ourselves from letting God love us. Fear keeps us from entering into the joy of our Master. But thanks be to God that fear is not the gospel!
This is what I know: God is love, and God calls us to be loved, and God calls us to show love to everyone—without exception, just as Christ has loved us without exception. I know that “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love.”[1] I know that until we let ourselves be fully loved by God, until we let go of fear—fear of failure, fear of acceptance, fear of those who are different, fear of those we don’t like—until we let go of fear we cannot let ourselves be fully loved by God. Fear is not the gospel: love is the gospel.
So what are you afraid of? Are you afraid that you cannot do enough to gain God’s love? Are you afraid that you have to hold to a set of rules and commandments in order to be loved by God? Are you afraid that God might actually love everybody else too? Are you afraid that if you don’t “stand up” and call out the more egregious sins of others that God won’t love you as much? Will you let go of your fear this day, let go of the fear that keeps you from letting yourself be loved by God? Will you let go of fear and embrace the love—the full, endless, unconditional love—of Christ? May you know this truth today: fear is not the gospel; love is the gospel. Thanks be to God!




[1] 1 John 4:8

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

The Golden Oldie (Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost)

Leviticus 19:1-2, 15-18
1 The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: 2 Speak to all the congregation of the people of Israel and say to them: You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy… 15 You shall not render an unjust judgment; you shall not be partial to the poor or defer to the great: with justice you shall judge your neighbor. 16 You shall not go around as a slanderer among your people, and you shall not profit by the blood of your neighbor: I am the Lord. 17 You shall not hate in your heart anyone of your kin; you shall reprove your neighbor, or you will incur guilt yourself. 18 You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against any of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord.

            Hillel the Elder sounds like a character from a J.R.R. Tolkien novel, perhaps an aged wizard with a long grey beard and crooked fingers. He is, however, perhaps one of the most important figures in Jewish history. He lived to be around one hundred years old, dying about ten years after the birth of Jesus. He was a renowned scholar of the Torah (the Law), a wise sage who founded the House of Hillel to train other Jewish sages. His influence on Jewish religious culture can still be witnessed today in everything from the use of the Mishnah and the Talmud to the traditions of the Passover Seder.[1] Hillel may be best known though for his summation of the Torah into one expression of just a few, simple sentences: "That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn."[2]
Karen Armstrong sounds like just another name you may come across in the white pages (if you still use those sorts of things), perhaps a middle-class, stay-at-home-mom with two kids who goes to the gym three times a week and meets with a book club every Monday. She is, however, a former nun, and one of the major thinkers in the realm of religion. She has written over twenty books on the subject of religion, particularly those things that all major religions have in common, and in 2008 she won the TED prize which helped her launch the Charter for Compassion, a document written by contributors from around the world through a sharing website, a document designed to help religious leaders work together for peace.[3] The foundation of the charter—and the common thread Armstrong points out as running through all of the major religions of the world—is “the Golden Rule.” In her TED Talk titled, “Let’s Revive the Golden Rule,” Armstrong says, “If we don’t manage to implement the Golden Rule globally, so that we treat all peoples, wherever and whoever they may be, as though they were as important as ourselves, I doubt that we’ll have a viable world to hand on to the next generation.”[4]
Rev. Frederick McFeely Rogers sounds like just another minister whose name would appear in moveable white letters on an encased church sign in front of any little Presbyterian church in any county seat town. He was, however, one of the most beloved and well-known people in this country for generations (and arguably still is, even though he died over eleven years ago). You see, Rev. Rogers was known to most people as Mister Rogers, and for over 30 years on Mister Roger’s Neighborhood, he invited his audience to be his neighbor. Through his gentle, direct lessons as Mister Rogers, and through the very real actions of his life that have become folkloric, Fred Rogers lived out the truth of what it means to be a good neighbor to everyone.
Hillel the Elder, Karen Armstrong, and Fred Rogers: three very different people, with very different stories, yet all three knew very well the truth we find in this “golden oldie” before us today in the words of Leviticus. Of course, we find these words all over Scripture, both the Old and New Testaments, in the words of Moses, the oracles of the prophets, the words of Paul and the Apostles, and not surprisingly, it seems to be the very rhythm to which Jesus moves throughout the gospels. We commonly call it “The Golden Rule,” because it is so universal to the human experience. In its common paraphrase it’s stated as “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” (or something like that), but I think it is best stated as it is here in Leviticus 19:18 and elsewhere throughout Holy Scripture: “you shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
Love. Perhaps that is the shortest way to express it. After all, to simply treat others the way you wish to be treated rings with just a touch of selfishness; it sounds a little too…I don’t know…programmed, as if I’ll treat others in the same fashion I would like them to treat me so that they might treat me better. Or maybe it sounds a little too open to condition: I’ll treat others the way I wish to be treated if they were like me or if I were like them. But love…now that’s different isn’t it? To love someone as yourself, that doesn’t leave room for conditions or programmed possibilities. Love is direct. Love is active. Love doesn’t wait for a reason to be: love just is. That’s why I think God and all those who quote this “Golden Rule” throughout Scripture put it that way: Love your neighbor…
If you read those verses leading up to that command in verse 18 you’ll read an explanation of what it means to avoid judgment based upon the social and cultural differences we create in order to keep others at a distance, to keep them separate in order to deny their identity as our neighbor. You’ll read words, commands, laws about the prohibition of hatred and vengeance among the people of God. This Golden Rule is universal, applying to all areas of life, calling those of us who call ourselves children of God to love those we meet without condition, without review, without basing our compassion upon whether or not they meet our predetermined criteria for neighbors. In other words, this command—this Golden Rule—means we don’t get to run a credit check, a background check on others before we love them; we don’t have to know the deep, dark secrets of our neighbors, their sins or the great burdens they bear before we allow ourselves to bestow the privilege of our love upon them. When we live by the commandment of the Golden Rule, everyone we meet is our neighbor. We cannot erect gated communities in the hopes of creating a loophole that allows us to love only those we like, those who we are like.
You see, it’s those words in verse two, those words that are included in our text this morning on purpose, that speak to why we need the Golden Rule, why we are called—commanded—to love our neighbors, whoever they may be. God commands Moses to say to the gathered people: “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy…” That word holy is the Hebrew word kadash, and it means literally, “to be set apart; to distinguish, to sanctify.” It is a fitting way to describe God, who is so often in the Hebrew Bible set apart from the people, whether it is by a tabernacle, a pillar of fire or smoke, or a temple. But did you notice what God said in that verse? “You shall be holy, for I…am holy…” God commands God’s people to be holy, to be set apart, sanctified, distinguished, yet at the same time God calls us to love our neighbors as ourselves…as holy, set apart, sanctified, distinguished.
How can that possibly make sense?! After all, if God is God—high, holy, omnipotent, Almighty—how can God expect us to be holy, while loving all these “unholy” people all around us, these reprobates, these slanderers, these unclean, degenerate, sinners?! How can God expect us to love these nasty neighbors? Because this same, high, holy, omnipotent, Almighty God loved us—all of us—first. Because this same holy God, who calls us to be holy, has been among us already and has shown us what it is like to love our neighbors as ourselves. Because this same God in the flesh of his Son Jesus, walked among those reprobates, those slanderers, those unclean, degenerate sinners and loved every, single one of them. Even when they nailed him to a cross to die, his love for them could be heard in his words, “Forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing.”
You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy…you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” If there were no other words written in all of Scripture, the power of God’s words would still be the same. This is the commandment, the one the sums up all the others, the one that defines the life lived in the light of the gospel. This is our mission statement as Christ’s Church in the world, as God’s people. This “Golden Oldie” is the lens through which we ought to read every other commandment in Scripture, for we can cut our hair the right way, wear the right blend of fabrics, keep a kosher diet, maintain what others call “biblical relationships,” abstain from work on the Sabbath, and never say the first “cuss” word or take the Lord’s name in vain, but if we don’t love our neighbors—whoever or whatever they may be—we miss the point. We miss the point of Scripture’s teaching, and we miss the point of Christ’s teachings handed down to us through the New Testament and the Holy Spirit. We can keep every jot and tittle, but if we do not love…we cannot be holy as the Lord our God is holy, as the Lord our God has called us to be.
May we choose this day to be holy, to live our lives as God has commanded us, to love our neighbors as ourselves—without precondition, without consideration of their rank and status in this world, and without those labels that mark them as “unclean sinners.” May we choose this day to live by the example of Christ our Lord, who, as God incarnate, chose to love all of us broken, imperfect people. And may we all live a life guided by the love of God in Christ, expressed in that “golden oldie”: “love your neighbor as yourself.” Amen.



[1] Shulamis Frieman, Who's Who in the Talmud, Jason Aronson, Inc., 2000, p. 163.
[3] You can read about Karen Armstrong, her TED prize, and her TED Talks here: http://www.ted.com/speakers/karen_armstrong
[4] Ibid.