Matthew 5: 1-12
Steve Lindsley
September 21, 2008
I've told this story before, but in light of the sermon topic today I thought it was worth repeating. Roy Romer was the governor of Colorado in the early and mid 1990's and was running for his third and final term. One day on the campaign trail he found himself at a barbecue in a tiny town in the eastern part of the state. It had been a busy and hectic day. Romer hadn’t had time to eat breakfast or lunch, and by now was famished.
As he moved down the serving line, he held out his plate and the lady on the other side served him a small, scrawny drumstick. Looking down at the drumstick, and feeling his stomach grumbling, the governor said to the serving lady, "Excuse me, do you mind if I have another piece of chicken. I'm really hungry." The woman replied, "Sorry, I'm supposed to give only one piece per person." Romer responded: "I see, but I haven't had breakfast or lunch today and I'm starving." "Sorry, but I've got my orders,” the lady replied. “One piece is all you and everyone else gets."
Romer, generally a modest man, had reached his breaking point. "Ma'am,” he demanded, “I am the governor of Colorado, and I want another piece of chicken!" The lady didn’t flinch. "Sir, I am the lady in charge of the chicken, and you're not getting another one. Now move along!”
You gotta admit – there's a small part inside you that loves the fact that some obscure woman in Colorado could talk like that to the state governor – even if she was being a bit over-vigilant with the chicken. And maybe it's for that reason that I thought this story would be a good way to begin today's sermon. Because I realize that I'm putting a lot of trust in you all this morning – or, more precisely, I'm asking you to put a lot of trust in me. As you know, we're in the middle of our Fall Stewardship sermon series and we are looking at Jesus' Beatitudes in the fifth chapter of the gospel of Matthew. That's what's going on here. Outside our church walls, you do not need me to remind you that our country is in the throes of what is becoming a fairly acrimonious presidential election. And I imagine just having the word “political” in the sermon title might raise a few eyebrows.
So – a few quick disclaimers. This sermon is not about the presidential election, or any election for that matter. I have made it clear from this pulpit that I do not believe either political party in our country – or in any country – has all the right answers. Over the years I've subscribed to the wisdom of people like Jim Wallis, a Christian evangelist and writer, who is fond of saying that “God is neither a Republican nor a Democrat.” And when it comes to things like elections I believe our duty as Christians is to vote our conscience while at the same time not falling into the trap of “demonizing” the other side. I'm still working on this one myself and imagine you are as well.
So today's sermon is not about the election. But it is about being political – although not in the way you might think. If I've confused you already, I'll remind you I said you'd be putting a lot of your trust in me this morning! This sermon is about being political because Jesus was about being political – at least in how the word “political” is actually defined. I came across a great definition of it that really gets to the heart of things. The word political, according to this source, means: of or relating to one's views about social relationships involving authority or power.
So politics is about more than platforms and conventions, candidates and qualifications, donkeys and elephants. It's about how people relate to one another, and how those people relate to and engage the “powers-that-be.” And if the Beatitudes are about anything, as we discovered last week, they are about how Jesus chose, in his very first sermon, to speak to the people in that crowd; a crowd of folks that looks strikingly similar to you and to me. So by definition, Jesus was not only being prophetic. He was also being political.
Now I admit, this may sound strange to our modern ears. But here's the thing: as people of faith we hold fast to the belief that Jesus' gospel message – God loving the world so much that he sent his son to give us new life – that this message transcends time and is as pertinent in the year 2008 as the day Jesus first spoke it. But we also recognize that Jesus' message didn't occur in a “vacuum” – it didn't mysteriously appear out of thin air. It came to us in first century Palestine in the form of a Jewish man whose people lived under the brutal rule of the Roman empire. So if we are to get any sense of what his message meant back then, in order to better understand what it means for us today, we have to know the “lay of the land” of the world Jesus grew up in, and the world he ministered in for three years. Otherwise all those “Blesseds” are nothing more than some fancy-sounding words.
So we return to where we left off last week – and we imagine ourselves as part of that crowd who got to hear Jesus' very first sermon. We imagine ourselves as Jewish people because Jesus himself was a Jew. Followers of Jesus weren't called Christians until almost a half-century after Jesus' death. So we are not Christians in this crowd – we are Jews, as is Jesus.
Life as a Jew in first century Palestine is not an easy one – but then again, life has never been easy for us. It all started around 500 years ago. Before then we were our own nation, living comfortably and confidently in Judah, worshiping in the Jerusalem temple, living the life. That all came to a crashing halt when the powerful Babylonians ransacked our homeland and destroyed everything – including, perhaps most importantly, our spirit. And from that moment on we ceased to be our “own people.” The names changed over the years – Assyrians, Persians, Greeks, Romans – but the situation is agonizingly the same. We are an occupied people and we can do nothing on our own. We have zero power over our future.
So as part of the crowd hearing Jesus that day, we're aware of the different ways that our fellow Jewish brothers and sisters have responded to our plight. There are the Zealots, who believe that an all-out holy war is the only way to go, rebelling against the establishment through bloody combat. Our ancestors did it before us, and Zealots think that the time is here again. So even though we just started listening to Jesus, maybe he's one of them.
Then there are the Herodians – called such because they were supporters of Herod, the Jewish governor who served as a puppet ruler for the Roman empire. For these guys rebellion is nothing more than suicide. The best way to deal with the situation, Herodians say, is to align yourself with the powers-that-be – play their game, cooperate, don't make any waves. It may not be the ideal life, but hey – at least it's a life! We wonder if Jesus is a Herodian.
Course there are also the Essenes, who think the first two groups are not only wrong but “unenlightened.” For them, the only way to please God is to leave behind the corrupt systems of the world – religious and political – and start a whole new society out in the desert. And finally there are the Pharisees, who advocate a hard-line return to the Jewish laws – all 613 of them. For them the problem is that we aren't pure enough. If we just obeyed God's laws more rigorously and more intentionally, God would liberate us.
So – this is our “lay of the land” in first century Palestine. An occupied people with four distinct political groups – Zealots, Herodians, Essenes and Pharisees. And as we listen to Jesus speak and hear his wonderful words, we also cannot help but wonder – and maybe even turn to ask our neighbor in the crowd: politically speaking, which group do we think Jesus belongs to?
Well, we think to ourselves, he is saying some pretty radical stuff. So maybe he's a Zealot. But then again, he's talking about the meek and the peacemakers being blessed. A Zealot would never say something like that, because in a Zealot world the fight is won by the strongest, the victor. So no, Jesus doesn't seem to be a Zealot.
Maybe he's a Herodian. But you know, that doesn't seem to fit either. There's nothing in what Jesus says that gives us the impression he wants us to saddle up to the Romans and suck it up. There's no “playing the game” here – on the contrary, he's talking about a whole new kind of game. So he can't be a Herodian.
Hmm. You know, we are out here in the desert – so maybe he's an Essene! Because, you know, Essenes want to get away and start a whole new community and all that. But then again, Jesus doesn't seem like much of an escapist. Actually, the more he talks the more he sounds like someone who wants people to be engaged in the world, not running from it. No, we think, he's not an Essene either.
Which leaves only the Pharisees. But that's a long shot. Because there is no way a true Pharisee could get through the opening paragraph of his sermon without quoting something from Leviticus; some law on what to eat or how far to walk on the Sabbath. He does mention being “pure”......but it's “pure in heart,” and a true Pharisee is made pure by their actions. He's not a Pharisee.
So – we're only into the first 60 seconds of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount, and already we're stumped. We have no idea who Jesus is; and more importantly, we have no idea how to categorize the politics of his message – how exactly does Jesus “relate to our views about social relationships involving authority or power???” He doesn't fit into the Jewish classifications of our ancient Palestinian world. He is not a Zealot or a Herodian, and he's not an Essene or a Pharisee. He doesn't fit in!
And that, right there, is the problem, isn't it? That's the crux of the whole thing. Because when we really look at things – I mean, really look at them – we have to admit that Jesus doesn't fit into our way of understanding the world! He didn't fit into the preconceived notions of first century Jewish Palestine. And he doesn't fit into the categories of 2008, either.
Jesus doesn't fit in to our way of things because that is not what he came here to do. He did not come here to fit in. He didn't come here to play our games; he came here to start an entirely new one. And it is such a radically new game, such a vastly different kind of politics, that we often have trouble recognizing it as such. I've already mentioned Jim Wallis, who has been a powerful advocate for what he calls “God's politics.” And in his 2005 book by that name, Wallis describes it for us:
The place to begin to understand the politics of God is with the prophets. What were their subjects? Quite secular topics really: land, labor, wages, debt, taxes, equity, other races, economic divisions, social justice, war and peace. Whom were the prophets speaking to? Usually to rulers, kings, judges, employers, landlords, owners of property, and even religious leaders. And whom were the prophets usually speaking for? The dispossessed, widows and orphans, the hungry, the homeless, the helpless, the least, the last, and the lost. (from God's Politics by Jim Wallis, 2005, pg. 32).
Last week we talked about the ways that Jesus' Beatitudes were prophetic. But a prophet doesn't just talk about the wrongs in our world. A prophet seeks to do something about them – and not as part of any group but as part of God's group. And that is precisely why Jesus – and all of us – can actually believe in crazy things like the meek, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the mourning, the hungry and thirsty being blessed. Because we're not bound to the systems and groups that already exist in our world, and how they choose to see things, and how they choose to respond. As followers of Jesus, we are bound to God.
This, of course, can be a very frustrating thing! Author Shane Claiborne recently made the observation that if we had our way as Christians, we'd be voting for Jesus this November. Except he's not on the ballot. And as far as what referendum to support, if we had our pick we'd punch our chad beside “kingdom-of-heaven-on-earth.” But that's not on there, either.
Still, this should not stop us from heeding Jesus' political message. We can still be faithful followers of Christ. We can still vote our conscience while refraining from demonizing the “other.” And most of all, we can commit ourselves to a different way of “relating to one's views about social relationships involving authority or power” - more on exactly how we do that next week.
But for now, the truth of the matter is this: as Christians we take our lead from – get this – a Jewish carpenter of first-century Palestine who spoke and acted prophetically and politically in a Roman world. The question Jesus' Beatitudes leave us with is how you and I might do the same in ours? Thanks be to God. AMEN.
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