Fourth Sunday After Epiphany

The Author(ity) of Healing

Mark 1:21- 28

We are early in the Gospel of Mark, only in chapter 1, and already we have learned a lot about Jesus. He is the Son of God (v 1); he is mightier than John who was attracting the whole of Jerusalem (v 7); he God’s beloved and God is well pleased with him (v. 11); he can withstand the temptations of Satan (v 12); he calls disciples and they follow immediately (v 16); his teaching surpasses that of the most learned men of the day (v 22); and he can cast out demons (v 26).

These events have a common theme, it seems to me – power. Jesus has a profound power that flows from God and disrupts the lives that it touches. People recognize something different in him and some embrace that difference and some turn away and some try to destroy him. It was this way in the beginning and, God knows, it is still this way. Some in our world embrace Christ and his power to change the world, some turn away and ignore or discount this holy power, and some try to destroy the goodness of God that comes through belief in Christ.

When Jesus entered the synagogue in Capernaum all those centuries ago and began teaching, people were astounded and amazed. This teaching was like nothing they had ever heard before. As Mark reports: He taught them as one having authority. In Greek, the word translated as “authority” is exousia. It has multi-layered meaning but it all centers on the notion of power. It can mean physical and mental power -- the ability or strength with which one is endued, which he either possesses or exercises; it can mean the power of authority which creates influence and the power of right which conveys privilege; it can mean the power of rule or government, the power of one whose will and commands must be submitted to by others and obeyed. In the synagogue, Jesus demonstrated authority in the fullest sense of the word. He demonstrated a power unlike any they had seen before.

They had likely witnessed situations before like that involving the man possessed of an unclean spirit. There were many in ancient times who acted as exorcists, many who claimed to be healers. But Jesus’ authority disrupted the very heart of religious tradition. Here he was in the synagogue, on the Sabbath, teaching and healing in ways that put him into direct conflict with the religious leaders.

And the people could hardly believe what they were seeing and hearing. Even the unclean spirits, the demons, obeyed him. Right at the start of his ministry, in his first public action, Jesus took on the forces of evil.

The gospel does not record the words that he said to the people in the synagogue that day -- only the words that he spoke to the demon. That exchange between the Holy One of God and the unclean spirit is itself a central part of the teaching. Because Jesus would go on for the next three years to teach about the power of God to overcome the forces of evil and heal the world. He would go on to claim the authority of God in his work of restoring God’s good but fallen creation.

As the preacher and scholar Fred Craddock observes:

Jesus is the strong Son of God who has entered a world in which the forces of evil (Satan and demons) are crippling, alienating, distorting, and destroying life. According to Mark, the powers that seek to sabotage God’s creating and caring work not only cause disease but also disturb the natural elements and even insinuate themselves into the circle of Jesus’ closest friends. But with Jesus comes the word of power to heal, to help, to give life, and to restore. In Mark, a battle is joined between good and evil, truth and falsehood, life and death, God and Satan. (Fred Craddock, John Hayes, Carl Holladay, and Gene Tucker. Preaching Through the Christian Year, B; p 92)

And here is a question for us to ponder: Is that battle won? Can we say that we live in a world where good and truth and life and God have triumphed? It is a hard question because we want to answer yes but there is too much evidence to the contrary. Just from yesterday’s newspaper: there were reports of sexual abuse of children by their priest and two other reports of child pornography; tenants of a housing project were voicing concerns about crime and mismanagement of the property; there were reports of two drug cases, several robberies, a stabbing and a shooting, and an arrest in a fatal hit-and-run. And these are only our local “evils.” Multiply this by every city, every nation, and it is all too clear that the battle between good and evil still goes on.

The world is a mess but what can we do about it? What authority do we have to change things? That is a question that goes to the heart of faith. When someone is baptized here, one of things we ask is: Do you renounce evil and its power in the world? To renounce evil and its power in the world is to claim the authority of Jesus to speak truth, to bring healing, to confront the powers that be, to teach with our lives so others can learn a new way of life. As the writer of Hebrews reminds us, Jesus is the author of our faith, and through him we are given God’s word of authority. In the face of the world’s “no,” we can speak God’s eternal “yes,” the same “yes” that was spoken at the tomb on Easter morning. The resurrection, after all, is the ultimate healing, the demonstration of ultimate authority over evil.

We can sing an Easter hymn this morning because we are Easter people. We are those who have been taught by the example of Jesus’ own life, death, and resurrection. We have been given authority over evil; we have been given power to heal our wounded world.

And so I ask you again to claim this authority and power: Do you renounce evil and its power in the world? If so, say I do.

Amen.

© Martha C. Highsmith

Baptism of Jesus

Getting the Word

Genesis 1:1-5

Psalm 29

Mark 1:4-11

We live in a world awash in words. Always in the background, there is talk radio, 80 gazillion channels on TV, magazines, electronic bill boards, email, text messages, cell phones – a never-ending barrage of words. With words so common and present, is easy to forget how powerful they really are. We say “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” and forget that words can wound and wound deeply, and that they can also bring healing and joy.

If you doubt the power of words, think about what happens as a result of words like these:

“I love you. Will you marry me?”

“The biopsy was positive. You have cancer.”

“I’m sorry. Your job is being eliminated.”

“Oh look, you’re having twins.”

Just words, but getting words like these has the power to change everything.

Another danger of the overload of words in our world is that we often tune out; we may be hearing but we stop listening, we stop paying attention. And in the midst of all our daily noise, the word we most need to hear is in danger of being drowned out, or we are not in the right place to be able to hear it. As the poet T.S. Eliot wrote in a much quieter time: “Where shall the word be found, where will the word resound? Not here, there is not enough silence.” (Ash Wednesday) You know the old question: If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one to hear it, does it make a sound? A parallel question for us might be: If God speaks in the world and no one pays attention, does it make any difference?

Well, the Bible has a very clear answer to that, and the answer is yes. Yes, words are powerful; yes, words make a difference, whether we are paying attention or not. The Hebrew term for “word” – dabar -- is also translated as action, thing, or deed. To speak is to act. And that is especially true for God’s Word (the one with a capital W).

Consider this: In the beginning, the world was created not with a gesture or a planning document or a coincidence. The world was created with words. In the first chapter of Genesis, there are 14 times when God speaks. As we read this morning: God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God spoke into being and named day and night; the sky; the waters; the dry land; plants; stars, moon, and sun; living creatures of every kind; and finally human beings, us.

Out of the chaos of nothing, when there was only a formless void, wild and waste, God’s Word brought order and life. The Word changed everything.

And that has been the pattern throughout all of holy history. When God’s Word comes to the people, things will be changed. The Word disrupts the status quo. Where there is chaos, the Word brings order. And the reverse is equally true: Where there is complacency, the Word stirs things up. As the psalmist said: “ The voice of the Lord flashes forth flames of fire, shakes the wilderness, causes the oaks to whirl, strips the forest bare.” (from Psalm 29) We may have a nice little spiritual routine but then the voice of God thunders in our lives and what was routine is seen as the rut it has become, and our comfort and boredom are stripped away.

I suspect that when we seek a word from God, though, it is not that kind of word! We long for the easy way. It is hard to pray as medieval preacher John Donne once did:

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you

As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;

That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

But here is the truth: Unless God breaks, blows, and burns within us, we are just the same old stuff. The act of making new, the act of creation -- in the world, in the church, in our hearts – means a break from the old, a powerful blowing of the wind of the Spirit, and flames of fire that destroy all that gets in the way of our holiness. It means change.

And that is what happens in baptism. Baptism is not just about sweet babies, antique christening gowns, and family gatherings. Baptism is not just a nice little ritual of dabbing some water on someone’s head. Baptism is the powerful act of God’s Word, changing everything.

When Jesus came to be baptized, the heavens themselves were torn apart. It was an answer to an ancient prayer from the prophet Isaiah on behalf of the people: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence— as when fire kindles brushwood
 and the fire causes water to boil!” 
 (Isaiah 64:1-2)

In Jesus’ baptism, the barrier between earth and heaven has been torn open. God has spoken. And God’s creating, powerful voice has named a new reality. God has said to and of Jesus: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” There is an echo here from “in the beginning,” when God spoke and all was changed, and God saw that it was good.

And we are baptized, that voice descends on us, too. We are created as God’s own children and God is well-pleased; God sees that we are good. Everything is changed. The power of sin is broken. The old life is gone, destroyed, stripped away.

We get God’s word, and it is a word, the word, that became flesh. And getting the Word in baptism means we become part of the Body of Christ; we, too, become the Word. And we may be the only Word of God that some people every get.

The world will not always pay attention to the Word that we speak, to the Word that we are. But that does not lessen our power. It does not diminish our calling to create something new.

God speaks and everything, including us, is changed. God speaks and something new comes into being – in the world, in our church, in our hearts. And God sees that it is good, and God is well-pleased. And in God’s house all say “Glory!”

© Martha C. Highsmith

Third Sunday of Advent

Pointing to the Light

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

Luke 1:46-55

John 1:6-9, 19-28

We are deep into Advent. The days are short because there is so much to do to get ready for Christmas –yes – but also because the sun sets so early. December 21 is the day of the year with the least amount of total daylight but today is one of the days with the earliest sunsets. The sun will go down today at 4:20vand we will be wrapped in darkness for almost 15 hours – 14 hours, 48 minutes to be precise.

A very long nighttime. A lot of darkness.

Except…. There are lights everywhere now: twinkling white lights draped over the eaves of houses,big colored bulbs on outdoor bushes and trees, tiny candles set in the windows. One house that I pass on my daily commute has dozens of giant lighted snowflakes hanging all over the surrounding trees. It is so magical; I’ve seen it over and over and it is still making me smile.

I think part of the beauty of all the lights is the kind of brave statement they make. When the world is shrouded in night, literally and figuratively, it is an act of courage to let in the light. In a way, when we string up our Christmas lights, we are symbolically doing what God has done – causing the light to shine in darkness.

That is how the gospel of John tells the story of Jesus’ coming -- not with angels and shepherds or wise men and mangers. This gospel starts long before any of that: “In the beginning (it sounds like Genesis, doesn’t it), was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” (John 1:1-2)

The Word is God’s holy act, made flesh in Jesus. At creation, God’s first act, God’s first word was about light: “God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.” (Genesis 1:3) And God is still speaking the Word that brings light into the world: As the gospel tells us: “What has come into being in him – this Word which is the Christ – was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1:3b-5)

And John was the one who was called to point to light. He understood his role to be like that of the prophet Isaiah: “’I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness,’ he said, echoing the ancient scripture:
 ’Make straight the way of the Lord.’” (John 1:23)

But what exactly is this “way of the Lord,” this way of light and life. Isaiah tells us that, too, in prophecy fulfilled in Jesus. The way of the Lord is good news to the oppressed, healing for the broken-hearted, liberty to the captives,
 and release to the prisoners. It is an era marked by God’s favor for those who seek God, and God’s judgment of separation from love for those who do not. It is comfort for those who mourn and God’s praise to encourage faint spirits. That is the way of the Lord, the way of light, and we, like the prophets before us, are called to point to the light.

But what does that mean? How do we do that? Isaiah tells us this, too. Those who live in God’s light “shall build up the ancient ruins,
they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations.” (Isaiah 61:4)

Isaiah was likely speaking of the aftermath of the siege and war and occupation of Jerusalem and the need to rebuild all that had been destroyed. But 2500 years later, the instructions still apply, and they apply to us. We, too, witness to the light by rebuilding what is ruined, raising up what is broken down, repairing what has been devastated. The rabbis call this work tikkun olam, a Hebrew phrase which means repairing the world.

There is much in our world that needs repairing. There is much that is ruined, broken, and devastated. In the midst of great abundance, children are starving and old men are homeless. The gap between the richest rich and poorest poor is greater than it has ever been in human history. For reasons that are incredibly complex and also simple and completely obvious, violent crime is increasing in our cities. Basic health care is a luxury for most of the world’s people.

This is not the way of the Lord.

And if you think seriously about the brokenness of our world, if you do not turn your eyes away from suffering and devastation, it is all too easy to despair. The world’s troubles are so complicated, its problems so insurmountable, the challenges so great – how are we to accomplish anything? Aren’t all our efforts the equivalent of lighting a tiny candle in the midst of overwhelming darkness? How can we be successful? The work of tikkun olam seems beyond our ability. We aren’t very powerful; we aren’t very rich. We can’t possibility change the world, can we?

I don’t know the answer to that question, but here is the good news of the gospel: we don’t have to. God has already done that. God has changed everything. Isaiah knew it, Jesus knew it, and Mary, his mother, knew it.

Just look at Luke 1:46-55. This is the Magnificat, that beautiful song of Mary. It speaks of the way of the Lord, the straight way, where all inequalities are leveled out. Do you see what God has done? God “has shown strength with his arm;
 he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.” (Luke 1:51-53)

This is the way of God: no one is high and mighty and no one is down and out; no one is eating caviar and filet mignon all the time and no one is starving; all are equal in God’s sight and all have an equal share of the world’s goodness.

But the world isn’t this way, is it? So why did Mary sing as though this had already happened? A little grammar lesson might be helpful in understanding what she was saying. The form of these verbs is what is called the present perfect tense. According to Wikipedia, that is a grammatical construction that is used to express a past event that has present consequences.

A past event that has present consequences. We know what that past event is, don’t we? The light of the world that has come into the world, the light has been present since even before the beginning. And that past event, the coming of the light, has present consequences for us. In it we are called to engage in tikun olam, repairing the world, our beautiful, broken world.

No, we can’t fix everything, but remember that we don’t have to. All we have to do is point to the light. All we have to do is live in the light. All we have to do it light our own little candles and let them shine. Because tikkun olam, the work of repairing the world, begins within our hearts. We don’t have to fix everything. What we do have to do is witness to the light with our own lives, our words, our deeds, our prayers; our intentions and attitudes and actions. What we have to do is let the eternal light shine through us.

A song by the poet-songwriter Leonard Cohen has this refrain:

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack, a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in.

There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in. And in our cracked and broken world, even in our cracked and broken hearts, the light still gets in.

The light still shines. And the darkness has not overcome it. Thanks be to God!

© Martha C. Highsmith

Third Sunday in Lent

Bucket List

Exodus 17:1-7

Luke 4:5-42

Do you know this term, bucket list? It’s the list you make of all the things you want to do before you die. Yesterday, in the funnies, Dagwood Bumstead was working on his bucket list – as he put it, the important things he wasted to do before he kicked the bucket. Blondie asked him if he meant things like cleaning all the window screens before the end of spring – apparently something on her bucket list. Usually a bucket list is not about spring cleaning. It is more likely to include adventures and once-in-a lifetime events: going mountain climbing, riding in a hot air balloon, traveling to China, taking a cruise, visiting the home of your ancestors in Africa. It could also be things like learning to speak a foreign language, restoring an antique car, or running a marathon. A bucket list, in other words, is a list of all those things you would love to do but find it all too easy to put off. The press of daily life can crowd out hopes and dreams. We get caught up in the everyday and lose sight of the sense of wonder and adventure that renews our spirits. A bucket list is a commitment to seeking out that wonder and excitement. It is a way of finding fulfillment.

Here’s one thing you can be sure of, if there had been such a concept of a bucket list in Moses’ time, his would not have included a trip through the wilderness with the children of Israel. Yes, certainly it was an adventure, but not one, remember, that he willingly chose. And if the escape from Egypt seemed good at one point, when they found themselves out in the middle of nowhere, it was less attractive. In that dry wilderness place, they thought they would die of thirst. There was no water anywhere that they could see.

Have you ever been really, really thirsty? Maybe it happened when you were in the wilderness place of a hospital waiting for surgery, not allowed to eat or drink. Real thirst has a way of focusing your attention, doesn’t it? Just about all you can think about is how wonderful even a damp swab would be. You would give just about anything for a sip of cool water. That is what happened in the wilderness. The people were ready to trade their freedom for something to drink. Their joy at being rescued from the hand of Pharaoh had evaporated, dried up in the desert sun. It would have been better, they thought, to die in Egypt then to perish of thirst in the wilderness where there was no water.

But there was water in the wilderness. They just couldn’t see it. All they could focus on was their own thirst. And maybe they couldn’t see God either. Their focus on their thirst kept them from focusing on God. But there was water there and God was there, too, going ahead of them, standing on the rock where the water was, waiting to give them life. The hidden water flowed out when Moses opened the rock. It had been there all along but it took an act of faith and obedience to bring it forth.

As I think about this story, I wonder how many times in my own life I have been so focused on what I needed, or thought I needed, that I was blind to the way God was waiting to provide. I think about those times when I have been worried or afraid, when I have been so focused on taking care of myself that I forgot how God is always looking out for me. But there have also been times in my life when I have been able to act in faith, in obedience, even when it didn’t seem to make any more sense than getting water out of a stone. And I’ve seen that same thing happen in the lives others. In those times, I have been able to see that what was needed was there all along, hidden in plain sight, but it took action based on trust and belief to receive it.

That is how Jesus lived his life, after all, acting in faith and obedience to God, even when there was no visible reason to think that what he or those around him needed would be provided.

That is what happened in his encounter with the woman at the well, in the heat of the day. In a desert place, water is precious. In ancient times, and even today in too many places around the world, drawing water is a daily requirement for life itself. The women who did this work would have wanted to come early in the day, before it got too hot, before they got on with their other chores at home. But one woman came at noon, when the sun was overhead blazing down. She did not come with the others, and we can speculate that they avoided her and she avoided them. Most likely, she was not the kind of role-model the others would hold up for their daughters. She had been married – a lot. Maybe she had been widowed or divorced, who knows? And now she was living with a man out of wedlock. I picture her as tough and practical – she would have had to be in order to survive in a small community. You know how people talk; you know how cruel we can be to those who seem to break the rules of polite society.

But even with her own history, she knew there were some rules that no one should break. Men absolutely did not talk to strange women. Jews did not have anything to do with Samaritans. Nice people did not listen to her kind. And then she met Jesus.

At the start of their conversation, she misunderstood what he was saying to her. After all, she was the practical type. It was hot, he was tired and thirsty, she had a bucket and he did not. But there he was, saying that he could give her water, living water. She was skeptical at first: “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water?”

For both of them, the woman and Jesus, the water they need for life itself was right there, but hidden and inaccessible until they each reached out to the other in trust and belief. Jesus was the source of new life for the woman, and the woman with her bucket could give Jesus what he needed.

In the wilderness of our world, in the dry places of life, we stand with that woman at the well. Jesus, the Jew, speaks to us, the Gentiles. And it doesn’t matter what the circumstances of our lives are, how many mistakes we have made, how many times we have messed up. As he did with the woman, Jesus offers us living water. He waits to give us that which will satisfy the deepest thirst we have, the thirst for love and acceptance and grace and God.

But there is more to our meeting Jesus. Jesus has no bucket. But we do. Dag Hammarskjold, a wise and holy man who was the Secretary General of the UN in the 1950s wrote this: “I am the vessel. The draft is God’s. And God is the thirsty one.”

God in Christ thirsts for what we would draw out of our souls with our little buckets. The well inside us is deep and full, whether we can see that or not. In faith and obedience, we are called to find the life that is there, even if it seems hidden and inaccessible, to draw it out and lift it up to God.

Those who would follow Christ have a bucket list that is different from the world’s. Our bucket list is not about those things we want to do for ourselves before we die. No, as Christians our bucket list is what we want to do for Jesus before we die. Our bucket list is what we want to do for Jesus because he died, for us, and is risen to eternal life, for us.

Jesus stands before us with no bucket of his own. He is waiting for us to draw water for him, to offer him the life that he is thirsty for, which is our life. And he is waiting to give us the life that will fill our thirsty souls, which is his life.

What does your bucket look like? Is it shiny and new, or a little dinged up and slightly worse for wear? It doesn’t matter. You still hold the gift of life within you, because God’s love has been poured into you.

The bucket of your life is filled with Christ’s own life. All that you need comes from that unending source of love and life. All that you need comes from Christ. And all that you are is all Christ needs – whoever you are, whatever your gifts, anything and everything you have to offer. You get to figure out what Christ needs from you. That’s your bucket list.

(c) Martha C. Highsmith

Ash Wednesday

The snow is finally melting, but it is still about a foot deep in parts of my yard. In contrast to when it was newly fallen, now it is dirty, marked by soot and grime. As it melts, it exposes what has been hidden and forgotten all winter. I see again the tools from the little remodeling project that did not quite get finished. The birdbath has resurfaced, as have my little bench and the bottle tree. There are sticks and limbs and general yard debris, all buried for months. Down the street, a manger scene is being uncovered day by day, Mary and Joseph sticking out of the snow bank first, and then the Baby, slowly being revealed. Christmas trees put out for recycling are still by the curb, uncovered and finally able to be picked up and sent on to a new purpose.

And today is the beginning of Lent. The word “lent” means spring, that elusive season that we are just beginning to feel, however tentatively. And I think that the melting snow of spring is like the work of Lent. All that I used to cover my unfinished business and debris and old decorations, all that seemed so white and shiny at first, is melting away. All the beautiful defenses that I use to hide my sin disappear in the practice of Lent, and everything is exposed to the bright light of a new season of forgiveness. As the ashes and soot fall into the ground when the snow is gone, so the dirt of my own life, the accumulation of days and weeks – months and years – will also be transformed into new life.

And in the midst of all the melting away, the Christ is being revealed, too – long hidden, forgotten in the midst of the storms, out of sight but now exposed and visible. And the new encounter with that Christ is what cleanses and restores all the life that has been hidden away in the futile attempt to cover up, hide, and forget sin.

Something else: The daffodils are starting to come up. The pussy willows are fat and fluffy. And I remember the garlic and the strawberries and the black-eyed Susans that I have planted in past seasons, warm and waiting for the moment to emerge. Spring is coming. New life is possible. Lent is hope. And may God resurrect all the good that has been planted, all that is waiting to bring nourishment and beauty and joy.

Seventh Sunday After Epiphany

Wholly Holy

Leviticus 19:1-2, 9-18

Matthew 5:38-48

The Book of Leviticus is not the place you turn when you are seeking biblical comfort and familiarity. If the Ten Commandments are God’s law, then Leviticus is the governmental regulations. It is page after page of specific instructions for how the people are to live – what they are to eat and not eat, what they should wear, how they are to plant their fields, what kind of relationships they have with each other, how to deal with disease and disability. Not exactly cheery reading.

All those proscriptions make us nervous and uncomfortable. Many of them are very culturally specific, applicable to a people and a place that are not relevant to us. But the passage the lectionary gives us today is different. Right in the middle of Leviticus there is this amazing section where God speaks to the people about their fundamental identity and gives them what is perhaps the most radical commandment in all of scripture. “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy.” This brief statement is the heart of God’s law. All the rest, as they say, is just commentary.

Now I don’t know about you, but I have no trouble thinking of God as holy. To me this notion of holiness means perfection, complete goodness, steadfast love. It also embodies the concept of otherness: that which is holy is somehow set apart, separated from corruption and the taint of the secular.

I have no problem seeing God like that. But it is much harder to think of humanity that way. I suspect that was true of the ancient Israelites as much as it is for us because God gave them very specific examples of God’s own holiness as it might translate into their everyday lives.

Let’s consider those examples for a moment.

Do not reap to the very edges of your field. It was an ancient practice to allow the poor to come behind the harvesters and glean any part of the crop that might have been missed. Of course then as now, it was in the best interest of the farmer to send as much product as possible to market, to do as well as one possibly could for one’s own self. But holiness, God’s holiness, has an element of profound unselfishness. God does not require the people to give away everything but God does require them to be generous with others, to provide for them the accidental leavings of the crop and more. Holiness, then, is an intentional regard for the poor.

Another part of God’s holiness is being truthful and trustworthy – not stealing, lying, practicing crooked dealings, or swearing falsely – that is, being careless about the way one pledges allegiance to God.

Also here: not defrauding another, or withholding what is due; not making fun of those with handicaps; being fair and just to everyone, treating rich and poor alike; not profiting from another’s misfortune; not hating anyone who is kin to you – and you know, we are all brothers and sisters.

And finally, summing it all up, this: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord. Sounds a lot like what Jesus said, doesn’t it? And that should not be surprising. God’s holiness is embodied, incarnate in Jesus Christ. And like the holiness code of Leviticus, Jesus’ teachings include specific examples of how the people are to live.

But I have to say when I listen to these instructions from Leviticus and from the Sermon on the Mount, it almost seems to me that being holy is the opposite of being human. It may be holy to turn the other cheek, give away your coat, go the second mile, give to everyone who would beg or borrow from you, and love your enemies; but that doesn’t seem like human nature to me.

These actions that Jesus calls us to take have been termed the third way. You see, we tend to look at things as either/or, a kind of “my way or the highway” approach. It is flight or fight: We can engage with injustice and oppression and evil or we can walk away. But Jesus says there is a third way, the way of nonviolent direct action. The biblical scholar, Walter Wink (Engaging the Powers: Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination. Fortress Press, Minneapolis; pp 175 ff.) explains these commands of Jesus like this: To those who have been humiliated and attacked, slapped around, turning the other cheek robs the oppressor of the power to humiliate, he says. The person who turns the other cheek is saying, in effect, “Try again. Your first blow failed to achieved its intended effect. I deny you the power to humiliate me.”

In practical terms, it works like this. If I am going to slap someone I consider my inferior, I will give him the back of my hand – right hand to right cheek. But if that persons then turns the left cheek for me to slap, I can’t do it with my right hand, unless I make a fist or strike with my open palm – both methods which signal a fight between equals. The oppressor is now confronted with an impossible dilemma. He can no longer humiliate. If he would strike again, it must be in a way that signals a fair fight. And in a fair fight, he might lose. He is no longer in control.

It is the same with giving one’s cloak in addition to the coat. In Greek, the word for coat means an outer garment, while the word for cloak implies an undergarment. What Jesus is saying is take it all off. If someone wants to sue that pants off of you, help them. March out of debtor’s court in your birthday suit. This would have been a terrible situation for the creditor, much more than for the bare-bottomed debtor, since looking on the nakedness of another was a violation of the law. It was a much greater humiliation for the one of saw the nakedness, than for the one who was naked.

Similarly, while common practice allowed a Roman soldier to force a citizen to carry his heavy pack for one mile, to go beyond that might create grounds for a rebuke of the soldier from his commanding officer, or even a fine to be paid. So if someone refused to give up the pack after a mile and kept going, it shifted the balance of power. Now the oppressed are in control; now the Roman solider is at the mercy of the one he sought to oppress.

Jesus teaches us how to upset the powers that be by peaceful and creative means. It is not just flight or fight. There is a third way of resistance that restores humanity, equality, dignity. This is what it means to be holy, as God is holy. It is a leveling of humanity – raising up the lowly and taking the powerful down a notch or two. When we are able to do this, then we fulfill Jesus’ commandment to be perfect.

Now if being holy is a daunting task, how do you feel about being perfect? It might help to think about what the word means in the original Greek. It has a sense of being complete. I think about this call for us to be perfect as God’s call to us to live as God intends, to be wholly and completely who God means us to be, in other words, to be holy.

This is not an impossibility. We can do this because we are made in the image of God. In other words, as God is holy, so are we. “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy.” And just think about what would happen, if we lived as though we really were the image of God in the world – which, of course we are. There would be no barriers between people; the alien and the outsider would be welcomed as one of us; the poor would have enough to eat; we would seek to understand and embrace our enemies rather than vilifying them; our generosity would ensure that everyone had enough; no one would be humiliated or oppressed.

That is our calling. That is what God in Christ commands of us. It is not easy. Except it might be a littler easier here in an urban church. Your place in the world gives you a perspective on poverty and injustice that all-too-many other Christians don’t see. You have ready-made opportunities to be holy, godly people, living Christ-like lives, opportunities literally right on your doorstep. You are already practicing some of this. You don’t reap to the edge of your field; you don’t keep the wealth of this church all for yourselves. You engage in ministries of social justice. You welcome the stranger. You stand with the poor and oppressed.

The problems of our world are difficult and often seem intractable. But remember, dear friends, that nothing shall be impossible with God. It is not either/or, it is not fight or flight – not in engaging the world, or even in deciding your future as a congregation. There is always a third way, a holy way.

And you are holy people, made in the image of God and called to reflect God in the world. May it be so now and always.

(c) Martha C. Highsmith